As the child inside her strengthened and grew, Rina began to consider what in her relationship with Satō was real, and when the pains came she could not conceal her panic. As she staggered to the phone, she placed a hand to her belly, telling the baby inside to stop, to wait, but the force within her was relentless; it took over her whole body and deepened, the pain like a razor fish shooting down, down, through the sand of her skin. I’m coming, it said, I’m coming, and Rina wondered how such a small thing, unshelled, could be so unafraid.
Later, at home, Rina held her daughter. Satō had returned to the office, leaving behind a bunch of opulent winter roses, so it was just the two of them. Her arms around her child, Rina looked at the tiny head cradled in the palm of her hand, the whorl of hair on the baby’s crown as big as a fingernail. Her breath lingered against the powder-soft skin, the new-washed, newborn hair. It’s you, she thought, you, and we’ve been together all along. The picture they had given her had never felt quite true. This being was not a photograph or a captured image; she was what Rina had been born for.
As the sun lowered in the sky, Rina stood by the window with the baby in her arms, her burgeoning fears replaced by resolve. She bounced the blanket-wrapped bundle and pointed to the horizon. The child’s eyes remained closed, but Rina nuzzled her head and pointed again, telling her daughter about Tokyo, of the world she would inherit. Around them were gifts, a bassinet, a changing table, white romper suits strewn across the sofa, a new set of nappies, and, in a colander by the sink, fresh gooseberries, plump to bursting, their skins an expensive glossy green. Days later, Rina would write thank-you notes, but in that moment there was only her daughter. Silhouetted against the city, Rina breathed in the scent of Sumiko. She kissed her head and thought of all the things she would become.
Starting Again
The photography group and journal known as Exposure does not exist today. The studio that housed the quarterly seminars cannot be found. The narrow side street in Ginza on which it once operated is like so many others in the vicinity with thin yellow-brick buildings that huddle together, blending into one another, squashed by their newer glass counterparts into dull uniformity.
Kaitarō stood beneath a streetlamp on the corner, a cigarette between his fingers; he lit it and inhaled, watching as people approached the recessed door beside the ramen bar and climbed the stairs within. Haru was inside and so was Rina, but still Kaitarō waited, wanting to slip in at the last minute and sit at the back.
He had asked to work alone that night, but Takeda had not permitted it. After the debacle at the night market it had been difficult for Kaitarō to remain on the case. His tentative suggestion that they pass on this job had been met with disappointment, even suspicion, a matter not helped by the fact that the agency’s latest recruit, Haru, was establishing a track record that grew more impressive by the day. Only Kaitarō’s previous rapport with Takeda, his insistence that he was perfectly suited to the target, had saved him. But his role in the case and whether he would be allowed to do the rest of the job alone – all of it depended on tonight. The last few people filed up the stairs and Kaitarō followed them; their young, high voices filled the stairwell, echoing around him, drowning out his footsteps.
He found a seat in the last row and glanced quickly to his right, spotting Haru and then Rina. She was sitting to the far side of the room, out of view of the speaker. She was nervous, he realised. This was not the sort of place she frequented, not an more. He watched as she set her bag on the floor and adjusted the red strap of her sandal where it rubbed against her heel.
The speaker, an acolyte of the seascape photographer Shōmei Tōmatsu, approached the podium. Looking out over the crowd of assembled students, amateurs and professionals, he nodded to his assistant by the slide projector and with the first image the seminar began.
In those first moments, Kaitarō leaned back in his chair; it had been a while since he’d been to a talk like this, a while since he had used his nights for anything other than working or snatched hours of sleep. He did not like being alone in his apartment, but he preferred it to socialising with his colleagues. In any case, none of them would have accompanied him to a talk like this. Still, as he listened, he felt the tiredness ebb from him and the freedom he witnessed, the possibility of working with nothing but yourself and the camera, began to lift his mood. He looked over at Rina; she had started the evening cross-legged and wrapped in her coat, but she had taken it off now and was leaning forward in her seat, her gaze following the speaker as he pointed out something on the projection. There was a small reluctant smile on her face, like the feeling of surprise.
