Many, many thanks to those kind enough to pre-read this for me:  Gary 
Kleppe, Freemage, Anand Raoh, my brother Matt, and Sean Gaffney, I 
guess.  

This is the last part of The Production of Joy.  However, there will 
be a sequel, as yet unnamed.  

C&C is welcome.  Feel free to mail me for the first part, as well.  I 
suspect this will make sense even without knowledge of the previous 
part, but I don't think it will seem as good.

The Production of Joy
Part II


     I woke up in the middle of the night because there
wasn't any wailing.  I stumbled into the kitchen, where
Akane sat quietly rocking the baby.  Hearing my approach,
she glanced up and yawned.
     "Good morning," I said.
     "She won't eat," Akane said.  "And she's not wet, but
she's not sleeping."
     I hunched down next to them.  "Could she be sick?"
     "No temperature.  And she's not crying or anything.
She hasn't cried all night."
     "Sounds like a happy baby."
     "No," she said.  "I don't think so."  Akane ran her
fingers over Hatsue's sleek skull.  "When I first saw her,
back in the hospital, she had an IV in her head."  She
tapped a spot, with a feather's touch.  "Right there.  They
told me it was there for a week.  She had help breathing
and everything, no need to eat.  It must have been really
nice.  Kind of like how being inside was, only I bet it
would be a lot more exciting."
     "Cause of all the stuff around?"
     "Sure.  So I was thinking, maybe she misses it.  Being
with us must be so much harder."
     "You think that's why she's not sleeping?"
     "I don't know.  Maybe."
     "Can I see her?"
     I held my daughter carefully, supporting her head as I
had been taught.  Hatsue was a very solemn baby.  As I
watched, her mouth puckered into a horseshoe, almost like
she was smiling.
     Something hung in the air, not a smell but heavy like
incense.  Tender and dear and delicate and precious are all
the same word, really.  It was there, all around us,
intoxicating.  I lowered my lips to Hatsue's forehead.
"God, this is what we live for," I murmured.
     Akane looked at me with absolute sincerity.  "What is?"




     I was surprised at how easy it is to play with a baby.
The only games I remember playing with my father were either
dangerously violent or illegal.  I found that I could invent
activities on the spur of the moment, though.  Hatsue was
easy to please.  She liked Peek-a-Boo and Rock-a-Baby and
Watch-Daddy-Turn-Into-Mommy-and-Back.
     She seemed to like my female side better than the male,
which I found vaguely disturbing.  Akane told me I was
imagining things, and the baby was restrained enough to cast
the matter into doubt, but I really believed what little
laughter I heard was less when I was masculine.
     As it turned out, most of my time with Hatsue was spent
playing.  Akane seemed reluctant to let me do anything.  I
had expected diapers to be a major part of the picture,
along with bottles and vomit, but the few times I tried to
help I got yelled at.  "Don't leave her on the table like
that.  What if she fell off?"
     "She can't even roll over!  Besides, I was just running
upstairs to get some more wipes."
     "What if she starts rolling over today?"
     Hatsue gurgled.
     "Look, she's in the middle of the table."  I grabbed
the baby and started wrapping her up in a diaper.
     "Stop!  Look, you're doing it wrong.  Look, like this."
     "It doesn't make any difference exactly how I do it."
     "It does!  You could stick her with a pin or
something."
     "I'm not gonna stick her with a pin!"
     "You are if you don't do it the right way.  How many
times do I have to tell you, Ranma?  These things are
important."
     "Oh, give me a break."
     Akane manipulated the diaper with remarkable dexterity.
"I want you to know, if she wasn't right here, you would be 
a stain on the floor right now."  I rolled my eyes and stepped
back to give her room.
     Akane was overprotective, that was what she was.  She
had a right way to do everything, and the wrong way would
inevitably lead to death and destruction.  It got so she
didn't want to leave me alone with the baby.
     Akane tapped lightly on the doorframe.  "Honey, we're 
going to go buy groceries now, okay?"
     I responded without looking away from the TV.  "You don't 
want to take her with you, do you?  She's in the middle of 
her nap."
     "She was.  She's already all dressed.  Besides, you
don't want her here.  You've got, you know, stuff to do."
She waved her hand at the table in front of me, which stood
bare on its cherry legs.
     I sighed.  "Don't be too long, okay?"
     It happened almost every time Akane went anywhere.  We
both knew what she was trying to do, but neither one of us
wanted to admit it.  It became an elaborate shell game; they
sounded like conversations but felt like fights.  It was
strange how quickly the pattern developed.  Within two weeks
of bringing Hatsue home, we were set in our ways.
     But most of the time, when everyone was home, it was
wonderful.  I learned when to make myself useful and when to
let her handle everything, and we struck a careful balance.
She got to be a mother, and I got to play with my daughter,
and Hatsue was well-loved.

