by John Boyne
This stopped him for a moment. There is probably nothing more disconcerting than someone speaking fluently in a language in order to explain that they cannot actually speak that language. The pause was a calm before the storm, however, for within a few seconds he was screaming at me again and waving towards the door, obviously ejecting me. It was a good job I had said that I was a teacher, I thought, and not a student as this was a good way for the Korakuen School to lose business. But I was unwilling to argue with him and turned to go, irritated and shaking my head at his rudeness and would have left at that moment had another employee of the school not appeared from a door beside the young man’s desk. He stopped in mid-flow when he saw her and looked a little shamefaced for he appeared quite ridiculous, hovering above his seat like that and screaming at an innocent stranger. His colleague – a young woman of around twenty-three – asked him a quick question and he answered her immediately, his tone suggesting defensiveness. I couldn’t understand their dialogue but whatever she said in response then was expressed aggressively towards him and he opened and shut his mouth quickly, not knowing how to respond to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, stepping out from behind the desk and walking towards me, her hand outstretched. Her English was perfect and her accent lent each word a precise definition. ‘Our receptionist is sick this week and we are having to cope with this stupid temp.’ She turned and looked at him, shouting something indecipherable – he was staring at us both with a look of contempt – before turning back to me and smiling. ‘I don’t think he is all there,’ she said conspiratorially. ‘He hasn’t bathed in a week and I caught him chasing butterflies earlier.’ I nodded slowly, unsure whether this was a local idiom or whether she meant it literally; I couldn’t help but laugh and, once I did, she gave a small giggle too and covered her hand with her mouth. Before she did I could not help but notice the even white teeth within, each one perfectly straight, and hoped she’d smile again soon. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said eventually. ‘How can I help you?’
‘You don’t mind if we speak English?’ I asked.
‘Not at all. I like to speak English here. It’s what we’re here for.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Because I’m afraid if we spoke Japanese you’d never understand me and I’d sure as hell never understand you. I might be only asking you for directions to the nearest train station and instead end up saying that we should get a divorce. I think I might have used the wrong words with your friend over there. Maybe I offended him.’
‘Well we’ll never know,’ she said quickly, as if the whole incident mattered not a jot to her. ‘And anyway, I think we should try to work things out first, rather than get divorced, don’t you? Think of the children. They should be our first priority.’
I stared at her in surprise for a moment before laughing and shaking my head. I shrugged. I wanted desperately to think of a witty rejoinder but found myself momentarily lost for words. Luckily, she picked up my slack by speaking again. ‘Would you like to come into my office to talk? I think we’re being watched,’ she added quietly, nodding towards the temp. I agreed and she led the way into a small room with a desk and computer and two grey filing cabinets. It was quite bare but a few potted plants dotted around gave it a pleasant feel. I sat down opposite her and she stared at me, her face the most open expression of interest and sincerity I had encountered since I had arrived in Japan. It’s a clichéd thing to say but the fact is that I felt warm inside when I looked at her and I felt like we knew each other well, or would do soon. I felt there was no need for small talk as we would have so much to say to each other.
‘Right,’ I began after a few moments, realising it was necessary for me to say something or we would simply sit there staring at each other for hours. ‘First off, my name’s William Cody,’ I said.
‘I am Hitomi Naoyuki,’ she said formally, giving a brisk nod.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Ms Naoyuki,’ I said, slipping my tongue around the vowel sounds.
‘You’re an American?’ she asked.
‘English,’ I responded, shaking my head. ‘London. South London. Clapham, actually.’ I wondered whether I should give her the street and the house number too but decided against. ‘You probably don’t know Clapham,’ I said and she gave an almost imperceptible shrug which I took to be a no. That’s okay,’ I said. ‘It’s not very famous. It’s just a small, eh … just a small … well I guess it’s a town. There’s a train station there. A junction … it connects … places.’ I was making no sense and knew it. I blushed and looked away.
‘I’m from Shizuoka,’ she said, sensing my discomfort. ‘We also have trains. Don’t think you’re so special, all right?’ I looked up at her and her face was deadly serious but when she saw the look of dismay I had adopted, she burst into laughter and once again covered her mouth with her hands. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Cody,’ she said after a moment. ‘You just look so serious, that’s all. I’m just teasing you. Forgive me.’
