Gaijin Cowgirl (6): The taste of blowfish

The war criminal's hand on the small of her back.

(Previous chapter, or start at the beginning.)

For Charles Kwok, esquire, emotions were never muddled. They came hard and clear. For months, he was morose, his despair tempered only by righteousness and anger. Now he was full of fighting optimism, a warrior who after a terrible campaign had finally breached the enemy’s walls and was ready to raze the city.

“We’ve got them on the run,” he told Val almost every day after the Painter had appeared on television and the world’s media had covered the story of how one Korean woman and her plucky lawyers had finally brought charges against several individuals for war crimes – crimes from a distant but not forgotten past. Of course, the Colonel would never see jail or even a court so long as he remained on Japanese soil, but the publicity was very painful for his company as well as a huge loss of face.

Val had forgotten this side of Charlie. He practically bounced off the walls. He kissed her forcefully. He jumped on furniture like a little boy. He even drank more.

She wanted to tell him she was leaving, but then he’d ask her about her finances, and she’d tell him she had plenty of money coming to her, and the lawyer in him wouldn’t quit and she might slip up and reveal the source of this windfall.

What if Charlie sensed the war criminal’s bloodied hand on the small of her back, deftly whisking her across the room over the bones of women slaves?

I’m doing this for both of us, she would tell herself. I’m taking that money to quit Cowboy, get out of Japan, escape Freddy the Fucker – and spare you, Charlie, from my shit. Don’t ask me where I got the money, Charlie. You don’t want to know.

She was going to take that three million yen and go. Maybe it was best to not even tell Charlie. Just…disappear.

The night before her planned visit, Charlie came home for dinner. She threw together some soba noodles and pickles with rice; Suki had taught her how to prepare simple Japanese meals. Charlie sat down and tucked in. “Gotta eat fast,” he said. “I’ve got a long brief to prepare tonight. Going through his assets.”

What happened when Charlie tallied up the evil man’s paintings, one naked body after another, and at the end to confront the truth, literally framed, of her creamy secrets willingly exposed – to Takahashi, not to Charlie?

“What is his business, anyway?” She might as well double down on the lie and plead ignorance.

“After the Second World War, he founded Shoryo Corporation. It’s an industrial conglomerate, all kinds of businesses, and is part of a cross-shareholding with a bank and a trading house. It’s based out of Osaka and has a lot of ties with one of the big six keiretsu business groupings.”

“Wow. Sounds big. How’re the noodles?”

“By Japanese standards it’s only medium-sized.” He meant the conglomerate, not the noodles. “But the company has a lot of interests abroad too, particularly in Southeast Asia. Since the Asian financial crisis, Shoryo’s pulled back, like a lot of Japanese companies, but it still has a presence in the Philippines, Thailand, Indonesia and in Hong Kong.”

“Sounds like you’ve hooked quite a fish, Charlie.”

She couldn’t sit watching TV beside him as he tapped a rhapsody on his laptop, his nose stuck inside the contents of his fat briefcase. She uncorked a bottle of his pricey Burgundy and drank it at the kitchen table. Tonight was her night off, but she couldn’t get through the stillness of it without a drink. Why of all the nights did he pick this one to work at home?

She drank too much and didn’t sleep well. She was half awake when he left the bed the next morning to get ready for work. Today’s the day. A pang struck her heart as she realized she still had most of it to kill.

Remaining in bed seemed pointless, so she got up with Charlie and made coffee while he showered. As he dressed, she retrieved the newspaper that would be faithfully propped against the apartment door. It fell into the little foyer, like it did every morning, but this time it had company.

Val stooped and picked up a large envelope. It was addressed simply to “Valerie Benson”, without any address. Nor did it have a return address or a stamp. She closed her eyes, feeling last night’s drink, and the room swayed.

The envelope sheathed an elegant slip of paper. It was a haiku, written in three ways, first with Chinese characters, then in romanized Japanese so she could pronounce it, and finally in an English translation. It read:

“Miosame no

kyo to wa narinu

Fuji-no-yama

Today is the day

for one last view

of Mount Fuji.”

It was signed simply “Kimpo, died 1894”.

She crumpled the delicate paper in her fist and stuck her head into the hallway. The corridor of apartment doors returned her mute stare. She closed the door and checked the bolt. “That a letter, honey?” asked Charlie, fixing his tie and headed for the coffee, and she flattened her back against the door like a trapped animal.

