The Book of the Pearl

by Carrie Asai

  “A few blocks, I think,” Cheryl said, squinting and looking around. “There’s one on Alameda.”

  “Are we close to a subway stop?” I felt nervous about waiting at a bus stop, where we’d be exposed. I’d never been on the subway in L.A. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to go anywhere I needed to go.

  “Nobody takes the subway except teenagers from the Valley,” Cheryl scoffed. “Besides, it doesn’t run all night.”

  “Okay, let’s just get to the bus stop.” I grabbed Cheryl’s arm and steered her forward.

  “Hey! What’s the rush?” One of Cheryl’s stilettos got caught between the sidewalk cracks and she yelped. “I’ve got to get these things off,” she said, and made as though she was going to sit down on the pavement.

  “Cheryl—no. Come on. We’re almost there.” I tried to grab her under the shoulders and she cackled loudly. “Shhh,” I murmured, looking around. Cheryl swallowed her laugh with mock seriousness, holding up one finger in front of her pursed lips.

  Just then another noise echoed through the streets. I stiffened. It sounded like footsteps.

  “Oh, please, Heaven. My feet are killing me. I just want to—”

  “Come on, let’s go,” I hissed, pulling her to her feet. Cheryl didn’t argue. We scurried down the street and made a quick left. That’s when I saw them.

  Two men. Shadowy in the just-before-dawn darkness. Glints of silver in their hands. I felt the familiar terror slide through me, the realization that an attack was about to begin. I let the feeling rest inside me without fighting it, tried to use it to assess the situation.

  “Give it up,” said the shorter one, his knife glittering. “Throw all your cash on the ground. And your jewelry.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief—which might seem weird, seeing as how I was being mugged. These weren’t yakuza hit men, and they certainly weren’t ninja. Who would have thought it could feel so good to be just another victim of random violence?

  “We don’t have any,” I said, concentrating on making my voice sound clear and unafraid. “All I’ve got is a bus pass.”

  “Nope, nope,” Cheryl echoed, waving her head tipsily back and forth.

  “Don’t play with us, man. This ain’t no joke. Hand it over!” The taller of the two muggers stepped forward menacingly. His movements were jerky, and he looked nervously behind him as he barked at us. “Now!”

  I was pretty sure they were on some kind of drugs, and I took that into account as I planned my defense. On the plus side, it meant an attack would be sloppier. On the minus—they’d be less conflicted about hurting us. I felt strong and hoped it wasn’t just a false sense of security brought on by all of my vodka cranberries.

  “Oh, man,” groaned the little one. “Let’s just take ’em down and get the money. We gotta get out of here.” He pulled his baseball cap lower over his eyes and hopped from left foot to right.

  “Look—I have nothing to give you,” I said. “Why don’t you just leave us alone?”

  “I don’t think you heard me, bitch,” growled the tall one, who was obviously the leader of their little gang of two. I stared at him evenly. No one had ever spoken to me like that. I felt anger searing through my veins.

  “No, I don’t think you heardme, ” I said, surprised at the steely sound of my own voice. “My friend and I have no money. No cash, no jewelry, no nothing. So you’re going to have to find someone else to rob.”

  “Oh, man, I can’t believe this.” The short one clawed at his friend’s coat. “Let’s just go, man, come on.” I realized he couldn’t be much more than sixteen, and all of a sudden I felt a little sorry for them. They couldn’t even mug someone right.

  “We’re not going anywhere,” the tall one said, shrugging his friend off like a fly. “You’re going to be one sorry little piece of—”

  He lunged toward me, his knife held in front of him. Instinctively I pushed Cheryl to the ground and, in the same motion, delivered a roundhouse kick that knocked the knife out of his hand. For a split second he had no idea what hit him. He ducked down to recover his knife and I aimed another kick, this one short and level, at his chin, being careful to gauge my force so that I wouldn’t break his jaw. He flew backward and landed with a thud in the street just as his little buddy joined the fight. I bent my knees and braced for what was coming.

  “Heaven!” Cheryl screamed, warning me.

  “Stay down, Cheryl!” I blurted without looking at her. The little guy looked scared.

