Jasmine

by Noboru Tsujihara

  Better not to exaggerate the importance of that mission – and yet what if Cai was brought down by some scandal? What would happen to her then? Did he, Aki, have it in his power to protect her secret all the way, somehow get her mission revoked?

  He pressed on with this line of speculation. Perhaps Cai was up to his ears in the Tarim project. Perhaps five years ago he came to Tokyo and, one way or another, managed to destroy the relevant records at the agency. He had to have an ally somewhere within the organization. All that remained on paper was Aki’s side report, but that was buried deep in Pandora in Huxley’s head office. Once a document went in there, not even the author was allowed to make or possess copies.

  What was Cai’s angle? Was he siphoning off vast sums of ODA and using them for his own purposes, behind the Party’s back?

  Before them, the sun tilted towards the horizon, its colour changing from burnished gold to deep orange. The wind had died down. From below came the rhythmic pounding of waves. The horizon was clear and empty, not a wisp of cloud or vapour to block their view.

  “When the sun goes down, I’ll go.”

  “To report back to Cai Fang about me?” The attempt at humour fell flat.

  “I love you.”

  “You love me, but you spy on me?”

  “No, I’d never do that. Cai Fang was purposely vague. I’m sure he wants you on his side.”

  “Fine with me. I don’t know what he’s up to, but he doesn’t strike me as an embezzler.”

  “Of course he isn’t.”

  “Tell him this from me: I’m his friend. That’s because I love you so much, Xingxing.”

  “Yes. I will.”

  “Maybe it’ll let you partly off the hook.”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him as far as the Tarim survey goes, he has nothing to worry about. At least until the fall of the US.”

  Matching the irony in this, she said, “Right. When China defeats America.”

  Aki then explained about Pandora.

  “I see. Once, quite a long time ago… though it feels like yesterday… I seem to remember we had a conversation like this. You said that of all the countries in the world, Japan had the fewest secrets. But there can’t be a country without secrets, any more than there can be a person without secrets. So I wonder – not to make too much of your Pandora, but perhaps Japan has entrusted all its secrets to America.”

  “I remember,” he said. “That was the time you came to my hotel to phone your nainai. Dressed up like my father. Not my real father, but his character in the movie.”

  “That’s right. I was positive you were a Japanese spy,” she said with a husky laugh. Aki laughed louder.

  “What about Cai Fang?” she said. “He seems to have deep convictions of some sort. But he’s not a pro-democracy activist like Liu. He doesn’t strike me as sharing those beliefs on the same level, anyway. I think if it came down to it, he could order people killed without a qualm.”

  “Spies live in a world where beliefs matter less than the techniques of betrayal.”

  “Mmm. Betrayal. It’s Zhang Liang’s convictions I really wonder about. He may be loyal to the Party, but he’s no diehard Communist. I guess I’d say he believes in getting ahead. What about you, Aki, what do you believe in?”

  He smiled. “Convictions can be secrets. Because they’re private. But I’m an open book.”

  She laughed again, a throaty pigeon sound, and said mischievously, “Really? I doubt it.”

  “You think? Then I confess. My secrets are two in number: my acquittal in China and my father. He may be alive over there. Now there’s a man with secrets to burn.”

  Her eyes were bright, childlike. “I’ve got just one secret.”

  “Which is?”

  “You. That’s what makes me strong.”

  Their eyes locked. The crimson light of the setting sun began to fall on them.

  She cocked her head quizzically, but didn’t ask anything else.

  “If Zhang’s motivation is getting ahead, then what about Cai – someone you say could have people killed without it bothering him.”

  “I don’t know. But if you ask me, Yin Dan could be a killer, too.”

  “Yin Dan. Whatever happened to him?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I tried asking Cai.”

  Just as she’d said that, by the nape of her neck Aki thought he’d caught a trace of the lingering scent of jasmine. When he tried to make it out more distinctly, it was gone.

  Unaware of this moment, Li Xing swung her gaze to the left. “Look, the lights on the suspension bridge came on.”

