Bicycle Days (20 page)

Only Park was there to give him a hand. When he looked up, Alec noticed that the Hasegawa children had moved to the bottom row of the grandstand, nearer to courtside. They were watching him closely. Around him his teammates stood as they had every time Miyaki had knocked him down, staring at the floor in awkward silence. But in his mind, Alec was hardly aware of any of them. They had become background.

He let Park pull him to his feet.

“Are you in pain, Alec-san?”

“That was a foul.”

“Yes. I think you are right. But soon the game will be over.”

“I want the ball. One-on-one with Miyaki.”

Park seemed to wince. “Perhaps that would not be a good idea, Alec-san. Soon the game will be over. Perhaps you are injured and should no longer play.”

Alec brought his face close to Park’s and spoke in a harsh whisper. “I need the ball, Park-san. Do you understand? Now.”

Park studied him for a moment, then turned and quickly huddled the team together, giving quiet directions. When he finished, he threw the ball out to Alec at midcourt.

Alec brought the ball into play, interchanging hands on the dribble, deliberately feeling the grooves on the ball. Much of the movement on the court was taking place in his peripheral vision, the players reduced to abstract shapes and blotches of color. It was as if a channel between him and Miyaki had formed within the court, the two points intense and focused, pushing toward a confrontation.

Miyaki was coming out to meet him at the foul line, knees slightly bent, arms spread as if he were trying to fly. Alec paused in front of him, showing him the ball. He took in Miyaki’s liquid eyes as they watched him dribble. And then he saw Miyaki take a quick step forward, his hand darting out toward the ball. But Alec was already ahead of him, dribbling the ball between his own legs to the other hand. His weight too far forward, Miyaki tried to correct his balance by taking a large step backward. Space opened up between them and Alec stepped into it, pulling up as though to shoot. Miyaki jumped, arms raised, hoping to block the shot. But it never came. Alec stood still for a moment below the airborne body, lumbering even as it floated, and watched it begin to descend.

It was hardly noticeable when he leaned his hip into Miyaki’s thick legs, bumping them sideways and out. He barely heard the crash as Miyaki landed on the hardwood floor in a heap, his body all thickness and sweat and smell. Alec’s concentration was focused entirely on the ball as it left his hands, the easy lightness of its flight, its soft spin off the glass blackboard, the sudden tick as it brushed the inside of the net.

He caught the ball as it came through. He spun it round on his palm and felt the release of frustration lift him like a drug. He turned and saw the other players gathered around Miyaki,
who lay on the floor clutching his hip. Alec didn’t go to him. Instead he walked toward Park, meaning to thank him for the pass. But Park turned away and busied himself with the water cooler. Miyaki was helped slowly to his feet. The Hasegawa children didn’t respond when Alec waved to them. They stood quietly by the exit without looking at him. The game was over. There were no sounds strong enough to echo.

N
obi called a few days later. His voice sounded surprised and then remote on the phone, as if he had dialed Alec’s number by mistake. He was calling to arrange a meeting, he said.

The bar where they met was crowded with men who had stopped for a drink on their way home from work. Some of them stood in a line along the wooden counter with their jackets off, their white shirts appearing woven together in the dim light, a canvas stretching the entire length of the room. Alec and Nobi sat at a table near the back. A waiter wearing a black T-shirt beneath his white jacket brought them a large bottle of Sapporo and two small glasses. Nobi poured first for Alec and then for himself. The foam rose quickly to the rim of the glass before halting as though upon command.

They drank in uneasy silence for a couple of minutes, draining and refilling their glasses at regular intervals. Alec thought back to their morning together at the fish market, how tense it had
been, almost eerie; the thick blanket of fog, the water gushing everywhere, the old women pushing and poking, how little he and Nobi had actually said to each other. But then it seemed as if it had always been that way between them. The afternoon when he and Kiyoko had made sushi together, when he touched her and she fled, Nobi had never even said that he knew—if he knew—what had taken place. Instead there had been the reticence, the distance, the voice of wrong numbers, as he suggested they go out for lunch.

Nobi signaled to the waiter for another bottle of beer, though they had not yet finished the first one. When it arrived, he cleared his throat and began to talk, his eyes fixed firmly on the beads of moisture as they merged and trickled down the side of the translucent brown bottle.

“Two days ago, I telephoned Kiyoko,” he said. “It had been some time since I had last talked to her. She has been very unhappy since the afternoon when we all met for lunch in my apartment. I did not know this. She had not told me exactly what happened when I went to buy sake that afternoon, the reason why she left so quickly. So, when you and I met at the fish market, I was not speaking of those things I knew. Do you understand, Alec? I saw only her anger that day when she left, and because I did not speak closely with her afterward, I did not see her sadness. She says that she has not been able to talk to you, that it is too difficult, and that she is afraid of embarrassing you and making you angry with her. She is no longer angry, only sad. I can see now that she is missing you.”

“I miss her too, Nobi.”

“I have arranged for her to come here tonight. It will be easier for her if I am here at first, and then I will leave.”

“She’s coming
here?
Now?”

Nobi glanced at his watch. “Yes. Soon.”

Alec poured more beer.

“She will be very nervous, I think. But then she will be fine. I will try not to be so protective of her. I do not have a sister, you understand.”

“Yes.”

They waited for her arrival in silence. Nobi looked continually at his watch, then at the entrance, then back at the watch. Alec drank several more glasses of beer and thought of how certain he was growing that things would never turn out as expected. Almost two months before, he had left his first meeting with Nobi full of the confidence that they would become close friends. He had not thought of Kiyoko that day, not once. He had not even known her first name.

