by Carrie Asai
“So, where you from?” Spiky Hair asked.
“Las Vegas.” It just came out. That was where Katie lived.
“Wow, cool. You’re a high roller, then?” He laughed. What was he talking about? I searched desperately for a definition of “high roller,” but nothing came to mind. I got the feeling he was joking, so I forced a smile.
“Do you like Vegas?” he pressed. I knew I was about to get into deep conversational trouble. I thought of all the movies I’d seen that were set in Vegas: Honeymoon in Vegas, Casino, Leaving Las Vegas. So, should I start a conversation about Elvis impersonators? Or hookers? Nah, neither one of those things felt quite right. I had to distract him. But how?
“Where are you from?” I blurted. Just remember, I told myself, he’s not that much different than you.
“Good old Hollywood, born and raised. My parents moved when I started college, but I stayed here.”
“Bitchin’.” I forced a grin.
“Bitchin’? I haven’t heard anyone use that word since, like, 1987.” Spiky Hair laughed, and I felt my face grow warm again. My attempts to pass as a bona fide American girl weren’t going so well. “So…are you here with anyone?” he asked. He scooted closer to me on the couch and draped his arm around my back.
“Me?” Stupid, Heaven, stupid. Of course you.
“Um, not really.” I tried to move away from him, but he just snuggled up tighter. I looked at him in surprise. I don’t think anybody had ever tried to make a move on me before—and that isn’t an exaggeration. The only boys my age that Konishi would let me socialize with were various classmates of Ohiko, and those boys knew better than to try anything. Of course, I was allowed to talk to Teddy, too, after the engagement was announced. Teddy just wasn’t stupid enough to try and grab me in front of my father.
The thing was, much as I was curious about what it would be like to meet someone at a party like this, there was something unappealing about Spiky Hair. He was sweaty and grabby, he smiled too much, and he stank of beer. Sleazy I think is the word Katie would use to describe him. I looked around for somebody who could help me out of the Spiky-Hair-moving-in-on-me situation. But of course there was nobody.
“You know,” he breathed in my ear, “you are by far the hottest girl at this party. I’d like to see what’s under that kimono.” Oh, gross. I jerked away from him, horrified. My mind flashed suddenly to where I would be if the wedding had gone off as planned: in the bridal suite with Teddy. I shivered and held my sword tightly.
“Actually, I’m here with my boyfriend,” I blurted. “I mean, kind-of boyfriend.” The lie surprised me. Maybe I could handle this myself. But would it work?
“That’s too bad,” he said, easing his arm from around my shoulders. “Where is he?”
“I’m not sure,” I floundered, but the fake kind-of boyfriend seemed to have done the trick. Spiky Hair scooted over a few inches, scanning the room as if he were losing interest in me. Part of me wanted to bolt, but the other part wondered if I should ask him about Hiro. I had no idea how big Hollywood actually was. Back in Tokyo, though, the size of the city was irrelevant. It was all based on what your style was, what group you were in. If two people shared a whole set of fashion principles and were about the same age, chances were they had heard of each other. I sneaked another look at Spiky Hair—it was hard to tell if he was a guy like Hiro (although come to think of it, I had no idea what type of guy Hiro was) since Spiky Hair was dressed like an American farmer in overalls and a plaid shirt, but I thought it was worth a shot. I took a deep breath. “Do you know someone named Hiro?”
“Hiro? Asian guy?” Spiky Hair asked, eyes still scanning the crowd.
“Yes.” Wasn’t it obvious?
“Is that your boyfriend?” He leaned toward me until his face was inches from mine. I shook my head, trying not to flinch away from him. “Did he go to UCLA?”
“Um…I don’t think so.” How was I supposed to find Hiro when I knew almost nothing about him?
“Nope. Not ringing a bell. Sorry. So, is he a friend of yours or what?” Spiky Hair straightened up, and I pulled in a breath of fresher air.
