A Dictionary of Mutual Understanding (23 page)

In'yo: The idea of these dual forces evolved from the cosmology of the ancient Chinese, and explains every phenomenon of the universe by shade (in) and light (yo). For example, day and night, heat and cold, and male and female all comprise in'yo, day, heat and male being yo.

My journey home had taken me thirty-eight years. The winter sun was beginning to set and orange lights appeared from the windows of the cathedral. I whispered my apologies to my daughter for my lateness and stepped over the threshold. The last time I saw Yuko, we met at the cathedral, two days before the bomb. The red facade was bleached coral in the sunshine but the darkness of its interior swallowed the daylight. I could see her sitting on one of the back pews, the outline of her shoulders and head shimmering from the golden shafts that spilled off the stained glass. I walked up to her, my feet silent on the paved stones, and touched her on the shoulder. She turned round and her face was pale and drawn. Call it a mother's instinct but I knew something was wrong. We moved outside to one of the stone seats west of the building. She opened a parasol and we sheltered under its white frame. I tried to fill her silence with chatter. I asked after Hideo and told her Mrs Goto had been unwell. She did not respond and stared at the ground. I waited,
and when she finally spoke, she could not look at me. ‘You know Jomei is back?'

The dread returned instantly. We had never spoken about the doctor since her marriage. What would have been the point? I tried to keep my voice light. ‘No, I wasn't aware. Since when?' She said nothing. ‘Your paths have crossed?' Fear coursed through my body. ‘He has acted in good faith?' Again she did not reply but her hesitation was enough. She handed me the parasol, turned away and began to cry. Her tears fell in splashes and she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief. I'm ashamed to admit this but I often feel a swell of disgust when seeing someone in distress, especially someone I love. I need them to be strong, contained. Any show of weakness frightens me. I ran my palm down her wet cheek. ‘Why are you telling me this today, Yuko? Why now?'

A minute or so passed and she grew calm. She folded the handkerchief into a square and wiped her eyes. She reached for the parasol and we drew closer under its protection. ‘I need your help, Mother. I need to do something and I cannot face it alone.'

‘Do what, Daughter?'

‘This is not his fault, before you blame him. To see him again after so long, it was as if all those years, Shige, Hideo, had vanished. I was foolish, selfish, I know.' She sighed, ready for the confession. ‘To keep the baby is a sin. To get rid of it is a sin. What can I do, Mother?'

‘Baby?' The word fell from me in a rush of anguish. I said the word again and then dug my fingernails in my palm so that I would not cry. We sat in silence as the
sun began its slow descent behind the cathedral. My throat felt gritty with the dying afternoon heat. Finally, I found the strength to speak. ‘Does Sato know?'

Yuko dabbed beneath her eyes with her fingers. ‘I haven't told him yet, but surely I have to tell him?'

I gathered up my fear, sealed it away. ‘You want my advice? Then this is it. You cannot keep the baby and he must never know.'

‘Maybe I could have the child and have it adopted?' I looked to the sky, exasperated. ‘I can't destroy the baby, Mother. What will God say?'

‘It's not God you have to worry about, it's Shige. He's your concern. And Hideo. They are your family. This thing, this seed in your belly, it's nothing, see, nothing. The war will end some day. Shige will return. Hideo will need a father. And you a husband.'

‘What if I could take Hideo away with me, start a new life?'

‘And abandon Shige? You could do that?'

She started to weep again. ‘He's dead. I know it. I feel it.'

‘You can't believe it. This is war. This is what happens. He will return.' I took her hand. ‘You asked me here today for help. Women have been dealing with this problem for centuries. There's a fishing village down the coast. Years ago now, before you were born, a great storm hit the area. It battered the nearby cliffs so hard that when the wind and rain passed on, the villagers noticed strange objects protruding from the cliff face. Bones, human bones, children's bones. For hundreds of years, the women of that village had gone to that spot to rid themselves of children
they could not keep because of disability, or hunger, or parentage. There are places you can go. You will not be the first woman to fix this problem.'

‘So, it's that easy? Some trip down an alley and the problem's gone?'

‘And Sato . . .'

She pulled her hand away. ‘I knew you wouldn't understand.'

‘I do understand, Yuko. I understand that kind of love, I do. But it doesn't make you happy. Believe me. You can't see beyond it now, but you will.'

‘I need time to think.'

‘The longer you wait, the harder it will be, the more likely you will be to tell Sato.' I forged the plan in my head. ‘We will meet here on Thursday. I'll find someone who can help us. You have a break at eleven in the morning, yes?' She nodded. ‘OK, two days, you have two days to accept what you have to do. We'll fix this, Yuko. But you must promise, when this is done, no more Sato, no more. You have your family. That is who you are.'

She looked up at the cathedral. ‘I can't make that decision with God so near. Let's meet somewhere in town after work. I'll be finished by five o'clock.'