     I thought I understood Akane.  I was wrong.  Early on a
weekday morning we sat at the breakfast table, drinking
juice and making good-natured attempts to eat what she had
prepared for us.  She looked tired, but not more so than
usual.  Then she set her glass on the table with impressive
force and started talking deep, like we hadn't in months.
     "Ranma, do you think Hatsue loves me?"
     I was surprised enough at the question that it took me
a few seconds to think what to say.  "Of course she does.
You're her mother."
     As with most questions of that sort, she already had an
answer.  "She doesn't."
     "What do you - why do you say that?"
     "She never does anything.  It's like, I do everything I
can for her and she never smiles and she's not happy with
me.  She's only happy with you.  I don't see why she can't
love me.  I love her so much, Ranma."
     "Look, calm down.  You're spouting."
     "I'm not!  I mean every word.  You didn't notice, but I
was up all night with her last night."  Actually, I had
noticed.  One of the few things Akane didn't mind letting me
take responsibility for was getting up in the middle of the
night to check on the baby.  That she had done it yesterday
had been a welcome relief.  "The whole time I was with her,
she didn't smile once.  I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
     "Maybe she was tired?"
     "Take me seriously!  It's more than that."  Akane took
a shuddering breath, and I could tell she was trying to
control herself.  "She was supposed to love me," she
mumbled, barely loud enough to hear.
     I held her then, but it wasn't enough to stop her from
crying.



     Kuno started sending Hatsue letters, one or two every
week.  I think he expected us to read them to her or
something.  Akane tried for a while, out of graciousness,
but it was no use.  Reading Kuno's writing was like walking
up an ice-coated hill:  difficult, filled with painful
missteps, and ultimately hopeless.  I don't think he could
have been more confusing if he had tried.  Besides, Hatsue
couldn't understand any of it.
     So we started placing Kuno's letters in a small cedar
box, after a while without even opening them.  It measured
ten inches by seven, every surface carved with slyly elegant
lines.  Clean and smooth, a flower slid from the base to the
head, ending in the slightest of buds.  Pregnant curves
swooped down the sides, over the smoothly banked edges.  The
pyramidal edges peaked softly, barely perceptible under the
design.  We chose it specially, because this was an
important thing.



     I was lecturing in the dojo when the phone rang, so I
bowed my apologies to my students and ran to answer.
"Hello?"
     "Ranma?"  It was my wife.
     "Akane?  Listen, I'm in the middle of class.  What's
going on?"
     She was meek, like she was scared.  "Ranma, I think
maybe you should come down to the market."
     "Why?  What's wrong?"
     Quieter still, and small.  "I think maybe I shouldn't
have brought her with me today."
     I swore, because we didn't have a car, and then took to
the rooftops.  Dashing up the open spaces, aching
wonderfully, I stretched my limits.  I was gasping when I
arrived, and I cursed again, because I had forgotten to ask
Akane where, exactly, to find her.  I had also neglected to
find out just what had happened, but she probably wouldn't
have wanted to tell me over the phone anyway.
     I looked around for her and called for her and then I
saw the ambulances.  And I pushed to the forefront and
shoved past the line of people, and there she was with my
baby and they were okay.  I swore without knowing why, but
it was because she had scared me.
     Akane was scared, too.
     "What happened?"  I said, after hustling her home and
putting Hatsue to bed.
     "There was an accident," she said, awkwardly, "and I
just barely got the stroller out of the way.  Some people
died.  She almost died, Ranma."  

