Libby gathered up her handbag and the package off the front seat and headed across the parking lot toward the temple. She could hear bells in the distance, their plaintive sound muffled by the fog. Following a path that zigzagged through the trees and over an arched bridge, Libby eventually arrived at the imposing gate.
The main temple lay straight ahead at the end of a long pathway lined with stone lanterns. Beyond that, on a rise behind the temple, Libby could just make out through the mist, the silhouette of the graceful three-story pagoda. The manicured gardens were deserted.
Eventually she found what she was looking for, a cluster of identical statues of Jizo. Like the ones she had seen at Osorezan, they were dressed to resemble infants in red knitted bonnets and neat bibs. There was a cheerful pinwheel anchored beside each one like a soldier’s pennant, pots of flowers here and there and a scattering of toys and articles of baby clothing, forlorn reminders of the ‘water child’ each memorial represented.
Libby, uncertain as to what to do next, paced back and forth on the path, her package clutched in her arms. The stone statues with their pouting faces, button noses, round cheeks and folded hands looked like children posed for a formal photograph. She paused in front of a statue at the end of the row. There was always one who didn’t conform, who looked a little scruffy. Its bonnet had slipped off and the bib was missing. Libby smiled. She put her things down and replaced the cap on the bald head, tying it firmly under the chin.
“There, you’re good for a little while anyway,” she whispered. She reached out and spun the wings on the pinwheel. There was a whistling noise and then it stopped and the garden was silent.
Libby opened her package and arranged the items around the base of the statue. “I don’t know if you can hear me or if you even exist, except in my imagination. I don’t even know your sex. But you were real once, alive, growing under my heart and I’m afraid I didn’t make you feel very welcome. To be honest, I was too terrified to admit I was pregnant. I wish I had had more courage.
“I feel responsible for your death, in one way or another. And I want to apologize. When Ben told me I had had a miscarriage, I was relieved. I thought I could forget you. If I told Ben how sad I feel now or how often I dream about you, he would say it was my hormones acting up. But I know better.
“Maybe we’ll both get another chance to meet in the future. Your father believes such a thing is possible. I’m too much of a skeptic. But I want to believe that you’re just biding your time until you can return to me.”
Libby folded up the wrapping paper and ribbon, tucked them in her handbag, and then retraced her steps along the maze of pathways back to the main temple. Mounting the stairs in front of the entrance, she stood there for a moment peering into the dark interior before leaving her offering.
She heard the students before she saw them, a gaggle of adolescent girls in pleated skirts and middy blouses, from one of the local schools. Accompanied by their teachers, they had just come from viewing the historic pagoda. When they saw Libby, they flocked to the foot of the stairs and, pointing and giggling, stared up at her. She understood enough Japanese to know they were discussing every aspect of her appearance from the color of her hair to her extraordinary height, as well as snapping photographs.
Libby thought she had gotten used to the attention her looks generated wherever she went in Japan. Usually she just smiled or said something in Japanese, which always elicited a few oohs and ahs, or occasionally posed for a picture. Today she was just grateful that they hadn’t stumbled upon her a little earlier and overheard her talking aloud to a statue of Jizo. That would have given them something to gossip about besides the dimension of her bust.
After a few minutes, the teachers shooed the girls off in another direction and Libby was left on her own. She forgot what she was supposed to do next; she was so unnerved by the arrival of the students. Ring the bell, suspended from a cord in the middle of the doorway, twice or three times? The Japanese did everything, even prayed, so precisely, she was afraid if she made a mistake, her prayers might not be heeded.
She clasped the cord and yanked it three times, just to be on the safe side, clapped her hands twice and bowed her head. “Please, watch over my mizuko. Keep it safe and, when the time comes, help it to find its way home.”
The visit to the temple did not heal Libby’s wounds but it had, in some way she couldn’t explain, soothed the rough edges of the sorrow she had been wearing like a hair shirt and brought her a measure of acceptance and peace. She couldn’t forget the past, but it was no longer an obstacle to the future.
