Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  Libby was too startled to comment. She had no idea what had provoked Nakane-san’s discourse on marriage. It sounded rehearsed. Each word delivered slowly, carefully.

  “Marriage customs differ from country to country, of course. In America, it is not uncommon for a couple to divorce, even when there are children. Divorce is frowned upon in Japan. American women want careers. Most Japanese women are content to stay home and care for their children after they marry. Americans want to do their own choosing when it comes to a spouse. They do not have the custom of omiai — meetings between the man and the woman arranged by a nakodo or go-between.”

  “And it is such a sensible custom,” Mrs. Nakane added. “The nakodo always has the best interest of the young people in mind. He, or she, is usually a relative or a close friend … ”

  Libby sat there, looking from the sensei to his wife, and smiling. There was nothing she could think of to add to the bizarre conversation. From painful experience, she knew all about arranged marriages, but she didn’t want to insult her friends by sharing her negative opinion. She glanced at her watch. The invitation to lunch was from twelve to three. She still had a half an hour to go before she could make her excuses and leave.

  “My wife has been called upon to act as go-between twice, for a friend’s daughter and a niece,” Nakane-san said. “She is much better suited to the job than I am. But I was asked by a gentleman if I would, if I would represent him and his interests to another party.”

  “Would you care for more iced tea, Libby? It is so warm.” Mrs. Nakane was fanning herself furiously with a paper fan.

  “No thank you. Really, I’m fine. The weather has been so unpredictable. The fog wreaks havoc with our flying schedule. I haven’t flown in over a week.” Libby’s attempt to change the subject was futile. The unreliable weather was commented upon and abandoned before she had a chance to say another word and Sensei Nakane had resumed his monologue.

  “I believe you are acquainted with the gentleman who has requested my assistance.”

  “Me?” The whole afternoon had been so bewildering Libby couldn’t make sense out of what he was saying. All the talk about marriage, omiai, nakodos — her head was spinning.

  “Major Yoshida,” Mrs. Nakane said. “He came to our house and asked Nakane-san to act as go-between. He wants to arrange a meeting with you.” She was obviously in favor of the idea. Her eyes were bright with anticipation and approval. “He is very handsome, Libby-san. And very sincere.”

  They were waiting for her reaction, husband and wife poised on the edge of their chairs in suspense.

  She was too stunned to even open her mouth, let alone articulate her surprise and anger. Kojiro Yoshida. The audacity of the man! Taking advantage of her friendship with the Nakanes, imploring that dear old man to act as go-between. Go-between! Go-between! She would have laughed at the absurdity of the whole thing if she hadn’t been so angry.

  She shook her head. “No. I won’t see him. I’m, I’m sorry.” Libby dug her fingernails into her palms to try to keep from crying, but hot tears blinded her eyes and spilled unchecked down her cheeks. “Oh, please excuse me. I can’t believe I’m crying. I never cry. Not in public. I, I just can’t believe he actually had the nerve to come to your house and ask you to intervene in my life.” She dabbed ineffectually at her eyes with her napkin.

  “Oh, I was afraid you would take it badly,” Nakane-san said. “I warned him.”

  “What did he say about me? Did he tell you I … .”

  “He did not talk about you, except to say that he loved you very much and that he, he wanted you to be his wife. He was frank with me. He did not try to hide his transgressions. I was very surprised that a man in Major Yoshida’s position, and from such a distinguished family, would behave so dishonorably toward his fiancée and to you, an American officer, a guest in our country.

  “I advised him to forget you.”

  “You did?” Libby sniffed.

  “But he wouldn’t hear of it. So against my better judgment, I agreed to act as go-between. I told mama you wouldn’t like it. I was afraid to jeopardize our friendship but the major was very persuasive.”

  “Yes. I know how persuasive he can be.”