‘No, here is better. Thursday at eleven o'clock. I'll be waiting.' I had thought maybe the presence of the cathedral would remind her of her vows to Shige.

She stood up. ‘I'm expected back at the hospital.' She looked away briefly as if trying to contain her emotions. ‘I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you.'

I should have called her back, gathered her in my arms, told her she had never disappointed, not once.
How could she? Yuko had been the one true joy in my life, the pearl in the shell of my heart. But rather than say any of this, I watched her walk away, her nurse's uniform shrinking into the evening as she returned to work. My biggest worry was that she would confess the pregnancy to Sato before our next meeting and he would manipulate her into keeping the child. As I sat on the bench my loathing for him poured over me. I felt the hatred prick my pores and pierce my stomach. I had tried to cleanse the doctor from our lives before. I had underestimated his resolve, but there was one final move I could make that would poison any feeling he might have for my daughter. I could see no other alternative. This is not my excuse, but an attempt at an explanation.

Miren: A feeling one develops when, for example, one is forced to part with one's beloved due to the pressure of social circumstance. It is part of the emotional category of sorrow. A man is said to be effeminate and unreliable if he cannot suppress his lingering attachment to his sweetheart once he has decided he had better leave her.

Maruyama in the early morning resembles a geisha stripped of her fine kimonos and make-up. Empty beer bottles are stacked in crates, the shutters of the dim-sum and takoyaki stalls are down, the lanterns droop and the clogged drains ferment under the day's harsh judgement. The cracks and stains and decay are all too visible, but most delivery men, or cleaners, or hostess girls making their way home know better than to look too closely down side lanes or inside doorways.

I had chosen a bar where night workers could still find a beer or company come the end of their shift. I sat at a bench at the back wall and asked for a coffee. Except for two hostess girls, bleary-eyed with lack of sleep, I was the only female customer. I watched the door for Sato. When he arrived I felt that same pull in my guts of fear, anger and some feeling I refused to acknowledge.

He sat down opposite me and studied my face. Even in this forgiving light, I knew what he saw. The greying
under my eyes, my skin still pale from the night's caress even after all those years. I remained a creature of twilight, blanched. He pulled a silver case from his jacket pocket and offered me a cigarette. I refused and he lit one for himself. I had left my name and the address of the bar with his receptionist the evening before. I did not know whether he would come but I had not dared go to the hospital in case Yuko saw me. The waitress came over and he ordered a glass of shochu. He tapped his cigarette carton on the table and waited until our drinks had been delivered before he spoke.

‘Tell me, Amaterasu. I was thinking on the way over. How long have we known each other?'

I smelled the aroma of roasted acorns as I replied. ‘Don't be cruel, Sato. Don't make me count.'

‘Nonsense, we are still young, you and I. We're still game for the fight.'

Wisps of tobacco crackled near his mouth from his cigarette. I gave him a rueful look. ‘Come now, Sato. You're not feeling nostalgic, are you?'

This amused him. ‘You know me better than that.'

‘We have known each other . . .' I began to count. ‘One, two, three . . . no, don't make me do it.'

He leaned forward and touched my hand. ‘In all those years, I have not been as forthcoming with my expressions of admiration.'

I fell into my former guise, pouted and fashioned a frown. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

He half smiled at this. ‘Did Yuko tell you I was back in Nagasaki?'

‘She did. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so surprised.
Tell me, Sato. What is it about Yuko? Of all the women in the city, why do you keep coming back to her?'

‘You're not jealous, are you, Amaterasu?'

‘Don't be ridiculous. I'm not your wife, Sato.' I tried to keep my voice steady. ‘My only concern is Yuko. Do you understand what you have done here?'

‘I did not come here to explain myself. Only to tell you, unlike last time, I will not be ordered around like some housemaid. This matter between Yuko and me is unfinished business. And maybe more too.'

‘What? You still think this love? You have no idea what that word means. If you continue to pursue Yuko, you will destroy her life, for what, your own selfish needs? A parent's love is selfish too, in different ways.' I paused. ‘Why her? Anyone but her. Think, Sato. Think. Did you never do the calculations? Did you never consider how soon Kenzo and I began after you and I ended? Did you never think about her age?'

I watched the clouds of confusion clear on his face as he understood what I was saying to him. He stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray as he shook his head. ‘Amaterasu, don't do what you are about to do. If you love Yuko, don't say what you are about to say.'

‘Yuko was a small baby. It was easy enough to pass her off as premature. No one guessed the truth.'

He sat back with a look of despair. ‘Why would you tell such an unnatural lie? Don't you realise I know when you are lying? Even after all these years. You pride yourself on deception, but you are a terrible liar.'

I pulled some money from my purse. ‘I'm sorry, Sato, I really am, but it's no lie. Who could make such a crime up?'

