He smiled, and nodded. “Of course. But if we’re going to release you tomorrow, we need to check your bandages to make sure everything’s healing properly.”
Suddenly, it hit me. My brain had been way too concerned about the here and now to ask the all important question. “Doctor, how long have I been in here?”
He paused in cutting off some bandages, “Since you were brought in? You’ve been here at least three days. We had to keep you deeply sedated for that first day, then cut it down so you would be awake and moving today.” He tilted his head as he removed the bandages around my eye. “Ahh, perfect. It’s healing nicely. You should be ready to be fitted with a glass eye soon.”
I shook my head. “Don’t bother. Nine chances out of ten, the glass eye will just sit on a desk somewhere.” I smiled ruefully. “I’ll wear an eye-patch if that’s okay with you. How about the rest of me? How bad off am I?”
The doctor moved around me to my blind side and began working over there. “Your shoulder will be stiff and sore for the next few days, but you will have to move it so that the muscles don’t freeze in place. We can remove the hard bandage on your nose now and let time provide the rest of the healing.” The bulky brace came off my nose as the final wrappings were removed. A second later the doctor reappeared in my line of vision. “Forgive my inquisitiveness, but I am curious about the image on your chest.”
I turned slightly to look at him, “It’s a long story, doctor. One that I really can’t talk about at the moment.“ I glanced around the room, “Do you have a mirror handy? I’d like to see my face if that’s okay. I know I’m not going to look pretty, but I need to see it.”
He didn’t say a word, just handed me the mirror, it gave me the first look at what the blast did to me. I was right, it wasn’t pretty. On the left side of my face with the bandages off, except for a slight burning around where the eye should have been, the rest was untouched. The empty eye socket was a bit disconcerting in the reflection. No telling how my nose would look until the swelling had gone down. Then I looked at my shoulder. There, a jagged circle of tiny stitches, were the only indication that a wound existed. Almost as if someone stuck a circular piece of skin on the area and used a really odd sewing machine to patch it back together. “Not bad!” I said, impressed. Then my stomach decided it was time, once again, to announce its presence with a loud snarling growl. “Sorry, it’s got a mind of it’s own when it wants food. Then, if it’s okay, I’d like to get a shower.” I chuckled.
The doctor grinned, “Of course. I think we can leave the bandages off now. However, if you feel odd at all, just hit the emergency button in the bathroom.”
I put down the mirror and bowed slightly from the neck. “Thank you, sir, for your excellent treatment and your fantastic bedside manners.” A mischievous grin formed on my lips. “You and your hospital team are at the top of my list of people to see in an emergency.” That got a laugh out of him.
Our compliment session got interrupted by the arrival of food. Not normal hospital food, but a gourmet dinner for one. Sushi, egg drop soup, spiced Tchai tea from Nepal, and an oddity on the tray, Baklava. Whoever dreamed up this, knew my tastes. I looked over the tray and blinked, almost missing it, but there it was, an origami Crane. “Does anyone know who made this?” They both shook their heads. Once they’d quietly left the room, my stomach began demanding anything it could get. I had to chuckle and started with the soup, sighing in relief. No matter where you go in the world, the hospital food absolutely sucks! Whoever decided to send decent food needed a big ‘Thank You’ sent to them.
After polishing off the rest of the food, I set the Baklava off to one side, next to the crane. My stomach began making happy noises, now that it had something decent in it.
Slowly, I got out of bed and maneuvered my way across the floor to the shower, not an easy thing to do when you have no depth perception. Once there, the hot water felt so good on my skin. Like a sensuous massage as heated water slowly eased all the tight muscles in my back. It also gave me a chance to think. Who is this mysterious person that is sending me the origami cranes? Why did the O-Bon dance become a disaster and who’s responsible for it? The questions ran circles around my brain while the rest of me managed to get the smell of the past few days off my skin. When I stepped out of the shower, someone had laid out a pair of drawstring pants and a top to sleep in, instead of the usual gown that allows you to moon the whole world as you walk down the hallway. Grateful for the clothes, I dressed, climbed back in bed, then examined the crane. It was identical to the first one, right down to the scent. Sandalwood. For some odd reason, the man who had stared at me that night came to mind. Why, I don’t know? Too many riddles and not enough clues.