For the rest of the evening he tried not to watch her, glancing at her only during the question-and-answer session at the end. It was hard though; she drew his attention. She was sitting up and listening. He could see her turning questions over in her mind; it was there in the bend of her head, the delicate curve of her cheek, her slow smile. It was infectious, that smile; it made him smile too, and so he looked away.
Haru had fallen asleep in his chair. Kaitarō wanted to prod him but he was too far away; he could only hope that his sleeping was an act, part of a new boorish persona. The problem was that Haru was a bore, a stud who spent his free evenings playing pachinko. Even looking at him now, Kaitarō could hear the blaring music of the parlours, the flashing rainbow lights, the click of the silver balls and the cacophony of noises emitted by the machines as each player struggled to win. He was the last person Kaitarō would have chosen to accompany him tonight, but he was quick on his feet, apparently a natural, and Takeda had insisted.
Eventually, the speaker gave his closing remarks and a few of the students approached him for autographs. Haru opened his eyes and looked around yawning, making sure Rina saw him. He registered the look of distaste on her face and smirked at her. He waited for Rina to put on her coat and collect her bag, before rising and making his way over to the entrance. Haru jostled people on the way out, causing them to tut and glare at him. At the door to the street he pushed past Rina, knocking her bag to the floor. Rina gasped as the contents of her purse spilled out onto the pavement, her lipstick and wallet rolling into a puddle left by the recent rain. She called after Haru but he walked swiftly away, leaving her to collect her things as people stepped over and around her.
Kaitarō joined her on the pavement, kneeling down in the damp grit. He collected the few items that had rolled beyond her reach and a book she’d been carrying. Carefully, he dried it, blotting the paper on his sleeve before handing it to her.
‘It won’t stain,’ he said.
‘Thank you.’ Rina was still looking at the pavement, checking for anything she might have missed. ‘What a jerk! You know, I think he fell asleep in there?’
‘I’m sure of it.’ Kaitarō offered a hand to help her to her feet, and that was when she finally looked at him.
‘Hi . . .’ She paused for a moment. ‘It is you, isn’t it? I’m not going—’
‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘Hello.’
‘You like photography?’
‘Yeah,’ Kaitarō laughed, self-conscious now. ‘I’m not stalking you.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean – ‘ Rina stammered.
‘No, no,’ he was quick to reassure her. ‘I know,’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘Look, now that I have you here, I want to apologise for my behaviour the other night – at the market.’
‘Oh.’ Rina shrugged and shook her head. ‘No, it’s—’
‘It’s just that I could see you didn’t really want to have coffee with me. I was embarrassed.’
‘You don’t take rejection well,’ she supplied.
‘Something like that.’
‘Oversensitive,’ she said, grinning at him.
‘I’m not good at this.’
‘At picking up women?’
Kaitarō laughed. ‘Talking to people,’ he said, and Rina smiled.
‘So, Rina . . .’
‘You remember my name?’ she asked and her smile widened.
Kaitarō nodded, still looking at her. ‘Do you have to get home to your daughter or do you have time for a coffee?’ He watched as she glanced up at him, perhaps surprised that he had remembered her child. He waited as she looked off down the street and then at the watch on her wrist. ‘You have to get home,’ he said, stepping away from her.
‘Sumiko is with her grandfather,’ Rina said finally. She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Are you going to walk me to the café or will you run away again?’
‘Not this time.’ Kaitarō smiled, shifting the portfolio he was carrying under his arm.
‘Is that work? Are you a photographer?’ Rina asked.
‘No – I mean, it’s just some of my photos . . . I was going to show’ – he gestured up at the seminar room – ‘but I decided not to.’
‘Will you show them to me?’
