The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) (4 page)

When Japanese retailers appropriate English names for their businesses, the results are often comical. But My Magic Forest fit its fairy-tale name. Stepping inside, I passed between thirty-foot faux Greek columns draped in ivy and Christmas tree lights. From there, I could spend an hour happily wandering through the dimly lit fantasy flower market. I strolled from a Dutch tulip farm with a small windmill, to a cheerful English cottage garden, and then into Tuscany, where lemon trees sprang from terra-cotta pots and white roses spilled out of an antique-looking urn.

The Kayama School ordered flowers from the same suppliers who served My Magic Forest, but the materials I'd seen at the school were less lavish than the shop's regular stock. I bent over the $500 verdigris urn and inhaled the scent of the luscious roses, $15 apiece. In this place, the Japanese philosophy of less is more had been thrown out of the stained-glass window."Rei-chan! Isn't this a lovely place?" My aunt had crept up behind me. She was holding a wicker shopping basket already filled with a porcelain flowerpot painted in a lively Portuguese style, and a pair of cast-iron ikebana shears with oversized circular handles.

"Lovely." I faltered at the ten-thousand-yen price tag. At the current rate of 145 yen to the U.S. dollar, the shears cost about seventy dollars. "Are you sure you want to give such expensive presents? There are other things on sale. Look at the iris."

"The teachers receive all the flowers they want at school. Quality tools are a better gift. Don't you remember how Sakura needed a pair of shears? It would be thoughtful to give her a brand-new pair. And Mrs. Koda has a small window garden at her apartment, so a nice pot would be very welcome."

"I owe you five thousand yen for the shears. How much for the other?" I asked dutifully.

"You owe nothing, although I'm going to say the presents are from both of us, neh? I'm the one who caused the embarrassment. Besides, I have a frequent-shopper card, so these two purchases will take me a little closer to choosing a ten-thousand-yen gift for myself."

By the time Aunt Norie had paid for the gifts, the weather outside had changed. It was raining, but a large group of people had gathered at the shop's entrance. There was nothing unusual about crowds on the Roppongi streets, especially outside the record store on the day a new Namie Amuro disc is released. But this time several dozen denim-clad young people had congregated directly in front of My Magic Forest, barring the door. They waved signs in Japanese, English, and Spanish. I rarely used my high-school Spanish, so I had to think a little before I could translate the messages. BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS KILL PEOPLE, one sign read. A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME STINKS. END PESTICIDE USE.

"It's an anti-flower group," I said, looking closely at the young protesters. About half were Japanese; the others looked Latino, or had a combination of Japanese features and darker skin. I guessed that the last group was descended from Japanese people who had immigrated to Latin America at the turn of the century. Their offspring often returned to work in Japan. Japanese pay, even for lowly jobs in restaurants and construction, was higher than in their home countries.

"The signs in Japanese say 'Blossoms Bring Storms' and all that nonsense. Come, let's look for a taxi." Aunt Norie, small as she was, plunged into the solid wall of people, leading with her left shoulder weighted with her school tote bag.

"Buying flowers from Colombia supports an industry that is killing its workers. Madam, you surely don't want to kill?" a young woman implored my aunt.

"I'm afraid I don't understand." Aunt Norie gave her the kind of benevolent smile one gives preschoolers blocking an escalator.

"Japanese people demand extremely fresh and beautiful flowers from overseas. For you, the flower ranchers in Colombia spray their flowers with ten different pesticides. Female workers cut the flowers, and they become ill. Their babies are born deformed. At least twenty-eight people have died from pesticide exposure!"

Aunt Norie's face fell, and I imagined she was thinking about the many bunches of imported flowers she used weekly for ikebana. In a halting voice, she asked, "Which flowers are these?"

"Roses and carnations are the most common imports from Colombia, but there are others. If you boycott the store with us, it will force the flower ranchers to change their ways."

But if the flower shipments to Japan decreased, the ranchers would need to grow even sturdier, longer-lasting blooms, and so they would have to use stronger chemicals, wouldn't they? I wanted to ask the young woman, but she was blocked by a young man with Japanese eyes, and thick, curly black hair. The man wore a denim jacket embroidered with the name CHE on one side and STOP KILLING FLOWERS on the other.

"Will you join our boycott? Are you a flower lover or a people lover?" Che demanded.

