Zen Attitude

by Sujata Massey

  I was dreaming that I was running. The faster and louder my feet fell on the track, the more effortless moving seemed to be. I can’t believe it, I shouted, looking back at Akemi Mihori, whom I’d eclipsed. Running was like flying; it was what I had been born to do.

  A roaring in my ears broke the rhythm; I felt myself falling through a fog and into Hugh’s voice.

  “All knackered out from your house wrecking?”

  I mumbled something, keeping my eyes closed and trying to fall back into my dream.

  “Why’d you do it? It looks bloody terrible.”

  “Hey!” I opened my eyes and beheld him fairly glowing with rage.

  “Don’t look at me. Look at the room!”

  I saw the source of his anger: the wall-length wardrobe standing open, his precious English shirts and suits lying willy-nilly on the ground. My clothes were mixed in the heap, as well as every volume from the bookshelves. The Turkish rug had been turned over, and my wood-block prints were hanging askew on the wall. I sat up, the sheet falling away from me. While I had slept, something terrible had happened.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said, fear breaking through my sleepy haze. “Someone must have come in.”

  “The whole flat’s like this.” Hugh’s voice shook. “God, to think you were lying here undressed—think of the risk to you—”

  Angus appeared in the doorway, and Hugh whipped the sheets up to cover my bare body.

  “So, who’s leading the cleanup?” Angus cackled. “Not her, I hope.”

  “Is the tansu still in your room?” I asked, flashing to the item that tied together Nao Sakai, Nomu Ideta, and me. Obviously this was why the burglars had come.

  “That beat-up old chest? It’s there, but everything’s been tossed out. It’ll be hours till I get my cassettes alphabetized again!”

  “Angus, could you leave the room for a minute? I need to get dressed.” I couldn’t wait to get to the tansu and make my own examination.

  Swearing about his cassettes, Angus went off, and I slid unsteadily out of bed and rushed into some clothes. Hugh picked up the bedside telephone, held it for a second, and then followed its cord around to the plug point. “The line’s been clipped. Great. If you’d awakened, you would have been powerless.” He rummaged around the room. “And my pocket phone’s gone!”

  Once my dress was buttoned up, I went straight to the tansu. As Angus had said, every drawer had been pulled out. I pawed through Angus’s filthy garments on the floor, wondering whether there had been something of value in the tansu that had been found and removed. In that case, our troubles should be over.

  But they couldn’t be, I realized with a mixture of nausea and terror as I left the bedrooms and went into the rest of the apartment. It had been completely trashed. I walked through the living room and kitchen, seeing every cabinet flung open and all the books left facedown on the carpets. I didn’t know how I’d put away the things I’d loved, which now seemed tainted by an unknown intruder’s touch. All of a sudden, I hated Roppongi Hills. Despite its high-class fees and doormen, I was no more protected than Nomu Ideta had been in his high-walled house, or Nao Sakai in a power-locked car—although they had been killed and I had been spared, for reasons I didn’t want to begin contemplating.

  Chapter 13

  The police arrived within minutes, filling the circular driveway of Roppongi Hills with their blue and white motorcade. From the window, I stared down at their cars and Winnie Clancy buzzing about in a fury of excitement. She was in leotard and tights; obviously she’d run from her video workout to see what had happened. I was almost glad the telephone was out of order, given that it might slightly delay her interference.

  For now, the apartment was filled with blue-suited men crawling on the carpet collecting samples of dirt or dusting the tansu for fingerprints while I explained to Lieutenant Hata, the young officer in charge, about the fifty-odd people who’d attended our cocktail party.

  “So there’s not much use dusting for fingerprints, given the number of our guests—oh, and the caterers as well—”

  The officers dusted awhile longer before deciding to focus on an inventory of missing possessions. Locating the television and CD player and valuable furniture was easy; what I struggled with was trying to remember exactly how many Imari plates had been in the cabinets. In the end, we still had no idea what was missing beside Hugh’s pocket phone.

