Rina turned and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. She saw herself as she had been a few nights ago at the gala, staring at abandoned cocktail sticks, a glass of wine in her hand. She remembered Sumiko nestling against her in the car, pressing her small face into Rina’s side and then pulling away slightly at the smell of sweat and alcohol. Rina remembered the heaviness of her limbs, the desolation spreading through her, and, finally, Satō’s contempt when he’d looked at her in their home, the mess of toys she’d left on the coffee table and floor, the way he had snapped at Sumiko.
So many years ago she had agreed to this, and again she had made the same choice. Opening her eyes, Rina caught sight of the dining table; it had been a wedding present. Looking at the shine that spread across the glossy black surface, Rina saw herself sitting there a few years into her marriage. She had several sheets of coloured tissue paper on the table in front of her and she’d been cutting them into an exact square. From the corridor, she could hear happy chatter as Sumiko played in her room. Rina had been humming softly, a young mother with a healthy child and the bloom of it in her cheeks. As she reached for the box of sweets she had put to one side, she felt Satō come up behind her. She stiffened as he cupped her shoulders in his hands, felt his lips on her neck. She flinched, a tiny movement, but he felt it. He slid his hands down, brushing them against the sides of her breasts, and at that Rina had willed herself to be still.
She kept her head down, looking at the table, but Satō just laughed and pulled out a chair to join her. Rina reached once more for the sweets and placed them in the centre of the tissue paper. The cellophane covering the box squeaked against her fingers as she pulled the wrapping tight. She taped one side of tissue down and then folded the other over it so the tape wouldn’t show. Satō sat still, smiling so blatantly that it drew her attention.
‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.
‘You! You are so intense.’
‘I want to make this nice for Yoshi,’ she said, nodding at the gift.
‘You’re a funny little thing.’
Rina arched an eyebrow at him, because she had never thought of herself in those terMs
‘Aren’t you?’ he said. ‘Aren’t you funny?’
Rina said nothing, merely gave him another small smile.
‘I’d bet you’d fight though.’
Rina looked up at that. She looked at him clearly, no longer smiling.
‘If you were cornered,’ he continued.
Rina let go of the box, heedless of the coloured layers that fell away on one side. She looked past him, through their living room to her darkroom, now a storage wardrobe; her former life gathering dust. Satō took her hand in his, stroking her fingers with his own. ‘There’s a shine to you, such poise,’ he said, and Rina frowned. ‘Beneath it, that’s what I’m talking about.’
In that moment, Rina wanted to rise; she’d wanted to pull her hand from his grip and tell him to back off, but she didn’t.
‘You’re tough,’ he said quietly. ‘When you focus it comes out in your face.’
Slowly, Rina tugged her hand from his grasp. She opened her mouth to make a joke, but as she did, the choices she had made up to that point rose to confront her. She wondered if she was really as tough as he said.
‘Hurry up!’ Satō said, gesturing to the wrapping paper. ‘We’ve got to go.’
Looking back on that conversation, Rina asked herself if what he had said was true. She had been shiny once as a young girl, when they’d first met, as one is before decisions are made and opportunities are lost. She would never be that way again, but then Satō had never really believed in her shine, had he? He had seen through it from the very beginning, through her to the woman waiting, the fighter beneath.
Rina raised her head and looked at her home. She could not blame him entirely, she knew. She had not been a perfect spouse, perhaps not even a good one. She should have known that his goals and dreams could not possibly compensate for the loss of her own. It would have been better to marry with her eyes open, but whatever had gone before, how she lived now was her choice. Kai had given her that. Even if Rina kept her family together, she did not have to repeat past mistakes. For both her daughter and herself, perhaps for all three of them, she could take back her life. Crossing the living room, she felt the tension in her head ease as she opened the door to her former darkroom. She would clear it out and make room for herself once more. Stepping over a broken tennis racket and several discarded pairs of Satō’s shoes, she lifted the first of the boxes.
The form was pink. Not completely pink, Rina could see that now. The paper itself was white. In her shock, the rows of red characters had blurred, smudging into one another, the rose expanse interrupted by oblong squares of green. Rina looked down at the form lying on top of the box while her own heart beat and beat and beat. She reached out and then drew her hand back; some documents were too poisonous to touch.
For a long time, it was the prettiness of the form that Rina would remember: the colour and simplicity of it, this symbol of all she had to fear. Rina thought of the pink kanji, the empty green rectangles for her answers, the space at the bottom for her personal seal and Satō’s. What did it say about the national consciousness that something so grave would be hidden beneath a façade of order and colour?
Rina thought of the mascots for each government institution: the white seal in a captain’s hat and blue coat painted onto all the lighthouses in the Shizuoka Prefecture, a symbol of safety, broadcasting the success of the Coast Guard and masking the bodies of those who did not survive the sea; and Peepo, the chubby orange fairy of the Tokyo police force, his name alone symbolising the happy relationship between the people and the police. Still, however cheerful the policemen and their mascot, however neatly their guns were attached to their uniforms – like mittens so they would not forget them – the guns themselves were real, and the bullets within them were real too. The death penalty was still exercised in Japan, and her prisons were filled with people you hoped your children would never meet. Even now, each and every police officer could bring fear and pain into your life. It was the same with forms, Rina thought, sinking to the floor and taking the papers with her; it was the same with everything created by people.
