I stood to greet him. ‘Thank you for coming, doctor. I hope I didn’t take you from your breakfast?’
He replied to my greeting with a ‘Hmmph!’.
‘It was good of you to come at such short notice,’ I said in a second attempt at amelioration.
He responded to this with a further ‘Hmmph!’ then added, ‘It is of no importance,’ reminding me that in Japan all decisions are based on fear or respect. The rules of precedence were so rigid that, with my supposed yakuza connections, Dr Honda would possibly, had he been a surgeon, have left the operating theatre mid-incision to attend to me.
‘Do you have the sleeping tablets . . . er . . . the sedative, doctor?’ I anxiously enquired.
On the previous occasion we’d met he’d hardly said a word. Whether this was because he was intimidated by the surroundings and the presence of Fuchida-san, I couldn’t say. This time, in the neutrality of the hotel foyer, he replied, ‘As far as I am concerned I have come to treat you, Duncan-san. With this in mind I have brought the necessary dressings. The sleeping potion is quite another matter and I will need to see the patient. If you please, can we proceed to your hotel room?’
‘My partner is deeply distressed, doctor. Perhaps you can attend to me in the male toilet here in the foyer and leave me to give her the tablet?’
Dr Honda turned slowly, looking down at the shiny caps of his black shoes protruding from his white spats. He said firmly, ‘I must remind you that I am a medical doctor and the answer to your question is no! We will proceed to your room please, otherwise I must return immediately to my half-eaten breakfast.’
I had quickly grown so accustomed to authority, so infected by my own self-importance, even though it was merely borrowed from my association with the yakuza, that I found myself unjustifiably angry. I had learned in a matter of days how to dish it out (how easily the characteristics of the bully are acquired), and now I was being disobeyed, challenged, or more truthfully, my bluff was being called and I didn’t like it. Then, almost immediately, I felt ashamed and then grateful that the little doctor, with his sartorial taste fixed firmly in the 1930s, was using his authority as a conscientious medical practitioner, regardless of who I might be or the threat I might present to his welfare.
‘Of course, immediately,’ I replied, suitably chastened.
He examined Anna by turning her onto her back after she had ignored his request to do so herself. He took her pulse, peeled back her eyelids, took her temperature and put his stethoscope to her breast.
‘She is suffering from shock, her pulse rate is too high, she has a fever. This is not normal trauma; it is acute stress reaction,’ he concluded. Then squinting up at me he said, ‘You say she went to bed quite calm, then woke early this morning weeping because she’d seen your lacerations?’ His expression indicated that he very much doubted this explanation.
‘Doctor, I was not free to explain on the phone. She has been kidnapped and witnessed three men being killed. But as you can see she has not been beaten or physically harmed. She is not normally a neurotic woman and if she could only sleep and be given a chance to calm down, I feel sure she will eventually recover.’
‘Nonsense!’ Dr Honda exclaimed. ‘She is suffering from exhaustion and almost unendurable stress. She woke possibly after a bad nightmare, her heart rate is elevated, her breathing shallow and rapid.’ He pointed to Anna, who was still weeping. ‘This is symptomatic of a panic attack. I am surprised it has taken so long. Did you give her a strong sedative last night?’
I reluctantly explained that Anna was a heroin addict.
‘And she received heroin shortly after she was freed?’
‘Yes.’
‘That is why she was calm last night. The effects of the drug have worn off, and she is now acting as one might expect. I will give her an injection to put her to sleep. When she wakes up she may feel calmer, but you need to understand, this is not something that can be cured overnight with a sleeping pill.’
Anna had not stopped sobbing and seemed oblivious to the little doctor’s presence. She barely reacted when he injected her, but soon after, her breathing steadied and in twenty minutes or so she was asleep.
‘Now let me attend to your dressings, Duncan-san. Have you taken the antibiotics? If your wounds become infected you will not be able to take care of your wife,’ he scolded.
It was nearly ten o’clock by the time Dr Honda had finished attending to me, packed his medical bag and prepared to leave, advising me to remain with Anna until she awakened and then to call him. ‘She could possibly sleep for twenty-four hours and may develop a fever and break into frequent sweats. Put a cold compress on her forehead or bathe her body with a wet towel.’
