by Owen Thomas
And then, one day – Oh, Mr. Hahrris! One day…, Akahito returned from the office angrier than Izume had seen him in a very long time. He would not speak to her about what had caused the outrage, opting instead to barricade himself in the suite of rooms that served as his home office when he preferred not to make the trip into the city. When he finally emerged, Akahito was calmer, but just as tight-lipped, rejecting all of his wife’s concerned inquiries with the terse explanation that a complicated business deal had soured. She would not understand any of those complications. It would only make him more upset to try to explain it to her.
So Izume had let it drop. She had let Akahito return to the office the next day without the aggravation of further questions or even the annoyance of concerned facial expressions.
But that was arr acting, Mr. Hahrris! I know something wrong with Akahito.
After Akahito was safely gone, she had descended into the rooms of the house she rarely entered. She had snooped through the orderly drawers of his desk and opened his spare briefcases and even peeked under the blotter. She had no idea what she was looking for and no expectation of finding anything. But Akahito was poisonously upset about something. Something was clearly wrong. And snooping through the things in his office was all she could think of to do. So that was what she did. And consistent with her expectations, she found nothing.
It was in their bedroom, more specifically, it was in the pocket of the suit coat that Akahito had worn the previous day that she found the letter. She had read it several times, having trouble with the English and the loopy penmanship, not quite understanding that it was actually intended for Akahito and not someone else. She had taken the letter all the way back down to Akahito’s study and made a photocopy and then returned to the bedroom and replaced the original. It was the photocopy that, a few months later, she had read into the telephone to Hollis.
Dear Dad. You should not have hung up like that. I will do it if I have to. I don’t want to though. I want you to love me as your daughter. Because like it or not, even if it was not my Mom’s choice, I am your daughter. And I need your help. Mom is no longer here to help me. She always said you are a good man and you always helped us. Dad, I still need your help even if she is not here. Please call me or at least answer my calls. If you do not, I will do what I said I would do. The case is still open. I have checked. Bethany.
Bethany. Hollis’ heart had winced at the sound of Izume reading her name, just as it winced again now as he spoke it to Susan. Stupefaction had rivaled inebriation to claim credit for his lack of any cogent response. All he could do was fall back against the headboard and listen as Izume fought back her tears and soldiered on.
Izume was smarter than to directly confront her husband on the meaning of the letter. She observed. She snooped. She waited. Many weeks passed as Akahito gradually returned to some more subdued and resigned version of normal.
Akahito gave up his lease on the apartment he had long rented in the city for its convenience to the office. Izume knew that many Japanese businessmen kept such apartments for mistresses and that many Japanese wives tolerated such affairs. But she also knew that Akahito Takada was not, currently at least, such a man. The impulsiveness of youth and any interest he once may have had for sexual conquest, was long behind him. Having reached the pinnacle of his calling, his natural appreciation for power had lost its sexual translation. The city apartment, which Izume had freely visited many times unannounced, really was about Akahito’s convenience.
It was when Akahito explained that he had decided to forgo that convenience, canceling the apartment lease, in order to spend more time with her – because he missed her, because he did not like being in the city alone when she was at home in their bed – that she smelled a rat. In his words, in the downcast look of his eyes, in the parsimony of his smile, she could feel in her bones that the decision was not about her at all. It was about money. It was about the redirection of a stream of Yen so that that it might become a stream of dollars.
Izume might have said something to him at that point. She might have produced her copy of the letter and asked him point blank. But she waited. She waited to see if canceling the monthly financial obligation for an expensive city apartment would translate into an increase in disposable income. It did not.
Izume continued to reconnoiter her husband’s private rooms for information. He was a careful and orderly man and she was rarely rewarded for her efforts. On one of these occasions, she did find in a hanging folder that held, along with lots of other documents, a blank enrollment form for the Hyakugo Bank of Japan Family Scholarship Program. She assumed it was old and that it pertained to Fukima, who was in her final year at Higashi Nippon International University in Iwaki, Fukushima. Not that she would have any particular reason to know it, but Izume was wrong.
And then you carr, Mr. Hahrris. You carr here and talk to Akahito. And after he hang up he so happy. He carr you his friend. His good friend. He so happy. He raughing rike a boy.
Hollis had not needed reminding. Even in his condition he had remembered the call like it had been yesterday. It was the first time he had spoken to Akahito in three years, since the night of his exclusive, unexpected invitation to the Takada home and the sake and the conversation out in the lotus garden beneath the paper lanterns. He had been a little uneasy making the call, having no particular reason to do so other than to reach out, one retiring bank executive to another, and to reestablish contact. He had hoped for some intercontinental commiseration on the waning respect afforded to heads of families.
And to his surprise, Akahito had been delighted to hear from him. After the pleasantries had been exchanged and Hollis had shared the news of his departure from Ohio First Securities and Credit, Akahito had said that his daughter, Suki, was living in America. His daughter, Suki. That was what Akahito had said. His daughter, Suki, was in New York. His daughter, Suki, was in the process of looking for a good college.
