Jasmine

by Noboru Tsujihara

  Xu Liping had had time to think about all he stood to lose. Although nothing in comparison to the losses his father and grandfather had sustained, it was a bitter blow. If only he’d made better, bolder use of his wealth while he could. He had donated one hundred million yen to repair Ijokaku, the former villa of a wealthy Chinese merchant in Maiko, near the Akashi Strait, and turn it into the Sun Yat-sen Memorial Hall. The scholarship fund established by his grandfather to aid resident Chinese and needy overseas students from China and Taiwan was an ongoing concern, and he had endowed a chair at the Kobe University School of Medicine. Not nearly enough, he thought. Maybe, if he lived through this, he would become a power broker for the dissident movement on the Chinese mainland.

  “What do you think of that, Yumei?” he said aloud, but his wife in her wheelchair beside him made no response. “Ha ha. Just joking.”

  Or maybe he would work to revive budaixi, Chinese operatic puppet shows. They were all but obsolete in both Fujian and Taiwan. How about doing Shakespeare in budaixi?

  The Taiwan president Li Denghui had said that after retirement he wanted to trace the route Basho followed in his Narrow Road to the Deep North…Maybe I could go along, be his guide… Ah, if only I could have gotten Li Denghui together with Zhou Enlai. What might have happened? That would have been something.

  Waki Akihiko’s phone call had interrupted these meditations. He was bringing Li Xing, his granddaughter, to him. Live long enough and anything can happen! reflected Xu. He wasn’t bowled over by the news, but neither was he entirely calm.

  When Aki, Lu Xing, and Chen arrived, Xu greeted them warmly: “Hello and welcome! I’m told the roof fell in on the main buildings of Ikuta Shrine and Kanteibyo. Here one or two things fell off a chest of drawers, that’s all, and the only thing broken was one drinking glass.”

  And then without further ado he folded Li Xing in his arms, close to his heart.

  27

  At home in her kitchen, Li Xing dropped a wineglass, breaking it into pieces. She hastily gathered up the pieces and ended up cutting her finger on a sliver of glass. It started to bleed. At the hotel villa, she and Aki had picked up pieces of another broken glass, wearing leather gloves; remembering was painful in itself.

  Surreptitiously, so Zhang Liang wouldn’t notice, she washed off the blood in the bathroom sink, applied a herbal medicine, and wrapped her finger in a Band-Aid. After a quick sob, she went back to the living room where her husband was sitting on the sofa, drinking Hennessy VSOP, a gift from the Chinese community in Kobe. In China he’d never drunk the stuff, but lately he’d developed a taste for cognac.

  Li Xing’s hair was parted in the middle, and she wore an apricot-coloured cardigan draped loosely over her shoulders. Zhang had eaten dinner in the same suit he wore to work, then showered and changed into pyjamas and a dressing gown.

  “Want to try some of this, Li Yan?” he said.

  She shook her head.

  She’d stayed at her grandfather’s apartment for two days. The fires, having reached as far as Nakayamate, were brought under control during the night; knowing this, Aki had felt safe leaving her there and returned to Ashiya to attend to his sister’s body. Chen Ying had nowhere to go, his home having burned down, so he offered his services to Xu Liping. Xu had a car, Chen was at home behind the wheel, and that was that.

  The bullet train Zhang took from Tokyo on the afternoon of the 17th went only as far as Kyoto. There he transferred to the older line and got back to Osaka that evening. Not knowing the reason for his wife’s absence, and unable to ask his colleagues or the consul general about her, or seek their advice, he was frantic with worry. Maybe she’d been badly injured in the earthquake and taken to a hospital. There was nothing he could do but wait.

  Early on the morning of the 18th, as instructed by the consul general, Zhang and two staff members set off for Kobe by car to get in touch with the local Chinese community and gather information. Six hours later, they arrived at the Center for Overseas Chinese in Nakayamate, where they met the head of the association and heard accounts of damage suffered. They returned to Osaka the same day. The following day, accompanied by the consul general, they headed back to Kobe with a truckload of emergency supplies and the announcement of a one billion yen relief donation by the Chinese government to aid Chinese survivors of the quake.