“Of my brother’s.” My brother. And then suddenly I felt the loss of Ohiko physically—like some kind of phantom limb. Now another part of me would be missing forever. Tears pressed behind my eyes. I was going to cry. I struggled to keep it together. If I burst out crying in front of this guy, what would he do? Would he even care?
“Jeez, are you okay? You just got really pale. Are you going to puke or something?” He looked disgusted now, like he was the one who wanted to run away.
“Um…” I swallowed, weighing my options. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m going to be sick.” I stood up and pretended to look for the bathroom. I needed to find a private corner where I could fall apart.
“Bathroom’s over there,” Spiky Hair spit out quickly. He walked over to a girl dressed in a sheer genie costume—with nothing underneath.
I took off. Suddenly the party seemed like a nightmare: all these people around me, dressed up in stupid costumes, drinking beer and making out. Meanwhile, my brother was dead. Down the hall from the bathroom, away from the line, another door led off the hallway. I opened it quickly and glanced in—it looked like a bedroom, and it was empty. I slipped in and shut the door behind me. Immediately I breathed in and the image was there—Ohiko, in my arms, the life slipping out of him. Ohiko, gone forever. And my father looking away.
I began sobbing so hard that it was almost impossible to breathe. Remembering where I was, I stifled myself—I didn’t want some partygoer to hear me and, God forbid, come ask me what had happened to make me so sad. None of them would understand. How often does a father watch his own son be murdered? How often does a dutiful daughter start to wonder whether her father wanted her dead, too?
I sobbed helplessly. I couldn’t do this anymore. I wasn’t strong enough. I couldn’t wander around a strange city, pretending like my brother hadn’t been murdered right in front of my eyes. Acting like I could handle all of this seemed insane. I was alone and helpless and hunted and lost…. I sat down in a corner of the bedroom, near a pile of clothes, and cried until I couldn’t cry anymore. I don’t know what to do. That thought kept echoing through my brain. I’m more alone than I’ve ever been, and I don’t know what to do.
My throat burned, and my eyes felt like they were on fire. The party had quieted down a bit, and I wondered how late it was now. I leaned over and rested my body against the pile of laundry. For a minute, I told myself, just for a minute. But no sooner had I closed my eyes than the darkness zoomed toward me, carrying me away.
Someone will have to pay.
This was not the way it was supposed to happen. My son is dead, my daughter is missing, and an unforeseen evil has touched the Kogo household. Some might say I am a harsh man, a cold man. And they might be correct. A father’s burden is heavy and his cares are great because he must bear the weight of his ancestry both for himself and for his children. Only a father knows the pain a father feels.
I do what needs to be done. Look at these minions of mine, running around this makeshift office here at the hotel, obeying my every word. They are useless if they can’t help me find my daughter. Cell phones ring, faxes hiss out of the machines, and e-mails pop up on laptop screens. Will she be on the other end of one of them? Is she somewhere out there, buried among the twinkling lights of the city, trying to find her way home to me?
From the first moment I laid eyes on Heaven, I understood that she belonged to me. Fate protected her when her plane fell from the sky. When she landed in my arms, I knew that I was her destiny. A father’s children are his own, to do with as he pleases. She must be found. There are questions that need answers. There are duties as yet unfulfilled.
For a samurai family, death is a way of life. My great-grandfather many times over, and his father before him, and the one before all died for the Kogo name. Brothers, cousins, fathers, uncles, all fighting for their honor, de
fending their blood. Times have changed, but some things remain the same. My son has fallen. The fight has begun again, but who is the enemy now?
Konishi
4
The sky was the kind of blue you don’t get very often near Tokyo, where the crowded city spews pollution into the air by the ton. The wind blew Katie’s blond hair across her face as she lunged to catch the baseball. She plucked the ball out of the air, scrunched up her nose and flipped the hair from her eyes, drew back, and sent the ball flying across the compound courtyard. I giggled as I watched it arc through the blue, blue sky.