  “Why don’t you just get out of here?” I asked, hoping to avoid any more fighting. “We won’t call the cops.”

  “Screw you!” he yelled, and came toward me, flailing around with his knife. He took a wild, easily avoidable stab at me, and I stepped aside, grabbing his arm and twisting it, locking him in a grip from which he couldn’t escape. I delivered three short punches to his face, and the knife fell from his hands. When I released him, he stumbled backward, cradling his bleeding forehead in disbelief.

  “Go!” I screamed. And he did, along with his partner. A surge of power washed over me as I watched their hasty retreat. Maybe I was beginning to like this fighting thing a little too much. I grabbed both of the knives from the ground and clicked them shut, then shoved them in my sweatshirt pocket.

  “Come on, Cheryl,” I said, helping her up from the ground. “We’ve got to get out of here.” Cheryl stood obediently, staring at me like I was an alien.

  “What?” I asked, but I knew what.

  “That was incredible! That was amazing! You just kicked two guys’ asses!”

  “Luck,” I said, dragging her down the street. “Cheryl, we really have to get to the bus stop. Those kids might come back with reinforcements. Besides, it’s starting to get light out.”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Cheryl gasped, and we power walked to the bus stop. “I knew you and Hiro did martial arts training, but that was like—likeStreet Fighter or something! You’re the original Chun-Lee!”

  “Except not Chinese,” I said wryly.

  “You know what I mean.” Cheryl’s breath was ragged from our speed walk, but she couldn’t let the topic rest.

  “The bus!” I yelled with relief as I spotted it lumbering toward us. “I can’t believe it’s actually coming!” Sometimes I felt like I spent more time in L.A.waiting for the bus than actuallyriding it—and that was during daylight hours. If we let this one go, who knew when another would come along? I sprinted toward the stop, half dragging Cheryl behind me.

  “Come on, Cheryl!”

  Cheryl staggered the last few feet and I hauled her up the steps. Panting, we stumbled toward a couple of seats in the back. A few working people on their way to early shifts looked at us sleepily but without interest. I collapsed into the seat and stared out the window as the ugly streets of downtown L.A. came into soft focus. I knew the adrenaline would wear off within a few minutes, and I’d be left exhausted and spent. Fighting was the ultimate workout, I’d had the misfortune to learn over the past few months. But Cheryl wasn’t finished with me yet.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Cheryl asked with awe.

  “I’m half Japanese. It’s in my blood.”

  “How can you joke around about this? We could have gotten seriously messed up back there. And you took those two guys out like it was nothing. I mean, I knew you could take care of yourself—but that was something else entirely.”

  “Seriously, Cheryl,” I said, trying to be honest but knowing that I could never tell her the truth, “it’s not as cool as it seems. Those guys didn’t know what they were doing. I think they were on drugs or something. They were just two stupid kids with knives, and I know a few self-defense moves. Basic stuff.”

  “Well, it didn’t seem basic to me. And now that I think about it, the last time wasn’t basic, either.”

  “The last time was nothing,” I said. “I just got lucky twice.” A few months ago, before Cheryl and I were roommates, we’d gone dancing at another club and run into some
real jerks. They got a little overzealous, and I’d clocked one of them before Cheryl and I dodged out of the place. Looking back, I could see I’d overreacted. If I’d had more of Cheryl’s people skills, we probably could have talked our way free of them. I sighed. “It all just seems cooler to you because you’re a little wasted.”

  “I don’t think so,” Cheryl said, her eyes glowing. “I know a good ass kicking when I see it.” Cheryl launched into her version of events, and I let her ramble on and on as the bus rumbled toward Hollywood and home. By the time we got back to the house we shared on Dawson Street, it was almost six in the morning, and even Cheryl was spent. I collapsed into my bed, thinking groggily how lucky it was that Hiro and I hadn’t scheduled an early morning aikido workout for today.

  I had three hours to sleep.Well, I thought as I slipped off,Cheryl promised me a big night out, and that’s exactly what I got. I also thought,Please, let me dream of Hiro, before I could stop myself.

