by Carrie Asai
Hiro hopped onto the back patio, nodded in my direction, and quickly threw open the door. We jumped inside almost in unison, both standing in the ready position. The smell—no, it wasn’t a real scent, it was a psychic smell, really, the way the place felt in my head—anyway, it was bad. It was violent. Images of anger, dark purple, bruised, ugly, flashed before my eyes. It was too dark to look for signs, so I focused on staying calm. Hiro moved out into the living room and I followed him carefully. Something crunched under our feet. It was dark. The tiny house was empty. Hiro flipped on a light.
“Oh, no,” I breathed. The place had been ransacked. Sofa cushions slashed, clothes on the floor, everything that could be broken, stomped, ripped, stained, trashed, dashed was—just a totally thorough, Hollywood-style search. Which was funny, actually, because we were in Hollywood. The thought failed to amuse me, though. It just reminded me that once upon a time, in my other life, I had been a total movie buff. I couldn’t even imagine having time for that now.
“What were they looking for?” I asked, peeking into the bedroom. They’d destroyed the altar where Hiro meditated, and his red Japanese candles lay strewn across the floor amid the splinters of the kuden, or inner sanctuary.
“I don’t think they were looking for anything.” Hiro shook his head. “They’re trying to send a message.”
I reached over to pick up the pieces of the altar, tears pricking my eyes.
“Heaven,” cautioned Hiro. I drew my hand back. “I don’t think we should touch anything we don’t have to.”
“Why not? They’re gone.”
“It’s just not safe. We should get out of here as quickly as possible. I’m going to grab some clothes and stuff.”
“Should we go to a motel?” I asked, feeling more at loose ends than I had all day.
“Still risky,” Hiro said. He thought for a minute. “How about the dojo? We can shower there. We can even brush up on our moves before we head over to the Bel-Air.”
“Sounds good,” I said, and watched as Hiro started to search through the mess for some clean clothes. I leaned my head against the wall and sighed. I felt terrible. The house on Lily Place had been such a haven. It was tiny and cozy, and it was the first place I’d stayed after the wedding. The weeks we’d lived there, just Hiro and I, had been so hard, yet so amazing. Even as I’d tried to come to terms with Ohiko’s death and all that had happened, a whole new world had been opening up to me.
And now that new world was crumbling.
“I’m sorry, Hiro,” I said.
“For what?” he asked, then held up a duffel bag he’d salvaged. “Bingo!”
“For this,” I said, waving my hand vaguely. “I know how hard you worked to make a place for yourself. And now it’s all ruined.”
Hiro stopped searching for clothes. “Heaven, don’t think like that,” he said. “This is all meaningless, really. Just things, easily replaced. If they hadn’t trashed the house, then we’d still be in exactly the same situation we were before. It doesn’t change anything.”
“But you have nothing to come home to now!” I wailed, feeling like a baby but unable to stop myself.
“We’ll just have to build a home together,” Hiro said, looking away. My heart caught in my throat. I stepped behind him and tentatively draped my arms around his shoulders. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do; I only knew that I felt like doing it. I pressed my chest against Hiro’s back and felt a tremor run through his frame. With one sweeping motion that was more samurai than boyfriend, he flipped me in front of him and pressed me up against the bedroom wall. His hands ran over my body and we kissed hungrily. Warmth flowed through my chest and I fell out of time, raised to some delicious other plane of existence where the only goal was for Hiro and me to get closer and closer.
Hiro wrenched himself away. I opened my eyes and blinked twice. “What happened?” I asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Definitely, definitely not,” Hiro said, reaching out to touch my face but otherwise keeping his distance. “Everything was too right. But it’s still not safe here.” He looked around. “I think there’s one more thing we need before we leave, though.”
I watched shakily as he dragged a chair into the bedroom closet, hurling clothes and cushions out of his way as he went. I’d never thought a kiss could feel quite like that.
“What are you doing?” I asked. This was no time for housecleaning. He wedged the chair into the closet, whose floor was littered with sparring pads, hopped on top, and reached his arms far into the deepest, highest corner.
