by Amy Tasukada
A cheer from everyone jerked Nao awake. The geiko-in-training poured Oshiro his punishment shot of sake for losing, and the game started again.
“Mr. Murata,” Yuiko said, tilting her head down to speak past Kurosawa. “Have you tried the pickled turnip? The texture has a pleasant crunch, don’t you think?”
Nao’s mind jumbled the words like he’d drank the night away, when he hadn’t even drunk his tea. If he looked as bad as he felt, no wonder Yuiko worried for his health. His eyelids dipped closed as the gentle laughter of another geiko washed over him. The drinking would fog everyone’s thinking, but if Nao couldn’t keep his eyes open he couldn’t get the evidence he needed…
His eyes snapped open as Fujomoto finished his round and they selected the next person for the game.
“Yuiko,” Nao asked, “is there an English term for Obon?”
She paused, pressing her fan to her lips while everyone listened. “They don’t have anything exactly like Obon. There’s Halloween, but the ghosts that come back are spooky and not related to family. Mostly people dress up and eat candy.”
Nao raised an eyebrow. “Haro… What?”
“Hellowein,” Chen corrected.
“It’s more like ‘Halloween,’” Sakai said. “The Tokyo syndicate hands out bags of candy to the kids during it.”
Yuiko’s eyes grew wide. “Mr. Sakai, your accent is so good. It must be from all your experience working in the business world.”
Oshiro and the two geiko-in-training surrounding him talked about something else, but Nao didn’t care. Oshiro wasn’t the traitor here. It was one of the men sitting beside him or Ikida who couldn’t come.
“A lot of my clients say I sound like I’m from New Zealand,” Sakai said.
“How did you get a New Zealand accent?”
“My tutor growing up was from New Zealand. I wish I had more of an American accent for business.”
Nao tried not to roll his eyes, but he couldn’t care less how everyone spoke English. He needed to know how they wrote it.
“How do you even spell the holiday?” Nao asked. “H-A-L…”
Chen shook his head. “It’s more like Halle…”
“Let’s make a game of it,” Yuiko suggested. “We can all write down the spelling of English words, and the worst speller drinks.”
Nao knew she was smart.
They gathered the necessary paper, and the geiko-in-training confessed they hadn’t taken any English classes. Oshiro smiled and offered to keep them entertained while the others played. Nao hid a yawn with a cough. Depending on how long the game lasted, he might drink more sake than he did during the formal ceremony welcoming him as godfather.
“Okay, everyone has their pens?” Yuiko asked.
Nao blinked. The weight of the pen registered in his hand for the first time.
Shit.
He didn’t have enough time for a mini blackout.
Yuiko cleared her throat. “The first word is Halloween.”
Like Nao knew how to spell any word in English, but that wasn’t the point. He’d get a writing sample from two of the potential traitors. If only Ikida’s mother hadn’t died on him; then, he would’ve had them all.
“Everyone done?” Yuiko asked.
Nao brushed his sweaty palm on his pants and scrawled out a “Ha” because everyone had agreed with those letters. Then the spelling descended into a vowel consonant vowel, like all the foreign words translated in Japanese. It had to be close.
Everyone showed their version of Halloween and cheered Nao on as he downed his cup of sake.
“Next word is request.”
“That’s so easy, Yuiko, after Halloween,” Chen said.
“I already double-checked the spelling on these. We all agreed to it.”
Another moment Nao couldn’t remember. He was fine. He needed to sleep, and with the last night of Obon, he could see off the ghosts haunting him the past three days.
Every few words Yuiko asked them to write down came from the note she translated. Nao failed each time and drank another cup of sake for each one.
The fifth word…
The twelfth…
Nao lost count after that. He pressed his head against the table. The spilled sake from his last punishment wafted to his nose and added to his churning stomach. A thin smile crossed his lips because most of the note had been rewritten word by word and all he had to do was compare everyone’s papers at the end of the game.
“Murata… Murata!” Kurosawa yelled.
“What?” Nao rubbed his sweaty forehead.
