The Samurai's Daughter

by Sujata Massey

  I soldiered on toward the station. Several light-haired foreigners were inconsiderately blocking my path; I would have to dash into the street and risk being run down by a motorcycle or car. Everyone was out tonight, cruising.

  Just as I reached them and was deliberating whether to bull my way through, as most Japanese would have, or just say “Excuse me,” they cut into a fashionable restaurant called Grapes.

  It had a clear glass front, but I could see a rosewood bar with gleaming brass taps behind it, though most of the people at the bar had wineglasses. It was an older, wealthier-looking foreign crowd than I ran with; they looked to me like stockbrokers and investment bankers.

  I’d met that crowd years before through Hugh, and not really fit in. But I’d envied them—for their cost-of-living allowances that allowed them central heat, the chance to shop at all the best department stores, and opportunities to meet friends for drinks in places such as Grapes, which Richard had said charged about ten thousand yen, or about $100 U.S., for two glasses of wine and an hors d’oeuvre.

  As I gave one last amused look at the convivial scene in Grapes, I caught a flash of red-gold hair. I was missing Hugh too much, I thought, as I paused again to study the back of the man in the bar with the thick, slightly wavy hair. He was wearing a black waxed-cotton coat with a corduroy collar, just like Hugh’s Barbour.

  I felt a prickle of unease, and instead of proceeding toward Shibuya Station, I walked through the glass door of Grapes, just to double-check.

  Hugh Glendinning was seated at the bar, one khakied leg crossed over the other, bent attentively toward someone smaller sitting next to him. I didn’t have to crane my neck to know it was a woman. A girl, to be honest—she didn’t look older than twenty-one. She must have had super connections to land herself a seat at a sophisticated spot such as Grapes on New Year’s Eve. She was wearing a yellow sweater-dress that showed off a slim figure, and had crossed her legs to reveal that she was wearing sharp stilettos that made my own high heels appear modest. She was what people called a parasite single, a young Japanese person who lived to dress fabulously, and who spent all her income on pleasure.

  Several ideas flashed through me. The first was that it was typical of Hugh to find out Tokyo’s hottest new hangout within twenty-four hours of arrival, and to be there with an office lady from his old company. That was the most charitable interpretation of the girl that I could make. The excitement I’d felt upon finding him was definitely tinged with paranoia.

  I twisted the emerald ring—this was becoming my new nervous habit—and walked forward, silently rehearsing my greeting. But before I had to break the ice, Hugh had swiveled around on his stool and was beaming at me.

  “Darling! You got the message after all.”

  “I didn’t,” I said, backing away from the embrace he seemed to be threatening me with. “I just happened to be walking by—” I decided not to say “to go home,” because it sounded too pathetic to be turning in as early as this on New Year’s Eve.

  “Ohisashi buri, neh?” the girl with him bleated, then lunged forward unexpectedly and snuggled her arms around me. “Long time no see” was a weird thing for someone I didn’t recognize to be saying to me. And I could only guess she was hugging me because she was drunk, since the Japanese didn’t touch people casually.

  I patted her back quickly and set her on her feet, looking into her face. Who in the world was this person? I wished Hugh would introduce her, but he’d bounced up and gone looking for another bar stool. Apparently, I was being invited to join their tête-à-tête.

  “Rei-chan, let me see the rock.” The girl grabbed my left hand and ogled. “Oh, very nice. That’s the kind I want. Oh, and one just like him. He’s a sweetie!”

  Well, the competition was awfully friendly. Calling me little Rei, even though I should have been Shimura-san to her. Hugh must have been talking about me. I hadn’t needed to be jealous after all. I smiled warmly and asked, “Is this the first time you’ve met Hugh?”

  “Yes, of course! Mama sent me to find him, after giving me a perfect description.”

  Mama. Now my back went up. Was she some kind of bar girl or hooker with a Mama-san employer?

