“Respect of my company’s resources, especially given that, as you and I both know, you are not a paying client—”
“What’s this about, Martin? Gavin touched a nerve, innit.”
“No, it’s not that, Kenji, it’s—”
“Some big top-secret case?”
“It’s the principle, all right? Gavin Moniz will have no further involvement in the Caines family soap opera.”
“Soap opera. Daytime or prime-time, Martin? I ask because I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself.”
“What’re you talking about, Kenji?”
A sigh, Martin feigning weariness. Like he hadn’t instigated the whole thing.
“You’ve aroused my curiosity,” I said. “See, I’m pretty close to positive that I’ve never discussed the Caines family with you.”
Silence. Just briefly. Then he tried to parry my question with a question. “What’s your interest in that insurance company?”
“What’s yours?”
“Why Gavin? You and I both know that if you needed something from BRMS, you should’ve just asked me.”
“What kind of case is it, Martin?”
This went on a little longer. We got nowhere.
Nabi and I had been apart thirty-six hours and so much had happened that a frightful apprehension shook me when I picked her up from work—how alienated I was from myself. Even worse, she was quiet. And that set off a clanging in my head like the Town Crier.
“What’s wrong, nikkou?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t even worry with it, trying that with me.”
“You never called me last night.”
“Figured your nieces kept you busy. You know, since you never called me either.”
Was this just teenagerish ire? Yes. Was this adolescent drama spurting out of two cognitively developed adults in puerile squeaks? Yes, it was. I knew that. Nabi knew that. We knew it was humiliating. But you see, I was ready to snap like a twig underfoot. And imagine the sheer torture of Nabi not saying anything all day and then not speaking all the way home. Dying in my own Middle Passage, a matter of slow implosion. My stomach burned, my throat dried up. Soon as we got home, I planned to head for the library and sneak a book into the bathroom, let Collected Hardy galvanize my inner pessimist.
Nabi got to me first. She touched my arm as I was taking off my shoes. She wrapped her arms around me as far as they would go. I kissed the top of her head and said, “You first.”
See, I thought this was acegirl’s warmup for an apology. The breezy way she’d stabbed me through the heart in my own closet where I’d followed her unarmored. The sunny way she’d sashayed into the day while I suffocated in sorrow. I held her and waited for what I was due.
She said, “No, you first, baby.”
Now, my fuse was somewhat shorter than usual. I deserved an apology, I wanted it, and I was tired of the runaround, tired of fuckups and dissemblance and excuses. From the woman I love, a little candor isn’t much to ask. I decided she was trying to goad me into some kind of confession so both of us would end up apologizing and courtesy would force me to accept her apology without making a fuss after she so graciously accepted mine. Childish? Absolutely. Convoluted? Indubitably. But think about what I’d been through! Anyway, I wouldn’t have it. Yes, I’d been up to no good, but that just wasn’t the point. I found myself wanting to accuse her of something just to get the apologies rolling. It didn’t have to be Martin. I knew that line of questioning would only make things worse. I took it anyway.
“Did you go telling Martin what Masami and those lot did to me?”
“Baby, of course not. You told me that stuff in confidence.”
“Well, aceboy said—”
I didn’t get to finish. Maybe it was just as well. All I had was Martin’s reference to the “Caines family soap opera.” This was no indication that he knew too much about my business; he was merely stating the obvious. But anyway, Nabi flipped.
“You talked to Martin? I mean, but, Kenji, what’re you doing talking to Martin, I mean without me? Baby, what’s going on?”
Poor nikkou! I understood too late as usual. She was afraid I’d gone to Martin in the fraught aftermath of the walk-in closet, told that sea-pudding everything, and destroyed every reason for living. Her dismay was genuine. Like everything about her. And that’s what I get for letting everything she may or may not say drive me to the very brink of scared stupid. I should’ve just backed down. Apologized, let Nabi say what she needed to say. But you know my state of mind, I was too wound up already.
I stiffened and said, “Nothing like that. You really think I’d do something like that? Throw everything away?”
