South Of The Border, West Of The Sun Part 8

"Thirty-seven," I replied.

He looked at me fixedly.

"Thirty-seven's the age when you play around the most," he said. "Work's going well, your confidence is up. So women come to you, right?"

"In my case, not that many, I'm afraid." I laughed, studying his expression. For a second I panicked, positive that he'd found out about me and Shimamoto, and that's why he asked me here today. But he was just making small talk.

"When I was your age I played around quite a bit. So I won't tell you not to have affairs. It's kind of strange for me to be saying this to my daughter's husband, but actually I think a fling or two on the side isn't all bad. It refreshes you. Get it out of your system every once in a while, and your home life will improve; you'll be able to concentrate on work too. So if you were to sleep around with other women, I for one wouldn't say a word. Playing around's okay by me, but be very careful in choosing your partners. Get involved with the wrong person, and your life goes down the toilet. I've seen it happen a million times."

I nodded. And suddenly recalled hearing from Yukiko about how her brother and his wife weren't getting along. Her brother, a year younger than me, had a girlfriend and didn't come home much anymore. I imagined my father-in-law was worried about his oldest son and that's why he brought all this up.

"Anyhow, don't get involved with some worthless bit of tail. Do that and you'll soon be worthless yourself. Play around with a stupid woman, and you'll turn stupid too. Which isn't to say you should get involved with some high-cla.s.s woman. That'd make it tough to go back to what's waiting for you at home. Do you get what I'm telling you?"

"I think so," I replied.

"As long as you keep a few things in mind, you'll do okay. First, don't set the woman up with her own place. That's a definite mistake. Second, no matter what, come back home by two a.m. Two a.m. is the point of no return. Finally, don't use your friends as excuses to cover up your affairs. You may be found out. If that happens, well, there's not much you can do about it. But there's no need to lose a friend in the process."

"It sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"You got it. Man learns from experience alone," he said. "There are some people who don't; I know you're not one of them. You have a very discriminating eye, something only experience can teach you. I've been to your bars just a couple of times, but it's plain to see. You know how to hire good people and how to treat them right."

I was silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You also have a good eye for choosing a wife. Yukiko's very happy living with you. And your children are wonderful kids. I'm grateful to you."

He's pretty drunk, I thought. But I didn't say anything.

"You probably don't know this, but Yukiko tried to commit suicide once. Took an overdose of sleeping pills. We rushed her to the hospital, and she didn't regain consciousness for two days. I was sure she wouldn't make it. Her body was cold, and she was hardly breathing. She's a goner, I figured. I felt like the world had collapsed."

I looked up at him. "When did this happen?"

"When she was twenty-two. Right after she graduated from college. It was over a man. A real jerk she'd gotten herself engaged to. Yukiko looks real quiet, but underneath she's a tough cookie. And smart. That's why I can't figure out why she'd ever get herself involved with a guy like that." He leaned against the pillar in the traditional-style room we were in, put a cigarette between his lips, and lit it. "Well, that was her very first man. The very first time, everyone makes mistakes. With Yukiko, though, it was a huge shock. That's why she tried to kill herself. For a long while afterward she wouldn't have anything to do with men. She'd always been pretty outgoing, but she stopped talking to people and stayed holed up in the house. Once she met you, though, she began to cheer up. She did a complete turnaround. I remember you met each other on a trip?"

"That's right. At Yatsugatake."

"I nearly had to shove her out the door to get her to go. I thought travel might do her good."

I nodded. "I knew nothing about the suicide," I said.

"I thought it was better you didn't know, so I never mentioned it But it's high time you knew. The two of you are going to be together for a long time, so you'd better know everything-the good and the bad. Besides, it happened a long time ago." He closed his eyes and blew a puff of smoke into the air. "It's funny for me as her parent to say this, but she's a good woman. I've played around a lot and have an eye for the ladies. Whether she's my daughter or not, I'm able to judge women pretty well. My younger daughter's much prettier, but Yukiko's the better person. You're a good judge of people."

I was silent.

"You don't have any brothers and sisters, do you?"

"No, I don't," I said.

"Do you think I love all three of my children equally?"

"I have no idea."

"How about you? Do you love both of your daughters the same?"