  “There’s the possibility the break-in was some kind of warning. The work Mr. Glendinning does for Sendai—is it of a confidential nature? Can you ask him if he can think of any enemies? Any trouble you’ve had over the last several months?” Lieutenant Hata asked me.

  I translated for Hugh, and he shook his head. “My laptop—which has everything on it—is still here. Besides, I have good relations with everyone.”

  “The burglar could have been at our party.” Angus lazily dropped onto the sofa next to me. “I mean, I thought I lost the flat key, but I don’t know. Maybe someone nicked it.”

  After I translated, Hata nodded at Angus, as if respecting the opinion of a sage. “That is a good thought, because the door shows no signs of forced entry. It is possible one of your guests removed it for his own use.”

  “I doubt it,” Hugh said. “Our friends are good people. Tell him, Rei!”

  I thought of Angus’s sinister friends who’d dropped in, but I was sure they would have been more interested in Hugh’s fancy stereo than an old wooden tansu. And that, I reminded myself, was the root of all the trouble.

  “Actually, there’s something you should know, Lieutenant. It concerns a tansu I bought last week.”

  “Rei, the tansu is still here. Now is not the time to bring it up,” Hugh said.

  “Please. I am here to try to help.” Lieutenant Hata looked at me intently.

  “Does anyone want a cup of tea?” I asked. “It’s a complicated story, but I’ve been waiting for someone who wants to listen.”

  It was hard to figure out why I trusted Hata. He wore the same dark blue uniform as all the others. He was young—somewhere in his thirties, with kind eyes. He was also a good, uncritical listener, allowing me to slow the story down and add in details that I’d almost forgotten. I spoke in Japanese first, and then in English, so that Hugh, who was glowering at me from across the table, could understand everything.

  “To sum it all up, Miss Shimura, you think your burglar had something to do with the murder of Nao Sakai? And the accidental death of the diabetic man in Denen-Chofu?” Hata asked after half an hour.

  “That’s right. It’s the tansu that links the three of us. What I can’t understand is why it’s so important! Supposedly it’s only worth a fraction of what I paid.”

  “Before we go further, I should really ask my Japanese lawyer to join us,” Hugh interrupted. “He’s more familiar with the situation.”

  “More familiar than me?” I shot back.

  “Please have him telephone me, if it’s not too much trouble.” Hata, the peacemaker, smiled slightly at Hugh. “I’m grateful for the frankness of Miss Shimura. She has construed many things, but it is still worth writing a memo to my colleagues.”

  “A memo to your colleagues?” I repeated, upset not only with Hata, but with myself for being naïve enough to believe he was going to take over.

  “Yes. I work for the Roppongi police department, which means I’m responsible for investigating crimes in this neighborhood, not Denen-Chofu or Ueno.”

  “You mean you can’t order a new investigation?” I was appalled.

  “The Japanese police force is very—how shall I say?—territorial about work. I will endeavor to apprehend Mr. Glendinning’s apartment intruder, but I can only share information with the officers handling Mr. Sakai’s death. I cannot investigate it myself.” Lieutenant Hata capped his ballpoint pen and returned it to his breast pocket.

  “If everyone works in their own tiny patch of Tokyo, how d’you solve crimes?” Angus interrupted, for once speaking my mind.

/>   “Through cooperation,” Lieutenant Hata said, smiling wryly. “Another Japanese custom.”

  Try as we might, Angus, Hugh, and I found it impossible to cooperate on the apartment cleanup. I had to invade Angus’s quarters to look for my business files, and he went crazy when I overturned a case of already jumbled cassettes. Likewise, I found myself snapping at Hugh when I discovered he’d arranged my side of the clothing closet according to his taste.

  “Let’s leave the cleanup to the maid,” Hugh said at last. “She’s scheduled for Wednesday, but if you call her, Rei, I bet she’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Fumie couldn’t possibly help. What would she do with all the papers?” I objected.

  “Put them in one big stack, I suppose,” Hugh said. “Later on you’ll sort through yours, and I’ll sort through mine.”