“Come on, let’s get you home. You don’t look good. I’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”
“No. I’m fine. They haven’t even lit the Obon fire.”
“They did a minute ago. One of the geiko announced it, and everyone went outside.”
Nao shot up, the room tilting and a black fuzz looming over the edges. Kurosawa reached out and held Nao’s arm. Oshiro’s laughter echoed from the hallway. Nao couldn’t miss watching the bonfire. He had already missed so many of the events, he wouldn’t allow the biggest one to go unnoticed because he was tired. It would jinx the whole thing, and his father’s ghost might not leave.
“Let me go,” Nao said.
Nao stumbled toward the hallway, the tatami floor scraping against his hands. Yuiko held him before he could tumble to the ground.
“Perhaps you should rest, Mr. Murata,” Yuiko said.
“The bonfire…”
Yuiko pressed her hand on Nao’s forehead and looked back at Kurosawa.
“Mr. Kurosawa, why don’t you get everyone together, and I can make Mr. Murata more comfortable,” Yuiko said, loosening Nao’s tie.
Nao couldn’t read her smile, but something about it made Kurosawa leave. It must’ve been the fact she was a woman, and Kurosawa took her loosening Nao’s tie to suggest something else.
“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Yuiko said. “You look worse than yesterday.”
Yuiko’s words echoed in his ears, but he shook his head. “I haven’t eaten anything today. That’s probably why.”
“There’s plenty of food here.”
“I never felt hungry,” Nao mumbled.
He rolled onto his knees. Darkness bled into his vision as his arm banged against the low table. He only needed to sleep, and he’d be fine.
Nao pulled himself up and pulled out the note from the drug dealer and placed it beside Chen’s. Some of the words were spelled differently than on the note, but some parts of the handwriting were similar. Nao rubbed his eyes. The handwriting might’ve looked alike because he didn’t know the language well enough to see the pattern in the lines and loops. He pushed aside Chen’s paper then Kurosawa’s.
“Where’s Sakai’s?” Nao asked, crumpling up his game sheet.
“Maybe it fell?”
Yuiko glanced underneath the table then moved around the plates of food. Nao’s shoulders tightened, and his breath caught in his throat.
“Maybe he took it with him?” Yuiko suggested.
“Who would take a game paper with them? Do you think he knew we had the note?”
“Perhaps if you tell me what all of this is about, I can help you with more than translating notes and looking at accounting books.”
Nao rubbed his forehead. He could tell the truth to Yuiko. Anything could’ve been on that note, and he had trusted Yuiko then, but his heart sank. Telling her everything would make her lose faith in him.
“Someone in the Matsukawa is betraying me,” Nao said.
The dark edges around Nao’s vision cleared, and for the first time since learning he was being betrayed, his lungs could catch a full gulp of air. Nao shook his head. It wasn’t like he was any closer to finding the traitor. All he had learned was that Chen hadn’t written the note.
“I need to see the bonfire.” Nao staggered back to his feet. “They won’t leave me alone unless I do.”
Yuiko hooked her arm around Nao’s arm. “Please, allow m
e to help.”
Nao gave a half smile, and the extra support with his steps was a welcomed relief. They accompanied Sakai and the others outside and gazed at the mountain.
They had the best view of the Torii-gata bonfire, the kanji character signifying the torii gate to the afterlife. The light filled him within and kindled his fire within.
All the ghosts following him would leave tonight, and he wouldn’t have to sense them haunting his dreams. Nao’s arm grew slack. It also meant Shinya would go. Another year without the warming thought of his lover close. Another year apart from him.
“I’m surprised they were able to light it with all the rain this week,” Sakai said.
“They wouldn’t let a tradition die,” Nao said.
NAO CLOSED HIS EYES, trying to still the spinning room. He had thought the confines of the garden tearoom would block out the distractions of the Matsukawa main house, but every thought made him more nauseated.
Yesterday, when he had arrived home from the geisha teahouse, Nao intended to stay up in case Kohta texted him with new information. Yet, after gathering the bandage wrappers his cat had chased around the bedroom, Nao fell asleep. He woke hours later to the cat batting at his nose for attention.