  “If you are certain you don’t want to see Major Yoshida again, I will convey your decision to him.” Nakane-san appeared anxious to have his role in the unfortunate affair over with as quickly as possible. He did not suggest Libby reconsider or take her time to think about Kojiro’s proposal or agree to even one meeting. “In time, he will realize it is for the best,” he said.

  But Mrs. Nakane, who had more experience as a go-between and was more sympathetic toward the major and more perceptive than her husband when it came to her own sex, was not prepared to give up so easily.

  “Now, now, papa, Libby cannot make up her mind so fast. She cannot make a decision when she is upset. Major Yoshida asked you to represent him and you agreed. You are obligated to tell Libby what a fine man he is, what a good husband he would make. His family is very ancient and very prosperous. His wife, his children would never want for anything.”

  Nakane Sensei nodded. “All those things are true, but Libby isn’t interested in his money. Or how far back he can trace his ancestry. Americans don’t worry about those kind of things. Aren’t I correct, Libby-san?”

  Before she had a chance to answer, Mrs. Nakane intercepted the question. “All women are interested in money. It is reassuring to know that your husband is able to provide the best of everything for you and your children.”

  The sensei nodded his head in defeat. His wife was a formidable advocate when she wanted something, and apparently she wanted reconciliation between Yoshida-san and the gaijin. He was surprised by her avid interest in and enthusiasm for what he considered an ill-fated romance. At her age, she should know better.

  She turned to Libby and put her hand lightly on her sleeve. “Major Yoshida loves you very much,” she said in her soft, melodic voice. “And I believe that you still have feelings of tenderness for the major. Do you, Libby? Do you think you could find it in your heart to forgive him and to meet with him and hear what he has to say? One meeting, that is all. A new beginning or an end.”

  Libby covered her face with her hands. She would have given anything for the courage to flee from that house and her two kind, well-intentioned friends, but she was trapped in a web of conflicting emotions and alien customs.

  “One meeting, is all he asked for. You will not have to go alone, papa and I will go with you. It is the way it is done in Japan. Think about it, Libby-san. Go home and think about all the things we have said and then let us know and we will arrange a meeting between you and Major Yoshida.”

  Libby had no intention of seeing Kojiro again. She couldn’t think of anything more they had to say to one another than had already been said in the park. It was flattering to think that he still cared for her. She took a perverse pleasure in the fact that he was suffering on her account. He deserved it. But after a while, her initial satisfaction began to wane. It was difficult to remain angry indefinitely at someone you loved or know that he was miserable and not want to do something about it. Mrs. Nakane was right. She still had feelings of tenderness for Major Yoshida despite all the energy she had spent trying to convince herself that she despised him. Her fury over his betrayal had not completely destroyed the bond of love that had briefly bridged their two cultures. But was that love strong enough to defy the odds against them or strong enough to sustain a lifetime together? Nakane-san didn’t think so, or Colonel Long. Her parents wouldn’t think so — if they knew about Kojiro — nor would his family.

  Libby couldn’t keep the Nakanes waiting indefinitely. Nakane-san took his role of go-between too seriously to be ignored. He wanted her answer. But she was paralyzed by indecision. She was tempted to confide in Darlene but the situation was so bizarre, her frien
d would think she was mad. Anyway, since Darlene had become pregnant, Libby felt uncomfortable being around her and listening to her complain about morning sickness or exclaiming over fuzzy ultrasound photographs of her unborn child. Her guilt was too painful and the feeling of loss.

  The miscarriage had spared Libby from having to make some very difficult decisions. A pregnancy would have ruined her career and been an embarrassment to the Air Force. She was supposed to be a role model for aspiring women pilots, as well as an inspiration to every young girl who saw her picture on recruitment posters. But her relief did not exempt Libby from blaming herself nor did it do anything to mitigate her sorrow.

  The respect she had won from the other pilots after the accident, her renewed confidence and courage, were being eroded by indecisiveness, self-pity, and careless disregard for her future. If she didn’t act soon, her personal life would be in shambles and all her hard-won achievements wasted.

