While he was away, Kojiro did his best not to think about Libby. It wasn’t fair to Motoko, he told himself. She was his fiancée and she deserved his consideration and attention. But he was not altogether successful in putting Libby out of mind. He kept recalling all the improbable events of the other evening and marveling at the unexpected outcome. Libby had actually agreed to see him again. He still couldn’t believe it.
“I’ve never been to Aomori Prefecture,” Motoko said. She was sitting across the table from him, in the dining room, at the same hotel where they had been introduced. She wanted to return to the scene of the crime, he thought grimly, and relive that fateful afternoon. She confided how apprehensive she was about meeting him. He looked so handsome and important in his photograph, she was afraid he wouldn’t like her. And she told him how happy he had made her when he agreed to the marriage.
Now she was rattling on about having never been up north and hinting that she would like him to invite her for a visit.
“You’ll have to come up and see Misawa before the wedding,” he agreed. “I don’t want you to be disappointed. It’s not a very sophisticated place, I’m afraid, and my quarters are very small.” He wondered how she would manage when she was used to her parents spacious, two-story house.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll like it,” she said shyly. “I’ll have plenty of things to do to keep busy.” She glanced self-consciously at her new ring. The light caught a facet of the diamond and she smiled.
Kojiro had given her the ring in the early hours of New Year’s Day after they had gone together to a Shinto shrine to pray for good fortune in the coming year. The grounds of the ancient shrine were crowded and they had had to wait in a long line to take their turn at the altar. Motoko had dressed in an elegant Kimono for the occasion and piled her hair on top of her head in a becoming style. The traditional clothes suited her, Kojiro thought, made her look more dignified and sophisticated.
When their turn came, they mounted the steps to the altar and, yanking the bell rope to summon the gods, clapped their hands twice and then bowed reverently to pray. Afterwards, they ate tangerines being distributed by the priests, and a bowl of steaming noodles and drank a cup of sweet sake. Motoko bought a good luck charm to give to Kojiro.
“I have something for you too,” he said, after she had given him the charm. They were standing a little apart from a crowd that had gathered around a huge bonfire. He took the little box out of his pocket and handed it to her to open.
“Oh!” She squealed with pleasure at the size of the stone. “It’s just the one I wanted.” He felt obligated to kiss her then, to seal the bargain they had made to one another when they agreed to marry. The ring made it official. Kojiro took her in his arms and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips.
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!” The party goers, crowded on the dance floor in the officers’ club, started tooting on their horns and batting the silver balloons that rained down on them from a net suspended on the ceiling. Charlie took Libby’s hand and led her away from the crush of people.
“Happy New Year, Libby,” he said. The plaintive strains of Auld Lang Syne filled the room and people began to sing the haunting refrain. He took her in his arms and kissed her, a long tender kiss.
“Happy New Year, Charlie,” she whispered. He dragged his hand across her bare shoulders and stroked her back.
“Let’s get out of here,” he mumbled.
Libby wrapped her arms around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder. If only she could stay that way forever, safe in Charlie’s strong arms, protected, adored. Life seemed so easy and uncomplicated when she was with him.
“Libby?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” And she really was.
“Christ, Libby!” Charlie pulled away from her. “I don’t get it. I thought we … ” He turned and strode angrily out of the ballroom into the deserted lobby. By the time Libby caught up with him his anger was in check and he was standing at the window staring at the snow sifting silently to the ground.
“Do you remember the first time we met? It was at boot camp, our first summer at the academy.”
“The summer from hell,” she said quietly.
“I took one look at you … . We’ve been on a collision course, ever since. Two bodies on the same trajectory, slowly converging until they collide. Stop fighting the inevitable, Libby. One of these days you’re going to marry me.”
“Oh, Charlie … ” Libby felt so confused. She didn’t want to hurt him but she didn’t want him to go on believing they had a future together. “I don’t love you,” she said. She meant to sound kind, but the words were cold and unfeeling.
Charlie smiled. “Yes you do. You just don’t want to admit it.”
Without having ever discussed the matter, both Libby and Kojiro were in tacit agreement concerning the private nature of their relationship. For different reasons, of course, which neither was free to disclose to the other.
Libby didn’t want it to get around the squadron that she was dating a Japanese national. She was afraid the pilots would take it personally, as a reflection on them and make things harder on her in the squadron. She didn’t want to hurt Charlie any more than she already had by flaunting her friendship with Kojiro. He wouldn’t understand how she could be attracted to a man from an alien race and culture.
Kojiro wanted to spare his fiancée in Ishiyama any unnecessary grief. Motoko might not expect him to be passionately in love with her, but she was entitled to his loyalty and trust. Every time he saw Libby he felt guilty for betraying his fiancée. But he had neither the courage nor the will to quit. Maybe the next time, he told himself. But the next time came and went and he wanted more.
When he was with Libby he felt like a new man — unencumbered, free of centuries of tradition, familial duties, cultural expectations. Free to say what came into his mind, to argue — he didn’t know how, until he met Libby — to laugh at himself. It was as if he was seeing everything for the first time, through her eyes, experiencing anew the simplest pleasures.
