Night Train
M ultistoried floats danced through the thronged streets like junks sailing through rough night seas, masts emblazoned with lights. Like burning box kites anchored to the earth with Lilliputian mooring lines, threatening at any moment to break free and fly into the dark sky. Gangs of sweating bearers, wearing short happi coats decorated with the crests of their merchant sponsors, surged to and fro calling out guttural encouragements to their companions.
Yoisho! Korasho! Yoi korasho!
Yoisho! Korasho! Yoi korasho!
Red, green, blue, and gold streamers rippled from the telephone poles.
Leafy bamboo branches arched over the streets. From the green stems hung thousands of tanzaku, folded strips of colored paper inscribed with a wish or poem. In her dream, Elly reached up and added her own to an overhanging branch. What did I write? She smiled at Connor. He wore a gray yukata. She had on a bright summer kimono, too colorful for a married woman, but she was young and in love.
They continued ahead of the procession to the river. The water’s surface was alight with Chinese lanterns, bobbing in the currents on their little rafts. The taiko drums pounded like distant thunder. Flutes and fifes trilled, calling to the magpies. The sky above was clear and shot through with stars. Everyone knew the lovers would meet this night.
The parade reached the river and spilled out along the levee, the bearers mixing among the barkers and carnies. Cheers arose as the first rocket rose on its comet’s tail, rising to meet Vega and Altair high above, and exploding in the night sky.
She leaned against him and gazed up at the sparkling bouquets, wanting the night to go on forever, Orihime to never leave her lover again.
They rode the train back to Kudoyama. She recalled the Sada Masashi song about a girl leaving home to get married against her father’s wishes. As the night train takes her farther and farther away, the girl counts the passing stations, numbering every fear, concern, and second thought that crosses her mind.
Elly’s present distress was not shared by her future self, who snuggled against the shoulder of this dark-haired, blue-eyed gaijin. What did you do? she wanted to ask. This dream, for all its magic, seemed more real than the others. How did you cross the bridge?
At Kudoyama station, a taxi zipped around to collect them at the curb. The walk was no more than a kilometer, but too far in kimono and geta. The driver dropped them off at the front gate, bid them a good evening, and careened back down the hill.
Inside they followed their familiar routines, throwing open the windows to let in the cool mountain air and taking out the futons. But first she had to get out of the kimono. His expression broke into a grin. She must have made some indelicate quip about how getting out of a kimono wasn’t something you did by yourself. He began to untie her obi. She twisted around and kissed him impatiently, impertinently.
She’s teasing me, Elly thought, a tad annoyed.
Returning to the bedroom after a soak in the o-furo, she extinguished the light. He was standing at the window. She wrapped her arms around his waist. He hugged her closer. The valley glowed with starlight. A bottle rocket flew low over the canopy and popped like a faraway flashbulb.
The throbbing drone of the cicadas filled the night. He smoothed away her bangs and kissed her forehead. The stinging in her eyes—the look of concern on his face—told her she was crying. She was not sad but overcome. The emotions were nestled deeply inside her, connected to every part of her being, and yet she could not understand them.
She raised her mouth to his, tasted him, his cheeks as a bed of spices, his lips like lilies, the roof of his mouth like the best wine. He lowered her to the futon. She welcomed the cool breath of night air on her skin, the warm caress of his hands across her body.
She pressed against him, wanting to feel his weight, wanting to be as close to him as physically possible. His left hand under my head and his right hand embracing me. She smiled at him. I sleep, but my heart waketh. It is the voice of my beloved saying, Open to me my love, my dove, my undefiled.
A soft kiss, and they glided back to earth. The gentle breeze cooled her skin. The tears dried on her cheeks. She rested her head on his chest. Yet in the falling afterglow Elly felt him waver, she felt his fear, felt the magical world grow distant and dim and uncertain.
I opened to my beloved, but my beloved had withdrawn. I sought him, but I could not find him. I called him, but he gave me no answer.
She whispered to herself, No.
