John Rain 08: Graveyard of Memories

by Barry Eisler

  Still, you just killed four more people. Five in three days.

  Is that supposed to bother me?

  Shouldn’t it?

  I didn’t have an answer for that. Other than:

  It doesn’t.

  Because sometimes there’s just what you can do, and what you can’t.

  chapter

  twenty

  I called McGraw from a payphone. “It’s done,” I told him. “What’s the status on the last file?”

  “Done…you mean, done, done?”

  “What the hell do you think I mean?”

  “It was fast, is what I mean. I’m surprised, that’s all. Impressed.”

  “What’s the status on the last file?”

  “Just about completed. I’m sorry it’s not quite ready yet. I have to tell you, I never dreamed you’d be able to act on these files faster than I’d be able to prepare them.”

  “When can I get it?”

  “Tomorrow, I think. Meet me at noon in front of the Benzaiten shrine. You know it?”

  “There are a few. Shiba Kōen, Ueno Kōen, Inokashira Kōen. Which one do you want?”

  There was a pause. “I didn’t realize there were so many.”

  “Popular goddess, apparently.”

  “Well, I meant the one at Inokashira. I’ll see you there.” He hung up.

  I blew out a long breath, closed my eyes, and shifted mental gears. I realized I hadn’t done anything about finding a good place to take Sayaka for dinner. Outside the love hotel district, I didn’t know Uguisudani at all. In fact, I didn’t know much of anything. Food was mostly functional for me, and more than ramen or a rice bowl was a rarity. What would she like? What would be special for her?

  Well, she listens to jazz all the time. Maybe something with jazz?

  I thought of the flyers I’d seen at Lion in Shibuya. Shit, why hadn’t I thought of it right away?

  I couldn’t remember the name of the performer…a guy who played a horn, that was all. But the club…the club was called Taro. In Shinjuku.

  Shinjuku. All the way across town from Uguisudani. She said she couldn’t go far. It wasn’t going to work.

  Yeah, but what if there were a way? A live jazz concert…that would be pretty special. Had she ever even been to one? I knew I hadn’t.

  I found the club in the Tokyo yellow pages. It was in Kabukichō, one of the more salacious parts of Shinjuku. Not so much during the day, but it could get pretty tawdry as sunlight gave way to neon and the nocturnal clientele began to arrive in force, released from the maw of the corporate machine, animated by sake, emboldened by night. Still, one of Tokyo’s charms is the complete lack of zoning, official or otherwise, and just as you might find a foundry next to an izakaya next to a chicken coop next to a house, so too will you find citizens and sinners walking side by side through even the dimmest ventricles of Kabukichō’s neon heart of darkness.

  The only problem was that Kabukichō was infested with yakuza. Next to places like the Kodokan, where I might be anticipated, it was probably the last place I should be going. But still, there couldn’t have been more than a handful of yakuza who had any idea what I even looked like, and it wasn’t like they’d be on the lookout for me in Kabukichō. Nor was I planning on visiting any of their clubs. I decided I was being paranoid. Later in life, anytime I found myself thinking, You’re being paranoid, I’d pat myself on the back. But back then, I looked at it as more a bug than a feature.

  I rode out to the club to reconnoiter. It was in the basement of a mixed office-entertainment building at the edge of Kabukichō. I looked down—a steep, narrow flight of stairs. Shit, this wasn’t going to work.

  Well, I’d come this far. I headed down. There were some flyers by the entrance. Terumasa Hino, right, that was the horn guy’s name. Nine o’clock that night. I folded one up and pocketed it.

  The door was open and I went inside. The place was tiny—room for maybe twenty people, and that’s if they were crammed in tight. Everything was black: walls, ceiling, floor. There was a labyrinth of pipes and vents overhead, and clusters of mismatched tables and chairs throughout. A mirrored bar and a half-dozen stools to one side. A petite Japanese woman was setting up the stage. She didn’t notice me when I came in, and I watched for a moment in awe of her speed and energy—connecting cables, adjusting lights, moving equipment. After a moment, I said, “Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt…”

  She paused and looked up. “Yes?”

