ate: that's what you call this feeling. The thought occurred to Yayoi Yamamoto as she looked at her naked, thirty-four-year-old body in the full-length mirror. Right near her solar plexus was a conspicuous dark-blue bruise. Her husband had punched her there last night, and with the blow a new feeling had risen inside her. No, that wasn't exactly true. The feeling had been there from before. She shook her head and the naked woman in the mirror shook hers as well. It had definitely been there before; it was just that she'd never been able to put a name to it. As soon as she'd realised that it was 'hatred', it had spread like a dark cloud and taken possession of her, so that now there was nothing else inside.

'He can't do that,' she said aloud, and as she did so, she burst out crying. The tears dribbled down her face, falling in the space between her small but well-formed breasts. When they reached the bruise, another surge of pain ran through her and she crouched down on the tatami. It was so sensitive that even liquid or a draft made it hurt, and no one, she felt, could ever make it better.

Perhaps sensing her movements, the children sleeping nearby in their tiny futons began to stir. Yayoi jumped up, wiped away the tears, and wrapped herself in a towel. She didn't want the kids to see the bruise, or the tears. But, realising that she had to bear this treatment alone, she felt so isolated that her tears started flowing again; and the worst thing of all was that the source of her pain was the one person she was closest to. She had no idea how she could get out of this hell, but at the moment she was fighting just to keep from crying like a baby.

The older child, a five-year-old boy, frowned in his sleep and turned over on his stomach, and then his three-year-old brother flipped over on his back. If she woke them up, she wouldn't be able to go to the factory, so she crept away from the mirror and out of the bedroom. Closing the sliding doors as quietly as she could, she turned out the light, hoping with all her heart that they would sleep until morning.

She quietly made her way to the living room and the tiny adjoining kitchen and hunted through the pile of laundry on the dining table for her underwear - panties and a plain, cheap bra they sold at the supermarket. She remembered how she'd had nothing but beautiful lace lingerie before she was married, because Kenji had liked it so much. She could never have imagined then that this was the future that was waiting for them: a loser obsessed with a woman he could never have, a wife who detested him, and an unbridgeable gulf separating them. They would never again be on the same side of the gulf, because she could never bring herself to forgive him.

He probably wouldn't be back again this evening by the time she had to go to work; and even when he did come home, she was nervous about leaving the children with someone so unreliable. The older boy in particular was unusually sensitive and easily hurt. Then, on top of everything else, three months ago Kenji had stopped bringing home his paycheck, and she had been forced to try to feed herself and the children on the little bit she earned at the factory. It was all too much, this sneaky husband who would slink home late at night and go to bed while she was at work, only to argue endlessly with her when she arrived back exhausted in the morning. All they ever did otherwise was exchange cutting, ice-cold looks. She was sick to death of the whole thing. Breathing a sigh, she crouched over to put on her panties, which made her double up with pain again from the bruise. As she cried out involuntarily and curled into a ball on the couch, the cat, Milk, perked up its ears and looked at her. It had spent last night under the couch, letting out long, plaintive howls.

The memory of that night made her skin crawl. Never before had she had cause to hate anyone, but the dirty cloud of emotions that engulfed her now contained not just anger, but real hatred. She'd been raised in a quiet provincial city as the only child of dull but well-meaning parents. After graduating from a junior college in Yamanashi Prefecture, she had gone to Tokyo to work as a sales assistant for a well-known tile company. As an attractive young woman, she had received a good deal of attention from the men at the company, and in retrospect that had probably been the best period in her life. She could have had her pick of the lot of them, but she'd fallen in love with Kenji, who came to the office quite often in the course of his duties at a second-rate construction supplies company.

She had chosen him because he pursued her more aggressively than anyone else, and up until their wedding day everything had seemed like a lovely dream that would go on forever. But almost as soon as they were married, Yayoi's illusions began to fade. Kenji left her behind to go out drinking and gambling, and soon she spent most of her time home alone. It wasn't, of course, until fairly recently that she'd realised that he was fundamentally the type of man who only wanted what belonged to others. He had wanted her because she had been the spoilt pet of the company, but once he had her, he lost interest. In the final analysis, he was an unhappy man, one who was forever chasing illusions.