In that flickering, transparent moment, as Connor pulled himself out of unconsciousness, he hesitated. He wanted her to take hold of him and make him stay. But she would not make him. Don’t let go, he told himself. Yet he knew that this other self lived in a world more real than the one he now occupied alone. So he let go and fell back through the darkness.
He hit the ground hard and stared up from the depths of the abyss. All at once he no longer saw darkness, but welcome light. A vision of intimacy and beauty ravaging safe solitude in ways he could not have believed. The light descended and she was with him. She said nothing and she did not leave. He lay back on the bed, unconsciously shifting to one side, as if she truly slept there beside him.
And when he closed his eyes she was there, the girl on the Nakamozu Nankai. Then and all through the night.
Chapter 17
Fast Sunday
Elly awoke. The dream vanished and she was alone. The curtains glowed with the gray light of dawn. She threw back the comforter. The chill valley air nipped at her arms and legs. Every time she closed her eyes, remnants of the night just ended filled her with unsated desire. She found her glasses and pulled on her yukata and padded down the stairs to the living room. Curling up on the couch, she gazed through the window at the brightening watercolor sky over Y Mountain.
Did I know it would be like this? Elly laughed to herself. She’d prayed for him to stay. You leave me, that had been her accusation. What had she expected when he stayed? She felt a tear on her cheek, caught it on the tip of her forefinger, and examined the glistening bead in amazement. I’ve got to stop doing this. She didn’t want to become some morose, weepy woman.
“ Ohayo,” came Melanie’s sleepy voice. “What are you doing up?” “Watching the sunrise.”
“You watching the sunrise? Since when?” Melanie drew closer. “Elly!”
She leaned forward and pulled off Elly’s glasses. “You’ve been crying.” “I’m okay.” Elly grabbed her glasses back.
A closer examination followed. “You do look—well, you look happy.” “I am happy.”
Melanie plopped into the armchair. “All right, girl, out with it.” Elly shook her head.
“Elly.”
She bounced to her feet. “Is there a BYU directory around here?” “In the drawer next to the sink. Why?” Melanie followed her into the
kitchen and peered over her shoulder as Elly flipped through the dogeared pages. “Okay, you’re looking for somebody whose last name begins with M.”
Elly danced away from her. McKenzie, Connor C. 1131 Cherry Avenue. Her eyes widened. That was right across the park.
“Ah! You had somebody waiting for you and you never told me! The Eleventh Commandment, Elly: Thou shalt not withhold the juicy details of a personal relationship from thy roommate.”
“It’s not like that at all.”
“Right. You are so not the teary type, Elaine Packard.”
Elly pouted. “I’m allowed now and then.”
“Well—”
“In time, Mel. I’ll explain everything in time.”
“Promise?”
“Um, well, not everything.”
Melanie growled. Elly ran upstairs to shower and change and get ready for church.
“You know,” Melanie said, as they walked across the law school parking lot, “that we’re expected for family home evening dinner after church? Allan and Roy and Quinn? Two condos over? No need to ask for directions?”
“Oh. Aren’t Jessica and Sha
ron next door going to be there too?” “Nice try. Was that, ‘Oh,’ as in, ‘Oh, I just remembered,’ or ‘Oh,’ as in, ‘Oh, I’ve got to come up with an excuse real fast why I can’t come’?” “I’ve got things to do and people to see.”
“The mysterious Mr. M. He can’t wait?”
“I thought you liked Allan and Roy and Quinn. With me not there, it’s
three-on-three.”
“I’m thinking of little unsociable you, my dear.” Elly shook her head. Having set forth on this course of action she had to reach the end as quickly as possible. Attending church was an excruciating enough delay. “One-thirty, right? If I’m back by two I’ll come right over. If not—”
“Something tells me I won’t be expecting you.” Elly left as soon as fast and testimony meeting had concluded. Back at the condo, she stood in front of the dresser mirror. Melanie said her blue dress brought out the auburn in her hair. She blotted her lips against a square of Kleenex. She was operating on a lot of assumptions. First, that he lived there. Second, that he’d be there. Third, that he wouldn’t mind her barging in.
