At Nightlight, the women-only share house, the later the night gets, the quieter it grows. I'm the house manager who lives in, doing the meals and the cleaning. Tonight, a Friday, I was in the kitchen again, waiting for one of the residents to come home.
The first thing to move was Komugi's ears.
He'd been curled up on the living room sofa, and his head jerked up. He pointed his nose toward the front door and gave a low, soft whine.
I turned down the flame in the kitchen and wiped my hands. The clock had passed midnight.
The front door lock clicked open.
"...I'm home."
There was no life in the voice. Ms. Tono. There was a sound less like shoes being taken off than shaken off the feet, followed by the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. Her leather tote.
When I stepped into the hall, there she was. Still in her suit, leaning her shoulder against the wall. Her hair, which must have been neatly tied up, had come half undone and was falling across her cheek. The laptop bag in her hand looked about to slip from her fingers at any moment.
"Welcome home."
When I said it, Ms. Tono turned only her eyes toward me.
"I'm sorry... making noise at this hour."
"It's Friday. You've been working all the way until now. You must be exhausted."
I picked up the tote she'd left in the hallway. It was heavy. I could tell the laptop and the bundles of documents inside had packed together like bricks. She'd carried this on her shoulder, swaying on the last train home?
"I'll take this."
"Oh, no, I can do it myse—"
Ms. Tono started to reach out, but partway there, her arm lost its strength. The hand she'd held out slowly dropped.
"...Please."
She said it quietly and started down the hall. She tried to walk straight, but she was leaning slightly on the wall as she went. The moment she entered the living room, she sank to her knees on the rug in front of the sofa, as if she were crumbling.
And just like that, she flopped over onto her side.
Komugi came over, worried, and gave Ms. Tono's cheek a single sniff.
"...Komugi, good boy. So warm."
Ms. Tono buried her forehead in the dog's golden coat. And then she didn't move.
At home, Ms. Tono is always like this. At the office, she's someone without a single chink in her armor, Rui had told me once. A chief, in charge of a whole team of juniors, with a gaze so sharp she was almost unapproachable.
And here that same person was, using a dog for a pillow, her legs flung out toward the front door.
The shoulders of her jacket still held the smell of the cold air outside. One of her socks was half pulled off. The stiff line of the back of someone who'd sat in the same position at a desk for hours still hadn't gone out of her, even lying down.
I glanced at the living room chalkboard. There was the chalk writing Ms. Tono had left this morning.
No dinner for me today. I'll be late. Tono
Meticulous, sharp-cornered handwriting. She must have written it thinking she truly wouldn't have time to eat.
Even so, people get hungry in the middle of the night.
Without a word, I went back to the kitchen. When I took the lid off the pot, steam puffed softly against my face.
It was oden I'd had simmering since evening. Today was Friday, so I'd had a feeling that at least one person would come home without having had a proper meal. No particular reason. It's just that when you've done this kind of work long enough, there are nights you somehow know.
The daikon had been simmering for over three hours. I'd parboiled it first in the water left from rinsing rice. That way, the daikon's bitterness comes out, and only the sweetness of the dashi soaks in. I peeled it thick, beveled the edges, and cut a hidden cross into one side. That one extra step makes all the difference in how fast the flavor soaks in.
When I slid a bamboo skewer in, it glided through to the core without any resistance. Without even looking, I knew the amber broth had soaked into every last fiber of each cut face. Dashi from kombu and bonito, with just a little light soy sauce. I don't let the color get too dark because I want the daikon to stay white.
Oden tastes different in Kanto and Kansai, apparently. Dark soy and bonito, or light soy and kombu. But I go with neither. I picture the faces of whoever's living in the house and adjust it a little each time. Tonight's broth I made gentle, for someone coming home tired. Easy on the salt. Filled out with savoriness instead.
I'd cooked the eggs until they were just about to split, letting the yolks drink up the broth. The hanpen I'd only warmed through quickly at the end. Cook it too long, and it loses its puff.
And beef tendon. That, too, I'd parboiled three times over to get rid of any gamy smell.
I portioned it into a small bowl and set it on a tray. Then I poured sake into a sake flask.
Ms. Tono can drink. You could even say she's bottomless. But tonight, I made it hot sake instead of chilled. Something cold wouldn't soak into her body right now. Hot soups and hot sake have more savoriness, and more power to loosen a person up. On a tired night, a temperature neither too lukewarm nor too hot, close to body heat, is the gentlest.
I filled a pot with hot water and gently sank the flask into it. I tested the temperature with my finger. About like this.
When I carried the tray into the living room, Ms. Tono still had her face buried in Komugi's belly.
"Ms. Tono."
No answer. I thought she might have fallen asleep, but her shoulders were rising and falling faintly.
"You don't have to force yourself to get up. But I'll just leave this here for you."
On the low table, I set down the small bowl of oden, the sake flask, and a sake cup.
Steam rose up.
In that instant, Ms. Tono's shoulders twitched. Slowly, her face came up. Through the gaps in her half-undone hair, a face with deep circles under the eyes looked at me.
Her nose twitched, slightly.
"...Is this..."
"Oden. Since it's Friday."
Ms. Tono sluggishly pushed herself up. She shuffled forward on her knees and sat down in front of the low table. Komugi went back to his usual spot and curled up again.
She went to pick up the sake cup, but her eyes were drawn to the daikon in the small bowl.