  But I was too tired to dream.

  So Heaven has moved on. Interesting. I thought for certain she’d be home by now, scared to death of the prospect of being on her own, without her father’s protection, without his support. This has changed everything, this continued absence of hers. I’ll have to think carefully about how to woo her back, woo her out. Perhaps this friend of Heaven’s has information that can be bought. Everyone has a price.

  Mine was high.

  Konishi grows paler every day. I visit him in the private clinic, sit by his side, watching the blips of the machines, holding his cold hand in mine. His time is running out, too. I wonder if he knows it. I wonder if he can think at all inside the misty prison of his coma. Sometimes I whisper my thoughts in his ear, and at those moments it seems I can almost see a trembling in his eyelids, the jerk of a muscle in his jaw.

  Yes, I think he hears me. I think he hears the hiss of the match catching fire, the almost silent crackle of the tobacco in my cigarette as I light it. The trickle of liquid as a drink is poured. The rasp of a nail file. I believe that he hears all of this.

  It has been many months since the wedding, since the day that my son, mybloodchild, Ohiko, was murdered. Sometimes I imagine that I see him still, turning a corner, staring from the window of a train, a shop, a house. It’s all Heaven’s fault. She brought nothing but bad luck into the home Konishi and Ohiko and I shared. Before she arrived, I was happy. She brought too many secrets with her.

  She must be kept safe at all costs. I have to see her again, to find her and tell her all the same things that I whisper into Konishi’s ear here at the clinic. I dream of that moment as I caress my husband’s hand. But Konishi’s ki is ebbing away. Time is running out.

  I must find her again. Heaven may have learned how to fly away, but she has nowhere safe to land.

  Mieko

  3

  As soon as I stepped on the bus, things started to go wrong. I had forgotten my bus pass, probably in the pants I’d hurled onto the floor when Cheryl and I got home at dawn.

  “Exact change, honey,” the bored-looking bus driver said.

  “I know. Yes. Maybe these people could go first?” I pleaded, blushing as I pawed through my knapsack, looking for loose change. The bus driver ignored me, even when I stepped aside to let the grumbling people behind me through.

  “Get it together, Karate Girl. This ain’t no free ride,” said an older woman as she pushed past me, her arms cluttered with bags, and almost knocked me over.

  I managed to find the right amount of change before starting a riot, but as soon as I squeezed into a seat, a blanket of fatigue dropped over me, and I could barely keep my eyes open as the bus picked its way through the early morning traffic. I tried to think about some of the moves Hiro and I had been practicing lately, but my mind wandered, and the high I’d been on when I woke up started to fade. I had a job, yes, but—that was about all I had. Things hadn’t really changed that much. I tried to talk myself back into my earlier exhilaration, but it was gone.At least you’re back at the dojo, I told myself. When the Yukemuras were after me, the dojo hadn’t been a safe place for Hiro and me to train anymore. But Hiro and I figured it was okay for the time being, seeing as how Teddy was out of the picture—and the bottom line was, if the Yukemuras wanted to find me, they were going to find me no matter where I went. They’d already proved that. At least the dojo was comforting.

  “Good morning, Heaven.”

  I clicked back to reality with a jerk. Somehow I’d floated into the dojo’s practice room without even registering that I wasn’t still on the bus. Uh-oh. I was really sleepwalking.

  “Hey, Hiro,” I said, throwing my bag down and watching Hiro stretch. Hiro’s body was perfect. There was no other word for it. I couldn’t have dreamed up a more ideal-looking guy. He was about six feet tall, which was a great height for me, at five-nine—I could look up to him, but he didn’t tower over me—and his body was cut from years of martial arts training—he was muscled and wiry but not bulky in that gross, Mr. Universe kind of way.

  I sighed to myself. Fantasizing about Hiro would only bring disappointment. I had to move on.

  “How’s Karen doing?” I forced myself to ask. It wasn’t that I didn’t care at all—I did—and I felt responsible for what she’d gone through. It was just that talking about her was painful. It made Hiro and Karen’s relationship morereal —and every time I mentioned her name, I felt like Hiro could see right through me.