  “I, uh, I have a friend who’s a jazz enthusiast. A huge Terumasa Hino fan, in fact.” That last part wasn’t necessarily true, but I didn’t know that it was necessarily untrue, either.

  “Yes?”

  “And I’d really like to find a way to take her to tonight’s performance. I think it would mean a lot to her.”

  “You should. Just get here early. Hino-san is popular.”

  “This is the thing. She’s in a wheelchair.”

  The woman said nothing.

  “I don’t know how to make it happen, but if you could help, it would make someone really happy. I could pay you, that’s not the problem.”

  “Pay me for what?”

  “I don’t know. Making sure there’s room for her chair or something.”

  “You don’t have to pay me for that. But how are you going to get her down the stairs?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just trying to figure out one thing at a time.”

  “Well, could you carry her?”

  “If she’d let me, I guess. Sure.”

  “Then maybe you could carry her down the stairs and I could follow with the wheelchair. I think they fold up, right? Does hers?”

  “I actually don’t know. I can check.”

  She glanced at her watch. “I’ll make sure we have space. What’s your name?”

  “Jun.”

  “I’m Kyoko Seki.”

  “Seiki-san…I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  She nodded. “I have to get back to work. Just get here by eight-thirty.”

  “I will. I’m just…thank you.”

  I headed back up the stairs. There were a dozen things I still didn’t know, a dozen things that could make it all fall apart, but still…I thought maybe I could do this.

  But how was I going to get her out here? Thanatos was out of the question. And I didn’t have a car. I could rent one, but I was going to need something specialized. A passenger van, something like that.

  I went to a phone booth and found a place that had a Honda step van. I had to go all the way out to Haneda Airport to get it, but I didn’t mind. It was an awkward-looking little vehicle—a van, yes, but too high and too thin, as though someone had squashed its sides together and its mass had nowhere to travel but up, and with ridiculously diminutive tires that made it look a bit like the automotive equivalent of a dachshund. But the back door opened at the top and the bottom, creating a good-sized cargo-loading space, and the floor was close to the ground. And it had air-conditioning…that alone might be worth the price of admission. If Sayaka was game, I thought it would work. I pushed Thanatos in back, drove to Ueno, and found a construction site, where I liberated a couple of two-by-sixes. I might have been able to lift her into the van, but it would be easier with a ramp. Then I found another business hotel, where I pulled Thanatos out of the Honda and parked it. I checked in, showered, changed, and drove to Uguisudani. Along the way, I was more nervous than I’d been outside Fukumoto’s house that very afternoon. It already seemed like a long time ago.

  chapter

  twenty-one

  I parked the van illegally near the Uguisudani Station entrance. If a cop came, I’d need to move, but if possible, I didn’t want Sayaka to have to go too far. I stayed inside, keeping the engine running and the air conditioning going, until I saw her coming up the street, propelling herself with efficient, confident strokes of the wheels.

  I cut the engine, hopped out, and went to meet her. She looked good—her hair was back as usual, doubtless a c
oncession to the heat and humidity, and she was wearing a sleeveless blouse that gave me my first really good look at some of her skin and her body. And a good look it was.

  “Is that your car?” she said, looking past me.

  “Yeah. You look great. Can I give you a hand?”

  “Thanks. You can’t park there, you know.”

  “I know, I don’t want to leave it there, I was hoping we could go somewhere.” I was aware I was talking a little fast. I needed to slow it down.

  “Go somewhere? What do you mean?” She didn’t sound happy.

  “Look, I know what you said, but—”

  “No, Jun. I don’t want to drive anywhere.”

  “Can I just—”

  “No. I told you around here.”

  I reached into my pocket and handed her the flyer. “This is what gave me the idea. Do you know him? I know you like jazz.”