As a young woman growing up in Meguro, Rina had not been able to sit still; whatever the task she had to be in motion. Many times she had discussed cases with her father while pacing the floor of his study. When she first told him she wanted to drop out of her degree they had circled each other, round and round his desk, like dogs. But now her life weighed her down, the isolation of it dragging her onto the floor where she could only sit quietly and rest her head upon her knees.
Rina looked at the papers again. Most of the form was strangely blank. Satō had filled in his name and hers, along with their address and ID numbers, and he had also circled the option that declared that they as a couple desired a kyogi rikon – a divorce by mutual consent. There was a box requesting the agreed terms of separation, but this was not filled in; neither were several of the following sections, except for one, a section present in all the divorce forms across Japan – a single space specifying which parent would take sole custody of any children.
Here, in pencil, as though he were preparing the form in draft, Satō had left a faint upright squiggle, a question mark in the box that would determine Sumiko’s life. The question mark jolted Rina out of her shock in one fluid move. She was on her feet and angry in her blood, in her bones. As she rose she took the form with her and saw that beneath it there was another set of papers, this time in hallowed white, expensively produced.
Rina noted the emblem for the Tokyo Family Court on the header and the dense paragraphs of instructions beneath. This was no divorce registration form from the local ward office; there were no sections for her to fill in, no space for private terMs This was a legal application for Satō alone, the spouse who would file
a case against her for divorce, a case he would make sure to win.
Inside this form was a table with reasons for the breakdown of the marriage. In bold black type was an instruction to circle all that applied and to double circle the most applicable. Here, Satō had put pen to paper, speaking clearly and plainly, as he did not to her face. He had circled one word, round and round in black ballpoint pen: adultery.
Slowly, Rina’s fingers opened and the papers scattered to the floor. He knows, she thought, and he wants to take my child.
Rina walked out into the living room. All around her was the life she’d been living, but the familiar landscape had changed. What Satō suggested was terrifying. She knew people who had been forced to go through the courts. The system apportioned blame and found fault; it ripped open the person you were and displayed all the ugliness and shame for everyone to see. From her time at Tōdai, Rina knew such divorces could take years in mediation before they even passed to the family court; that mediators, august citizens from your city ward, formed panels and analysed the bones of your marriage. People trawled through the papers of your life, yet, however hard you fought, whatever your version of events, the outcome was always the same. One parent would be granted sole custody of all children and the other would likely never see them again. Joint custody is illegal, clear as only the law can be; bloodless black and white.
In her second year at Tōdai, Rina had joined a charitable group that provided free legal advice. There she met many parents who had been separated from their children. She thought of their hopelessness, their isolation. Once a divorce was finalised and custody assigned, the courts often termed further disputes as ‘family matters’ and refused to intervene. Even when there had been no formal agreement and one parent simply took the child, that parent was frequently favoured, possession being nine-tenths of the law.
Rina thought of the people she had met, how they had ventured to prefectures far from home to hang around the schools of their children, like crows, hoping for a glimpse of them as the bell rang, before being shooed away by an irate ex-spouse and the police.
Rina had experienced this by proxy, but the reality of it happening to her was almost beyond comprehension. She saw herself waiting outside Sumi’s school, perhaps in Nagoya, or a place farther away still. She would have a photograph in her pocket, dog-eared and creased, from a birthday long past. She knew how she would stand, to one side of the gates, trying not to be noticed. Then, as the bell at the top of the school rang, the strike of the hammer resonating against the bronze, she would see her, her little girl, much changed, so different from the child in the photograph. This new Sumiko would be walking with her friends, chatting and swapping lollies. Rina would try to wait but eventually she would be unable to stop herself from darting forward, running towards her daughter, scaring her. It would have been years since Sumi had seen her mother. She would be frightened and confused. Rina saw her back away, a lollipop clutched tight in her fist as Rina trembled, the emotion on her face frightening Sumi even more. ‘Sumichan, don’t you remember? You used to call me Mummy.’
Horrified, Rina shook herself out of her reverie. Tears were pouring down her face. She placed the divorce forms on the dining table and walked into the kitchen. She’d thought to get a glass of water, but then she caught sight of Sumiko’s panda bento box on the draining board. That morning, Rina had packed Sumi’s lunch in the bear box so that panda could be washed at home. Panda was Sumi’s favourite. Tomorrow, Rina would fill it with colourful vegetables cut into different shapes, and balls of sticky rice. She could not be separated from her daughter, could not be left with scraps of film and paper and not a living, breathing child.
She returned to the living room and picked up the phone, but just as quickly she lowered the receiver back into its cradle. She thought of phone bills that could be put before the mediators and the court, of the evidence that Satō might already have against her. Grabbing her keys from the pink shell by the doorway, she left the apartment and ran down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift. She ran past the porter and out of the building, stopping only at the phone box a few streets down.