  “I don’t want any more Japanese going through my stuff. She’s bad enough,” Angus said, sneering.

  Hugh turned from the books he’d been reorganizing to face his brother. “I’m your brother, so you can vent on me. But you won’t speak to Rei like that.”

  Angus’s face reddened with outrage. “I should just get on the plane again, for all you’ve done to make me feel welcome, you and that bitch!”

  As much as I’d dreamed of seeing Angus getting dressed down, I suddenly didn’t want it. Not with all the tensions I already had. In a low voice, I said, “Just stop. The apartment’s just too crowded. One of us needs to go, and it’ll be me. I can stay with my relatives in Yokohama.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Hugh turned on me fiercely.

  “What’s wrong with my relatives?”

  “Run to them and they’ll think I’m a bastard. After the gossip mill feeds them the story of what happened at our party, they’ll never let you come back.”

  “What do you mean, not let me come back? I’m twenty-seven years old!”

  The door chimed, as if to punctuate my rage. I went to open it and found Winnie Clancy standing in a powder blue leotard with matching headband and tights.

  “Oh dear, your flat is in a jumble. You’ll need to get sorted—”

  Without saying a word, I fled.

  The glass-enclosed telephone booth halfway down the block was well over 100 degrees Fahrenheit when I squeezed myself in and punched in Mr. Ishida’s telephone number.

  “You said the tansu is still there?” Mr. Ishida asked. “Obviously it was not my friend who did the burglary. Stop whispering like a ghost and come to my shop. I will help you locate an apartment in a safe neighborhood.”

  “I don’t have time today,” I said, and apologized for having to end the call. I dialed the Mihoris next, hoping I’d get through to Akemi. Unluckily, my call was answered by Miss Tanaka, the household retainer. Trying to cover up my disappointment, I said, “It’s Rei Shimura. I’m so glad you’re home, Miss Tanaka. Yesterday morning I tried calling.”

  “We spent all day Sunday at the temple. I thought you knew the family worships there.” Her tone was slightly starchy.

  “How is Akemi-san? I called to speak to her, if she’s well enough.”

  “Of course she’s healthy! At the moment, though, she is practicing in the dojo. May I ask her to return the call?”

  “Actually, my phone is out of order and I’m calling from the street—”

  “Is that so? I will interrupt her practice, then.”

  “If it’s not too much trouble,” I said, sensing Miss Tanaka’s displeasure.

  “It’s no trouble.” She dropped the receiver with a loud bang and shuffled off while I scrambled to stuff yen into the complaining telephone. Too bad I’d given back Mohsen’s phone card.

  “Rei? Are you still there?” Akemi came to the phone, sounding breathless.

  “I’m sorry I interrupted your practice,” I apologized.

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry I was so crazy the other night. I don’t remember half of what happened, but my mother says I was an embarrassment.” She was speaking English.

  “It wasn’t your fault. In fact, Hugh’s lawyer should have telephoned your family with an, uh, apology.” I had to broach it sooner or later.

  “I’m okay now and back on my regular regimen. When are you coming to see me?”

  “I don’t know. Things are pretty tense around here.” I leaned against the glass door, then sprang back from the burning heat.

  “That’s why you need to run,” she said with a hint of impatience. “I’ll be done with practice soon. We could run after that.”

  “I’m not fit to do that. I took something that’s left me in a fog.”

  “Are you well enough to meet for dinner?”

  “Do you want to ask your mother first?” I winced, thinking how much it sounded as if we were two ten-year-olds arranging a play date.

  “I think that would be . . . awkward,” Akemi said. “In fact, let’s not even meet in Kamakura. I don’t have the time to come all the way to Tokyo. Can we meet somewhere in the middle?”

  “Yokohama? I could be there by, say, six-thirty.”

  “Excellent. I’ll meet you at Yurindo Books inside Lumine at Yokohama Station. And don’t tell your boyfriend.” Akemi hung up before I could ask anything else.