I gave a quick laugh. ‘Right,’ I said, frowning and wondering how I could regain either my self-control or perhaps a shred of dignity.
‘How can I help you anyway?’ she said. ‘I assume you didn’t come here just to argue with my temporary receptionist.’
‘No,’ I admitted. That wasn’t top of my list for the day. I’m … well I’m looking for a job, to be honest.’
‘As a receptionist?’ she asked and I shook my head.
‘No, no,’ I said quickly. ‘Not as a receptionist. As a teacher. Teaching English.’
‘I see,’ she replied, pulling out a form from a drawer of her desk. ‘You are trained, I presume?’
‘Well I did a TEFL course,’ I said, a white lie as I had indeed done one but it had only lasted for a weekend and I’d spent most of it reading a book at the back of the class as the teacher discussed participles and subjunctives. ‘And I’ve done some teaching before.’ Again, a small lie; I had helped a friend’s brother with grinds in history and literature.
‘We are always looking for qualified teachers,’ said Hitomi, brushing her long dark hair away from her face with her fingers. I stared at it; I had never seen such fine hair. She sensed me staring and I blushed again, diverting my attention to the walls and a photograph on her desk of an elderly couple standing on either side of her.
‘Your mother and father?’ I asked, nodding at the picture. She hesitated before answering.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Which is which?’ I said without thinking, meant as a joke but immediately unfunny. My stomach churned in horror and she frowned and squinted at me as if she was trying to decipher my meaning before returning to her form.
‘You are available on a full-time basis?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ I said. To be honest with you, Ms Naoyuki, I—’
‘Hitomi,’ she said quickly. ‘Please call me Hitomi.’
‘Hitomi then.’
‘And you are called Bill, I suppose?’
I shook my head. ‘Just William,’ I said and then gave a quick laugh. ‘Just William,’ I repeated, winking at her like an insane man. She didn’t get the reference and I sighed deeply; this was not going how it should. I smiled at her and shrugged. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling a little … light-headed, I think, today.’
‘Perhaps you are still getting used to Japan,’ she offered, helping me out.
‘Yes. Well I’ve been here four months now,’ I added. ‘So it shouldn’t really be that. I just … I had a late night. Couldn’t sleep very well. Things on my mind. Money troubles.’ I was giving too much away and knew it but somehow I seemed incapable of stringing a sensible sentence together while she was present.
‘Perhaps, Just William,’ she said, leaning forward, ‘you would like a glass of water? I could get the bailiff to bring you one.’
‘The bailiff?’
‘Sorry. I like crime movies and Court TV. They always offer to send the bailiff for water if someone seems stressed. Listen to me,’ she add
ed, looking away and talking to the wall. ‘I sound like a crazy woman.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, reaching up and brushing my hair away from my eyes. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. Where were we anyway?’
‘I was asking if you could work full-time?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Well I could, I suppose, but I’d rather not. I’m hoping to—’
‘That’s all right. We need part-time teachers too. Flexible people.’
‘Oh I’m flexible all right, I agreed, nodding quickly. I’m a very flexible person.’ I was going to add something about my middle name but decided against it. ‘I just need a part-time job to support myself while I’m here, that’s all.’
‘And how long will you actually be here?’ She stared at me and I wasn’t sure but I hoped that she was asking this because she wanted my answer to be the right one.
‘For the foreseeable future,’ I said. Hitomi smiled.
‘Let me tell you what we have on offer,’ she said.
Later that evening, we were in a bar in Pontocho together at a small table, a lit candle flickering between us, leaning forward towards the flame, ostensibly to hear each other better even though the acoustics were fine and we could make out every word. The formalities of the job interview out of the way, Hitomi had asked me whether I knew anyone in Kyoto and I had admitted that I didn’t and, after a slightly embarrassed pause, she asked whether I would like to meet her later in the evening for a drink. I agreed immediately, and for the first time I did not allow my eagerness to embarrass myself, simply nodding and arranging a time and place. There was a new bar which had just opened, she said, that she wanted to try out. A friend of hers had been there recently and recommended it. Agreeing that I might end up somewhere north of Melbourne if I tried to locate it myself, I told her I would meet her back at her office later that evening and we would go there together.