Aunt Norie retorted, "Actually, I respect all forms of life. I would like to hear more, but I must hurry to make it to the Kayama Kaikan."

"The Kayama School's headquarters? That school is completely amoral! They spend a fortune on flowers from my homeland. There are babies being miscarried or born without arms, all because the Kayama School ladies love flowers more than people!" Che's face was inches away from Norie's, and I could see her begin to cower.

The Kayama family are the Nazis of the flower world!" another protester chimed in.

"Yes, indeed." Che was a small man, but he thrust his body forward aggressively. "Since you honorable customers buy flowers from the Kayamas and this wretched retailer, you're as good as double murderers !"

"But I didn't buy flowers. Look!" Aunt Norie tore the seal off the top of her shopping bag, and pulled out a gift-wrapped box. When the crowd still did not part for her, she unwrapped the box and pulled out the ikebana scissors, holding them high in the air.

"She has a weapon!" Che bellowed. "Comrades, employ passive resistance!"

Of course, the crowd broke into pandemonium. People cried things to one another in Spanish and Japanese: "Be careful!" "Call the police!" "Remember passive resistance!"

Aunt Norie kept the shears in the air, and I tightly clutched the package of Mrs. Morita's plates as we scurried through. She was shaking, and I had a run in my panty hose, when we finally settled into a taxi that stoopped for us a block away.

"I was sympathetic to those people, but they turned on us! Can you believe they thought I was violent?" Aunt Norie sniffled into her handkerchief.

"They shouldn't single out the Kayama School. There are hundreds of flower-arranging school's in Japan. I'm sure all of them use Colombian flowers!" I was surprised to hear myself defending the ikebana school, but Che and his gang had been pretty frightening.

"Our iemoto is one of Japan's ten wealthiest individuals. That makes him an easy mark, but it is unfair to target him. If those young people spent half an hour with Masanobu-san, they would learn what a great man he is."

I guessed that Aunt Norie could use the headmaster's first name because she had been one of his students long ago. She had been part of the inner circle. As we got out of the taxi and stepped up to the Kayama Kaikan, the doorman who had watched me enter without lifting a finger the previous day, rushed to open the door for Aunt Norie.

"Shimura-san, you must be here for the Mitsutan exhibition planning." The young woman receptionist in a green suit beckoned my aunt over to her polished paulownia desk. The table was bare except for a vase with a sole white calla lily that looked as suggestive as the ones Georgia O'Keeffe had made famous.

"I'd almost forgotten about the meeting. Okada-san, can you tell us where it is being held?" Aunt Norie asked.

"In the fourth-floor classroom," Miss Okada replied. "They'll be glad you are participating. Your arrangements are always among my favorites."

"Oh, my work is just average," my aunt said. "Actually, I have an inconvenient request—I must wrap up a gift in some nice paper. Do you have wrapping paper anywhere in the building?"

"I have a roll of washi paper in my office. It is flecked with dried cherry blossom petals, which makes it appropriate for this season!" Miss Okada beamed at this opportunity to help out. "Please come back in ten minutes and I'll have it wrapped up for you."

"Ara! How can the ladies be glad to see me when I was not invited?" Aunt Norie fumed when the elevator doors had closed and we were heading up to the second floor, not the fourth. "That meeting is surely a gossip festival. Well, our troubles will be over after we deliver these gifts to Koda-san and Sakura-san."

"I hope we find them, because I don't want to have to come back another day." My knee was beginning to throb. I'd twisted it during our dash through the picket line.

We passed a section of secretaries working at computer terminals; all of them wore heavy aprons, the protective kind of garment I'd worn when my knee was being X-rayed the year before. In Japan, it was believed that computer monitors gave off radiation that could harm women's reproductive tracts.

Suddenly my aunt said, "Oh, look down the hall by the administrative offices. That's Natsumi Kayama, the headmaster's daughter. I've been wanting to introduce you to Natsumi-san and her twin brother, Takeo. We approached Natsumi Kayama, my aunt beaming while I kept a neutral expression. Natsumi was dressed in a sunny yellow and orange Lilly Pulitzer dress—a highly exclusive label, sold only at Mitsutan—with orange stiletto-heeled pumps that made her slim legs look marvelous. I remembered the run in my own stocking but couldn't think of a way to hide it. Natsumi had smiled automatically at Aunt Norie, but was gazing at me as if she'd discovered a long-lost friend.

