Remember Tokyo

by Nick Wilkshire

  “Keeping you up?”

  I should probably get going.” Charlie looked at his watch. “Most of my stuff is still in boxes. I’ll see you tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, Jeff. You, too, Cliff.”

  “Let’s do dinner sometime,” Redford said. “When you’ve fully adjusted.”

  “I’d like that.”

  Charlie set his half-empty wine glass on a side table and headed for the door. Walking outside, he was greeted by fresh, cool evening air. It was only six thirty but pitch dark outside, as he made his way around the driveway from the official residence toward the apartment complex where many of the Canadian staff members were housed. He had been given the option of living off-site but had opted for the convenience of living literally steps from the office. He knew some people didn’t like living near the people they worked with every day, but the complex was big enough that he wasn’t too concerned. Besides, he thought, as he shuffled up the stairs to his second floor apartment, his social life was unlikely to attract much attention. He had lied about needing to unpack — the few boxes he had bothered to have shipped from Canada had been unpacked in less than an hour. As he slid the key in the door and stepped into his apartment, it felt sterile, and lonely. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sank onto the sofa, trying not to feel sorry for himself. He had known Karen Fraser was married, so why was meeting her charming, handsome, and wealthy husband such a kick in the balls? He sipped his beer and tried to ward off the feeling of impending doom, preferring to remind himself that it was only his second week in a new city. He had to give it time.

  CHAPTER 4

  Charlie scanned the vivid signs adorning the buildings on the crowded pedestrian mall in Akasaka, looking for the restaurant’s name. Walking past the front of a noisy Pachinko parlour, with its dizzying lights and electronic sounds, he spotted a familiar logo on the building a few doors up. As he got closer, he made out the word Shabugen and stepped into the building, taking the tiny elevator up to the second floor. He followed the smell of food as he stepped from the elevator car and soon found himself in a little restaurant containing what looked like a long bar with stools on one side and pots of boiling water on the other. The room was packed with the Monday lunchtime crowd, but he didn’t recognize anyone. He was wondering if it was the right place when a familiar face leaned back out of the row of people and called out.

  “Over here, Charlie.”

  He made his way back to where Cliff Redford was waiting with a Japanese man in his thirties.

  “This is Hirohito Kambe, an associate of mine.” Redford pointed to the other man, then gestured to Charlie.

  “Charlie Hillier.” He remembered to bow before sliding onto the stool they had saved for him. They went through the introductions and Charlie learned that Kambe was a lawyer with Redford’s firm. After they had ordered and exchanged a bit of banter about life and work in Tokyo, Redford got to the point.

  “I arranged to bump into someone at Nippon Kasuga,” he said. Charlie was surprised, thinking Redford was just being polite when he had promised to do some digging the other night at the embassy reception.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

  Redford smiled. “I’m afraid there’s not much to tell you. I asked about your man, but they didn’t seem all that interested in poor Mr. Lepage, to be honest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nippon Kasuga just sponsored him for his work visa. The guy I talked to didn’t seem to know much about him. If anything, once he found out I was involved with a group that looks out for expat Canucks, he seemed to want me to keep him posted on Lepage’s status.”

  “That’s pretty cold.”

  Redford shrugged. “They’re bankers. They’re only interested in one thing. Wouldn’t you say, Kambe-san?”

  Kambe nodded. “Yes, I suppose that is so.”

  “I was going to see if I could talk to someone over there,” Charlie said. “Try to get more information about Lepage.”

  “I can give you the coordinates of someone who speaks English, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you,” Redford warned. “How is Lepage, anyway?”

  “No change, as far as I know. I’m dropping by after work today to check in, see if there’s any update on his prognosis,” Charlie said as a waitress delivered a selection of bowls filled with vegetables and thinly sliced meat.

  Redford smiled at the look of confusion on Charlie’s face. “You dip it in the pot for a minute or two. It’s easier than it looks. It’s called shabu-shabu.”