She listened to the phone ring, once, twice, and then he was there, his voice travelling down the line as he spoke into the receiver. ‘Yes?’
Rina was shaking. She looked out of the phone box at people passing, at anyone who might be watching her. ‘You’re still here,’ she said. ‘Thank God you’re here.’ There was silence on the end of the line, but she pressed on. ‘He wants a divorce,’ she said.
‘What?’ Kaitarō’s voice was suddenly clear in her ear, present and alert. ‘Rina, did he say so?’
‘I found the forms in the box room. I was going to . . . I wanted . . .’
‘Rina,’ Kaitarō said, and the gravity of his voice drew her to him, to safety. ‘How much has he filled in?’
As she walked, the leaves fell from the maples and beeches, amber and vermilion. The cherry trees too had been stripped of their blossoms, revealing their branches to be nothing more than bare black sticks rattling in the wind. Rina walked briskly, her heels striking the concrete of Ueno Park. She came to the junction by the main road and saw him leaning against a telegraph pole. He nodded and she turned right, walking away from him. Over the phone he had warned her that Satō might have hired photographers. They must be careful not to be seen.
Rina crossed at the traffic lights, ignoring the scowls of the other pedestrians who tutted because the light was red. She ran up to the gates of the national museum and then slowed to a walk. In front of her the great square building loomed like a fortress. Inside there were five-hundred-year-old screens of courtesans at autumnal leaf-viewing parties placed next to instruments in glass cases. To look at them one could almost hear the metallic twang of the shamisen beneath the forest canopy as it rustled and darkened in the breeze.
A group of schoolchildren chattered on the steps waiting to be let in; one of them laughed too loudly and was shushed by the teacher. The little girl smiled behind her hands and those around her did the same.
Rina headed away from the museum and into the garden at the right of the complex. It was freezing. The sky was overcast, and it rendered the stream running through the garden black as it poured over the rocks and into a large pool. No one lingered outside; it was too cold. She checked her watch, a gift from her father, and moved further into the garden, past the squat wooden teahouse on the edge of the pond. In summer it was used as a tea pavilion but today it was all shut up, braced for winter. She moved on along the path and out of sight of the museum, stopping once she was properly hidden by the trees. The wind whispered above her, rustling the branches, and all she could hear was the steady trickle of the stream.
She was fidgeting, had turned to look up the path, when she saw him. His jacket was open and his hair flew back from his face as he ran. ‘I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry – ‘ she said, but he did not slow as he came towards her. His kiss was not gentle. She tasted sweat and fear and hunger. She tangled her fingers into the hair at his nape; eventually he lifted his mouth from hers. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, pressing her forehead to his.
‘I’m here,’ he said. It was all he needed to say.
He took off his jacket, as though to spread it on the ground for her, but she had already sat on the grass, folding her knees beneath her.
‘I have been so stupid. I—’
‘You’re not stupid, Rina.’
‘You don’t think so?’
‘You couldn’t have known.’
‘I can’t – I can’t do anything right.’
Kaitarō sat next to her on the grass.
‘Can anyone see us?’
‘No, I checked.’
‘Do you think he has hired someone to follow me?’
‘If he did, I would find them.’
‘You know all the private detectives in the city?’
&
nbsp; ‘There isn’t much that escapes me, Rina,’ Kaitarō said, and the quiet bravado of this made her smile.
‘Did he assign blame on the form? Did he cite a reason for wanting a divorce?’
‘Adultery,’ she said quietly. ‘He is planning to sue me and he has the grounds to do so.’ She paused and looked up at Kaitarō. ‘He knows about us.’
‘What would he gain by taking you to court?’
‘Custody of Sumiko,’ Rina replied. ‘He could argue I’m unfit to raise her, take her back to Nagoya to his parents.’
‘Rina, calm down.’ Kaitarō reached for her, holding her hands in his. ‘He is not going to take her. What else would he gain from a court case?’
‘There are damages for adultery, compensation, but it is not much.’
Kaitarō paused. ‘When Satō married into your family, he was given money? He has benefited from your father’s business connections, borrowed capital?’
‘How do you know that?’
‘I’m assuming. Am I wrong?’
‘No, you’re not wrong,’ she said.
‘Are his investments in trouble? He works for a real-estate investment firm, right?’
‘House prices are still falling,’ Rina murmured. ‘He may not want to admit it’ – she bit at her thumbnail, chewing the skin at the edge – ‘but I don’t know what he’s bought or how much he’s borrowed. He wouldn’t discuss it with me.’
‘What about with Yoshi?’
Rina shook her head. ‘The shame, he wouldn’t have—’
‘And?’
‘My father would have told me.’ Rina sighed. ‘To be honest, Kai, he would expect me to know, to be aware of how our money was being spent. He will not forgive me—’
‘Let me find out what the situation is,’ Kaitarō said, taking her hands once more. ‘If we understand his motives, we can plan.’
What's Left of Me is Yours Page 17