  Hugh came back. “I can’t find an extra stool, love. Why don’t you take my stool so you can sit next to your cousin.” He stood up, stretched, and sighed. “You won’t believe the wild-goose chase I went on today. I got a voice mail left on my phone that the guy we were looking for—you know, the potential plaintiff—was at a certain address in Kawasaki. When I got there, I found out it didn’t exist. Imagine me with my pitiful Japanese trying to find out from the neighbors if this person ever lived there. Of course, he didn’t. What I’d like to say to the paralegal who sent me out on the road all day for nothing—well, I can’t say it, not in front of your cousin.”

  Cousin. He said it again. Was Hugh’s mystery woman my cousin Chika—Norie and Hiroshi’s daughter, and Tom’s little sister? She’d been seventeen the last time I’d seen her. If this was her, say she’d grown up would have been an understatement.

  “Rei-chan, what’s wrong?” the girl asked. “Are you ill?”

  “Chika? I—I didn’t recognize you.” I leaned over and hugged her again, this time with feeling.

  “None for me?” Hugh made an expression of mock anxiety.

  “Later,” I said, giving him my first real smile of the evening.

  “Well, Chika is a good sport. She’s delayed going to her friends’ New Year’s party to escort me to your apartment. Apparently, your aunt had a key and directions.”

  “You’re awfully far from my apartment,” I commented.

  “This was to be our meeting place. The Toyoko Line comes to Shibuya, as you know,” Chika said. “I told Hugh-san to meet me in this place so I wouldn’t get cold waiting outside.”

  Or targeted by a rapist, I thought, taking a sip from the glass of champagne the smiling Australian tending bar set before me, unbidden. It was good—the first decent booze I’d had all night.

  “Good, isn’t it? We had a glass of that already. Don’t worry, I checked to make sure she really was twenty-one.” Hugh winked at the bartender.

  “I would have guessed twenty-five,” I said, and Chika smiled. She was still young enough to want to look older. I turned to Hugh again. “Anyway, I’m so glad you made it! But before I get totally looped, I’ve got to bring you up to speed.”

  “Actually, Rei, why don’t you leave that till later, after we’ve seen Chika off.”

  “I can get to the party myself,” Chika protested. “It’s just a few blocks away.”

  Hugh and I exchanged amused glances, and I realized all of a sudden what it might feel like to be parents.

  After I finished the glass of champagne, we did walk Chika to the party. It turned out to be more like a mile away, but at least we saw that the guests were really her age, and not the older lecherous types I’d feared they’d be. After we said good-bye to Chika, we placed a quick call to Norie on Hugh’s cell phone to let her know where Chika was. Then midnight struck, and the temple bells began clanging. Hugh and I kissed—our first real kiss of the night, and of the New Year.

  The subway was definitely closed by now, so we went straight to a busy corner to wait for a taxi. In a low voice, I told Hugh about how I’d met Ramon Espinosa—and how doubtful I was that he’d want to be part of the class action.

  “Let’s go back together and I’ll take a try,” Hugh said. “Tomorrow. We can bring him a New Year’s present.”

  “I don’t like that idea,” I said quietly. It reminded me too much of what we’d done with Rosa.

  “Why not?” Hugh squeezed my hand. “It doesn’t have to be anything big, since you say he’s comfortably off. But there’s got to be some kind of good luck gift for the New Year that would be appreciated.”

  “It would seem like a bribe. Or, at the very least, he’d have to return the favor.”

  “I see,” Hugh said. “Oi, there’s a cab stopping.
Can you believe our luck?”

  It had only been twenty minutes, so we were lucky indeed. As we got in and settled ourselves, I thought more about how we could approach Ramon Espinosa again. He had said he’d take me as an acupuncture client. I explained my idea to Hugh.

  “He seemed most excited to work on my knee. He said my problems there are a manifestation of my wood liver.”

  “You’re right, it’s a good excuse to go back. But you’d better tell me what a wood liver is—I don’t want you missing out on hospital treatment if you’re seriously ill—”

  “I don’t think it’s that extreme. All he said is a wood liver can cause me trouble in my relationships—”

  “Our relationship is perfect.”

  But not the one I have with my father, I thought. “I’m glad you’re happy with me. And I’m willing to take you back there with me. But let me make all the introductions. I think I’d be better in a dominant role—”

  “I so agree,” Hugh said, and from the look in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t thinking about the plaintiff anymore.

