Lately I’ve become fascinated by the ways people behave. How did I think I could spend my whole life with Latin and Greek grammar? When Mama was going through her torments, the academic world seemed safe. But I’m not as afraid as I used to be, to say, ‘I don’t know.’ I’m not nearly so defensive, Moira, you wouldn’t know me. But I do continue to smoke like a chimney.
Oh, what will happen to Reuben? I have made the right decision about Papa, yes, I think so. What will Reuben do by himself? Well, it’s his decision, too. I hope you don’t mind my nattering on like this — ‘nattering’, see I’ve picked up the language — I feel as if I haven’t written a really good letter for ages. Just think of this, we’ll all be able to talk in person soon. You’ll meet my little Leah. And I’ll meet Tess. I’m so excited. Great love to you both, Anna.
Teddy set the letter down on the stoop and glanced at the melon ropes. The garden would come and be gone by the time Anna returned in the fall. Anna was coming home. Home. To her own home. Teddy reached up to her eyes, surprised to find them dry. She didn’t feel like arguing with Anna’s decision. Had she become numb? She looked out at the garden and hoped she hadn’t stopped caring.
Wanda sat in the living room with the newspaper on her lap, ‘Bomb Destroys Nagasaki’. She stared down at the traffic noise. First Hiroshima and now Nagasaki. It was unimaginable, they said, the extent of destruction, the power of the flash, the number of people killed by one bomb. One bomb. Then why did they have to drop another? The surrender would have come. The Japanese were proud people; they just needed time. They would have signed the treaty in another few days. Unimaginable. But she had been dreaming about Hiroshima for nights. And now this. What went on in the minds of scientists divining these fires? Did they ever see children being ripped apart? Could they smell the flesh burning? Or did they stick to sterile calculation — so many ounces of bomb for so many lives? Wanda set down the newspaper and thought about Mama’s silence this afternoon. What was she thinking? She used to talk so fondly of Grandpa’s trips to Nagasaki and now the city did not exist. Not that there was much left of Tokyo or Yokohama. Gutted buildings and starving people. Wanda closed her eyes and imagined corpses littered on broken sidewalks. Japanese people dying in the fire of their own bones. What was going on with Mama? She must check, but not yet, she needed another moment to absorb the details. Officials had known about these bombs for months, withholding information to protect the national security. Here she was, safe and sound, Wanda Nakatani, secure American citizen.
When the phone rang, she grabbed it. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello.’
‘Oh, hello, Moira.’
‘Wanda, are you OK? I’ve just finished reading about that horrible bomb and I knew that you …’
What did Moira think, that it affected you just because you had Japanese blood? Did she think there was something in the genes that could be touched across the ocean? No, of course not. This was a friendly call. This was Moira, her friend Moira.
‘Would you like to switch plans for tonight? Would you like me to come over there?’
Plans for tonight. Wanda looked at her watch; of course, she was supposed to meet Moira half an hour ago. ‘No,’ she heard herself speaking. ‘I don’t think so. I need to stay here, with the family tonight. I don’t think I can handle a dinner.’
‘Sure, hon, sure. I’ll call you tomorrow and check on how you’re doing.’
Wanda tried to ignore the medical metaphors, tried to be polite to this person on the other end of the phone. ‘Yes, do that. Thank you.’
Betty entered, admitting a breeze from the hallway. Wanda hated the door opened into the ugly, concrete stairwell, but she was revived by the air. How long had she been sitting here with the windows closed?
‘Sorry I’m late, Wanda. I got held up at my lesson. Mr Sasaki was telling us the war is over. Isn’t that wonderful? Isn’t it? Now Roy can come home.’
Wanda hated her sister just now, hated her youth and her cheer and, most of all, her patriotism. ‘Roy is in Italy, Betty, not Japan. You can count your stars he isn’t in Japan because he would have been burned to a crisp with the rest of the Japs.’
‘Don’t hurt the child.’ Mama stood at the kitchen door. ‘Not her fault. Betty’s right. War is over. Come, we will have tea.’
