Fishing for Stars

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘Blood!’ I cried, alarmed. ‘Is she injured?’

  He laughed. ‘No, Duncan-san, it is not her own. Have you no faith in me? We will be there in half an hour. Hai! That one, she is a veritable tiger!’ Then, as I was about to question him further he abruptly hung up, leaving me completely confused. Anna covered in blood? Please, God, no more mental scars! I prayed silently, feeling acutely the burden of being in large part to blame for the whole humungous screw-up. Something had obviously gone badly wrong. How? Why? Saito-san could scarcely have reached the place where Anna was being held. How then could he be back in half an hour?

  Now I was once again up to my eyebrows in excrement, about to face a bloodied, distraught Anna, who was quite possibly even more severely damaged psychologically and enduring the throes of drug withdrawal. The short shopping excursion with Muzi-san was all I had to anchor me to what laughingly passed for normality.

  Anna, her head covered with a large towel, arrived in the big Mercedes and was taken up in the lift to Kinzo-san’s suite of offices. I had been instructed to wait for her in the conference room, no doubt because the prestigious legal firm didn’t want a messy emotional scene in the foyer, which, like the lift, had also been cleared for Anna’s arrival. Led by Muzi-san, who had been delegated to meet her, she entered the small room with the towel still draped over her head.

  I rushed to greet her. ‘Anna! Oh, oh! My darling!’ I cried, snatching the towel from her head and embracing her, holding her close to my chest before I’d even had a chance to get a good look at her face. Anna wrapped her arms around me and wailed, not as a woman in her forties might have done, but like a small, distraught child. I must have held her for three or four minutes, my hand almost enfolding the back of her head, the only part of her hair I would later observe that wasn’t crusted with dried blood. Finally her weeping turned to serious sobs. It was a long time before she drew away from me.

  ‘Nicholas, I am so sorry!’ she sobbed.

  ‘Christ, I’m going to cry,’ I gulped and then grabbed her again as we sobbed in each other’s arms. ‘My fault,’ I choked. ‘It was all my stupid bloody fault!’

  ‘No, no, Nicholas! Fuchida-san says you were wounded and tortured and put in prison!’ Anna burst into fresh sobs. ‘They could have killed you!’ she wailed. She drew back and looked at me; her weeping had left two clear tracks down her blood-crusted cheeks. She knuckled the fresh tears from her eyes. ‘Then, I would have killed myself!’

  All I could do was laugh. ‘Darling, you’re safe, that’s all that matters now.’

  My words triggered an entirely new reaction from Anna, who began to shiver, hugging herself, teeth chattering. Until now her extreme distress had masked her need for a hit. ‘Nicholas, I am not well,’ she stammered.

  I produced the gear she needed but had no idea how much heroin she would require. ‘Ferchrissake, don’t overdose!’ I cried, not knowing how much was too much.

  Her hand trembled as she measured the dirty white powder onto the square of foil but then she couldn’t manage to trigger the cigarette lighter, whimpering in frustration. I took it from her. I had never done this before and it seemed deeply wrong, despite the fact that I had procured the heroin for her in the first place. I guess the Puritan in the child dies hard in the man. I held the flame under the foil, heating the powder until it began to melt, immediately giving off a thin coil of smoke. Suddenly my nose was assailed by the most dreadful smell and I realised why in some parts of the world heroin is referred to as ‘shit’, for that was a distinct part of the stench, along with the acrid smell of fresh vomit. Anna, oblivious to the foul smell, grabbed the straw and, sticking it up her nostril, inhaled as if her very life depended on the effusion.

  I had no idea how quickly heroin reacts in the bloodstream, but as the last traces of smoke disappeared Anna looked up. ‘Oh God! That was wonderful!’ she exclaimed, the stress gone from her face and her expression clear. ‘Thank you, Nicholas. I love you very much.’

  ‘The smell! Jesus, Anna, how ever do you put up with the smell?’

  Anna looked slightly bemused. ‘Smell? What smell?’ she asked.

  I gazed at her, dumbfounded, and for the first time took in her appearance. ‘You look a mess, darling. There’s a bathroom and facilities in this office. Muzi-san, one of the office girls, will escort you. She has also arranged for a hairdresser to come up to the office to do your hair.’ I picked up the receiver and dialled Muzi-san.