***

Last night, for God knows what reason, Kenji had actually come home before ten o'clock. The children had finally gone to sleep, and Yayoi had been in the kitchen doing the dishes as quietly as she could when she sensed something and turned around. He was standing directly behind her, looking at her back as though the sight of it filled him with loathing. Startled, Yayoi dropped the soapy sponge into the sink.

'You frightened me,' she said.

'Why? Did you think it was another man?' For once he wasn't drunk, but he was clearly in a bad mood. Still, Yayoi was used to that.

'And why not?' she said, picking up the sponge. 'When was the last time you were home at this hour?' she added, unable to resist the jab. To be honest, she would have preferred it if he hadn't come home. 'Why so early?'

'No money,' he said.

'How could that be? You haven't given us anything in months.' Though she had her back to him again, she knew he was smirking.

'Nope, I'm flat broke. And I've used up all the savings.'

'You what?' she said, her voice breaking. The two of them had put aside more than five million yen - almost enough for the down payment on a condominium. Why else had she been breaking her back at the factory? 'How could you? You've been keeping your whole salary; how could you spend our savings as well?'

'Gambling,' he said. 'A game called baccarat.'

'Tell me you're kidding.' She was too shocked to think of anything else to say.

'I'm not,' he said.

'But it didn't all belong to you.'

'Or to you.' So often he had nothing to say to her, but tonight he had a smart answer for everything. 'So, maybe it'd be better if I just left. What do you think?' Why was he trying to needle her? What was bugging him? Usually he made no effort to draw his family into his little dramas, so why was tonight different?

'That wouldn't solve the problem,' she said, her tone icy.

'Then what would? You tell me.' His face took on a crafty look, as if he'd got her trapped.

'Well, for one thing, it would help if that slut would dump you,' she said, furious now. 'She's the cause of all this.' Almost instantly, she felt something hard and heavy thump her in the stomach and she toppled over, on the verge of losing consciousness from the pain. She had no idea what had happened to her, but she knew that she couldn't breathe, that her chest was convulsing. She groaned and curled up in a ball, and then felt another blow to her back. She screamed.

'Dumb fuck!' Kenji yelled. Out of the corner of her eye she could see him rubbing his fist as he went into the bathroom. She lay groaning on the floor for a while, listening to the sound of water running in the bathroom.

When she finally began to recover a bit, she realised she was still clutching the sponge in her soapy hand. She pulled up her Tshirt and found a blue-black bruise just below her chest. The sight of it seemed like the final sign that she and Kenji were finished. She let out a long sigh. As she did so, the doors to the bedroom slid open and Takashi, the older boy, looked out at her with fear in his eyes.

'Mama, what's wrong?' he asked.

'Nothing, honey,' she managed to get out. 'Mama fell down, but she's fine now. Go back to sleep.' Seeming to understand, the boy slid the door shut. Yayoi knew he was worried about his brother, sleeping in the next futon. If even a small child could be considerate like that, what had gone wrong with Kenji? Obviously, people changed. Or maybe he'd always been that way.

Pressing on her stomach, she made her way over to the table and sat down. She took slow, even breaths to control the pain. There was the crash of a plastic bucket in the bathroom. She laughed quietly and buried her face in her hands. It was miserable to be living with such a man.

***

Suddenly realising that she was still in her underwear, she pulled on a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. She had lost so much weight recently that the jeans slipped down to her hips, so she went to look for a belt. It would soon be time to leave for the factory. She didn't want to go, but if- she didn't show up, Masako and the others would worry about her. Masako in particular wasn't one to overlook any sign of trouble. There was something a bit unnerving about it, but at the same time she felt a strong urge to open up to the woman. Maybe it was because she somehow knew that Masako could be relied upon. If something happened, she was probably the only one Yayoi had to cling to. It was only a glimmer of hope but the thought sent her shuffling more quickly around the house.