Setting the crane off to one side, I finished my desert and rolled over to shut off the light. In the ensuing darkness, the days’ events finally took their toll. I felt mentally and physically drained. Staring out the window, it finally struck home that my sister, step or otherwise, had died. Her laughter, her smile, her delight at seeing me during the obligatory visits to my mom, only memories remained. The rest of her life had been stolen from her and the rest of those who knew her. “I’m sorry, Sara.” I whispered into the night. “I should have gotten you away as soon as I saw you like that.” I buried my face in the pillow and cried myself to sleep. If there were any nightmares, no one told me about them the next morning.
Chapter Five
>A soft chime from the wall clock announced the noon hour. For the third or fourth time, my eyes strayed to the full-length mirror in the corner of the small room. Each time, I had to do a double take because of the overwhelming strangeness of it all. From the clothes on my body and, in a couple hours, standing with my stepfather as we both endured one of the hardest emotional ceremonies either of us had had to go through. Thankfully, no one demanded that I wear women’s clothing or lock me out of the ceremony for simply being gaijin. For this, however, black became the order of the day. From my t-shirt to my tennis shoes, to the leather vest. Flat black. Even the eye patch. These were the only change of clothing I had that was appropriate for the ceremony. Let’s not forget the whole ritual afterwards.
“I look like a damned biker,” I muttered, running my hand through the incredibly short hair on my head.
My stay at the hospital, combined with the facial injuries, facilitated shaving my hair close to the scalp. Not that I minded, just strange to feel a mass of prickly short stubble all over my head. I had wanted a new, sharper look to my personality, but didn’t think it would take a bomb blast to do it. Thinking back over the morning’s activities made me grumble wordlessly to myself. At dawn, they’d rousted me from my bed at the hospital, given me a once over, and handed me my release papers. When they’d finished, we thanked each other and left it at that. It always pays to be polite to people who’d just helped keep you in one piece. I took my bag of stuff, stepped out the front door and into the first rays of the rising sun. It felt good to feel it on my face. My stepfather’s limo had waited at the curb to pick me up and bring me here. A small one-room getaway cottage. Amazingly enough, I had a wonderful view of the Amanawa Shinmei Jinja. A neat path wound it’s way down the hill to the base of the steps if I decided to take a walk over to the temple again.
The temple. The thought of it shocked me out of my reverie and made me twitch just a bit in pain. My shoulder and ribs were still tender, but today, I welcomed the ache. In the mirror, my eye took one final, critical, look over my appearance. The bandage on my nose had come off, but it still looked like a mass of black and blue bruises. The doctors told me it would be a while before they faded. It blended in with the rest of the emotional quagmire that I had to deal with today. Turning from the mirror, my ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up to the front door. Ashi Nogura, my stepfather, stood there with a retinue of relatives. They all wore black, though some were wearing white shirts under black jackets. The women wore black kimonos over a layer of white. In their eyes, I saw the mour
ning of a lost child. In others, hostile looks at my inclusion into their world. In some, outright curiosity.
I formally bowed low to the members of the family, which they all returned in kind. Then we proceeded to head down to the temple for the ritual. It wasn’t far from the cottage, so the whole clan walked to the small shrine. Unsure of what to do, I watched carefully to see what the rest of the family did, and followed accordingly. I stood at the far right of the family circle as the priest led the chanting during the cremation, mouthing the words until my lips correctly matched the tempo and the phrasing, then joined my voice with the rest of the family. One of the family gave me some incense, I don’t remember whom. The spicy scent of the smoke covered the stench of the body, as it became nothing more than ash and charred dust. I didn’t want to think about it too much. To go down that road would be to invite insanity in. It took all my courage just to stand there, and know that Sara’s body had been given to the fire.
