Steam filled the narrow bathroom. Thick condensation dripped down the white plastic walls in slow streaks. Zenjiro sat on a small blue stool. Knees pulled tight to his chest. He was five years old. The air pressed against him, heavy and hot.
Behind him, his biological sister Akiho poured a bucket of hot water over his shoulders. She was eight. A sharp splash against his collarbone. The water splashed against his collarbone and ran down his stomach. A yellow sponge scraped against his skin. It smelled like cheap citrus soap.
"Lean forward," Akiho said.
He obeyed. He tipped his head down. Water spilled down his back. It pooled around his bare feet on the slippery tiles.
"You think money just grows on trees, Fuyumi?!"
The muffled shout cut through the hiss of the running water. Zenjiro flinched. His shoulders jumped up to his ears. Akiho just squeezed the sponge. Thick white suds spilled over his back.
"Don't listen," she whispered.
She scrubbed a little harder. Her hands were small. Her fingers lacked strength, but her movements were practiced. They did this every night. The yelling was a normal routine. It was just background noise to them now. It was like the hum of a broken refrigerator or the rattle of a loose window.
Zenjiro grabbed a white plastic bowl from the floor. He dipped it into the deep bathtub beside them. He lifted the bowl. He poured the hot water over his own head. The soap washed away in a thick wave. He blinked the sting from his eyes. He wiped his face with his wet hands.
"My turn," Akiho said.
Zenjiro stood up. They swapped places with his sister. Akiho sat on the blue stool. She pulled her wet, heavy black hair over her left shoulder.
The movement exposed her back. Pale and completely bare. The wet plastic of the stool squeaked as she shifted her weight against it. Water from her hair dripped down her spine. It slid past her waist without hitting any fabric. It pooled right at the curve of her hips.
He picked up a smaller green sponge. He rubbed the soap against her in slow, uneven circles. He pushed hard to make a thick lather. The foam spread easily down her sides. It slipped over the bare, unbroken curve of her thigh.
He dipped the plastic bowl into the bathwater.
Outside the door, a second voice pierced the thin walls. Their mother, Fuyumi.
"I work just as hard as you do! Maybe harder! But you drink away half your paycheck before it even hits the bank! You are useless, Soichi!"
Something heavy hit the hallway wall. The impact rattled the bathroom mirror above the sink.
Zenjiro stopped rubbing the sponge. He looked at the locked door. The frosted glass blurred the yellow light from the hallway. He could see two dark shadows moving out there. They shifted back and forth across the glass. They looked like big monsters fighting in a cage.
"Keep washing," Akiho said. She didn't turn around. Her voice was flat. She sounded too tired for an eight-year-old girl.
Zenjiro squeezed the green sponge. He went back to work. He repeated. He wiped the soap over her narrow shoulder and dragged it down her spine. The water turned a dirty grey at their feet. They did not speak another word to each other. They let the sound of splashing water drown out the noise from the hallway.
He rinsed her back with the plastic bowl. The water splashed against the plastic walls.
"Done," he said.
Akiho stood up. She tested the water in the deep bathtub with her big toe. It was hot. Steam rose from the calm surface. She stepped over the high rim. She lowered herself in. The water displaced. It threatened to spill over the edge. She sank down until the water reached her chin.
Zenjiro followed right behind her. He climbed over the rim. The water burned his skin for a second. Then the heat felt good. It soaked into his bones. He sat on the opposite side of the tub. Their knees almost touched under the surface.
He sank down low. Only his nose and eyes stayed above the water line.
The argument outside escalated. The volume jumped higher. The words became sharper. Their tone had shifted beyond mere anger; they now sounded as if they were intent on causing one another physical harm.
"You really make me sick," Fuyumi screamed. "You think I want to live like this? Counting coins just to buy cheap eggs? You promised me a different life when we got married! You lied to me!"
"Then leave!" Soichi roared back. The wooden floorboards creaked under his heavy steps. "Go find some rich guy to pay for your expensive tastes! You think I don't know about that manager from your office? You think I am stupid?!"
A sharp slap rang out. It sounded like a wet towel hitting bare concrete.
Zenjiro squeezed his eyes shut under the water. He held his breath. He counted to five in his head and then he opened his eyes. Akiho stared straight at the bathroom door. Her face showed zero emotion. Her eyes were blank. She just watched the angry shadows move on the frosted glass.