  “Sounds simple.” Charlie followed their lead and dropped a few strips of meat and vegetables into the individual pot of boiling liquid in front of him. Redford and Kambe were much nimbler with their chopsticks, but Charlie was just happy he hadn’t dropped anything on the floor.

  “And still no sign that this poor guy’s got any relatives in Canada?” Redford dropped a pile of cabbage into his pot.

  Charlie shook his head. “Other than an immigration form indicating he entered the country a couple of months ago, and the sponsorship paperwork filled out by Nippon Kasuga, I’ve got nothing. Nobody’s contacted the embassy, either from here or Canada, and I’ve checked with the Tokyo Police and no one’s reported him missing.”

  “How long has he been in a coma?” Kambe asked, prodding a chopstick at the water and pulling out a few strips of steaming cabbage that he deposited with ease on his plate.

  “Almost a week,” Charlie replied, making an unsuccessful attempt at mimicking Kambe’s dexterous manoeuvre, before resorting to a clumsy trawl of the bottom of the pot until he came up with something — a strip of meat that he dropped halfway to his plate.

  “You’ll get better at the chopsticks in no time, trust me,” Redford said with a smile. Charlie tried again, a look of grim determination on his face as he managed to retrieve a spear of broccoli with much more finesse. “There you go.”

  “So, how do you know the ambassador?” Charlie asked, reveling in his small success.

  “Phil and I go way back. We both articled at the same firm in Toronto.”

  “I didn’t know he was a lawyer.” Charlie bit into a strip of tender beef.

  “He only practised for a couple of years before joining the department. He went off to Ottawa and I came out here.”

  “You just moved here, out of the blue?”

  “Not exactly. There was a girl involved,” Redford said with a grin. “I came over to visit her, and the rest, as they say, is history. How about you, Charlie? You married?”

  Charlie remained focused on extricating a particularly succulent morsel of beef from his pot as the familiar discomfort that always accompanied the question gripped him. He had been divorced for over two years, but he still wasn’t really over it in some ways. It wasn’t a yearning for his former spouse — that part, he had definitely gotten over. Rather it was the betrayal that gnawed at him, and the sense of failure on his part.

  “Divorced,” he said, manoeuvring the piece of meat to the edge of the pot before dropping it back in.

  “Well there’s lots of talent here,” Redford said.

  Charlie nodded. “Japanese women are certainly very attractive, and they’re all so well dressed.”

  “But?” Redford was grinning.

  “Nothing. It’s just that they seem sort of … reserved.”

  Redford nudged Kambe and they both shared a laugh. “Don’t believe it, right Kambe-san?”

  Redford’s associate smiled. “It’s very true that Japanese people have a very … rigid exterior, but they are very warm underneath.”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Redford said. “Don’t you worry, Charlie. You’ll be fighting them off before you know it.”

  Charlie smiled and dropped some more vegetables into the pot. He wasn’t sure about their prediction, but Redford and Kambe’s good-natured bravado was infectious and it gave him a positive feeling about what might lay ahead for him in this enigmatic city he now called home.

  Charl
ie got off the elevator on the fifth floor and spotted Dr. Yamaguchi as soon as he turned the corner toward the reception area, engaged in what looked like an animated discussion with a white man in his late thirties. He saw the recognition in Yamaguchi’s eyes, and perhaps a hint of relief as well, as Charlie approached.

  “Mr. Hillier,” he said, “I’m glad you have come today.”

  “Good afternoon, Doctor,” Charlie said, looking at the other man. Though he was smiling, there was something in the way he was eying him that made Charlie nervous.

  “This is Mr. Seger, also from Canada,” Yamaguchi said, pointing at the other man. “He is a friend of Mr. Lepage.”

  “Oh, really? That’s great.” Charlie stuck out his hand. “Charlie Hillier. I’m a consular officer with the Canadian embassy. I’ve been having a hell of a time trying to find any of Mr. Lepage’s family.”

