“Convicted?” Someone in the class asked for a translation.
“Miss Shimura, is he your boyfriend?” Mr. Nara advanced on my desk, crossing both physical and emotional boundaries.
Talking about personal life was so off-limits that when Mr. Katoh’s wife was expecting a baby, nobody knew until the day after it happened. If pregnancy within the bonds of marriage was taboo, what was an affair between single people? I hesitated a moment too long before saying, “I’m not sure.”
“No commento!” some wit said.
“This class is for conversation about you, not me.” I turned my back and started to write on the blackboard. “Here’s a conversation topic: quickly, I want everyone to tell me how they plan to attain their sales goals in a new and interesting way.”
“But Miss Shimura, you are more new and interesting!” Mr. So whined.
How could a good thing turn bad so fast? I pushed Hugh to the back of my mind and willed myself to get through the rest of the class. When the electronic melody finally chimed, the answer came to me. Things had been bad all along. I’d just forgotten.
Strangely, Richard didn’t come in to teach his evening class. He had left a message with the office that an emergency had arisen; I prayed he hadn’t returned to the apartment and encountered some new menace. I wound up having to take his night students with mine, suffering double the questions and snickering.
After work, I stayed at my desk. Now that I’d been on television, I needed a disguise. I called Oi Beauty Salon. Mrs. Oi had seen the noon news and offered to send a wig by courier—her grandson, who she assured me was entirely trustworthy.
It was dark by the time the courier showed up. I transformed myself into Japanese Barbie and threw Richard’s old raincoat over me and left Nichiyu through the service entrance.
At the apartment building, the light was working and the stairs had been repaired with brand new, tough-looking boards. I trod up carefully. Opening the apartment door was a little scary, but once I stepped inside I felt the rush of comfort that I always did upon arriving home.
Richard had evidently come and gone. A trail of water told me he must have run from bathroom to telephone fairly recently. I looked at the answering machine and saw eleven calls had come in.
The first message had been recorded at twelve-thirty and was from Hugh.
“Darling, Winnie told me you were on the morning and lunchtime news. If anyone calls, stay mellow and just refer them to Mr. Ota. And don’t worry.”
“Hello, Miss Shimura? This is Manami Tsureta.” A confident woman’s voice. “I am a reporter from the Japan Times working on a story about the Sendai murder. I would like a comment on your relationship with Hugh Glendinning. Please call me back.”
I had previously been a fan of Ms. Tsureta’s investigative journalism, but there was no way I wanted to be her fodder. I fast-forwarded through her number to the next call, which was from a man with a rasping, uncultured voice.
“This is Nao from News to You. We’re doing a story called the murderer’s mistresses and need you to respond to various charges. It’s in your interest, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“It’s Karen. I see you’re still wearing my Junko Shimada suit about town, huh? I liked the shot they got of you in the evening without a blouse underneath. I’d try it but with my size, I’d probably get arrested. What were you doing wearing stilettos to work this morning, though? Totally tacky!”
“It’s Okuhara, from the Shiroyama Police. I need to speak to you again.”
“This is Ishida, calling about your antique box. I have some news from the museum. Please call me very soon, if you have time.”
“Hi, Rei, it’s Joe Roncolotta. It’s about noon on Wednesday. Listen, you had fabulous exposure on the news this morning. I want you to know that now would be the optimum time to open your antique shopping service. Call me, ya hear?”
“Rei, it’s your mother. Where were you last weekend and why haven’t you called me back? We’d like to know if you’re alive.”
“This is Wakajima from the Yomiuri Shibum. We’re going to press with a story about Hugh Glendinning and need your comment. I’ll try you at your office.”
“It’s your lover again. I’ve finished up with Setsuko’s travel agent…who told me something strange. When are you getting home from work, anyway? Call before you come over so I can draw the bath. And Richard, this message is not intended for you.”