“Today is a very auspicious day for the omiai,” Nakane Sensei said when he met Libby at the train station in Misawa. “Better than last week.” It appeared Nakane-san or perhaps his wife, had consulted an astrologer in order to make sure Sunday was the optimum day for Kojiro and Libby to meet.
The Nakanes were accompanying Libby on the train to Hirosaki where Major Yoshida was waiting. “He’s driving his car,” Mrs. Nakane said, as she eyed Libby’s sandals. A Japanese woman would never have worn sandals to an omiai but one had to make allowances for an American. Still … . The rest of the outfit was satisfactory. The linen dress was attractive but by the time Libby got to Hirosaki it would be a mess of wrinkles. Mrs. Nakane dismissed her reservations about the clothes. It wasn’t as if Libby and Kojiro had never met, after all. There were no parents to criticize her attire. The omiai was just a formality.
Libby brought a book along to read on the train, but she couldn’t concentrate on the novel. She was too apprehensive about seeing Kojiro again to contemplate someone else’s troubles. She wasn’t sorry she had agreed to meet him. She wanted the opportunity to have a rational conversation with Kojiro, in a neutral setting, but she was no closer to making up her mind about marrying him than she had been the day Nakane-san relayed his proposal.
Kojiro was waiting in the lobby of the hotel. He was sitting facing the door, so that he would spot Libby and the Nakanes as soon as they arrived. He jumped up when he saw them, extinguished his cigarette and hurried over to extend his welcome — to the Sensei and his wife, three low, respectful bows. He started to bow to Libby, thought better of it, and held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
They shook hands like two strangers being introduced for the first time. He’s been through this before, Libby thought, with Motoko. She wondered if he had acted as nervous then as he was now. His hauteur and reserve had completely deserted him; he looked younger, uncertain, shy, despite the dark business suit and conservative tie.
The meeting was going to be more difficult than Libby had anticipated when she agreed to the omiai. She had thought having the Nakanes present would make things easier for her. If she refused his proposal, Kojiro would not importune her in public, in front of her sensei, to change her mind. He would be too embarrassed to mention the past or even to intimate the passionate nature of their relationship. The omiai had strict boundaries of civility and tact that he would not think of breaching. Now standing in the lobby flanked on either side by the sensei and his wife, Libby suddenly felt like a child who had been coerced into the meeting by the two adults.
Nakane-san glanced at his watch. “Our reservations are for one o’clock. Perhaps we should go up to the restaurant. It is located on the top floor.”
They were seated at a table with a window, overlooking the bustling city and the Fuji of the north, the dormant volcano Mt. Iwaki. On a clear day, the view would have been spectacular, but the snow-capped mountain was barely visible through the summer haze. Hirosaki was the apple-growing capital of Japan and Libby commented on how surprised she had been the first time she saw — from the air — the carpets of tinfoil the farmers laid under the trees to reflect the sun and ripen the fruit. “I thought there had been a freak snow storm,” she said. Everyone laughed.
Nakane-san launched into a long, tedious history of the
apple industry in Northern Japan. His audience nodded and exclaimed at appropriate intervals. But neither Libby nor Kojiro were really listening to one word he said. They were too busy trying to appear nonchalant and to avoid making eye contact with one another. Kojiro focused his attention out the window at the traffic and the crowds of people hurrying along the sidewalks toward the train station. Libby fiddled nervously with her water glass, running her index finger up and down the stem, or rearranging the napkin in her lap. The little party, seated at the most conspicuous table in the dining room, had generated a lot of interest on the part of the other diners; every time Libby looked up she was being stared at by someone and the particulars of her looks and choice of outfit debated.
