Shigeki used to try to shower me with gifts: designer earrings, bags, scarves. Everything he did was right out of the pages of some book about seducing women. I wondered about the worth of such things. After I had come to know Anna’s brutal world, to me the gifts were nothing more than mere material objects that I’d put away in drawers.
“For god’s sake, just tell me what you want,” he once demanded, annoyed by the way I was behaving.
“Really? You really think I want something?” I said. “That’s unfortunate.”
His eyes bore the look of a wounded bird. I refused his gifts until the day he came to me with those earrings fashioned after an artist’s palette, saying, “I had them designed just for you.” Despite his typically suave demeanor, he was awkward when it came to saying “I love you.”
I was happy thinking that the earrings were made exclusively for me, that only one pair existed in the world.
But that sharp thorn—the one that pricked me and got stuck when I saw the same earrings dangling from Reika Terashima’s ears—it needled away at me, little by little. Was this jealousy? I needed to hear Shigeki tell me that I was being silly.
While Jean and I were preoccupied with Pierre’s case, Shigeki had been in France trying to set up a branch office, busily hiring employees and preparing for the launch. After finishing his work for the day, he would often come to my apartment stressed out and drained of energy, collapse onto my bed, and fall asleep. At around three in the morning, he would suddenly wake up, call out my name, and begin pawing at me. Then he would bury his head into my breasts and freeze, as if he were holding his breath. Although I wondered if he was actually frightened, I humored him, patting him on the head like he was a child. But before long he would throw himself at me with such mad passion that his cock felt more like a weapon—and I would just let go and cast myself into the depths of this ocean of raging passion. I let myself be pulled down deep, tangled in seaweed and darkness, before our movements floated me up to the surface of pleasure and illumination.
But one time, Shigeki’s whisper-quiet voice was tinged with sadness and fear. He seemed to be weeping, his head buried in my hair, his shoulders trembling. I had imagined all would be well as long as I was by his side.
Now, small waves of unease reached my feet, steadily crumbling away the sand beneath them. Reika Terashima had something I didn’t. Something that seemed to be giving her the confidence to say, “So what if you’re his wife?” By saying this, she implied that she knew Shigeki better than I ever would.
REIKA: THREE
That night Shigeki returned home after midnight, looking tired.
“Where the hell have you been? Even your company called to ask. I couldn’t tell them a damn thing!”
Without even looking at me, he went straight to the living room, removed his necktie and suit jacket, and hurled them against the back of the sofa.
“Your mother seems to know everything, so there’s nothing for me to worry about, right?” I said sarcastically, expecting that soon he would be making excuses.
“Zip it!” he said, slapping me across my cheek. Don’t you ever pester me again about where I go or what I do! Understand?”
I slowly stepped back and escaped into the bedroom. I pushed a sofa in front of the door and waited for him to come and apologize.
(I won’t forgive him! How can I? Even my parents never slapped me. I’m not going to give in. The door to my heart is shut.)
My heart was pounding. I wasn’t so much hurt by the slap as by the coldness in his eyes—they were the eyes of someone trying to drive away a dog.
I heard no sign of him chasing after me. I pressed my ear against the door, only to hear the bathroom door slamming shut, followed by the sound of the shower.
My knees gave way and I sunk to the floor as the tears poured from me. I couldn’t stop them. The sound of the shower was merciless. It widened the wound of my misery, making it bleed slowly. It felt as if I’d ceased to be relevant as a human being—as a presence in his life. He had cast me out.
(Jean, I don’t understand Shigeki. I suppose this means that you were right about him all along. Tell me, Jean? Were you right all along?)
The Shigeki I had met in France was a young, can-do entrepreneur, a man endowed with sound judgment, intelligence, and social grace. Even when he had been told that the way into my heart wasn’t through pricey gifts, he still went to the trouble of having special earrings made for me, which made me happy at the time. He had affirmed his devotion to me.
But now he had slapped me, again. For the second time since we’d known one another, the palm of his hand had taken flight and landed on my cheek. He had also struck Alan while gripped in the throes of jealousy. When Pierre had stolen Noriko’s bag, Shigeki had chased him down and beaten him. At that time I believed this violence was a sign of his masculinity.
Jean had said, “Whatever the reason may be, anyone who wields violence is essentially someone who harbors burning rage. Most of the time, the problem with such a person lies in the matter of love, or the lack thereof. He certainly appears to be an outstanding man in many ways, but what concerns me is his face. It’s vacant.”
What was Shigeki angry about? His wintry eyes were vacant for sure, just like Kanako’s eyes. I first met her when Shigeki introduced me as his wife one humid day during the rainy season. She smiled the whole time, but her eyes didn’t register my presence. They were fixed on some empty space in the remote distance. Her husband Taichi had been missing for five years by then. I can’t imagine the pain and torment she’d been through.
Shigeki also appeared cold and removed in front of Kanako.
“I’ve chosen to marry her,” he had said, like someone reporting to his supervisor.
“Congratulations, your father will also be pleased,” she had said effortlessly, as if the father were still alive, or so it seemed to me at the time.
