ONLY THE most determined drunks were left on the street as May scooted across the carpet and pushed a video into the VCR. Sam and Helen had let her pick the movie and were soon frustrated with her choice, a drama filmed at a high school in Beverly Hills.
Helen nodded toward the balcony. “Did you carry a mikoshi when you were a kid?”
“I did it every year when I was little,” Sam said. “It was a lot of fun. I dropped out when I was about May’s age.”
“How come?”
“I don’t know, it’s hard to remember. I guess that’s when the teasing in school got serious. School wasn’t much fun for me once I got into junior high school.”
May looked back. “Please be quiet, I can’t hear the TV.” There was an edge to her voice that only surfaced when she was upset.
Sam lowered his voice and tried to explain what it had been like to feel so different from the rest of the kids. May wasn’t satisfied. She objected again that they were making too much noise and said, “You didn’t try hard enough. Mom said so. She said you were always in trouble and didn’t try to get along with anybody.”
Sam looked at her closely. She appeared near tears and he didn’t know what to do. “You’re right. I was about your age when Mom got married again. I acted like a jerk for a long time and blamed all my problems on other people, mostly the Japanese. Really, there were just a few kids that gave me a hard time, but I tried to hit back at everybody.”
Helen leaned back on the couch. “I think I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel trapped, like I’ve been backed into a corner. If I don’t pay attention, I get lazy and end up doing the same thing, I blame them for everything. The Japanese are such an easy target. Gaijins here can’t seem to talk about anything else.” She smiled. “I’ve probably been in Tokyo too long. The other day I was trying to figure out who people back home use for scapegoats and I couldn’t remember.”
May had given up on the movie and was lying on her stomach watching Helen and Sam. Sam walked to the kitchen. “Was that the first time you’ve seen the festival?”
“No, but not from that perspective,” Helen said. “It was different looking down on all those people. I wasn’t really frightened but it made me nervous. Maybe the street was too small for the crowd. I knew everything was under control but that’s not how it felt. I know its crazy to make comparisons but it reminded me of—”
Sam handed Cokes to Helen and May. “I know what it reminded you of and you’re not the first but I’m not sure historical comparisons are valid. Unfortunately, the Japanese haven’t done much to convince anyone that things have changed.”
“Have they?”
“I think so. But it’s difficult for the Japanese to admit their mistakes even when they’re truly sorry. They don’t do it well on a personal level and it’s even harder as a group. It works here because it’s an understood part of the culture but to outsiders they end up looking, at best, self-conscious and half-hearted, at worst, callous and selfish. Actually, I think they’re—”
May knocked over her Coke and began to cry. She pulled off her headband and tried to wipe it up.
“Here, let me help you,” Sam offered.
“I don’t want your help,” she shouted. “Just leave me alone. That’s all you ever talk about—the Japanese, the Japanese—the horrible horrible Japanese! You make everybody sound like monsters.” She jumped up and her head collided with Sam’s chin. He fell and landed on top of her, she rolled away and retreated to the hall. “What about me?” she cried, and ran into her room and slammed the door.
Helen let herself out of the apartment as Sam knocked on May’s door. She was sitting on her bed playing with a new Game Boy he’d bought her. A tear splashed on the screen and she tried to wipe it away. “I said go away.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and sat cross-legged on the carpet by the bed. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Don’t you want to talk about it?”
“No. I want you to go away and I want Mom back.”
Sam sat on the bed and put his arm around her. He felt weak and sad and wanted his mother back, too. What did he know about comforting a thirteen-year-old girl? He apologized as best he could and tried to explain, knowing he was botching the job. May didn’t buy it, she kept her head down, staring at the game. “Mom didn’t hate the Japanese. She was nice to everybody.”
“I don’t hate them, May.”
She threw the machine across the room and it smashed into the wall. “Yes, you do! You hate them and you say rotten things all the time.”
The accusation was partly true and Sam knew it. He hugged her and tried to dry her tears with the bed cover. May shouted and shoved him away. “I’m Japanese! I’m Japanese!” she cried, again and again, hitting Sam in the chest and shoulders with her fists.
“Stop it, stop it, May.” He reached for her. “You know I love you.”
“No, you don’t. You don’t love me because I’m Japanese. You’re just like all the other gaijins, you don’t even try to understand. Mom loved me, anyway.”
