Pain, bounding and clear, overrode her thoughts. “My ankle is killing me.”
“I’ll get an ice pack. We seem to specialize in those lately.” Dan went to the kitchen, then reappeared in the doorway. “But if you can complain, you must be okay. You are okay, right?”
“I guess so.”
Dan anchored a bag of frozen corn to Kira’s ankle with a dishtowel. Then he sat, looking at her as if he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him.
“Ouch. Some nurse.”
“You taught me everything I know,” he said. “I’ll get some ibuprofen.” He came back with a glass of water, handed her three pills, and stood watching her.
“Don’t worry, nurse,” Kira said. “I’ll take my meds.”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
“You’re beautiful, and I fucking miss you.”
They cried together then, Dan with his head on her chest like in the hospital, when neither of them knew how to go on living. Eventually they calmed, their breath synchronized, and Kira threaded her fingers into Dan’s hair, soft and straight and black. Like Akira’s, she thought.
What a strange thing to find out you’re not exactly who you thought you were, or that you could be two people at once. If she could accept that, what else was possible? What other absolutes should she redefine? She would spend the rest of her life questioning everything, wondering what lay hidden beneath the known, or what she thought was known. There were no absolutes, no blacks or whites, no rules that couldn’t be bent if enough heat were applied. The concepts of God, an afterlife, reincarnation seemed too rigid. Maybe it was simply that everything in the universe was connected, on every level—quantum entanglement taken to infinity, to the metaphysical, so that there was no such thing as a single entity, discrete in its skin, answering to nothing and no one. The whole universe was tangled, a snarl of consciousness and desire, fear and ignorance, wisdom and intuition, crossing every boundary of place and time. If this way of thinking was a kind of enlightenment, it had come in a straight line from Maddalena to Rosa to Kira. Except Rosa hadn’t recognized it, or she’d let her husband’s doubts keep her from the truth.
Dan was caressing her now. She would make love to him; she wanted to. For now, she would force Maddalena into the shadows, let her body overrule her brain, be Dan’s wife. Later she would tell him about the fragment, how her grandmother died. Dan didn’t believe in absolutes; he believed in possibilities, in the existence of things not yet given the stamp of proof by those who needed it. Surely, given enough time, he could take the next step and believe she had been given this knowledge. And that Akira was her grandfather.
They had come this far since Aimi. They’d survived. They had a bond, rich as blood in its fine moments, and Kira hoped it would hold. If it disintegrated, became something that existed only in her memory, it would be her fault. She accepted that. There was no turning back.
The next morning Kira woke before dawn and lay in bed while Dan slept.
Go there.
Maddalena could not be ignored. Kira started to get up and Dan rolled over. “Hey. Morning.” He tried to pull her on top of him and pain blazed through her ankle.
“Owww, shit! That hurts like hell.”
“Sorry,” he said, nuzzling her breast.
“No, you’re not.” How tempting, the thought of their old life together.
Go there.
She let Dan make love to her again, her body going through the motions this time, her mind busy with images of mountains and horses. Afterward, while Dan cooked breakfast, Kira took a bath, listening to him bang around the kitchen and talk to himself. He sounded happy, as if their lovemaking let him think life as they used to know it waited in the near distance, its blanks and shadows already filling in with textures and colors.
“I got oatmeal in the works,” he shouted. “Any raisins around here? How about brown sugar?” More banging, then a few growled bars of the Rolling Stones. “Brown sugar, how come you taste so good? Brown sugar, just like a young girl should.”
“Your mind is in the gutter,” Kira called.
Footsteps, then Dan’s voice at the bottom of the stairs. “What’d you say, wifey-san?”
The nickname he’d given her on their honeymoon. He hadn’t called her that since Aimi. She smiled and yelled louder. “I said you have a filthy mind.”
“Yes, I do, you lucky girl. Hey, are you still naked?” A pan lid rattled and water hissed on the burner. “Uh-oh. Hold that thought.”
Kira sank deeper into the tub. Robin’s-egg-blue sky painted the bathroom window above motionless treetops. No whispering leaves today, no wind, no rain, only sunshine and the muted purr of mourning doves. She could almost believe the fragments had never happened.
Go there, go there.
Once out of the tub, Kira stood naked before the bedroom mirror with the housedress pressed against her. Then she set it aside and put on the white blouse again. It was dirty and grass-stained, but nothing else in her mother’s closet looked right. She fixed her hair in Maddalena’s low twist and crept downstairs, her ankle protesting.
“You look beautiful, wifey-san,” Dan said. “I like the hair. But honey, that shirt is dirty.”
“I know. It’s fine.”
Dan gave her a quizzical look. “Sit and eat.”
Over breakfast he told her about his midcentury-inspired designs for a six-bedroom house in Palo Alto, with a budget he’d only dreamed of. Kira half listened, her mind back on the porch with Maddalena, running down the steps into the street.
“Let’s head home after breakfast,” Dan said. “I canceled my work stuff. We can pick up a pizza and spend the rest of the day in bed.”
She shook her head. “I can’t leave yet. Things are happening.”
Dan went to the sink, made a big deal about scraping the pot and putting away the leftovers. “I see,” he said finally, his back still turned.
