I was in the middle of the room, engaged in some unusual clarity of thought, when a slight rattling of the frosted glass on the door drew me. Someone was in our garden. I had no weapon in the house, though what I felt was not very close to fear. There were two figures there. I could see the shadows cast by them and I felt, surely, that they were unaware of me. Burglars were not a problem in Japan; most probably they were drunks, lost on their way home.
I stood closer to the garden door and listened, but they were noiseless. Could it merely be the mindless movements of our fig tree, its flat hands waving in the wind?
The doors to our garden were secured only by a screw, and as I began to turn it I made no effort to be quiet. They would hear me and run into the street, I thought, and I would see them just as they turned the far corner. But though I made noise they wouldn’t move. I could have called out, but instead, when the screw was loose, I took the doors in my hands and slid them quickly away from me. There was a bitter cold wind in the garden, the new snow dancing in the air upon it, but the figures paid no attention. Nor were they at all mindful of the noise that I made. They merely stayed where they were, under the fig tree yet slightly over toward the pond.
It was not fear that I felt but a kind of humorous disbelief. The sensei and Milo were in the garden, my son upon a high stool, the sensei carefully giving him a haircut. Milo’s long hair fell onto the snowy ground at the foot of the tree, but though I signaled to them, was about to ask them to tell me how the trick was done, they paid me no attention at all. Milo showed no remorse at the loss of his hair but rather was very serious, very high-minded and resigned. I made a move to step closer but the sensei held a hand up to stop me. And it was then that I began to feel a little odd. Milo’s hair fell too slowly, each clump of it landing, mortally wounded, upon a bed of dead hair, enough to have come from a hundred such heads.
I did not stand there long, perhaps a minute, but during that time I was transported way back to a time before the war. I felt the breath that I took to be easier, felt the weight of my body less trying on its systems. And I soon saw that perhaps it was not my son and the tea teacher there in the moonlight, but Jimmy and his wife’s old grandfather. The house behind me felt calm and assured, the two figures in the garden confident. When the old man finished he found a hand mirror and held it up to Jimmy so that my friend could admire a job well done. And when Jimmy stood and brushed the remaining hair from his clothing they both turned and beckoned toward me. It was my turn, they were saying, come, sit upon the stool in the garden, let them trim my hair away for war.
These were solid figures that I saw, not wisps, not the fog of my imagination. And when I made no move to go nearer they showed some signs of impatience. The younger put his hands on his hips and the elder began tapping his foot on the soft garden ground. Oddly, though, I could hear the tapping just as though it came from the hard metal tip of a dancer’s cane. Its rhythm, its marking time, echoed throughout the entire garden, clicked across the fence and down the streets of the neighborhood. Jimmy, who heard the tapping too, took his hands from his hips and began brushing the remaining bits of hair from his clothes. Then he held out his hand, but not to me. He was looking into the darkness near the fig tree where, for the first time, I noticed yet another figure leaning. When he reached out, this figure, that of a young girl, separated itself from the massive trunk of the tree and walked toward him. This figure was all dressed in the darker shades of winter. But she was not Kazuko, not Milo’s mother, not Jimmy’s wife, and I noticed that the fine bone structure of her face was more like that of the Filipino girl, the one I had met near the jungle years before.
After the girl reached Jimmy I closed the doors on them and quickly turned my eyes back into the common darkness of the room. Apparitions, ghosts, were not to be a part of whatever remedy was in store for me. Mine was to be a controlled return to normalcy, something orderly. As my eyes grew used to the darkness once again I realized that, after all, I had truly not been frightened by what I saw. My house was still my house and the fixtures of this favorite room were still solidly where they belonged. As with Scrooge it could have been something that I ate, a piece of cheese, a bit of underdone potato. I turned in the room, without looking back, and stepped toward the stairs. I was sleepy then and somehow I knew that my little garden party would not venture inside a house where I had sleeping adults whom I could summon, if need be, to calm my imagination or scold these unwelcome visitors and send them on their way.