  16

  When I woke up New Year’s morning, I was naked, yet so much warmer than usual that I thought I was back in America. Then I recognized the lumpy futon under me, and Hugh’s shoulders and head a few inches away. There is no better thing in the world than waking up with someone you love—someone who’s already done the thankless job of creeping out into the cold to turn on the space heater and brew tea.

  Hugh was on his side, facing away from me, reading something; I ran my fingers down his bare back to let him know I was awake—and appreciated his presence.

  “Good morning, darling.” Hugh rolled around to kiss me. “Finally. I’ve been up since five.”

  “A few days ago, I was waking at four. But it does go away. Spending the day in sunlight helps.”

  “I know,” Hugh said. “And even though it’s gray out, I’m racing to go. Even though you said Ramon Espinosa doesn’t want to take part in the lawsuit, I want to talk to him. How early do you think we can appear at his flat?”

  “Um, we’re expected at my aunt’s today for New Year’s lunch. Since we missed last night’s noodles, this is really crucial. Could I take you to Ramon Espinosa’s afterward, when we’re coming back into town? Mid-afternoon’s a proper time for a New Year’s visit, I think.”

  “You probably think I’m a piranha,” Hugh said, sighing.

  “I used to think that, sometimes,” I said. “But now that I’m in love with you, I tolerate it. However, I really think you’re not going to get what you need from Ramon. You’ll see when you meet him. He’s quite content with his life. He doesn’t want to dredge up old memories.”

  Hugh was silent for a minute. “So, I won’t ask him about that. Maybe, though, he’ll have names for me of others who might want to do it.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t really agree. I didn’t want to think about it. The first thing on the agenda was getting Hugh in the right frame of mind to talk to my relatives, who hadn’t seen him in almost two years. I insisted that he wear a suit, and I did as well.

  “It’s not a bloody wedding,” Hugh grumbled as he rummaged about in his suitcase for a fresh shirt.

  “No, it’s not. But it is the most important holiday of the year. You’ll see.”

  It was a glorious New Year’s lunch. Aunt Norie had outdone herself, preparing in advance twenty-five perfect dishes, arranged with precision in the three antique lacquered boxes that had been used for New Year’s foods by the Shimuras since the turn of the century, when my great-grandfather’s mother had bought the set from a famed lacquer artist in Kamakura. I took some notes on their history and used Tom’s fancy new digital camera to snap some pictures of the boxes, so beautifully filled up with food.

  While Hugh and Tom caught up on old times, Aunt Norie fussed over Chika, who appeared unusually sleepy, with her head flopping down and her eyes closing. Chika was a far cry from the glamour-puss of New Year’s Eve; this morning she merely looked like a kid who’d stayed out too late, had had too much to drink, and was living with the consequences. I wondered how she’d gotten home from her party; had she caught a ride or waited until New Year’s morning, when the trains ran again?

  I longed for a moment alone with my younger cousin, but Norie wanted to immediately open the fine bottle of Fukushima sake that I’d brought to toast the holiday. As my aunt offered the carefully warmed spirits in tiny, dark blue lacquered glasses, everyone said Kampai except for Chika, who had a big glass of water next to her untouched cup of green tea. She’d taken no food. I could understand why a hungover person might not want to chew a grilled giant prawn with its head and whiskers still attached—or the tiny squid that had been cooked to the point that they curled into the shape of pinecones. Hugh was eyeing these things a bit nervously himself. Below the din of voices, I encouraged him to try the safe bets: sweet, sake-simmered root vegetables, the fancy hard boiled eggs, the grilled salmon, and the daikon root and carrot that had been knotted together to look like a New Year’s rope. Everything Norie had prepared was symbolic of different elements of nature, which in turn were symbolic of the New Year and good wishes for the future. This was the kind of Japanese cooking that I admired most and had already spent many pages chronicling for my family history.