  She unfolded it and her mouth dropped open slightly. “Do I know Terumasa Hino? Are you joking?”

  “I don’t know. He’s…good?”

  “He’s amazing. I have all his records.”

  I was glad I hadn’t lied to Kyoko when I told her Sayaka was a fan. “I saw the flyer, that’s where I got the idea. I know I probably shouldn’t have, but it just seemed like something that could be fun. Because I know you like jazz. So I went out to the club and checked it out. I met the owner and she said she’d help—”

  “What do you mean, ‘help’?”

  I realized I was brushing up against sensitivities I had barely even considered, much less understood. “Well, I told her I had a friend who was a big Terumasa Hino fan—”

  “You told her what? You didn’t even know I knew him.”

  “I know, I guess I was going out on a limb a little, but I figured you might like him.”

  She was looking exasperated. “And?”

  “And I told her—Kyoko’s her name, by the way—that you were in a wheelchair, and she said that was no problem, all we had to do was get there early, by eight-thirty, and if I could carry you down the steps, she would follow with the wheelchair. If it folds. Does it? Fold, I mean. She asked and I didn’t know.”

  Her expression was transitioning from exasperated to pissed. Shit. I didn’t even know what I’d done, exactly, but I’d blown it.

  “You think I want to go someplace, and be carried around?”

  “No, I didn’t think it would be like that—”

  “Have you carry me around like a broken fucking doll, while some woman I don’t even know follows us with my wheelchair? That’s your idea?”

  “No, that wasn’t—”

  “I’m going to go, okay? This was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

  “No, wait. Wait. Can I say something?”

  She pursed her lips and nodded.

  I tried to collect my thoughts. “Look, I don’t know why you’re in a wheelchair. I know it’s not your fault. I mean, what I mean is, if you were blind and I wanted to go out with you, I’d offer you my arm. If you were deaf, I’d bring along a notepad so we could talk by writing. You’re in a wheelchair, so I can just push you or whatever, okay? Or carry you, if there are stairs. Or, I know there’s more to it than that and I haven’t really thought about it, but I feel like, it’s just a practical problem. I can walk, and you can’t. So let me help you. It’s like, you know jazz and I don’t. I mean, I know a little—Bill Evans—but that’s about it. So you can teach me. You can help me, too.”

  She bowed her head for a moment, then looked up. “But don’t you see? I could teach you jazz, and then you’d know jazz. You can carry me, but I’m never going to be able to walk.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. I feel like I keep saying stupid things. But if you don’t let me help you, or someone help you, you’re never going to get to see Terumasa Hino. And I hear he’s amazing.”

  She sighed.

  “You sure you don’t want to just give it a try?” I said. “I think there’s plenty of room in the van. I’ll drive really slowly and carefully. Whatever you want.”

  There was a long pause. Twice she started to say something and didn’t. I waited, hoping and trying not to. Finally, she said, “Did you see their bathroom?”

  “What? No, I didn’t.”

  “Well, welcome to just one small example of the dozens of things you haven’t considered about my life, Jun. I’m not blaming you. Why would you think about these things? But a club like that…my wheelchair won’t even fit in the bathroom. Do you see how…do you see what this is like for me? I don’t like going to new places. With new people. It doesn’t work out well.”

  “It hasn’t, you mean?”

  “Yeah. It hasn’t.”

  “But…are you going to stop trying?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “I didn’t see the bathroom. It’s probably pretty small.”

  “I’m sure it is.”

  “Can I say something?”

  She gave a little laugh. “Could I stop you?”

  “I’ve been in some…difficult situations. I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t even want to think about them, not now, anyway. But what I learned in those situations is to not be sentimental. To just be practical. People need to go to the bathroom, just like they need to eat and drink and sleep. So when you need to go, I’ll push your chair for you, or you can do it, and you put your arms around my neck, and I’ll get you seated, and I’ll back out and close the door and you call me when you’re ready. I know you have to go to the bathroom sometimes. I mean, you’re beautiful, but you’re human. Humans need to go to the bathroom. At least that’s what I hear.”

