In Other Words

She can’t help it. She likes to spy on the neighbours. Ever since her husband bought her a telescope, she’s been unable to keep it from being focused on the houses down the street. He doesn’t know of course; she doesn’t do it when he’s home. In the morning, she turns on her computer and makes coffee and prepares her editing, but as soon as his car turns the corner, she goes to the telescope, coffee in hand, training it on her favourite houses to watch.

Sometimes she does use it to stargaze or contemplate the moon, or find Saturn and his magnificent halo, but in general, the universe both fascinates and freaks her out, and she’s more comfortable keeping things close to home. She watches Bill kiss his wife on the cheek, as always, before getting in his car, Sandy tucking the twins in her double stroller for her morning walk, Kendra’s sweet-looking boyfriend pick her up for school in his beat-up white Rabbit. Same as usual, nothing out of the ordinary, but still, she swings the scope to spy on the next house, where a Japanese couple live. These two are the most mysterious people on the street: quiet, to themselves, normal but unsociable.

She doesn’t know their names. They moved here a year ago, unpacking without help the moving van they had rented. She and Greg had gone down to offer assistance but they had politely refused it. The couple had no children, no pets. Back at the house, she had watched them unload plain, practical furniture, large pieces of art, boxes they had to carry together.

Every morning he leaves for work, dressed impeccably in a pressed pants, polished shoes, shirt and tie. His wife waves at the door and then retreats, backing up slowly, shutting the door before her. Dana thinks them strange in their restraint, their seeming lack of affection, their precision and politeness toward each other.

She sips her coffee and adjusts herself on her stool, looking now at the Japanese couple’s wife, as usual, closing the red front door as she faces the street. But today she doesn’t move into the kitchen as she normally does, to make tea and take a bit of breakfast. Dana watches as the slight woman disappears and then reappears in the bedroom. The woman sits on the edge of the bed, and suddenly drops her face in her hands. Dana can see her shoulders shaking.

She doesn’t know what to do and considers her options. This is too private to watch, uncomfortable, even, but most of all heartrending. It’s probably been months since she’s even spoken to the woman, and she can hardly knock on their door asking to borrow a couple of eggs or cup of sugar. She can hardly take over baked goods, or ask for help in moving something in their house.

Dana puts down her coffee and refocuses the lens to better see the woman’s sad face. The despair written there leaves her feeling as though she has no option but to try and approach this woman, comfort her in whatever is bothering her. But how?

Suddenly, the crying woman rises from the bed, wiping the tears from her face. She rearranges her blouse and shuffling in her slippers she leaves the bedroom and reappears in the kitchen. Standing before the island, the woman smooths her hair and lays both hands on the countertop for a moment. She seems to have calmed considerably. For a brief moment, she glances in Dana’s direction, as though she knows she’s watching. Dana jerks her head back but then returns her eye to the telescope. When she sees the woman pull out from a drawer what she knows is a Sashimi knife (she’s watched late-night infomercials too), she panics.

Dana knocks over the stool in her haste to rush from the room and downstairs and out the door and down the street. She pounds on the red door, heart leaping in her throat, breath coming in short gasps. “Please!” she shouts. “Open the door!”

When there is no answer, she runs to the kitchen window. The woman is not there, she can’t see her anywhere, and Dana cups her hand to the window and tries to peer in further.

Suddenly, she hears a slight clearing of someone’s throat behind her. Shocked, Dana whirls around to see a slim woman, sweater arms wrapped around her neck, her blond hair tied neatly in a ponytail.

“Do you need help?” the woman asks.

“Yes!” Dana nearly shouts, then corrects herself, looking around, and brings her voice down a notch. “My neighbour. I think she’s going to…I just need to see if she’s okay.”

“Is there something wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Dana doesn’t know how to answer, what to say. She can’t admit she has been spying on her neighbours with a telescope. But they’re wasting time.  “I don’t know. I just need her to answer the door. I know she’s there.”

“I hope she is,” the blond woman says cryptically, and she steps up to knock on the door.

Almost immediately, the door opens and the Japanese woman stands before them.

“Sayuri,” the blond woman says. “Good morning.”

Sayuri nods and smiles and her eyes come to rest on Dana.

“This woman was here when I got here. She says she needs to speak with you. It seems urgent.”

Dana looks quizzically at Sayuri. “I-I was knocking earlier,” she manages, unsure of what to say.

“Yes, I heard you,” Sayuri says in a soft voice. “I’m sorry. I…was in the bathroom.”

“Oh,” says Dana, studying Sayuri’s calm face. She has no idea what to say next. And then she ventures, “I just wondered, um, if you had any…green tea,” she finishes lamely. “I ran out, and I usually drink it every morning. My husband has the car….”

“Of course,” Sayuri says, and Dana and the other woman step in past Sayuri into the house. Sayuri leads them to the kitchen, where on the island lie several gleaming sharp knives lined up on a paper towel.

Sayuri catches Dana’s eye. “Japanese cooking lessons,” she says by way of explanation, a slight smile on her face. The woman beside Dana pulls an apron from her tote and puts it on, tying the strings tightly around her waist. “Hands off my buns,” the apron says. It looks brand new.

“I’m so excited!” the blond woman exclaims. “This is my first class. I can’t wait to surprise my husband with an authentic Japanese dish!”

“Your tea,” says Sayuri, and she pulls from a cupboard a tin of loose leaf green tea. “Keep it,” she offers politely, placing the tin in Dana’s hand. Ever so slightly, Sayuri inclines her head toward the window and Dana watches the Japanese woman’s eyes move to her office window (can she see the telescope from here?) and then come back to rest on her face.

“Enjoy your tea,” Sayuri says. And with a slight bow, she dismisses her.