As I paused before each bedroom door I could hear the sounds I listened for, a throat cleared, a heavy breath, a body turning against the noisy sheets. I was calm again, not startled, and the ache in my muscles had begun to subside. Still, as I walked the remaining distance to my bedroom door I could hear, and stepped precisely to, the impatient rhythm of the old man’s cane.
I SLEPT WITHOUT DREAMS AND UNTIL THE SUN WAS HIGH enough to nudge me back to consciousness with its bright winter light. There’s nothing like the vision of dead comrades to destroy the will of the insomniac, to chase him into deep and genuine slumber. But I could not afford, once I had decided upon action, to sit and wonder at the presence of ghosts. I was feeling fine. There was work to be done, a show to organize, the random wills of others to mold to my own. Perhaps these dead friends knew what I was up to, perhaps their presence in the garden was a way of applauding my decision, on a moderate scale, to go to war once again.
I hadn’t worried much about Ike’s previous evening’s posturing until I went downstairs late the next morning to find him gone. I didn’t know what effect Ike’s visiting Major Nakamura might have on my plan, but when I heard the sound of Milo’s car returning I began to feel a little anxious. “Ah,” I told myself, “he has probably failed.” But when my brother-in-law entered the house I saw, in his heavy eyes, not so much the look of failure as that of defeat. I would have spoken to him but he passed me quickly by, saying only, “I have seen the man and it is true. Though he was a principal once he is a pharmacist now, has been these last few years.”
Milo was slower than Ike to reenter the cooling interior of my house. I hadn’t thought to tell Milo not to take his uncle to see Major Nakamura, but only because I had assumed he would know better. I was about to speak, about to whisper my surprise at what he had done, when Milo raised his hands, surrendering the point. He poured himself a cup of tea and told me what had happened:
“We stopped at a police box to ask directions,” he said. “Nakamura’s pharmacy was one of two in the town, easy to find, right off the main road.
“I wasn’t clear on what Uncle thought could be accomplished but I couldn’t dissuade him, Father, and when we parked the car even Junichi made no move to stay in his seat. It was just six o’clock and I had hoped to use the early hour to temper his insistence. But the lights from the house behind the pharmacy were on and they strengthened his resolve. Uncle took a deep breath and wrapped his knuckles hard against the door. After he knocked again a small light came through the pharmacy, held in someone’s hand. ‘Wait a minute,’ said a woman’s voice. ‘Who’s there?’ A small old woman opened the door.
“‘We have come to see Pharmacist Nakamura,’ Uncle said, but the woman held up a hand and turned back the way she had come. ‘Father,’ she shouted. ‘Guests. It is early but you’ve got customers.’
“The three of us stepped inside behind her and Junichi closed the sliding door with care. This was a long and thin pharmacy, Father, full of medicine bottles and pills. And it was poorly kept. Boxes were piled along the walls and everything was dusty.”
When Milo stopped for a breath of air and a sip of tea I realized that the story he told had the cadence of something memorized and I could picture him sitting in the back of his car, going over it all during the long ride home.
“There was a man standing back on a tatami platform between the store and the house,” said my son. “He was wearing a kimono and had one hand across his brow, making it easier for him to peer at us. W
hen he recognized Uncle he made a slight noise and came down the aisle. He didn’t seem surprised or anxious and I even wondered if you, Father, had perhaps called him or something. He shook our hands and then led us back, farther into the store. He had tea water waiting and chairs spread around a gas stove.
“‘Ocha,’ he said, smiling at Uncle. ‘When the mornings are cold like this it warms me.’
“Uncle started out fairly well by saying, ‘It occurred to me that I didn’t have a proper opportunity to greet you when you came to meet me. I wanted this chance to say hello, to ask how you have been.’
“‘I’m a pharmacist now,’ said the man. Then he reached back toward a ledge behind him and brought forward a shoebox containing an assortment of sample bottles of tonic and various medicines. ‘Be sure to read the labels carefully before you take any of these,’ he said, then he handed Uncle the box, letting the bottles sound together within it.”
