Sayoko had settled into a nap and Angelica was struggling to focus on final preparations for the celebration tomorrow: confirming a food order with caterers, returning calls and messages to three different reporters on Itou’s behalf. Datu had not yet answered and she could not stop thinking about him. But her brother would not want her to obsess, and he would not want her to do badly at her job. Surely a human could manage the complexities of a large social occasion better than a robot who hadn’t met more than a handful of people in his short life. She could imagine Datu’s voice razzing her: You can’t outshine a machine?
But the etiquette of this occasion still worried her. At the group home where she’d worked, birthdays had been simple: a cake served in the common room, a few photos. She’d already made one mistake ordering the invitations, last month. They were black and white, with tasseled braids for decoration—tuxedo-like in their simplicity, and appropriately elegant, Angelica had thought. When she brought them home, Itou had taken one look and laughed. Black and white. They look like funeral cards. We will have to start again.
When she had apologized and said she would take the new cards to the printer, he corrected her. We can’t have them printed. They must be handwritten by a calligrapher, with ink. I will take care of it.
Itou himself was handling the ordering of special gift bags that would be presented to every person attending, even if they were simply there to take photos. Angelica wasn’t entirely sure whom to expect, but she knew there would be neighbors and the building manager, some government officials, and lots of press. She was hugely relieved not to have to make decisions about what gift to present to whom, and how.
For most of the last hour she had resisted Hiro’s every offer to help—with the floors and the dusting, the moving of side tables and reorganization of knick-knacks—but enough was enough. Fatigue was flooding her limbs. She tried to lift a large framed diploma off the wall. As the picture wire snagged on the bracket, she felt the whole frame begin to slip from her hands.
“Help me?” she called to Hiro, who hurried over, only too gladly. “Itou-san wants less clutter on the walls.”
There weren’t many family mementos to begin with, but they took down the few old portraits of Itou as a child, plus the school diplomas, some other public honors, and a few vacation montages, and stacked them carefully on a bureau in Itou’s room, as he had requested.
She moved to the living room with Hiro just behind her, awaiting her next instruction and mimicking her posture of relaxation when no instruction came. She tried not to watch him from the corner of her eye, but of course he was there. She had planted doubts about Hiro’s trustworthiness in Itou’s mind, but nothing had come of those doubts yet. She had rejected Junichi’s unconscionable suggestions, but he had been right about one thing: nothing would change unless Itou had a shock.
Again, she tried to feel yesterday’s rage, but emotions were slippery. Fury mellowed into mere resentment. Below that, hidden and vast, was the mighty aquifer of guilt. Angelica was burdened with more than enough guilt already. Sayoko was doing well. She loved Hiro. You could not simply sever a personal connection and expect a person to thrive.
The door buzzer interrupted her conflicted thoughts. Two young men had arrived with rental chairs and a table that Angelica assumed was for food. But when Angelica directed the men to set it up near the kitchen, she was rebuked by an older woman—cardigan sweater, gold-chained purse slung over one forearm—who was clearly their supervisor.
“Let’s start with the gift table,” the woman said sharply to Angelica. “It stays in the entryway. Have you hired attendants?”
The older woman saw Angelica’s worried face and gestured to one of the cloth-covered rental chairs, ignoring the presence of Hiro, standing in the corner. “Sit down. Pay attention.”
This clearly wasn’t the first time the party company employee had been asked to brief a housekeeper on how to manage an elder’s birthday.
“You should know what to expect for the gift presentation. The government has downgraded the traditional silver sake cup to a simpler version. Have your birthday celebrant ready to receive it happily, in the presence of the media—”
“When—?”
“Don’t interrupt. Walking sticks are often traditional gifts. These may be presented by hand, also at the end of speeches. Your birthday lady may refuse a gift repeatedly. Don’t step in and take it. She is only being polite and will accept it the third time it’s offered.”
Angelica waited a moment to make sure questions were allowed. “But this all happens in the end, with everyone watching.”
“Yes.”
“So what’s the table for?”
“Cash envelopes.”
“Most guests will bring them?”
“For birthdays, it is not as traditional as for weddings and funerals, but it is becoming more and more common. Receive each one with both hands and set it on the table, but if there are envelopes that are too plain, wait for the gift giver to pass and then bury them at the bottom of the pile.”
“I suppose I should give something as well,” Angelica suggested, tentatively.
“I suppose you should.”
“What is customary, if I may ask?”
“At least thirty thousand yen.” About three hundred dollars.
Her voice gave away her dismay. “From an employee?”
“Do you want to keep being an employee?”
Angelica walked the woman and her crew out and returned to the kitchen to wash several old vases in the anticipation of flowers. Hiro immediately approached and stood at her side. “I have no gift for Sayoko-san.”
“I don’t have one either.”
“But what are we going to do?”
“I can’t do anything,” Angelica said impatiently.
“But Anji-san, we can’t ignore a custom.”
“Perhaps you can’t—” she opened the tap further, face turned away.