‘What if she wakes and needs . . . heroin?’
‘Is she a long-term addict?’
‘Yes, twenty-five years, doctor.’
‘Then give it to her,’ he said brusquely. ‘If she wakes, give her water. She will probably fall asleep again and when she finally wakes may not remember very much of this assault on her system.’ Then bowing formally he left, turning back at the door and bowing a second time. ‘Sayonara!’
I left a message with reception blocking any incoming calls and asking for messages to be taken and slipped under the door. Every time the phone in the suite rang it sounded like the clappers of hell. Anna slept the whole of that day, then through the following night and was still asleep when I noticed a message had been slipped under the door. It was from Fuchida-san who’d called half an hour previously and asked me to return his call. I went down to the foyer and called him back, assuming he was inquiring about Anna’s condition. Miss Sparkle answered, then moments later Fuchida-san came to the phone. I’d hardly greeted him when he declared in an ebullient tone, ‘Duncan-san, I have the most excellent news! We have discovered the whereabouts of Gojo Mura. I will send a car for you immediately!’
‘Why, Fuchida-san, you never cease to amaze me,’ I exclaimed, trying to reciprocate his enthusiasm so that he wouldn’t think me ungrateful.
‘We must go now! I will send a car!’ he repeated excitedly.
‘Fuchida-san, I regret I cannot come immediately. I must wait with Anna. I am advised by the doctor to wait until she wakes and to check her condition. I may have to call him. She is suffering from shock – acute stress reaction,’ I corrected myself.
It wasn’t what the yakuza boss wanted to hear. ‘Hai! She is a woman. They are by nature hysterical and they also like to sleep late. You will see, she will be just fine when she wakes up. Now we must go, the car is on the way,’ he said yet again.
‘I must obey the doctor’s orders,’ I insisted.
‘Hai! That one, he is a syphilis doctor!’
I was in an awkward situation. Fuchida-san had found Gojo Mura, no doubt after considerable effort and the unprofitable use of yakuza manpower. Furthermore, there was no possible gain in it for him except re-acquaintance with an old village friend. Now I was refusing to leave Anna to share his triumph and, I imagine, pamper his considerable ego. I was aware that for him, our relationship had been a one-way street – give, give and more give. Whilst he may have ultimately profited from Anna’s kidnapping and, in the process, increased his influence with the First Intelligence Service, this had not been his original reason for coming to my aid. He had done so generously and without any hope of personal gain. My sole contribution in return had been a box of butterflies, excellent specimens certainly, difficult but not impossible for a man of his means to obtain elsewhere.
I told myself that, as a confirmed bachelor, Fuchida-san’s views on women were understandably ill-informed. On a previous occasion he had questioned my attention to and concern for Anna, suggesting it was inappropriate because she was ‘only a woman’, a gender whose needs were subservient to those of men. Now, by refusing to leave Anna for a reunion with Gojo Mura, I was causing him to lose face. Christ, the sooner we get out of this macho bloody country the better! I silently swore.
‘Honourable Fuchida-san, you are making it very difficult for me. I cannot leave her,’ I began.
‘Hai! You carry her handbag and her shoes!’ he snapped.
Anna had not mentioned the shoe and bag incident during her rescue and I took this as a Japanese metaphor for a wimp and a wuss. The yakuza boss was not accustomed to being rebuffed and plainly wasn’t happy. No doubt he had every right. I was abusing the rules Dr Honda had so carefully observed when he’d come directly to the hotel after my call. I knew I was being tested, and that I was about to fail. ‘Honourable Oyabun Fuchida-san, I would happily carry her shoes and handbag if I could undo what has been done to Anna. As I cannot, I must wait until she wakes and if necessary attend to her or call Dr Honda. I most humbly crave your indulgence in this matter.’
A lengthy silence ensued and I was about to ask if he was still there when he said coldly, ‘As you wish, Duncan-san. Call Mama-san when you are ready. She will send a wakagashira to fetch you. I have tried to please you in this matter but now have more important matters to attend to,’ and he hung up.
I am ashamed to say I felt a curious sense of relief, and while I didn’t like the way it had ended and was sad that I wouldn’t meet little Gojo Mura, this was yet another reason to get the hell out of Japan. My hope was that a rested and calmer Anna would see things more reasonably and would abandon the idea of confronting Konoe Akira. But I knew it to be a forlorn hope.