  At the Center for Overseas Chinese, walls had collapsed and the ground floor was badly damaged, but the building was still usable and the phones were working. Zhang borrowed a phone to call home; he played the messages on his answering machine and heard the one just sent by Li Yan. It turned out she was in Suwayama, less than a kilometre away.

  Aki spent that same day running around trying to arrange his sister’s cremation. Crematoria in Ashiya and Kobe were filled to capacity; to make matters worse, there was only one coroner to be found in Ashiya, and in Kobe, only four. Without a coroner’s report, cremation was impossible. Uchiyama, the delivery service guy, managed to dredge up a supply of dry ice, enough to preserve Mitsuru’s remains for four or five days.

  That evening, Aki and Li Xing had a long talk on the phone. Xu Liping was also consulted in detail about what she should do. The next afternoon, Chen drove her back to Osaka, reaching her home in five hours’ time.

  “Quite a surprise,” said Zhang, sticking his upper lip and the tip of his nose inside the brandy glass. “Who’d have thought you had distant relations in Kobe?”

  “I know, I can hardly believe it myself,” she replied. “My mother’s surname was Xu, and apparently her great-grandfather came to Nagasaki long ago as head of a puppet theatre group that was popular in Taiwan. Anyway, three days ago I got a sudden phone call asking if I was the daughter of Xu Lan, from Beijing. I said yes, and they invited me over. I meant to come right back, but they urged me to stay, and you were in Tokyo, anyway… Then there was the earthquake, and I was stuck. I’m so sorry. I know you must have worried.”

  “That’s all right. Still, even if they did claim to be relatives, it was a bit risky, wasn’t it – taking off like that after just one phone call? If they were Taiwanese, things could have gotten messy.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, looking contrite, and refilled his glass. He seemed preoccupied. The way he watched her with hollow, shifting eyes made her feel like an interesting specimen of bug. She had to get him drunker. When he was under the influence, his eyes stopped fidgeting and his tongue loosened up.

  “Inside Tokyo Station there’s this little bar, nice atmosphere. I like to sit sipping brandy, looking down on the train platforms. Now and then I meet up there with a Japanese guy I know. Exchange a little information. Capable fellow, speaks really good Chinese. I phoned him the day before yesterday; thought we’d get together before I left, but he wasn’t around, they said; he was stuck in Kobe when the earthquake hit. So I got on the bullet train, but it didn’t go farther than Kyoto. Terrible thing about Kobe.”

  Zhang held his glass in his right hand; his left was in his dressing gown pocket, where he always kept it when talking face to face with his beautiful wife. It helped him keep a grip on himself, not be servile with her. The movement of his eyes slowed.

  “Li Yan, hear me out, please. Don’t get angry, okay? There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, but I just… Tell me, were you Cai Fang’s woman?”

  Li Xing turned a level gaze on him, her eyes barely an arm’s length from his.

  “Lately that’s been all the talk around the ministry. Even the vice-minister hinted it was true,” he continued. “Is it?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said coolly, nodding. Zhang put his brandy glass on the table and reached out for her right hand, holding it in both of his. Inside the cocoon of his hands she shifted her bandaged finger slightly.

  “Do you still have any feelings for him?”

  “No.”

  Amid the tissue of lies she’d had to tell tonight, this “no” was the lone truth, and she delivered it in a strong, no-nonsense
tone of voice.

  Zhang hung his head, directing a small smile of satisfaction at empty space. Then, slowly, he began to talk. He had stumbled on the surprising truth about Cai Fang: the man was a traitor to the Party and to his country.

  The Party always comes first, doesn’t it? thought Li Xing to herself.

  “The investigation’s nearly done.”

  “Oh? What investigation?” Her tone was offhand, as if to say, I have no interest in this matter, but as you seem inclined to talk about it, go ahead.

  “An old friend of mine is on the faculty of Xinjiang University in Urumqi. I got him to do a little digging. See, I knew Cai spent some time in Urumqi before he went to Beijing. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff that came out. That son of a bitch.”

  If Zhang brought up Urumqi, capital of the Uyghur Autonomous Region, he had to be hinting at something related to the underground separatist movement there. Calmly, she withdrew her hand from his grasp and said, “What you’re doing could be dangerous. You can’t dismiss a man like Cai Fang as easily as all that.”