In the meantime, I went back to my hostel and had a close shave, before taking a long, hot shower and dousing myself in deodorants. The sticky nightlife of Tokyo had always made me perspire and I imagined that the youthful areas of Kyoto would be no different. I changed in and out of T-shirts several times, like a teenager going on his first date, and by five o’clock, two hours before we were due to meet, I was dressed and ready and sitting on the edge of my bed, watching the clock tick away noisily, tapping a foot on the ground as I waited for the time to pass. Afraid of breaking into a sweat while I waited, I took off my shirt and hung it carefully on a hanger outside the wardrobe and sat, bare-chested by the window, attempting to read a book to pass the time. I could barely focus on the pages. Eventually, however, the time came to leave and I took a taxi to the Korakuen School, afraid that after all that I would make a mistake and lose out on my chance to see Hitomi again.
Although she had been in work all day, she had also found an opportunity to change and appeared in the doorway in a simple outfit, stonewashed blue jeans and a white T-shirt, which accentuated the honeyed toning of her skin. She wore a simple chain around her neck and only a small amount of make-up. She took my arm as we made our way through the streets, guiding me through the crowds expertly.
‘A girlfriend of mine was here two nights ago,’ she said as we spoke to each other in the candlelight. ‘Over the course of the evening, fourteen different men approached her and asked her whether she was on her own. And she was with her boyfriend at the time. They waited until he went to the toilet apparently.’
‘He must have had a weak bladder,’ I said.
‘He didn’t go fourteen times, William,’ she said, tapping my bare forearm with a sense of familiarity that I liked, the tip of her finger rubbing across the hairs there for a moment before she took it away; already we were establishing roles and personas for ourselves, for whatever our relationship was to become. ‘What do you think? He would go to the bathroom and one man would approach her and she would dismiss him, then another and she would say no, are you crazy? Then another and she would say look, here is my six-foot-tall boyfriend returning to me. How I love him, how special he makes me feel!’ she added with a sigh before looking at me and poking her index finger into her mouth and making a gagging sound. ‘She is a crazy romantic,’ she explained. ‘She talks about this man like he is the bee’s whiskers and the cat’s knees.’
I laughed but didn’t correct her; obviously she wasn’t entirely word perfect. ‘I suppose she’s in love with him,’ I suggested, enjoying the idea of sparking off her a little, particularly in a conversation which revolved around romance;
‘I suppose she is,’ she admitted. ‘But he’s a lousy man. Lousy. He made moves on me too only a few weeks ago so …’ She shrugged and looked away for a moment. ‘And what about you, Just William Cody?’ she asked. ‘Where is your love? Don’t you have one?’
I smiled. ‘I’m all alone,’ I said. ‘A stranger in a strange land.’
‘That can be hard. I went to New Zealand once. Have you been there?’ I shook my head. ‘I went there after I first learned to speak English. I wanted to try it out and it seemed like a convenient place to go. It was not good though. I was not good enough and found it difficult to make sense, especially when people spoke quickly at me.’
‘To me,’ I said.
‘Yes, that’s it. To me. Anyway, most people were not helpful. They didn’t want to waste their time talking to me. Maybe that’s what you’re going through too.’
‘You took pity on me?’ I asked and she looked back at me, a small smile appearing. She paused before answering and when she did she spoke quietly.
‘I didn’t take pity on you,’ she said defiantly. ‘Not at all.’
‘But you came out with me.’
‘You agreed to come,’ she pointed out and I laughed. ‘Maybe we took pity on each other,’ she suggested.
‘Maybe we just like each other,’ I said quickly, holding her gaze for a moment before turning away, knowing that after a line like that, one should change the conversation immediately, leave it hanging and turn elsewhere. ‘Your family,’ I said therefore. ‘Do they live in Kyoto too?’
She smiled, possibly aware of what I had done. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘There are four of us. My parents, my brother Tajima and I. Tak is nineteen. He is to be an architect. He likes Japan. He doesn’t want to leave. He says that now, but maybe in a few years he will feel differently. I do.’