Hiro grunted, straining on tiptoe. Then he came out, smiling. “Looks like they weren’t as thorough as they thought.”
It was the Whisper of Death. My family’s katana—the samurai sword I’d taken when I fled from the wedding.
“They didn’t find it,” I whispered, taking it gently from Hiro’s hands. It felt good to hold it again. When I wrapped my hands around its hilt, I felt like the sword was speaking to me, telling me everything would be okay.
“We’ll take it with us,” Hiro said, and I nodded, sitting down on the couch with the Whisper in my lap while Hiro collected some clothes and his toothbrush.
Soon we were ready to go. An awkward silence hung between us—I was thinking about what he’d said, about building a life together, and I knew he was, too. Even though he’d already said, “I love you,” having Hiro tell me that he wanted to be with me no matter what, after all this was over (if it ever ended), seemed more serious. More concrete.
“Ready?” Hiro said.
“Always.” I smiled.
A blast of cool air hit my face as we pushed through the cherry-wood doors and made our way into the dojo. The iron wind chimes that hung above the doorway announced our arrival. I leaned against the reception counter and eagerly breathed in the fresh, sandalwood-scented air. The dojo had been a sanctuary for me since the moment I’d first set foot there, and one look at Hiro’s face—the frown lines on his brow now relaxed, the tension gone from his jaw—was enough to tell me he felt the same way.
“Oh my God! Hey, you guys!” Sami, my favorite instructor at the dojo, came jogging down the hallway, gray eyes sparkling, her blond hair piled in a bun on top of her head. “Is everything okay?”
I hugged Sami, grateful that someone, at least, was happy to see me. She was tall and strong, a good hugger.
“We’re fine,” I said. “We just need to get cleaned up.” Sami looked us over, her smile fading. “Are you in trouble?” she whispered, looking from me to Hiro and back again. “You guys changed your hair….”
“It’s okay, Sami,” Hiro said. “Don’t worry about us. We just need to hang out here for a few hours, if that’s all right.”
“Of course it’s all right,” Sami said. She glanced over her shoulder. “But Karen’s here….”
Crap. One thing I most certainly didn’t need was a Karen sighting. The last time we’d seen each other, things had almost devolved into an all-out fistfight—and that was before Hiro broke up with her.
“I mean, it might be kind of, um, weird if she sees you two together here,” Sami whispered, looking at us apologetically. “I know it’s none of my business, but she told me you guys broke up,” she said to Hiro.
Hiro nodded, his face blank. I could tell he was assessing the situation.
“Maybe I’ll just grab a shower, and you can go talk to Karen, let her know we’re here,” I said. The truth was, my jealousy of Karen had evaporated as soon as Hiro had expressed his feelings for me. I felt kind of sorry for her, actually. But that didn’t mean it would be a good idea to see her.
“Sounds like a plan,” Hiro said.
“I’ll grab you some towels.” Sami ducked behind the reception desk. I was about to follow her into the storeroom, but something inspired me to turn around and give Hiro a flirty wave. Big mistake.
“Hello, Hiro.” Karen was striding down the hallway toward us. Just then Sami reemerged from the storeroom with a st
ack of towels in her arms. She looked from Karen to Hiro to me, then froze.
“Um…I’ve got to go clean out the sauna,” Sami said nervously, pushing the towels toward me. “See you guys! Nice hair!” she chirped, turning red.
Karen stared straight at Hiro, making no sign that she even saw me there. She looked awful—for her, anyway. To anyone who didn’t know her, she’d still probably have been drop-dead gorgeous. But her normally glowing skin was pale and slack, and she had dark circles under her eyes.
“Back so soon?” Karen said, and gave a little snort.
“Hello, Karen,” Hiro said.
“I’m just going to go take a shower,” I chimed in, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me. Ninjas—no problem. A drug den in Little Tokyo—no problem. But one look at Karen had taken all the fight right out of me.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Karen said, still not looking at me. “After all, I’m sure Hiro doesn’t keep any secrets from you.”