He sat back, as if stabbed in the chest. There were tears in his eyes. ‘I don't believe you. You are nothing more than a Maruyama whore who would lie and cheat and say anything to get her way.'

I stood and picked up my parasol. ‘I'm meeting Yuko at Urakami Cathedral tomorrow morning. You have until then to break off this foul union, or I will tell her everything.'

Sato gave me another look of revulsion. ‘You would do that to your own child? I can see how you would lie to me, but her?'

‘To keep her away from you, Sato, I'd do anything.' I walked out of the bar, turned down an alleyway, squeezed through lanes little wider than me so that he could not follow me – faster and faster – and when my lungs burned in protest and I could run no more, I bent over in a doorway and retched. Again. And again. And again. Until I had purged those words from my body.

Suibokuga: This style of painting was introduced into Japan from China together with Zen Buddhism and perfected by the painter and priest Sesshu (1420–1506) in the fifteenth century. As in many other Japanese arts and traditions such as haiku poetry and tea ceremony, there is a deep-rooted preference for simplicity and subtlety. Suibokuga abhors superfluous strokes of the brush
and unnecessary splashes of ink. It is interested in the essence of the
subject matter, usually mountains, rivers, plants, animals, etc.
Various shades of black and grey on the white background stimu
late the imagination of the viewer far more than colours. The white space left untouched does not represent emptiness but embodies all meaning and possibility, thus playing as important a part as the painted object itself.

A couple of worshippers bowed their heads in prayer underneath Jesus on the Cross. The silence was calming. This was as close to a cocoon as I could find. I opened my bag and took out Yuko's journal and Sato's last letter, dated 1972. I opened my daughter's diary to her final entry and listened to what she had to tell me.

‘Unlike Mother, I am weak but maybe I will have the courage to
do the right thing, if only I knew what that was. I love Shige. I do. These words are easy to write. I love his constancy and his loyalty. He is a good father. I thought I would have to live with the pain of Jomei's departure forever. Shige helped me mend. He fixed me.
No word but maybe Mother is right. I must believe him alive. I would not wish to cause him pain. I do not wish to cause Hideo harm. What am I if I cannot be a good wife and a good mother? What else will be left of me? But there is the other side of me, a darker part where Jomei exists. He is a tumour who feeds on me and grows stronger every day until all of me, bones, organs, flesh, will be consumed by him.

‘Mother says there is no choice to make. Shige and Hideo are my family. She says the role of mother and wife has been sufficient for her. She cannot imagine the alternative. She says to surrender to some foolish notion of love will hurt everyone. Sometimes women are the collateral damage, she says, but we can bear the agony of decisions forced upon us. Is killing one child forgivable if it saves two families?

‘All these words mean nothing until I meet with Jomei again. Despite what Mother says, I must tell him about the child. He may not want me or this new life in my belly, but if he does, what then? I cannot have the child and him without losing Shige and Hideo. Surely then there is no choice to be made? Surely I must stay true to what I have and not gamble on the unknown? What would my life be without Hideo and Shige? What would have been the point to all of this?'

Had I acted too hastily in meeting Sato at the bar that morning? I had seen the move as security against any indecision on Yuko's part. I wanted to leave nothing to chance. I pulled out his letter from the envelope. His words were barely legible, scrawled in an uneven slope down the page. He must have taken great effort to write them.

I think about the child we would have had. For some reason I see a daughter. I imagine her born healthy, with
screaming lungs and clenched fists raised at the rudeness of her delivery to the world. I call her Miki. I imagine her growing into a young child. She would be free from worries and fears. She would delight in her surroundings and laugh with abandon and cry with gusto. She would not shy away from her feelings but embrace and wrestle with them. As I write I can see the bushes in my garden, shaking with the sparrows that have gathered in them. Safe within the inner branches, they chirrup to one another all day. The sound cannot fail to make whoever hears their song happy. I imagine Miki listening in wonder to the singing bush, mimicking the sound of these delicate little birds. As she grew into a teenager and young woman we would have shown her wondrous places beyond her own country. She would learn other languages and other cultures. She would make her own way in the world, choosing a career, falling in love, having children of her own. I see you holding a grandchild in your arms. These images do not torment me. I take solace from them, this imagined other world.

And then I think of Miki as she might also have been, infected by the bomb. I know the challenges she would have encountered, the obstacles we all would have faced. I imagine strangers looking at her, turning away, asking ugly questions, rejecting what they see. But her life would still be a success, only different, her goals changed but still achievable, and our love for her the same as it would be for any child, fiercer maybe in our fight to protect her. And the singing bush? Can you imagine her joy at such magic? We would have been happy, just in a different way.