  “Mike Seger,” the other man said. His handshake was firm, but Charlie sensed that it went on just a little too long. “Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me,” he added, with a shrug. “Robbie’s always been a bit of a lone wolf.”

  “No family at all, huh?” Charlie said, noticing for the first time that Seger had a slight accent, maybe French, or Italian. He had a dark complexion and wavy brown hair. His suit and open necked shirt gave the impression of someone in finance. Charlie guessed he knew Lepage from the banking world.

  “Perhaps I can leave you to discuss his case,” Yamaguchi said, looking at his watch. “I’m going to be late for my rounds.”

  “I assume there’s no update on his condition,” Charlie asked, eliciting a shake of the head from Yamaguchi.

  “I’m afraid not. His condition remains the same.”

  “Thanks, Doctor.”

  “Rob’s tough,” Seger said as Yamaguchi moved off. “He’ll pull through, I know it.”

  “How do you know Mr. Le … Rob?”

  “Come on, I’ll buy you a coffee,” Seger said, heading off toward the elevators, as though the decision was a foregone conclusion. They took one down to the ground floor and found the visitors’ cafeteria.

  “So, you’re with the embassy, huh?” Seger said as they settled in a corner booth with their coffees.

  “Yeah, I’ve only been in Tokyo for a couple of weeks.”

  Seger smiled. “A newbie, huh?”

  “To Tokyo, yes. It’s not my first posting,” he felt the need to add.

  “Right. So your job is to get in touch with relatives back home, for people like Rob?” He gestured upstairs with a thumb.

  Charlie nodded. “It’s usually more along the lines of lost passports, but we have medical cases like Rob, as well as Canadians who’ve gotten themselves in trouble here.”

  “You mean, like, jail?”

  Charlie took a sip of his coffee. “Sometimes, yes.”

  “Well it’s good to know you’re looking out for Rob’s interests, and I want to offer my help in any way I can. You asked how I know him. Well, we go way back, me and Rob. We grew up in the same part of Toronto.” Charlie nodded, though he was puzzled, since the more he heard Seger speak, the more he detected a distinctively French-Canadian accent. As though reading his mind, Seger added, “When my family moved there from Quebec City — when I was twelve — I thought my life was over. Maybe it would have been, if it wasn’t for Rob. His parents, too, God rest their souls.”

  “I understand they died when Rob was in his teens,” Charlie said, recalling the mental calculation he had made on discovering their death certificates. “And he’s got no siblings, or other immediate family that I could find,” he added, hoping for confirmation from Seger, who obliged with a nod.

  “His parents were killed in a car crash when we were seven­teen. No other family. There might have been an uncle who wasn’t really an uncle for a little while, but Rob was pretty much on his own. He took off when he was eighteen — headed out west — and we kinda lost touch for a couple of years. Then he came back with a university degree — he was always a smart guy, so it wasn’t a surprise.”

  “So, he was back in Toronto?”

  Seger nodded. “Yeah, and we ended up hanging out again, so it was just like old times.”

  “And what brought you to Tokyo?”

  “I had some business in Hong Kong; had a few extra days and thought I’d drop in on Rob — check out Tokyo. We set it up by email a couple of weeks ago. Then I get here and he’s not responding to emails, so I know something’s wrong.” Charlie encouraged him with a nod. “Then I find out he’s been in an accident and he’s in here.” Seger shook his head.

  “Do you know much about his employer, Nippon Kasuga?”

  Seger shrugged. “No idea. I tried talking to someone over there and they gave me the cold shoulder, you know? They don’t seem too concerned that one of their employees is in a coma. Heartless pricks,” he muttered, taking a sip of coffee.

  “Yeah, I kind of got the same impression.”

  “I think I’m all Rob’s got,” Seger said with a grim smile. “Apart from you, of course. So if there’s anything — I mean anything — I can do.… If you hear of any change in his condition, or if there are any costs he needs covered, promise me you’ll let me know as soon as possible.”

  Charlie accepted the business card Seger took out of his jacket pocket and slid across the table.