The restaurant was French. The head chef was a graduate of the famed Cordon Bleu Culinary Arts School in Paris and the meal — served on an elegant array of Japanese pottery — was superb. Nakane-san had left nothing to chance. Libby thought she was too nervous to eat but eating precluded conversation, so she devoured every morsel. Kojiro made a few half-hearted attempts, but much to the waiter’s chagrin, he barely touched his food. The reason for the get-together was not even mentioned until after dessert, and then, only in passing. They didn’t get down to a serious discussion until coffee had been served.
“This is a most unusual omiai,” Nakane Sensei began. “Both parties,” he nodded toward Libby on one side of the table and Kojiro on the other, “are acquainted and they are both mature adults. It is unusual in that one is an American, a modern woman, and the other a traditional Japanese man. They both have their own money and their own careers. There are no families involved — for now. But if they decide to marry, they will hear from their families and their families will try to change their minds. A marriage is not just between two people. It is between two ways of doing things, two traditions, two presumptions. That is why it is best for like to marry like. The differences are not so apparent. But Major Yoshida has asked me to represent his interests to Captain Comerford and I agreed.
He turned to face Libby. “Major Yoshida is a fine man from a distinguished family. He is an accomplished officer and pilot. He has risked a great deal in pursuit of his desire. I am not sure if he acted impulsively or if he is sincere. But he has convinced me of his high regard for you, Libby, and that I believe to be genuine.
“I do not know anything about Libby’s family, Major Yoshida. But I think to have a daughter who is as thoughtful and brave and diligent as Libby, they must be acceptable.
“I have advised both of you to marry one of your own kind but as you know, I would not be here if my grandmother and grandfather had not had the courage to defy convention and to marry. I guess I am living proof that it is possible.
“And now, if you will excuse us, mama and I will go for a walk. There is a tea shop she wants to visit before we go back to Misawa.”
“I did not think you would come,” Kojiro said to Libby after the sensei and his wife had departed.
“You said the same thing to me when I arrived in Sapporo. Do you remember?” He nodded.
“I am a coward. I was then, not to tell you about my engagement and I still am. I am sorry to take advantage of your friendship with the Nakanes but I was afraid you would refuse to see me if I called on you in person and I cannot express myself in English so well in writing.”
“You’re quite right. I would have,” Libby said.
“I thought you would be angry at me for asking your teacher … .”
“I was at first. Furious. But Sensei and his wife are having such a good time; I couldn’t stay angry for long. If I didn’t see you, they would have been terribly disappointed. Mrs. Nakane would have been, anyway. She’s fallen under your spell.”
“Foolish woman.”
“Is that what you think of me?”
Kojiro shook his head. “Maybe you are the most foolish of all.”
“I thought so, at one time. I may think so again. But at the moment I feel very confident, very certain.”
“Certain?” Kojiro’s face turned scarlet. He appeared unsure just as to where he should look, directly at Libby or out the window at the mountain.
“Of my decision,” Libby said.
“Ah so.” His color faded, leaving his skin tinted a sickly yellow.
“I don’t want to come between you and your family. My own family won’t be thrilled when I tell them … .”
“Tell them?”
Libby smiled but Kojiro was too absorbed in the view to notice. “Perhaps I’m going about this all the wrong way. Am I supposed to tell the go-between of my decision and let him pass on the good news or am I allowed to tell you personally that I have accepted your offer of marriage?”
Kojiro was so convinced she would say no he thought he had misunderstood. He had not had many occasions to speak English since his rupture with Libby and he felt his proficiency was a little rusty. “Please, Ribby, Libby … ” He was so nervous he couldn’t even pronounce her name correctly. “Please, repeat what you just said.”
“I will marry you, Kojiro.” His color returned. She could see the flush spreading from his neck up to his forehead; his eyes widen in surprise and pleasure.
“Ah so, that is very good news. Very good news.”
“You don’t sound like you mean it.”
“I am surprised, that is all. I was afraid to hope that you … Oh, Libby.” Kojiro was obviously at a loss for words. He didn’t know how to express his happiness in such a public place. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his hands, folded on the table in front of him were shaking. “When did you decide?”