     The next morning I woke up alone, and when I went
downstairs I found a piece of paper on the table.  The note
was done out in longhand.

     Ranma, she had written.

     I think we both know by now that I'm not a very good
mother.  I tried, but I think there are some things I was
not meant to do.  So I hope you won't think too badly of me
when I tell you that I'm leaving.
     I'm not happy, Ranma.  I haven't been happy for years.
All I wanted was to be a good wife for you, but you never
appreciated any of it.  Maybe I didn't, either.  I don't
know.  Then I wanted to be a mother, but Hatsue never loved
me.
     I have never done anything anybody cared about.  Maybe
if you cared about me I could have, but maybe not.
     I'm sorry, Ranma.  I'm confused, but I do know that all
I'm doing here is hurting people.  I'm hurting you and I'm
hurting her, and I never meant to do that.  But mostly I'm
hurting myself.  None of the things that I want are here,
except you and her and I know that neither one of you wants
me.
     Make sure Hatsue eats a good dinner, and don't ever
come looking for me.

     Until we meet again

     Akane

     I read it once, then twice, and then again, and again.
I threw it to the floor and lifted it up, crushed it in my
fist and carefully straightened it to study her words once
more.  How could she think that?  How could she possibly
believe what she had written?  It didn't make any sense,
none at all.  Why did she think that Hatsue didn't love her?
It was insanity, a cruel overreaction.
     Upstairs I could hear the baby giggling, maybe
spontaneously.  It was a strange contrast, between the
lightness of laughter and the weighty words upon the page.
Then there was a strange pause, and the laughter twisted
into wails.
      I realized then that Akane was really gone.  These
were the cries she had always responded to, the needs I had
never been responsible for. She had abandoned them,
abandoned us.  
     The worst thing there is is getting left by people.  It's
crushing and deafening and heartbreaking and there is nothing
left when it's over.  It is the purest form of rejection.  I 
was not used to being rejected. 
     She was gone, and Hatsue was calling for her mother.  I
splashed myself with cold water and tended to my daughter.


     The next day at dawn Akane came back, appearing at the
Dojo gate like the prodigal son.  I made her sit down and
talk to me.
     "I want to know what this means," I said, brandishing
the letter before me.  She motioned and I handed it to her.
"I don't know," she said.  "When we got married, right after 
we got married.  I wasn't expecting it."
     "What?  What are you talking about?"
     "Shut up, Ranma!" Her voice lashed out like a whip.
"This is bad enough without you talking at me."  I focused
my gaze on the letter in her hand.  "I thought when we got
married everything would be the same, except, you know, we
would be together.  But that didn't happen."
     "It didn't?"
     "Everyone left.  It was like being abandoned."
     I was getting impatient.  "So what is it you want now?
What can I do?"
     "I want you to let me live my own life!"
     She was blaming me.  She was blaming me, for her
unhappiness.  "I never stopped you from doing anything."
     "I never once felt like I was free."
     "Okay."  With effort, I got myself under control.  "Okay.
But what did you want?  When we first got married?  What 
were you looking for?"  Every question hurt her, and I could 
see that, even in the dark light of early morning.  But I had 
to know.  Even more, she had to know.
     "I wanted to be a good wife.  I wanted to, to make you
happy."
     "You did," I said.
     "But that wasn't enough," Akane said.  "It was never
enough."
     "I didn't make you stop there."
     "It could have been enough, if you had just told me, or
something.  There was supposed to be something more!"
     "Well, I'm sorry I'm not perfect enough for you!"
     "Damn it, Ranma!"  She shot up, and with apparent
struggle dragged herself back into her seat.  "You don't
know how hard I tried to live with you."
     "So now you're giving up?"
     "It's past that."  She seemed to gain confidence from
the statement.  "Way past that."
     "Well, what about her?"  I cast my gaze upstairs.
     "You know what I did to her."
     "No.  Look, Akane, I don't know what you were doing
leaving."
     "No. No.  I can't do this anymore, Ranma."  And she
left, again.  And this time she didn't come back for months.