Ohiko caught it. My chest filled with warmth, and I thought how lucky I was to have him there; he smiled and sent the ball in my direction. It landed with a satisfying thump in my mitt. Funny, I didn’t remember putting on the glove. I hurled it back to Katie and suddenly knew, somehow, that my father was away somewhere and that Mieko, too, was gone. The three of us were totally on our own and totally free—no one to nag us about studying, to tell us to stop being silly, or to monitor our every last move. Why couldn’t every day be like this? Again Ohiko pitched the ball toward me—wait, hadn’t Katie had the ball?—and at that moment the crisp light of the courtyard darkened. I looked up at the black clouds moving fiercely across the sky and knew that something wasn’t right.
“Heaven! Get the ball!” Katie screamed out to me, eyes wide with panic.
“Come on, Heaven, grab it!” shouted Ohiko.
The ball was rolling toward me, but when I reached out my mitt, the ball started shrinking.
“It’s too small!” I yelled.
“Get it, Heaven, or you know what they’ll do!” Ohiko yelled, his voice rough with fear.
“What? What?” I scrambled for the ball as it shrunk to the size of an apricot, a marble, a pea…. Where was it? I couldn’t see it. It had gotten so dark. And the ball was so tiny. “Help me, you guys! Help me find it!”
I turned to Ohiko—he was covered in blood.
“You lost it, Heaven,” he said. “It’s no good now.”
My chest constricted. I couldn’t breathe. I’d lost the ball. But it wasn’t my fault. I—
“Hey, wake up!”
My eyes snapped open. Nothing looked familiar. Where was I?
“Get up. Right now. God, I don’t even know you. How the hell did you get into my bedroom, anyway? I must have been so blitzed last night, I didn’t even see you.”
I rubbed my eyes and stared into the face of a girl who was leaning over me. Short blond hair stood up from her head in crazy tufts, and her blue eyes were smudged with last night’s eyeliner. Her left eyebrow was pierced with a tiny silver rod, and several necklaces dangled from her neck. Where was I?
“Listen,” said the girl, who really had the biggest blue eyes I’d ever seen. She could be a character from an anime cartoon, I thought. Maybe this is still a dream. “I don’t really care who you are,” she continued in a deep, raspy voice, “but the party is long over, okay? So it’s time to go home.”
Suddenly it all came rushing back to me—the wedding, Ohiko, my father turning away from me, my mad dash across Beverly Hills and all the way to Hollywood.
“I’m sorry,” I said, trying not to trip on the words, which wanted to come out in Japanese. “I was so tired…. I just sat down and fell asleep. I-I’m sorry. I have behaved badly.” I knew I wasn’t making any sense. I sat up and rubbed my eyes again.
The girl looked skeptical. “And what were you doing in my bedroom? There was no party in here.”
“I…” I looked around and realized that this was the messiest room I’d ever seen. It looked like a clothing bomb had exploded, flinging its contents into every nook and cranny. Bras hung from the closet door, and a bank of shelves along one wall looked like it was about to topple under the weight of assorted coats, T-shirts, and shoes. “I was looking for the bathroom. But I came in here and…I was so tired…I guess I just crashed.”
I glanced up at the girl. She still looked skeptical, but her expression had warmed a little.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before. I suppose you want ten bucks for the road, too, huh?” She leaned against the wall, her huge eyes trained on me.
“For the road?” I repeated.
“Don’t play dumb with me, honey. I’ve heard it all before, I assure you.”
I felt too stupid and half asleep to respond. I didn’t blame her for not being sympathetic. After all, I probably looked like any hungover partygoer, still wearing last night’s costume. I suddenly realized the Whisper was gone, and I sat up and searched by my feet for it, feeling panicked. Without it, I felt naked and unprotected.
“It’s over there,” said the girl, nodding at the Whisper, which was propped against a nightstand. “That thing is a safety hazard.”
“Thanks,” I said. I felt myself blushing as I struggled up from the depths of the clothes pile. The deep pain emanating from parts of my body I didn’t even know existed made me catch my breath. At home I mostly swam laps or did some basic yoga in my room—no running muscles at all. I ached. “I’m really sorry about this. I just—fell asleep. I’m sorry. I’ll go now. Thanks.”
