Three Lives of Tomomi Ishikawa

by Benjamin Constable

  ‘Hello, Beatrice, how are you? And you must be Ben.’ She shook my hand. ‘My name is Nanako. I’m Butterfly’s mother.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Do come in. Would you like a coffee? Oh, you’re British, I expect you drink tea. I have some Earl Grey if you’d prefer.’

  ‘A glass of water will be fine for me,’ I said.

  ‘I’d love a coffee,’ said Beatrice. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Please, sit down.’

  Beatrice and I sat. The air smelt deliciously of linseed oil and, much like the reception of the hotel, the walls were lined with paintings. There was an easel with a large canvas on it. On one side there were stacks of canvas-covered frames with bold abstract designs leaning against the wall. The room was homely, but with the sense of belonging to another age. Perhaps the early 1970s.

  ‘So, apparently you’re a writer, Ben?’ said Butterfly’s mother.

  ‘Well, I do some writing.’

  ‘How delightful. Beatrice tells me that you wanted to meet me. Are you doing research for a book about my daughter?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe. I was trying to find out some things about her.’

  ‘Well, ask me anything you’d like. I don’t know if I’ll have all the answers, but I’ll try.’

  ‘Why was she called Butterfly?’

  ‘It was a nickname given to her by her nanny when she was born. Such a tragic name. I never liked it. The name I chose for her was Tomomi, which means beautiful friend, but everyone called her Butterfly and eventually so did I.’

  ‘Did you mind her spending so much time with a nanny?’

  ‘To be honest, at first I was glad that Keiko was there to help me. I was very depressed after Butterfly’s birth and I was young and felt terribly ashamed not to be radiating joy at the birth of my new child. Later I tried to get more time with Butterfly, but her father kept me away. I was very angry but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know how to get my daughter back. Did you know that Keiko, the woman who looked after Butterfly, was terminally sick?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘After a while they explained to me that Butterfly was all she had and that I couldn’t take her away from a dying woman. After several years I managed to negotiate an access agreement where I was guaranteed to see her once a week, but she never stayed with me.’

  ‘Oh my God, that’s terrible.’

  ‘Don’t feel too sorry for me. They looked after me and gave me a lot of things. They gave me a life, culture and an education, but all that was payment for taking my child. Now I paint and I earn my living. It’s taken me many years but I have a very good quality of life and I am starting to get to know Butterfly as an adult, although that only really started when she went to France.’

  I scrunched up my face with a question that just came into my head. ‘When did she move to France?’

  ‘Oh, a while ago. I don’t remember exactly. It must have been just after September eleventh, 2001, because I was worried about her flying.’

  ‘I’m starting to realise that there were a lot of things I never knew about Butterfly,’ I said. ‘I feel sad that it’s only now that I’m starting to piece it all together.’

  ‘Oh dear, you’re talking about her in the past tense. Have you fallen out?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ I flushed.

  Did Nanako not know that Butterfly was dead? Or was Beatrice right and Tomomi Ishikawa was still alive? Tomomi Ishikawa told me she was dead. Why would she lie? Why would she cause so much hurt? I looked at Beatrice and she scowled at me, shaking her head. I knew that what I was about to say was wrong, but it came out anyway.

  ‘We didn’t see each other much at the end,’ I said. ‘I think there was still a lot of good feeling between us. She left me some of her diaries, which I’ve been reading, but it’s good to be able to meet you and have you fill in some of the gaps.’

  ‘I feel as though I’ve missed something important. What’s the end? I don’t understand. What’s finished?’

  Beatrice coughed. ‘Ben is under the impression that Butterfly is dead. It’s not entirely his fault.’

  So Beatrice knew for certain that Tomomi Ishikawa was alive. I guess she always had done. She had tried to tell me lots of times.

  Nanako was shocked and looked from Beatrice to me and back again. Beatrice’s face said not to take me seriously, as if I were either deluded or deranged. We both looked at Beatrice.

  ‘Butterfly told him she was dead and he’s totally incapable of believing otherwise. So he ignores the obvious signs that it’s not the case.’

  ‘Well, unless she died in the last hour or so, she’s definitely still alive.’

  ‘She was here?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What—an hour ago?’

  ‘Let me see . . . it must be about that, yes.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to have come out with such disturbing rubbish,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Nanako, looking lost. ‘She told me that she’d come to New York to see you.’

  ‘Well, she may well have seen me, but I didn’t see her.’ I couldn’t help staring hatred at Beatrice.

  ‘Oh dear, I can’t begin to think what could be going on.’

  And then the phone rang and we all stopped like musical statues. Nanako answered, she was clearly disturbed, and I wanted to apologise profusely and get out of there as fast as possible. Beatrice sat back in her chair and sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. I could see her keeping her breathing slow. Deep, steady breaths, full of self-control. I stopped hating her and looked at the walls. Then I came back to reality and the sound of Nanako’s voice.

  ‘There’s someone here who might like to speak to you,’ she said into the handset, and then gave it to me.

  ‘Hello?’ I said.