Wanda obeyed and followed Betty into the kitchen. Mama was serving special tea they had saved from before the war. She had set out five cups. ‘First for Papa,’ she said and then drank from his cup.
‘Now for Howard.’
Wanda picked up her brother’s cup and drank.
Mama raised her own cup. Wanda followed. Then Betty.
Mama pushed a letter forward. ‘We’re not going to Japan. The Red Cross could not find anyone in the family.’
Wanda tried to stifle the deep sigh travelling through her body. Was this definite? Would Mama change her mind?
Betty smiled thinly and took her mother’s hand. ‘We’ll be all right here. You’ll see.’ She couldn’t hide her relief, so she took another sip of tea.
‘We will not be all right,’ Mrs Nakatani spoke steadily. ‘But we will live. And you will have children. Both of you. They will return to Yokohama.’
Wanda shivered at her mother’s uncharacteristically prophetic tone. She looked at the old woman carefully and saw that she sat straighter, lighter than usual. Wanda hoped Mama did not plan to die soon. She closed her eyes, thinking about her diary and what she would write tonight. Details. She tried to steady herself on the details.
The blood covered Wanda’s hands; she examined the thin, red line beneath her fingernails. Closing her eyes a moment, she saw queues of limbless people, some of them missing parts of their torsos — a hip, a breast. She opened her eyes again and smelled the ripe gore. She was not dreaming. All around her were pieces of skin, strips of spine, chips of bone. As much as she tried to convince herself to stay at the cannery — where else could she and Mama work side by side, where else could she even find a job? — she knew she would have to leave. After all that had happened during the last three-and-a-half years, she was not going to go crazy in a room of fish carcasses.
Chapter Thirty
Fall 1945, London
NUREMBERG TRIALS BEGIN
ARAB LEAGUE OPPOSES CREATION OF
A JEWISH STATE
RATIONING OF SHOES, MEAT AND BUTTER
ENDS IN US
DETROIT BEATS CHICAGO IN WORLD SERIES
ANNA SAT AT REUBEN’S TABLE and followed his swift movements toward the kitchen. She shook her head at his spirit — fixing an elaborate dinner after work and still unable to settle down. He had to make sure her wine glass was full. She reflected how comfortable she had come to feel in his flat this last year. She didn’t notice the draft from the high Victorian windows or the clinking of the gas meter any more. How deeply was this atmosphere impressed on her memory? How much would she miss it after a month — or a year — in California? She took another bite of stew. Delicious, she couldn’t believe she was eating so much; maybe it was to absorb the wine. She would regret the indulgences tomorrow but there would be so much pain then anyway. Tomorrow. No, concentrate on tonight. This was the last evening in London. Her last time with Reuben. She and Leah were boarding the ship tomorrow and sailing home. Home? Sailing to the United States. As her parents had done. She felt a trace of headache as she watched Reuben uncorking the new bottle. What was he thinking now? He seemed equanimous, even cheerful. Did he know a secret about the ship being drydocked or was he putting on a good show? She wished he would express his feelings; it would make it easier for her to let go. No, perhaps he was right to adopt this neutral tone. Where had he found this superb Cabernet?
‘Sorry to take so long.’ He smiled shyly. ‘The corkscrew. Some of these bottles barely survived the hostilities. Perhaps that’s why the cork didn’t want to come out.’
She liste
ned to his elegant Viennese accent, wondering if it had always been this strong. Often during the war she felt numb to certain sensations. It took an effort to hear and to see clearly.
‘Thanks.’ She held up her glass greedily. Yes, she did know him well enough to be greedy. He looked so dark tonight — that had come with a summer in which he had finally allowed himself sun.
‘You are all right?’ He examined her closely and held the back of his hand against her forehead.
‘Yes,’ she laughed. ‘I was just thinking about Leah. I’m sure she’ll be OK with Mrs MacDonald tonight.’ She should tell him she was just pretending to be a cordial stranger to stem the grief. She was afraid to look at him and took another long gulp of wine.