“No big deal.” She watched me warily as she tapped her long nails against the wall.
“T-Thanks again,” I stammered, willing myself to shut up but somehow unable to. “I was looking for a friend of mine’s house, and I’m not really familiar with this area.” I picked up the Whisper, turned, and headed for the door, still feeling woozy and disoriented.
“Wait a second.” She let out a loud sigh.
I turned around.
“Where are you from?” she asked, hands on hips.
“Tokyo. Japan.”
“Thanks, I know where Tokyo is.” She looked at me for a long moment. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what’s your name?”
“Heaven…Heaven Akita.” It just didn’t feel safe to give anyone my real name. She had no connections to my family, but surely they were looking for me.
“Heaven? Are you shittin’ me?”
“It doesn’t sound as weird in Japanese,” I explained.
“Well, that’s good, I guess.” She laughed, a rich and throaty sound, and it totally transformed her. She seemed instantly younger. Friendlier.
“I’m Cheryl. Otherwise known as the girl who can’t say no to a stray of any kind. Clearly I’m in need of some extensive therapy to find out what that’s all about.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I said.
“Hey—if you’re going to go find your friend, you’re going to need to get out of that kimono,” Cheryl told me. “That’s one sick Halloween costume, by the way.”
“I guess you’re right. Thanks for the advice.” I prayed she wouldn’t question me about my choice of “costume.”
“Advice? Don’t be dumb. Come on. Let’s find you something.” Find me what? I thought. I stared at her blankly as she turned from me and pulled open her closet door.
“Listen,” said Cheryl, twirling a finger in her blond nest of hair, which I now noticed was streaked with pink. “Do you want some different clothes or what?”
“Oh,” I said, finally understanding. “Yes, if you’re sure that’s okay.”
“Believe me, I have enough clothes to outfit a whole herd of lost souls. As you can tell. This little pile you’re sleeping in is just half of it. I was going to make a trip to the Sal Army soon, anyway.”
I had no idea what army she was talking about, but I vowed then and there that if I was ever in a position to get Cheryl a maid, I would. Not many people would be so cool about finding a total stranger—and a bloody one at that—asleep in a pile of their clothing.
“Try these.” She threw a pair of jeans at me, and I struggled to slip them on under my kimono, almost losing my balance.
“Gee, modest much?” Cheryl asked.
“It’s just—it takes a while to get this kimono off.” And yeah, I’m modest very much, I added silently. I hardly ever even looke
d at myself naked. And certainly no other girl my own age ever had.
“Ah.” She returned to her search, muttering to herself and flinging various items aside. “Now…where’s the rest of that giveaway pile?”
She vanished into the closet, and I had a chance to get a real look at the room. Each wall was painted a different flame color—sunflower yellow, fire-engine red, pumpkin orange—and it looked like the paint had been textured in some way. I looked up at the ceiling and saw that someone—Cheryl?—had painted it blue with a full array of puffy white clouds. So different from my own elegant but uncluttered room at home. This felt like a truly American room.
“Here.” A purple T-shirt hit me in the face. “Sorry. Heads up.” I caught a gray zip-up sweatshirt and picked the T-shirt off the floor. “That should do you.” Cheryl emerged from her closet, gasping as if she’d just run a race or done some heavy labor. “Why don’t you go clean up in the bathroom?”
I walked back to the same bathroom I’d been in the night before, stepping over the remains of the Halloween decorations and a lot of empty cans. I locked the door and leaned my head against it, praying that when I opened my eyes, I would be back in Tokyo, waking up in my clean sheets in my immaculate bedroom.
No such luck. At least someone cleaned up the bathroom, I thought, and wondered if Cheryl’s messiness was site-specific. I slowly peeled off my obi and unwrapped the thick layers of kimono. The material was still stiff, and in the light I realized it had become streaked with even more dirt and grime than I’d been able to see last night. Was this how the generations-old Kogo wedding kimono would meet its end? I doubted the blood would ever come out. Ohiko’s blood. I felt my throat constrict, but I was all cried out. I decided to take the kimono with me.