They set off, marching quickly with a sense of grim purpose. Nancy had such a determined set to her jaw that, although she looked very cold—she was almost shivering—Matt was afraid to say anything. When they reached the bar district, Nancy suddenly turned to him and said, “From here on, you better lead the way.”
“But there are hundreds of bars and dance halls. Actually I don’t know that many.”
“Well, you’re still one up on me. I’ve never set foot in a single one. Stop shilly-shallying, Matt. If we’re going to find Fumi’s sister, we have to start somewhere.”
They turned down a side street that Matt knew would bring them close to the infamous Lily Pad Dance and Drink Hall. Two men squatted in front of the door, smoking cigarettes. They did not stand up when Matt approached, so he had to bend over to show them Sumiko’s photograph. He returned to where Nancy was standing several yards back.
“They didn’t know her.”
“This is only the first place we’ve tried. Did they have any suggestions where else we should look?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Oh, Matt.” Nancy sounded exasperated. “Okay, shall we just continue down this street?”
The next dance hall was much smaller and more cheerful looking. The walls were painted with colorful palm trees, and a bright orange neon sign flashed on and off. The door was closed.
“Guess they’re not open yet.” Matt shoved his hands in his pockets.
“Somebody must be there though. The sign’s lit.” Nancy went up to one of the windows but the bottom sill was a good foot above her head, too high for her to see inside.
She returned to the front of the building and knocked on the door. There was no response.
“It’s probably too early,” Matt said. “Let’s go.”
No sooner had he spoken than the door swung open and a middle-aged man with a pencil-thin mustache peered out. He was wearing a wrinkled white shirt, and behind one ear was the stub of an unlit cigarette. He looked at Nancy, then at Matt, and then back at Nancy.
“We’re looking for someone.” Matt spoke quickly. He showed the man Sumiko’s picture. “Have you ever seen this woman? Do you know where she is?”
The man took the photograph from Matt and held it at an angle close to his face. “Sorry, can’t help you. Never seen her before.” As he handed the picture back to Matt, he tipped his head in Nancy’s direction. “If she needs work, though, we might have an opening. Can start right away.”
“Thanks for your time.” Matt tugged on the back of Nancy’s blouse to pull her away.
They walked for a few minutes in silence until Nancy suddenly exploded. “What a creep! He must have thought you were my pimp.”
They continued trudging up and down the back alleys of the Ginza. At each bar and dance hall they came to, it was Matt’s job to go inside and show the photograph. Everywhere they went, it was the same. Searching for one woman among thousands, he realized, was madness. Inwardly he cursed the stupid idea he’d had, and he cursed Nancy’s willingness to help out.
“We’re going about this all wrong.” Nancy plucked the photograph from his hand. “We’re asking the men when we should be asking other women. All these women are in the same position as Sumiko is. Somebody has to know her; somebody will recognize her.”
She began running up to women on the street who were alone or in pairs. “Excuse me, sumimasen. Do you know this woman by any chance? No? You’re certain? I see. Well, thank you for your time.”
One after another, women looked at the photograph and shook their heads until the last one Nancy approached. This woman had some advice. Pointing down a squalid-looking unlit lane, she said, “I’m sorry I can’t help you, but you might try going this way. There are a lot of dormitories and rooming houses on this dead-end street. Maybe you’ll find the person you’re looking for there.”
The narrow lane looked distinctly unsavory. After they thanked the woman for her tip, Matt turned to Nancy. “It’s getting really late. I think we should give up and go home.”
“Are you ready to give up so easily?” Nancy started down the lane ahead of him. “Come on.”
At the first building they came to, she knocked loudly on the door. “Sumimasen. Sorry to bother you. Tomodachi o sagashite imasu. We’re looking for a friend.”
Door after door, no one answered.
“Nancy, let’s call it quits.”
“Okay. Just one more place.”
They had reached the end of the cul-de-sac. A crudely lettered sign, TACHIBANA DORMITORY, stood next to a row of battered mailboxes. A miniature American flag was stuck in one of the slots.
