The Book of the Shadow

by Carrie Asai

  I have to move, I thought miserably. Find somewhere else to live. The thought was as scary and terrible to me as someone else thinking, I have to saw off my right arm. I wasn’t ready. Hiro was my anchor—he was the only person I could count on in L.A., and I couldn’t give him up. Moving somewhere else and dealing with life on my own here, where there were killers out looking everywhere for me, seemed like a big, black cloud that could easily swallow me up. But I had to face it.

  “Hiro, I think I should find somewhere else to live,” I said.

  Hiro’s eyes widened. He sighed and shook his head, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I thought of that,” he said quietly. “They’ve definitely tracked you to this neighborhood. It’s only a matter of time. I don’t know what makes me more nervous, Heaven—the thought of you here, staying in this house when they’re getting this close, or the thought of sending you out on your own.” He looked at me. “Not that you’re not strong enough to handle it. I’m sure you are. But I guess I feel that as long as you’re living under my roof, I can protect you.”

  “Maybe no one can protect me.” The words just kind of tumbled out of my mouth, but once they were out there, I realized how true they were.

  Hiro’s face turned grave. “You can protect you.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Remember that, Heaven.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some calls to see if I can find you a place to stay temporarily,” he said. “Maybe Karen can help us out. She’s got a pretty big place and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Plus she lives in a different neighborhood—Echo Park—which isn’t far from here. You’ll be safe for a while, anyway.”

  I nodded, trying to suppress a sigh. I knew Karen. She taught at the dojo. She’d acted a little weird toward me in the past—whenever Hiro was mentioned, she seemed to get a little competitive or angry. Maybe she was just a quirky sort of personality. Hiro went on: “I’m also going to check into some more permanent arrangements. We need to find somebody who’s trustworthy and won’t ask questions. I know a couple of people who might fit the bill. And I think from now on, you’re going to have to disguise yourself when you go out. Wear sunglasses and a hood or something to that effect. We know they’re looking for you.”

  They. I shivered but didn’t say anything. I just wished I knew who they were.

  I slumped back on the couch, not sure what to do with myself. I had really set this whole thing in motion. I was really going to leave Hiro’s place. I’d grown up in the same house all my life. The biggest adjustment I’d ever really had to face before a couple of months ago, when my life totally fell apart, was when our old chef Yotoyo quit and we hired a new one, Yoko, who put fish in everything, including the dessert. Also, I knew that moving would mean spending a lot less time with Hiro. He was my only real friend here. Who else did I know? After all we’d been through the past two months, I felt like we really understood and cared for each other. Hiro was beginning to see how eager I was to become a samurai in the truest sense. In the fight with the ninja who had wounded my father, I had proved that I did not fear my own death but could face it with courage. Ever since then, Hiro had been treating me with a newfound respect.

  I truly enjoyed being around him. I truly enjoyed what he was teaching me.

  And, uh, oh, yeah—I was really starting to fall for him. In a totally nonbushido way of thinking, I wanted him to father my children. Or at least kiss me.

  I remembered the good part of my dream. That kiss. Damn. It had felt so real. And so good. I blushed. The feeling of his kiss still burned on my mouth.

  I rolled over on the couch and groaned. I’d never really thought out these feelings before, but there was no denying that I was into Hiro. I mean, who was I kidding? That dream, the kiss? That rushing, impatient feeling that swept over me? It was like my lust was leaking into my subconscious because I couldn’t do anything about it in my waking life. Spending all this time with Hiro had not only made me feel secure, strong, purposeful, and protected, but it also made me feel completely besotted. With him.

  After a while Hiro walked back into the room. He had a bowl of noodles in his hand. “Want some?” he asked, extending the bowl toward me. I shook my head. I was too keyed up to be hungry. He sat down in the chair opposite me and slowly began to eat the noodles. I found myself staring at his mouth. Those perfect lips. Stop it, Heaven.