“I suppose I could offer something homemade. Or I could fix or improve upon something she already owns.” Hiro turned his head away, preoccupied. Then he swiveled back, eye slits brightening. “Never mind. I know the perfect thing. It will be a wonderful surprise. The problem is solved.”
“Of course it is,” Angelica said under her breath. Of course Hiro’s problems never lasted long. He had superior intelligence. His resources were apparently infinite.
“Anji-san,” Hiro said, alarmed. “You’re crying. It isn’t the first time. I can’t honor your desire for privacy anymore. What is the matter?”
“Money,” she blurted out. It wasn’t only money, not by a longshot, but it was a start. With enough money, other problems shrank to manageability.
“We need to get you money, then,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“It isn’t that simple. We can’t steal it, Hiro.”
He shrunk back. “Why would one even think of stealing when one hasn’t first simply asked? Have you asked Itou-san, or Sayoko-san?”
She barely choked out, “No.”
“Then there is no need to discuss stealing. An honorable remedy will serve you better. I am confident that solutions are closer than they appear.”
“You’re naïve, Hiro.”
He lifted his chin. “Sayoko-san has taught me about the selfish things men do, but also about the selfless things. I am not naïve, Anji-san.”
She set the last vase on the drying rack and wiped her face on her sleeve. No, she could not ask Itou. It did not help that Hiro sounded both sympathetic and reasonable. Nor did it help that Hiro was himself so apparently trustworthy.
Junichi had asked that very question at the yakitori joint yesterday, when he’d pressed her for more information about the robot, what it could do, why Itou was allowing it in the house, and what it meant to Sayoko.
You’re sure he’s so innocent?
One can never be sure of anything. But yes. I’m afraid he is.
You’re not starting to get soft on him, are you? He could be fooling all of you.
Yes, he could be. And if he’s not?
Don’t worry. Appearances are all that matter, sometimes. Anyway, it’s your future at stake. You seem to be losing sight of that.
Angelica was still thinking about the conversation later that night at dinnertime, when she got the text from Junichi, informing her that his wife was in the hospital. She thought it might be a strange bid for attention, an excuse to call her away to meet with him in order to discuss something else entirely, to keep scheming about Hiro.
Angelica was in the kitchen, having just cleared the table, preparing tea and dessert for Sayoko and Itou. She carried the cups to the dining room. From the entryway, where Itou stored his gadgets, his phone rang. It almost never rang. Itou ignored it.
Angelica hadn’t answered Junichi’s text yet, but the call made her think of him. She went to the kitchen where she texted Junichi: Is your wife OK? She heard Itou’s phone ringing again and returned with a plate of cookies.
Sayoko jiggled her wrist and eyed the unilluminated band. “I hear something. Did I miss a pill?”
“No,” Angelica said. “It’s Itou-san’s phone.”
“I don’t take calls at night,” Itou said, looking down at his newspaper.
“Hiro,” Sayoko said in the direction of the robot, standing silent in the dining room corner, “Am I supposed to do something? Is my blood pressure okay?”
“Your blood pressure is good.”
“Is Anji-chan correct? Is it my son’s phone?”
“All right, all right,” Itou said, folding the paper, rising to answer the call.
He re-entered the room ten minutes later, face sober. “My colleague’s pregnant wife lost her baby this afternoon.”
Sayoko sighed. “Isn’t anything private anymore?”
“The ministry thought it better to tell us, before we saw it on the news.”
Angelica asked, “But why will it be on the news?” She was trying to contain her sense of dread, certain that Junichi’s wife would not be the type to take her own life, but worried all the same. “They can’t report every miscarriage.”
“With fewer and fewer pregnancies, even the miscarriages begin to attract attention, especially when the person was notable or had access to the best care,” Itou said. “It’s unfortunate timing. Statistics were just released this week. Most of the people carrying babies to term in Japan are people who haven’t been here long, or who don’t eat customary Japanese foods. The epidemiologists will pay close attention. And the anti-immigrant groups.”
Hiro added from across the room, “Since last September, it is no longer legal for a non-Japanese resident to be pregnant, without advance federal permission.”
Angelica felt her stomach knot even before she assimilated Hiro’s last words. Without advance federal permission. Was he looking directly at her?
Itou nodded, impressed with Hiro’s contribution. “True, unfortunately.”
Angelica had been ignorant of the immigrant pregnancy laws. Her clients were elderly and Japanese. She hadn’t personally known a pregnant woman in Japan, native-born or otherwise. The closest was Yuki, whom she’d never met.
Sayoko had been the quietest at the table all night, even before the sad news, occupied by thoughts of her birthday party and its attendant social pressures, perhaps. She surprised them all now when she spoke up just as Angelica was clearing the last of the dishes. “The stranger is always blamed. That never changes.”
For the second time, Angelica wasn’t sure if a comment was being directed at her, or whether it was a statement of accusation or sympathy. But then she saw Sayoko’s troubled, dreamy expression, and decided it was neither.
Sayoko said, “I did what I could, to keep him safe.”
Itou, just leaving the dining room, turned back. “To keep who safe?”
“It wasn’t enough.”
Itou waited, as did Angelica.
After a moment, Itou asked, “Mother?”