  “I know. I’ll be careful. I’m not going to make my move anytime soon. Now, if I can just get my hands on the side report in Huxley… Got to see that guy right away.”

  “What guy?”

  “Didn’t I tell you? The one I said before, the guy in the bar in Tokyo Station.”

  A half-smile played at the corners of her mouth. Without a doubt, this “guy” was Aki – which meant Zhang would never lay his eyes on any report. Knowing the connection between these two men was oddly reassuring, which explained her smile – an acknowledgment of the irony of the situation.

  But Zhang saw the smile as a wifely expression of admiration and confidence. “I’ll take off for Beijing soon as I can. Headquarters wants a report on the Kobe disaster. I know more about it than the ambassador or the consul general, so I’ll go. I mean to settle Cai’s hash then. He’ll be history.”

  “This could mean a big promotion for you. Two ranks, maybe three.”

  Zhang drank the last of his brandy and nodded. He didn’t see the irony in this comment, either.

  “Be careful. He’s tricky.”

  “I know. I won’t send any documents by diplomatic pouch, or leave them lying around the consulate, either. Just because I work directly for him doesn’t mean he hasn’t got his spies out.”

  Relaxing, she let her bandaged finger uncurl with the others.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Good. Glad you got off so lightly, I mean.” He was referring to the earthquake.

  “Yes.”

  “That reminds me – what’s the name of that distant relation of yours in Kobe?”

  “Xu.”

  “Yeah, but Xu what?”

  “Xu Liping.”

  “Oh yeah? Xu Liping? No kidding. I can’t believe you’re related to him!”

  She looked at him quizzically.

  “Xu Liping of Kobe is somebody. Very well-known family. I mean, the guy’s held in the highest respect, both by us and by Taiwan.”

  “But he’s just an old man.”

  Yeah, right, he thought privately. He’ll let you think so – which is what makes him such a tough customer. Cai Fang never let on about her being connected to the Xu family. Sneaky. No way he wouldn’t know a thing like that, not someone that careful in checking every detail. Why didn’t he say something? He deliberately hid it. Why?

  A vague foreboding came over him. It was like brushing against the edge of Cai Fang’s net.

  Among all the Chinese residents of Japan, those in Kobe occupied a rather special position. Elsewhere, in Tokyo, Osaka, and Yokohama, the residents fell into pro-mainland and pro-Taiwan factions, but in Kobe, there was a third faction as well – call it the Sun Yat-sen group – with ties going way back. Well-known writers and university professors, doctors, a former star of the Takarazuka revue, and others had formed what appeared on the surface to be a freewheeling social group – centred around Xu Liping.

  Should he make an enemy of Xu, or an ally? For Zhang Liang, concerned above all with getting ahead, this was a serious question.

  He set down his brandy glass and turned on her his shrewdest and most thoughtful gaze of the evening. “Let’s go to bed.”

  “I’ve seen too much death today. I can’t… I’m sorry.”

  “Right. It had to be a hell of an experience.” He stood up. “Well, good night, then. You want to know something? I happened to go to the funeral of Xu Liping’s mother a couple of years ago, in the autumn. Creates a bond, doesn’t it?”

  Li Xing remained seated on the stool for a while, feeling slightly weak.

  28

  Aki was waiting for Mitsuru’s turn to be cremated, hoping it would come quickly. There was nothing to do but get through it. The supply of gas to all the crematoria had been stopped, and they were running instead on crude oil. Still, why this rush to reduce her body to ashes and bone? Why couldn’t she linger awhile, go back to Teite, have some striped mullet with him one more time?

  If only. The thought was taboo during a time of disaster, yet it kept returning to him. In the hospital corridor, an old woman had been quietly talking to her granddaughter. She’d used those words, and the girl had let loose with a wild shriek, alarming everyone around.

  This was Aki’s big regret: if only he’d taken Mitsuru to Awaji for the puppet show. A useless if. The person he’d taken was Li Xing.