"Sure."

"That's 'cause they're both still little," he said. "Wait till they grow up. First you'll like this one, but then you'll start leaning toward the other. Someday you'll see what I mean."

"Really?" I said.

"I'd never say this to them, but of my three kids, I like Yukiko best. I feel bad for the others when I say this, but there you have it. Yukiko and I get along well, and I can trust her."

I nodded.

"You have a good eye for people, and that's a wonderful talent you've got to cherish. I'm a hopeless case myself, but at least I've helped raise something not quite so hopeless."

I a.s.sisted my now thoroughly drunk father-in-law into his Mercedes. He sank back into the rear seat, spread his legs apart, and closed his eyes. I hailed a cab and went home. As soon as I arrived, Yukiko wanted to hear the upshot of our luncheon meeting.

"Nothing really important," I said. "Your father just wanted to have someone to drink with. He ended up pretty drunk. I wonder that he can go back to work in that condition."

"He's always like that" Yukiko laughed. "He has some drinks at lunch, then takes an hour's nap on the sofa in his office. The company hasn't gone belly-up yet. Don't you worry about him."

"He doesn't seem to hold his liquor like he used to."

"No, he doesn't. Before Mom died, he could drink like a fish and never show it. He was tough. But it can't be helped. Everybody gets old."

She brewed a pot of coffee, and we sat at the dining table, drinking it. I decided not to say anything about the dummy company and her father's request. She'd only think he was bothering me, and she wouldn't like it. It's true you borrowed money from Father, but that has nothing to do with this It's true you borrowed money from Father, but that has nothing to do with this, Yukiko would no doubt say. You're paying it back, with interest right? You're paying it back, with interest right? But the situation wasn't quite that simple. But the situation wasn't quite that simple.

My younger daughter was fast asleep in her room. When I finished my coffee, I enticed Yukiko into bed. We stripped naked and held each other tight there in the glare of the sun. I took my time warming her body up, then entered her. But all the time I was inside her, it was Shimamoto I saw. I closed my eyes and felt I was holding Shimamoto. And I came violently.

I took a shower, then went back to bed, to sleep for a while. Yukiko was already dressed, but after I slipped into bed, she got under the covers and put her lips against my back. I lay silent, with eyes closed. I'd had s.e.x with her, all the while thinking of another woman, and the guilt was getting to me. I lay there, silent eyes closed.

"You know, I really do love you," Yukiko said.

"We've been married seven years, we have two kids," I said. "'Bout time for you to get tired of me, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. But I still love you."

I held her close. And began to undress her. I pulled off her sweater and skirt, her underwear.

"Whoa! You're not planning what I think you're planning, are you?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course," I said.

"Special-entry time for my diary today," she said.

This time I tried hard not to think of Shimamoto. I held Yukiko's body, looking at her face and concentrating only on her. I kissed her lips, her neck, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. And I came inside of her. Afterward, I held her for a long time.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her eyes on me. "Did something happen today with you and Father?"

"Nothing happened," I replied. "Not a thing. I just feel like staying like this for a while."

"Be my guest," she said. And she held me tight, with me still inside her. I closed my eyes and pulled her hard against my body, as though, if I didn't, I would fly off into the void.

As I held her, I remembered the attempted suicide her father had told me about. I was sure she wouldn't make it I was sure she wouldn't make it. She's a goner, I figured She's a goner, I figured. If things had taken even the slightest of wrong turns, I wouldn't be holding her body like this. Gently I touched her shoulder, her hair and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. They were real-warm and soft. Beneath my palm I could feel her life. No one could say how long that life would last. Whatever has form can disappear in an instant. Yukiko. This room. These walls, this ceiling, this window. They might all be gone before we knew it. Suddenly Izumi came to mind. That man had hurt Yukiko deeply, and I had done the same to Izumi. Yukiko happened to meet me after that, but Izumi was all alone.

I kissed Yukiko's soft neck.

"I'm going to sleep for a while," I said. "And then I'll go to the nursery school to pick her up."

"Sleep well," she told me.