She said, “Kenji.”
Not exactly a denial. Cold slithered down my back, I felt the upper hand slipping away (I’d never had it in the first place, I was just being a bully), and I thought this was just too much and didn’t dare let her say anything else. I cut to the chase instead.
Nabi knows all Martin’s people from insipid BRMS get-togethers. She knows Gavin went to Boston and there made my acquaintance. What kind of acquaintance? That part she doesn’t know. But if he sold me out to Martin, Gavin would never work again and he knows it. So I was up-front. “Look, I asked Gavin Moniz to find some info for me, stuff about Clocktower.”
“You got BRMS involved in this?”
She seemed appalled. Like I was the one running some kind of conspiracy.
“Not BRMS, just Gavin. The guy did me a favor. It’s none of Martin’s business, he just stuck his nose in, calling me, talking about some Caines family soap opera. Bye’s got some crust.”
“So you didn’t tell him about the suicide note business.”
“No. He’s a poky snobers and that’s all there is to it.”
“That’s not all, Kenji. Far from it. You’re on his radar now. He’ll get suspicious. He’ll be watching.”
“Sounds like he already was.”
But she sighed and shook her head, pressing the bridge of her nose like a manager who’s found somebody’s expensive mistake. She spoke to me that way too. “Why’d you stick our necks out like that, baby?”
“Like what?”
“Martin could find out about us.”
“Told you I didn’t even mention—”
“You didn’t have to. I can guess how you handled that conversation.”
“How I handled it?”
“And knowing Martin, his antennas are way up. He could find out, and for what? You put us at risk for what, for Aetna Simmons?”
She said Aetna Simmons in a tone straight out of the freezer. And I’d begun to feel like I was falling, so I grabbed it.
I said, “You’re not jealous, are you?”
Pathetic. I know. I even tried a depraved grin. Fortunately Nabi didn’t give it the time of day. I could’ve puddled with relief when she said, “Duneenwurrywifit.” This translates roughly as forget about it, you can’t be serious. She added, “Bye, look who’s talking anyhow.”
She sat on a kitchen stool, squeezing the back of her neck. I fell over myself to massage it for her. Her shoulders were stiff and hard as those wedges in the road; west of Somerset they’re speedbumps, east of St. George’s sleeping policemen. I put kisses all over Nabi’s face till her smile broke out, she couldn’t stop it. She held me from behind, her cheek against my back, as I made her a cup of tea and put rice in the steamer.
“Baby, I didn’t say nothing to Martin. You know that, right?”
Course I knew it. It came down to this, Nabi thought: Martin was trained for flying leaps between circumstances and potential conclusions. Some such daredevil excursion must’ve brought him soap-
operatic visions. I nominated Masami. Nabi’s counter-theory was so freakish I spilled the oyster sauce and drenched the vegetables.
Let me
back up, explain the circumstances. It won’t take long.
My brother was stalking me. You might call it cyber-stalking since I hadn’t actually seen my brother, only his countless texts and emails. He wanted me to join him for a drink. My brother. Erik-Katsuo Okada-Caines.
The same individual who called me a snob and claimed my black shirts embarrassed him in public. Years of silence and then, out of the blue, some days before the ruined vegetables, the guy starts getting cozy with my inboxes. I ignored him. He was persistent, that’s the Masami in him, so I marked him as spam.
Now for the endangerment of the oyster sauce. According to Nabi, on the previous afternoon, while I was being stupendously, athletically hoodwinked by UnDoreen NonTrimm, Erik turned up at Bull’s Head Shreds. For the third time in barely as many days.
Looking for me, he said. He’d texted, he said. He’d heard nothing back, so he thought he’d check me at work.
Impatient. Thank Masami for that. I imagined my brother tapping on Nabi’s door, manicured fingers wiggling at her through the glass. Pink Bermuda shorts, bright green tie and knee-high socks, a flaccid smile intended to showcase his practiced timidity and mental quietude.
