The Salaryman's Wife (29 page)

“I’d rather enjoy my dinner first.”

“It’s urgent, he advised.” Aunt Norie slapped the phone in front of me.

I pushed my plate aside and began dialing the number she had written on a Hello Kitty notepad. It took three minutes to get transferred to Okuhara. By the time he came on, I was very tense.

“Miss Shimura! How surprising that you have a real Japanese family! Now it is so easy and pleasant to leave messages for you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you earlier,” I said. “The circumstances I’ve been going through have been difficult.”

“No trouble at all, although we have some questions for you, things that need to be followed up.”

“Go ahead.” I was starting to sweat.

“No, we’d rather see you in person. In Shiroyama.”

My chopsticks clattered on the table.

“We can arrange police transportation, or you can travel here on your own. It’s up to you, Miss Shimura.” Captain Okuhara’s disingenuous courtesy flowed over me like a chill rain.

“It’s not a good time for me. The problem is I have a teaching career here, and Shiroyama is very far.” If I showed up, they could incarcerate me immediately, just as they’d done with Hugh.

“But I’m very interested to learn what you were doing at the Nakamura house on Tuesday!”

Only Kenji Yamamoto could have told. I thought briefly about my open ticket back to San Francisco. No, I had to stay calm.

“Of course I’ll come. Just let me ask my boss.”

“We want to see you tomorrow.”

“I’m teaching. I must fulfill my commitment before I can come. I’ll be there this weekend, most definitely.” I could bring him the disc with the marketing plan for Taipei and whatever Joe Roncolotta had to offer me Friday night.

He was silent for a while, then spoke. “No evasion, Miss Shimura. No tricks. They’ll be watching for you at the airport.”

“They’ll be very bored.” I hung up before he could make me commit to anything more. Then, ignoring Aunt Norie’s exclamations, I went in the bathroom and threw up.

The next morning, I zipped over to Roppongi Hills before eight to get Hugh’s laptop. I decided to brazen my way past the front desk without saying anything.

“Shimura-sama?” The concierge’s language was as polite as possible, his bow very deep. “In order that you don’t suffer any trouble, you should know that TBS television usually arrives in the next fifteen minutes for their stakeout. The side exit may be more convenient.”

Hurrying down the hall toward Hugh’s apartment, I wondered at the strangeness of the incident, how the man had known me and where I was headed.
Big Brother
, I thought as I picked up a small stack of newspapers and letters that had piled up outside Hugh’s door. There was a smell to the place that I had forgotten, a mixture of leather furniture, pine-scented cleaner, and something indefinable. A gray wool sweater was tossed across the couch along with one of
the American phone books. I could picture him lying there, plodding through it.

The small Nichiyu water heater on the kitchen counter was still plugged in, so I hit the re-boil button and brewed myself a cup of Darjeeling. Searching for milk in the fridge, I found a bottle of Cristal champagne and a basket of perfect hothouse strawberries. He had obviously been planning something delicious.

I drank the tea as I went into the study and collected the laptop. There were too many discs to fit in the laptop’s padded case, so I put them in an empty Paul Smith shopping bag I found in the bedroom closet. In the kitchen, I put my cup in the dishwasher and although it was only half-full, started it.

The Japanese word for nostalgia,
natsukashii
, is touched with more sadness than joy. This kind of melancholy swept over me now. I knew suddenly that Hugh might never come home to pull on his sweater or drink a cup of tea or make love to me again, given what Okuhara had learned about our break-in at the Nakamura house.

I heard myself making a gasping noise I barely recognized as crying, I hadn’t done it for so long. I sat at the kitchen table with Hugh’s
Asian Wall Street Journal
still open and cried a river that could have floated me back to Shiroyama. I understood now why I should have run from Hugh: because the problem with caring about someone was the pain it brought, the possibility of loss.

Somewhere, the phone was ringing. I went to the living room and grabbed the cordless off the glass
table before realizing how rashly I was behaving. If the reporter from
News to You
was on the other end, he’d have a nice tape to air of a blubbering mistress.

“Who’s there?” Hugh asked. “Rei, is that you?”

“How did you know?” I let out a sob of relief.

“Well, I was actually calling in to check my messages. If you had let the telephone go on ringing, the machine would have picked up.”

“I’ll hang up if you want.”

“No, no. So you moved in! But why are you crying?”

“I have a cold, damn it, and I didn’t move in, I’m just here picking up your laptop. I’ll have to bring it to you this afternoon—gosh, I’ve got to go now—”

“All right, then. Come as soon as you can and will you bring me some take-away? The hospital food is killing me. I complained to Mr. Ota about it, but he just brings me Japanese noodles.”