  The Toyoko express to Yokohama had a big problem: broken air-conditioning. The windows were propped open, but the heat from the hundred-plus packed bodies made the car I rode in unbearable. Pinstriped businessmen and nylon-clad matrons waved themselves with traditional paddle-style fans, while those younger and less prepared pressed cold soft-drink cans to their foreheads. I stared at advertisement for an Alaska tour, only $ 1,600 for five days on a glacier. The prospect of being both cold and away from all my fears was suddenly alluring; too bad my bank account was so piddling. A year ago, when I’d been teaching English for a salary, I could have done it.

  Entering Yokohama Station’s icy air-conditioning was bliss. I went through the Lumine mini-mall to Yurindo Books, and, not seeing Akemi, wandered into the foreign-books section. I was paging through some English mysteries, noting that the NyQuil had made me unable to read small print, when Akemi tapped me on the shoulder.

  “Great weather,” she said with not a trace of irony. “I love summer evenings. Shall we walk to Chinatown?”

  It was such a short train ride to Yokohama’s Chinese neighborhood that I would never have chosen to walk, but I nodded and followed my athletic friend out into the humidity.

  “Your eyes look terrible, all sleepy and vague. Did you eat one of those small chocolate cakes that Angus prepared?” Akemi asked as we began walking toward the river.

  “No, I took NyQuil. An over-the-counter medicine for sleeping.” I was surprised at her ease in talking about her collapse; what exactly had her mother told her?

  “I thought you’d want to eat a big dinner, because when I woke up after the drugs, I was starving. I made the car stop at Family Mart so I could buy snacks. I would have enjoyed more of those chocolate cakes, but Angus had taken them away.”

  “So you know?” I didn’t know whether to be horrified or relieved.

  “Of course! Angus explained them to me, and I ate out of curiosity. I’m interested in drugs. I’ve taken steroids, you know.”

  “I didn’t. Surely not at the Olympics—”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, my stupid coach had me on the wrong kind, the ones that show up in testing.”

  I looked around nervously, but none of the masses appeared much interested in an English conversation going on between two sweaty young women.

  “There was an agreement. I was allowed to compete on condition that I lost my matches. If I didn’t, they would have told the judo committee about the drugs.”

  “How many people know this?” I was appalled at the easy way Akemi was telling her story.

  “My former coach, the doctor, and my parents, who thought it more face-saving for me to perform and lose than to be thrown out for cheating.”

  So you never tried at all?” Somehow this made me angry. I’d watched the
Seoul Olympics largely to root for the Japanese athletes and had been heartbroken when she’d been defeated so easily.

  “I rolled over and played dead for the Koreans and Chinese,” Akemi said in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere outside of her. “No one could understand the breakdown of the top-ranked middleweight woman. It got easier with time. I fell so stupidly in the second match, I had a genuinely sprained shoulder to add to my pain.”

  “And you never made a comeback,” I said, thinking about what had happened in the Pan-Asian Games and other matches over the following years.

  “I left my coach, of course, and went completely off all the pills and vitamin supplements, trusting nothing. I tried to get my strength entirely from food and became a macrobiotic vegetarian.” She made a wry face at me. “Something was lost. I became weak . . . the fighting spirit inside me was gone.”

  “Adzuki beans can give you only so much energy,” I said, hoping to make her laugh. She didn’t. An hour after we had started walking, we passed under the gaudy red gate leading into Chinatown. Rich smells of steaming pork buns and barbecued chicken began curling into my nose. I wondered if we would be able to find vegetarian food.

  “So you can see why I tried the hashish?” Akemi fixed me with her tough gaze.

  “Not exactly.”

  “I gave my youth to judo. In my teens and twenties, I was just a workout girl bulked up on drugs and exercise. I had no friends. I didn’t even know which bands were in the top ten!” She laughed shortly. “Angus is an interesting boy. We ate the chocolate cakes together and I told him so much. It was a mind-opening experience.”

  “You fainted,” I reminded her. “You had too much—”

  “It was stupid for me to do something like that with my mother around. Now she’s going through some kind of crisis, deciding whether to take the money your boyfriend’s lawyer sent us.”