Maybe she would be the nurse on the next shift to take care of Riki, thought Mas. What would she say to him? Hello, Mr. Haneda? How are you doing, Mr. Haneda? Would she be the one to prick his skin, give him a sponge bath, take his temperature, give him painkillers?
Mas exhaled and felt cold. The sun was still out, but a breeze, smelling salty, rustled through the boxwood leaves. The shrub in the island closest to the Honda was only three feet tall, but then boxwoods always tended to be small.
Mas zipped up his windbreaker and shoved his hands in his pockets. Last thing he wanted to do was to meet up with Riki again. But then, he remembered what the ramen lady had said about dreams. It wasnt fair that Riki had offered them with no intention of following through.
The sliding glass doors automatically opened as Mas stepped on the rubber mat. Families with Mylar balloons sat quietly in the waiting room. The gift store was neatly stocked with magazines and a cooler full of flower arrangements. Rows of different-shaped bottles lined the brightly lit pharmacy.
Mas wandered around the gift store and pharmacy, stopped at the information desk, and then found himself taking the elevator to the third floor. He got off and stared at an erasable plastic board matching doctor with patient.
Are you here for Joji Haneda? asked a young woman in a pink cotton top and pants, a stethoscope hanging from her neck. She was Asian, her skin dark. Filipino, thought Mas. The rest of the family went down to the cafeteria. It closes at six. Hes over there, in three twenty-six. But dont stay too long.
The door of room 326 was wide-open. After waiting for a cart full of meals in plastic trays to pass by, Mas could clearly see a figure wrapped in a sheet and blanket. Riki had an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth. Tubes connected holes in his arms to machines and bags to his side.
There was the steady beeping of a morphine dispenser. Mas knew it well from Chizukos final days in the hospital. One press of a button, and a shot of clear liquid entered ones veins.
The curtain to the window was drawn shut. A fluorescent panel of light poured a yellow hue over Rikis body, a withered plant, shrunken and dim. He has aged so much in just a matter of days, thought Mas.
He wanted Riki to rise and sneer, as Mas always remembered him. Here the oxygen mask covered his hooked nose and sharp mouth below his chestnut eyes.
Riki didnt seem surprised to see Mas, and greeted him with the press of his morphine machine. He gestured Mas to remove his mask so Riki could talk.
Pretty good, huh, to die this way. Rikis voice was raspy, as if these were the first words he had uttered. No pain. Riki looked old, as if he were eighty, even ninety. His voice was thin, like the buzz of an electrical wire.
Mas studied the squares of white and gray linoleum on the floor. He wanted to hear the din of a television set, anything to fill the silence. Finally, he cleared his throat. Sheezu still alive, he said. But barely. They give her fifty-fifty.
Water seeped from the edge of Rikis eye. I thought so. She look pretty bad.
So itsu you. The killer had struck again, fifty years later.
More water ran down the side of Rikis face. Then his eyes, like bullet holes, focused on Mas. No, you gotsu it wrong. Why would I try to kill her? I care for her.
Mas shuddered. He couldnt imagine Riki showing affection for anyone.
Gonna leave my wife for her. She didnt believe. Then I tole her. All about me and Haneda.
So the mistress did know. Mas wasnt surprised. After all, it had taken only a few glasses of yam wine for her to reveal half of her life story.
I just needsu money. Money to take her back to Japan. Some comin out of card game in Little Tokyo.
Da nursery
What? You think Im makin money off of that place? Youzu have last laugh, Masao-
san
. Big chain stores runnin me down to the ground. A gardener a betta living.
Mas didnt know how to react to Rikis revelation. Maybe Riki was just trying to get on his good side. It would be just like him to try to pull a fast one on his deathbed.
I didnt hurt her, Riki insisted again. Was outside her place. Five in the mornin.
What, you just go? Like I abandoned them, thought Mas.
Water, water,
Joji had murmured.
Just a little longer,
Mas had told him.
A little longer.
I was scared, said Riki. Police was already there. Even watched the ambulance take her away.
Well, the police gotsu a suspect. A young guy, heezu name Kimura. Yuki Kimura.
Rikis face looked as blank as rice porridge.
You knowsu, Mas said, your grandson. Akemis, too.
Rikis wrinkled face contorted and finally broke out into a black grin. What kind of stories you been hearin, Mas? I gotsu no grandchildren back in Japan.
Mas found himself enjoying this, even at the foot of Rikis deathbed. It was what he deserved.
Bachi
during his last days on earth. I knowsu, Riki, what you did with Akemi. I knowsu it all.