Sam held her and waited until she tired herself out, until she couldn’t hit or cry anymore. He told her he loved her so many times he lost count, knowing it was true and that he could never say it enough. Finally, she leaned over and took a box of tissues off the nightstand and blew her nose. “Are you sure?”
“A hundred percent.” He detected a hint of a smile.
“Are you really really sure?”
“Yes.”
The smile grew larger. “How much do you love me?”
“A lot.”
“As much as the sun?”
“And the moon, too.”
She laughed. “The sun’s enough, don’t overdo it. If you love me that much you’ll do anything for me, I bet.”
“Anything.”
Sam was happy to see a cunning look in her eye. She was up to something, a clear sign she was feeling better.
“Like what?”
She pointed across the room. “If a brother really loved his sister he’d buy her a new Game Boy if she accidentally broke her old one.”
“Even if she’d ruined another one only a month before?”
May twisted out of his arms, pushed him off the bed and jumped on his chest. “Absolutely.”
“OK. Is tomorrow soon enough?”
“Yes, and in that case you’re forgiven. But you’d better remember not to pick on the Japanese anymore.” She punched him softly in the chest. “You’re Japanese, too, you know.”
Sam shook his head. “Only a little bit. No more than twenty-five percent.”
“That’s a lot.” May looked him over. “I wonder which part it is? What do you think?”
Sam had no idea, it had always been a major mystery. One foot could be Japanese, the other Russian and the rest American.
She picked up his hand and examined it carefully. “Maybe this is the Japanese part?”
He shook his head.
“Well, how about these?” She yanked on his ears and pinched his nose.
“Ouch! Stop that.”
“Nope, not them. Too much complaining. Very very gaijin.”
May scooted back, placed her ear to his chest and listened for a moment. “Wait, what’s this? That sounds Japanese to me. Can’t you hear it?”
“What?”
“Shhh, listen.”
Sam laughed. “I can’t hear a thing.”
“That’s because you’re not trying hard enough as usual. I can hear it perfectly.”
“What’s it saying?”
Her lips brushed his cheek and she whispered in his ear. “I love May, I love May, I love...”
Police Lt. Nakazono saw the lights on in the coffee shop and headed for the door. A shadow moved in the alley and he stopped. He told himself he was a superstitious fool, but he peered into the darkness anyway, afraid of what he might see. If Elena Takagi was anywhere, she would be here. Three nights ago he was positive he’d seen her on his balcony. She’d beckoned for him to join her, her hair flowing long and white.
At the time he’d been certain, now he wasn’t so sure. But it didn’t hurt to be careful, he told himself as he checked the alley. It was empty and he felt safer. If only the dreams would stop, everything would be back to normal.
Hara, the boss of the Sumiyoshi-kai, had called that morning and ordered him to get moving on the Takagi building, saying the market was ripe for a takeover and a quick resale. Threats had not been necessary. Nakazono’s debts were hanging over him like a sword. Succeed or die, it was that simple. He bit down on his fear of Elena and knocked on the door.
Sam didn’t invite the cop inside. Nakazono made him feel more than a little uncomfortable. His stiff crew cut and self-indulgent belly, his ill-fitting suit and his tiny eyes—it was all too much.
Nakazono was polite, too polite, and when he asked to come in to see Manny’s work, Sam couldn’t reasonably refuse. He had to live in the neighborhood and the cop was as much a part of the local infrastructure as the sewers.
“The place looks good,” he said, glancing at the new stage and the small dance area. He sat down at the counter and nodded at the next stool. “Why don’t you join me? Maybe we could have a beer and talk?”
May was asleep upstairs and Sam wanted to get back to the apartment. He looked toward the door.
“Oh, come on. It’s not that late,” the cop urged, smiling. “I’m not such a bad guy. One beer can’t hurt, can it? Who knows, maybe you’ll even like me.”
The possibility seemed remote, but Sam fetched a couple of Kirins anyway. “What can I do for you, Lieutenant? You didn’t come here to tell me you’ve solved my mother’s murder, did you?”
Nakazono took a long pull on the bottle and wiped his lips with his sleeve. “No, no, it’s nothing like that.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Of course, we’re still working on the case but this isn’t an official visit. I just wanted to say hello and make sure you were settling into the neighborhood all right.”