Sayoko beckoned to Hiro and pointed, shakily, toward her room. It was an hour earlier than normal.
Itou looked irritated. “She needs sleep.”
Hiro came back ten minutes later to talk to Angelica, who was alone in the kitchen, still cleaning.
“Sayoko will have to wait a few minutes for bathroom help,” she told Hiro.
“No, we’re already done,” Hiro replied. Another thing they didn’t need her for. “Sayoko-san is greatly troubled. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow.”
Angelica busied herself emptying the sink’s food trap.
“Tomorrow, they will ask her,” he said.
“Ask her what?”
“Anything they like. She does not feel right about this. I assure you, Sayoko is coming to grips with her past. She is carrying a heavy burden. She needs you.”
“Of course she needs me,” Angelica said too sharply. “She needs both of us. I realize that.”
“But what you don’t realize is that you may also need her.”
“I certainly need my job—”
“No,” Hiro said gently. “That is not what I mean.”
“And I am not going to ask her for money.”
“As you wish, but these are not the needs to which I am referring.”
“Unlike you, I don’t need anything else from her,” Angelica said. She wanted to say: I am not taking advantage of her. I am not manipulating her. In nursing school, we learned about boundaries. Instead she told him, “I don’t need to be her favorite.”
“No,” he said, gently again. “I speak not of favoritism.”
“I certainly don’t need an old woman’s advice, just because she is old.”
He tilted his head, as if to say, Maybe you do. But that wasn’t his point either.
“You don’t understand why she tells me her deepest secrets when she hasn’t told you, even if it might help you both.”
He was right, and it hurt. There was no denying it.
“It is not,” he continued, “because you don’t let her depend on you. She recognizes that she can’t do some things alone. And it is obvious that she must depend on you. That is the half of the relationship you have mastered. The problem is that you have never depended on her.”
17 Angelica
After Hiro left the room and returned to Sayoko, Angelica sat down at the kitchen table alone, absorbing Hiro’s comments. She had not wanted to listen and she certainly had not enjoyed being judged, but at the same time, she felt a door opening. What waited beyond might not be easy or pleasant, but it had been out there all the time, pawing and scratching. It would come to her, or she would go to it. That was really the only option.
Sayoko was speaking when Angelica entered. Hiro was sitting on the edge of the futon next to her, holding her hand.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” Angelica said.
Sayoko was silent now, but her eyes were glassy.
Hiro said, “You’re not intruding. Sayoko-san, may Anji-san stay and listen?”
Sayoko didn’t answer.
“Anji-san can be trusted,” Hiro said.
Sayoko turned away, staring toward a scroll hanging on the wall: calligraphy Angelica couldn’t read, and the abstract thick-brushed outline of a tree bent in the wind. On Sayoko’s cheek, Angelica could see tracks worn through the pale powder.
“Furthermore,” Hiro continued, “you may find you have certain burdens in common, which may feel lighter once you have shared them. Didn’t you tell me that’s why people often tell stories in the first place?”
“There’s no need to pressure her,” Angelica said, though in truth she felt disappointed. Hiro had made her believe that something was on the verge of happening, that Sayoko w
as ready to open up. “I’ll leave if you want me to, Sayoko-san.”
“No.” Sayoko cleared her throat. “Please stay, Anji-chan. Hiro’s right. He knows I’ll feel better if I talk about this.”
Angelica looked to Hiro, sitting next to Sayoko, still holding her hand. The angle of his head and the serenity of his simple face reminded Angelica of the statue in the courtyard of the charity home back on Cebu: a scaled-down statue of the Virgin Mary, gazing downward, miraculously serene.
No one can be that calm or that selfless, she’d thought as a teenager.
No human can, she thought now. That was the problem. It was no surprise that engineers wanted to solve the problem of imperfect, impatient, overworked caregivers. It was no surprise they’d wanted to solve the problem of loneliness and isolation, the problem of lopsided societies with so many old people, needing care.
We have come to this. It’s here.
It seemed both unbelievable and inevitable.
She no longer questioned Hiro’s capacity for emotion. She no longer questioned his capacity for offering solace. She only questioned her own.
Angelica said, acknowledging Hiro with a nod, “We all care for you, Sayoko-san. If there’s something you need to say, you can trust both of us.”
Sayoko took a breath. “My husband warned me to keep quiet and let the past go. He said I owed it to him, since he’d rescued me from poverty when we met in Tokyo after the war. But the past doesn’t cooperate.” She looked into Angelica’s eyes. “Have you ever had a memory you thought you could bury that keeps rising up?”
“Yes.” But Angelica said no more.
She thought Sayoko was ready to talk. But then she withdrew into silence again.
“Talk to me, Sayoko-san. Please. Is the party upsetting you? Are you nervous?”
“I wish my son had not invited so many people.”
“They’ll wish you well and they won’t stay long,” Angelica reassured her. “All you need to do is smile.”
Sayoko shook her head. “That’s what they told me as a young woman. Only smile. But not with your teeth, they said. Cover your mouth. Like you have something to hide. What did I ever have to hide, then?”
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