I slept for just a short time. When I opened my eyes, it was past three p.m. From the bedroom window I could see the Aoyama Cemetery. I sat down in a chair by the window and stared at it for a long time. So many things looked different now, now that Shimamoto had shown up in my life again. I could hear Yukiko preparing dinner in the kitchen. The sounds rang hollowly in my ears, like those transmitted down a pipe from a world terribly far away.

I got the BMW out of the underground garage and headed for the nursery school to pick up my daughter. They had some special program at the school that day, so it was almost four when she appeared at the school gate. You could always count on a line of shiny, expensive cars there-Saabs, Jaguars, even the occasional Alfa Romeo. Young mothers in expensive-looking coats got out of the cars, collected their children, deposited them in the cars, and took off. My daughter was the only child whose father came to pick her up. When I saw her, I called out her name and waved. She waved her tiny hand and came toward me. Then she saw a little girl sitting in a blue Mercedes 260E and ran over to her, yelling out something. The girl had on a red woolen cap and was leaning out the window of the parked car. The girl's mother wore a red cashmere coat and a large pair of sungla.s.ses. When I went over there and took my daughter's hand, the woman turned to me and smiled broadly. I returned the smile. The red coat and the sungla.s.ses made me think of Shimamoto. The Shimamoto I followed from Shibuya to Aoyama.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," she said.

The woman was stunning. She couldn't have been much more than twenty-five. Her car stereo was playing the Talking Heads' "Burning Down the House." In the back seat were two paper shopping bags from Kinokuniya. She had a beautiful smile. My daughter whispered for a while to her little friend, then said goodbye. Bye, said the girl. Then she pushed the b.u.t.ton and closed the window of the car. I took my daughter's hand and walked her over to where the BMW was parked.

"How was your day? Anything fun happen?" I asked.

She shook her head emphatically. "Nothing fun at all. It was terrible," she said.

"Tough time for both of us," I said. I leaned over and kissed her forehead, and she made the same sour face owners of sn.o.bby French restaurants produce when you hand them your American Express card. "I'm sure tomorrow will be much better," I told her.

I wanted to believe that too. When I opened my eyes tomorrow, the world would be new, and every problem would be solved. But I couldn't swallow that scenario. For I had a wife and two daughters. And I was in love with someone else.

"Daddy?" my daughter said. "I wanna ride a horse. Buy me a horse someday?"

"Sure. Someday," I said.

"When's someday?"

"When Daddy's saved up some money. Then he'll buy you a horse."

"Do you have a piggy bank, Daddy?"

"Yes, a very big one. As big as this car. If I don't save up that much money, I won't be able to buy you a horse."

"If we ask Grandpa, do you think he'll buy me a horse? Grandpa's rich."

"That's right," I said. "Grandpa has a piggy bank as big as that building over there. With lots of money inside. But it's so big it's hard to get the money out."

My daughter thought about it for a while.

"But can I ask Grandpa sometime? To buy me a horse?"

"Sure, you can ask him. Who knows, he might even buy one for you."

We talked about horses all the way home. What color horse she liked. What name she'd give it. Where she would like to ride to. Where the horse would sleep. I put her on the apartment elevator and headed for work. What would tomorrow bring? I wondered. Both hands on the wheel, I closed my eyes. I didn't feel like I was in my own body; my body was just a lonely, temporary container I happened to be borrowing. What would become of me tomorrow I did not know. Buying my daughter a horse-the idea took on an unexpected urgency. I had to buy it for her before things disappeared. Before the world fell to pieces.

12.

From then until the spring, Shimamoto and I saw each other almost every week. She would stop by one of the bars, more often than not the Robin's Nest, always past nine. She'd sit at the bar, have a couple of c.o.c.ktails, and leave around eleven. I'd sit beside her, and we'd talk. I don't know what my employees thought of this, but I didn't care. It was like when we were in grade school and I didn't let what my cla.s.smates thought about the two of us concern me.

Occasionally she'd call and invite me to have lunch. Most often we'd arrange to meet at a coffee shop on Omote Sando. We'd have a light meal and take a walk. We'd be together two, at most three, hours. When it was time for her to leave, she'd glance at her watch and then smile at me. "Guess I'd better be going," she'd say. Her usual wonderful smile. I couldn't read any of her emotions behind that smile. Whether she felt sad at leaving, or not so sad, or maybe relieved to be rid of me, I had no idea. I couldn't even tell if she really did have to get home.