‘If you let me buy the coffee.’
‘Okay,’ Rina said.
Standing beside her in the evening light, Kaitarō thought about offering her his arm. He wanted to draw them together, to feel the touch of her, light over his clothes, the pressure of her hand as she placed it in the crook of his elbow. But it was too soon. He could not rush her, and looking at the hopeful expression on her face, he did not want to. Instead, he gestured for her to precede him on the pavement while he walked through the puddles in the street. Together they headed towards the lights at the end of the alley.
Sleepless Town
It was late evening and Kaitarō could just make out the sound of Tokyo’s cicadas snickering in the trees as he walked through the streets of Kabukichō, the ‘sleepless town’ at the heart of the pleasure district. The air conditioners from the bars blasted out gusts of warm air while hundreds of vertical neon signs reflected off the glass buildings, infusing the dusk with oppressive heat. As he passed each club, some of them barely distinguishable from each other, Kaitarō tried to ignore the mockery implicit in Satō’s choice of locale, and entering one of the venues, he wove between the tables until he found the man he was looking for.
‘How long is this going to take?’ Satō was sitting on his own cradling a chilled Asahi beer, fumes pouring off him. Smoke filtered through the air, and from the shadows at the back there was a flash of thigh as a girl entertained a customer.
‘These things take time, Satō.’ Kaitarō took a seat.
‘Any problems so far?’
‘No.’
‘What was it that happened at the night market, exactly?’ Satō smiled. ‘Takeda wouldn’t say.’
‘It’s a staggered approach,’ Kaitarō said, ‘piques the subject’s interest,’ he added, using one of Satō’s pet phrases.
‘So what’s the story? Who have you said you are?’
‘No story, just a man about town.’
‘Well, at least you got her to go out with you’ – Satō took a long pull on his beer – ‘and thank you for these,’ he said, tapping the receipts on the table in front of him. ‘You’ve been taking her for coffee? How sweet. What’s next, fucking cheesecake?’
‘Are you seeing anyone?’ Kaitarō asked, his expression calm, neutral. ‘Don’t tell me there isn’t a girlfriend . . .’
Satō narrowed his eyes. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘And is she “the one”, this girl? You’ve thought it through.’
Satō leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his beer. He sat in silence for a moment, assessing Kaitarō. Gradually, his eyes lit up in realisation.
‘Rina’s not giving it up, is she? She won’t put out?’ He laughed then, a high phlegmy sound. ‘I thought you were such a player, the finest stud in Tokyo.’ He was shaking with laughter, sloshing beer onto the floor.
Under the table, Kaitarō’s fingers tightened into a fist and he felt the blood pulse in his palm.
‘It’s that difficult then?’ Satō smirked and took another swig of his beer. ‘Just a couple of kisses, Nakamura, if that’s all you can manage. Get them photographed.’
‘I’d prefer to do the photography myself,’ Kaitarō murmured.
Satō smiled, all equanimity. ‘As you like.’
One of the girls behind the bar had finished her break and approached them. She was wearing a tiny skirt and shiny black cat ears à la Michelle Pfeiffer. She ran her nails through Satō’s hair and rubbed his scalp as he pulled her into his lap.
‘Give me something real, mind – she doesn’t need a playmate.’ Satō grinned as Kaitarō continued to watch him. ‘Don’t worry, Nakamura, you don’t have to fuck her.’
The girl was nibbling Satō’s earlobe and he turned to her, putting his hands on her waist. After a moment he looked back at Kaitarō, his eyes shrewd. ‘You’re not in love with her, are you?’
‘I need two months,’ Kaitarō said, barely bowing as he got to his feet. He could hear the man’s laughter behind him as he shoved through the seated groups and people crowding the bar to exit the club. Outside, Kaitarō leaned against a wall and took a deep breath of the heavy evening air. The concrete at his back felt solid and cool. It’s a job, he thought, just a job, and walked out into the night.