“Rei, this is your cousin Tom. An Englishman came to the hospital with a black eye and broken ankle. He may be a lunatic, I think. Anyway, he asked me to contact you—”
Tom’s message was cut off. Richard must have intercepted at that point, and now I knew why he hadn’t gone to work. I tore off my stockings and work clothes, slipping gym socks over my feet blistered from the pumps and sliding into jeans and the Love Cats Friendship T-shirt. I pulled my wig into a ponytail, grabbed my parka, and ran.
I found Richard at St. Luke’s Emergency waiting room an hour later, Mariko at his side.
“If it wasn’t for that hideous parka I wouldn’t recognize you,” he said, touching my artificial hair and wincing. “What do you think, Mariko?”
“I should have made you leave the bar last night because I knew the reporters were there. But I didn’t. I screwed up,” Mariko mumbled.
The scene came together. The salarymen flashing a camera around at the next table must have been a journalist team. They had probably followed Hugh and me from Club Marimba back to Roppongi Hills. Thank God the living room blinds had been drawn. Still, they nabbed me bright and early the next morning.
“Kiki was scared. She couldn’t have you coming back upsetting things—” Mariko’s voice broke.
“Keiko sent a couple of thugs to break Hugh’s legs,” Richard added. “Luckily, they just got the weak ankle.”
A nurse at the main desk had put down her clipboard to stare at us. Perhaps I was so notorious from television that she could recognize me, wig and all. Then I heard someone next to her whisper “Shimura-sensei” and I realized my connection to the hospital heartthrob was the overriding interest.
“Is my cousin taking care of Mr. Glendinning?” I marched up to the desk and didn’t bother with the usual conversational softeners.
“Not at the moment. Endo-sensei is looking after him now, but Shimura-sensei said to page him when you arrived.”
“Will you?”
“We already have.” She gave me a comforting look. I thanked her and shuffled back to Richard and Mariko.
“Have the attackers been caught?” I asked.
“Your cousin advised Hugh not to give a description or press charges, given that it was ya-san,” Richard whispered.
“Brilliant. The one chance we had to get Keiko arrested and tied to Setsuko’s murder is gone.” I put my head in my hands.
“Why do you and Richard keep calling Kiki by the name Keiko?” Mariko interrupted, sounding cross. Richard and I exchanged glances.
“Because they’re the same woman.” I had no time for soft words. I was furious with Mariko for leaving us and causing the resulting chaos.
“No. My mother was a gorgeous person, not a Mama-san!” Mariko shook her head so violently that one of her dreadlocks hit Richard in the mouth.
“You’re right that she was gorgeous,” Richard assured her. “You inherited that part.”
Mariko looked skeptical. I took a deep breath and said, “Setsuko was your mother.”
“That’s not a funny joke, with my aunt dead and everything.”
Feeling sorry about my earlier bluntness, I told her, “Setsuko was very young when you were born—just seventeen. Keiko offered to take care of you, and Setsuko never forgot you. Look at the way she stayed part of your life.”
“But I don’t look like her. I’m so dark…”
“You are beautiful,” I said, and Richard put his arms around her.
“What about my father, then? That story about him going off to work in Australia…”
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“We think he was an American war hero who died in Vietnam. We have a photograph, and perhaps a lawyer could help you trace his relatives…”
“I don’t believe in tracing people who don’t want you. And I don’t believe this crap.” A tear slid out of Mariko’s eye, leaving a dark line. She broke out of Richard’s hold and stumbled away, her small, black leather clad frame cutting a crooked path down the glossy gray hallway. A small black starling fallen from her nest, maybe forever.
“Go,” I told Richard, and he did.
Ten minutes later, Tom brought me back to see Hugh, eliminating all rules about relatives-only with a wave of his white-jacketed arm.
“Have the reporters arrived yet?” I whispered.
“No, and they won’t be allowed inside. We’ll protect him using every rule about patient confidentiality. And I’ve alerted security about the possibility of, uh, ya-san.”
Hugh was resting on a gurney that looked a half-foot too short. Tom brought me to the side and drew a privacy curtain around, separating us from the room at large. Together, we watched Hugh breathing easily in sleep. He was nowhere near death, it was clear, although his left leg was elevated in a sling.