I used to think losing you both was punishment for China, but I deserved such retribution, not you. This cruelty I cannot reconcile. Hideo is no atonement for all my wrongs, but my pride in who he is, what he is, how he is, are as deep as the fires that flow under Japan. As my body and mind prepare for what is about to come, my doubts about him are gone. He is your son and I love him, Yuko. It was an honour to raise him on your and Shige's behalf. He is a giant among men. This is no surprise to me. He came from strong stock. We just provided shelter while he grew. The rest, all that he is and all that he will be, is down to you. To Hideo, my love. To your son.

I wept there in the comforting shadows of the cathedral, tears muffled by a hand over my mouth. I accept now that Sato loved my daughter but I will always struggle with what happened because of that love. I'm glad she did not take my advice and had told Sato about the pregnancy. The burden of a decision was not hers alone to endure. Sato had mentioned nothing of what they had discussed when he came to my home in those days after pikadon, desperate to believe somehow she had escaped. As he stood in my bedroom, he had only one other question to ask.

‘What you told me the other day in the bar, was it a lie?'

I hesitated to tell him the truth, frightened about how he might react. The summer sun fell in hot streaks through the window and we were both stripped of age and duplicity in its harsh light. We were young again,
unsullied by our schemes and ambitions, a young doctor and a hostess girl. I had been a fool to imagine a life with him. I could not picture our home, our children, our happiness. The greatest gift Sato had given me was Kenzo. I returned the favour. ‘Of course it was a lie, Jomei. A terrible lie. I could not let you destroy her life.' Rather than seem angry, he looked relieved. ‘Please tell me, you said nothing of it to Yuko?' I asked.

A cloud cast him in shadow and he aged before my eyes. He shook his head. ‘Why would I say such a thing to her?'

I glanced out of the window as I watched a kite harry another bird in the white sky. ‘But you met, reached a decision?'

‘It's none of your business, Amaterasu.'

‘It's just, I see her there, in the cathedral, alone. I want to believe in that final moment she had some peace.'

His was the saddest smile I've seen. ‘We both wanted that for her. We both did.'

He walked out of the room. I never saw him again. Would it have helped if Sato and I could have mourned her death together? Ours was a shared loss but not shared grief. The only kindness we could afford one another was honesty during that last encounter. There was no need for deceit after the fires of pikadon. Her diary and his letter gave two endings. Which was I to believe? Had she made her way to the cathedral that morning to tell me she was keeping the baby or had Yuko told Sato she had chosen her life with Shige? I'll never know but I cannot contemplate the former. The second ending is the one I choose to believe. Maybe that decision would have
been easier in those final moments of her life. I hope that was her choice. I can do no more than that. Hope.

I watched a woman, close to my own age, light a candle and place it next to others melting away to nothing. Candles burn, diaries and letters rot, memories weaken or die. When I am gone, what will be left of my daughter? What will remain to show the world she once existed? I had carried her with me through the years but the toll was a heavy one. I had felt dead inside for a long time. I knew why Sato wrote to Yuko and why he created a new ending for her, alive, with a daughter called Miki. I too sometimes conjured up my own fantasy that she had survived pikadon. She had not waited for me at the cathedral. This had been my hope, Sato's too. Had this been true, Yuko would be sixty-three years old by now. I try to imagine how she might look. I try to conjure up the colour of her hair, the pallor of her skin. I try to sketch a softened waist or protrusion of bone and veins. Even if I use my own face and body as a map, I cannot picture this other Yuko, but I guessed at the life she might have led had she chosen Sato, the joy a daughter would bring, the sacrifices this Miki would be worth.

The doctor's letters and Yuko's journals had forced me to accept that I must let this fantasy creation go. I did not need to think of other endings, only the actual one: my daughter was taken suddenly from me, before I had a chance to tell her that I loved her, before I had a chance to ask her to forgive me, before I had a chance to say goodbye. I wanted to mourn all of the woman in the journals and letters, not just the one trapped in the cathedral when pikadon hit. She had been so much more than the
Yuko of that day and that hour. Inside me, she will always be a baby, a young girl, a lover, a wife, a nurse, a mother. I told myself, while I had led her to the cathedral that day, none of us could have known the fate about to be bestowed upon our city and its people. I heard the great bell that had survived the war ring out, I watched the woman's mouth move in silent prayer, I looked up at that bleeding crucified carpenter. Yuko had believed him the son of God. She had come here to pray, seek solace. Maybe finally, if I had to let her go, it needed to be here.

I took hold of the pew in front of me with both hands and lowered myself onto the knee rest, the green leather worn through with the weight of others. I spoke to Yuko's god in the cathedral; I finished the prayer that she could not. I asked that he might set me free. I asked that he might show me how to live again. I asked him to deliver a message. I whispered the words over and over again as outside the neon lights of the city flickered to life.
Peace, Yuko. Peace, Daughter. Peace, my beautiful child. You are the pearl in the shell of my heart. Forgive me. I love you. Goodbye.