“One last try,” Nancy said, pounding on the first door. “Sumimasen! We’re looking for a friend.”
As with the other places they had tried, no one answered. After five doors, Matt put his arm in front of Nancy to stop her from continuing.
“That’s enough,” he said.
They retraced their steps toward the now extremely crowded streets where they had begun their search. The temperature had fallen, and the dance halls and bars were too busy for them to make further inquiries. They didn’t dare approach any more women on the street, either, for most were no longer walking alone; they clung to the arms of their GI clients or boyfriends.
Even Nancy had to admit defeat. “Oh, Matt, I’m really sorry. It’s so disappointing. I honestly thought we could find her.”
“Let’s forget about it.”
“It seemed like such a good idea. Maybe we can try again tomorrow.”
“We’ve done enough.”
“I’m serious, there must be something else we can do.”
“No.”
“But it might be different if we have a fresh start.”
Her persistence touched a nerve and he snapped at her. “I said forget it, Nancy. It’s pointless.”
“Don’t you want to find her?”
“What? A missing bar girl? You’re the one who said she probably doesn’t want to be found.”
“I shouldn’t have said that. It was wrong.”
“Well, you’ve convinced me.”
“But don’t you want to find her for Fumi’s sake? Didn’t you say you felt bad about letting Fumi down?”
“I can’t help Fumi. She should learn to accept reality.”
“But you can help her, Matt.”
“No, I can’t. I can’t help her. I can’t help anyone.”
“But I’m sure you can.”
Matt stopped abruptly in the middle of the street. People streamed around them. “Why are you doing this?” he demanded.
“What do you mean? I want to help. I want to help you.”
“Well, you’re wasting your time. It’s pointless.”
“What is? Trying to help another human being? Trying to do the right thing? Is that pointless?” She had a look of utter confusion and hurt on her face.
“Yes, goddammit. Especially trying to do the right thing. Nobody ever thanks you for doing the right thing.”
“Don’t get mad at me, Matt, please.” She put her hand on his arm and the unexpected gesture made him stiffen involuntarily. She dropped her hand.
“I better go,” she said. Without waiting for a reply she turned and was immediately swallowed up in the crowd.
Matt stood where he was, letting his body be buffeted by passing groups of panpan and GIs. Everyone seemed to be drunk or pretending to be.
“Move out of the way, would ya,” a beefy GI yelled. He gave Matt a stiff shove with his shoulder, slamming him into the side of a building.
Matt put his hands in front of his face just in time to avoid having his nose broken against the wall. Out of the corner of one eye he saw the kaleidoscope of humanity swirling past—white skin, yellow, black, brown. Close by, a woman shrieked with laughter. When the crowd had moved on and he had room to maneuver, he reached into his pocket and pulled out Sumiko’s photograph. It was too dark to see anything, not her face, not her eyes, not the sparkling
hairpin in her black hair. But it didn’t matter because he already knew what was there. He ripped the picture in half, then in quarters, and continued tearing as many times as he could until the pieces were too small to grip with his fingertips, too small to tear. Until there was nothing left of the woman at all.
38
“You’ll never find your way on your own,” Fumi shouted after Aya’s retreating figure.
She wanted to add “Good riddance! I’m glad I don’t have to take care of you anymore.” But she didn’t say those words out loud—she let them ring inside her chest—harsh, mean words that she suddenly felt ashamed of even thinking. She watched Aya walk away, and although she was tempted to run after her and say she was sorry, she did nothing. Whatever regret she might have felt for what she had said in anger, some core of stubbornness and willful pride that she’d had since she was a small child made it impossible for her to chase after Aya. She could only stay right where she was and wait. Aya would come back, she was sure of that.
“You’ll get lost,” she muttered under her breath. “You need me.”