Though my son had never asked a single question about the events that were taking place around him it was clear from the way he told his story that he was going to pretend he knew what was going on. He was going to be my supporter in this, my ally.
“Nakamura smiled,” Milo told me, “while Uncle picked up two or three of the small bottles and examined their labels. He had one in his hand when he said, quite casually, ‘I did want to ask you about the loss of Private Yamamoto. Do you remember him? He and I were somewhat close and I wanted to ask about his death.’”
“But he was there to extend an invitation!” I said. “Nothing more!” Ike was going to ruin my plan. He was supposed to have gone there only to mention the show!
Milo held up his hand as if asking me to let him finish. “Nakamura remaining silent for a moment,” he said, “but then he answered Uncle right out. ‘The truth about Yamamoto,’ he said, ‘is that he was insolent. His sympathies should have been questioned long before he was sent to the front like that.’ This time when he spoke he struck a posture that was somehow military and I got the feeling he was trying to remind my uncle of the Nakamura he had known. Uncle waited a long time for him to add to what he’d said, but Nakamura would not. He simply smiled across the stove at us, his features presently turning pharmaceutical once again.
“‘Did Private Yamamoto do something wrong?’ Uncle finally asked. ‘I’ve questioned Teddy Maki but can’t get him to tell me much.’
“When Uncle mentioned you Nakamura slapped his hands together loudly, startling us all. He called to his wife for a bottle of sake but there was no response from the back room.
“‘She’s deaf,’ he told us, ‘but she always knows what’s happening.’ He leaned over and banged the wall once and then smiled hard at Uncle and said, ‘That Teddy Maki. I had no idea that my aide, during the war, could turn out to be such a man.’
“‘Teddy Maki and Yamamoto came to Japan together,’ Uncle persisted. ‘They were members of the same band before the war.’
“Nakamura nodded. ‘ I used to hear talk of that,’ he said.
“‘Then why did you not suspect Teddy too? Why did you punish only the one?’
“Nakamura was really playing with Uncle, I think, but he leaned forward and I got the feeling that he was going to tell the truth. ‘ I used to be a principal,’ he said. ‘There were a lot of things that students could get away with in my school, but rudeness wasn’t one of them. It was never necessary for the students to respect me personally. I only asked that they respect the office that I held.’
“Uncle leaned forward too, trying his best to keep to the point. ‘Yamamoto was rude?’ he asked. ‘He showed you disrespect?’
“‘Those were long days, you know,’ said the pharmacist.
“‘How did he die?’ Uncle persisted. ‘Did you shoot him?’
“The old man held his chin up again. ‘Did my hand hold the gun? Is that what you are asking?’ But before Uncle could respond, Nakamura’s wife came through the curtain with a bottle of sake and two small cups. ‘Ha!’ said Nakamura. ‘She heard me anyway.’ He turned to his wife and frowned. ‘You heard me anyway,’ he yelled.
“While Nakamura poured the sake a new tension somehow came into the room. I thought that if this Jimmy was murdered there was no doubt at all that it would go unavenged, but by then I was not sorry we had gone. Nakamura was pouring sake and smiling at Uncle Ike and the blood was pounding in my ears. I could tell that the sake was cold and I did not want Uncle to drink with the man, but there was nothing I could do to stop him.
“Nakamura sighed and held the little cup out to Uncle and I could feel Junichi’s anxiety next to my own. Nakamura raised his cup, careful not to let the sake ride over the brim. ‘Kampai,’ he said. ‘Here is to the young man we have been discussing. Though he died long ago he has the advantage of remaining young while those of us he left behind wrinkle around him.’ He waited a moment, cup poised, until my uncle raised his own cup straight into the air. Then Nakamura let the sake roll down his throat. Uncle was compelled to do the same, Father, don’t you see? He had no choice. The sake was terrible, cold and sweet, I could tell. And when Uncle put his cup down his face was red and I saw small tears in the corners of his eyes.