I settled down to wait. Mitsubishi Shipping had sent around numerous regulatory forms to be filled in for the two freighters I’d purchased. I’d spent the previous day dealing with them and now I busied myself attending to the last of them while Anna continued to sleep. Halfway though this tedious paperwork and much to my annoyance the phone rang. It was a frightened voice from reception begging a thousand pardons to say that I had a visitor. Frowning, I immediately assumed it was the wakagashira who’d been on his way to fetch me for the cancelled appointment with Gojo Mura and had not received the message to return. ‘Tell him to return, that I will not be going with him,’ I instructed reception.
‘It is a woman, Duncan-san,’ the receptionist announced, then added, ‘I don’t think she will leave.’
‘A woman?’ I exclaimed, surprised. Then, recovering, I said, ‘Ask for her name, please.’
I waited a few moments before he spoke again. ‘She says to tell you it is the mama-san with the diamond earrings.’
Miss Sparkle! I was suddenly more than a little bemused and asked myself what on earth was going on. ‘Will you show her to a meeting room and bring her tea, please. I will be right down,’ I instructed. I left a note for Anna on the bedside table, telling her to call reception to alert me if she woke up and needed me.
Miss Sparkle rose and bowed deeply, earrings sparkling, when I entered the small private lounge. She was dressed in a formal kimono with her grey hair combed and swept up in the geisha style, and she wore the stark white make-up, delicate black and red shading around her eyes and the brilliant red over-painted bow lips. ‘A thousand apologies for calling on you without formally requesting your permission, Duncan-san,’ she offered.
‘It is a pleasure to receive you, Mama-san, though I am curious as to why you have come. Is there something I can do for you?’
She did not reply immediately. Dropping to her knees and leaning back on her haunches in the geisha style she poured green tea for me. ‘No, Duncan-san, it is I who hope to be of service to you,’ she said, handing me the tiny cup. ‘I have come to ask if I may attend to Anna-san. I understand she is not well.’
‘Oyabun Fuchida-san told you?’ I asked, surprised.
‘No, I listened to your conversation on the phone. It is required of me to listen to all telephone calls.’
‘But you have not yet met Anna.’
Miss Sparkle paused, the teapot still held aloft, her own cup not yet poured. ‘Ah, but I have,’ she said, smiling.
‘Oh?’ I asked, puzzled. ‘How can that possibly be?’
‘My geisha name is Korin. I was the seventh okami-san in the Nest of the Swallows. We, Anna-san and I, first met in the service of the Honourable Colonel Konoe Akira in Tjilatjap more than twenty-five years ago.’
‘You know Konoe Akira?’ I asked, astounded.
‘No, I was merely sent to his house to train Anna-san. I only met him to take his instructions.’
‘On training her in the art of kinbaku?’
‘Oh, she has told you?’
‘Yes.’ I felt it unnecessary to explain further. Anyway, if she was privy to all the calls to and from Fuchida-san, Korin-san would have known that Anna had visited the Jade House and that she continued to practise the art of the rope. ‘Then you know about her kidnapping, that it was instigated by Konoe-san?’
‘Yes, it is deeply to be regretted.’
‘And of her need for heroin . . . you know about that also?’
Korin-san averted her eyes. ‘I had hoped she might have conquered the dragon. I am ashamed, Duncan-san. It was I who, at the Nest of the Swallows, tricked her into taking heroin suppositories to calm her. I did so to spare my own unworthy life.’
‘Then you know what happened to the kempeitai colonel?’
Korin-san nodded her head. ‘Anna-san is the bravest woman I have ever known. She has courage beyond that of any man.’
‘Korin-san, I do not wish to be disrespectful, but does Fuchida-san know you have come here to see Anna?’
‘Yes. After your phone call I remonstrated with him.’
‘You remonstrated?’ I asked surprised.
Korin-san chuckled. ‘Perhaps, because I am a Japanese woman and a retired geisha, you think this is not possible?’
‘I have come to think that Fuchida-san is . . .’ I tried to think of the appropriate word, ‘. . . indifferent to a woman’s opinion. I do not believe he has a high regard for Anna.’