  ‘Mushi mushi,’ she answered. I asked her if she’d take Anna to the bathroom. ‘Hai! Duncan-san, there is nothing I would not do for you. I will be there in a moment.’

  I have always known that Anna is made of sterner stuff than most mortals, but a little over two hours later when she emerged, it was difficult to believe the transformation. Her glossy hair was washed and perfectly styled, her make-up was faultless, and her gorgeous violet-blue eyes were clear and shining. Moreover she looked perfectly stunning in the blue dress and elegant sandals. Just short of reaching me she propped and posed. ‘Nicholas, this outfit is perfect,’ she said in English. Then added in some surprise, ‘How very clever of you!’

  Muzi-san had prudently neglected to mention her involvement in the matter. I knew I was going to chicken out and my only hope was that my shopping companion wouldn’t think any less of me. Then I realised that, of course, Muzi-san didn’t understand English, which, in turn, made me feel doubly guilty for not giving her the credit she deserved for selecting the outfit. I grinned. ‘All the years of sitting outside changing rooms clutching your handbag have paid off,’ I said, lying smoothly. I imagined that asking another woman to go shopping with you to pick an outfit for the woman you love just isn’t de rigueur.

  Anna looked at me quizzically, her right eyebrow slightly arched. ‘And you learned how to pick exquisite lingerie where?’

  ‘Anna! That’s not fair!’ I protested. ‘I’ve seen you undressing hundreds of times.’

  ‘Oh? Strange. I almost always do so in the dark,’ she replied.

  I suddenly remembered this was true. Though never afraid for me to see her naked, Anna always undressed in the dark or entered the bedroom completely nude. ‘Anyway, I asked the young lady assisting me to choose what she’d wear on her wedding night,’ I said, explaining.

  Anna smiled, forgiving me. ‘Well, she has very good taste.’ She pointed at her feet. ‘And in Italian sandals, too.’

  We were ushered into the main boardroom where we found a very short greying Japanese man not an inch above four feet ten. He appeared to be somewhere in his sixties and possessed all the comedic characteristics loved by wartime propaganda cartoonists – spectacles as thick as the bottom of Coke bottles, behind which his eyes, despite the gross magnification, were hidden by the narrow slits of his lids, teeth jutting alarmingly and skin the colour of iodine. He wore a black suit, white celluloid collar on a light blue shirt, a polka-dotted red and white bow tie, and, like Dr Honda, white spats and shiny black shoes with pointed toes. He bowed deeply as we entered and Kinzo-san introduced him as the honourable Miyazaki-san. ‘Delighted to meet you, Madam, Sir,’ he said in an almost flawless upper-crust English accent. ‘Miyazaki Tono, first-class honours in law and philosophy, Magdalen College, Oxford, 1936.’

  I admit I was taken aback and only just recovered enough composure to say, ‘Pleased to meet you, sir.’ Which wasn’t the cold, hostile greeting I had intended to give this individual.

  Anna remained stern-faced and composed. ‘I believe you wish me to sign something. I should like to read it first, thank you,’ was all she said.

  ‘My dear, of course, always wise, though I’m sure you’ll find it isn’t too onerous, just taking care of the details, tying up the loose ends, what? Haw-haw-haw!’ The tiny man who barely came to my waist seemed entirely in control as he withdrew two copies of a document from a scuffed old-fashioned leather briefcase and handed them to Anna, who flicked through the dozen or so pages of each of the two legal missives.

&nb
sp; ‘There must be ten pages or more,’ Anna said, surprised.

  ‘Load of rubbish, my dear. Ignore all the First Party, Second Party gibberish. Just read the first and the last pages.’

  ‘If it’s not pertinent, then why is it included?’ Anna asked.

  The question seemed to surprise Miyazaki-san for he paused and scratched the side of his head. ‘Damned if I know. Ah, yes, it’s because the law is an ass! Haw-haw-haw! Confounded nuisance, what? Shouldn’t worry, harmless jabberwocky.’

  ‘First and last pages did you say?’ Anna repeated with a hint of a smile. She sat at the boardroom table and took a fountain pen from her handbag, read the first and last pages, and wrote her initials after the full stop at the end of both pages to prevent anything being added, then signed her name to both documents, handing the four pages to Kinzo-san to witness. Once he’d done so, she slowly tore the remaining pages into several smallish pieces, gathering them into a neat pile.