Talking about telephones made me recall my own answering machine messages.

“What happened at Setsuko’s travel agent?” I asked. “You were going to tell me something important before you were attacked.”

“Oh, that. It turned out the agent spoke very little English, so she handed over the folder to me with all the receipts. Setsuko paid for our rooms in advance using the Sendai credit card.”

“More fuel against Mr. Nakamura?”

“That’s not the point. I found something very interesting: a receipt for an unrestricted, one-way ticket to Dallas for use in the new year. A thousand dollar ticket issued in her maiden name and paid for in cash I assume she received from me.”

“Really!”

“I’m thinking that she obviously knew something disastrous was going down with her husband and the
yakuza
and the Eterna battery and wanted to get out.”

“Or she wanted to see her father,” I said.

“Possibly,” Hugh said grudgingly. “But there could be other men, too.”

Could there have been another man in Setsuko’s life? She had been young and beautiful, with a handbag full of cash. She had more opportunities than most women, including myself.

After hanging up, I moped around Hugh’s apartment for ten more minutes. I added the strawberries to the things I was bringing him and lumbered out the side entrance. On Roppongi Dori, the marquee of Mrs. Chapman’s hotel loomed bright and welcoming. Perhaps I could find an hour’s solace within. My work schedule wasn’t really as pressing as I’d told Hugh.

“Rei, let me turn off the exercise video, and I’ll be right down!” Over the house telephone, Mrs. Chapman greeted my surprise visit with delight. Minutes later, she stepped off the elevator in a turquoise velour jogging suit I’d seen at Mitsutan. Maybe she and Joe worked out together. How wonderful it would be to have a boyfriend with use of both legs.

“Honey, you’re crying!” Her arms went around me like comforting steel girders.

“I’m not.” I broke away.

“I haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?” Mrs. Chapman took one of my heavy shopping bags and tucked my free arm under hers.

“Yes, but I was hoping to spend some time with you.”

Mrs. Chapman led me out on the street and into a coffee shop, going straight to a quiet area in the back. She was a regular customer, I deduced from the way the waitresses chorused a welcome.

“Breakfast set?” A young girl wearing an apron and a cropped haircut very much like mine came up to serve us. She stared at me and giggled.

“Salad set, because of my diet. For two,” Mrs. Chapman ordered, not giving me a chance to warn her what was coming: a single slice of pale gold toast and a saucer of lettuce, tomato, and cucumber topped with mayonnaise.

“Inside the hotel they do the same thing at double the price,” she said, digging in with gusto when breakfast arrived.

“Are you still seeing Joe Roncolotta?”

“Yes indeed. But I’m worried about you! Where did you come from so early in the morning?”

“Hugh’s place.” Looking at her prim expression, I realized my mistake. “I mean, I went over to his apartment, but he wasn’t home.”

“The
Japan Times
says he’s in the hospital.”

“Yes. It’s a long story, none of it good.” The coffee here was bitter, tasted like it had been brewing for hours. I put the cup down and stared into its murky depths. “My roommate says that I always choose the hard road. I swear I didn’t want anything like this.”

Mrs. Chapman clucked and squeezed my hand in her coarse, larger one. “How bad is his injury?”

“It’s a mild fracture, but it will keep him off his feet for a long time. I’m bringing him some things today. There’s a feeling I have—” I stopped.

“What’s that, honey?”

“I feel like we were getting close to figuring out the
why
of Setsuko’s death, if not the
who
. But now Hugh’s in the hospital, I have to do it all myself and have so little time.”

“Joe and I can help you,” Mrs. Chapman chided. “Why did you turn down his invitation for drinks the other day? He was so hurt.”

I thought about how he’d invited me without her to the black-and-white party. I couldn’t let that out. Instead I said, “It’s a scandal to be seen with me, and I don’t want to trouble him anymore. Besides, I think I’m going to have to leave Tokyo anyway.”

“Oh, dear. What’s that all about?”

“A job transfer I don’t want to take. My becoming a murderer’s mistress. A variety of things.”

“Not your garden variety.” Mrs. Chapman pressed her lips together. “Maybe it’s a message from God.”

“God?” I repeated dumbly. Then I remembered she was a church-goer, devout enough to seek out the English-speaking congregation in Omotesand
.

“God sometimes gives us a message that it’s time for a change in our lives. Maybe it’s time for you to go home to the States,” she said.

“I hope not,” I said, standing up and collecting my bags. “And God knows I’m going to be late! I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

I dragged my feet as I approached St. Luke’s that afternoon, was slow enough that a photographer was able to nicely frame her picture of me. I stopped dead to look at her—she was the first camerawoman I’d seen in Japan and looked considerably tidier in her vest and khakis than the men in blue jeans who had pursued me earlier in the week. Caught off guard, she bowed to me almost in apology for what she had to do. I bowed back. A camera shutter clicked as I came up. Good. Princess Masako couldn’t have behaved more demurely.