“I don’t think you do.”
He swung around. “I thought after your big revelation you’d be ready to come home. You wanted some answers and you got them. Your grandmother had a lover and you think he was your grandfather. You think you’re part Japanese. What else is there?”
“Don’t ridicule me.”
“I’m not. But just because they were lovers doesn’t mean Akira is your grandfather.”
“It makes sense, don’t you see? Akira is the mysterious man Mom talked about, and Mom was the baby in my dream, the baby Maddalena rocked in the attic. I’m positive she was his daughter. And if Akira was her father, that makes me his granddaughter.”
“You want to believe that.”
“That’s very supportive of you. Thanks very much.” What had happened to her intuitive husband, the guy who believed in fate, serendipity, convergences?
“Do you have any idea how hard this is?” Dan leaned against the sink, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know what to think, Kira. And on top of everything else, you tell me you were pregnant before Aimi. Give me a break here.”
“You think this is hard for you? You’re not the one whose brain is being hijacked. What about the fragments?”
“What about our life together? How many times do I have to prove myself to you? Now I’m asking you to do one thing for me. Come home. From what I’ve seen, the fragments can happen anywhere.”
“I can’t.” Kira hobbled to the back door and into the yard. The pond slept, its glassy surface opaque. How long had it been here? Did Maddalena’s husband build the pond for her? Did she enjoy feeding the fish, watching them snap at the surface, glitter in the shadows? What else did Maddalena like? What could she have possibly enjoyed, this woman who needed to see her lover’s face in a photo in order to bear looking at her husband? Did she have any friends, a confidante? How did she manage to live, knowing Akira died b
ecause of her?
Go there.
If there were answers, they weren’t here.
Dan maneuvered a kitchen chair through the back door, and the gesture brought tears to Kira’s eyes. “Please sit down,” he said. “Tell me what happened yesterday.”
“You really want to know?” she said, and he nodded. “Okay. Remember that day when you sketched Maddalena in the wedding dress, and how weird it was that you made her sad even though I hadn’t told you she was?”
“Of course.”
“This is even weirder.” She explained why this fragment was different, that she was watching Maddalena, not being her, and that her grandmother was telling her story in detail. “It’s not just the newspaper article, Dan—I mean, the reason I think Akira is my grandfather. Maddalena put everything in a letter to my mom, but she died before she could give it to her. I know what she wanted to tell her. I believe it’s true. If that makes me crazy, then I’m crazy. But I think I’m not. I just need more time.”
“And you have to be here.”
“Yes. Alone.”
“You know, the premise behind quantum entanglement is kind of similar to the concept of karma, how what we do affects others and eventually ourselves. In that sense, we’re all connected.”
Maddalena, her daughter, her granddaughter. A bloodline.
“All right, here’s the deal,” Dan said. “We talk twice a day; I’ll call you in the morning, and you call me before you go to bed. I just want to know you’re not lying unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. Deal?”
“No calls, only texts.”
Go there.
“God. Okay.” Dan pulled her up, crushing her to him. “Do whatever you need to do so you can come back to me.”
Kira nodded. The list she’d made—Find Maddalena’s house, she’d written. That’s what the voice in her head was saying. Go there, find her grandmother’s home, see what was left of Manzanar, stand in the desert where Maddalena and Akira had been lovers. Kira had always envisioned Maddalena here, in Martinez, but her grandmother hadn’t really lived in this house; she’d only existed here, died here. She had lived where Akira was. Owens Valley.
There. Yes, there. Find Maddalena.
When Dan left, Kira checked train and bus schedules, then packed a bag. She emailed Cam, promised they’d talk next week. The next morning she got to the station at four, half an hour before the first train to Bakersfield. Half dozing on the bench, she remembered the horse from her dream, all muscles and sweat beneath her, galloping through a wide ribbon of rocky land walled off by mountains. The sky opened above her, ahead of her, an infinity of promises.
Twenty-Eight
July 30, 1945
The desert lay in soft-edged shadows, lit by a half moon. Waiting for Maddalena, Akira spread the blanket he’d filched on top of the one he’d already stashed in the orchard. Six days since he’d seen her, six long days of wondering and doubt and hope, made tolerable once he knew she was safe. He pictured her silhouetted in her bedroom window, mentally filled in the details the shadows had hidden. Her hair had floated free, a backlit cloud, and he’d imagined burying his face in it.
Twenty minutes later Maddalena slid off Scout’s back and kissed him with a wildness that surprised him. “I guess you missed me,” Akira said. “I’ve sure missed you.”
“Yes,” Maddalena said, and kissed him again. He leaned into her and suddenly her plan, which had occupied her thoughts since yesterday, a plan she’d made with one hundred percent conviction, seemed reckless and foolish, as if her mother’s disapproval had trailed her all the way to the orchard. The thought of their naked bodies entwined beneath these trees made her face burn.
She pulled away and settled on the blankets. “I’m terribly sorry about last time. We had houseguests and I didn’t know they were coming until the last minute, and I couldn’t get back to the camp to signal you.”
“I went looking for you.” Akira sat next to her.
“You did?”