‘Yes, she will be fine,’ he said. ‘More stew?’
‘It’s delicious, but no thanks, love. Really, this was beyond the call of duty.’
‘Duty?’ He shrugged and opened his mouth as if about to continue. Then distracted by the flapping window shade, he stood to adjust it. ‘Your father has all the details of your arrival.’
‘Yes,’ she nodded. ‘Yes, he knows. Do you want to talk more about this, Reuben? Is there something you’re trying to say?’
‘I’ve said it all.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I won’t stand in the way of your decision. And I’ll come visit you in America as soon as I have saved money and things are sorted out at University. I will bring you back here. That’s why I can be festive tonight. I cannot love you by holding you here. But I know you love me and you shall return.’
She tried to hear devotion in his voice. Instead, she was unnerved by his certainty, by his silence about tomorrow. Oh, for God’s sake, what did she want from the poor man? Here he was trying to let go generously. He had cooked a sumptuous meal. He would escort her to the ship.
‘To love.’ She lifted her glass as a toast and drove confidence into her voice. ‘To us.’
It felt like years before she was allowed to go to bed. They talked and talked about friends and music and seasickness. They consumed chocolate cake and coffee and brandy. The evening inched by with excruciating anticipation. Anna was at once sad and exhilarated, wishing to stay in London forever and desperate to leave. First, what time was it, oh, better not look at his wristwatch, no, too late, 2 a.m., they went to bed.
She crawled between the sheets, exhausted, and waited impatiently, listening to the rush of water in the bathroom. Why did he insist on brushing his teeth tonight of all nights? But that was the point. The last night. He was feeling everything while she had grown numb.
He stood at the door, bathroom light shining on to the bed. ‘You are beautiful, my Anna.’
‘Come to bed, love.’ She patted the sheet beside her, suddenly alert and aroused. ‘No, don’t,’ she said as he reached for the light. ‘Tonight, let’s just leave it on, OK? Let’s remember each other clearly.’
‘For that, I don’t need an electric light, but as you like.’
When he opened the sheets, she smelled the heavy sweetness of his armpits. She could almost feel his bear arms around her. He moved closer, but she held him off gently, relishing the image of this big man in the soft light. He lay next to her, stroking her arm and leg. Her insides swelled and melted.
He shifted on top of her. She accepted the silent weight, protecting her, holding her, engulfing her. She imagined flowers opening each other in spring. She could feel his penis grow stronger and harder against the inside of her thigh. Just once, she would like to experience that kind of expansion in herself, know something grow so rapidly and perceptibly. What did he think when this happened? How much control did he have over it? Did he ever resent her for ‘doing this to’ him? She could feel her own liquid web weaving wildly. She grew wider inside and then spread her legs. He moaned, stroked her hair and reached down to her breasts with his mouth. Dizzy, she grew hungry for him. But he continued licking back and forth, back and forth. She bit his ear and he breathed with satisfaction, rocking his lower body against her moans. ‘Yes,’ she whispered, cutting the silence. ‘Yes.’ He raised his face over hers and watched carefully, smiling, seeming to take in a dozen aspects of her face before he kissed her lips and moved his penis closer. Just the touch caught her breath. ‘Yes, yes,’ she heard herself saying. He moved inside her slowly, as if tasting the temperature. He pulled out carefully and then returned. Deeper, he entered and deeper and she raised her buttocks off the bed so he could enter her deeper still. Where was he, how far from her heart, from his peak? At moments like this, she wished she could unzip herself and draw him into her skin. So close, almost merging, almost merging and then — the distraction of his rhythms, of his consuming lust. ‘Yes, yes.’ His voice. ‘Anna, oh, Anna.’ The hot, tense excitement suspended her above the bed until she felt circles within her, reaching from the lips of her vagina to the base of her belly. He climaxed right after her, magnificently loud and sweaty and completely spent. He remained on top of her and they lay together like sun bathers lapped by a salty ocean. His breathing was so even that Anna wondered if he were asleep and, as the thought crossed her mind, he shifted slightly.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘Mmmmm,’ she said, unsure about whether she wanted to sleep like this or whether she wanted him to move immediately so she could bathe and go home. Crazy she was tonight.