  She laughed, but other than that didn’t respond.

  “Will you trust me?” I said.

  She looked away. After a moment, she started nodding, almost imperceptibly. “All right,” she said. “Okay.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “Okay. Okay, great. On the way over, I want you to tell me all about this guy Terumasa Hino, okay? Teach me about jazz.”

  She smiled, a little uncertainly. “Okay.”

  She pushed herself over to the van. I walked alongside her. “Now listen, if I do anything wrong, or anything that makes you uncomfortable, you just tell me, okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got that covered.”

  I opened the cargo doors and slid out the two-by-sixes. “I can just push you up, is that all right?”

  “I can do it.” She took hold of the wheels and propelled herself up with a quick series of long, smooth strokes. She was stronger than she looked. Well, of course—her upper body was constantly getting exercised. From behind, I was able to take a close look at her legs. She was wearing jeans, but I could see the limbs inside were withered. I wondered again what had happened to her. Well, if she wanted to tell me, she would. Otherwise, not. I slid the two-by-sixes back in, closed the doors, went around front, and drove off. I went slowly and carefully—I didn’t want to take any chances on Sayaka getting bounced around in back. These days, you’d probably be arrested for putting someone in a wheelchair unsecured in the back of a cargo van, but it was a different world then. No child seats, no shoulder belts, no bicycle helmets, no safety warnings or polarized plugs…it’s a wonder anyone even survived to reproduce.

  On the way to Shinjuku, she told me about Hino: jazz trumpeter; led his own quartet; his instruments, his influences, his significance. She said he was on the cusp of fame and she thought one day he would be a legend. I realized I’d gotten really lucky seeing that flyer. If it had been anything else, I didn’t think she would have come with me. We’d be having sushi or something in Uguisudani. Not that it would have been bad, but this was different. I liked how engaged she was, how enthusiastic. I liked how out of the ordinary this was for her. How special. I liked that it showed she trusted me.

  “So what is it about jazz?” I asked as we drove.

  “You said you like Bill Evans, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Well, what is
it about Bill Evans?”

  I had to think about that. I’d never tried to articulate it before. “I don’t know. Listening to him…if always feels like a haven. Does that make sense?”

  She laughed. “It makes perfect sense. You listen to Hino tonight and then tell me more, okay?”

  I managed to find us a spot on the street not too far from Taro. I was feeling confident, optimistic. A part of my mind lingered on the late unpleasantness—the pooling blood, the smell of gun smoke, the animal shriek of a man stabbed in the guts—but for the most part it felt compartmentalized. Walled off. Safe. That was another part of my life, another part of who I was, but it had nothing to do with tonight. I was someone else now. Maybe I shared his memories, but that other person wasn’t here.

  I actually believed I could maintain that. I was too young to know that some memories don’t fade, or age, or die. That the weight of some of what we do accumulates, expands, coheres, solidifies. That life means coming to grips with that ever-present weight, learning how to carry it with you wherever you go, understanding and accepting that it’ll be with you and on you and in you for all your days, until you reach a point where all the energy you ever had is devoted just to shouldering its mass. And when you’re finally able to set down that burden, it’ll only be because it was time to set down everything else, too, everything you had, or have, or were ever going to have. And you better hope that’s really the end of it, because no one knows what happens after.

  I pushed Sayaka along in the wheelchair, mindful of our surroundings, on the lookout for anyone in a punch perm and cheap suit swaggering in our direction. But I saw no yakuza, only streets crowded with every kind of pleasure-seeker: groups of students going for a cheap dinner or a movie; businessmen entertaining clients; salarymen sneaking off for some sexual recreation before heading home and lying to their wives. There were people laughing and talking and horns honking and touts calling from storefronts and the sounds of motorcycle engines and the rumble of trains. A weird kind of harmony amid the chaos, a melodious cacophony.