  “That’s the Great Naruto Bridge. It goes to Shikoku. See all the white foam on the surface of the water? That’s the famous whirlpool.” Aki explained the principle of this swirling current, as the sun sank even closer to the horizon.

  Li Xing listened, then searching for words, said hesitantly, “There’s something my father used to say. ‘A wide perspective comes only when you look at your own small dwelling after seeing a great expanse of land or sky.’ The way we’re sitting here looking out at the sea from a tiny garden. And the scenery – isn’t it grand!”

  The blazing sun continued its relentless descent. Here and there in the shadows of trees, on soil stained purple by sunset, birds in small groups were pecking for food. Li Xing swept her hair back, her profile now deep indigo in honey-coloured light. The same colours moved across the contours of Aki’s face. The both of them, with her father’s words in mind, stared out ahead, sharing a single focus.

  The moment the sun brushed the horizon, Li Xing let out a tiny yelp, as if she’d been burned. In a twinkling, the sun spread out on either side, pouring light like lava on the surface of the sea. Through the light glided the dark shadows of fishing boats and freighters. Floating in the sky far above them were fragments of clouds lined in deep red and gold, with centres of sooty black.

  Li Xing reached over and laid a hand on Aki’s elbow. The pressure of her hand increased with the sinking of the sun. By the time the sun’s orb disappeared from view, her fingers were digging into him. Then she gave another tiny gasp. Between sky and sea flashed a faint, green ray of light. For one millisecond, so briefly they hardly knew it was there, the green light filled the paper-thin boundary between time and space.

  “It’s gone,” she said. Darkness elbowed its way under the long eaves of the gabled roof and down onto the terrace. Light seeped out from the floor lamp in the room behind them. Li Xing shivered and gathered her shawl closer around her. “I wish I could stay forever… But I have to go.”

  She spoke faintly, stood up, swayed slightly on her feet. He put out a hand to steady her, and said sadly, “If I let you go back tonight, I’ll feel the same way I did in Zhouzhuang. I never want to feel that way again. Anyway, let’s go in.”

  He got up and slipped an arm around her waist, one hand on the flare of her hips. When he closed the terrace door with that hand, the warmth in his palm seemed to spread out and around him. He drew the white lace curtains, plum-coloured darkness showing through the design.

  “Oh, I forgot,” he said. “For dinner we have to go all the way to the main building. It’s a bit of a hike.”

  “You must tell me – how do I get home?”

  “Let’s have dinner. All you had for lunch was a sandwich.”

  “No. No dinner and no drinks. Just tell me how to get back.”

  Wineglass in hand, Aki parked himself lightly on the edge of the oval table with a token bouquet of flowers and a message from the hotel manager.

  “So you really did come here to explain, and that’s all.” Disappointment darkened his voice, made it husky. He tried to produce small talk, anything to detain her, but the words wouldn’t come.

  She shook her head. “If I’m not home tonight, what will he think?”

  “You said he’d be in Tokyo till tomorrow noon.”

  “He always calls at eleven.”

  “Do you think he suspects you�
��re not Li Yan?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “He’s definitely fond of you. But what if he finds out you’ve been deceiving him? What happens then?”

  “That’s why I have to be careful, stay on his good side.”

  There was one thing she hadn’t yet told Aki. Just before leaving Beijing, an envelope had arrived from Cai Fang; it in were official divorce forms. To complete them, each party needed the approval of an appropriate sponsor. Already Li Xing’s column contained the signature and seal of a Beijing government official, someone she didn’t know; Zhang’s had the official seal of the Bureau of Foreign Affairs and the signature of Cai Fang. This was his way of ensuring that the divorce could go through at any time. All that was missing was Zhang’s own signature. She had to avoid turning him against her, had to set things up so he would consent to sign.

  This was her other secret. She carried the divorce papers about with her wherever she went, like a lucky charm. She had a feeling that if she told anyone about it, even Aki, the power of the charm would fade.