Nao rubbed his face and clicked on his cracked phone, but there was still no message from Yuiko or Kohta. Nao bit his lip.
Lunchtime still hadn’t passed, and Yuiko had six accounting books to go through so her excuse was valid. Maybe it was a good thing Kohta didn’t call. It meant he hadn’t found another dealer. If he’d actually done what Nao had told him.
Nao scratched the straw tatami mat floor of the garden tearoom. Aki was wrong. Touching something didn’t mean Nao existed. The pain shooting through him solidified his connection to the living world.
The bag of bandages crinkled as he pulled it close.
“Why does it have to take so long to heal?” Nao grumbled to himself.
He guided his bad arm out of its sling and pulled off his shirt. The smell hit his nose at the first unraveled length of gauze. Yellow stained the damp bandage pad. Blood no longer seeped out of the wound; instead, a milky pus oozed out. Nao guessed three stitches had been ripped out since he’d last seen the doctor.
If Kurosawa were to see the state of the wound, he would drag him to a doctor. Lucky for Nao, Kurosawa stood outside the tearoom. A doctor would convince Kurosawa that Nao needed to spend more time in the hospital. He could deal with his arm after turning in the traitor.
Maybe if he squeezed the wound until it bled, everything would be all right. He pressed a new bandage against his arm and squeezed. A shockwave of pain shot through him, and he bit his tongue to stifle his agonizing scream. Within seconds the copper taste of blood tainted his mouth.
It became too much, and he pulled away. Milky liquid wetted his fingertips through the gauze pad. But there wasn’t any blood.
Maybe he needed to see a doctor. No. Kyoto would suffer if he wasn’t there.
He squeezed the pus-filled wound again and gasped in a voiceless scream as the room dimmed. Another bandage filled with nothing but pus. Nao brushed the sweat off his face and sighed, doubting his strength.
Nao jumped as a knock came on the sliding door.
“What is it?” Nao asked, hiding the soiled bandages.
“Father Murata, please excuse the interruption, but I brought your tea,” Aki said.
“Come in.”
Aki slid opened the door. A white face mask covered Aki’s mouth and nose. Even his eyes were shielded behind dark square-rimmed glasses. Nao tilted his head while Aki slid the door shut.
“Don’t worry. I’m not sick.” Aki’s voice was muffled under the face mask. “My hay fever decided to act up today.”
Nao shook his head. “Take it off.”
He wasn’t going to have any part of Aki’s accent softened by the mask. Aki’s long fingers slid the face mask to his chin, exposing the white patches gracing his face. He must not have bothered with makeup today since he’d worn the mask.
Nao couldn’t decide if he liked Aki’s face better with or without the disguise, but the glasses made a slow smile creep onto Nao’s lips. The frames sharpened the rounded features of Aki’s heart-shaped face and drew Nao’s gaze to stare into his eyes. The glasses were definitely something Aki needed to wear again.
A light flush covered Aki’s cheek, and he looked away, moving the objects on the tea tray to avoid Nao’s gaze. Nao bit his lip. He didn’t mean to stare, and doing it while shirtless wouldn’t help push Aki away.
“You brought matcha with the oolong?” Nao asked, his voice coming out lower than he wished.
“You said you were in the tearoom, so when you asked for tea, I wasn’t sure if you meant the traditional matcha or the oolong.”
Nao glanced to the tray. A bamboo whisk on a stand sat next to the red cloth for cleaning the tea bowl. Everything had been arranged perfectly for a traditional tea ceremony. Nao leaned forward and spun the earth-colored bowl, revealing a large crack sealed with gold. Aki had had to grab that one.
“My father would bring me here to drink matcha during his lectures. Most of the time the topics were about me settling down and looking for a wife.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t realize—”
Nao held up a hand, silencing Aki. “It’s my tearoom now. I should make new memories here.”
He took the cup, running his fingers along the golden crack.
“I was the one who caused the crack,” Nao said. “I threw it when my mother left us.”