Trying to take my mind off the flames, I looked up to the picture of Sara on the shrine wall. My heart contracted slightly at the sight of the familiar picture. The photograph had been one of the first I took at the beginning of my career as a professional photographer. The image showed her smiling and wearing a beautiful emerald green kimono that brought out the highlights of her face and eyes. I closed my eye and breathed deeply, lowering my head to hide the tears that threatened to fall. My eye caught Nogura’s from across the room. He had watched my reaction to the photo. To make this moment as painless as possible for me, my stepfather had chosen one of my photos to grace the funeral shrine. The rest of the ceremony became a blur in time. Lost in the morass of memories, sorrow, and the ache of my injuries, nothing mattered. One of Nogura’s sisters gently took my arm and led me outside into the open air when it became obvious to her that I was an emotional wreck.
A crisp, clean breeze blew through the trees just outside the shrine doors. I put my shoes back on, inhaling deeply, letting the smell of the ocean and the sharp tang of the pines become the balm for my aching soul. This, along with the woman at my side, managed to get me through the ash collecting and the ride up to the family burial plot without having a complete emotional breakdown. I held it together until the last rays of light faded from the sky. Once back at the cottage and seated in the middle of the floor, my mind started reliving every moment of happiness Sara and I had shared in our lifetimes. From the moment we met on my first visit to Japan, to the last words she said to me in that hotel room. With each memory, tears flowed down my face, unchecked and unseen by anyone in the semi darkness of the room. No one would hear my anguished cries, slightly muffled by pillows, as my emotions were allowed to vent themselves to an unseeing and uncaring four walls. Walls that would keep my secrets until the end of time.
Chapter Six
>As true night fell on the Kamakura landscape, I stirred slightly, lost in my own thoughts and emotional pain. My stepsister, dead and gone. Her immortality, the memories carried in my heart and on film, were hidden away from the world. Safe from harm or damage. Just the thought made the back of my neck itch. Maybe it was the grief or the aches in my body that made me feel this way. It felt as if someone watched me intently, committing my every move to memory for later use. It made me feel uneasy, making me want to cut and run back to the safety of my home turf in Seattle.
Suddenly, a sound intruded into my self-imposed angst and my paranoid reverie. The familiar sound my ears had not heard in a long time, and would be perfectly happy to never hear it at all. My cell phone had a distinctive ring to it. Reaching over to check the glowing numbers before answering it, I recognized the phone number as my dad. Hitting the answer button with my thumb, a niggling finger of apprehension trickled down my spine, making me wish for a weapon. “Hi Dad, what’s up?” I tried to keep my voice as neutral as possible. I did not want to have an argument with him over the phone.
Paul Montegard’s voice sounded like an angry bear with PMS. Thanks to losing a personal argument with a knife, he always spoke with a growling sound. If he’s really pissed, it sounds more pronounced and harsh. “Don’t try that neutral bullshit on me, Terri. You were never any good at it. What the hell is going on over there? The news said there was an explosion and that Stephen Mentari’s boy was killed.”
I counted slowly to ten in three different languages. “Convenient of you to omit the fact that Sara Ashi, his fiancé, was also killed in the blast. You should know Sara. She was the only daughter of Ashi Nogura, President and Owner of AshiCorp International, leading company in the Fiber Optic technology field?”
A snort of derision came over the phone, “Yeah, some Jap prima donna bitch who probably was at one of the parties as an escort and wound up selling ceilings to Cosar for the night. Daddy probably made a big payoff to him to save his precious honor.”
His words hit home, causing me to physically flinch, the sharp pain of my shoulder helped to clear my head. My dad had a redder neck than any redneck in the country. My voice dropped into a soft, dangerous tone. The type of tone which usually makes people back off because they know they’ve pushed me too far. “Back off, Dad. You can take your prejudiced bullshit and shove it up your ass for all I care. Sara Ashi was my stepsister, if you’ll remember correctly. You will show some respect, or we will be terminating this conversation here and now.” I paused to get my temper under control, “They buried her to day in the Ashi family plot.”