I looked at Hiro, hoping to take my cue from him, but he wasn’t looking at me. I felt about three inches tall.
“Do you want to talk?” Hiro asked.
“It’s a little late for that,” Karen sneered, leaning against the front desk. “But I guess you could answer one question for me. Just something I’ve been wondering about. How does Heaven feel about dating a guy who runs off to Vegas without a word? Who can treat you like a queen but secretly be lusting after someone else the whole time?”
“I’m sorry you got hurt, but we’ve already talked about this,” Hiro said gently. “Oh, I didn’t get hurt,” Karen said, her voice hard and bitter, “but your little fighting doll over here might if she sticks with you.”
“How can you say that about me?” I interrupted, unable to keep my mouth shut. I couldn’t just stand there and let her talk about me as if I didn’t exist. “You know that’s not true!”
“What?” Karen asked, feigning surprise. “You mean it’s not true that you’re a scheming, conniving, manipulative little bitch who goes around stealing people’s boyfriends?”
“Karen!” Hiro snapped, his voice stern. “That’s enough!”
“I’m just telling it like it is,” Karen hissed, “and if you can’t deal with that, you better get out of here and take your little protégé with you. You’ve got a helluva lot of nerve showing up here. And that platinum hair doesn’t suit you. Was that her contribution to your new ‘look’?”
“This is unacceptable,” Hiro said harshly. “I admit I wasn’t one hundred percent honest with you, but it was only because I wasn’t being honest with myself. Heaven has nothing to do with it, and she certainly doesn’t deserve your insults.”
I wanted to jump in again, but I held back. Having Hiro defend me to Karen made me feel weird—on the one hand, I was glad he was sticking up for me. But the independent Heaven who had been born since I came to the States wasn’t crazy about it. Still, I had the feeling piping up just now would only make things worse.
“Well, it looks like Heaven’s found herself a little protector. You play the role to the hilt, don’t you, Hiro?”
“I think this conversation is over,” Hiro said, turning away.
“It’s not over!” Karen yelled, her face contorting for a moment. “I deserve some answers!”
“What kind of answers do you want, exactly?” Hiro asked, facing her again. I could tell he was trying not to shout. “There’s nothing more I can tell you. I said I’m sorry, and—”
“Sorry’s not enough!” Karen interrupted.
“I’m out of here,” I said. I couldn’t take it anymore. They were going in circles, and it really had nothing to do with me.
“Good!” Karen snapped. “No one wants you around anyway.”
I ground my teeth together and stared down at the geometric pattern of the light wood floor. Don’t rise to the bait, Heaven, I told myself. The question was, how could this strong, powerful woman be acting like a thirteen-year-old girl? Call me naive about these things, but it was mind-boggling. Especially considering Karen could probably date anyone she wanted to without even lifting a finger.
“Stop acting like a child,” Hiro said. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Screw you, Hiro. And you too,” Karen added, flashing a glance in my direction. “I don’t need this bullshit.” Karen grabbed her bag and stormed out of the dojo.
Hiro stood quietly. I sensed that whatever he was feeling (guilt? regret?), he needed to deal with it on his own. I slipped off to the locker room and almost fell asleep under the hot pounding of the shower water. I had felt Karen’s anger, her sense of betrayal, but there was nothing I could do about it. I didn’t feel guilty—not about her. She’d been too mean for that. I let the water wash away the imprint of her words, and by the time I was pulling on the clean T-shirt Hiro had brought for me and a pair of gi pants I’d borrowed from the front desk, I’d almost forgotten the whole ugly scene. I had more important things to think about. Like Yoji Yukemura.
I wandered out into the hallway, scanning the rows of sliding rice-paper doors for some indication of which room Hiro was using. I could hear the rhythmic thumps and shouts of a few classes going on, and for a second I closed my eyes and let the familiar, muted clatter soothe me.
“In here!” Hiro called out to me from one of the practice rooms. I stepped in and slid the door shut.