And, Hollis Johns, Akahito’s good friend from Ohio, knew all about good colleges.
No, Mr. Hahrris. Akahito no you friend.
Susan’s face was slow to respond, slogging through confusion.
“What… what did he think you were going to do?” she asked.
“I think he thought that his daughter would follow in her mother’s footsteps. Find some academically connected rube, seduce him, promise him a cut of the income stream and dummy up a student registration number and some paperwork that the Hyakugo Bank of Japan could put in its files and forget about.”
“That would make you the rube in that scenario?”
Hollis raised his hand.
“And Akahito lets his bank pay the wages of sin.”
“For the second generation. That’s my guess anyway.”
“Hollis… that’s just … unbelievable.”
“I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.”
“But… But you’d seen Suki’s photo. What did he think was going to happen when you met her?”
“I think my call took him by surprise. We were talking about our kids before the idea even came to him. I referred to his daughter Suki and he never corrected me. He was used to Suki being the name of … of the fictional person in his life who helped take the sting out of blackmail.”
“But he obviously could not go with another Suki. The bank…”
“Right. He needed me to believe she was a daughter named Suki and he needed the bank to believe she was a daughter named something else. When I met Bethany she was ready with the story.”
“Which was…”
“A different mother. Akahito had one name for her, Suki, and her American mother had another name for her, Bethany. She called herself Bethany but tolerated the name Suki when it was necessary to placate her father. Bethany told me that the pictures on the wall at the house were of her two half-sisters, Fukima and Ito, a completely fictional person, supposedly born to Izume. So, she had explained, when Akahito had referred to Suki, he was not actually referring to
any of the Japanese faces on the wall of his home. Instead, when Akahito had referred to “Suki,” he was referring to his daughter Bethany, the very American looking girl born of an extra-marital relationship; someone whose photo Izume really did not want displayed in the home next to her own quintessential Japanese daughters. He had basically told me something close to what he believed was the truth: Bethany was his daughter from his American mistress.”
“Victim.”
“Victim. Right. The child of his victim. Akahito called her Suki because he knew that I already believed he had a daughter in New York named Suki. And then he let Bethany fill in details about an extra-marital affair. It was…” Hollis gestured, as if pleading for understanding. “I don’t know what to tell you. It was completely believable. I didn’t have any reason not to take her at her word.”
“So… then… wait. So did Akahito… know… what Bethany looked like?”
“Izume did not know about that for certain one way or the other. But probably not. Akahito never went back to New York…”
“Fear of arrest.”
“Right, so I’m guessing that any face-to-face meeting with Bethany is unlikely.”
“Photos?”
“If Bethany or her mother had ever sent him photographs, Izume never found them. If they had sent photographs of her they wouldn’t have been authentic. You’ve seen Bethany. They’d have found some American-Asian girl and taken her picture. But there’s no evidence of any photos. As far as Izume knows, Bethany was a sight unseen.”
“He just took it on faith that the girl who was…”
“I know. It sounds… there must have been a birth certificate or a photo or something like that at some point. Maybe all it took to keep him in line was that first police report and being hauled in for questioning.”
“So for all you know, the Mother really did have Akahito’s baby and he or she is out there walking around with a lot of unanswered questions.”
“MmmHmm. All we know is that Bethany – Lynnette Moss – was not that baby. And Akahito would have had to have suspected that Bethany looked a lot different than the Japanese girls in those photographs: his real daughter and the girl, probably some random Japanese tourist, who became Suki Yoshida, an orphan from Okinawa. He knew he’d have to explain both a different name and a different appearance.”
“My head is starting to hurt.”
Hollis nodded sympathetically. His own head hurt. The past four days, entailing a traverse of over four thousand miles, had been highly eventful, very emotional and largely sleepless. He wanted to go upstairs and be unconscious for a week. He sat impassively and watched Susan piece things together.
“So Bethany’s mother … she’s ‘the mother’.
“MmmHmm.”
“And you told me that Bethany’s mother had died in a boat fire.”
“That’s what she told me. But I’m assuming that was just a colorful lie designed to get my sympathy.”
“And did it work? Did she get your sympathy, Hollis?”
Hollis did not respond.
“I still don’t understand what Akahito Takada thought you were going to be able to do at any of these colleges.”
“I think he misunderstood my association with some of those schools.”
“Some of those schools? Hollis.” She shook her head in something like pity. “What you mean is that you think you were bragging about who you knew. Who you fish with. Who you golf with. Who owes you a favor for saving his life. You catered that misimpression, Hollis. Because you can’t help it. Maybe no one sees that but me. But I see it. Always showing off. It’s like breathing for you.”
A part of him, an old part, an ancient part, a part of him that he had not felt for at least a full week, wanted to fight back. Wanted to lash out in full denial and to then offer up her own foibles for inspection.