I heard a muffled “Good riddance.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but letting it slide seemed like a good idea this time. To cover this faux pas, my dad hastily asked. “Are you okay?”
I rolled my eye to the ceiling and took comfort of knowing an entire ocean separated us. If there hadn’t been, my hands would be wrapped around his neck in record time. “Another thing they didn’t tell you? Amazing!” Sarcasm can be a nice thing when you’ve been emotionally pushed to the limits, “Other than some cracked ribs, a crushed nose, and a slowly healing shoulder, I’m fine… Thanks for asking!” I didn’t tell him about the eye. Let him see it to believe it.
My words struck a nerve. His voice held that whip-crack of command that cowed me during my childhood. “Don’t use that tone of voice on me, Terri! You may be an ocean away, but I am still your Father!”
I reigned in the words that tried to fight their way out of my mouth, “I’ll use whatever tone I want, Dad. I’m twenty-five now and you can’t pull your cop tactics on me like you did when I was a child. I don’t kiss your ass anymore for anything, so put that tirade up on a damned shelf!”
Silence reigned over the airwaves and I swear I heard muted whispering again. A moment later, “When are you coming home?” It was a demand, not a request. No compassion there either.
Home. My mind flashed to the houseboat my mom gave me as a graduation present. A year later, she died of cancer and left me a suitable inheritance in a trust, worded so tightly that it sent Dad into a rage. It ate at his soul, knowing he couldn’t get his hands on it. No matter what he tried legally. My own personal space and Dad never got an invite. Never. “When they turn me loose. Even here, there are police procedures to adhere to.”
He growled, “Yeah, well, get home ASAP! Your boss needs those photos!”
A click and dial tone were my good bye from him. Snarling, I threw the phone across the darkened room. It connected with the far wall in an impressive explosion of parts and circuitry. Taking perverse satisfaction in watching the moonlight glitter off the broken parts, like tiny glittering stars that fell from the sky. I closed my eye and walked out the door and onto the porch. A cool breeze rustled the trees and bushes, surrounding the house, making me smile. Even the flora and fauna seemed restless after that phone call. Who could blame them? I found a small bench that had a nice view of the shrine. Surprisingly, the feeling of being watched had faded.
Taking a deep breath, and letting it out into the night, my mind flowed backwards. Flickering over my troubled past with my dad. Ever since my toddler years, he’d been cold a
nd callous. His father had been a World War Two POW in Japan. I knew about granddad’s hatred of the Japanese. The problem became understanding why he’d pushed his racist views onto his son. Who, in turn, tried to do the same to me. Fortunately, my mother and I were made of different stuff than he thought. Whatever his beliefs, they were his alone, not mine or her’s. The department removed my dad from the Asian patrol sectors in Seattle because of his views. Guess where he got his throat cut? Right, Chinatown. If he hadn’t been such a good cop while he patrolled the lily white sector of town, they’d have given him his walking papers a long time ago. As it is, they had to keep an eye on him. Especially when it came to visiting dignitaries from Asian countries.
I shook my head, drinking in the sights and sounds of the night, letting its music calm my anger. My policy has remained firm since the day I turned eighteen, stay away from Dad as much as possible. Because every time we got even close enough to recognize each other, it would start and end in a yelling match. He became very good at using words to hurt and make me feel guilty. I used words to defend myself and shield me from the sharp barbs. With a sigh, I glanced down at the path that led to the Temple as I tried to jolt myself out of the past and back to where it belongs.
It seemed such a peaceful place, sitting there, all alone in the darkness, kind of like me. It looked like an opportunity to say my own personal good-byes without anyone seeing me. Taking a couple moments, I filled a bag with some things, included for safety’s sake, a hardwood staff that had been left lying around. It was about my height, five foot ten. I needed it to get down the hill and back while still adjusting to the lack of depth perception. Moving over a few tricky spots on the path, getting down the hill without taking a fall on my face became more pure luck than anything else.
Diane Taylor - [The Montegard Files] Page 4
