‘Told you,’ he said, turning to face her.
Rina nodded, staring into the flames. ‘So many skills,’ she said, rising to her feet. She smiled as Kaitarō reached for her and took an answering step back. Kaitarō paused, amused and infuriated by the teasing in her eyes. She stood before him, still in his shirt, her legs bare all the way up to the pale skin of her thighs. Her lips curved in challenge.
‘Keep going,’ he said with a lift of his chin, and she did, stepping away from him as he matched her step for step, stalking her, until her back was against the wall and there was nothing between them but his shirt.
Reaching beneath the damp fabric, he ran a hand up her stomach to her bikini top, untying it at her neck and back, before dropping it to the floor. Her eyes lifted to his face as his hands found her nipples, pebbled with desire, and pinched them, hard. She gasped and he pressed his lips to hers, swallowing her next cry with his mouth before travelling down, down once more to her breasts so that he could draw her nipple into his mouth, suckling her through the fabric of his shirt. Rina stretched beneath him, her fingernails digging into his scalp as she pulled him up to her, no longer laughing. Their breaths mingled and fused as he pressed her into the wall. Kaitarō kissed her open-mouthed and felt her hands leave him. He nuzzled her in rebuke until he realised that she had reached under the shirt to her bikini bottoms, had tugged them off and dropped them, so they now lay on the floor. For a moment Kaitarō forgot to breathe, and then he stepped forward to stand between her thighs, lifting her, pushing himself against her, while Rina licked and bit and kissed at his neck.
Kaitarō slid his hand down between her legs and the slick warmth of her was almost his undoing. For weeks, months, he had dreamed of making love to Rina, he had imagined a slow seduction on fresh sheets, he had imagined the caramel-salt sweetness of her as he licked between her thighs, imagined driving her to such pleasure that she could barely breathe, but now as his fingers slipped into the warmth of her body all he could think about was being inside her, of baring her whole self to his mouth so that there was nothing between them but skin. Trembling, he slipped the top two buttons from his shirt and then the third, before she said something that made his hands still and stop.
‘I’m not ready,’ she murmured.
‘Oh gods.’ Kaitarō leaned his forehead against hers, breathing hard. She was so wet he didn’t want to believe her, but he had to and so he stopped, blood roaring through his veins while he felt the warm puffs of her breath against his face.
‘I’m joking,’ she whispered, trailing tiny kisses along his cheek to his ear. ‘I’m joking! I’m joking.’
‘Not funny,’ Kaitarō breathed, tugging roughly at the shirt.
‘Careful!’ Rina squealed as the remaining buttons went flying, skittering across the floor.
‘I don’t care,’ Kaitarō said, pressing himself against her. His hands shoved at the fabric until her bare breasts were revealed, high and taut, her nipples soft like satin, and dark. Holding her still for his kiss, he lifted her, widening her thighs until she was fully open to him. Rina whimpered and wrapped her legs around him, gripping him tight until he pushed inside her hard, filling her. A tremor of pleasure ran through him as he began to move. He kissed her ear, her cheek, her lips, all the while building a rhythm. At last he tasted her nipples and her sharp moan made him thrust into her harder still. She shuddered against him, and his lips found the soft skin under her jaw where her pulse thundered beneath his mouth. Faintly, he remembered that he’d meant to look at all of her properly, to explore every inch, but the feel of her was already more than he could bear. ‘Tell me to stop and I will.’ He sounded hoarse, nothing like himself. ‘Never,’ she whispered, and he felt her clench around him, drawing him in deeper, the slide of her against him urging him on until finally he lost control and pounded into her again and again, driving them both to a fracturing climax where their cries became shouts.
They lay on the floor in a tangle of limbs and sweat. Rina was curled in his arms, her head on his chest, enjoying the rapid beating of his heart. Slowly, she turned her head and smiled at him, loving the stroke of his hand on her back, the way his fingers smoothed over her bottom and playfully squeezed. She raised herself on his chest to look at him properly. He opened his eyes and a small, wondering smile played on his lips as he reached out to trace the sweep of her brow, her cheekbone, the fullness of her bottom lip. Smiling in return, Rina kissed the pad of his thumb and then gently bit it.