"He is crazy," Akiho muttered.
Zenjiro didn't reply. He blew a line of bubbles into the hot water. The heat made his cheeks flush red. He felt safe inside the tub. The locked door was like a shield. The thick, hot water was his armor. As long as they stayed in here, the angry monsters outside couldn't touch them.
A glass shattered in the hallway. Millions of tiny pieces scattered across the wooden floor. A shrill scream followed the breaking glass.
Zenjiro jumped. The water splashed violently over the side of the tub. It soaked a blue bath mat resting on the floor.
"I am done!" Fuyumi yelled. Her voice cracked. She sounded breathless and wild. "I am entirely done with this miserable house and you!"
"Good! Get out of here!"
The screaming did not stop. They traded insults back and forth. They brought up old mistakes from years ago. They cursed at each other with ugly words. Zenjiro let his head slip lower. He let the water cover his ears. The voices became warped and dull. They sounded like they were drowning.
They stayed in the tub for another ten minutes. The skin on Zenjiro's fingertips wrinkled. The bath water started to cool down.
Akiho stood up. Water ran down her skinny frame in fast streams.
"Let's get out," she said.
She grabbed a large white towel from a metal rack. She wrapped it tight around her chest. She tossed a smaller green towel to Zenjiro. It hit him right in the face. It smelled like damp, old cotton.
He climbed out of the tub and he shivered. The air in the room was suddenly freezing. He rubbed the green towel over his wet hair. He dried his short arms. He dried his legs. He put on a pair of oversized pajamas. They had faded cartoon bears on them. The thin fabric stuck to his damp skin.
Akiho pulled on a plain white t-shirt and a pair of blue shorts. She reached for the doorknob. She hesitated for a single second. Her hand hovered over the cold metal. Then she turned it. The latch clicked loudly in the quiet bathroom.
She pulled the door open.
The hallway was a total disaster. A ceramic vase lay broken near the wall. Water and dead flowers spread across the floorboards.
Soichi stood near the kitchen entrance. His chest heaved up and down and his hair was a mess. His work shirt was untucked. He stared down at the floor. He did not look at his children.
Fuyumi stood near the front door. She wore her thick brown winter coat. Her face was red and blotchy. Black mascara ran down her cheeks in thin, messy lines.
She saw them step out of the bathroom. She pointed a shaking finger at Soichi.
"I want a divorce."
The word hit the air. It hung there in the heavy silence. Zenjiro stopped walking. He looked at his sister. He didn't know that word. Divorce. It sounded strange to his ears. It sounded sharp and dangerous.
Akiho froze in her tracks. Her eyes went wide. She understood the word. Her hands gripped the bottom hem of her shirt.
Fuyumi turned her head. She locked eyes with her daughter. Her expression changed in a flash. The violent anger vanished. A cold and desperate panic replaced it.
"Akiho," Fuyumi barked. "Pack your things. We are leaving this house."
Akiho didn't move. She just stared at her mother with her mouth slightly open. She looked down at the broken vase. She looked over at her father. He still stared at the floor like a statue.
"What?" Akiho whispered.
"Now!" Fuyumi screamed at the top of her lungs. The sheer volume made Zenjiro jump back a step. He bumped into the doorframe.
Akiho flinched hard. She turned around and she ran down the hall to their shared bedroom. Her bare feet slapped wetly against the wood. The bedroom door slammed shut behind her.
Zenjiro stood all alone in the hallway. He clutched the damp green towel to his chest. He looked at his father. Soichi finally lifted his head. His eyes were bloodshot and tired. He looked right at Zenjiro.
He didn't say a single word. He just turned around and walked into the dark kitchen and then he opened the refrigerator. The yellow light spilled out onto the floor. The sound of a glass bottle clinking against a plastic shelf echoed in the quiet house.
Zenjiro looked at his mother. She pulled a large black suitcase from the hall closet. She threw it open on the floor. She started tossing shoes into it. She grabbed winter coats from the wooden hangers. She didn't fold anything. She just shoved them inside in a chaotic pile.
He walked slowly toward her. His small feet avoided the spilled water from the broken vase.
"Mom?" he asked.