  There was ambient noise of a busy space and a single heavy breath. Maybe it was a sigh. Then I could hear the voice of a famous rapper over a public address system in the background. It said, ‘Would passengers Smith and Johnson on flight BA380 to London Heathrow please make your way to boarding gate . . . ’ and then the line went dead.

  I stared at the floor. I stared really hard.

  ‘It was Butterfly,’ I said, and looked from Beatrice to Nanako. ‘It was Butterfly, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nanako.

  ‘She’s in New York.’

  ‘She’s at the airport. She’s flying back to Paris.’

  ‘She’s really not dead.’

  ‘No. She’s not dead.’

  ‘Who lives at 15 Charles Street?’

  Beatrice put up her hand. ‘That’s me.’

  My mobile phone made two double beeps in my bag and vibrated. I looked at the screen and it said: ‘1 message reçu’. It was from Butterfly (US).

  I’m sorry, Ben. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Beatrice fucked up. Ask her what she really has to do with all this. I’m sorry. Butterfly. X O X

  I stood up and took Butterfly’s mother’s hand in mine and said, ‘I’ve been incredibly stupid. I came here to try and find out things about Butterfly. I should have just asked her.’ Out of nowhere I felt cold and dynamic, but I was polite and sincere to Nanako. ‘I would have liked to have met you under different circumstances. Hopefully we’ll have another opportunity sometime. Right now, I’m afraid I need to leave. You must think me terribly rude. Thank you for your help. For what it’s worth, you really did help me. I’m sorry to crash in like a hurricane and then go. I really am pleased to have met you.’

  ‘I don’t really know what’s going on. I think Butterfly’s upset you. I doubt very much that it was her intention. She spoke about you many times. I think she is very fond of you.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say. Thank you for your time. Come on, Beatrice, we have something to do.’

  When we were in the lift Beatrice asked, ‘What do we have to do?’

  I managed a smile. ‘Go get a big drink, and maybe if I can st
op feeling mad at you, you might do some explaining. It’ll be the dénouement. And then I guess that will be the end of the story.’

  ‘I’ll do some explaining. Where do you want to go for a drink?’

  ‘Wherever. Not here, though. And not in the West Village either. Somewhere new, please.’

  ‘OK.’

  Walking down the street towards the east, I took Beatrice’s hand. I don’t know why. She was watching the paving slabs pass by under her feet.

  * * *

  When we were both sitting at a table with large vodka and tonics, I started.

  ‘Why did you take me to Butterfly’s mother’s?’

  ‘If you remember, I didn’t actually want to. You insisted.’

  ‘You could have just told me that you knew for certain Butterfly was alive. You could have told me what was going on.’

  ‘I’d promised not to.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I was in a no-win situation. I did a favour for a friend to help make something exciting, to help create an adventure for somebody special. And for that to work I had to make some things up. I promised not to say certain things as well. And then I got drawn in, and it all got weirder and weirder and the pressure on me changed to new proportions and suddenly I was hemmed in from all angles, or I was messing things up for everyone, including me. I think I’d better start from the beginning.’

  ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘OK. Butterfly asked me to do her a favour . . .’

  ‘So you know Butterfly?’

  ‘She befriended me when I was at college. She was nice, like an older sister. I thought meeting somebody who’d gone to the same school as me was a coincidence, but now I guess it wasn’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Uh, because while I was at school a certain teacher started paying me a lot of attention.’

  ‘Oh God. So you’re Jane.’

  ‘I’m Beatrice. Butterfly imagines everybody in her life to be characters from books, although she makes up her own twisted stories for them.’

  ‘Did she kill him?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘I really don’t know. I lost contact with him. He disappeared.’

  ‘Did he write a book about you?’

  ‘That’s what Butterfly told me.’

  ‘What, and nobody asked any questions? There were no police or anything?’

  ‘There were police; a nice lady cop. She asked me questions. They offered me counselling, but they never told me what happened and I never asked. They said it was all over, that the case was closed, but they never told me what happened.’

  ‘Oh my God. So you’ve been part of all of this.’

  ‘I didn’t want to be; I tried not to be. Let me explain. It’s complicated.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Butterfly came and found me when I was at college and told me that a teacher had written a book about me. I was scared as hell that my past was going to be exposed and she told me that she could make sure the book never saw the light of day, but she needed my help and I agreed. And that was the end of it until the police came and I answered all the questions like she had told me . . .’

  ‘Butterfly told you?’

  ‘Kind of. I was like a child still. And after that we saw each other occasionally and we had these crazy big drunken talks. It felt like she was the only person in the world who had any idea about who I was. She became my new best person in the world. She was like my big sister, my hero. She was a god. I loved her. And I don’t know how it happened, but one day in 2001 we decided to move to Paris, and like two weeks later we were there. We shared an apartment for a year, then we started to get our own lives and saw less and less of each other, but we still hung out for coffees and the occasional drunken evening. I was even at a party at her apartment that you were at. We talked.’

  ‘What? You and me?’

  ‘Not for long. You arrived really late and I was leaving. But I remember you. I thought you would recognise me when you saw me here, but Butterfly assured me that you wouldn’t be able to because I would be out of context and you’ve got some kind of affliction where you can’t recognise people.’