“Of course! I was worried as all get out. At first I thought you’d gotten caught, then I was afraid Scout had thrown you.” He laughed. “Then I had this wild idea that I’d find your house and see you in an upstairs window.”
“An upstairs window? Wait—you found my house? No, you couldn’t have. You didn’t!”
“I did. I knew it was you even though I couldn’t see your face. I barely made it back to the camp before dawn.”
“You did that for me? You’re very brave.” He must love her then. Did it matter if he didn’t say so? His hand was on her ankle, sliding up her calf.
“I had to know you were safe.” He kissed her, easing her back. Go slow, don’t scare her. He’d never wanted a girl so much. Her lips opened and she softened beneath him. He touched her collarbone, her breast, and she stopped his hand.
Yes or no? She was thinking both, and Akira was waiting, as if he understood her doubts. He was sweet, kind, a gentleman. He’d stayed in the desert all night worrying about her safety, came back to see her even though she had disappointed him. He was watching her, stroking her hair. His hand moved to her ear, tracing its curves, and desire overwhelmed her doubts.
“Let me,” she said, and unbuttoned her cardigan. They had no time for fears, hesitations, dreams. They had only this moment.
His hands and mouth were everywhere at once, his weight shifting. A rock dug into her hip and he silenced her cry with his mouth. Velvet and bristles and motion, cool air on thighs, the heat of breath. Her body drove into the ground, opened with the pain. It lasted forever and only a few minutes.
Maddalena pulled Akira down, his face against her neck, his hair in her mouth, a beautiful dead weight on her body, and she thought she would never be this happy again.
Twenty-Nine
April 9–10, 2011
The bus pulled away, spewing orchid fumes into the desert air. Evening lazed over the town, wearing traces of the day’s heat but none of its weight. The air was parchment thin, delicate and scented with earth. To the west, jagged peaks lined the valley, a tachycardic wall.
Kira set down her bag and got her bearings. Lone Pine, population two thousand. A small grocery on one corner, a hardware store and 7-Eleven opposite. Western-themed signs everywhere and, on a rooftop across the street, a life-size white horse, hooves forever raking the air. Beyond the town, thirsty remains of orchards yielded to sage-dotted slopes climbing toward the crenellated fortress of the Sierra to the west; to the east, the softer Inyo Range, with mineral-rich runoff that must taste of pink and blue, yellow and rust. So unlike each other, these mountain ranges, that they should belong to different continents. This was Owens Valley, land of water wars and Hollywood westerns, of farmers and ranchers. But that was years ago, when the soil was damp and rich, before the high desert valley became stripped and parched. Before its apple-fed town, Manzanar, became a prison. This valley was Maddalena’s home. Akira’s home too, though he wouldn’t have called it that.
Kira headed for the motel a quarter mile up the road, her ankle aching after thirteen hours of trains and buses. The western sky shapeshifted in slow motion, red brushstrokes haloing over the Sierra. From an open lot, sharp scents of earth and rock. Distant yips floated and faded, the breeze bearing them east. The Sierra in silhouette, red sky headed toward indigo. The breeze carried dust and sage, a sense of familiarity, of homecoming.
The motel, booked at fifty dollars a night, was a white U-shaped building with a shouting neon sign. Two wooden chairs sat outside each door, and beneath the office window, on a shelf adorned with rocks and rodent skulls, a dried lizard lay twisted and brown like a fallen leaf. Kira touched its brittle head. A souvenir of a landscape doing its best to hang on.
The screen door to the motel office screeched as it opened, the sound reminiscent of campground cabins and mosquitoes. In a reception area where four people would constitute a crowd, t
wo orange chairs flanked a dust-furred plastic ficus.
“Welcome to Lone Pine. I’m Mike.” A man with gray-flecked hair rose from behind the countertop, a fishing magazine in his hands. Large brown eyes, a quick smile, a sun-toughened face; he could be forty or sixty. “You must be Kira.” A fleeting frown as he took in the remnants of her black eyes.
“That’s me.” She pointed to her face. “Car accident. Airbags are brutal.”
“Did its job, though. You were lucky—I’ve seen my share of the unlucky ones.” Mike plucked a big plastic number 7 from a row of room keys dangling on a pegboard.
“Slow time of year?” Kira asked.
“A few fishermen, couple of hikers. It’s early yet. You came at a good time, beat the cold and the heat.” He handed her the key. “You need anything while you’re here, you ask for me.”
“Actually, there is something. I need to hire a driver for a few days. I want to explore the valley and I can’t drive.”
“Hey, Dustin, want to make some dough?” Mike yelled toward a back room. Then to Kira: “Don’t worry, he’s my nephew. Good kid.”
A sleepy-looking young man in a Lakers shirt and ripped jeans appeared and nodded at Kira. “Hey.”
“Lady here wants someone to drive her around the valley,” Mike said. “Your outfit running okay?”
“Sure thing.” Dustin scratched a wiry thatch of pumpkin-colored hair. “How’s fifty dollars a day, ma’am? Plus gas. If you don’t mind riding in a pickup truck.”
“You’re on. Tomorrow at eight,” Kira said. “And no calling me ‘ma’am.’”
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