  “I just got off the phone with Karen,” Hiro said. “She’s on her way over here to pick you up.”

  “She’s picking me up right now?” I said. I’d thought it would be another few hours! I wanted to stare at Hiro’s poster of Mount Fuji and look longingly at his profile for just a little longer.

  “She should be here in a couple of minutes,” Hiro said. “But like I said, I don’t think you should stay with Karen for long. She shouldn’t get mixed up in this. I told her that you need another place to stay because you were mugged. It’s close enough to the truth. She was really nice about it.”

  I sat up, not saying anything. I was too tense to speak.

  Hiro went on. “If you want to look for a place on your own, that’s fine, but like I said, I’ll help you find a place. I know some people.” Hiro paused, digging his chopsticks into the noodles. “If you want my advice, I definitely think you should look for a roommate situation, not for your own apartment. To get your own place, you have to have a job and up-front money for a security deposit, and they’ll run a credit check on you.”

  “A credit check?” I asked.

  “Yeah. You know…credit cards.”

  “I had a credit card,” I said, drifting off. “My father paid the bill.” I’d loved my credit card. My father had checked every item on the bill, but I was allowed to buy whatever clothes I wanted. Designer jeans, dresses I didn’t need, thousand-dollar boots. I never had to worry about getting something I wanted. I just headed over to the mall and swish, sign, it was mine.

  “Yeah, but they check into you, too. I don’t think you want anyone checking into your background right now.”

  I sighed. Right. I didn’t have even that much freedom now. Funny how someone trying to kill you totally limits your shopping options.

  Hiro continued. “Also, Heaven, I’ve thought about it and I think you should look for a job. Since whoever it is you’ll be staying with will probably demand something in the way of rent, you’ll need to have some money coming in.”

  I began to wonder what Hiro would do if I hid under his bed and refused to come out. We’d talked about this before, but now I could see that I really needed a job. What would I be qualified to do? I gritted my teeth and thought about how when I was sixteen, I’d wanted to get a job down at Tower Records because some of my friends in school were working there, too. My father had been offended that I’d even brought it up. But if I had gotten that job, maybe I would feel a little more confident about finding a job here, in L.A., where not only was I completely unqualified but, now that I thought about it, I was also an illegal alien. It was doubtful that people would fall over themselves to hire me. Maybe I could sell my story to the tabloids. It was already plastered all over the regular papers; why not the Enquirer, too?

  At least I was qualified to do that.

  “But it will have to be a job that leaves time for training,” Hiro said. “What about something like a coffee shop or a boutique?”

  “Okay,” I said. It came out as barely a whisper. I couldn’t imagine holding down a job and doing our typical training day. I had to stare at the wall to keep myself from crying. If only I could stay for even one more night, I was sure I’d feel better about the situation in the morning.

  But that was out of the question. Hiro’s safety was too important to me. He got up from his chair and stood next to me. “Promise me you’ll start looking,” he said. His face was close to mine. I could even smell the spiciness of the noodles he was eating.

  “Of course,” I said. Kiss me, I thought, totally inappropriately. “Are we—are we still going to train tomorro
w?” I said, trying to pull myself together.

  Hiro shook his head. “No training tomorrow. I don’t want to risk it for a couple of days.” Well, at least that would give me time to look for this job and new apartment.

  Outside, a horn honked. “That’s her,” Hiro said. My heart sank.

  “Gimme a minute,” I blurted. I walked into Hiro’s little bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.

  I looked positively horrific. My hair was going every which way, I had a nasty cut on my forehead, and my eyes looked puffy and bloodshot. I looked exhausted. God, I thought I’d been sitting there next to Hiro looking all sexy, fresh from battle, not a hair out of place. I guess that’s only in the movies. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the sight and tried to breathe.

  Come on, Heaven. You can do this. Pull yourself together and go out there. You can deal with life. You have to. Think about what you’ve learned from training. Think about strength coming from within. With cowardice, you will die.