     My daughter and I made a home, just the two of us.  
It was easy; I was listless most of the time and she was three 
months old.  "I used to be happy," I told Hatsue while trying to 
force apple juice down her throat.  "Back in High School."  I could 
tell she didn't believe me.  She was frowning in a significant way.
       Not that I blamed her.  How could I have known?  Who 
wonders if they're happy when they're just kids?
	It hurt to be angry at Akane, so mostly I just wasn't. It 
pained me to think about her, and I was always thinking about 
her.  My students asked after her, her things were scattered 
all around, her sisters felt obligated to come and apologize for 
her behavior.  The smell of her hung everywhere, in everything.  
In that at least I  was lucky.  I had ample tears to cleanse my 
sight and flood my senses.
       I didn't know how to make amends with a baby on my 
hip.  I could hardly chase after her, not without abandoning 
Hatsue.  I told myself.that  I had promised Kuno I would 
protect the baby,  but even then I knew that didn't really matter.    
	What Akane had done was incredible, because she left me 
for all the wrong reasons.  It wasn't because of anything I did, or 
anything I didn't do, though I would have said different at the  
time.  Akane spent all her days trying to make herself happy, and she 
failed utterly.  She tried to be a wife and she tried to be a mother, 
and I have never understood why.  She found the production of joy 
more difficult than she could have possibly imagined, and she 
couldn't let it go and she couldn't bear to lose control.  And I was 
happy during all those years, because I simply lived, and let myself 
be filled with lightness and hope.

The End


Epilogue

     I was sort of surprised that Hatsue recognized her.
     "Look at that," Akane said.  "She remembers me."
     "Yeah."  I took the baby out of Akane's arms and set
her down in her crib.
     "So, is she eating solid foods yet?"
     I gave Akane a strange look.  "No, not for another
month or so.  Tofu says since she doesn't drink a whole lot
of formula we should hold off till she's six months."
     "Oh."  She followed me as I grabbed the diaper bag and
headed downstairs.  "Laundry?"
     "I'll tell you, we should never have let Nabiki set us
against disposables."
     "Well, listen.  You want me to do that?"
     "What, the laundry?"
     She shrugged.  "Yeah, sure."
     "Look, you can't just waltz back in here!  It's been
months!  Months."
     "Come on.  I was just offering to do a chore."
     "I don't need your help."  I slammed the washer's lid
shut and jammed my thumb into the button for the spin cycle.
     "So, what?  Am I being rejected?"
     "Looks that way."  Her hand snaked its way to my arm; I
brushed it off immediately.
     "I want to be married again, Ranma."
     "We never got a divorce."
     "Really married.  Together.  I miss you."  I said
nothing.  In a rush, she continued.  "Can't we at least come
to an agreement?  Something?"
     I knew I should turn her away, that I couldn't trust
her.  But her eyes and her hair and her skin were so
perfect, so perfect, and I still loved her besides. Women
are evil.
     "Two conditions."  And she needed me, that was the
other thing.
     "What?"
     If I had been smart, I would have forced her to get a
job.  "First, you let me take care of Hatsue, except when I
tell you."
     "But - "
     "No buts.  Second, you believe me when I tell you I
love you."
     That made her smile, and she made to hug me, and I let
her.
     I couldn't believe I had allowed her back into my life,
just like that.  But I guess I had my reasons, and I'm happy
I did.  She was my gladness and my joy, and no matter what
she did, when she was near sorrow and mourning fled my
sight.


Thomas Schmidt
Tschmidt@trader.com