by Meira Chand
17
Steve Lever was small and rodent like, with pinched features. He had a tendency to tell flat jokes. The talk and translation was technical, Kate had often to consult a dictionary for unfamiliar terms. The Spaniards, Carlos and Alberto, were middle-aged men. Carlos was bald as a darning egg, Alberto’s large eyes looked out at the world from some private despair. She knew she was critical of them, but her interest in the job was halfhearted. They called her competent, but after the first day she was exhausted.
She had tried every excuse to save herself from accompanying them that evening, too depressed to cope with a night on the town, with strident bar-hopping, constant drinking and an obligation to translate the thoughts of other people. But they pressed her kindly, and Carlos presented her with a bottle of French cologne. They left her no way in which to refuse the farewell evening.
She had never been to Namba, the busy night quarter of Osaka, except as a transient tourist, whisked through by Jun in broad sunlight on an initial city tour. She hardly remembered the place beyond a density of bars, dubious facilities and the occasional pimp. She had seen only its noon-time face and was unprepared for the licentious reality. In a dressing of neon lights, dark buildings were consumed by brilliance, like a forest of tawdry Christmas trees decorated for the night. Narrow pedestrian lanes traversed bars, cabarets, clubs and massage parlours, all peddling erotic wares. The bars were thick as weeds about them, their slim entrances wedged between more extrovert institutions. Some bars were stacked like the cells of a honeycomb in multi-storeyed buildings, or burrowed beneath the concrete world into hidden basement caves that throbbed with music, drunken men and the slop of whiskey glasses. Steve Lever knew his terrain well. After a meal of steak, cooked and cut and eaten with chopsticks from a griddle, he steered them to a variety of places to sample the high and the low of the area.
Steve Lever took his friends first to the cheaper bars where the women wore strong perfume and had harshly-dyed ginger hair. They found a seedy cabaret with an asexual striptease, whose girls were thin as winter branches and pranced about like drum majorettes. The Spaniards were intrigued by a karaoke bar, where sad customers sang sad songs off key to a simulated beat.
They soon left the karaoke bar and passed an establishment where naked women wrestled in a ring of mud, and a coffee shop where waitresses wore no more than fish net stockings beneath a frilly apron. They found a bar where the women were dressed in saris, and another that appeared housed with nuns. As they walked the warren of streets Steve pointed out the “love hotels”, whose baroque exteriors and gaudy lights occupied every other Japanese street corner. Here, rooms hired by the hour were filled with fantasy interiors, strange auto-erotic devices and closed circuit videos of hard core porn. Every worthwhile Japanese company, Steve nodded knowingly, kept accounts at cabarets, bars and the better class of these hotels, to entertain clients and visitors. In this way Japanese business appeared openly to collaborate with the underworld, who ran and owned this cosmos of the night. The Spaniards suggested a quick massage. Kate felt by Steve’s adroit evasion of that request, that she was the deterrent to their pleasures. They looked at her in relief when she announced she would leave them after the next bar. Steve pushed open a small, dark door and they followed him inside.
‘This is a high class place. They know me here, you have to be careful in Japan, you can’t go to places you don’t know, you can be ripped off for a hundred dollars a drink.’
The bar was spacious and quiet after the loud and garish road. A grand piano was played softly in a corner by a young man in a dinner jacket, the place was low-lighted, the walls hung with antiquated mirrors flecked in gold. Two or three women at once came forward to greet them, guiding them to a table. These girls were different from those who inhabited the cheaper bars, they were quieter and well-mannered, their clothing expensive, their grooming perfect. The very sight of them depressed Kate; in her present frame of mind, this was the worst place she could have come to. The image of Chieko was everywhere. It was in just such a place that Jun had met the woman.
The hostesses made no effort to include Kate in the group. They fawned over the men, lighting their cigarettes, feeding them titbits, placing cheese-straws between their lips with kittenish giggles. Both Steve and the Spaniards were reasonably drunk and easily diverted. Their primitive inclinations required no translation to the women, and Kate leaned back in relief. Ignored and forgotten in a libidinous world, Kate not ungrateful for the moment. This subculture was like a nightmare she had suddenly stumbled into, and all she wanted to do was leave.