  Uchiyama used a motorbike to hunt for more dry ice. Even so, the body showed signs of deterioration. They somehow got through the coroner’s examination, only to be told to remove her from the hospital mortuary. Schools and community centres, district assembly halls and public buildings were filled to overflowing with the living and the dead. Funeral halls and morgues were packed. Not knowing what else to do, the two men loaded the casket onto Uchiyama’s truck and drove around aimlessly. Fortunately the truck was equipped with air conditioning. It belonged to Uchiyama; the company he worked for was a franchise, and drivers were required to own their vehicles.

  They drove along the Sumiyoshi River, stopping on the way for a night’s rest. Little other traffic had come this far to escape the earthquake. Without being asked, Uchiyama volunteered the details of how he and Mitsuru had met.

  “That tea smelt really good,” he ended by saying.

  “So you delivered it to her? I was the one who sent it.”

  “Really? She gave some to me. I’ve got it with me, see?” From his breast pocket he produced a pouch of Peony Rosette, carefully wrapped in foil.

  In the deep valley where they were parked, the rustle of trees and raindrops on the surface of the river was broken occasionally by the cries of wild monkeys and other forest animals.

  “I came here once on a school excursion,” murmured Aki, half to himself. “I’d like to make tonight the last night of her wake. But you know something, I’ll bet a night like this would have been just to her liking.”

  Uchiyama nodded, but did not say anything.

  Day dawned, the half-dark of early morning lingering on. They set off down the narrow, twisting valley road until they came to a funeral hall. Under a covered gallery, relatives of earthquake victims who had spent the night there were dozing on newspapers and cardboard. Some thirty coffins were lined up, waiting. Aki and Uchiyama cautiously unloaded Mitsuru’s coffin and laid it at the end of the queue.

  The hall doors opened and the cremations began. Their turn finally came, just before noon, and Aki and Uchiyama carried the coffin in near the ovens. There were six. The wall was lined with little white urns. Mitsuru would go into one of them.

  While they waited, they walked along a path lined with rhododendrons. Other people were on the same path, most of them dressed formally in mourning clothes, which looked incongruous. Again and again, they passed the same families: people who walked as if skirting the rim of a crater and spoke in soft, timid voices.

  The old woman they’d seen in
the hospital corridor the day before was coming towards them, supported by the girl, with whom she now seemed to be getting along. “We just have to be thankful we can have her cremated like this,” she was saying. “Poor Sa-chan and the rest – buried alive, and then the fire. Their bodies got burned too… but think of the difference.”

  “Grandma,” said the girl in a low remonstrating voice.

  The wind was blowing from east to west. Grey smoke from the crematorium chimney drifted from Mount Aburakobushi towards Mount Maya, crossed a valley, and was borne up on a rising current of air. Kobe destroyed, Mitsuru gone. Sadness, mingled with relief at having seen his sister properly off, drifted sideways through Aki’s heart like smoke.

  Five or six undertakers were standing by with signs that read “All your funeral needs attended to.” Aki smiled wryly. Not a bad thing – that business should continue during a time of disaster. It was the Huxley partner’s thinking. The morning news, heard over Uchiyama’s truck radio, had reported that in anticipation of a post-earthquake reconstruction boom the Tokyo stock market had recorded its highest rise in seven months.

  Mitsuru was now ashes and bone. For Aki, this was unbelievable. And for Uchiyama, too.

  Without any of the extra services offered by the undertakers, the two men made their way back to the truck. Holding the urn on his lap, Aki asked Uchiyama if he would mind taking him to the nursing home in Mikage.

  With his mother were her sisters and several of the Tachibana relatives, come to see how she was. Some were learning of Mitsuru’s death only now. Aki gave a brief account of events, from the discovery of the body to the cremation. The relatives expressed sadness, and appreciation for his efforts. Yasuko remained asleep the whole time.

  The family grave was in Jissoin Temple in Suma; from the mass funeral in Ashiya until after the forty-ninth day memorial service, when the remains could be interred, an aunt living nearby would keep the mortuary urn in her home. Mitsuru’s cousin, a lawyer in Fukuoka, began to discuss the ownership rights to the condo. Aki couldn’t begin to imagine how that issue might be resolved, as the whole apartment block was wrecked. He would leave the matter in his cousin’s hands.