  “Want to know my official history? It goes like this: Li Yan, born 14th May 1961, at 5–28 Jinhong Hutong, Dongcheng Ward, Beijing. That part is true – if I put down some place I didn’t know, it might be reason for trouble. Father a travelling salesman, mother a cleaning woman in Tiananmen Square. That’s a couple who lived two doors down from me once in Beijing; I just turned myself into their daughter. Then let’s see, I did rather well at school, so I attended Beijing Language Academy, majoring in Japanese—”

  He interrupted her. “Won’t Zhang Liang find out about your communications with Cai Fang?”

  She looked down. “There haven’t been any yet. When the time comes, what should I do?”

  “I’m in Tokyo, so I can’t – hold on, I know. My sister. I’ll introduce you to my little sister.”

  Hearing that he had a younger sister was reassuring. “I’d love to meet her.”

  “She lives in Ashiya. Works in Yodoyabashi, in Osaka. Not far from the consulate.” He brought his face close to hers. His sister was the excuse for making intimacy easier. “I’ll give you her address.”

  Li Xing got out a pen and notebook from her handbag.

  “Isn’t that—”

  “Yes, it is. It’s the pen you had the attendant give me on the boat.”

  “Right. Awfully nice of me, wasn’t it? Okay, here it is. Ashiya Urban Life, Apartment 109, 2–6 Hiratacho, Ashiya. I can’t wait for you two to meet. And here’s her phone number. So,” he said with finality, “I am not letting you go tonight.”

  “Peculiar logic,” she murmured, her breath warm and inviting. Aki drank it in, his lips on hers. As the kiss became more passionate, their minds clouded over, blotting out all thought.

  Li Xing pulled away from the long kiss as though rousing herself from sleep. “I really must get back.” Her voice was faint, yet she managed to free herself and move behind the sofa. Three metres away from her stood Aki, lost, his hands gripping the edge of the table.

  She looked away and retreated a few steps along the back of the sofa. Then a memory came to her of another room: She was alone in the labour camp, straining her eyes in the dark, trying to summon Aki’s image to her side. The moment she pictured this, she knew she would stay.

  Aki carried her towards the dimly lit room next door.

  “Let me see your face.” Still in his arms, she cradled his face in her hands. “Wo ai ni.” I love you. She said the words with deep emotion, as if for the last time.

  Deep in her eyes, tiny radial lights seemed to flicker. She slid out of his arms.

  “Take your clothes off,” he said, the words as much a plea as a command. Then, “You’re a little thinner than before.”

  “Yes.”

  A flood of memories made him awkward. “It killed me to think I’d never be with you again.” Her lithe body was in his arms, and her beautiful breasts. Not the shape of mangoes, but as firm and warm and sweet.

  The bed was at the same level as the window, and in the calm, looking-glass sea outside the lovers could see the clear reflection of the full moon. The moon itself was far above the villa’s gabled roof. The moon in the sea moved steadily to the right, peering in through the window, but neither of them noticed.

  At about four in the morning, Li Xing awoke. For a moment she couldn’t remember where she was, and lifted her head to look out the window, but the moon was no longer gazing in. She reached out and gently touched Aki; he mumbled something and turned towards her, fast asleep. Relief and happiness flooded through her. Tears stung her eyes. She couldn’t go back to sleep.

  As she lay drowsing, suddenly there came a violent jolting motion from below; her body bounced up fifty centimetres into the air. I thought I couldn’t sleep, but I must’ve dozed off. The same thing had often happened in the labour camp, where she’d been in a perpetual daze, hovering between sleep and wakefulness.

  Her body bounced as though on a trampoline; she came close to falling off the bed. With a shout, Aki grabbed hold of her and threw his body over her. He knew what was happening.

  The up-and-down shaking continued. The wineglass on the bed stand fell over and broke. The walls and ceiling creaked, high-pitched cracks could be heard spreading in the windowpane.

  “Earthquake?”

  Aki nodded.

  Li Xing knew little of the horror of earthquakes. Aki, for his part, had grown accustomed to earthquakes after living in Tokyo, but this one seemed terrible. He’d never experienced anything remotely like it. Funny there should be a major earthquake in the Kansai area – let alone Awaji Island, of all places!