‘So you love me, do you?’ she asked, delight spreading through her at his slow, confident nod. ‘Have there been many women, in Tokyo?’ she persisted, watching as the light in his eyes softened and dimmed.
‘None like you,’ he said.
‘What about in Hokkaido?’ Rina asked, her eyes travelling over his face, leaning up to kiss his nose and the crease between his brows where he frowned.
‘There was one,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t stay, not even for her.’ Rina lay down on her side in the crook of his arm, facing him. Kaitarō ran his hand along her back, keeping her close. She loved the way he looked at her, loved his concentrated stare that could read her mind, as though they might become one person. He smiled as he watched her. ‘Go on, ask,’ he said.
Rina reached up to touch his face, stroking his cheek with her fingers. ‘This other girl, did she know about your dad? And your mum?’
‘Some of it,’ Kaitarō said quietly. ‘She knows that I ran away.’
‘That wasn’t your fault,’ she said. ‘That was self-preservation,’ she added, softening his derision with a kiss. ‘And you had to live as you wanted to.’
‘I didn’t understand my parents,’ he said slowly. ‘I let my mother down, but why didn’t she leave?’
Rina drew her fingers through his hair as though trying to soothe him with her touch.
‘There were times I despised her . . . Can you understand that, Rina?’
Curled against him, she nodded, though she said nothing, waiting for him to go on.
‘She should have put herself, both of us, beyond his reach. And then she . . . blamed me.’ His mouth tightened and he lowered his gaze.
‘You loved and hated them,’ Rina said finally. She raised herself up on her elbow to look at him, and he visibly relaxed when she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. ‘That’s understandable too,’ she said, smiling at his doubtful expression.
‘I think she set you free, Kai.’ Slowly, Rina stroked the hair at his nape, and then pulled him to her so that they lay skin to skin. ‘You didn’t belong there,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him, ‘and she gave you permission to go. You can still contact her. Make amends?’ she added, pressing her forehead to his, sensing in that way they had with each other that she had reached him and his mood was lifting.
‘You really have never told anyone else?’ Rina persisted.
Kaitarō shook his head with a quiet laugh. ‘It wouldn’t go over well with the Tokyo girls,’ he said, and Rina smiled at the look in his eyes, the wonder, as he rolled her onto her back and rose above her, kissing his way across her cheek to her mouth. Rina turned her face into his neck, enjoying the slide of his hands down her body, nipping at his ear when he stopped. He was looking at something over her shoulder.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
Rina turned and then smiled. ‘You know what that is. It’s a Polaroid camera.’
‘When did you—’
‘After our day in Atami,’ she said. ‘I love the camera you gave me. I wanted to get one for Sumiko, something she can play with.’
‘And what will you do with the camera I gave you?’ he asked, and she grinned at the seriousness of his expression.
‘I thought,’ she said, tentatively walking her fingers up his chest, ‘that I would take Sumi out to photograph the coastline. We don’t have much of the summer left, but we could play in the coves and I could pho
tograph her by the sea.’
‘A new project?’ he asked, his voice low, and Rina nodded in affirmation, enjoying the satisfaction she saw in his gaze.
‘Can I come?’ he asked, and Rina’s heart swelled at the uncertainty in his eyes, how much it would mean to him. How much it would mean to her.
‘Yes,’ Rina said, watching his eyes widen in surprise. ‘Now, let me up. I have to make dinner.’
‘Dinner?’ he asked, reaching for her, pressing kisses to her neck, the corner of her mouth.
‘Real food first,’ she said, pushing him off and rising quickly to her feet. She felt his hand close around her ankle and stroke up her calf. ‘Stop that!’ she scolded, but without heat. Stepping over him she bent to pick up his shirt where it had fallen on the floor and, pulling it on, walked into the kitchen.