Kojiro could not articulate his feelings to himself, let alone to Libby, but he knew instinctively that the longer he continued to see her, the more difficult it was going to be to stop.
“Where are we going?” Libby asked. They had been driving for several miles on a treacherous country road that meandered through frozen farm land.
“You are always complaining about not being able to practice your Japanese. I have a solution.”
Libby grimaced. “Kojiro, you know my Japanese is limited to formal introductions, reciting nursery rhymes and singing simple little songs. I can’t possibly … .”
“Then you will have to rely on me to translate because no one at O-Yama speaks any English. Not many foreigners frequent this establishment, although it is very well-known among the local Japanese.”
“You’re making it sound very mysterious.”
Kojiro glanced over at Libby. It still came as something of a shock to see her sitting so nonchalantly beside him in his car, despite the fact that they had seen each other several times. The novelty of dating a gaijin, being seen with her in public, had not completely worn off. That it was in danger of doing so — when they were alone he no longer dwelled upon their differences — was making things more complicated. It was only when they were out in public, surrounded by his countrymen, that he thought of her as an outsider. Libby’s looks guaranteed attention, notwithstanding her conservative attire and quiet demeanor, and they were inevitably looked upon with either suspicion or astonishment.
O-Yama was located on a side street in a bustling fishing village on Mutsu Bay. Small and inviting, with its rustic wood exterior, thatched roof, and glowing lanterns, it was not unlike dozens of other restaurants in the area. But its distinction lay not in the pleasant app
earance but in the fact that its proprietor was a former yokozuna — grand champion sumo wrestler — and the menu featured the famous chanko-nabe, a rich, flavorful stew, which was one of the mainstays of a wrestler’s diet.
After retiring from the ring, Hiroshi Takamatsu had returned to his native Aomori Prefecture and opened the popular restaurant. Celebrities of all stripes, politicians, pop stars, television personalities, even the occasional American general visiting Misawa, found their way to his door and the walls were adorned with photographs of Takamatsu posing beside his notable guests.
Kojiro had reserved a table in a cozy, inconspicuous alcove, out of earshot of the other diners. It was unlikely that they would run into any acquaintances this far from base but he didn’t want to take any chances. The low table was on an elevated platform and they had to take off their shoes and place them, toes pointed out, on the floor, before stepping up on the straw matting. Kojiro glanced at Libby’s suede snow boots aligned in precision next to his. Their size never ceased to astound him, when compared to the diminutive line-up belonging to the Japanese patrons.
Sitting on a cushion on the floor was no problem for the major but it took Libby a few minutes to arrange her long legs in a comfortable position. But the problem of getting seated did not diminish her enthusiasm for the place. That was one of her most endearing qualities — her enthusiasm and interest in everything Japanese. She had an enviable capacity to make herself at home wherever she went, to put people at ease and bewitch them with her candor and charm. She had certainly bewitched him, Kojiro thought, as he gazed at her lovely face, framed by the smooth, pale blonde hair.
“What should I say to Mr. Takamatsu if he comes over to our table? I don’t know anything about sumo wrestling.” The genial host was making the rounds of all the tables, chatting with the men and teasing the women.
“He’ll be very disappointed. Ladies are some of his biggest fans. His wife … ” Kojiro pointed to a petite woman in a dark kimono standing behind the bar, “was a well-known singer before she married Takamatsu-san.”
“Oh, but Kojiro, he’s so, he’s so huge. I know sumo is highly regarded here and that the wrestlers are not considered unattractive but … but I can’t imagine being married to one and … ” Spontaneity was yet another one of her endearing qualities, he mused.
“What can’t you imagine?”
“You know,” she said archly.
Kojiro smiled. “Shall I ask him? I think he’s heading in our direction.”
The three-hundred-pound retired grand champion was sauntering down the aisle toward their table. For such an enormous man, he moved with surprising agility and grace on legs the size of tree trunks.
“Major Yoshida! Welcome!” He spread his arms open wide, in an expansive gesture, as if he were about to clasp the two of them to his massive chest. “Don’t get up, don’t get up,” he said in Japanese, putting a plump hand on Kojiro’s shoulder. “I just wanted to welcome you to my humble establishment and to welcome your, your … ” He smiled approvingly at Libby. “Your ‘girl-friend.’ We haven’t seen you in a long time, Major. The general must be keeping you very busy. Or perhaps this young woman has been distracting you … .”
Kojiro ignored the wrestler’s remarks and introduced Libby. “My guest is Libby Comerford from Misawa Air Base. She is a captain in the United States Air Force,” he added to set the record straight. “An F-16 pilot.”
“Ah, so? A pilot? She is much too beautiful to have such risky employment.”
“I had better not relate that remark to her,” Kojiro said. “It’s a sensitive subject.”
Takamatzu laughed. “Tell her I am honored to make her acquaintance and that I hope she enjoys her visit to my restaurant as well as her stay in Japan.”
Kojiro translated Takamatsu’s welcome and Libby smiled and thanked him in flawless Japanese.
“Your friend is very talented,” he said with a smirk. “I wonder what other hidden aptitudes she has?”
