by Carrie Asai
“Kaori,” I said after a while. “I’m sorry, but I’m really, really exhausted. I think I want to sleep.”
Kaori stopped in midsentence. “Oh!” she said. “Of course. Goodness. You need to sleep. You must be totally jet-lagged. Okay, if you need anything, I’ll be in the meditation room.”
The meditation room had a window that looked right into my bedroom. Was she going to watch me from in there?
I sat on the bed for a minute, looking around the room. Not a hair was out of place. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on the carpet. The pillows were white and flawless. It was the cleanest, purest, whitest room I’d ever been in. The whiteness made me think of Mieko. She would wear head-to-toe white around the house to please my father. White flowy dresses, white shirts, and even white shoes. I’d always thought she’d looked like a ghost in all that white. Her face was always so pale and serious; she never spoke. She floated around the house soundlessly. Sometimes I wouldn’t even know if she was in the room or not.
As I gazed around the blinding white room, I could hardly catch my breath. I sat on a white bed, surrounded by white walls, with Mieko’s eerie picture only yards away from me, too close for comfort. For a brief, shivery moment the room felt like a coffin.
It’s strange to be here in my father’s house. He built it with his materials, his hands. But there is more now. A bigger garden, an extra wing. New cars. When I called him saying that I was coming home, he seemed pleased.
My mother calls me into the chashitsu, the little room in the garden where we have our tea. She has always been relentless in getting the details perfect. Her life has changed since I was a little boy, but she has always had complete control over her tea ceremony. She is very proud of this.
She looks old; there are lines around her eyes. I wonder what the years I’ve been gone have done to her. For years I did not call them. I was told not to. I wonder what my mother knows. What she thought when I was away. Did she think I was dead?
“Purify your mouth and hands,” she says in a soft voice, as if I had forgotten the steps of the ceremony. I wash my hands and my mouth. Then she leads me through the chumon into the tea room, which is set and lit with soft lanterns. Here we are in the spiritual world of tea. The physical world has dropped away. She slides the door closed; I latch it. We do this wordlessly.
She raises the fukusa and purifies the scoop and tea container. Her brow is relaxed, but she is in deep meditation. This is her only respite, I realize. This tea room. She must know a lot. She ladles the hot water into the tea bowl, folds the fukusa, rinses the whisk. She places three scoops of tea in my cup, then adds hot water. I nod.
Finally she speaks. “You look tired,” she says. “Did you have a hard flight?”
“Not really,” I say.
“What have you been doing all this time?” she asks.
“Working hard,” I answer.
“Your body looks sound and strong,” she says, taking a sip. “Your father says that there were some tasks you had to attend to while you were away?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Yes, but that’s done. I’m back now.”
She nods, as if in approval. “Your father has been expecting you,” she says. “He is happy that you’ve changed your mind.”
I start to speak but stop. I am filled with so much misery for a moment that I can’t even speak.
“He knew you would not stay in the United States forever,” she says.
“Yes,” I say.
“You look so tired,” she says again. “What is it?”
What can I tell her? That I have thrown something away so precious—something that I will never get back again? That I must find Heaven, but if I find her, will she want me back? That I am having trouble choosing between what I love and what my family expects of me, even though I think it is wrong? I am not a bad person, but everything around me now is bad. Wherever I turn, there is evil. I don’t know what to do. Any decision I make will be the wrong one to someone.
My mother and I don’t talk about these kinds of things. And we especially wouldn’t in the tea room. This is not the place. I sit back and close my eyes and hum softly, trying to ease myself into meditation. During the tea ceremony one must only talk about the significance of objects, the philosophy of the yin and the yang, the spirit of the tea.
“I just need rest,” I say finally. And then in English: “And I need Heaven to understand.”
She looks at me, her eyebrows raised. She doesn’t understand English. We drink our tea in silence.
Hiro
2
Four days later Mieko came to see me.