A woman next to Steve, in a blue velvet dress slit to the waist, leaned forward and stroked his knee. He sat back with his arm resting along the back of her chair and raised his glass for another drink. The Spaniards were similarly involved with the women clustered around them. Kate observed the women resignedly as they sipped discreetly on their beers, skilled in the emotional manipulation of men through the practise of centuries. This world of nightlife was an escape from the rigid world of the day, the other side of the Japanese social coin. It was just after nine o’clock as Kate prepared to make her apologies and leave. The night began and ended early in Osaka. Most of the Namba opened at five and closed at eleven. Kate anticipated no trouble getting home. She would take a taxi to the station, and return by train to Kobe. As she stood up a loud voice across the room drew everyone’s attention. A short, corpulent man entered the bar. His coarse grey hair sprang up in abundance and was parted just off-centre. He was greeted by the madame of the bar, and joined by several hostesses. His importance overrode the watery notes of the grand piano.
‘It’s Tamura,’ said Steve standing up in surprise to hail him. They met and bowed on neutral ground in the middle of the room. Steve returned to the table followed by Tamura and a further entourage of women.
Tamura stood back in an offhand way, shaking hands with the Spaniards. To Kate he gave only a brief bow, but his eyes rested on her in a manner she did not like. When he sat down she found he had placed himself beside her. He leaned forward, ignoring the hostess beside him, to bring out with difficulty some words of English that sounded like an unknown tongue. He was visibly relieved when Kate replied in Japanese, producing politely predictable questions. While she talked his deeply hooded eyes roved her face before he turned away to banter with the other women. Then, with Steve he touched on some area of business and a light argument started. He had some connection with Steve’s firm and had met him through these dealings.
‘A grasshopper. You will have a grasshopper.’ Tamura turned back again to Kate. She did not understand why he was talking about grasshoppers, and tried to refuse the offer.
‘I must go. I was about to when you arrived,’ she protested.
‘It’s a drink,’ Steve reassured. ‘He’ll be offended if you go now. There’s no hurry, wait a bit.’
Kate sat back again in the chair, imprisoned by etiquette.
The drink arrived, bright green and frothy in a shallow glass. Kate’s head was already electric with drinks, she had not wanted another. Tamura leaned forward and touched the small glass.
‘Drink,’ he ordered and waited for her verdict. Her mouth was filled by a minty sap, she nodded polite agreement, replacing her glass on the table.
‘Japanese women all like grasshopper,’ Tamura announced, jerking his head at the bar hostesses, who appeared to Kate like a many-hued species of identical bird sipping in unison on their bright drinks, cooing and flirting, as in some complex mating dance.
‘It’s nice,’ said Kate, seeking a way to leave, waiting for Tamura to turn away. Instead he moved forward in his chair, his belly girthed by a brown snake belt, his crotch pulled tight and bulbous. His interest appeared to deepen.
‘Your name, tell me again. I didn’t hear. Why are you here in Japan? Are you married? Who is your husband? He’s not one of these men? No? Why isn’t he here? What does he do? You want a job? You want to work for me?’ He pressed his quest
ions like ammunition and Kate drew back as if attacked.
She gave him her name. The fact that her husband was Japanese seemed to excite and unsettle him. She explained about the interpreting job, which led to more facts about her, and he listened attentively.
‘You’re too beautiful for such jobs,’ he told her, insinuation written on his face.
She sipped again at the grasshopper, feeling unexpectedly grateful for his attention. The evening at the bar, and the days behind, had left her feeling an aberration. Tamura wanted to know about her husband, but became silent as she told him the little that she wished. Drawing away, he eyed her strangely.
‘I know your husband.’ Tamura announced, and Kate could not hide surprise.
Tamura stared at her, his expression unfathomable. She decided he looked like a hog.
Tamura chose his words carefully, speaking with respect. He explained he had once worked for Jun’s father but now had a business of his own. He knew them all, Itsuko, Yoko, Fumi and Jun. He had been invited to the centenary party earlier in the year. He inquired adroitly about the welfare of the family. He told her the fears of a seven-year-old Jun before a new machine on a visit to the factory many years before.