  ‘Prosopagnosia.’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘I like to think of it as a superpower rather than an affliction, but I can’t believe I met you in Paris.’

  ‘You were drunk. We only spoke for a minute. I was leaving and you said something to me. I don’t remember what, but we laughed. I remember thinking you were funny. I was almost tempted to stay and find out who you were.’

  ‘I still don’t get how Butterfly could be so sure that I wouldn’t recognise you.’

  ‘It seems strange to me, but she said that I’d changed my hair and that so long as I didn’t tell you that I knew you, there wouldn’t be a problem. And she was right for a bit. But I’m getting ahead of myself. At first she just asked me if I would hide something for her as part of a treasure hunt that she was making for a special friend. And she told me who it was and I remembered you. Then she said it actually might be really cool if I could hang out with you a bit (if I was willing) and perhaps give you some pointers on New York and then she got this idea that I could actually be part of the adventure. Now I wasn’t too hot on this because, firstly, I thought you’d recognise me straightaway, and secondly, it felt a bit weird. I wasn’t sure what she was asking me to do. But she kind of assured me that she just wanted me to entertain you for a day or so until she arrived, but that for the surprise to work it was absolutely imperative that I never mention that I know her. I didn’t actually agree to it. I agreed to hide the treasure. It was the note on the statue at Bryant Park, and that was all. I was going to the library to work anyway. Butterfly emailed me these scanned notes she’d written and I cut them out and put them in an envelope and it was me that wrote your name.’

  ‘Ohhhhh!’

  ‘So I hid the note in the morning and when I came out at lunchtime you were there on the step. I hadn’t known when you were going to turn up because I’d wriggled out of that part of the conversation with Butterfly, but there you were and it really was a coincidence. You see? They do happen—it wasn’t all lies. Anyway, I asked you for a light and you didn’t seem to have any idea who I was and I was excited and kind of scared. I thought I was going to be busted at any moment, but I wanted to watch you find the treasure. I felt involved and you were nice and funny and I couldn’t get away from you—I mean, I didn’t want to. I was interested in your treasure hunt and totally disturbed that you told me Butterfly was dead. Then there was the fact that you seemed to want to hang out with me. It made it all a little too irresistible. I didn’t want you to think that Butterfly was dead, though. It didn’t seem right. But to say that I knew her meant that you would know that I had lied to you from the get-go, and I would have done the exact thing Butterfly asked me not to do. So I dropped hints. I was trying to make you find out for yourself so I wouldn’t feel bad. I owe Butterfly an incredible debt. She rents me this enormous apartment for way under market value because I’m her friend, and right now I’m really short of cash and she offered to give me a break on some rent if I helped her. But that was later.’

  ‘So, can I just check: you don’t live in Williamsburg?’

  ‘That was a lie, I’m afraid. Well, I have lived in Williamsburg, but it was a long time ago. And Butterfly used to live in Williamsburg as well when I first got to know her. I was improvising. I needed an address quickly of an apartment that Butterfly could own and I could rent. That’s the first thing that came into my head.’

  ‘So you live at 15 Charles Street?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘In the apartment that Butterfly lived in with her nanny?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that apartment belongs to Butterfly now and you rent it from her?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So you’re Charles Streetny?’

  ‘No, that’s
Butterfly. Or at least I think it’s Butterfly.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So, let me carry on. I went with you to find the book in the piano and it didn’t seem fair to me to see that you were actually genuinely upset about Butterfly when she wasn’t dead, and I kind of resented her lying to you. I was a bit drunk and I thought I’d just harmlessly put you on her trail a little bit. After all, the next day she’d be there and I wouldn’t have anything more to do with this adventure. And then I went home and I couldn’t help thinking that I’d had a crazy day and I can’t remember the last time I’d had so much fun. And then Butterfly rang. She wanted to know everything and I told her (except that I’d told you she was my landlady). And it was becoming a tangled web.’

  ‘Wow, you’re a great liar.’

  ‘Thanks. I like to think of it as acting. Anyway, that’s when she offered to give me a break on some of the rent if I carried on the game. And I really didn’t want to and it was really tempting at the same time because I’d had such a good day and Butterfly asked me to show you some New York things and I thought of the lost subway station, and the money would be more than useful and I was still a little drunk and I said yes.’

  ‘So basically Butterfly paid you to be my friend in New York.’

  ‘You’ve got to understand that I wanted to.’

  ‘But she bought you.’

  ‘In a way.’

  ‘Carry on.’

  ‘Well, the next day I wasn’t drunk and you told me that Butterfly had killed somebody and I was a bit alarmed. I was making excuses for her and trying to have as much fun as I did the day before, but you were a bit distressed and understandably so, and it was getting more and more complicated because you wanted me to take you to my own house . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fifteen Charles Street.’

  ‘OK, yes, of course.’

  ‘Anyway, so now I was in a bad mood and then you wanted me to take you to my old school to find another murder and I panicked because I suddenly thought my past was about to come spilling out.’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t think Butterfly really killed that guy, do you?’

  ‘What the hell do I know? I’ve spent the whole of my adult life getting over what happened in high school, trying to be normal and trying to forget about what happened with Butterfly.’