Mrs. Ozeki first appeared in That Which We Do Not Understand, published by Amelia's House in December 2014.
Mrs. Ozeki
Mrs. Ozeki placed herself on her favourite bench. She stared out, searching the space for an inexhaustible ocean of waves, ebbing and flowing throughout the air. Yet in all these years, Mrs. Ozeki had never actually seen a single radio wave, she simply knew that they were there. She felt just the same way about her husband, who the doctor said had departed this world three years ago. Mrs. Ozeki knew better, her beloved had never left the earth – he had become like those waves, invisible but forever present.
Why else would it be, that whenever she came to this shrine that she could feel her husband all around her, enveloping her in a sweet blanket of warmth? 'Wish fulfillment,' her friends said, but she always shook her head and patted their hands, pitying their inability to sense their loved ones all around them.
At least Mrs. Ozeki's cat, Tamo, seemed to know the truth, too. After all, it was Tamo who would sit quietly and stare intently at the space where Mrs. Ozeki's husband's futon once lay. "You can hear things we can't," Mrs. Ozeki would mumble into Tamo's ear, while stroking his head methodically. "Is he snoring again?"
Over time, even her friends came to see the world from Mrs. Ozeki's point of view. They saw that she never seemed sad, how she would whisper to the air, and giggle at jokes no one else appeared to hear. For a while, they thought she had gone mad with grief, but soon, they realised that there was no madness – only devout faith and deeply entrenched love.
"It’s just as with any radio," Mrs. Ozeki would tell her neighbours, smiling to herself. "You only have to be tuned into the right station."
Why else would it be, that whenever she came to this shrine that she could feel her husband all around her, enveloping her in a sweet blanket of warmth? 'Wish fulfillment,' her friends said, but she always shook her head and patted their hands, pitying their inability to sense their loved ones all around them.
At least Mrs. Ozeki's cat, Tamo, seemed to know the truth, too. After all, it was Tamo who would sit quietly and stare intently at the space where Mrs. Ozeki's husband's futon once lay. "You can hear things we can't," Mrs. Ozeki would mumble into Tamo's ear, while stroking his head methodically. "Is he snoring again?"
Over time, even her friends came to see the world from Mrs. Ozeki's point of view. They saw that she never seemed sad, how she would whisper to the air, and giggle at jokes no one else appeared to hear. For a while, they thought she had gone mad with grief, but soon, they realised that there was no madness – only devout faith and deeply entrenched love.
"It’s just as with any radio," Mrs. Ozeki would tell her neighbours, smiling to herself. "You only have to be tuned into the right station."