Well, you knowsu sumptin I dont, because I didnt do anytin with that Akemi Haneda.
Thatsu not what I heard.
What, some woman saysu sheezu Akemi. Some kind of liar. I hear she die in the
pikadon
.
Mas stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. She had a son, he finally said. Hikari.
Hikari? Riki snorted. What kind of crazy name is that? If you think I had anytin to do with him, your mind gone completely
pa,
Mas.
Was Riki telling the truth? Then what about the boys story? What did he even know about the boy? Maybe he didnt even work for a magazine. Maybe he was up to no good. Maybe he really had done something to that Junko Kakita.
Whatsu they tellin you, Mas, that I was a daddy back in Japan?
Whysu not? You always sweet on the girls.
Mas, get serious. No time for anytin like that. Besides, you around all the time. You knowsu where Im sleepin, eatin.
Everytin you didsu, a secret, Mas maintained. Like Joji.
The morphine machine buzzed again. You know what I did. He was practically dead. Like all of them.
Most of them were dead. Charred black like burnt food. Skin peeling away, ripe fruit bursting open, leaving only a pool of stickiness. Arms webbed together like a kangaroos.
Mas stared at Riki, now the one close to death. What didsu you do with Joji?
Rikis chest heaved.
Whatcha do to him afterward?
You had your family, Mas. I had nutin. They all gone.
But Joji
Riki pressed the button for the morphine machine again. He was like you left him, barely alive. His papers were in his boot, I knowsu. I tore it off, and his whole foot came off with it. I just took that boot, foot and everytin, and ran.
Mas recalled the illustration that Yuki had shown him at the medical exams. The man without a foot.
America won. I knew it. Those other people, those
bakayaro
s, crying about hearing the emperor surrender. But I knew before I heard. I knew when I saw miles and miles of nutin after the Bomb. I knew when I see the black rain. I knew that Japan had no chance. Riki swallowed slowly and continued. Youzu and some of the others, you had a way out. You American citizens. You could just forget about us and go away.
So I stole Jojis foot. I found a piece of metal and tore open the boot. The papers were right there. His birth certificate, everytin.
And then youzu put your name on his. Cold-blooded murder, thats what it was, thought Mas.
He gonna die anyhowsu. You saw him, Mas. Riki swallowed. I buried the foot, Mas. Im not without
kokoro
. In the mountains, by the bamboo grove we played by. I even said a prayer.
Mas felt wetness at the edges of his eyes. He imagined Joji there alone, still breathing, with one foot. Did he think that Mas had abandoned him there, too? Was his last thought on the betrayal of his friends?
Lies. Thatsu all you tole me. Mas felt the words wretching out of his throat like vomit. You tell me that you take care of Joji.
You just believe what you want to believe, Mas.
You sonafubitchi, Mas finally muttered.
Mas, you no betta, Riki said. You take my money to go to America. You leave me, just like I leave Joji.
I nutin like you, Mas was only able to gasp as he walked out of the hospital room, past the open doors to the elevator, back to the car, and back to the purple hills of Altadena.
CHAPTER TEN
When Mas was upset, he usually retreated to his garage. It was musty with the smells of grease, oil, and rusty metal. While surgeons had their operating tables, Mas had his own version, crowded with glass jars of nails, screws, and even fishhooks. A greasy clamp was fastened to one end of the table. Beside it were small metal parts, a pair of pliers, wrenches, and a can of WD-40. Here Mas performed miracles on his Trimmer and Ford engine (rebuilt two times). The problem today was that there was no lawn mower, and there was no truck.
It was in this same garage that Mas had prayed for the first and last time, when Chizuko had had another relapse of stomach cancer. There, in between his broken-down lawn mower and his oily pliers, he had prayed: God,
Kamisama,
I know that Im a good-for-nutin. But save my wife. Not for me. She needsu to enjoy. Enjoy life. Neva gotsu the chance. But God didnt answer his prayers. And from that point on, Mas swore that he would never make a fool of himself again. His heart would be closed to both religion and doctors.
Mas pulled the chain to the bald lightbulb above his workbench. No broken gears, just a bunch of one-and-a-quarter-inch wire nails scattered like dried-out pine needles. Dropping them into a Gerbers baby food jar, Mas felt like smashing something good and hard with his hammer. But there was nothing to build and nobody to build for. Mas felt anger move from his gut into his throat. Why had Riki had to come and disturb him? Why had Riki told him about the foot that he had stolen from Joji Haneda? Why couldnt those secrets have just died, been buried or burnt away?