Sam lied easily, assuring him that his readjustment to Japan was going quite smoothly.
The cop winked. “I’ve seen you with that gaijin, the one with the big...” He held his hands out in front of his chest. “You getting any of that?”
Sam restrained an impulse to knock Nakazono off his stool. “We’re just friends.” That was the truth as far as he could tell. He wished it were otherwise but Helen’s behavior remained perplexing. They’d had dinner together five or six times in the last month, usually at her suggestion.
At first, Sam had thought they were dating and had acted accordingly, once going so far as to buy her a rose from a street vendor. He considered it a major step and if not a declaration, certainly a strong hint. She’d considered it, too, holding it up to the fading light as if it were merely a red flower, a pleasant pretty thing. He’d expected her to take it home with her and press it into a book or whatever women did with flowers. Instead, when she’d gathered up her things in the restaurant, the rose had remained on the table, forgotten. Sam had pretended not to notice.
In the days that followed, Sam had been very careful to let her take the lead and set the tone. She hadn’t hesitated to ask him to dinner again, and then again. Frustrated, he’d begun to think about her when she wasn’t around—always a bad sign—and he’d vowed to hold out until she took at least a small risk.
The last time they’d gone out, he’d walked by her side with a growing belief that only one of them was dating. What Helen was doing, he still had no idea. On that night, as they’d crossed a glittering Aoyama street, he’d missed a curb and almost fell, feeling ramparts rising higher than flowers, red or otherwise.
Nakazono was talking about women he’d known and abused. Sam interrupted and asked what he wanted.
“Now that you mention it, I was wandering about that gaijin you’ve got working here.” Nakazono had no real interest in the Filipino, he didn’t think any of them were worth spit, but thought it was time to apply a bit of pressure.
“His name is Ramos,” Sam answered, working to keep his annoyance under control.
“Would you mind telling me his visa status?” Nakazono asked, beginning to sound more like a cop than a friendly neighbor. “I’m sure you wouldn’t employ an illegal but sometimes these people have forged documents. I try my best to keep the scum out of the area but you know how it is...” He waved his hands at the helplessness of it all and shook his head.
“Well, this is one gaijin you don’t have to worry about,” Sam said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
The cop looked hopefully at his empty beer bottle but Sam ignored him. “Ramos has a valid entertainment visa. It’s good for the next year and I’m the guarantor.”
Nakazono nodded. “Well, that’s settled then.” He looked past Sam to the new stage. “Didn’t this Ramos fellow do some of your construction work? It looks like it was a big job. You must have had to pay him.”
“You’re right, it was a big job. But I didn’t pay him anything. He’s a singer not a carpenter.” Sam nearly laughed, wishing he could see Manny’s face.
“Please don’t take offense,” Nakazono said. “I just don’t want you to have any problems, that’s all. Believe me, I’m just thinking of what’s best for you and your sister.”
“I’m sure you are, Lieutenant.”
“It must be difficult for you to raise a little girl in the city all by yourself.”
“We’re doing all right.”
“I don’t envy you. I imagine you worry all the time about what this downtown...uhh,” Nakazono searched for a word, “environment is doing to her.”
“It hadn’t occurred to me.” Sam wondered where the cop was going and wished he’d get there.
“Many families have had the same problem and have moved away. You know, out to the suburbs. They say the, uhh, environment is good for the kids. Have you ever thought of moving?”
“No, I haven’t. I just got here.”
Nakazono leaned closer. “Maybe you should. I have a friend that could give you a fair price for this building. Property values are starting to drop and maybe you should get out while the market is near the top.” He passed a business card across the bar. “Why don’t I arrange a meeting?”
Sam glanced at the card, finally understanding what Nakazono was after. “Thanks, but I don’t think we’re going to be moving. May likes it here.”
Nakazono thought the gaijin might have missed the point. “I’m sure she does, but is living here really in her best interests? We try to stay on top of things but there’s still quite a bit of crime in Asakusa.” He narrowed his eyes and a nearly imperceptible hint of menace entered his voice. “I know you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your sister.”
“You’re right, I don’t want anything to happen to her.” Sam stepped down from his stool, put his arm over the cop’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. “And I don’t think you or anyone else does either. Who knows where that might lead. Somebody could get hurt or even killed.”