“Major Nakamura had not misread what Uncle Ike was getting at, Father, I was sure by then. Yet by treating my uncle as a lost comrade he was making it impossible for Uncle to break away. He filled both their cups once more. ‘And here is to the original idea,’ he said. ‘The great East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere.’
“Uncle drank again, this time, I think, letting the awful taste punish him.
“‘Ah,’ said the major. ‘Japan is a nation unmatched in the world!’
“As each cupful of sake washed through him the major laughed more heartily, soon even calling for his wife to join them. His pace quickened a little and his voice wove through the room making us all sway. He toasted everything he could think of, the Philippines, the American prisoners of war, the pharmaceutical companies. ‘Oh ho,’ he said, smiling broadly and pointing his finger through the air until it bumped the front of Uncle’s shirt. ‘And Teddy Maki! We must not forget him!’ He splashed the last of the sake into Uncle’s cup. ‘He is so funny,’ he said. ‘Is there no end to the odd things he has on his show?’
“Uncle had not said anything in a long while and had not been drinking much during the last few toasts. He waited until the major held his cup up after toasting you, Father, and then he turned his own cup over, spilling the last bit of sake onto the floor. There was no victory in the move but he did it, perhaps, so that he would be able to call on it later when alone and analyzing the completeness of his defeat.
“Uncle put the cup on top of the stove and when he stood to leave Junichi and I stepped quickly with him, standing as tall as we could. Nakamura didn’t move, Father, didn’t stand, didn’t say anything more. His fist was tight in front of his face, though, and he was staring deeply into it.
“I was the last to leave the building and as I turned to close the door Nakamura’s wife ran past me in order to hand the shoebox full of samples to Uncle. They clinked together again, like a parody of wind chimes, and she said, ‘That Teddy Maki. I don’t like him either but my husband thinks he’s great.’”
THOUGH HE HAD CAUSED ME UNEXPECTED PROBLEMS I could not be angry with Milo after the way he told his story. He had not spoken so much in years! Milo had been moved by his uncle’s ordeal, by the surprising defeat of it. And he had observed an event which concerned him far more than he knew. His uncle had traveled with him to extend an invitation which he had forgotten, in his humiliation, even to mention. I understood, after Milo’s story, that Nakamura had been ready for Ike and had brought to their confrontation far more skill and energy than Ike had been able to muster. Still it was surprising; a small old man, no longer the leader of warriors, a pharmacist…
I left Ike alone with his wounds and told Milo nothing, sending him off with the assurance that I would find a way of getting the stubborn major on the show, some way of getting him
before his natural audience. Kazuko was in the room with me after Milo left but I held up my hand so she didn’t comment. She was already beginning to adjust, you see, to alter her own frame of mind so that it would suit my own.
Shortly after my son’s return I left the house in order to walk and think, and Kazuko, to my surprise, left with me. It had earlier been a habit of ours to take long walks but I could not remember when last we had done so. All during my mistressing, all during the last years of my benumbing middle age, I had forsaken our walks, opting rather for the lazy expanse of the back seat of Milo’s car. Yet now, when I took my heavy coat in hand and stepped from the cold antechamber to the street, I found Kazuko by my side. She did not take my arm but I knew she was there. The companion steam of her warm breath stood in the air just at the edge of my peripheral vision.
“I had thought to walk along Meguro-dori,” I said. “I need the exercise, the chance to think.”
“Meguro-dori has changed,” said Kazuko. “It has still not regained itself but it is coming along now. There are many new shops and restaurants.”
Before the war Meguro had been a residential area but Meguro-dori, the street itself, had been lively, lined with shops and a joy to stroll down. Kazuko and I walked a long distance without speaking. We passed Otori shrine and then turned when we crossed Yamate-dori, stepping past the site of the Buddhist temple, the one that had burned during the war. There were several new hotels on the property now, small ones renting rooms by the hour or the half-day.
Soldiers in Hiding Page 17
