The Other Woman

The Other Woman

Short Story by Paul Sean
Grieve

Published by Paul Sean Grieve at
Smashwords

Copyright 2014 Paul Sean
Grieve

ISBN:
978-0-9937028-3-9
 
 

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The Other Woman

Short Story by Paul Sean
Grieve

The click of Hikari’s high heeled shoes on the
pavement echoed against the walls of the crowded houses as she made
her way along the narrow lane way as new fallen leaves swirled
around her feet in the stiff autumn breeze. The gusting wind was
all that remained of a typhoon that had blown over the island the
week before, taking with it the lingering remnants of the searing
Okinawan summer.

Watching the dot move on the
screen of her iPhone as she walked, she rounded a corner and began
her ascent up the steep hill that led to the residence of the
wealthy socialite who’d invited her to a casual Sunday brunch. Her
steps lengthening as the hill became steeper, Hikari looked up,
feeling the still-strong sun on her face as she watched the white,
cottony clouds whisk across the deep blue sky. The phone buzzed in
her hand and, despite herself, she felt a twinge of naughty
anticipation.
Was it him?
She asked this question every time her phone
announced there was a new message waiting, and she cursed herself
for it. Flipping over to the mail screen, she felt a mix of
disappointment and relief as her eyes scanned the address bar. Not
him.

She’d gone out twice with the American teacher
and both dates had been amazing. Her English was so basic she’d
feared she and he might have trouble communicating, but was
pleasantly surprised to find that his Japanese was far more
advanced than she’d thought. While he wasn’t completely fluent, he
had a way of saying so much with words he knew, and he worked hard
to understand her. Having met when she showed up for an
introductory English course sponsored by the government of Nanjo
City, the spark she’d felt for him on the first day had glowed
steadily throughout the four-week intensive, eventually flaring up
into a raging fire which consumed more of her time and attention
than she cared to admit. It was possible they could have a future
together, or so she told herself, notwithstanding the excruciating
fact that he was already married.

Switching back to the map screen, Hikari
continued up the incline, her shadow rotating around her as she
turned a sharp corner. At the top of the hill, as the dot on her
screen approached the address Mme Kudo had sent via text, Hikari
stopped. Peering through the open gate at the well-pruned Niwaki
trees lining the stone path that led to the front door, she felt
butterflies churn in her stomach. Second thoughts began to
overpower her curiosity and she fought the temptation to turn
around. Of course she couldn’t do that. The impropriety of failing
to attend after accepting the invitation would be an insult to her
hostess. Yet, as she stood at the gate, the October wind tossing
her long black hair, feelings of shame over the deeply personal
matter she knew she’d have to discuss loomed large in her
mind.

Of course, the other attendees
would also be sharing personal matters and Hikari was sure they all
felt the same trepidation. Mme Kudo had invited Hikari at the
behest of a mutual friend who had once attended her frequent Sunday
brunches for younger women and who felt strongly that Hikari would
benefit from participating in what had become known affectionately
among attendees as
Mme Kudo’s Lonely
Heart’s Club
, after the legendary album by
the Beatles. After hearing Hikari’s story from their common friend,
Mme Kudo had asked Hikari specifically to come on this particular
day in order to hear from the special guest she’d invited. So,
reservations aside, she set her phone to manner mode and stepped
through the gate into the small courtyard cordoned off by the stone
wall which ran the perimeter of the property in traditional
Okinawan fashion. She tentatively approached the wooden door and
rang the bell.

As she waited, she tried to make sense of the
snippets of conversation that could be heard above the Okinawan
sanshin music emanating from within. As far as she could tell, all
the voices were of fairly young women and while individual words
were hard to discern, she was confident they were all speaking
Japanese. This was a great relief to Hikari. Since Mme Kudo had
said the special visitor would be one who spoke English, the fact
that there were so many other Japanese women there helped her relax
a little.

Suddenly, the door swung open and before
Hikari stood a short, dignified woman of about 50, her long greying
hair tied back in a relaxed bun. Wearing a green knitted sweater
and black slacks under a white striped apron, she smiled warmly at
Hikari. Hikari bowed respectfully, her wind-ruffled hair falling
forward over her petite shoulders. The woman returned the
gesture.

“
Ohayo gozaimasu,” they each said
in turn.

“Kudo-san desu ka?” asked
Hikari.
Are you Mme Kudo?

“
Yoroshiku
o-negaishimasu.”

“
O-jamashimasu,” said Hikari
politely as she stepped gingerly through the doorway.

The other women, all dressed casually, stood
and bowed politely, giving their names. There was Keiko, a tall,
slender woman who appeared to be in her 30’s, Hiromi, a short and
somewhat heavy set but none the less attractive young woman with
long, straight hair dyed golden-brown and Aki, a serious looking
woman in her mid 20’s. Hikari introduced herself and knelt on the
tatami floor.