  “Nakane Sensei, I have made up my mind. I will see Major Yoshida. You may arrange a meeting.” Libby’s hand was shaking as she snapped her cell phone closed. Her resolve to meet with Kojiro was fraught with so much trepidation she wasn’t sure, when the time came, if she could actually go through with it. But it was a relief to have finally made a decision and let the Nakanes take care of everything else. All Libby had to do was show up at the appointed time and place.

  She wondered what her friends and coworkers would think if they knew she was meeting Kojiro with the intention of considering his proposal of marriage and that their rendezvous — a new hotel in Hirosaki — had been orchestrated with the assistance of a go-between. No one would believe it. Some days, she didn’t believe it herself. The date was set once and then had to be canceled at the last minute because Kojiro was called out of town with General Sato. However, she was assured by an apologetic Nakane-san that everything was in order for the following Sunday.

  Libby did not have a large wardrobe from which to choose an appropriate outfit. Her size prevented her from shopping locally and she didn’t have time to order out of a catalogue. But the Nakanes would expect her to dress up for the occasion and she didn’t want to disappoint them. She knew Japanese women took the omiai very seriously. How could she do any less? So she decided on a linen sheath and cashmere shawl, complimented by her gold cartouche and pearl earrings, and a pair of frivolous (and uncomfortable) sandals.

  There was only one thing left for Libby to do, before she met Kojiro.

  The Buddhist temple was nestled in a grove of soaring Japanese cedars in the foothills outside of Hachinohe. Libby had come across it by accident one day when she had gotten lost driving back to base from a shopping excursion. She had parked her car and wandered around the tranquil grounds, admiring the handsome old buildings with their distinctive tile roofs and intricate carvings and savoring the quiet of the secluded setting.

  Libby did not consider herself particularly religious. The statues and iconography of Buddhism were too alien to elicit any feelings of reverence. But the beauty and seclusion of the ancient shrine itself never failed to inspire a sense of awe whenever she visited it.

  Her journey to the temple had started out on Saturday morning in the toy department of a local shop. Libby felt a little self-conscious wandering up and down the crowded aisles searching for — she didn’t know how to even describe what she was looking for let alone know what she wanted. A gift? An offering? A reparation? She stopped and stroked a stuffed Pooh-bear, squeezed a rubber ball, spun the wings on a colorful pinwheel.

  “You buy presento?” asked the saleslady, who had been following Libby up and down the aisles. “For girl? Boy?” Libby shrugged. She didn’t know.

  “I’ll take the bear and the pinwheel and … ” She fingered a pink teething ring shaped like a pretzel. “And this.” She handed the cellophane package to the clerk, paid for the merchandise and waited while the woman painstakingly wrapped the eclectic collection. Then she dashed to her car before she ran into someone from the base. Libby was in no mood to chitchat about the weather — a month of unremitting fog — or the disappointing Fourth of July celebrations.

  The drive to the temple, on a narrow road that wound between a dense forest of dark cedars, was beautiful if daunting. The tops of the trees were obscured under a veil of fog. All Libby could see on either side of her were the massive trunks of the venerable evergreens. By the time she reached the temple, the fog was so thick she almost missed the entrance. There were three cars in the parking lot. Libby pulled up alongside a new Toyota and turned off the motor.

  She sat in the car for several minutes trying to work up the courage to carry out her mission. Libby’s practical nature kept objecting but she knew she could not meet with Kojiro and discuss the future until she acknowledged their child in some tangible way and asked its forgiveness.

  Libby gathered up her handbag and the package off the front seat and headed across the parking lot toward the temple. She could hear bells in the distance, their plaintive sound muffled by the fog. Following a path that zigzagged through the trees and over an arched bridge, Libby eventually arrived at the imposing gate.

  The main temple lay straight ahead at the end of a long pathway lined with stone lanterns. Beyond that, on a rise behind the temple, Libby could just make out through the mist, the silhouette of the graceful three-story pagoda. The manicured gardens were deserted.