  I left the bathroom. Hiro was standing at the door, already holding my bags. He must have seen my look of distress. I walked up to him and took the bags from his hands. “It’ll be okay,” he said firmly. “You know that, right?”

  “I know,” I said wearily. But I didn’t know.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Hiro said. There was an awkward pause. I tried to walk around him, but he stood in the way and I tripped over the carpet and fell into his back. “Oops,” he said, catching me. I recovered my balance and blushed.

  Hiro stepped to the side, still holding the door open. I smiled weakly and ducked my head and stepped forward. Left, right, left, right, Heaven. Get it together. “See ya,” I said sheepishly. And then I turned to the outside, squinting in the sunlight, and walked shakily toward Karen’s waiting car.

  My husband’s private plane is silent. I can hear his breath flowing in and out of his body. I stare out the window at the clouds. Clouds look the same wherever you go, whether you are in Japan or the United States or Antarctica. It does not matter.

  I had imagined a different fate for us, when we returned to our country from this vulgar one. I had been to the United States a few times before and always cringed at the loudness and the flashing lights and the yelling. In Japan, yelling is considered extremely rude.

  My husband could be called loud at times, but it is his actions that are loud, not his voice. He is loud when he is angry. Loud when someone has done something to anger him. And my precious son, Ohiko, angered him terribly. He would not hear Ohiko’s pleas for his understanding. He merely sat with a rigid mouth. I did not say anything. I have found that it is best to practice the code of nakatta koto ni suru: pretend it did not happen. Out of sight, out of mind. It is the best way.

  I just want to make him comfortable. In America, the doctors screamed over his head as he lay somewhere beyond us, in the clouds. I was on the phone with Aryoshi in Tokyo. Give me the best medical team you’ve got. Give me people he knows. For Konishi, they do anything.

  He cannot tell me how he is feeling. American doctors told me nothing. He woke up once and sat up. His eyes bore a look of akuma, a devil. “Heaven,” he cried. Then he lay back down. I was stunned. I asked the doctors what was happening to him. They would tell me nothing. Nothing.

  I feel a twinge of guilt and fear and…excitement. Heaven’s life is changing. And there is nothing he can do about it. He is not able to control anything now.

  I see Mount Fuji ahead. It is covered in snow. I think of Yuki-Onna, the Lady of the Snow. In the folktale, a master and his apprentice are traveling through the snowy regions of Kyoto. They find a place to sleep in a ferryman’s hut. But the apprentice does not sleep; he stays awake. He sees a strange woman come into the hut, standing above his master. She blows snowy ice into the master’s face and kills him. She says to the apprentice, “If you tell anyone about this, the same thing will happen to you.”

  The next year the apprentice is returning home and meets a young woman in these same woods. She is beautiful; she says her name is Yuki. They marry; Yuki provides him with ten children. One night, while Yuki is sewing, sitting by the fire, the apprentice looks at her and says, “You remind me so much of this beautiful woman I saw when I was eighteen years old. She killed my master with her ice-cold breath. I’m sure she was a strange spirit, but tonight she resembles you.” Yuki looked up at him with a terrible expression on her face. “You fool,” she said. “It was I, Yuki-Onna, who came to you that night and silently killed your master! You promised you would keep the secret, though, didn’t you? If it weren’t for those children of yours sleeping in the next room, I’d kill you now.” Instead she changed into a white mist, never to return again.

  Some say she lives in the mountains. She is a silent killer. She is full of secrets.

  I am entranced by this story.

  “We should be reaching Tokyo shortly,” Ichi, the pilot, says to me. I nod.

  “Arigato,” I say. My husband’s heartbeat rolls out in waves.

  Mieko

  3

  “Hey!” Karen called as I rushed down the sidewalk and threw my bags in the back of her little car. She looked utterly perfect, as usual, the bitch, in a sleeveless cowl-neck sweater and striped cords. I tried not to sigh. My T-shirt still had blood on the shoulder. Blood.