‘You are quite wrong.’
‘Oh?’
Korin-san then told me of the shoes and handbag incident and added, ‘This morning, after the phone call, I told him more about Anna . . . when I scolded him.’
‘More? You told him about the Nest of the Swallows?’
‘Yes.’
I knew better than to show my annoyance at this. ‘Was that wise, do you think?’
While polite it was nevertheless a reprimand and the fact that I didn’t address her by name would have been obvious to her. ‘Yes, it was necessary,’ Korin-san replied without hesitation. ‘He is a powerful man and does not take kindly to having his authority challenged. It is easy for him to think that his decisions, like those of the Emperor, cannot be disobeyed. His friendship with you is important to him. It is, other than his relationship with Saito-san, the only proper friendship he has made, one that presents no threat to him, is not a challenge to his power, one that is based on nothing more than your mutual love of butterflies. He is a proud man and this morning he couldn’t bring himself to accept that you would cater to the needs of an “hysterical” woman instead of obeying his command.’
‘Anna is not an hysterical woman!’ I interjected, misreading her emphasis.
‘Of course not! I above anyone know this. But it was necessary for him to know also. To know that Anna-san is not just a woman, but also a person he must respect as he would any brave and courageous warrior. Respect her as he does you. He knows you have been a great warrior and have many medals for courage. Now he knows that she is also such a one, but her medals are the scars she wears on her heart.’ She sighed. ‘I regret, Duncan-san, that like most Japanese men he has difficulty apologising.’ She paused and sighed a second time. ‘But he is oyabun, he finds it impossible to admit he was wrong.’
‘So he sent you?’
‘Yes and no. He suggested I should come to take care of Anna.’ She smiled. ‘He is softening the ground. I am glad he asked me, but it was not my request. I did not ask his permission to come or volunteer.’
‘Before, when you realised who she was, didn’t you wish to be rea
cquainted with Anna?’
‘It would have been a great privilege, but it was a long time ago. Those were bad times. My hope was that she had put them behind her. I did not wish to open old wounds.’
‘But if Anna had come with me to visit Fuchida-san, would she not have recognised you?’
‘That would not be possible, Duncan-san. No woman, other than myself, has ever been in the penthouse of Oyabun Fuchida-san.’
I was not at all certain that in her present state, or any other for that matter, Anna should be reacquainted with Korin-san. ‘But now you have changed your mind and wish to help her?’
Korin-san looked dismayed. ‘I would always wish to help Anna-san! She is the finest woman I have ever known. She has the courage of a lioness. But, as I said, I am associated with bad rice, times she would not wish to remember. I thought it better to stay away.’ She paused. ‘That is why I have come to see you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes, Duncan-san! You must decide what is best. If you wish me to go then I shall do so.’
I spread my hands and sighed. ‘Korin-san, I don’t know. I really don’t know. Until Anna wakes up I cannot possibly decide.’
‘Of course! I understand, Duncan-san. I have taken too much of your time as it is. You must go to her.’
‘No, it is all right, I have left a note. If she wakes up she will call reception and they will inform me,’ I said. ‘Now it is my turn to ask about you. I am curious, Korin-san. Your knowing Anna is an amazing coincidence. How did you come to work for Oyabun Fuchida-san? Anna has spoken about you. I know that you were a retired geisha brought to Tjilatjap to train the comfort women. But what happened to you after the war?’
Korin-san sighed. ‘When the Americans dropped the second bomb and the armistice was declared I was instructed by the kempeitai to poison the six other okami-san at the Nest of the Swallows and then to take my own life. I was told that the Americans would immediately hand us over to the Dutch who, because we had enslaved their daughters and wives as concubines, would take their terrible revenge and torture us and we would die slow and agonising deaths. They insisted that poisoning was much the better way for us, the more respectable and honourable way to die. But the fifth okami-san and I, who had cared for Anna-san, “preparing” her for the kempeitai colonel, Takahashi, were witness to her extraordinary courage and tenacity and she gained honour in our eyes. As a result we decided to disobey our instructions. We were consequently captured by the British and repatriated to Japan where we were prosecuted for war crimes. The others received prison sentences of five years and I, as the senior okami-san, received seven years.’
Fishing for Stars Page 34