He probably wouldn’t even notice what she wore.
Her heart pounded. Elly wrung her hands together, let her arms fall to her sides. There, okay, don’t overdo it. She went downstairs, paused for a mental checklist, closed and locked the door behind her.
I will rise now and go about the city in the streets, and in the broad ways I will seek him whom my soul loveth.
The narrow sidewalk between the condos and the Wasatch Elementary parking lot ended behind the backstop of the baseball diamond. It was going to be another one of those hot August afternoons. But the park was empty. Even the tennis courts were unoccupied. A lone SUV sat next to the covered picnic pavilion next to the parking lot.
She crossed Birch Lane and climbed Apple. Y Mountain loomed high above, a monument of ragged khaki and conifer green that all but closed out the sky. When she came to Cherry Avenue, she paused and looked back. The park below, the arboreal borders of the campus beyond, the far horizon topped by the ridgeline of the mountains west of Utah Lake, a clean blue sky above. Blue was her color today.
The avenue dead-ended at a chapel parking lot. She turned left and checked again. The second house on the west side of the street was 1131, a white brick cottage with dark green shutters.
“Brooks,” the mailbox said. Many families in the Tree Streets rented basement apartments to BYU students. “Okay,” Elly said. She summoned the last few ounces of her resolve, took a deep breath, rang the doorbell, and stepped back.
The bing-bong chimed through an open window, followed by the sound of footsteps. The door opened. An older woman stood there, a curious expression in her sharp blue eyes. She was white-haired and spry of build. A dishcloth was flung over her left shoulder.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’m—um—” Elly stammered. Another breath. “Is Connor home? I mean, does he live here?”
The woman answered with an expression of undisguised delight. “He’s still at church. Why don’t you come in?” She unlatched the screen door.
It was blessedly cool inside the house. The woman explained, “He’s the finance clerk in his student ward. He should be back soon enough. You’re welcome to wait.”
They were standing in the living room. Elly nodded her head.
“I’m Wanda Brooks. Connor’s aunt.”
“Elly—Elaine Packard.”
“Will you be staying for dinner?” Wanda headed back to the kitchen.
Elly had no choice but to follow her. “If it’s—”
“Of course it’s not too much trouble. We have too few guests for dinner these days. I hope you’re agreeable to meatloaf, Elly.”
“Meatloaf’s fine.” The smell from the oven made her mouth water.
“Now, Elly, not to presume upon stereotypes, but perhaps you could prepare the rice? Connor usually takes care of it.” She took three plates from the cupboard over the sink and started to set the table.
Elly found the rice cooker next to the toaster and a ten-pound bag of Calrose Botan behind the breadbox. “How much should I make?”
“Two cups.”
“That’s an awful lot for two—three people.”
“Connor saves the leftovers for lunch.”
“Ah.” She measured two cups of rice into the pan, took it to the sink and rinsed the rice thoroughly. Japanese rice had not been milled with talc for years, but rinsing remained an ingrained practice. She lowered the pan into the cooker, replaced the lid and pressed the switch.
Wanda pulled out a chair and motioned for Elly to join her at the table. “Now, your name has a familiar ring. My late husband Walter Brooks—he taught accounting—knew a young man named John Packard. Lectured on international relations in the MBA program. Worked for General Electric, as I recall.”
“Yes!” Elly exclaimed. “That’s my dad.”
“And we would’ve thought each other complete strangers not half an hour ago. I met your mother a time or two at the odd department soiree. Smart as a tack, was my impression.”
“As a tack, she is.”
Wanda got up from the table. “I see you’ve inherited her good looks and something of your father’s height to boot.”
Elly opened her mouth to protest the compliment and blushed instead. Wanda retrieved a salad bowl from the refrigerator and popped the lid. “It doesn’t look too wilted.” She paused. “Didn’t a Packard get called recently as a Seventy?”