  Eventually she found what she was looking for, a cluster of identical statues of Jizo. Like the ones she had seen at Osorezan, they were dressed to resemble infants in red knitted bonnets and neat bibs. There was a cheerful pinwheel anchored beside each one like a soldier’s pennant, pots of flowers here and there and a scattering of toys and articles of baby clothing, forlorn reminders of the ‘water child’ each memorial represented.

  Libby, uncertain as to what to do next, paced back and forth on the path, her package clutched in her arms. The stone statues with their pouting faces, button noses, round cheeks and folded hands looked like children posed for a formal photograph. She paused in front of a statue at the end of the row. There was always one who didn’t conform, who looked a little scruffy. Its bonnet had slipped off and the bib was missing. Libby smiled. She put her things down and replaced the cap on the bald head, tying it firmly under the chin.

  “There, you’re good for a little while anyway,” she whispered. She reached out and spun the wings on the pinwheel. There was a whistling noise and then it stopped and the garden was silent.

  Libby opened her package and arranged the items around the base of the statue. “I don’t know if you can hear me or if you even exist, except in my imagination. I don’t even know your sex. But you were real once, alive, growing under my heart and I’m afraid I didn’t make you feel very welcome. To be honest, I was too terrified to admit I was pregnant. I wish I had had more courage.

  “I feel responsible for your death, in one way or another. And I want to apologize. When Ben told me I had had a miscarriage, I was relieved. I thought I could forget you. If I told Ben how sad I feel now or how often I dream about you, he would say it was my hormones acting up. But I know better.

  “Maybe we’ll both get another chance to meet in the future. Your father believes such a thing is possible. I’m too much of a skeptic. But I want to believe that you’re just biding your time until you can return to me.”

  Libby folded up the wrapping paper and ribbon, tucked them in her handbag, and then retraced her steps along the maze of pathways back to the main temple. Mounting the stairs in front of the entrance, she stood there for a moment peering into the dark interior before leaving her offering.

  She heard the students before she saw them, a gaggle of adolescent girls in pleated skirts and middy blouses, from one of the local schools. Accompanied by their teachers, they had just come from viewing the historic pagoda. When they saw Libby, they flocked to the foot of the stairs and, pointing and giggling, sta
red up at her. She understood enough Japanese to know they were discussing every aspect of her appearance from the color of her hair to her extraordinary height, as well as snapping photographs.

  Libby thought she had gotten used to the attention her looks generated wherever she went in Japan. Usually she just smiled or said something in Japanese, which always elicited a few oohs and ahs, or occasionally posed for a picture. Today she was just grateful that they hadn’t stumbled upon her a little earlier and overheard her talking aloud to a statue of Jizo. That would have given them something to gossip about besides the dimension of her bust.

  After a few minutes, the teachers shooed the girls off in another direction and Libby was left on her own. She forgot what she was supposed to do next; she was so unnerved by the arrival of the students. Ring the bell, suspended from a cord in the middle of the doorway, twice or three times? The Japanese did everything, even prayed, so precisely, she was afraid if she made a mistake, her prayers might not be heeded.

  She clasped the cord and yanked it three times, just to be on the safe side, clapped her hands twice and bowed her head. “Please, watch over my mizuko. Keep it safe and, when the time comes, help it to find its way home.”

  The visit to the temple did not heal Libby’s wounds but it had, in some way she couldn’t explain, soothed the rough edges of the sorrow she had been wearing like a hair shirt and brought her a measure of acceptance and peace. She couldn’t forget the past, but it was no longer an obstacle to the future.

  “Today is a very auspicious day for the omiai,” Nakane Sensei said when he met Libby at the train station in Misawa. “Better than last week.” It appeared Nakane-san or perhaps his wife, had consulted an astrologer in order to make sure Sunday was the optimum day for Kojiro and Libby to meet.