Hearing a sound in the entrance hall, Yayoi tensed. Had Kenji come home early again tonight? But when no one came into the living room, she wondered if it could be somebody else and hurried out to the door. There she found Kenji, sitting on the edge of the floor with his back to her. His shoulders were slumped as he stared in front of him, and the back of his shirt was dirty. Apparently, he didn't realise she was there. As she thought about the night before, a tide of loathing welled up inside her. It would be better if a man like this never came home, if she never had to see his face again.

'Oh,' Kenji said, turning around at last. 'You haven't left yet?' He had apparently been in a fight, and there was blood oozing from a cut on his lip. Yayoi said nothing but stood rooted to the spot, trying to control the anger that was coursing through her. 'What's the matter?' Kenji muttered, apparently oblivious to her rage. 'Can't you be nice once in a while?'

At that moment, her patience snapped. With lightning speed she slipped off her belt and wrapped it around his neck.

Kenji made choking sounds, trying to look around at her, but Yayoi pulled up and back, tightening the belt in one motion. Gasping, he tried to get his fingers around the belt, but it had already dug into his neck. Yayoi watched intently as he scratched at the leather, and then yanked even harder. His neck bent back at an odd angle, and his fingers twitched meaninglessly in the air. He needs to suffer more, she thought. He's got no right to go on living like this! She planted her left foot on the floor, and with the right one she pushed against his back. A sound like a frog's croak escaped from somewhere in his throat. It feels so good, she told herself. Strange that she'd never known she had such cruelty inside. Still, she found this thrilling.

Kenji had gone limp by now. He sat awkwardly on the step, shoes still on his feet. His torso bent over his knees while his neck arched back.

'Not yet,' Yayoi murmured, continuing to pull on the belt. 'I still don't forgive you.' It wasn't so much that she wanted him to die like this, just that she wanted to be sure she would never have to see his face again, never have to hear his voice.

How long had she stayed like that? He lay on his back now, completely still, so she reached down and felt for a pulse in his neck. Nothing. There was a small wet patch on the front of his pants. Realising that he must have pissed himself in the final seconds made her want to laugh.

'Couldn't you have been nice once in a while?' she said aloud.

She had no idea how much longer she stood there, but at last she came to her senses, realising that Milk was crying.

'What are we going to do now, Milk?' she muttered. 'I've killed him.' The cat made a sound like a little shriek, and Yayoi gave the same in reply. She had done something that was irreversible, but she felt absolutely no regret. So be it, she whispered to herself. She'd had no other choice.

Going back to the living room, she calmly looked at the clock on the wall. Just eleven. Almost time to leave for the factory. She phoned Masako's house.

'Hello?' Fortunately, it was Masako who answered. Yayoi took a deep breath.

'It's me, Yayoi,' she said.

'Hi,' said Masako. 'What's up? Are you taking the night off?'

'No, I just don't know what to do.'

'About what?' She sounded genuinely concerned. 'Has something happened?'

'It has.' She might as well get it over with. 'I've killed him.' There was a brief silence, and then Masako spoke again, her voice still calm.

'Are you serious?'

'Dead serious,' Yayoi said. 'I've strangled him.' There was another pause, this one perhaps half a minute long; but Yayoi knew somehow that it wasn't because Masako was shocked but rather because she was thinking over the situation. When she spoke again, Yayoi knew she'd been right.

'But what do you want to do?' Masako said. Yayoi was quiet for a moment, not fully understanding what she was asking. 'I mean, tell me what you want to do about this. I'm willing to help.'

'Me? I'd like things to go on just as they have been. My kids are still small, and...'As she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes and the horror of the situation finally hit her.

'I understand,' Masako said. 'I'll be right over. Did anyone else see what happened?'

'I don't know,' Yayoi said, looking around. Her eyes fell on Milk, who was cowering under the sofa. 'Just the cat,' she told her.

'Okay,' Masako said, a hint of gentle laughter in her voice. 'Wait right there.'

'Thank you,' Yayoi said, hanging up. As she crouched down to wait, her kneecap rubbed up against her stomach, but she no longer felt any pain.