  “My cell’s on there, so you can call me anytime, day or night.”

  “I’ll do that,” Charlie said, noticing the name of Seger’s company — Paragon Properties. “You’re in real estate?”

  Seger nodded. “Asia’s an emerging market for us. We’ve had some interests in Hong Kong for a while, but we’re looking at Japan, as well, especially with the Olympics just around the corner.”

  “So, how long are you here for?”

  “Well, like I said, I’m not really here on business this time, so I’ll be here as long as it takes — until Rob’s back on his feet.”

  Charlie smiled, thinking most people couldn’t afford the luxury of an indefinite stay in a city like Tokyo. Seger was either well off or a very good friend — perhaps both. “Well, there’s not much we can do until Rob’s condition changes,” he said. “But I’ll certainly let you know as soon as I hear anything. As for costs, I understand from Dr. Yamaguchi that Rob’s hospital costs are being covered by Nippon Kasuga’s insurance, so that’s not an issue.”

  “Still, if there are any extras — like if he needs a private room when he comes out of intensive care — I’ll cover it.”

  Charlie gave a nod of acknowledgment and glanced at his watch. “Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get going.”

  “Good to meet you, Charlie. It’s nice to know there are people like you looking out for Rob.”

  They shook hands and went their separate ways. Charlie made his way back to the nearest Metro station and joined the evening rush hour crowd, immersed in a sea of dark suits and white shirts. He glanced at his fellow passengers, noticing that none of them seemed to be looking at him, despite the incongruity of his blond hair and relatively lofty height. This was another aspect of Japanese society that he had come to recognize in his brief time here — it was rude to make direct eye contact with strangers, especially foreigners. As the train moved east, Charlie began to consider his options for dinner. He hadn’t bothered to really stock his refrigerator yet, and the prospect of making dinner seemed a chore. On the other hand, finding a quiet corner in a restaurant seemed an impossibility in Tokyo. The sheer volume of people usually meant he found himself in close proximity to his fellow diners, all of whom seemed to be enjoying each other’s company while he ate alone, in awkward silence as he tried to occupy himself either with his BlackBerry or his Japanese phrase book. Maybe he would stop off at the grocery store after all.

  Charlie got off at Akasaka-mitsuke Station and walked into a twenty-four hour convenience store at street level, looking for something quick. Finding nothing particularly appetizing among the array of plastic-wrapped single servings of God knew w
hat, he continued on up the street, pausing at the door of a couple of restaurants to survey the plastic samples of the food on offer, before remembering the British-style pub that lay a little farther up the street. As he walked on, Charlie saw a fleeting image of Rob Lepage in his hospital bed and felt profound guilt. Here he was feeling sorry for himself over another lonely dinner, when Lepage was unconscious and alone in a hospital bed, thousands of miles from home, his only nutrition being pumped into him by way of a tube. What the hell did Charlie have to complain about? As for being alone, he had been in town for less than two weeks. He had to give himself time to settle in. Perhaps he should focus on what he could do to help Rob Lepage, assuming he ever came out of his coma, rather than worrying about his dinner plans. Arriving at the pub and finding it relatively quiet, he settled into a seat at a corner table and resolved to give Lepage’s file another read first thing in the morning. There had to be something more he could do.

  CHAPTER 5

  Charlie was sitting at his desk, reviewing the results of an internet search on Paragon Properties that he had conducted after a fresh look at Rob Lepage’s file proved completely fruitless. Paragon’s head office appeared to be in Montreal, though it was not entirely clear from the website, which was either badly designed or deliberately short on information. He yawned, tried to sip from the empty coffee cup on his desk, and briefly considered a second. He had gotten home from dinner early and spent an hour or so flipping through the channels, finally settling on one of the few English options — an episode of a comedy show he had seen before — before turning it off in favour of a book. He had gone to bed relatively early but had awoken at five, with no hope of resuming sleep. It wasn’t even ten yet and he was tired already.

  “Keeping you up?”