“He’ll be here for at least a week,” Tom said.
“For a broken ankle?” I was incredulous.
“It’s the Japanese way,” Tom shrugged. “Believe me, one week is a modest estimate. I’ll try to get him out earlier, but he’s probably safer relaxing here than anywhere.”
“He might still be indicted, so he needs time to prepare with his lawyer. He doesn’t have any time to relax!” I was irritated by Tom’s cheery bedside manner.
“Yes, he was complaining about that before surgery. This is the guy who wanted you to translate the autopsy, I suppose?”
When I nodded, my cousin’s face turned into something resembling Aunt Norie’s when she was unhappy with the quality of vegetables at the farmers market. “So this is the man who was jailed in Shiroyama for a while, returned to Tokyo, and was seen with you in a filthy hostess bar?”
“You watch tabloid television?” I wouldn’t have thought my brainy cousin had the time.
“My mother does.” Tom scowled. “Don’t worry, she won’t call your father. Frankly, she’s ashamed this kind of thing happened when she had responsibility for you.”
“She doesn’t have responsibility for me,” I protested. “I’ve been living on my own in Tokyo ever since I arrived.”
“That’s the problem. As the man of our family, I want to ask you to move in with us for reasons of safety. They tried to break your friend’s legs. He’s a big man, very strong, and he fought back. Imagine what they could do to you. And your boy roommate, he is very small…”
Hugh stirred, and I came closer to the bed, put my hand over his. His grip was tight, although his green-gold gaze was unfocused.
“You’re going to be fine, Hugh,” I whispered. It was an effort to keep from swooping down on his lips.
“Do we know each other?” Hugh murmured.
“He’s got three different drugs in him, Rei,” Tom said. “It probably wasn’t a good idea to have you see him.”
“Rei,” Hugh said, as if trying out the sound of the word. “Reizko. It means fridge.” I waited for more but my lover cut himself off with a giant yawn. Asleep again. I looked at Tom helplessly and let him lead me out.
27
Aunt Norie made no mention of how strange it was I’d come visiting at midnight. Showing me to the small bed crowded with stuffed animals in my absent cousin Chika’s room, she was full of gentle suggestions: a simple dinner of miso soup, rice, and pickled vegetables, a soak in the bath afterward. She was impressed that I’d brought my own toiletries and nightgown. How perfect, what a nice visit it would be!
Not even my own mother treated me this lavishly, I thought while watching my aunt move rapidly around her small kitchen, serving the Zen diet to me and a larger meal to Tom. When I rolled into bed an hour later, Aunt Norie tucked plush bath towels around me for extra warmth, her own version of Smother love. She must be missing Chika, who was away at Kyoto University. I began wondering how long Aunt Norie expected to keep me.
Tom didn’t have to go to work until mid-afternoon, but rose early to jog and then eat breakfast with me. Aunt Norie grilled us each a small mackerel accompanied by more miso soup, rice, and natto, the pungent, fermented soybeans that Tom had adopted as the cornerstone of his new diet.
“I’m getting better, don’t you think?” Tom pinched a corner of his waist, which I found ridiculous. Tom didn’t need to be thin to get a wife or anything else he desired. When I told him what a big attraction he was at his workplace, he laughed.
“That’s what I don’t like—the word ‘big’. Why not ‘slim’? Dr. Tsutomu Shimura, slim attraction at Saint Luke’s?”
Aunt Norie was smiling at our jokes as she brought in the morning paper. Then she looked at the front page and stopped.
“Don’t worry. If it’s Japanese, I can’t read much,” I reassured her.
“Give it to me, please. Rei should know what’s being said about her,” Tom said. He translated two stories. The first was an interview with Captain Okuhara about the lack of progress in the ongoing murder investigation. The shorter feature was all about me, illustrated with a sketch my ex-boyfriend Shin Hatsuda had drawn about a year ago. Wearing a half-open yukata and combing my short, wet hair, this image of me was blatantly inspired by a wood-block print by the early twentieth-century illustrator Hashiguchi Goy. I wondered if the paper had paid Shin for the picture or the mean-spirited comments about how I had been a nice girl at first but turned out to be extremely bossy.