But it was like trying to resurrect the dead. He did not have it in him to fight back. He did not want to fight. You’re right, he wanted to say to her. You’re right. About all of it. You’re right. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to think I was as important in my life as he was in his. I wanted us to be equals. I told him I would be on the Board of Regents at UNOH. It’s true. I’m sorry.
But he did not say those things. Instead he sat still, allowing the ambiguity of his silence to answer for him.
“So … which is it? Is he trying to pay his blackmailing daughter off or get her educated?”
“Either. Both. I don’t know Susan. I really don’t.”
“But the truth is… that… Bethany is not … actually… Akahito’s daughter.”
“Right.”
“It was all a scam.”
“It was all a scam.”
“He was blackmailed for a rape that may or may not have happened, and may or may not have produced a child.”
“Right. The child that grew up as Lynnette Moss, who later pretended to be Suki Takada aka Bethany Koan, was fathered by an alcoholic ball player for the Syracuse Chiefs.”
“And Akahito has no idea.”
“He does now.”
“How?”
“Because I called to tell him. When he wouldn’t talk to me and I heard Izume’s story, I ended up telling her everything I knew about Lynnette Moss.”
“Which you learned from where, exactly?”
“Mmmm… things I put together. From talking to Beth… damn. From talking to Lynnette. From talking to the police in Phoenix. Her driver’s license was for Lynnette Moss. She had a long story for that, but I didn’t buy it.”
“Because you’re so incredibly discerning.”
Hollis did not take the bait. He could feel the incredulity from the whole ugly story loosening its grip on Susan and allowing the anger to return.
“Why would Izume trust you enough to tell you all of this, Hollis? You barely know her. I mean… you just call her up out of the blue and…”
“She was upset.”
“Yeah… so?”
“Shortly before I called, Lynnette had called. Well, Bethany had called.”
“Called Akahito?”
“Called Izume. She told Izume the story that she and her mother had been milking for years. She said that if Izume and Akahito did not cooperate, Akahito would be ruined and, most likely, spending a lot of time in an American prison.”
“Why the sudden change in strategy?”
“Lynette knew it was only a matter of time before I told Akahito what I knew. She was trying to get whatever she could from them in a hurry.”
The sound of the television came barreling down the stairs. Susan closed her eyes and then turned and shouted up.
“Ben! Turn it down, Honey! Ben?!”
The volume faded. Susan turned back to Hollis and looked at him squarely. He remembered suddenly the face on the television he had seen in his Blythe hotel room. The face that had shouted into a microphone and the eyes that needed no amplification. “It is your turn to admit you have been wrong. I will not apologize to you or for you. It is your turn to apologize. To explain yourself. It is your turn to show your loyalty.”
“You slept with her,” she said simply. “In Columbus, after Wally Nunn’s retirement party. And in Phoenix. You screwed that … conniving child. That lost soul.”
“No.”
He did not look at her. He didn’t need to. He could feel the rage in her eyes burrowing into the top of his head with the momentum of years.
“You tried. You tried with all your might.”
He waited. But she would outlast him. He knew that. He was no longer a match for Susan’s moral authority. He nodded.
“I tried. I tried and couldn’t. You said you didn’t care.”
“Don’t give me that … that crap! Of course I care, Hollis. This is a marriage. Of course I care. And if you’re actually sincere, then goddamn you for believing that I don’t. Marriage is all about caring. It’s all about giving a damn. I have cared for every last minute of it.”
I have cared too! He c
alled out in his head, screaming for her in his thoughts. I have cared! I do care. More than ever. I saw you! Last night I saw you! I booked a flight to Columbus almost the moment I saw you on television. I was in Kent and I saw you there with your friends. I saw you dancing. Outside Engleman Hall. Engleman Hall! Where we began! I climbed the hill to Taylor Hall. I visited the memorial. I know what I have done. I know what I have allowed you to do. I know what you have done to prove yourself to me. And I’m sorry, Susan. I’m so inexpressibly sorry. I love you. I love you now more than I have ever loved you. No one could love you more than I do. No one could possibly understand more than I can your capacity for love and sacrifice! I am humbled to my core. Susan! My wife! I love you! I am sorry. Forgive me!
“I have cared too, Susan,” he said, too calmly.
“Really.”
“Yes. I have. I have cared. I do care.”
She pulled an envelope from her back pocket and tossed it on the carpet at his feet. His heart seized, froze and shattered. He had forgotten to reclaim the letter he had left in the bathroom on his way out the door for Phoenix. The stupid, self-serving, petulant letter. His own words came galloping back like horsemen of the apocalypse.
…If I am not the person you want as a husband, then that is regrettable. We have both invested so much. But I will not – I WILL NOT – pretend along with you that I am in need of some great moral reform. Not from you of all people… I will not bend over backwards to convince you of anything. Not any more.
“Interesting letter,” she said. “For someone who cares.”
“I… I was angry. I didn’t… I forgot about the damn letter.”
“No, no. Don’t apologize. I wrote my own letter. I’d give it to you, but I tore it up. I’m wishing now I hadn’t.”
“I’m sorry about the letter, Susan. I am. I was … angry.”