He drew apart slowly and she became more aware of the moisture between them. Chilly now, she snuggled into his arms.
Stroking her hair, he softly issued her name, ‘Anna.’ His breathing grew steady and she knew he was asleep. Why did she feel deserted? They had talked until 2 a.m. They would talk more tomorrow. She was leaving him. She backed closer against his body; his arms tightened around her.
She could not sleep. Sometime later — half an hour — an hour — she moved toward the edge of the bed and placed the pillow over her head. She still liked to sleep under the pillow like this although the night sirens had ceased months ago. Tonight the pillow seemed filled with memories of London. Her first morning in the office when she wondered how she would survive in such a dreary, cramped, freezing room surrounded by those immense files of irresolvable troubles. The day she met Leah’s enormous brown eyes. The time Mark apologetically returned her letter and commenced their friendship. Reuben’s precipitate visit to the house. The hours spent on tubes, crushed between people figuring out crosswords or reading about the royal family. The phone calls, articulating her words scrupulously until they could be comprehended by London ears. Did she have a British inflection now, or was Mark just teasing her? The walks through Finsbury Park.
Now she was scuffling around the pond. It was a cold, spring afternoon. Spring? They said it was spring in London, but it could be Greenland, with this Arctic wind. Alone. Not alone in the park, surely. But alone by the swans. ‘Love.’ The voice came from behind her and when she turned there was no one there. ‘Love.’ The voice came from the side and again, when she turned, she was completely alone. ‘Love.’
‘What?’ Anna asked.
‘Love?’
‘Who?’
‘Owl?’
‘Is this some kind of game?’ She whirled around. A fierce wind blew across the daffodils, knocking several to the grass. Stopping to collect the flowers, for surely they would die here with their stems broken, she felt another wind from behind. And she was lifted into the air, surrounded by white and a great flapping sound. She was flying above the pond thinking, oh, good, I always wanted to see the house from here and suddenly …
She was beneath the pillow again, tossing, amidst the rich fragrance of sex. She listened to Reuben’s breathing, hoping that it would make her sleepy, but it only made her more anxious. How could he sleep like that, so peacefully, without moving? Well, he wasn’t journeying 6,000 miles. Already, she could feel the hangover — that thick, stuffy feeling behind the eyes. Her mouth tasted of wine-turned-to-piss and her teeth were scummy. Would she
wake him if she went to the bathroom? No, this was ridiculous, she would just wake herself more. She needed sleep. Ann reached for pleasant thoughts: the geraniums in her windowbox; the sun on Parliament Hill yesterday; the aroma of Reuben’s splendid dinner, but every piece of gratitude was stalked by mourning. Tomorrow. Panic coursed through her stomach, dissolving the sexual satisfaction. She had packed a week ago and in the ways she was not ready she would never be ready. Closing her eyes again, she tried Esther’s meditative breathing, one-two-three-four-three-two-one. This only bored her.
The fur on her teeth was driving her nuts. She would slip out of bed quietly and he wouldn’t notice.
‘Anna, are you all right?’
‘Yes, Reuben,’ she called from the bathroom, opening the door. ‘I’m fine. Now go back to sleep.’
‘Back?’ He sat up, watching her watching herself in the mirror. ‘I’ve been awake for the last hour. How can I sleep with you so worried?’
Surprised at her tears, she told herself he wasn’t scolding. He was concerned. She finished brushing her teeth and switched off the light. He clicked on the bedside lamp.
Climbing back to bed, she tried to pull him beneath the covers. ‘Come on down, bear, you’ll catch your death up there.’
‘What’s the use pretending?’ he asked. ‘Let’s talk a while.’
All Good Women Page 45