“Can we watch the news?” I picked up the TV remote control.
“Do as you like!” Aunt Norie was hanging out laundry on the sun porch and beat each piece extra-vigorously as if to show her disapproval. The frown on her face deepened as News to You opened with sinister, drum-heavy pop music.
Mr. Nanda, the man who had left a message on my answering machine, reported that Rei Shimura, a Nichiyu Kitchenware employee, would likely be a witness for the defense should Glendinning be arrested again. Over footage of me looking horribly panicked outside Roppongi Hills, the reporter went on to say that the Japanese-American party girl had enjoyed drinks with Hugh and another foreign man at Club Marimba two nights ago.
On the public television channel, a more serious story described the apparent disappearance of Hugh Glendinning about which Tokyo police refused to comment.
“The police know he’s at Saint Luke’s. I called them,” Tom said.
“How kind of you.” I rolled my eyes.
“I had to! It’s dangerous to have such a patient. In fact”—he looked suddenly inspired—“Rei, if you’re going to be some kind of witness, maybe you can receive twenty-four-hour police protection for yourself.”
“I’m very safe now that I’m in the public eye. With cameras following me, who would possibly have a chance to harm me?”
“I think the best thing is to stay home with my mother. No gangster would look for you in a suburban family home.”
“I’ve got to get back to the hospital and Nichiyu.” My shock had passed, and I was finding the suburbs less than charming. At five in the morning I’d been awakened by screaming blackbirds, a sound more frightening than anything I’d ever heard in north Tokyo.
“Teaching should be the last thing on your mind, and if your employer has any compassion, he will understand your need for a leave of absence,” Tom insisted. My cousin, protected in his medical ivory tower, knew very little about the contract worker’s life. A leave of absence for me would mean a loss of salary. I wouldn’t be able to keep up my share of the apartment, and Richard would find a new roommate.
My worries multiplied as I picked up an assortment of English language dailies at the train station. The Japan Times ran a photograph of me taken at a Nichiyu holiday party with a beer in hand. Courtesy of some student, no doubt. I prayed the
panties picture wouldn’t make it into print. The Japan Times journalist described me as refusing to comment, which made me look really guilty. I would have stayed away from Roppongi Hills if I knew I would have to do anything with Hugh’s defense. Why hadn’t Hugh thought about that? Then the ugly thought came to me that perhaps he had slept with me expressly for that reason—because, once firmly in hand, the little English teacher from Nichiyu would surely say and do whatever he wanted.
When I walked into orthopedics, the chip on my shoulder had grown as large as Ueno Park. I pushed aside the curtain that guarded the entry to Hugh’s room, inspecting a large arrangement of white roses with a card that said “Love from Winnie and Piers” and yellow tulips from Hikari Yasui before reaching Hugh, who lay shielded by the Japan Times.
“I’m not ready yet, Nurse,” he muttered. When I pulled the newspaper away, he brightened. “Rei! I thought you were one of them, forcing bed pans on me every quarter of an hour. This is the most humiliating experience of my life.”
“Wasn’t prison worse?” I didn’t return the charming, lopsided smile he gave me.
“Close the curtain, will you?” He patted the edge of the bed for me to sit down. I did, leaning assiduously away from his outstretched arms. He sighed and said, “I see you’re living up to the terms of our agreement.”
“What’s that?”
“My punishment. It happens to me every time we start to get close. I find it rather tiresome, especially at a time like this.”
“I don’t hate you,” I whispered, conscious of the open door. “I just had a rather rude surprise on television and in the newspapers this morning. Something about me being called as a witness for your defense.”
“Wouldn’t you testify for me?”
“No! Not when all of Tokyo knows I left your apartment at eight-fifteen in the morning. I look like your mistress, not an objective observer.”
“I see.” Hugh paused. “I know it’s rotten for your image to be wrapped up with mine. That’s a good part of why I tried to hold myself off you for so long.”
The Salaryman's Wife Page 25