REIKA: FOUR
Before I knew it I had fallen asleep, and when I awoke the sun was high and Shigeki had already left. I could tell that he’d slept on the living room couch; a cushion he had used for a pillow was propped up on one end, its surface indented with the trace of his head. He’d left a can of beer on the table.
Desperate to know where Shigeki had been yesterday and exactly what he was doing there, it seemed only natural to call Kanako.
“Yes, this is Tachibana,” she answered in a depressing alto.
“I heard that you were able to reach Shigeki yesterday. Thank you for your help.”
“He was on board the boat after all. That child, whenever something from work troubles him, he always makes it a point to go there to consult with his father.”
I remembered then how Shigeki had been so dismissive of his father, referring to him as “that guy.” I didn’t believe that Shigeki suddenly had become attached to his father, and whiled away his day and night ruminating and losing himself in nostalgia for his father. But Kanako had spoken as if he were lost without him.
“Is that right?” I went on. “I’d like to visit the boat myself one of these days.”
“I can’t quite get myself to board it, you know,” Kanako said. “We haven’t even kept up on the maintenance.”
This smoke screen of an excuse made it clear that I would not be getting a tour of the boat anytime soon. Nonetheless, the conversation granted me some relief. I suppose it was because there was a part of me that still needed to believe in Shigeki, that he was still the exemplary businessman I had fallen for, the kind of dedicated professional who really preferred to be alone to think through complex work-related issues, to mull over new challenges. I desperately needed to believe that I was being silly and paranoid, that I really didn’t need to press him and insinuate that he was having an affair. I don’t know. Perhaps I was just hoping against all hope. But at least that was my rationale then, which—if nothing else—made it clear that I’d already forgiven Shigeki. So I became excited about the idea of asking him to have lunch with me. Eager
to apologize, I called his cell phone. It rang several times before he picked up. In my sweetest, most flirtatious voice I purred, “Hey, it’s meee.”
“The President is away from his desk at the moment,” said Muraoka, Shigeki’s personal assistant. His voice sounded extremely cautious. He was in his thirties, around my age, and still single. I had met him socially a few times.
“Mr. Muraoka?” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Hello. How’ve you been? It’s sure been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. I’ll be sure to let the President know you called as soon as he returns,” he said, professionally.
“That’s all right. It’s nothing important. I’ll just call later. Bye.”
I had no choice but to end the phone call abruptly. It occurred to me that someone might have been at his side, breathing down his neck. When the three of us had been out for drinks, he had never been so reserved, going so far as to tease Shigeki and me.
“I can see now why the President didn’t return from France right away,” he’d said, drunkenly laughing. “You’re so gorgeous.”
Staring at the cell phone in my hand, a new inkling of doubt popped into my head. It was strange that he had spoken so cautiously, as if he were on guard. I played back the phone call in my mind: the phone rang, and then Muraoka hesitated and answered cautiously.
(It’s meee.)
I knew of nobody else who would call Shigeki’s phone and say such a thing in the coquettish manner I’d used. Unless there was someone else. Muraoka knew that, and answered cautiously to avoid making any gaffes. When I asked about him, he must have recognized my voice. But his distant tone persisted because he wanted to conceal the fact that he had been cautious initially.
Was I being paranoid? Was my imagination running wild? I couldn’t come up with any other reason for Muraoka’s formal manner.
REIKA: FIVE
It was the rainy season, and when the sun made an appearance it baked your skin. But there was no light in my life then, only a dark cloud hanging over my heart. There was a Shigeki I did not know. I decided to learn more about my husband by talking to his mother.
“Hi, this is Mayu.”
“I hope you’re keeping well, dear. It’s quite hot, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. Certainly feels like the rainy season is already over.” After an awkward pause, I continued. “Would you mind if I dropped by to see you today?”
“Of course not, dear. It’s your house, too, you know. Come by anytime you like.”
Shigeki was born in Kamakura, a mountain town nestled among the lush greenery. The family had occupied a mansion there for several generations. It was very old and had become uncomfortable to live in, so the family built an elegant European-style cottage on the grounds. Kanako lived in the cottage, along with her longtime helper, Ms. Sato.
When I first visited with Shigeki to announce our marriage, the old mansion charmed me instantly. It was love at first sight. On subsequent visits, I sketched it, promising myself that one day I would do an oil painting of it. Kanako liked to watch me draw and seemed to be looking forward to seeing the finished work. She was probably thinking that this visit was casual, an excuse to draw some more.
Ms. Sato answered the door after I rang the bell. For many years, she had commuted to the Tachibana household. But after her only daughter married and her husband died from cancer, she found herself living alone. She decided to become live-in help at the Tachibana house. With a sturdy physique, she gave the impression that she had been a hard worker since her youth. She was the polar opposite of slender Kanako. She was also several years older than Kanako.
I hoped that this visit to Shigeki’s family home would expose some clues or help reveal that side of him that made him seem like another person. I felt like I was the only one in the dark about Reika Terashima. Standing at the front door, everything seemed different than usual. I couldn’t help thinking that both Kanako and Ms. Sato were hiding something from me.