  “Much better,” Hiro said, his voice softer. A look of affection flitted across his face. “She’s finally getting back to her normal schedule.”

  “Great,” I choked, fumbling in my backpack for nothing just so that I wouldn’t have to look at him.

  “Should we get going?” Hiro asked. I turned around, watching him push his longish dark hair out of his eyes. “I have a two o’clock shift.”

  “Sure,” I answered, and moved into the center of the room for some stretching. Hiro worked as a bike messenger, a job he enjoyed because it gave him the opportunity to work outand meditate. What a guy.

  “You feeling okay?” Hiro asked. “You look a little tired.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said curtly. “Let’s just get going.” I was finding it hard not to be rude to him—I didn’t want to, but the words just came out salty. I took a deep breath.Control it, Heaven, I told myself.Just let it go. It wasn’t Hiro’s fault he wasn’t obsessed with me like I was with him. But it was hard to fight the pain of rejection. Being with Hiro was simultaneously the most rewarding part of my life and the most excruciating. The truth was, even though I knew he was with Karen, I found it impossible to give up hope. Couldn’t he see that we were meant for each other? At least, I was meant for him. The only problem seemed to be that I handled my crush like a third grader.What are you going to do next, Heaven, I asked myself,start throwing spitballs at him to get him to like you?

  “Right,” said Hiro, his smile fading, and his voice assuming the businesslike tone it did whenever we trained. “I thought we’d practice some jujitsu moves today. You had so much success with shinobi-iri—but both your mind and your body have been severely strained lately. So instead of working on offensive power moves or resistance against force, we’re going to switch gears and work on redirection of force. And that’s really what jujitsu is all about.”

  Shinobi-iri—those ninja invisibility skills I talked about earlier. Turned out I had a knack for it—Hiro said some people never mastered that kind of ninja stealth even with a whole lifetime of training. I couldn’t help feeling proud.

  “You know,” Hiro continued, “jujitsu is really out of favor in Japan right now. It’s associated with thugs.”

  “Hmmm…,” I replied dreamily, “sounds about right.”

  “What do you mean?” Hiro asked, looking confused.

  “Well, I seem to run into a lot of thugs, don’t I? Maybe I’m becoming thuggish, too.”Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Heaven! I scolded myself. But a wash of loneliness was making me say things I did
n’t really mean.

  “Ah.” Hiro tilted his head and studied me. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right? You seem a little out of it.”

  “Really, Hiro, I’m fine,” I said, trying to make my voice sound gentle and apologetic. “Can we just get started?”

  Hiro nodded, and we were off. The first hour everything went fairly smoothly. I was a little slow and dopey, and making the readjustment to the new style of fighting was challenging. Until recently Hiro and I had spent all our time preparing for my dustup with the Yukemura hit men. That demanded stealth and an aggressive, power-generating style of attack. The sparring Hiro and I were doing now was all about balance and equilibrium.

  Then things started to go wrong. It was as though my body wasn’t even connected to my mind anymore. I’d think about spinning left to avoid Hiro’s strike, and my feet would get twisted around each other, making me stumble. I’d throw my weight in one direction, only to realize I’d overcalculated. Hiro worked his way past my defenses again and again. Finally, before I could even register what was happening, he flipped me over his shoulder onto the mat.

  “Oomph,” I grunted, kind of happy just to be lying down. I breathed in the rubbery smell of the mat as though I was lying in a bed of flowers.

  “Okay, I think you’rekind of getting it,” Hiro said skeptically.

  “Overstatement,” I joked from the floor. Hiro ignored me.

  “As long as you’re down there—I wanted to work on gatame waza today anyway—ground techniques. We haven’t really done anything with that yet.”

  “Like, ground fighting?” I said, having trouble arranging my confused thoughts. Why would I want to fight on the ground? I propped myself up on one elbow and looked at Hiro. He was just as dreamy from below.

  “Yes. It can be especially helpful if you’re knocked down, obviously, or held down and find yourself in a position where a simple kick won’t free you. Or, of course, if you and your opponent are in a closed space together, say, a car trunk, or if you get thrown into a body of water or something.”