‘You want to leave?’
‘Someday soon I think, yes. I’ve lived here for twenty-three years, all my life. I want to try life elsewhere. Europe maybe,’ she conceded. ‘More likely America. I think I would like to live in America. New York. Empire State Building,’ she added. ‘Madison Square Gardens.’ She’d obviously been reading the travel books. We ordered two more shochus, a local drink which tasted a little like vodka but was served in highball glasses with a lemon mixture added in. It didn’t taste very alcoholic but Hitomi had assured me that it packed a punch and I could already feel it beginning to loosen me up. ‘Maybe some day,’ she said with a smile.
‘I’m part American,’ I said eventually.
‘You’re what?’ she asked, not understanding my phrasing.
‘I’m part American,’ I explained. ‘Only a small part.’
‘Which part?’ she asked with a smile.
‘A very small part,’ I said. ‘My great-grandfather was American. Makes me about one-sixteenth American too.’
‘Really?’ she said, interested now. ‘Your great-grandfather …’ She thought about it. ‘That would be your grandfather’s grandfather, is it?’
I shook my head. ‘My father’s grandfather. My father’s name is Isaac. His father was Sam Cody and he was born in England, but his father was an American. From Iowa originally. Born in a log cabin in 1846, or so I’m told.’
‘That’s good,’ said Hitomi, nodding appreciatively. ‘And what did he do in America, your great-grandfather?’
‘What didn’t he do?’ I asked, laughing. ‘He lived, shall we say, a varied life. He started off as a bullwhacker �
�� that was a kind of teamster, leading wagon trails across America—’
‘Wagon trails!’ she exclaimed, her eyes opening wider, a feast of western movies probably beginning to play across her imagination.
‘Then he did a little prospecting for gold before joining the army. He was a union jayhawker, fought against the confederate bushwhackers and even met up with General—’
‘You said he was a … what was it … bushwhacker?’
‘Two different things,’ I explained. ‘They just sound the same. The bullwhackers were the teamsters, that’s what he did. The bushwhackers were the confederate armies. He fought against them.’
‘Oh,’ she said, looking confused.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘His life was one long drama, that’s all that matters.’
‘But your own grandfather,’ she asked. ‘You said he was English.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
She shrugged. ‘So how did this happen, if his own father was an American?’
‘It’s a long story,’ I said, unwilling to get caught up in it all. ‘I’ll tell you another time. You need to speak to Isaac. My father. He’s the one who knows all the stories, the family history. He keeps it all up here.’ I tapped my temple. ‘I tell him he should write it down before it’s too late but he doesn’t want to. Doesn’t have the patience, I don’t think. He just likes to tell people about them. Likes an audience. Bores them with this stuff, I guess. I don’t like to go on about it really.’
‘But it’s good, William,’ she protested. ‘To know who your family are, where you came from. It’s important. Don’t you feel that?’
I shrugged. I was making the mistake of trying to decide what she wanted me to say, rather than telling her what I actually felt, and she could sense this. ‘Don’t tell me if it makes you uncomfortable,’ she said, a touch of irritability creeping into her voice and I shook my head quickly, reaching forward without fear and taking her hand in mine, grasping the fingers of her left hand with the fingers of my right and stroking them carefully.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t make me uncomfortable at all. You’re right, it is important in its way, but it’s also something that I can’t just tell you in one evening. You must understand that my great-grandfather is probably the most significant figure in my life, definitely the most significant in my father’s. He’s between us, you see.’ I shuddered and looked into her eyes as I tried to explain and for the first time that evening I barely saw her. ‘You talk about history, family history,’ I continued. ‘That’s all my father talks about. It’s what he is. A history book dressed as a man impersonating a father. He’s spent the last twenty years telling me every story about that man’s life and I’ve enjoyed them, believe me, I’ve enjoyed every one, they intrigue me, but that’s all I am to him, you see. An audience. He makes himself feel important by telling me who his grandfather was and makes me feel insignificant by not caring who his son is. That’s why I can’t go into it all right now. It’s very personal, you see. I’m here to escape that for a while. Can you understand that?’