‘Well,’ said Steve when he heard the connection. ‘It’s a small world.’ He returned to the blue velvet woman and another in grey who had appeared to his right.
Kate stood up to say goodbye, and with her last words translated for Steve further plans for the night to the Spaniards.
‘I too am going to Kobe. I am leaving now as well. I have a car and a chauffeur, I can take you back.’ Tamura stood up suddenly and bowed. Kate hesitated.
‘That’s great of you Tamura-san,’ Steve accepted for her, relieved to transfer his responsibility. Kate nodded reluctantly, it might be alright, everybody knew him, Steve, Jun, Itsuko. There could be no harm with these references, in spite of her apprehension. She was tired and did not look forward to the cold, metallic chug back home on a train filled with late night drunks. She bowed her thanks to Tamura, then followed him out.
As soon as they stepped out of the bar, Tamura’s car slid forward, large and black and imported, filling the narrow road. Kate climbed gratefully inside. The chauffeur shut the doors and also closed a glass partition separating himself from Kate and Tamura. The car moved forward, gathering speed and the locks clicked shut automatically. Kate turned to Tamura.
‘Jun is away in Tokyo, on business. I’m staying with friends in Kitano-cho until he returns. I’d like you to drop me there,’ she explained.
Tamura nodded silently, his eyes upon her. She did not like the way he sat in the middle of the seat, close up against her, not as he should by the window. This left little room to stretch her legs. The car moved on through densely lit, narrow streets. At times there were signs and façades she recognised, the red neon moon of a massive Turkish bath she had passed earlier that evening, a river, a bridge, a street of gaudy, paper maples.
Soon they nosed into the main road and began to speed forward. Beyond the window the dark density of Osaka was unfamiliar, and she could make no sense of their position or direction. She began to feel uneasy, Tamura did not speak. In the closed and isolated cell of the car, alone with him, Kate was aware of the man in a new way, and drew back against the door as far as she could. Tamura leaned forward, pulling back the glass that separated the chauffeur from them. In the low, rough voice of Osaka slang, he issued some orders to the man, then shut him off again. Kate did not understand the dialect, her ignorance of what was said added to her nervousness. Tamura changed position, moving nearer. Kate caught the odour of liquor and bad teeth. She drew her legs in further and wished she had gone by train.
Tamura watched her growing fear with pleasing exhilaration. He could not believe his luck. Just when he had thought it was all up with the Nagais’ and he must accept his fate, when he had racked his brains and Sakamoto’s and everything had failed, he was presented with this gift. There was no way now the Nagai family could possibly escape him. He would pay them back at last for every slur they had cast upon him. Everything he had wanted would soon be his, they would come crawling to him now. He coughed to suppress a chuckle. In the meantime he could allow himself the liberty of some pleasure.
Reaching out, he settled his hand upon Kate’s knee. She felt the pressure of his fingers kneading into her bone, and panic and repulsion filled her. Pushed into a corner of the seat by his heavy body, she was unable to avoid him, and he laughed as she tried to push him away. On her knee his hand moved firmly to force her legs apart. She tried to wriggle from under him, hitting out, calling for help to the chauffeur, but the man registered nothing of the scene behind him.
‘He is used to my little ways,’ Tamura chuckled, gripping her hand. A thin, linked bracelet on her wrist broke and fell to the floor as she tried to pull away. Outside faces and façades came forward then disappeared. Nobody could help her. In the distance she saw a traffic light, red and far away. She willed it to remain.
The car slowed and stopped at the light. She brought her knee up, hard and at an angle to catch him in the crotch. Tamura groaned and doubled up. Kate unlocked the heavy door and pushed it open, almost falling from the car as the light turned green. A truck braked suddenly as she ran across the road, weaving between on-coming vehicles. From behind her came Tamura’s voice, swearing loudly, calling her back. She looked over her shoulder and caught sight of his face at the car window. She began to run.
Her thought was to dodge him, then find a taxi back to Kobe, it would be too late now for a train by the time she reached the station. She set off along a dark street, her breath throbbing in her as she ran, her footsteps pounding emptily, Namba’s unhealthy glitter already lost and far away.