Time at Masato’s dragged by. It was like I was trapped in a day spa and I couldn’t leave. Every morning Kaori greeted me with tea, fresh fruit, and scones. “Yoga?” she’d ask, putting the tray on my nightstand. She was so into yoga. She was one of those girls who made those huffing, breathing noises and really got into the poses. She could do the strength poses like the crow and the handstand. I knew yoga mostly from the training Hiro and I had done, and our yoga had been more vinyasa, or flowing. Kaori was into the hatha type, where you just sit in one pose for like an hour, suffering.
On the fourth morning after I arrived, Kaori and I were sitting in meditation. I wasn’t really feeling it. I slumped out of the lotus position and let out a long groan.
“What’s wrong?” Kaori asked.
“Nothing,” I said.
Truthfully, everything felt wrong. It felt weird to be here. Something felt just a little bit off-kilter, but I couldn’t figure out what. I wanted to see my father. And worse, when I’d first gotten here, I’d been able to just block Hiro’s confession about his family out of my head. But in the last day or so he’d started to creep back into my consciousness. I’d see a robe in the closet and think, Wow, Hiro would think I looked hot in that. Or I’d wake up and realize I’d just had a sexy dream about him. And then, two seconds after having a horny, longing moment, I’d remember, Wait. I hate him. His confession. His family. He was everything I’d thought he wasn’t.
“You look like something’s wrong,” Kaori said.
“Nah, really, it’s nothing,” I said again. I didn’t know if I wanted to confess any of this to Kaori. I didn’t quite trust her.
She rolled out of her meditative position and leaned on one elbow. Then she arched up and stretched her left leg over her head. The girl was seriously double-jointed.
“So, today I thought we could maybe get a seaweed wrap. It’s really good for cellulite.” She looked over at me. “Not that you have any, of course, but…well, it’s very detoxifying.”
I wondered if she thought I needed detoxifying because of my behavior last night. While lying in bed, stewing over Hiro and watching an Ashton-Kutcher-a-thon, I’d asked Kaori if she could bring me a bottle of champagne. She’d brought us one, and I think she’d assumed that we would share it. But I’d drunk the whole thing myself. She’d sat on the chair next to my bed as I greedily poured it down my throat—from the bottle. I hadn’t even bothered to get a glass. The Godfather had been on next, with Japanese subtitles, which made it even easier to pretend that the characters on the screen were my family. Even though I really, really wanted to change the channel, I couldn’t.
As I drained the bottle, Kaori had slipped quietly out of the room.
Needless to say, I didn’t feel that great this morning.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’ll just go for a swim. Eat some fattening food. That dessert I had yesterday—what was it? A mousse? It was delicious.”
Kaori looked at me skeptically but didn’t say anything.
“So, anyway, what’s the deal with you?” I asked her. “Where did you grow up?”
“Oh, here and there,” Kaori said, not looking at me anymore. “So, listen, I was thinking maybe we could hit some of the shops today…. Maybe one of Masato’s drivers can take us….”
“Do you have a boyfriend or anything?”
Kaori perked her head u
p. “I think I hear my cell phone.” Masato, though only in another wing of the house, contacted Kaori by cell phone whenever he needed her. She stood up. Her knees cracked. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
I sat in the room and stared at myself in the mirror. Weird, I thought. Weird that she doesn’t tell me anything about herself. It was like she was a clone that Masato had created…like some freaky thing from Star Wars: Attack of the Kaori Clones.
The door slid open. Kaori stuck her head in. “You have a visitor downstairs,” she said.
“I do?” I said, standing up. At first I thought, It’s my father. He’s alive. But then I remembered. Masato had told me Konishi was trouble. If it were up to Masato, I’d never see my father again.
Who could it be?
Kaori watched me nervously as I put on a black T-shirt and some plain but well-fitting black pants. She shredded a napkin from my breakfast to pieces. I slid on some slippers and padded downstairs.