  “Have you decided on the shrine?” Norie asked me in English so Hugh would understand. “Or do you want a wedding hall? Some wedding halls can do Shinto, Buddhist, or Christian ceremonies—all three if you like! And of course, they can rent you all three gowns.”

  “What’s this about three wedding gowns for Rei? Isn’t that rather…fancy?” Hugh asked Norie.

  Chika coughed in her napkin as if she were dying. Norie shot her a reproving glare, then explained, “Oh, no, three is normal, Hugh-san. At a Japanese wedding, the bride wears a kimono for the Shinto ceremony, a white wedding dress for the reception, and a short, colorful formal gown when she and the groom lead off the dancing.”

  “Um, that is more than I would need,” I interjected. “I was thinking of finding a vintage wedding kimono somewhere.”

  Uncle Hiroshi chuckled. “If your grandparents were alive, they would be upset at your wearing old clothes for a wedding.”

  And even more upset at my choice of a foreign groom, I thought. The whole topic was making me uncomfortable, so I decided to steer the conversation away from nuptials.

  “I finally went to the library and read the letter that Hirohito sent us,” I said. I waited a beat for everyone to quiet. “You won’t believe how well he knew Great-Grandfather!”

  “You mean, Showa Tenno,” my aunt corrected with a smile, so I knew she wasn’t trying to embarrass me.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I forgot, we do it differently in the West. But did you know that Great-Grandfather was his teacher? Actually, he taught the emperor Japanese history back in the thirties.”

  “Ah so desu ka,” Norie said, shaking her head gently. “I knew Shimura-sensei was a famous professor, but not that he’d taught the emperor himself!”

  “He wasn’t a teacher, but a private tutor,” Uncle Hiroshi said.

  “So, that’s it! I couldn’t understand how the past emperor could have studied with Great-Grandfather. But if it was a tutoring situation, that’s more befitting royalty,” I said.

  “The emperor had a number of tutors—all leading scholars carefully chosen,” Hiroshi said. “Our ancestor discussed the importance of Japanese history with him.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I asked.

  “I thought you knew it already. You know more about our family than anyone, neh?” Hiroshi said.

  I paused, wondering if that was a slight jab. But I pressed Uncle Hiroshi to tell me more. He told us that Kazuo Shimura—during the time he was a star professor at Tokyo University—was invited by the Imperial Household Agency to teach the fifteen-year-old crown prince history. He had been a natural choice because he had written a popular textbook on the history of the Meiji Peri
od.

  I hadn’t known about the textbook, but from my own brief studies in the political history of Japan, I knew that the military government officials who controlled Hirohito’s education hoped that the crown prince would want to become an emperor who would finally fulfill expansionist dreams.

  “Did you ever read Great-Grandfather’s textbook?” I asked Hiroshi as Norie went into the kitchen to warm up the chestnut and bean soup she’d prepared for dessert.

  “Yes, years ago. We have a copy. I think it’s with some old papers and photographs, but I’m not sure.”

  “After we’ve finished eating, may I look around for it?” I asked. “Just tell me where the family history materials are, and I’ll be very careful.”

  “But you can’t read Japanese. How will you find it?” Uncle Hiroshi asked.

  “I’ll help her with that,” Tom volunteered.

  “Good plan,” Hugh said. “While you do that, I’ll have a chance to sit down with Aunt Norie and look at the Japanese bridal magazines she’s bought to help us with our wedding preparations. But can we still try to get back to Tokyo around three?”

  “What do you have to do in Tokyo? Do you need me to help with directions again?” Chika asked.

  It was the first thing she’d said during lunch. I sensed she was angling for a way to go back to the city. What was wrong with Chika? Was she going through a normal rebellion, or was there some deep unhappiness between her and her family?

  “Rei knows how to get there. It’s a place I need to see for my work. Too boring to explain,” Hugh said. Obviously, he didn’t want to bring up the class action with them. But it would have to surface, sooner or later.

  While I helped my aunt clean up, Chika lay down on the couch with a compress on her forehead, too tired to participate. Then I joined Tom in the search of Uncle Hiroshi’s file cabinet. We found the family documents amidst other things—old gas and electric bills, the deed to the house, and countless bank statements.