In the distance Aya turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
“You’re jealous,” Fumi had said. But wasn’t the truth that she was the one who’d felt jealous watching Aya and Nancy in the coffee shop? The way Nancy kept grabbing Aya’s hand, the way they had chattered in English, completely ignoring Fumi. Nancy looked Japanese but she didn’t act like one. She had a loose way of moving her arms and legs, and she laughed with her mouth wide open so you could see her teeth and sometimes even her tongue. She didn’t have a loud voice, but somehow it felt loud. It had filled the coffee shop, echoed off the walls. Aya had laughed at everything Nancy said. She had looked at her so eagerly it was pathetic, like a puppy anxious to be petted.
But what bothered Fumi the most was this: What if Aya was right? What if Sumiko really was happier without Fumi in her life? The moon had risen and now shone like a tight drum in the cloudless sky. The air felt cold and dry. Fumi retraced her steps, scanning the ground for her sandals, but they were nowhere in sight. She tried seeking shelter in the entranceway to a small tobacco shop, but there wasn’t much protection from the wind, so after a few minutes she went all the way to the end of the lane where a low narrow building blocked any further passage. The rows of doors along the side of the building stretched back into the darkness, and in front was a large sign—TACHIBANA DORMITORY—and a set of mailboxes. Someone had glued a miniature American flag to a chopstick and pushed it into the top of one of the slots. Fumi was about to reach up and touch the flag when she heard someone coming out of the building. She crouched behind the mailboxes.
It was a GI and a Japanese woman. When they were almost in front of Fumi, the man turned around and pulled the woman toward him. All Fumi could see were their legs, so close together the woman’s tiny feet were almost standing on top of the man’s big shoes. They stood like this for what felt to Fumi like an eternity before walking away.
“Gosh, that’s so romantic, don’t you think?”
The voice came from behind her. Fumi turned around to find herself face-to-face with a girl who didn’t look all that much older than she was. The girl grinned broadly, revealing a big gap between her two front teeth. Fumi felt her face flush. It was mortifying to be caught watching the couple, but the other girl didn’t appear to be embarrassed in the least.
“I can’t wait to be an only. How about you?” The girl had a rough accent. She was wearing a cheap kimono and her hair was tied back in a braid. “Haven’t seen you here before. You new?”
Although she wasn’t sure what she meant, Fumi nodded.
“Me, too,” the girl said. “You come from far?”
“Not too far,” Fumi said vaguely. “Do you live here?”
“Of course! Want to see our room? I can’t tell you how nice it is. My big sisters are all really nice, too.”
“Your sisters live here?”
“They’re not my real sisters, silly. They’re showing me the ropes, and I have to run errands for them. Most of the time they’re out or too busy, though. It’s okay. It’s not really that hard.”
“You don’t know Sumiko Tanaka, do you?” Fumi decided she had nothing to lose in asking.
“No. Who’s that?” The girl opened her eyes wide and stared at Fumi, scrutinizing her with renewed interest.
“My sister.”
“Oh, so you came to work with your sister?”
“No, I can’t work. I’m still in school. I’m just looking for her.”
“School! How old are you anyway?”
“Twelve.”
“Twelve! No wonder you look so young.” The girl narrowed her eyes. “I’m fifteen. Well, who knows. Maybe they’ll hire you. You can lie about your age.” She pulled her braid forward and chewed on the end. “It’s fun. You get to dance and listen to music. The GIs have to buy tickets, one ticket for one dance. I’m still learning how to dance, you know. Some of the other sisters at the club are teaching me. They said I have natural talent. It’s Western dancing, you know. They call it the cheek-to-cheek style.” The girl leaned one cheek toward Fumi coquettishly. “You touch cheeks. The GIs like that.”
She pulled out the band around her braid, and ran her fingers through her long hair to untangle it. “As soon as I get a bit better, I’ll have my own partners. Then I can start to make money. I’ll get some proper clothes, too, and some makeup.”
Fumi looked at the girl. Even in the shadows it was clear she was still just a country hick.