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’ll stop soon. Damn, this is a bad one! I’m so sorry.”

  She giggled. “It’s not your fault.”

  “No, but still.”

  The rocking subsided. Using the bedside panel, Aki tried all the lights in the room. One lamp and the ceiling dimmer would not come on. The most fragile-looking of all, a tall floor lamp, stood untoppled and unbroken, emitting a soft glow.

  They were taking a quick shower when the aftershock struck. Naked, Li Xing threw herself into his arms. He couldn’t help feeling aroused, but then the phone rang: it was the manager, inquiring if they were all right.

  “We’re okay, thanks,” Aki said. “But that was a big one. A window cracked. A wineglass fell over and broke.”

  An employee was on his way to check out the room, the manager said.

  In their bathrobes, Aki and Li Xing put on their leather gloves and started to pick up bits of glass off the floor. They turned on the TV. Somebody was giving the weather forecast, while a banner across the bottom of the screen ran breaking news: At 5:46 this morning there was a severe earthquake in the Kinki region. In Awaji Island and Kobe it registered 6 on the seismic scale, with a magnitude of 7.2. The epicentre was around the Akashi Strait, three kilometres northeast of Awaji. The danger of a tsunami is…

  “It was centred exactly where we are – unbelievable,” Aki muttered. “No wonder it packed such a wallop. Magnitude 7.2. Damn.” He threw on his clothes and told Li Xing he was going out to look around the hotel.

  In the entrance hall to their villa, a large Bizenware vase had smashed to pieces. The colourful roses it had contained lay scattered on the floor, unnaturally vivid amid the pottery shards and spilt water.

  Outdoors, the sky in the east was just beginning to lighten. The light on top of the main tower of the Grand Naruto Bridge was winking; the headlights of several cars were zipping along. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was as if the tremors had never happened.

  Then a hotel employee came running up the slope to him. “Is everyone all right?” he asked breathlessly. “Is anyone hurt?”

  No, Waki hadn’t imagined the earthquake. “We’re fine,” he replied. “How about at the other villas?”

  “You were the only villa guests last night. I’m glad you’re safe. You’re welcome to come down to the main building for a complimentary b
reakfast.”

  “Any news of Kobe?”

  “It’s not good. The epicentre was at the northern end of Awaji Island. Kobe’s in bad shape.”

  “Oh,” Aki gulped, worry tearing through him. Then he told the employee they’d be along in a bit.

  The employee sprinted back down the slope.

  When he re-entered the sitting room, Li Xing was dressed, eyes glued to the TV. There were images of a city in flames, clouds of smoke billowing. This was Kobe.

  Aki grabbed the telephone and pushed the buttons for Mitsuru’s number. No response. He tried repeatedly. Nothing. He tried his mother’s nursing home in Mikage, and this time the call went through. But no one picked up the phone. He tried Mitsuru again. Nothing.

  They packed up their things and went quickly down the gentle slope towards the main building. The sky was now completely light. There was no wind, but the air was freezing and they turned up their collars. The automatic door at the entrance to the reception opened smoothly, and the warmth of the lobby enveloped them.

  Hotel guests were milling around anxiously. Two other couples they remembered having seen at the puppet theatre. A large-screen TV in the lobby was showing more footage of Kobe. A middle-aged female guest burst into tears.

  Everyone was itching to leave, their nerves on edge. A middle-aged man and a young woman, probably there on the sly, were both from Kobe; faces dark with worry, they each stood with a cell phone pressed to an ear, trying to get through to someone.

  The hotel manager addressed the group. Aki couldn’t help remembering the man’s expression yesterday when something about the green flash had been mentioned. Again this morning, the guy was grim-faced. Stupidly, Aki wondered if the flash and the earthquake were somehow related.

  “Except for Kobe City and part of Nishinomiya, the phone lines are working. We’re checking information about boat service to the mainland now, so please be patient a little longer. Breakfast is available in the lounge. You’re welcome to stay on in your rooms past checkout time at no extra charge.”