Looking around the room, Hikari couldn’t help
but stare out the full-length windows offering a breathtaking view
of Awase and the east coast of Okinawa. Nestled tightly amid
smaller houses in the affluent Kishaba neighbourhood of
Kitanakagusuku, Mme Kudo’s home was far more impressive inside than
it appeared from without.

“
We’re waiting for our guest of
honour,” explained Mme Kudo as she poured Hikari a cup of hot
tea.

The doorbell rang and a few more women
trickled in. There were more introductions as Mme Kudo poured tea
for the newcomers, who took up places on the tatami mats. The
conversation was light and convivial, in the manner of a group of
women meeting for the first time, yet there was an air of tension
in the room, which grew as the chatter died down into an awkward
silence. The silence was broken by a gentle rap at the
door.

Mme Kudo hurried from the kitchen to answer it
and the door opened to reveal a tall, white-skinned man in his 50’s
with grey-speckled blonde hair. Mme Kudo reached out a hand to him,
which he shook warmly as they both bowed. They chatted briefly in
English as he removed his shoes on the landing, then Mme Kudo led
him into the large tatami room where all the women
knelt.

The man smiled and waved hello to the
assembled crowd of Japanese women, who remained seated as they
perfunctorily bowed, a little unsure of how to greet him. Mme Kudo
introduced him as Greg-san, explaining that he had lived in Okinawa
for close to five years and that he owned and operated two
successful western-style restaurants on the island.

“
Greg-san is going to share some
of his experiences with us today,” said Mme Kudo in polite
Japanese. “I believe he may have insight into some of the matters
you all have in common.”

Mme Kudo then asked a couple of the women to
help her serve the meal, which was a mix of Okinawan and western
light foods, including sushi, mini-sandwiches and a platter of
cheese, crackers and sliced fruit. They all chatted casually as
they munched and the women were impressed by Greg’s Japanese,
which, though far from natural, allowed him to express himself
rather well.

When the meal was over, Mme Kudo addressed the
women.

“
I would like to formally thank
you for coming,” she said in Japanese. “I know that what brings us
together today is not happiness, but sadness, and that what unites
all of you is not success, but what you perceive as personal
failure.”

The women looked on glumly as Mme Kudo
continued.

“
You have all been invited
because, in one way or another, you’ve recently experienced tragedy
in your love lives and by coming together and sharing these
experiences, you have the opportunity to learn from each other and
to grow. I’ve asked Greg to share some of his experiences in the
hope that hearing what he has to say might help you understand your
individual situations better.”

Hikari’s sense of dread intensified. Having
spent most of the last four months doing her level best not to
think about what had happened to her, the fact that she’d have to
dredge it all up in front of a group of strangers was almost more
than she could bear. But she was determined to see it
through.

Mme Kudo turned to Greg and asked him in
English if he was ready to begin.

“
Before I start,” said Greg, “I’d
like to get a sense of how many people here speak English. Could I
get a show of hands?”

His words were met with a room full of blank
stares until Mme Kudo translated, at which point all the shaking
heads indicated that he was going to have to rely on her services
as interpreter.

“
Alright then,” he said. “Mme Kudo
told me you knew I’d be coming, but that you didn’t know what I’d
be talking about. Is that correct?”

“
I told them only that we would
have a very special visitor,” answered Mme Kudo after translating
his words.

“
In that case, I’d better give a
bit of background,” he said as Mme Kudo simultaneously translated.
“You can ask me all the questions you want later, but the short
version is that I’m a retired pick-up artist.”

Hikari joined the chorus of surprised
introjections as eyes widened around the room.

“
I was never a professional, like
some men claim to be, but I was prolific enough to be able to say
that I’ve had a lot of experience with women. I’ve also helped a
lot of men who’ve had problems in their relationships with women
understand themselves and their situations better.”

“
Western men or Japanese men?”
asked Keiko in Japanese.

“
Western men, always,” answered
Greg without waiting for the translation. “But a the fact that I’ve
lived the latter part of my life in Japan means I’ve had experience
with Japanese women and with western men who’ve had relationships
with Japanese women. While Japan is special in a number of ways,
I’ve found that relationships between men and women are very
similar to those of their western counterparts in many
ways.”

“
Perhaps you could explain how you
feel you can help the women here today,” suggested Mme
Kudo.

“
I’m sorry to be so blunt,” he
replied, “but if the unmarried women leave here today with dashed
hopes and shattered expectations, I’ve done my job.”

“
I’m not sure how to translate
that,” chuffed Mme Kudo.

“
Let’s just say my central message
is that what we’ve been been taught to expect in our love lives is
the stuff of fantasy and the longer we cling to that fantasy, the
less likely we are to find and maintain satisfying
relationships.”

Mme Kudo translated and the women looked down
grimly as Hikari thought deeply about Greg’s words. She knew all
too well about dashed expectations and wondered what this older man
might have to say. But for that, she’d have to wait.

“
Now that Greg-san has had a
chance to introduce himself,” said Mme Kudo, “I’d like you all to
share your stories one by one and listen carefully to his
comments.”