Kojiro turned to Libby. “Takamatsu wants me to commend you on your Japanese.”
Their dinner was the standard hearty stew — chunks of chicken and pork swimming in a broth brimming with vegetables and wedges of tofu and fat udon noodles — cooked in an iron pot on a brazier at the table and washed down with Sapporo beer.
Libby squirmed on her cushion, trying to get more comfortable. Her back throbbed from sitting so long without any support and her legs were numb. But despite the discomfort, she was having a wonderful time, she thought to herself. The food was delicious, the ambience in the restaurant warm and intimate. And she was with Kojiro Yoshida.
He did not look quite as carefree as she was feeling at the moment. For all his earnest endeavors to dress informally, in jeans and a black cable-knit sweater, with his ram-rod straight posture and guarded expression, he might as well have been sitting there in top hat and tails. Libby had never met anyone who took himself or his responsibilities as seriously as Kojiro. It was part of his attraction.
The other part was easier to identify and harder to define — the sexual attraction. She had given up trying to objectively analyze her feelings for the man when just thinking about him made her heart race. But Kojiro appeared definitely not indifferent, nor afraid, but reluctant to make any move that would alter the tenuous nature of their friendship.
After all, they were both destined to go their separate ways, she reminded herself. And yet …
“Kojiro.” Libby leaned across the table and took his hand. He looked a little startled by the public display of affection but he did not remove it until he saw Takamatsu looking over at them and grinning. “I’m puzzled about something.”
“What is that?”
“Well, on our very first date you took me to a love hotel.” At the mention of the love hotel, the color drained from Kojiro’s face. “But ever since then, you haven’t so much as held my hand or tried to kiss me.”
“I have apologized for taking you to the, to that place, to the hotel, to the love hotel. It was very wrong of me.”
Libby propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Don’t you want to kiss me, Kojiro?” She asked.
“Here?” His deep voice registered an octave higher.
“Not here. Not with your salacious friend ogling every move we make. But somewhere else.”
Kojiro stared at his hands gripped together in his lap.
“Well, do you? I’m just curious.” Libby took another swallow of beer. She had not expected Kojiro to get so flustered by her question. He looked as embarrassed as if she had proposed taking off all her clothes and dancing on the table.
“Of course,” he mumbled.
“Look at me, Kojiro.”
He raised his head and their eyes met briefly before he looked away. “I have wanted to kiss you every time we are together. I think about it when we are apart. But I am not … ” Kojiro hesitated. It was the perfect opportunity to tell her about his engagement to Motoko. I am not free to love you, Libby, because I am to be married soon. But he didn’t want to spoil the evening by mentioning his impending marriage. He would tell her another time.
“I am not … I have not had much experience … Ah, it is very difficult for a Japanese man to talk about such things and to express his feelings … .”
“Is it so difficult for a Japanese man to show a woman how he feels?”
He shook his head. “Sometimes.”
Libby stretched her legs out under the table and in doing so, accidentally brushed Kojiro’s knee with her foot. Before she had time to apologize, he put his hand down and seized her ankle and, with deft, gentle strokes, began caressing the calf of her leg. It was so unexpected and out of character, she didn’t know how to react. His touch was so light and hypnotic.
Libby sighed and closed her eyes. Perhaps she should have left well enou
gh alone, she thought to herself, instead of trying to fast-forward their relationship. But she had never before felt as enchanted with any man as she was with Kojiro. It didn’t make any sense. She was always so careful and circumspect in her relationships with the opposite sex, protective of her reputation and determined not to do anything that would hinder her chances for promotion. She had an image to live up to — that graced the newspapers and recruitment posters — of the cool, confidant fighter pilot, an almost sacred obligation to the women who aspired to careers in the military.
Takamatsu, as if alerted to the interesting developments at their table, lumbered over to refill Libby’s empty glass. Kojiro withdrew his hand and sat in embarrassed silence.
“How was your dinner? Did you get enough to eat?” He patted his belly, which hung in ponderous folds over his sash. “My chanko-nabe will make you strong and vigorous. It has a secret ingredient,” he laughed. “Just for men. So they won’t fall asleep on the job!” He nudged Kojiro’s arm with his massive elbow to emphasize his point. “Japanese men work too hard. I think you work too hard, Major Yoshida. You need to relax and enjoy yourself for a change.”
“What was all that about?” Libby asked after he left.
“Oh, he just wanted to know if we enjoyed our meal. He is very proud of the chanko-nabe. It is a special recipe.”
They stayed at the restaurant longer than they had intended, seduced by the congenial atmosphere and the seclusion. They had moved their pillows a little closer to one another, so that they could hold hands without having to lean across the table. Kojiro, having finally overcome his reluctance to touch Libby, couldn’t keep his hands to himself. If he wasn’t fiddling with her bracelets or straightening the collar on her sweater, he was stroking her hair. The color was darker than it had been in the autumn, the bright gold had faded to a burnished silver.
“You should let your hair grow,” he said. The short, smooth cap suited the shape of her face and accentuated her slender neck, but long, blonde hair would have looked glorious piled on top of her head or cascading over her shoulders.
The Unquiet Heart Page 7