“Junk mail.”

Charlie picked up the newspaper, in his own little world. “We get mail this early?”

“No. I mean yes. I mean, I guess so.”

Charlie grunted, absorbed in a headline. He checked his watch. “Oops, I’m going to be late.” She closed her fingers around the ball of crumpled poem as he moved to kiss her cheek. “See you later tonight, Val?”

“Uh, actually I’m probably working all night. I may be pretty late.”

“I thought we were having dinner.”

“I have a special customer coming in tonight,” she said. “Big spender. Sorry. I’ll make it up to you – tomorrow night, I promise.”

“Well,” he said, but whatever he had meant to say didn’t quite make it. He opened the door. “See you later.” She counted to ten after he left before tearing the poem in two. But she couldn’t exorcise the images it conjured. It had the feel of a suicide note and as the day wore on, the clichés mounted: the dapper Takahashi, echoing the dandy poet Mishima, readying himself for seppuku, the splitting of the stomach favored by samurai and lovers – the most elegant, considered, horrible method yet devised of taking one’s own life. Was this to be his last statement in the face of public shame, accompanied only by an austere comment about the passing of the cherry blossoms?

Val had prepared some soup and sandwiches at home for herself and Suki, who arrived in the mid-afternoon, wearing a short skirt beneath her silver bubble jacket and lilac pumps that matched her contact lenses. Suki had insisted on coming along. At first Val had refused, but Suki came up with the idea of renting a car for the day instead of relying on trains and buses. Val decided she’d like the company, and a lift. She had almost been looking forward to the outing until finding the sinister poem on her doorstep.

After Suki arrived, Val went to the trashcan and fished out the two halves of the poem. “This showed up this morning on my doorstep.”

“These old people,” Suki said, “are such a waste of time.”

“It’s a Zen death poem, I think,” Val said.

“You know about that stuff?” Suki said, finishing her sandwich.

“I did a class on Asian literature in college. What else could it be?”

“The old man’s turning into a creep.”

“I think he might commit suicide. God, I hope he doesn’t do anything stupid while we’re there. I’m glad you’re coming along.”

“Don’t worry, he’s just being weird. Hey, did I tell you I got an e-mail this morning from Simon?”

Val cocked an eyebrow at her friend’s sudden enthusiasm. “Really?”

Suki could barely contain herself. “Yeah! He’s invited me to his exhibition. It’s in two days.”

“Are you going?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I am. He’s…so…well…”

“Hot?”

Suki just smiled.

“Say no more,” Val said, plucking up a Post-it Note from her purse where she had written down the Painter’s address. He lived in a small coastal spa town on the Izu-hanto peninsula, a drive of about three hours from central Tokyo. “We’re supposed to meet the Painter outside this little restaurant,” she said, showing Suki the address.

Suki nodded. “So, so. Can I use your phone? I need the number for this place. If I have the telephone number I can just put it into the GPS system and we can follow that.”

Val fetched an umbrella and followed Suki out to the street. Her rental was a retro-style lemon yellow VW Bug. A satchel lay on the passenger seat. Val saw a camera inside.

The curvy little car was the only splotch of color as they plodded along the dreary elevated expressway that ran through the canyons of Shibuya. The heavy traffic made the gunmetal sky and the gray buildings claustrophobic.

Tokyo’s interminable, anonymous skyline eventually receded in the rearview mirror. Roadsides turned from concrete to green, although the traffic never relented. Soon they were on the peninsula itself, the road flirting with the coast. The mountains grew higher and steeper, the towns devolved from large sprawls to small heaps of houses.

They reached the center of a village facing the sea, nestled between imposing cliffs, a warren of aimless roads and pathways, of makeshift houses piled one upon the other. Beneath the quiet façade of the village, something seethed. The buildings were interspersed by pillars of steam, geysers bottled up in tall wooden crates. This was onsen country, full of geothermal springs.

As daylight faded and the rain softened, Suki drove up to a restaurant. The lights of a nearby black Mercedes came to life. Val tentatively approached the car. A door opened, and Yoshino stepped out, wearing a dark blue trench coat. He neither smiled nor frowned, but his eyes recorded everything about the two approaching women. He made no comment about Suki’s presence, which Val hadn’t announced. He simply opened the rear door of the car.