"Courreges?" Natsumi breathed, and I realized she was talking about my dress.

I nodded. "It was my mother's. I took it out of her closet when I was last home."

"Natsumi-san, may I present my niece Rei Shimura? Rei was born in San Francisco but lives here now. Natsumi arranges flowers with a very youthful spirit," my aunt said to me.

"I'm really bad at it," Natsumi tittered. "They say I have been studying for a long time because I am slow."

"Nonsense! You have arranged some very special floral displays in fashion boutiques—Rei, I'm sure you saw the one that was photographed for Hanako," my aunt said.

Being unable to read standard adult-level Japanese, I rarely bought young women's magazines like Hanako. So I smiled politely and asked Natsumi if she'd seen Mrs. Koda. We could at least get that part of the business done before picking up the wrapped scissors to give to Sakura Sato.

"Ah, Koda-san! I was looking for her, too. Nobody has seen her for at least an hour but she must be nearby. Because of her cane, she cannot walk too far."

"Maybe she is in the meeting taking place on the fourth floor?" I asked.

"That's finished. The ladies are drinking tea in the restaurant," Natsumi said.

"Where is Sakura-san? Maybe she can help us," Aunt Norie suggested, and I could envision the wheels turning as she tried to get us back to our agenda.

"Mmm, she's probably still inside the fourth-floor classroom. You have missed the meeting about the Mitsutan exhibition, haven't you?"

"Thank you, Natsumi-san. Give my regards to Takeo-san and your esteemed father. Let's go up to the classroom, Rei." My aunt seemed annoyed at the second mention of the meeting from which she'd been excluded. As I started to follow her toward the elevator, Natsumi stopped me.

"You've got a hole in your stocking," she whispered. "I have an unopened package of stockings in my desk that you could have."

I smiled at her. "Thanks, but it's okay."

"Sakura will notice," she warned. "She is so very critical! I don't want your feelings to be hurt."

Judging by the sheen on Natsumi's long, slender legs, I imagined she was wearing something pretty expensive. I'd probably get a snag putting on her spare stockings, and replacing them would break my budget. I shook my head and said, "Please don't worry. And thank you very much for your kind offer."

I swung away from her worried face and went to the elevator. The doors had closed, and it appeared that my aunt had gone up to the fourth floor without me.

I pressed the call button and waited for a while, watching a panel of lights over the door tell me where the elevator was traveling. It went all the way up to the ninth floor and then slowly descended, stopping on each floor before the empty elevator finally arrived. I got in and used the mirrored wall to do a quick lipstick touch-up. Natsumi's perfect looks had made me self-conscious.

I took the elevator to the fourth floor, where I stepped out into the foyer where I'd picked up my cherry branches for the previous day's class. I did not see Aunt Norie. She might have gone into the classroom. The door was closed, so I knocked on it.

A soft noise coming from within sounded like a cat's meow, and I recoiled. I associate cats with death because of a bad experience from a year earlier. Since then Richard had tried to get me interested in adopting a kitten, but I'd always refused. Cats scared me. To be on the safe side, I laid down the package of antique plates and opened the classroom door.

My aunt was at the distant end of the room by the blackboard and teaching table. I heard the mewing again and realized it was her voice. I drew closer and saw she was bent over a long white boulder. A woman was lying on the ground. Somebody had fallen, and Aunt Norie was staying with her until help arrived. I rushed forward to see what had happened.

Aunt Norie looked up at me, and her face was wet with tears. She croaked, "Stay away, Rei-chan! Don't come near. Don't look, I beg you!"

But I'd already seen Sakura Sato laid out on her back as if in slumber. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth gaped, revealing a few gold fillings. Blood trickled in a sticky red river down the neck of her white silk blouse. At the source of the river was an instrument: the ikebana scissors. I recognized the oversized black handles and looked to Aunt Norie for confirmation.

She was gone.

I fled into the hall, the door knocking against the package of plates I'd left outside. The row of lights above the elevator showed it was on the ninth floor, so I ducked into the emergency exit staircase and began running downstairs. I heard footsteps a few flights down from me. When I burst out on the second floor near the administrative office, I found my aunt collapsed in the arms of Miss Okada.