‘I’m making something special,’ she said as he came to stand behind her. She was rinsing clams in a basin in the sink and all the sand had drifted to the bottom. The newspaper the fishmonger had wrapped them in lay damp and unfurled on the side. Rina smiled as Kaitarō pressed a kiss to her nape and then another beneath her jaw. She felt his arms tighten as he hugged her to him, lifting her a little off her feet. Rina laughed. ‘I’ll be ten minutes!’ she said. He took this as his cue to leave, but instead she grasped his hand. ‘No . . . no,’ she said, drawing him back to her, ‘stay with me.’ She felt him rest his chin on her shoulder and she turned, kissing the stubble of his cheek. She glanced at the packet of Italian pasta on the side and a mise en place of garlic, chilli and herbs that she had made earlier.
‘Let me help you,’ he said, laughing, as Rina quickly shook her head.
‘I can do it,’ he said. ‘I can cook pasta.’
Rina stopped sifting through the clams and held a finger up, her eyes serious. ‘This is not just pasta.’
Kaitarō grabbed her outstretched hand. ‘I know . . . good pasta. I can make good pasta.’
‘Al dente?’ Rina persisted, but he just laughed, palms up, and backed away in surrender. She sautéed the garlic and chili, then left them to cool on the hob. She had just placed the linguine in the pan when he returned to the kitchen.
‘If you want to eat sometime tonight, I wouldn’t disturb me,’ she warned. ‘There’s white wine in the fridge,’ she said, still sensing him behind her.
‘Come with me.’
Turning, Rina saw that he was hiding something behind his back, and taking his outstretched hand she allowed him to draw her to him. When she was close, close enough to kiss, Kaitarō produced the Polaroid camera.
‘No!’ Rina shrieked, pushing past him and running into the living room. ‘I’m not ready for my close-up!’
‘You look scrumptious.’
‘Let me go! You beast!’ She squealed as he grabbed her wrist, wrestling with him until he reached the large leather chair by the fire and tugged her onto his lap.
‘There’s sand in my hair.’
‘You’re gorgeous.’
‘Give me that,’ she said, reaching over his head for the camera.
Kaitarō clamped an arm around her waist and pulled her down to him. ‘Sit still’ – he brushed his nose gently against hers – ‘or I’ll spank you!’
She was laughing when he brought the camera up and took the shot.
‘Give it to me,’ she said, and he did. ‘You have to hold it like this,’ she said, grinning as his arms enfolded her.
Together they looked into the lens and their smiles were wide, happy. They took another and another, laughing, fighting over the camera as blank black squares littered the floor. Eventually, Kaitarō turned Rina into his arms and she smiled against his mouth just as the pasta timer sounded from the kitchen, a sharp triple beep.
‘Stay with me,’ Kaitarō said. His hands were at her waist, but his grip was light. Rina bent down to collect the photos from the floor and then settled back against him; they flicked through them, giggling and debating, until they found the ones they would keep. Rina set her favourite shot on a side table and left the rest in a small pile.
Kaitarō looked at her, suddenly anxious. ‘You will be careful?’ he said. ‘Don’t let anyone see them,’ he persisted.
‘I’ll keep us safe.’
‘Promise?’ he said, kissing her once more. He cradled her face in his hands, and she returned his gaze. Then she smiled and he did too.
‘I promise,’ she said.
Reflection
Kaitarō stood by the window in his motel room. On the nightstand his pager beeped with a message from the office, but he ignored it. It had been hours since he had left Rina in Shimoda, but he knew he would not sleep. He looked up at the sky, the great ink expanse of it, and opened the window, leaning out. Below him the pavement gleamed like a mirror in the dark wet of the evening. The clouds of earlier had made good on their promise and Kai could hear the gutters of the town overflowing with rainwater. He looked at the buildings on either side of his motel, at the lodges and spas covering the hills, and his gaze followed the streetlights straight down to the bay and the boardwalk, a flat stretch of concrete facing the sea. The yachts in the harbour bobbed on the waves, their lights glinting in the darkness.