  “How’s it going? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah,” I lied. I was totally not all right. But no need to get Karen involved in all that. After all, I thought, the attack could have been much worse.

  “Hiro said you got mugged,” Karen said, looking me over with an expression that seemed halfway between concern and suspicion. Did she not believe Hiro? He’d said she was cool about it, but this wouldn’t be the first time she’d acted weird to me when Hiro wasn’t around.

  “Yeah,” I said with a big sigh, and looked out the window. “Thank you so much for taking me in. It was kind of traumatic. I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Karen was silent for a minute, and the car was so quiet, I could hear her breathing in and out. “I understand,” she said finally, and I heard her putting the car into gear. “Let’s get out of here. I rented some movies for us to watch.”

  I watched Hiro’s house slowly fade into the distance as Karen pulled away. My heart sank, and all I could think was, How can I possibly handle life without him? Then I tried to tell myself I was being a big dork. It wasn’t like I would never see Hiro again. And I would make it on my own, just like I had survived when I first ran away from my wedding. I had to calm down. I knew I liked to overdramatize: Sometimes I overreacted to things, thinking that my life was a part of a movie script. Cue the tears, cue the melodrama. Sometimes I expected to be accepting the Best Actress award for my brilliant performance as myself.

  Karen maneuvered the car easily along the freeway. That old No Doubt song “Just a Girl” was playing on the radio. “Can I turn it up?” I asked, trying to snap myself out of my funk. “I love this song.” In Tokyo, when this song would come on, Katie, my English tutor, and I would get up and dance like lunatics. We would thump and crash into things and drive the servants crazy. They all thought we were having seizures or something.

  Maybe Katie and I weren’t the best dancers.

  “Sure,” Karen said with a smile. “This is a great song.”

  I nodded. Karen was always very composed, very cool—except for this one time when we’d practiced attacks and she’d started to act a little bit insane. I had this feeling she might be jealous of my living situation with Hiro. She seemed like a good person to stay with, though. She didn’t ask many questions about the strange state of my life.

  We pulled up to this cute little bungalow on this tucked-away street in a neighborhood called Echo Park. “Echo Park is sort of an up-and-coming neighborhood in L.A.,” Karen explained. “It’s got kind of an artist’s feel to it, and the rents are cheaper than a lot of neighborhoods. Hiro tells me you’re looking for your own place. This wouldn’t be a bad neighborhood to l
ook in. There’s a lot going on here.”

  I nodded again. Karen’s house was small but cute. There was a tiny garden out front with tulips and azalea bushes. The bungalow was painted tan with darker brown trim, and it seemed to be carefully tucked into the corner of a hill. Cozy. Before we even went inside, Karen stopped me and gave me a serious look. “I apologize in advance,” she said. “My house is a little messier than it usually is. I’ve been a little distracted lately, and…well, hopefully it won’t be a big deal.”

  “Believe me,” I said. “It won’t matter.”

  When we stepped inside, I didn’t know what mess she was talking about. Karen’s place was far cleaner than Hiro’s. I couldn’t believe how spotless and scrubbed everything looked. Anal retentive much? I thought, then immediately felt bad for having mean thoughts. After all, Karen was taking me in when no one else would. And her house was nice overall. Comfortable. It had a funky feel about it—new, cute furniture and paper lamps everywhere. She’d hung lots of stuff up on the walls—a conglomeration of flyers from the neighborhood clubs, strange postcards, weird artwork. Stacks of CDs adorned one wall. It was all very neat and organized but kind of had a more funky, upbeat feel than Hiro’s place.

  We stood there shivering a minute after from coming in from the unseasonably cold weather. “Do you have a warmer coat you can wear if this weather keeps up?” Karen said, studying me.

  “I have a coat of Hiro’s that I can wear,” I said. “A wind-breaker. I have it in my bag.” I was glad I had that coat. I remembered it smelled like Hiro.