Ebisu
There are some experiences, even small ones, that hit you like a blow to the gut. Their force can linger for months, even years. Rina awoke slowly. Still safe in the morning cocoon of sleep, she let her thoughts drift to Kaitarō and their last meeting. She thought of the light in his eyes as he’d looked at her and how those same eyes had lingered on her face. How she could feel even now the warm glow of desire, of being desirable. She turned amid the tangled sheets to find her husband still asleep beside her. She pressed her face into her pillow and his scent rose from the bedding – cigarette smoke and tea and sweat – but beneath it all the faintest trace of him alone, the musk of his skin after a bath. Rina moved and rested her head on his chest. Her hand grazed his belly and moved down over his shorts, feeling the hardening ridge there. Idly, she began to stroke it and play with the tip, feeling it respond to her. She sensed Satō stir and she smiled, but just then his hand covered hers and stilled it. Rina lay very still while a trail of shame smouldered within her. Eventually he pushed her off him and left the bed. As he dressed she raised an eyebrow at him, questioning, but he did not bother to reply.
Later, Rina stood in her apartment and waited. She watched the shadows lengthen across the floor of the living room. She listened for sounds of her family, but Satō was at the office and Sumiko had started school. There was no one else in her home. Nothing. Only the cool feel of the marble beneath her feet, the silence of the walls. She walked to the door of her bedroom and leaned against the white doorjamb, taking in the windows that overlooked Ebisu. That day, the sheets of glass no longer seemed cold; they led to another city, another world.
He had asked her to meet him at a nature reserve, one of the oldest and most beautiful parks in the city. She wasn’t sure if she should go, although she wanted to. Now she held the decision in her hands. Rina walked farther into the room, noting the conservative furniture, the taupe walls, the neutral shades she had chosen all those years ago on the eve of her marriage. By the windows, amid the restrained palette of her bedroom, was a ficus that Rina loved. That afternoon, as the sun shone into the room, the plant’s bright green leaves were reflected on the walls, rippling in a blend of shadow and light, flickering faster and faster as though the world itself were speeding up.
Touch
Rina noticed him the moment she arrived at Meguro station, and he seemed to know at once that she was there, for before she had even started to walk towards him, Kaitarō looked up and smiled. He nodded in welcome, folding his paper beneath his arm. There was a warm, playful light in his eyes and Rina could not resist, she smiled too.
‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, apologising automaticall
y, but he shook his head. ‘I was early,’ he replied, and the honesty of this small point pleased her.
Across the road from the station were the gates to the nature reserve. Next to them was the ticket booth with a small electronic sign and the number 295 lit up on its black screen. ‘We should hurry,’ Kaitarō said, glancing around, making sure it was safe for them to cross. She felt the shadow of his arm at her back, the thrill of his nearness, although he didn’t touch her at all, simply shielded her from the people around them.
Straight ahead, rising beyond the gates and the ticket booth, was the green forest of the park, an ancient woodland of dogwoods and zelkovas in the middle of the metropolis, preserved and protected, even now. The number on the sign changed to 296 as they joined the queue, and ridiculously Rina felt her pulse speed up. Only three hundred people at a time were allowed into the reserve, and though it was near her childhood home, though she had seen it many times, that day she desperately wanted to be allowed in. Kaitarō smiled at her and nodded in reassurance but he too seemed tense, repeatedly looking over his shoulder and surveying the crowd. Rina wondered if he was worried that they might be recognised by people they knew and followed into the park. His concern for her was touching, and yet perhaps, like her, he simply wanted them to have some time alone, together. There was only one couple ahead of them and Rina forced herself to take a deep breath. Still, she leaped forward as soon as the attendant was free. Embarrassed by her eagerness, she glanced up at Kaitarō, but as they reached the front desk and the number on the sign changed to 298, he too took a triumphant breath and smiled, no longer anxious, but excited.
What's Left of Me is Yours Page 9