As I approached the bottom of the steps, I realized who was waiting for me. How could I be so stupid? It was Mieko. It had to be. I just knew it. I sensed her presence. Hiro had told me time and again that a good samurai senses people before they can sense you. It was my haragai awareness coming through. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
I saw someone sitting on a long divan in the living room. She wasn’t facing me; I could see only the back of her shiny, black head. She wasn’t wearing white, but it had to be her. I tried to stay relaxed. I didn’t want her to know that I was down here quite yet.
She sat very tall and poised. I squinted and tried to get a look at the shirt she was wearing. It was black and had an interesting flower print and looked like it was made out of expensive silk. Then, in a flurry, she moved. I shot behind the wall. She picked up her purse—a bag I’d never seen—and rifled in it for a few moments. She lifted a tiny, slim cell phone out of the bag and looked at the screen. Then she threw it back in with an exasperated sigh and put the bag back down on the floor.
The bag looked expensive. Possibly a quilted Chanel. But wait, Mieko wasn’t into Chanel, was she?
I crept up a little closer, using the shinobi-iri invisible walk Hiro had taught me long ago. I then caught sight of a high-heeled, pointy-toed stiletto shoe dangling off her foot.
I was floored. It looked like a Manolo.
What was Mieko doing wearing Manolos?
And then she turned. I froze.
“Heaven,” she said, giving me a tiny smile.
I walked forward, frustrated that Mieko had caught me spying on her. “Hi,” I said, trying to act completely natural.
“How are you?” she said. Her voice carried neither kindness nor love. It was a dead, meaningless tone. She picked up her bag again (it was a quilted Chanel!) and clutched it close to her chest, as if she thought I was going to steal it or something.
I was right next to her now. “Wow,” I said. “You look fantastic.”
She’d transformed since I’d last seen her. There were the shoes, the silk shirt, a pencil skirt, all in a sophisticated black. Her skin looked great and her legs were very thin and long—something I’d never noticed before. She looked like a model.
“Thank you,” she said quickly, her face pinched and efficient.
I leaned forward to hug her, but all of a sudden she gave off this vibe that said, Don’t come close. She still held the bag tight to her. I moved back and settled uncomfortably on the couch.
“It’s good to see you,” I said uncertainly. I felt a weirdness surround us, a rushing sense of panic. Something was wrong here.
She half smiled, then brought out her cell phone again. Her eyes flitted back and forth. I looked around. Where was Masato? Where was Kaori? As far as I could tell, neither of them was anywhere near this room.
Mieko crossed her legs. God, I thought. Who knew she was so thin? I wanted to tell her she looked much better in black than white but held back. She didn’t look like she was in the mood for compliments.
“So,” Mieko said. “How was your flight?”
How was my flight? “Um, fine,” I said, and smiled. I felt like I was at a job interview or something. I clenched and relaxed my hands.
“And are you feeling well?”
Not that Mieko and I had been buddy-buddy when I was under her roof, but come on. “I’m fine,” I said. “I had a little too much champagne last night, but you know. Sometimes it happens, I guess.”
I laughed nervously. She didn’t laugh back.
“So…how is he?” I said, taking a deep breath. “Is he still in a coma?”
“Well, yes,” she said, flinching a little at the mention of Konishi. “Is my brother taking good care of you?”
What? “Um…wait…,” I said. “So Konishi’s in a coma, then?”
She looked at me but didn’t say anything.
“I don’t understand,” I said in a cracked voice. My throat grew dry. “Is there something I should know?”
Mieko leaned back. “I’m very sorry, but I came here in a rush.” She looked at her cell for a long time. “I don’t have any more time, so we’ll have to talk about this later.”
My jaw was on the ground. “But where are you going?” I asked. “Are you going home?” Konishi’s house was a pretty long hike from Hiroo. She’d come here just to ask me how I was feeling? What the hell?
“I have something important to take care of,” she said in her typical quiet Mieko voice.
“Are you going to see Konishi?” I asked. “Are you going to the hospital? Can I come?”
Mieko paused—it was almost like she was thinking about it. “No, now is not a good time to see him,” she said shortly. “You must stay here until we get everything sorted out.”