“When Nakane-san told me how rich you are.”
For a moment, he thought she was serious and then she smiled, which was a huge relief since he doubted if he would ever see any of his inheritance if he married her. Libby’s sense of humor would take getting used to. No one in his family would think of joking about money.
“When did you decide?” He repeated.
“When I saw you again, standing in the lobby downstairs. It wasn’t a rational decision, Kojiro. If it were, I would have refused. I’ve been so unhappy lately. I’ve done a lot of stupid things the last few months trying to forget you and forget about the miscarriage. I couldn’t.
“You mean too much to me. I don’t believe in all that nonsense about love at first sight, but the first time we met, in the briefing room at the Samurai Squadron … . If someone had said to me, You’re going to fall in love with that insufferable Major Yoshida, I wouldn’t have believed him. And yet … ”
“I know what you mean,” Kojiro said. “The feeling, it was there from the beginning, for me too. It was our en, our destiny to meet and to fall in love.”
Libby reached across the table to touch his hand, briefly so as not to embarrass him in front of the other guests in the dining room. “And to marry,” she said softly.
“Look,” Kojiro pointed out the window to Mt. Iwaki. The haze had diminished as the temperature fell, revealing the stark outline of the mountain against a palette of rose tinted clouds.
Libby and Kojiro made love that night in the queen-sized bed in Libby’s apartment in the BOQ. The Nakanes, after congratulating the happy couple, insisted Libby accompany Kojiro home to Misawa in his car. “You have a lot of things to discuss,” the sensei reminded them. “You need time to get reacquainted.” Mrs. Nakane smiled and nudged Libby with her elbow.
“Hai,” Kojiro answered sharply. He sounded like a new recruit who had just been issued orders by a commanding officer and was eager to carry them out. Libby fidgeted with the fringe on her shawl. The Japanese were so vague about some things and so forthright about others — about sex, for instance. Libby was the only one who apparently hadn’t anticipated how the night would end.
In retrospect, perhaps she had been a little naive. Kojiro, who like most of his fel
low countrymen was a cautious motorist, abiding strictly by the conservative speed limits and strictly imposed laws, sped with reckless abandon over the mountains in his eagerness to get to Misawa. The streets of the village were crowded with sightseers who had come into town to celebrate a local festival. They were caught up in a long line of cars waiting to gain admittance onto the base. Kojiro gripped the steering the wheel, muttering under his breath in Japanese. His impatience was infectious. His desire. They had so much to talk about, plans to make, but the enormity of the commitment they had just made to one another and the anticipation of their reunion, left them both too tense to carry on a conversation. Libby clutched her hands together in her lap, trying to contain her anticipation under a veneer of sophistication. It wasn’t easy. All she could think about was the man sitting beside her, how much she loved him and wanted him to take her in his arms.
She glanced over at Kojiro as he pulled into the parking lot of the BOQ. The stoic reserve for which his race was renowned had completely deserted him.
“Libby?” He gripped her hand, crushing her fingers with the strength and fervor of his passion. “I want to make love to you. Now,” he said bluntly. “But I will understand, if you want to wait … .” Libby shook her head. Words were superfluous. She was becoming very adroit in the Japanese art of nonverbal communication. A subtle nod, a shy smile, a sidelong glance …
Kojiro grunted in relief as he swung open the door and got out of the car and followed Libby up the steps. She fumbled in her handbag for the key to her billet. Kojiro took the key out of her hand, unlocked the door and steered her directly into the bedroom. “We have waited long enough, I think,” he said.
No other woman had ever evoked such humility or feelings of tenderness in Kojiro, or inspired such ardor. Libby’s extraordinary beauty had captivated him; but it was her bravery and candor and trust that had made him fall in love with her and risk so much by asking her to be his wife.
The Unquiet Heart Page 22