At the nurses’ station on the surgery ward, I was told Hugh had changed rooms. “The publicity problem,” whispered the young nurse who had begged to shave him the day before. She insisted on accompanying me to the high security floor, keying in a code before we were admitted to the long hall. I spotted a tall figure in a blue robe loping along on crutches.

“Hugh?” I called out and he swung around, losing his balance and wiping out on the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” I apologized in English and Japanese as nurses shrieked and orderlies converged on the sprawled body.

“I was just clumsy. I’m not hurt,” Hugh protested, although a scratch on his arm was bleeding.

It took half-a-dozen staffers to settle Hugh properly in bed and elevate his leg. When we were finally alone Hugh took my face in his hands and kissed me long enough that I almost forgot where we were.

“I have really bad news,” I whispered.

“Let me eat first,” he said. “You brought a peculiar aroma with you. Indian?”

“From Moti,” I confirmed, setting it up on the swing-arm tray and sliding it into place before him. “I’ve brought you their best spinach curry with a side order of
naan
.”

“Between you and the hospital dietitian, I’ll be a vegetarian by the time I get out,” he grumbled. Still, he ate ravenously, asking me belatedly if I wanted some.

“No, I ate a big breakfast. You’ll never guess who bought it for me.” I told him about Mrs. Chapman.

“She’s a dodgy one, isn’t she, still in Tokyo after all this time?” He raised his right eyebrow, and I stretched out a finger to nudge it down.

“Seeing her has been a great comfort to me.”

“Why, Rei?” He drew me close again. “What upset you so much?”

“Captain Okuhara needs me to return to Shiroyama for questioning. He knows I got into the Nakamura house. He doesn’t know you were there, too.” I looked away from his worried face and down to my fingernails, which I’d begun to chew again.

“Mr. Ota will help you,” Hugh said after a moment. “I’m sorry I made you go with me. Nakamura must have spotted you in the garden.”

“Actually, Yamamoto told Captain Okuhara.”

“How in hell?”

“It’s my fault. When I met Yamamoto, I let something slip about going through Nakamura’s closet. And Yamamoto was very angry with me. I think it was a matter of revenge.”

There was a short knock and my cousin stuck his head inside the room.

“Doctor Tom!” Hugh greeted him. “You’ve come for my morning look-see.”

Tom gave me an embarrassed look. Was it wrong for me to be there? I started to rise, but Hugh gripped my hand.

“So tell me, Tommy, what’s going on?” His voice was jovial, but I sensed the anxiety underneath. “I walked a mile on crutches around the hospital today, but Dr. Endo won’t say anything about letting me go.”

“Walked a mile and fell, I heard,” Tom said, studying Hugh’s chart.

I got off the bed and stared out the window at the Sumida River. Being closeted in a small space with my cousin and my lover was making me irrationally nervous.

“You know what we call patients like you? Noncompliant.” Tom’s voice was light.

“Whereas you comply quite handily with the cops.
Yakuza
too, I imagine, seeming how everyone knows where I am—”

“Stop it!” I ordered Hugh, then turned on my relative. “Tom, I must to warn you that Hugh can’t take jokes. He has a very undeveloped sense of humor.”

“Hugh-san, please let me do my work.” Tom picked up Hugh’s foot and pressed gently on his big toe. “Do you feel any pain?”

“Nothing,” Hugh said, although I saw him wince.

“You still have plenty of swelling, which is probably caused by your walking around on crutches. If
you rested, the swelling would subside and we could finally apply your cast.”

“Wait a minute. Dr. Endo gave me another excuse. He told me I couldn’t have a cast until next Monday because that’s when the orthopedic surgeon’s available. Low priority, that’s what I am!”

“We are very busy here, it’s true. And it is no problem for you to spend more time in the hospital. We prefer to make sure the patient is fully recovered before release.”

“So what you’re saying is it’s the Japanese way to over-hospitalize and run up big insurance bills?” Hugh looked innocent, but his words hit their mark.

“You are good at arguing,
neh
? A real lawyer.” Tom shook his head and replaced Hugh’s foot in the sling. “Well, you’ll get some action tonight, since you’ll be going down to X ray again to see if you’ve done yourself any more damage. Rei-chan, your wig is in a Mitsutan shopping bag at the nursing station. I recommend that you wear it. And I’m off at eleven again tonight—I don’t want you traveling home without me like you did yesterday.”