“My grandfather.”
“How about that.” Wanda put the salad bowl and a bottle of Italian on the counter island. She flipped the faucet to the left-hand sink and began filling a water pitcher. “Though I’m afraid you’ve put our pedigree at a bit of a disadvantage.”
A door opened and closed somewhere else in the house.
The rice cooker clicked off. Wanda said, “I never can remember— should we do something about that?”
“No, it’s best to let it steam.”
Elly carried the salad bowl and the dressing to the table. Wanda set the pitcher on the counter. “The McKenzies, I’m afraid, are best known for their several black sheep. But to speak well on my nephew’s behalf, his mother’s father, Hugh Pedersen, chaired the chemistry department for many years.”
Footsteps on the stairs.
“He came to the Y from Southern Utah State.” Wanda looked up and said, “There you are, Connor.”
Elly turned and there indeed he was, looking stunned. She didn’t have the slightest idea what to say. They stood, rooted, for some indefinite period of time. And then she did the only thing she could think of doing— she put her arms around him, closed her eyes, and breathed in his familiar scent, because so many things about him were now so familiar to her.
Their hold on each other at last relaxed and she looked up at him. He kissed her forehead, the way he had the night before in the piercing, aching beauty of that wonderful dream. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Tears filled her eyes. The only thing she could do was hug him again. By the time they’d parted, Wanda had changed out of her dress into a pair of slacks and a cotton blouse.
“Looks like the meatloaf will be done in another ten minutes,” she said, as if this sort of thing went on in her kitchen all the time.
Connor said grace and the food was passed around the table. Elly took a bite of the meatloaf. “This is quite good,” she said.
“Thank you, Elly. Though it’s a recipe very difficult to get wrong.” She said, addressing both of them, “A more important question: how do you two know each other?”
Connor said, “We met in Japan. Briefly.”
“Yes, briefly.” A smile flashed between them.
“As it turns out, I was working for Elly’s uncle.”
“And Connor was one of my other uncle’s students last year. Professor Oh—he teaches in the Asian languages department.”
“Good heavens, you’re connected right and left. You see, Connor, Elly an
d I were talking before, and wouldn’t you know, Walter knew her father.” To Elly: “Where is he now? I forgot to ask.”
“He’s the mission president in Kobe.”
“More and more impressive. Not that the McKenzies were ever anything less than respectable middle-class artisans, mind you. But they always lacked the necessary manners to rise in society.”
Connor said to Elly, “Aunt Wanda missed her calling as an anthropologist. Margaret Mead McKenzie, Uncle Martin used to call her.”
“The high school librarian’s eye is an observant one.” She addressed Elly, “One thing you should know about McKenzie men, my dear. They may seem fickle as tomcats when it comes to human relationships, but only because they have such binary minds. Every decision is viewed as an all-or-nothing proposition. Half a commitment is worse than none, so none wins. The lukewarm is spewed out!” She emphasized the next point with her fork: “But once they decide on a thing, you can’t fault them for their loyalty.”
“Aunt Wanda makes us sound like a breed of dog.”
“With a little training they fetch and carry quite nicely.”
Elly had to laugh. Though the conversation bordered on the uncomfortably personal, judging from Connor’s reaction, it seemed a familiar facet of the old woman’s character. And yet so divergent from his own. In this family, Oh-ness must be carried exclusively on the X chromosome.
Chapter 18
Vitae
T hey cleared the table. Wanda apologized for the lack of dessert. “Connor hasn’t much of a sweet tooth, so I’ve gotten out of the habit.” Another idiosyncrasy to note and file away.
Connor said, “I blame it on a bad ahn experience.”
Elly laughed. Wanda asked what ahn was. Connor said, “Think refried beans with a chocolate bar thrown in.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Do you like it?”
“Well—”
“And it’s worse when some ward member offers you what looks for all the world like a chocolate Fudgesicle and you bite down and—well, my palate has never recovered from the trauma.”
The Path Of Dreams Page 9
