The Incomparables by Alexandra Leggat

Author:Alexandra Leggat
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Anvil Press
Published: 2014-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

JUNKO WAITS, THEN walks over to the vanity, stares at her pale face, and head, a perfect full moon. The results of treatment when an aching side came back terminal. She reaches for a bottle filled with thick gold liquid and it oozes onto her hand, she oils her face; from a small white tub she applies a thin layer of wax. She rubs her hand on a white towel. Lydia waits for the wall to speak again; it’s quiet, but not a quiet she trusts. She runs a comb through her hair and realizes it’s grown enough to grab into a small ponytail, which is a relief. She grabs her cashmere cardigan and rushes downstairs.

Junko takes a deep breath and applies her thick white-base makeup, made of rice powder, “Oshiroi,” she whispers.

“Oshiroi.” To sound like her mother when she asked her years ago what she was applying to her already beautiful face, Oshiroi. She covers her face in it with broad strokes, one side, then the other, the eyelids, the chin, neck and down the back of her neck as far as she can reach. She lines her eyes in black, extending the edges out across her temples, and a thick red to her lips. She grabs the black wig from the Styrofoam head it rests on. She pulls it over her hairless head. From a standing hanger in the corner she removes an aquamarine robe lined in coral, the bottom embroidered with flowing vines, down its side a walking stick with the head of a dragon.

Pipit knocks on the door. “Ah, little one, your timing is perfect.” Junko lets her in and Pipit begins to wrap the robe around her, gathering and gathering material until it is fit perfectly to Junko’s frame. She ties the sash around her waist, the obi, she presses her ear to the wall. Stillness. Good, she thinks. We shall see you soon.

Lydia’s ankles crack leaping down the stairs hoping to catch the one person a daughter should never let down. The voices were right, listen to your mother, listen to your mother, she knows best. Constance stands in front of the fireplace, her thin hands caress the wooden box on the mantelpiece. The sun pinches through the pleated jacquard weave curtains, and Lydia throws them open as she passes. “Mom?” Constance swats the air. She whispers something Lydia can’t hear, then her head spins toward the window. “Look, look there he is, over there, over there, by the fish pond. Lydia, do you see that?”

Lydia rushes over and peers out the bay window almost afraid of what she’ll see. There is nothing there.

“Look, look, there he is, the emperor.”

The Japanese maple weaves in the wind. Its shadow dances against the white living room wall. There’s no sign of anyone outside, inside on the walls are the faces in the shadows screaming without sound.

“Mom, what exactly do you see?”

She looks away from the window and deep into Lydia’s eyes, but Lydia doesn’t think it’s her eyes she sees.

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