“Until we get what sorted out?” I demanded, raising my voice. “Why can’t I see him? Where is he?”
She rushed out the door, slamming it shut. I ran up to the door and wrenched it open and peered down a hall I hadn’t seen before. It was empty.
Kaori’s voice rang out behind me. “Good visit?” she said in a chipper voice. I had the sense that she’d heard the whole thing. I was overcome by a sinking feeling. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but Kaori was nothing but a spy. She had no intention of ever becoming my friend.
“Take me to my uncle,” I said, walking right up to her, getting in her face.
Kaori sputtered out a few syllables.
“I have some questions for him,” I said. Anger bubbled up inside me.
“I can’t do that,” Kaori said finally. “I’m sorry. He’s very busy right now.”
“Where is he?” I said, stepping through the door and into the hall. Suddenly Kaori’s hands were on my shoulders, pulling me back.
“I can’t let you,” she said, digging her fingernails into me.
“Get off!” I said, jabbing her with my elbow. For a little yoga-obsessed twerp, she was pretty strong.
I wrenched open the door. Masato appeared right in front of me. Kaori immediately got off my back and straightened up.
“Ah, hello, Heaven,” he said, smiling calmly. “How are you today?”
I stopped in my tracks. Did he not know that Mieko had just been here? I peered around him into the room. It looked like an office, with a big oak desk and a fancy flat-screen computer. Mieko wasn’t in there.
“I want to know that’s going on,” I said. “Right now.”
“What’s going on with what?” he asked, moving back into his office and checking out his reflection in the stately, oak wall mirror. He seemed bored, almost.
“Why can’t I see my father? Where is he?”
Masato barely lost his cool expression except for one sliver of a second. In that second he shot Kaori a look of disdain. The look said, You’ll pay for this.
“I want to go see him,” I said. “And I want to know what hospital he’s in. You must tell me.”
Masato smiled again. “We can discuss this later,” he said. “I have a very busy schedule.”
“Heaven, calm down,” he said evenly. “Your father is too sick for visitors at the moment. Any kind of excitement could be a serious shock to his system. Do you understand?”
I shot him a skeptical look. It sounded like bullshit to me.
“Just relax,” he said. “Try not to think about things. Everything will be resolved soon.”
“What does that mean? Resolved? What’s wrong with him, exactly? I don’t—”
“Heaven,” he said, raising his hand and giving me a condescending smile as if I were a kindergartener playing with blocks. “You must stop this. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.” He shoved me gently out of the room and shut the door. I heard the clicking of multiple locks.
“Hey!” I said, banging my fists on the door. “You can’t treat me like I’m six years old!”
“You shouldn’t bother,” Kaori said in a snooty voice behind me. “The room’s soundproof.”
I stopped pounding and glared at her. She glared back and then turned on her heel and stormed away. I stood in front of the door, staring at its thick oak exterior. I was being lied to. Tricked. Something was going on. Cool Masato no longer seemed as cool as I’d thought. And Mieko—what a freak show! I needed a plan. I needed to see my father and find out what was going on.
I banged on the door one more time for good measure, almost near tears with frustration. Then I turned around, feeling an eerie sense that I was being spied on.
But it was just one of those damn video cameras blinking down from the ceiling. I glared up at it in rage. And then, in a rush of defiance, I gave it the finger. Go to hell, I mouthed. I didn’t care who saw me.
My sister visits me in my office. I see her slight figure at the front door through the video cameras, and I watch her softly walk through the halls until she reaches my room. She hasn’t changed since she was fifteen years old. Her skin is still perfect; her body is still tiny and totally fit.
She gives me a small smile. She does not wear head-to-toe white anymore. I told her a change would be best. Besides, all that white was too deathly, too eerie, too funereal. She’s always had a strange fascination with death. But I arranged to have new clothes for her, a new edgy haircut, new shoes, new accessories. After all, she is now the company spokesperson. “A CEO must look stylish,” I told her. “A CEO can’t go around in white-nightgown-type outfits and expect to be taken seriously.