“You were already having trouble sleeping,” Nabi said. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“What the hell did he want?” I was now running around with paper towels.
“I’m still not sure exactly. You know how he is, baby, he’ll talk half around the world before coming to the point.”
This is true. Give Erik five minutes, he’ll complain about everything from the color of your tie to the color of his tie to his star sign to the Premier’s horoscope.
“Thing is, the first time he came by, Martin was there.” Nabi helped me mop up the stove. “It was lunchtime. We’re half out the door, Erik’s trying to come in. Martin heard when Erik said you weren’t returning his messages. Guess he jumped to the conclusion that there’s something going on.”
“Whole lotta nothin.”
“Poor Erik.”
“Poor Erik? He ended up right where he wanted, and girl I guarantee it he in’t suffering.”
“Well, he’s anxious about something. Looking for his brother like he needs—”
“He needs a slap upside the head. There is nothing I have that he could possibly want. Masami put him up to spying on me or some shit.”
“Language.”
“Sorry, nikkou.”
“I don’t know. He seemed… Anyway, Martin must’ve sensed something. Him and his people-reading skills.”
I was set to make a crack about the walking polygraph when something struck me. “Nabi, if Martin had a case, you know, to do with CAM or the stuff I’m working on, you’d tell me, right?”
She poured at least a cup of sugar on those saturated veggies, trying to make them bearable. She took them to the table. Then she took the rice. She came back and took my hand. “If it was your family, of course I’d tell you, baby. Provided I had anything to tell. Which wouldn’t be too likely, you know that. Martin’s not supposed to say things about his clients.”
“But if it looked, you know, like his work and my work might sort of coincide. Clocktower, for example.”
She dropped my hand. Turned away, pulled out a stool.
“You’d tell me, right, Nabi?”
“You’ve got enough for a novel.”
“What I’ve got are questions. Look, is Martin on this case or what? Is he investigating Clocktower? Just tell me. Is that why you’re being like this?”
“You need to leave that poor dead girl alone, Kenji. If I can’t make you realize that, well, I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”
She was walking away. The counter, where she’d dropped her bag. Her phone was ringing.
“Don’t give me that look, baby. I’m not trying to frustrate you or something. I know too well what it feels like. Yes, Martin?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said.
“No, I’m all right, you know, just a hard—”
The bastard cut her off. I went and slid my arms around her.
The way Nabi looked at me. Was it helpless? Searching me for some assurance and trying to get a word in with Martin. I tried to search her too. I whispered, “What is it, nikkou? Let me.” But she shook her head. I drew her close, put my lips to her brow, stroking her back.
“I don’t have the invitation, Martin. If you don’t have it either, what do you—no, Martin. I’m not saying you never had it. If you think you got it, then you got it—What? No, I’m not Questioning Your Integrity, when have I ever—Martin. Please listen, all right? I’m just saying if we can’t find the invitation, we won’t get in. Fine, I’ll call them. Whatever. No, no, I’m not, I told you last week I didn’t feel up to going, but you wouldn’t—Yes, Martin, I just said I’d call them. Now goodnight. I’m not upset, I’m tired. Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow. Okay. Okay. Have a safe flight.”
She hung up. For a moment I held her, whispering, “It’s okay, you’re with me. You’re okay, kiseki.” But she pulled away. She put her phone into her bag. She sat down at the table and thanked God for His gifts of nourishment and grace.
She mumbled to her bowl. “Don’t think I don’t know you haven’t told me everything.”
How is it that the extent of her fragility eluded me?
Reaching for each other in the dark across the abyss of the unspoken. Which of us was more afraid? Me, I thought. My façades were crumbling. My brother was stalking me. My star product had found its way to what might’ve been a murder scene. And I’d slept with someone who, let’s face it, was sniffing undercover for somebody. Aetna, my vocation, my vision, so long awaited. Gavin’s hint that Masami might’ve held the strings on it from the beginning. And the only real truth in my entire life, hiding her truth from me. Without her I’ll have nothing, you realize that.