She didn't answer him. She grabbed the zipper of the suitcase and she pulled it shut. The metal zipper caught on a stray sleeve of a sweater. She yanked it hard. The fabric ripped with a loud tear but she didn't care. She kept pulling until the bag was completely closed.
Akiho emerged from the bedroom. She carried a pink school backpack. It looked incredibly heavy. The straps dug deep into her small shoulders. She held a plastic shopping bag filled with loose clothes in her right hand. She didn't look at Zenjiro. She kept her eyes glued to the floorboards.
She walked right past him. She stood next to their mother by the door.
Fuyumi grabbed the plastic handle of the black suitcase and pulled it upright. She finally looked down at Zenjiro. He stood one meter away from her. He wore his damp bear pajamas. His hair was still wet and messy.
She dropped the handle. She fell to her knees on the hard floor. She wrapped her arms around his small body.
She hugged him tight. Too tight. It hurt his ribs. She smelled like old perfume and stale sweat. Her wet tears pressed against his warm cheek. They felt cold.
"Goodbye, Zenjiro," she whispered right into his ear. Her voice shook with every syllable. "Take care of yourself. Be a good boy. Eat your vegetables. Don't cause trouble for your father."
He didn't hug her back. His arms hung loose at his sides. He blinked his eyes. He didn't understand what was happening.
Why was she crying so hard? Why did Akiho have her school backpack? It was very late and it was dark outside. Were they going to the park? Were they going on an outing in the middle of the night?
"Are we going to the beach?" he asked.
Fuyumi let out a harsh, ugly sob. She pulled away from him. She stood up fast. She wiped her wet eyes with the back of her hand. She refused to look at his face again. Then, she grabbed the suitcase handle with a tight grip.
She glared at the kitchen doorway where Soichi was standing. He held a brown glass bottle in his right hand. He took a long, slow drink.
"My lawyer will deliver the divorce papers soon," Fuyumi said. Her tone was like pure ice.
Soichi didn't react at all. He just took another drink from the bottle.
Fuyumi turned around and pushed the heavy front door open. The freezing night air rushed into the hallway. It hit Zenjiro's wet hair. He shivered again. He wrapped his arms around himself.
Akiho walked out first. She didn't say goodbye to him. She didn't look back over her shoulder. She just stepped out into the dark night.
Fuyumi followed right behind her. She dragged the heavy black suitcase over the metal threshold. The plastic wheels clacked loudly against the frame.
She stepped outside and then grabbed the exterior doorknob. She pulled the heavy metal door shut.
Click.
The lock engaged. The sound was sharp and final.
Zenjiro stood perfectly still in the hallway. He watched the closed door. The outing he thought they were taking became an outing of eternity. He waited for ten full minutes. He waited for the heavy door to open. He waited for Akiho to tell him to put his shoes on but the door never opened. He never saw them again.
He just stood there in his damp pajamas. The dripping water from the broken vase was the only sound left in the house.
The memory vanished. The cold tile and the smell of cheap soap faded away into nothing.
Loud traffic replaced the sound of dripping water. Bright neon lights replaced the dim hallway bulb.
Zenjiro blinked his eyes. He walked down a busy concrete sidewalk. It was late at night. The city air smelled like exhaust fumes and fried meat from a nearby street stall. He shoved his bare hands deep into the pockets of his black trench coat. The cold wind whipped past his face.
Crowds of people moved past him in both directions. Men in cheap business suits. Women holding clear plastic umbrellas. They were all just faceless blurs in his peripheral vision. He kept his eyes focused on the cracked pavement ahead. He calculated his next meeting. He reviewed the financial ledger in his head.
He stepped off the curb. He waited for a red sports car to speed past the intersection. He stepped onto the white lines of the crosswalk. The streetlights caught the dial of his watch. It was thick platinum. Heavy.
He adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit. The silk lining trapped his body heat against the cold wind. He walked forward. His polished leather oxfords clicked hard against the wet asphalt.
Footsteps clicked rapidly behind him. Someone was running hard. The sharp sound cut through the heavy noise of the city traffic. High heels striking the hard pavement. They were getting closer. Fast.
He didn't turn around. He kept walking across the street.
A hand grabbed the left sleeve of his coat. The grip was incredibly tight. Desperate.
He stopped walking.
"Zen-kun."
It was a girl's voice. Breathless and familiar.