  I waited for the explosion but instead Konoe Akira’s tiny lawyer chuckled, a look of genuine admiration on his face. ‘I say, jolly good! Well done! Bravo! I’ve been simply dying to do that for thirty-five years! I shall tell my client that he was very foolish to trifle with a woman like you. I don’t suppose you’d care to have lunch with me, would you?’

  Despite herself, Anna laughed, though I could see she was close to breaking point. ‘Thank you, not today, Miyazaki-san,’ Anna said quietly, refusing in impeccable Japanese.

  ‘Then I live in hope,’ he replied, still in a genial voice, signing the documents and then tucking his copy back into his briefcase. Instead of bowing we shook hands all round, and as he took Anna’s, he declared, ‘I say, you are a simply splendid specimen of a woman! Haw-haw-haw!’ Then, thoroughly pleased with himself, he turned abruptly and marched out of the boardroom.

  Comic opera though this proved to be, I wanted to pick the arrogant runt up by the scruff of the neck, dangle him from the window, spats gleaming in the sunshine, and drop him onto the pavement ten storeys below. I was simply confounded by the little man’s astonishing sangfroid. Though he couldn’t have known about the multiple murders Anna had witnessed just a couple of hours before, the fact that she’d endured three days in captivity should have alerted him to her acute distress. I will forever admire her for her extraordinary self-control. If I hadn’t realised before, I now knew Anna was capable of achieving anything.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. I should have straightened his teeth or at the very least thrown him out of the boardroom window.’

  ‘Thank you for abstaining, Nicholas. It’s been a very strange day. I’m not sure I could have handled another murder.’

  Kinzo-san, who spoke no English, seemed to think all had gone well. Pointing to the pile of paper on the boardroom table he started to chortle then to laugh. ‘Hai, Anna-san, that was very amusing. You are a strong woman.’

  ‘Thank you for your help, Kinzo-san. We are greatly in your debt, but I must now ask permission to leave,’ Anna said firmly.

  ‘Your suit, with the . . . er . . . stains, we will have it cleaned and sent to the hotel?’

  ‘No, please, throw it away!’ Anna cried, her expression suddenly changing. ‘Nicholas, let’s get the hell out of here, I’ve had my fill of gauche Japanese males for one day. Isn’t there a park near the palace? I need to sit in the sunlight,’ she said in English.

  We bought two expensive bento boxes and cartons of iced green tea, then took a taxi to the small park beside the Imperial Palace. Seated on a bench we ate lunch and Anna, in a calm, almost dispassionate voice, recreated the scene of the beheadings and the shotgun blast. I kept glancing at her to see if she was all right, reaching for her hand, trying hard to control my emotions, worried that she appeared rather too calm. But she looked fine, totally in control, occasionally stopping to chew or take a sip of tea. I listened as much as possible without comment, wincing at some parts, but trying my best to conceal my shock and horror at what she’d so recently endured. Finally she rose and placed what remained of her lunch in a nearby rubbish bin. ‘Let’s go back to the hotel, Nicholas. I think I need a rest,’ she announced in a voice she might use after a busy morning’s shopping.

  I rose and took the three or four steps to where she stood, the sun silvering her dark hair. ‘Oh, Anna, Anna!’ I put my arm around her.

  I sensed her resistance. ‘Nicholas, please, can we go back to the hotel now? I need to lie down.’

  ‘Yes, of course, darling. While you rest I’ll pack and phone the airport. Let’s get the hell out of this bloody country.’

  It was as if an electric shock ran through her body. She pushed me from her, crying, ‘No! No, Nick, I have unfinished business!’

  ‘Anna, what are you talking about?’ I said, shocked at her sudden reaction, then all my pent-up emotions burst from me in angry protest. ‘Ferchrissake! Haven’t you had enough? Let’s get out of this godforsaken fucking city! The shit hasn’t stopped hitting the fan since we got here!’

  ‘No, Nick! I’ve waited too long. I’m not giving up now!’ she said, her voice cold.

  I struggled to stay calm. ‘Anna, you’ve been through a torrid time. Take it easy, darling. We’ll talk about it further when we get to the hotel.’