“Don’t you want to come inside with me?” the girl asked.
Fumi considered her options. She glanced up and down the dark alley. There was no one in sight, certainly no sign of Aya. It was cold, she’d lost all her money, and who knew when Aya would reappear. On the other hand, if Fumi went inside, how would Aya know where to find her? Should she wait where she was or should she follow this girl inside?
“Hey, where are your shoes?” The girl suddenly pointed at Fumi’s feet.
Fumi looked down at her filthy socks and scraped shins as if seeing them for the first time.
“Don’t worry,” the girl said. “Come with me. I can give you a new pair of shoes. Come inside and get warm.”
Fumi followed the girl down the side of the building to the last door. The girl reached up to the ledge over the doorway and felt for something. She moved her hand back and forth across the ledge, tapping like a blind person.
“Oh, there’s no key,” she said, a bit surprised. “It’s supposed to be here. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes the others don’t come home all night.”
But when she tried the door, the knob turned easily. It wasn’t even locked. Before they went in, she pointed at the women’s shoes that were lined up just outside the room.
“You can have your pick,” she said. “Whichever ones you like.”
Once inside the girl reached up to pull the cord on the ceiling light. The harsh fluorescent light flickered and buzzed. The room was very small and all the bedding had been rolled up and shoved into the corner. Clothes spilled out of the closet and were hung helter-skelter on hooks that had been nailed into the walls. The stale scent of perfume filled the air.
“Isn’t it nice,” the girl said, picking up some towels and tissues that were strewn across the tatami. She plopped herself down in front of the low tea table in the middle of the room. On top of the table was a small lacquer box. She raised the lid of the box and motioned for Fumi to come sit beside her.
“See here, this is lipstick.” The girl picked up a metal tube from the box, pulled off the top, and swiveled the bottom so that a stick of bright red shot up. She adjusted the mirror in the lid of the box and applied the lipstick to her small chapped lips. The color was too stark, and it made her look as if she had cut her mouth. She poked her finger through the box again and this time retrieved a small brown pencil. She licked the tip and made a tiny dark spot on her cheek near her lip.
“This is
a beauty mark,” she said, examining her face from different angles in the cloudy mirror. “How do I look? Oh, wait. I forgot my rouge.” She poked through the contents of the box again, but couldn’t seem to find what she was looking for. “Hmmm, someone must have taken it.”
“Is all this stuff yours?” Fumi asked.
“Oh no. Say, you want to try some lipstick?”
Fumi shook her head.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m not supposed to use the big sisters’ makeup, either, but when they’re out, who’s to know? Anyway, I have to practice, don’t I?” The girl went back to looking at herself in the mirror. She puckered her red lips. “What’s your name?”
“Fumi.”
“What an old-fashioned name!” The girl made a face. “You better change it.”
“Why?”
“ ’Cause the Americans don’t like Japanese names. I’m changing mine.”
“Yeah? What’s your name?”
“I haven’t decided. Maybe I’ll be Betty. What do you think? You think Betty is a good name?”
Fumi didn’t know what she should say, so instead she asked, “What’s your real name?”
“Hisayo.” The girl wrinkled her nose. “Nobody can remember that.”
Hisayo suddenly stood up and pulled aside a thin curtain that covered a makeshift closet in the corner of the room. She selected a pink blouse with a frilly collar and cuffs and a long wide skirt made of a stiff-looking fabric. She held the outfit against her body and twirled around as if she were dancing.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“It’s pretty,” Fumi said obligingly.
“Of course.” Hisayo set the clothes on the tatami mat and began undoing her kimono. She stripped down to her undershirt, and Fumi could see her nipples poking through the thin material, like little azuki beans. Her breasts were small.
“The first outfit I buy for myself is going to look just like this one,” Hisayo said as she slipped her arms through the pink blouse and buttoned it up. It was much too large and the frilly collar sagged in front; the sleeves fell over her wrists and covered half her hands.
The Translation of Love Page 23