Anyhow, during the couple of hours we were together, we hardly stopped talking. Not once, though, did our bodies come in contact. Not once did I put my arm around her shoulder or even so much as hold her hand.

Back on the streets of Tokyo, Shimamoto had her usual cool, attractive smile. No more the rush of violent emotions she displayed on that cold February day in Ishikawa. The warm closeness born on that day was gone. As if by unspoken agreement, we never once mentioned our strange little trip.

As we walked side by side, I wondered what feelings she held in her heart. And where those feelings would lead her. Sometimes I looked deep into her eyes, but all I could detect was a gentle silence. As before, the line of her eyelids brought to mind the horizon, far off in the distance. At long last I could understand Izumi's loneliness when we were going out Shimamoto had her own little world within her. A world that was for her alone, one I could not enter. Once, the door to that world had begun to open a crack. But now it was closed.

I felt again like a helpless, confused twelve-year-old. I had no idea what I should do, what I should say. I tried my best to stay calm and use my head. But it was hopeless. Everything I said and did was wrong. Every emotion was swallowed up in that radiant smile. Don't worry Don't worry, her smile told me. It's all right It's all right.

I was completely in the dark regarding Shimamoto's life. I didn't even know where she lived. Or who she lived with. Whether she was married, or had been. The only thing I knew was that last February she had had a baby, which died the next day. And that she'd never worked. Still, she always wore the most expensive-looking clothes and accessories, which meant that she had a fair amount of money. That's all I knew about her. She was probably married when she had the baby, but I couldn't be sure. Thousands of babies are born out of wedlock every day, right?

As time pa.s.sed, Shimamoto began to talk bit by bit about her junior high school and high school days. There being no direct connection between those days and her present life, she didn't mind talking about them. I discovered how terribly lonely she had been. As she grew up, she tried her very best to be fair to everyone around her, never to make excuses. "Start making excuses, and there's no end to it," she told me. "I can't live that kind of life." But things didn't work out well. Her att.i.tude only gave rise to stupid misunderstandings, which hurt her deeply. Steadily, she shut herself away. Waking up in the morning, she'd vomit and refuse to go to school.

She showed me a photograph taken when she entered high school. She was sitting on a chair in a garden, with sunflowers in bloom around her. It was summer, and she had on denim shorts and a white T-shirt She was gorgeous. Facing the camera, she was smiling broadly. Compared to her smile now, she looked a bit self-conscious. Even so, it was a wonderful smile. The kind of smile that, through its very precariousness, affected people all the more. Certainly not the smile of a lonely girl spending each day in misery.

"Judging by this picture," I told her, "I'd say you were the happiest girl in the world."

She shook her head slowly. Charming lines appeared at the corners of her eyes; she looked as if she were recalling some far-off scene from the past "Hajime, you can't tell anything from photographs. They're just a shadow. The real me is far away. That won't show up in a picture."

The photograph brought a pain to my chest. It made me realize what an awful amount of time I had lost. Precious years that could never be recovered, no matter how much I struggled to bring them back. Time that existed only then, only in that place. I gazed at the photo for the longest time.

"What's so interesting about the picture?" she asked.

"I'm trying to fill in time," I replied. "It's been twenty-five years since I saw you last. I want to fill in that gap, even a little."

She smiled and looked at me quizzically, as if there was something weird about my face. "It's strange," she said. "You want to fill in that blank s.p.a.ce of time, but I want to keep it all blank."

From junior high through high school, she never had a real boyfriend. She was a beautiful girl, so boys paid attention to her, but she barely noticed them. She went out with a few, but never for very long.

"Boys that age are hard to like. You understand. Teenage boys are uncouth and selfish. And all they can think about is getting their hand up a girl's skirt. I was so disappointed. I wanted what the two of us used to have."

"Yeah, but when I was sixteen I wasn't any different-uncouth, selfish, and trying to get my hand up a girl's skirt. That was me in a nutsh.e.l.l."

"I guess it was better I didn't meet you then," she said, and smiled. "Saying goodbye at twelve, meeting again at thirty-seven ... maybe this is the best way for us, after all."