“Welcome, ma’am,” Ms. Sato said, opening the door and offering slippers. “Madam has been expecting you.”
“And where might she be now?”
“In the garden, ma’am, but please wait in the living room. I shall go fetch her.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll go to her.”
“As you wish, ma’am. I’ll bring over some lemon tea.”
The living room faced the garden and was the size of around twenty tatami mats. I could see Kanako bent over a bed of flowers, trimming them.
“The hydrangea is lovely,” I called out.
“Welcome, dear. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you,” she said, turning her attention away from the flowers.
Although the garden’s overall effect was Japanese, she was into British-style gardening lately.
“Just when the hydrangea reach their end, the lupines start blooming all at once. I can’t wait.”
“Orchids go well in the house, don’t they? Back home we have moth orchids we received as a gift around the New Year. They’re still in bloom.”
“My, that’s a long time.”
Ms. Sato came out with some lemon tea and cookies. The tea set was a beautiful assortment of old Noritake tableware adorned with pictures of chestnuts and made for exporting overseas.
“Ms. Sato, why don’t you join us for tea?” Kanako said.
“No, thank you,” she answered as she carefully arranged the table with her knobby hands, which seemed at odds with the beautiful objects. “I still have work to do.”
The aroma of the lemon filled the air, but it didn’t play any role in quieting my mind. The piping-hot liquid went down my throat and spread its heat steadily, warming my chest. When I put down the cup, I took a deep breath.
“Mother, there’s something I’d like to ask you.”
Registering my slightly tense expression, Kanako froze, held her cup to her lips and stared at me suspiciously.
“What is it?” she said, her voice stiffened with defiance.
“Do you know the nature of the relationship between Shigeki-san and Ms. Reika Terashima?”
Kanako let down her guard instantly and smiled. “You shouldn’t be concerned about that,” she said calmly, returning her cup to the table.
I wondered whether I’d misheard her. My mind was whirling, attempting to process Kanako’s answer, but cognitive dissonance stood in the way, sabotaging my effort to parse her words. The implication was “There is something to worry about.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean is that Shigeki chose you as his wife. You’re the one he needs.”
“So what you’re saying,” I said with a quivering voice, “is I shouldn’t be concerned that he has a mistress?”
I was shaky, no doubt. But I remained firm, facing her tenaciously and doggedly holding out for an answer. Kanako slowly brought her cup of tea to her lips.
(Please say something!)
“Shigeki and Reika have been acquaintances since Shigeki began working,” Kanako began. “I have no idea when they turned out to have the relationship they’re having right now—whatever kind that may be, mind you. But the fact is that Shigeki couldn’t care less about her really.”
With her slender fingers, Kanako traced the crystal beads of her necklace. Her explanation didn’t do anything to comfort me. She had more or less just confirmed that Reika was Shigeki’s mistress.
“I have always thought that marriage was about promising your love to just one person for a lifetime,” I said. “It’s simply beyond me that a person could fail to keep such a promise, something so basic, so ordinary at heart.”
In Kanako’s eyes, if this was the kind of thing I wasn’t supposed to be concerned about, then what was? Where was her moral compass?
As if on cue, Shigeki’s son Raiki entered with Ms. Sato. He was the son Shigeki had had with Sophie, the girl who had come to Japan from the Philippines for work. Wearing the standard-issue uniform of a private kindergarten, Raiki looked qu
ite the little gentleman, with his short-sleeve white shirt and bow tie.
“I’m home,” he said in a small voice, perhaps in deference to me.
“Welcome back,” Kanako said, looking at him briefly before returning her gaze to the garden.
“Raiki, you must be hungry,” I said. “Here, have a cookie.”
Prior to our marriage, Shigeki had told me of his youthful indiscretions. He and Sophie had their son, but then she died from alcohol and drug abuse. Raiki was being brought up by Shigeki’s mother. He’d also told me how he hoped to one day take him in and bring him up himself. I had completely understood and consented.
Since we were newlyweds, Kanako had insisted that there was no need for us to rush into getting custody of Raiki, advising us to wait until he finished kindergarten. While I had no way of knowing the trials and tribulations Sophie must have gone through, I was confident I could get along well with Raiki.
With his large dark eyes, Raiki threw a glance at Kanako to see if she had any objections to him accepting a cookie. He seemed rather shy for a boy.
“How about saying thank you?” Ms. Sato suggested.
He did just that before timidly reaching out for the treat. Clearly, Kanako and Ms. Sato had disciplined him well, but the sight was still pathetic. It was like watching a dog react to the commands “stay” and “go.”
“Let’s get you changed,” Ms. Sato said before leading Raiki away. She seemed to have grown uncomfortable, sensing a heaviness in the air.
“Steady now,” Kanako muttered, speaking to no one in particular. “Remain as though nothing has happened.”
Was she in denial about her husband’s disappearance? As for me, it was absolutely impossible to accept that Shigeki was having an affair. How could I act as though nothing was happening?
I Hear Them Cry Page 6