In my arms, sometimes she slept, sometimes prayed. Caressing my chin, my shoulder, thinking I was asleep. I heard her say, “Lord, protect my Kenji.” Christ, I should’ve known.
Nabi, forgive me. I’ve texted her: forgive me.
It shouldn’t surprise you that my nightmare was scarier than ever. Books, labyrinth, helter-skelter. And Masami had a stain around her mouth, red-brown. The feather was shiny and rigid. I awoke in the usual style, my fists at my temples; I swallowed a parade of nasty words. Nabi said, “Talk to me, baby,” as she massaged my chest out of NASCAR qualification range. But reality pressed in just like those labyrinthine walls. I turned on the water in the bathroom while I went peezin to the library for a pill.
When I returned, I put my cheek in the curve of Nabi’s breast. I closed my eyes and said in a voice reduced by shame, “I’m in a maze of books. None of them are mine…”
I owed it to her. When I finished, she considered in silence.
She said, “The books are black because they can’t be read.”
“They’re Aetna’s suicide notes.”
“They can’t be read,” said Nabi. She sounded distant though her hand moved softly up and down my arm. “After you see the books, you run into something terrible. Something frightens you so bad it takes your momma’s shape and you can’t escape it. Because of the books.”
I sort of wanted to tease her. Dr. Freud, your replacement has arrived. But my voice would only form a feeble comment. “I’m not frightened of Masami.”
Nabi just patted my shoulder. “You know what you gotta do.”
“What?”
“Forget the books.”
What more did that warrant than a sigh?
“Baby, Aetna Simmons went to stand before Jesus. What happens to her is up to Him.”
“Maybe.” I summarized my conclusions based on what I’d learned. CAM and Clocktower both had a lot to gain from Aetna as long as she stayed hidden. Erik was probably a spy, dispatched to Bull�
�s Head to find out what I knew or even make threats, sent by the ikiryou whose spectral eyes shadowed my every step.
Nabi’s hand stopped moving. As I recall, so did her breath. She said in a strange voice, “Kenji, that’s your mother.”
I shrugged. Apples don’t fall far.
“On Martin’s radar.”
Martin and his radar. I propped myself on an elbow so I could look at Nabi’s face. She gnawed her lip and stared at the ceiling.
“What is it?” I said. “We’ve been all right for years, haven’t we? Trust me, he doesn’t know anything.”
“You don’t get it, baby.”
“He has better things to do than try to mess around with me.”
Nabi wanted to say more, I’m sure of it. She didn’t, just looked scared. She kissed me in that fearful, grasping way; like wheeling around the rudder and making a break for it even though we knew we couldn’t outrun the darkening sky, the clouds solidifying into labyrinthine walls that would dam the ocean into rapids tumbling through ever-narrowing tunnels. Like trying to outrun time, that’s what. When a light flashed in the dark, her phone sounded the alarm: morning was upon us, it was time for her to go; and enwrapped in panic I said, “Don’t,” and she said, “Come. Come with me, baby, and stay close.”
We got to town & K said, “Call Iesha. Come back tonight.” I was getting out of the car. I closed the door again & looked at him. & I knew from that look that what Iesha said was nothing, I knew from how he’d held me in the dark. Mercy Lord I found myself holding his hand again & he said, “Come back & stay, Nabi.”
Lord what could I do?? He had the kind of wild look that makes me worry, but it’s Thursday & I can’t be micin Thursdays, the day’s business gotta be wrapped up by the time Martin comes cuz the poor sight’s gonna be tired, just off the plane and everything, & this particular Thurs we had that “function” to go to, Lord have mercy I cannot rock that boat just now. I looked at his eyes aching (I mean K) & I was aching too. 1st thing in the morning & we’re both all up a tree. I had a not-good feeling K wasn’t just asking for one more snuggle but something else, something I can’t do. It wasn’t the right way to answer, it was like being tricky about it, & that wasn’t what we needed, but it just came out, “Don’t you love us just the way we are, Baby?”
Drafts of a Suicide Note Page 19