Reaching into his pocket he took out a box of matches and placed it on the desk in front of him. Then he lifted up a small metal bin and set that in front of him too. He was still wearing the fleece Rina had given him that afternoon. There was a lingering trace of her in the fabric, like a touch. In the drawer of the desk was the handkerchief he had taken from her in the orange grove days before. Kaitarō raised the material to his face for a moment, before striking a match, lighting the silk, and watching it catch and flame. Slowly, he lowered it into the metal bin. In his pocket were the Polaroids.
He had left most of them with Rina and her promise to hide them away, but he had kept three for himself. There was one of her laughing, squirming off his lap, and another, just her curled before the fire, wearing his shirt. He looked at them for some time, feeling the texture of them beneath his fingertips. They were so precious to him, so valuable, but they were also all the evidence that Satō would ever need. He lifted them in his hands and one by one consigned them to the flames, watching the plastic bubble and peel away from the film, the images crumpling, melting. As he controlled the fire, the heat of it warmed his face. Extracting a cigarette from his satchel, he lit it and inhaled slowly. Rina hated cigarettes so he never smoked around her, was trying to give up, but as the nicotine of this last hit his system he breathed out, watching the smoke dissipate into the air, a rare and final pleasure.
Eventually, he flicked the cigarette into the bin and doused the fire with a bottle of water. The paper had blackened and curled in on itself and he placed the bin outside on the windowsill. Tendrils of smoke wafted up, curling into the air, while above him the moon rose clear over the bay and the summer sky, washed clean by the rain, shone beyond the lights of Atami into the distance.
Sumiko
Shoes
I always struggle to imagine my mother when she was young. When I think of her, it is as my mother, and I cannot picture her any other way. Do you ever think of your parents like this? Perhaps in their youth when they had just met and were falling in love, two people interested only in themselves with no notion of you; people leading different lives. My mother led a life without me. The difference is that she did this both before and after I was born.
Through the years the idea of her has haunted me. I return constantly to her life. I still feel that if only I could look hard enough at the traces I have left, perhaps see them in a different way, that then I could see her: a young woman at her work, a woman in love, a mother trying to do the right thing. There were so many events in her life that I have no access to, experiences she kept to herself. Still, I cannot help but wonder whether if she had lived, perhaps one day she would have shared them with me, and then we could have
seen ourselves in each other as mothers and daughters do.
There is not much left. As a child I hoarded her things, afraid that like her photograph on our family altar, they would be taken away. But I do have something of hers, something she gave to me, a plane ticket from Hokkaido to put in my scrapbook. She brought me other things as well. I have a memory of a Baumkuchen, a layered log cake, coated in white and dark chocolate to resemble the bark of a silver birch. It was extraordinary. When I first saw it I thought it was a branch from a tree, but inside were the thin layers of sponge, and I was told that it was so delicious and smooth, like a sunburst on the tongue, because it was made with butter from Hokkaido. I have always had a fondness for Baumkuchen, but I don’t know if it started with this cake, and of course we ate it, so now there is nothing left, no trace of what might have been.
When the divorce was finalised, my mother came to live with me and Grandpa in Meguro. She stayed with us only for a few months, but the plane ticket is from that time, from a short trip that she took then. She said it was an adventure, like finding the new apartment for us in Shinagawa, that she was going on ahead to explore a new home for me. She said Hokkaido would become very special for both of us and that she would take me there, but of course she never did.
When she died, Grandpa brought what remained of her life home to me in Meguro. He carried her belongings into the house and put them in the room she had grown up in; the room next to mine.
Even as a child, I could tell there was a great deal missing: there were no books, no photographs, no cameras. There were only a few items of her clothing, her shoes, her formal kimono still wrapped in paper, a small box of jewellery, her calligraphy brushes, and, finally, sachets of her scent – packets of the coffee-coloured powder worn by the monks to purify themselves before temple and sold in Ginza for a hundred yen a pack. I grew up knowing that smell on her skin, so I have never associated it with men or temples. Just her. And the pine forest above our house in Shimoda.
What's Left of Me is Yours Page 12