“I’m really sorry about that,” he said shyly, taking me in his arms gently, not like back at the house. I could smell the clean scent of soap on his skin. His white-blond hair was slicked back—I had to giggle. It was almost as if he had become one of those Japanese hipsters who flooded the Shibuya district, running around in James Dean outfits—hair slicked back with grease, combs in the back pockets of their vintage 501s, old-school leather biker jackets.
“Forget about it,” I breathed. I glanced up at him and cracked up again. “You need to make your hair into more of a ducktail to complete the look.”
“What?” Hiro looked confused. He wasn’t exactly on the cutting edge of popular culture—much less popular culture recycled from fifty years ago.
“Never mind,” I said, enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around me. Hiro put his hands on my face and tilted it up so he could look in my eyes.
“I want you to know that none of that stuff means anything to me. I feel sorry for Karen, but I tried to be honest with her. And I will always be honest with you.”
“I know,” I said, melting against him. He leaned his face toward me and our lips met. We kissed slowly this time, deeply. I ran my hands over his back as he drew me to him, our bodies pressed together. Hiro wrapped one arm around my waist and tenderly touched my cheek with the other, and we kept kissing. I felt like I was falling into a deep pool, and I worried that I would never make it back to the surface. This time it was me who finally pulled away, catching my breath.
“It’s too intense,” I said. “I’m sorry.” I could feel the love and passion emanating from Hiro in waves. What might happen if we kept going frightened me. Not in a bad way, exactly, but it was still scary. I just couldn’t do it.
“I understand,” he said, kissing my cheek and neck slowly. “The connection is amazing.” He planted a kiss on my forehead and released me. I slid onto the floor and he sat down next to me, his arm around my shoulders.
“Are you ready?” Hiro asked, looking into my eyes. “Not just for the fight, but for what you might learn?”
I stared into his eyes, and suddenly my mind was flooded with visions of my life “before.” I thought about my “normal” childhood, how peaceful it had been back before I knew that I was different from other children, before my father began to make demands on Ohiko and me that threatened to make our sheltered world even smaller, before death entered the Kogo house, and before the truth began to seep out and soil everything that I’d known. It felt amazing to have Hiro and to know that he was willing to stand next to me while I fulfilled my duty to my family. Looking back, I could see that he
had never wavered. But was I ready to learn who was really after me, even if the answer was something I didn’t want to hear?
“Yes,” I breathed. I was ready. As ready as I’d ever be.
“Good,” Hiro said, leaping up and holding out his hand. “Let’s prepare.”
I took his hand. I was ready to kick some ass.
Unbelievable. I’m sitting in my car, trying to stop my hands from shaking so I can get out of here, drive as far away as possible from Hiro and that horrible Heaven. What a pair. They really deserve each other.
I’m too good for him.
So why does it hurt so much?
I just—I regret the day he walked into my dojo. I let down my guard, let myself believe that he was different from all the others. But he was just the same.
A little deep breathing—that’s good. I need to get control of myself. As I pull into traffic, though, I feel that the rage is still there. He threw me out like a piece of trash. One minute it was all, ‘Karen, you are my lotus flower, my calm center,’ and the next minute—boom. He’s off to Joshua Tree to rescue Little Miss Heaven from her latest disaster.
I’m tired of playing the victim, the innocent bystander. As if it weren’t enough that I was kidnapped in her place by mistake, now I’m supposed to be totally fine with the fact that she’s stolen my boyfriend. Like I’m the psycho in this equation. I don’t think so.
When the three men showed up at my house after Hiro left, I was scared at first. I wanted nothing to do with whatever Heaven had gotten herself into. But if what they told me was true, then Hiro isn’t the person I thought he was—and that means he was lying to me all along. I’m not sure what to believe, but something tells me those guys were telling the truth. They were very polite. Well spoken. Tailored suits—silk, classic styling. They knew details of Hiro’s life that would be hard to learn, like how he lived in the YMCA when he first came to the States and was learning English, and how he traveled to Kyoto during the Kurama Torch Festival in order to determine what path to take in his life, and how he studied in one of the oldest dojos there for almost a year before returning to Tokyo and packing his things to come to the U.S.