Why was he telling Aki things he didn’t need to know? Nao ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed his temple. The room grew hotter each passing second.
Nao grabbed the teapot and poured the oolong tea into the bowl. The act was far from traditional, but he’d never have to associate the bowl with bitter lectures and matcha again. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d broken tea bowl tradition. Three months ago, he’d eaten Korean porridge out of one.
“There’s a saying that an object dies if it’s not used,” Nao said.
He put the bowl to his lips and drank. Even with Aki’s smile, the room darkened. Nao pressed his palm against the mat floor as his heartbeat jerked against his ribs.
“Are you okay?” Aki whispered. “Your arm is…”
Nao forced his eyes open and caught Aki’s smile fading. Nao swallowed. There wasn’t enough time to see a doctor.
“When I’m out here and ask for tea, bring it to me in this bowl,” Nao wheezed out. “That way it doesn’t die.”
“As you wish, Father Murata.” Aki pointed to Nao’s arm. “May I help?”
Nao sighed. It would take twice as long to change the bandages himself, and Aki had offered.
“Go ahead,” Nao said.
Aki scooted closer, and his well-worked hands lifted Nao’s arm. Nao clicked on his phone again, but still no new messages. He’d finish his tea and go and speak with Snaggletooth.
Nao held his breath with each of Aki’s gentle touches. He had to be smiling and doing something adorable.
Nao could imagine the whole situation playing out. Aki would gaze into his eyes. Then he would smile as his face turned red. He’d look away in a bad attempt to hide his flush and apologize in the thickest Kyoto accent he could.
How could Nao keep from pouncing on him when every word Aki spoke made Nao ache to touch him?
“Murata, there’s a lot of red…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Nao caught sight of Aki’s lips opening and parting as he pressed the gauze pad to the wound. Nao wished he hadn’t looked because when he met Aki’s eyes, the breath caught in his throat.
“You look cute in glasses,” Nao said without thinking.
He bit his lips and looked away. Thankfully Aki didn’t say anything back, but the air around them buzzed with electricity. Nao closed his eyes, and Aki wrapped the bandage around his arm. Each light touch of his fingers on Nao’s skin sent a shock down his spine.
“I found a copy of A Thousand Cranes,” Aki said. “I put it with your other Kawabata books.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You asked me to.”
Nao blinked.
“The other night when you were up late reading reports.” Aki tied a small knot in Nao’s bandage. “I talked about the antique book fair, and you mentioned you wanted to collect earlier editions of the classics.”
Nao didn’t remember any of the conversation, but he couldn’t tell Aki.
“Thanks,” Nao muttered and pulled his shirt over his shoulders.
“Is there anything else you desire from me?”
“Aki—”
Nao’s phone cut him off by vibrating on the floor. A text from Yuiko lit up the screen. She said she’d found something. Nao pressed his lips together then leaned forward, his mouth next to Aki’s ear.
“We need to pretend again,” Nao whispered.
“We don’t have to pretend.” Aki’s hot breathed tickled Nao’s ear. “I’m the same way, too.”
“Stop embarrassing yourself.”
“You don’t need to go to a prostitute.” Aki placed his hand besides Nao’s. “I can fulfill all your desires better than he can.”
“What I desire is for you to moan. Nothing else.”
Aki tilted his head back and let out a deep-throated moan. It was an open invitation Nao knew he couldn’t take.
Nao’s hand brushed against Aki’s as he let out the next moan. Heat radiated off Aki’s body, and the room darkened with only the white painted on Aki’s skin glowing. All Nao wanted was to pull Aki closer, to see if the heart beating in Aki’s chest matched the erratic thrashing in his own.
“Louder. Kurosawa needs to hear you,” Nao whispered, hating how desperate he sounded.
Nao’s vision blurred, and along with it all his logic. Before he realized what he was doing, his lips met Aki’s. Nao’s tongue easily made its way through Aki’s parted lips. He knew he shouldn’t kiss him, but Aki’s hand burned against Nao’s chest. He wanted to feel that caress cover every inch of skin.