  ‘Nick, I won’t change my mind. Never! You understand? Never!’

  ‘Wait, I’ll hail a taxi. Wait there!’ I repeated, running towards the park gates. Three Nicks in a row – she was in a bad way. Shit, what next? She was going to collapse! Gotta get her back!

  Despite my attempt at small talk Anna remained stubbornly silent on the way to the Imperial Hotel, her arms crossed and her head turned away from me while she steadfastly gazed out of the taxi window.

  I knew, of course, what her ‘unfinished business’ meant; she was determined to front Konoe Akira, and I didn’t know how to persuade her to drop this absurd notion, to walk away, let sleeping dogs lie, bury the hatchet and all the other clichéd metaphors for giving up. I trembled to think what might happen next, and for a moment I thought of asking Fuchida-san to use his influence to have the authorities deport us, frogmarch us onto a plane and ban us from entering Japan forever and ever and ever! Until hell froze over! But I reminded myself that I’d already screwed up big time by using the yakuza without first thinking things through.

  There had to be another way to persuade Anna to abandon her plan to confront the man who had so perversely affected her life over the past twenty-five years. Konoe Akira was slow poison and now I knew, or rather, felt certain that more of the same wasn’t going to be therapeutic. So far he had compounded her problems. Despite her almost detached description of what had happened to her kidnappers in the warehouse, I was soon to discover that witnessing such horrific violence had further damaged her psyche.

  On our return to the hotel we were greeted with the usual subservience by the doorman and the instant petrification of anyone in hotel livery we passed. Anna marched ahead to the lift in silence, we rose in silence, and walked to our suite in silence. Anna went directly to the bathroom, washed off her make-up, creamed her face and slipped into her nightgown. I realised the heroin was acting as a powerful sedative and that was probably why she had seemed so calm in the park.

  I began to sense that her sudden anger wasn’t only a reaction to her kidnapping; she’d made up her mind to go through with the assignation with her former mentor and simply wouldn’t tolerate being thwarted. Despite or perhaps because of the fact that she now knew for certain Konoe Akira was behind the kidnapping, she was determined to face up to him. It was going to take much more than my most determined efforts to change her mind. With the silent treatment continuing she slipped into bed, adjusted the covers, and within a couple of minutes fell into an exhausted sleep.

  The following morning I woke with a start to find Anna sitting up in bed beside me howling like an infant. I reached over to embrace and comfort her but she resisted furiously, then threw herself onto her stomach and began to sob uncontrollably. I switche
d on the bedside light, then got up, opened the curtains to let the first of the sunshine in and walked around to sit beside her, feeling pathetically redundant and not knowing what to do next. Each time I attempted to touch her she pulled away. ‘Please, Anna, tell me what happened again, tell me everything. Get it off your chest properly, darling,’ I begged, but all to no avail. Two hours passed and still she sobbed and wailed and resisted every effort to comfort her.

  Finally I grew impatient, stood up and shook her shoulder. ‘Come on, enough!’ I urged. ‘Sit up!’ Instead she lashed out blindly, her arm catching me square in my already injured and plum-coloured crotch. I leapt backwards clutching my manhood with both hands, gasping and biting back the agonised tears. Anna continued sobbing, her face buried in the monogrammed hotel pillow. If she heard my anguished groans she ignored them.

  It took several minutes before I could hobble from the bedroom to the lounge to get to a telephone where Anna couldn’t hear me. I dialled the number on the card Dr Honda had given me the previous evening, and asked him in a loud whisper to come to the hotel as he had previously advised he would and to bring a strong sedative or sleeping potion with him, explaining that my partner, I think I said my wife, was severely traumatised by the sight of my injuries and needed to sleep. I would wait for him in the foyer, I said, and rang off.

  Dr Honda, in full morning suit minus top hat, appeared half an hour later, although this time a blue and white polka-dotted silk handkerchief spilled from the breast pocket of his coat. In addition, a gold chain, presumably attached to a fob watch, stretched across the ample expanse of his waistcoat. Either I hadn’t noticed it previously, or he’d neglected to wear it the previous day. I immediately thought of Anna’s calling card from Konoe Akira, the fob watch given so generously to her mentor so long ago, which had been the beginning of all our recent trouble.