It seemed a long time before he heard Nobi’s sigh of relief.

“Alec,” Nobi announced, “Kiyoko is here.”

Alec stood up and turned around sharply, almost bumping into Kiyoko. Above the red silk of her blouse, her face had a frightened paleness. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Afraid that she was going to fall, Alec reached over and pulled out a chair for her at the table. She sat down, stared at the floor.

Nobi’s expression was serious. “If this was a traditional O-miai meeting, I would stay to help with the conversation. But these are modern times, yes? And you already know each other. Besides, I must return to work.” He put on his jacket, laid a tentative hand on Alec’s shoulder. “Perhaps sometime we can have lunch? I will call you at the office.”

Alec waved at him weakly, watched him leave. A heavy silence formed around the table like a Ziplock bag. He kept thinking of possible things to say, then ruling them out. The waiter replaced the empty bottle of beer with a fresh one Nobi had ordered on his way out.

Alec held up the bottle. “Beer?”

Kiyoko looked up from the floor. “Yes. Thank you.”

She lifted her glass slightly, he poured for her. She took a tiny sip, her left hand delicately folded under the glass to catch any drops.

“You changed,” he said.

She didn’t answer immediately. Finally, she shook her head. “I do not understand.”

“Your clothes from work. You changed them. Before, you were wearing that blue dress.”

“Yes. First I returned home.”

“Your blouse is beautiful.”

“No, it is nothing.”

“I feel as though I haven’t seen you for a long time.”

“Yes,” she said, “I know that feeling.”

The people at the next table got up to leave. A waiter appeared immediately to take away the glasses and wipe the table. Alec watched him, admiring the efficiency of his movements. It was all done in a few seconds.

“What exactly is O-miai?”

Her eyes covered him for an instant. “O-miai? It is a traditional Japanese custom.”

Alec waited, but she was silent. “Yes. And what happens?”

“A person is brought together with another person by a relative or friend of the family.” She paused, took a deep breath. “Usually, it is to see if they might be suitable for marriage.”

“Have you been involved in many O-miai?”

She frowned slightly. “When I was younger, there were many O-miai. But they were not successful. My family could not understand why I did not like something that often leaves a woman without feeling or decision. It was difficult for many years. But now that I am old, my family no longer arranges O-miai for me.”

“Nobi does,” Alec said.

“Please do not be angry with Nobi. We have been friends a long time. But already you know that.”

“Yes.”

“It is not so easy for him as it sometimes appears,” she said. “It is true that in Japan Nobi is the very top of society, because of his job with the ministry. But there are many pressures. He is encouraged to be international, but he must also be more Japanese than anyone else. You have seen both these sides of him, I think. When he first met you, he was very excited. He remembers his time in America very clearly, and he could be that
side of himself with you. But I am like family to Nobi, and with family he is always a Japanese man, he is always protective, and he does not easily give trust to …” She didn’t finish.

“A foreigner.”

“Yes.”

“Is that how you see me? As a foreigner?”

“You should not ask that question. I see you as Alec. When I have thoughts of you, they are of you, not of where you come from. I say it now, and maybe it sounds silly. But it is all that matters to me.”

“I’m sorry. And I’m sorry for the afternoon at Nobi’s. I couldn’t think straight.” It came out in a rush.

She shook her head. “No. I was also confused. You surprised me too much.”

“When I came back and you had already left … I don’t know. I thought, that’s it.”

She looked at him with her dark eyes, but only for a second. Another silence set in; Alec noticed they seemed to come at regular intervals, like the rising of the tide. He felt heat rise up in him as he looked at her face, her features at once strong and soft, and at the graceful sweep of her neck. There was a trace of loneliness in her eyes that made him want to lean forward across the table and touch her all over again.

Finally she said, “It made me very happy for you to go to Yamadera. My grandparents also were very happy.”

Alec smiled, remembering. “They are wonderful people—just being with them those few days made me feel different, as if I had never even looked at things before. I only wish I had paid more attention. Suddenly I woke up and I was back in Tokyo.”

“Yamadera is not like any other place in the world,” she said. “And so when a person goes there he is faced with many new things, many new ways of seeing. It can take a great deal of time to change. Because my grandparents have lived in Yamadera since they were born, these are the things that they understand.”

“I wish you had gone with me.” His chest felt hollow.

“Perhaps next time we will go together,” she said.

Alec looked straight into her eyes, and this time she didn’t turn away. Time seemed to slow down, the seconds dragging across the space between them. And then something in the way she looked at him changed. He felt as though he was touching her.

M
ark’s face came first. Just the face, wild and angry, staring at him from across the room. His lips were moving and wet with saliva, his teeth flashing. Alec sat on a stool in the opposite corner of the room, like a little boy who had been bad at school. He could see that Mark was shouting at him, but he couldn’t hear anything. He leaned forward. Not a thing. He just sat there, staring at the angry face, the silence gradually putting him to sleep. And he knew that he would be dead if his eyes closed, though he was helpless to do anything about it. Not without sound, anyway. Or a touch, something human to bring him back. He felt so alone. And then it was getting darker, and he could hardly see the face anymore. His eyes were all he had left. But they were almost closed now, he could feel it. All he wanted to do was to tell someone what was happening to him. But there was no one there to listen. And then there was only darkness. Eyes closed. No eyes. It was too late.…