18
She chose the narrowest, darkest alleys but the car like a great malevolent bird manoeuvred them all, pursuing her. Unable to gather speed, the car followed her, grazing walls and plastic dustbins standing in the road. The streets emptied suddenly into a wide thoroughfare. Kate paused in fear and confusion. She could not see a taxi to hail, and she could not stop to wait. Tamura’s car was approaching again. To escape she must keep running. Panic pushed her into the road again, and the oncoming cars hooted angrily. More dark streets lay ahead of her, and she plunged into them. The fronts of small shops were shuttered and dingy, rolled metal doors concealed what appeared to be workshops and garages. Few people were about, Tamura’s car was behind her again, and she knew she had been sighted.
The breath tore at her lungs; she did not know how long she could keep running. The streets closed in upon her, her arm grazed a wall, her head swam, there was nowhere to hide. The drone of the car grew louder, bearing down upon her. Looking up she saw she stood beneath a railway bridge and it was not Tamura’s car, but a train that thundered overhead. Its caterpillar of carriages lurched and rumbled against the sky, lighted windows filled by the faces of commuters.
Behind her she heard a sound and turned to see Tamura’s car had stopped a short distance away. The chauffeur was already out of the car and Tamura was opening the door. She ran on again, her heart thumping.
The street opened suddenly into a wider road, well-lighted and with some parked cars, a few people stood about. There were several ornate ‘love’ hotels, whose familiar lurid flourish Kate almost welcomed now. In between these buildings were small residences with open, lighted porchways. A half-curtain covered in Japanese fashion each door, a row of slippers waited invitingly. In several of the houses elderly women sat in the porch. One old crone was wrapped about the knees in a red chequered blanket, and Kate rushed towards her.
Tamura bruised his shin on the heavy car door in his haste to get out and follow Kate. After a few steps he stopped and looked about; he had not realised where they were. Watching Kate duck beneath the curtain of the house across the road, he could not believe his luck. If he played his cards right he held an ace in his hands. He grinned and turned and re-entered his car, directing the cha
uffeur’s attention to the house. The man laughed as they drove away.
‘Please,’ Kate said. ‘Please.’ The breath caught in her throat, her mouth was dry with fear.
The old woman smiled, her deep-set eyes dark as watermelon seeds. She folded up the red-checked blanket and stood up.
‘Please.’ Kate put out a hand and touched the woman’s sleeve. The old crone smiled again, revealing a few sparse teeth. Slipping her feet out of her wooden clogs, she stepped up into the house.
‘Come,’ she ordered. ‘This way, please.’
Kate looked back over her shoulder, she could not believe Tamura was gone, She turned and followed the woman along a narrow corridor filled with the odour of drains and damp rotting wood. The old woman showed her into a small, matted room and motioned her to sit.
‘I’ll bring some tea,’ she said with a show of concern and Kate smiled gratefully. The woman stepped back into the corridor, leaving the door half open. Kate leaned back against the wall and looked about the room. It was small and bare but for the table before which she sat, and a bed of quilts, a fluorescent light illuminated the room with a thin, mean glow.
A loud male voice sounded suddenly from below. Within a few moments a young woman passed by the open door and clattered down the stairs. Kate heard her greet the visitor, who followed her back up the stairs, passing Kate’s open door. The old crone appeared again, all smiles above a tray of tea that she placed upon the table. Kate drank the warm green liquid, but could not eat the biscuits the woman pushed before her.
‘I feel better now, I just need a taxi back to Kobe.’
‘Rest a little, I’ve called someone who can help you,’ the woman said, regarding Kate silently, her dark melon-seed eyes small and shifty.
Kate heard another arrival in the porch and a male voice shout out again. Peering round the open door, the old woman shouted down in answer. Then, bowing to Kate, she hurried out again. Kate listened to the discussion at the door, then heard the old woman call up the stairs. Soon another young woman appeared, and again brought the visitor back up the stairs, passing the room in which Kate sat. Kate realised with growing apprehension that she must be in some kind of cheap hotel or even worse, a brothel. The smell of drains pressed heavily upon her. All she wanted to do was leave.