Val and Suki looked at each other. Val put a hand on Suki’s arm. “It’ll be all right. I’ll go with him, and you follow, okay?”

Suki nodded, giving Yoshino a suspicious glance. “Be careful,” she said.

“Don’t worry.” Val turned to Yoshino. “Suki will follow us, so don’t drive too fast.”

Yoshino made no response, he simply shut the door once Val had sat inside the Merc. She sank into the black leather upholstery – black everywhere except the pink box of tissues, and the midnight blue of Yoshino’s coat. He didn’t so much as glance at her, not even in the rearview mirror. The Merc glided through the village.

Val turned to make sure the bright Bug was following. The tiny houses and pillars of white steam gave way to dark foliage and sudden turns. The sky darkened; below, the village lights winked on, then so did the Merc’s headlights, slashing across trees before piercing a long, narrow drive through the woods. The village lights fell away where the land gave way to sky. They were on a wooded plateau. Yoshino parked in a grassy clearing and cut the lights, leaving them surrounded by the silhouettes of trees.

She got out of the Mercedes as Suki pulled up. Across the clearing stood a house that looked like a giant wooden barn with a porch. The slatted windows were illuminated from within, the yellow glow suggesting coziness but sharing none.

The rain was now just a mist, but the grounds were completely wet, and Val and Suki had to carefully cross the winding stone pathway that led to the house. Yoshino bound ahead with silent agility, leaving the women to feel for the next clean step.

They removed their shoes on the broad porch, leaving the women barefoot. There was a hole in Yoshino’s left sock. The door opened: Takahashi, dressed in well-cut slacks and a sweater, feet in furry slippers, greeted them with a broad smile.

“It is so wonderful to see you here, Val-chan! And Suki-san as well, what a nice surprise. Please come in.”

They entered a big room constructed of thick, wooden beams. A hearth stood at the far end, with a low table in between, surrounded by cushions on tatami mats. Screens and potted bonsai trees filled the corners of the room. It all looked timeless, except for one wall’s enormous flat-panel television.

A fat man in a dark suit and tie reclined by the central table, wiggling a toothpick in his mouth. He scurried up to bow as the party entered, revealing a bald scalp and a monk-like ring of hair.

“This is Moriaga,” the Painter said. “He helps around the house.”

“Konbanwa,” Moriaga greeted them.

Two orange kittens raced into the room, looked up, saw the guests and bolted for cover behind a large tree pot.

The Painter laughed. “And those are Mickey-san and Minnie-san – although it’s a good thing cats don’t know they’re named after the mice they are supposed to catch.”

Suki knelt and made little noises to the kittens, which couldn’t resist padding up to her. Then they scattered again.

Val looked around the barn-like house in amazement. “This is so big,” she said.

“These old farmhouses are like that,” Takahashi said. “This one is nearly three hundred years old. It was built in the traditional style without the use of nails.”

“No nails?”

“Not a one.”

Yoshino removed his trench coat and handed it to Moriaga. The fat man started to take it away, but the sound of an approaching car made him stop to open the house’s front door. They could see a red Toyota pull up to the porch. A lone figure hurried up to the house. The man was dressed completely in black and his skin was dark, making him look more like a shade of the deepening night. But the white surgical mask stuck out. Suki couldn’t help but gasp as Odama entered the house.

“What are you doing here?” Val demanded.

“Simply a precaution,” said the easy voice of the Painter. “Come on in.”

“I don’t like this,” Suki said, reflexively touching her mouth where Odama had struck her. “Nobody said he’d be here.”

“Relax, darling,” said the Painter. “Nobody said you’d be here either, but you are all my welcome guests.”

Val said, “We don’t like men who hit women.”

The Painter raised his old hands in supplication. “It was a mistake, just a mistake. Odama-san is an old friend and these days I like the company.”

“I thought Yoshino was your old friend,” Val said.

“Yoshino-san was busy making sure you didn’t get lost.”

“And to deliver mysterious letters?” Val said, thinking of this morning’s haiku delivery.

The Painter smiled faintly. “To let me know you’d make it safely, Val-sama, and to also let me know that the delightful Suki would be accompanying you. Please, this way.”

(Next chapter.)