Atonement for Iwo Page 5

  She arranged cushions in a corner for Masters to sit on, opened the window to let in the cool, night air, then sat facing him.

  “Do you mind if I ask more questions about my husband, Mr. Masters?”

  “No, but call me Keith.”

  “Thank you. I am Kimiko.”

  “I know. It’s a lovely name.”

  She paused to study him, then leaned forward. “You said that you saw my husband when he died. How did he look? Was he tired or thin?” Her face was exceedingly sad.

  Masters thought back through the years which spanned half a lifetime. “He did not appear thin or ill,” he finally replied.

  “When did he die?”

  “I’m not sure of the exact date.” He rubbed his jaw, reflecting. “It was before Okinawa was invaded - that was the first of April. I was transferred there soon after. I guess it was somewhere between the fifteenth and the thirtieth of March.”

  “What time of day?”

  “In the afternoon, about four o’clock.”

  She hesitated. “Where was he shot?”

  “In the heart,” he said, deciding to lie. “Look, Kimiko, your husband and his comrades tried to fight back like good soldiers, but it was over in an instant.”

  Her head drooped and she sat silently. After a while he heard her whisper. “Do you still have the good luck belt?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I have it, please? I made it for him.”

  “Yes. It’s at the hotel.”

  Kimiko broke off the conversation as the old man and woman reentered the room. They drank tea together, then went outside to sit on the long bench in the moonlight and talk of Vietnam and Germany and Castro and China ... and Masters had to chuckle at these old peasants, who know only labor all their lives, who could not read or write, but who could ask if he thought Nixon would be the Republican choice for president in 1968.

  When her parents had gone to sleep in the rear room, Kimiko arranged two mats and bedding on opposite sides of the living-dining room, and waited outside while Masters disrobed and slid under the quilt. Then, in the darkened room, she changed into pajamas and lay down on her mat.

  An hour passed and Masters, halfway to sleep, suddenly realized that she was sitting next to him, motionless, looking at his face in the thin light of the moon. His eyes opened fully and he raised his head from the round neck-rest.

  “Yes?” he asked quietly,

  She leaned down towards him. “Please, Keith,” she whispered. “Did he die peacefully?”

  Masters’ loins suddenly grew warm, but he forced himself to answer softly. “He died peacefully, Kimiko,” he replied.

  “Thank you, thank you very much for having come.” Then taking his hand, she pressed it, and silently padded back to her mat.

  The following afternoon they started back to Tokyo. When they reached the main road, Masters turned towards her.

  “Kimiko, what’s the trouble with your son, Ichiro?”

  Her hands tightened on the wheel. “There is a tea room a bit further on. I will tell you of him there.”

  When they were seated and served, she looked down at the table. Her face was white and drawn. “My son is in prison. He has killed a man. He had been sentenced to death, and our last appeal has been rejected.”

  “What!” exploded Masters, nearly rising from his chair.

  She turned her head away to hide the tears. “It has been a nightmare. He is so much like his father, good and intelligent.” She sighed. “I think it has all been my fault, speaking so often of his father. A few years ago he began to hate the Americans, and when one thing led to another, he joined the Communist Party. About a year and a half ago, a number of them assassinated a labor leader. Ichiro was one of the group. All of them were sentenced to be hung, and the others have already been executed. Soon it will be his turn.”

  “Jesus Christ!” exclaimed Masters. “Isn’t there anything that can be done?”

  She shook her head. “I have the best lawyers and they have fought hard to keep him alive.” Her face grew more taut. “But he is guilty,” her hands rose helplessly, “and there is no defense for guilt.”

  “But he is just a kid.”

  She nodded. “Yes, only a boy. But old enough to kill and be killed.”

  He saw that she was about to break down, so he quickly attempted to distract her attention from Ichiro. “What about Hiroko? Does she feel the same about Americans?”

  “I do not know, Keith. Sometimes I am not sure that I know Hiroko. We are very close and she is a wonderful daughter, but at times she has a fierceness, which I cannot understand. Like the unpleasant way she spoke to you at our house. She should have realized that you came to help us, and that it took courage to face the family of a man who was killed by your soldiers.”

  “She had a right to ask who killed her father.”

  “Thank you for saying it. You are a gentle, perceptive man. But she had no right to ask it the way she did. It showed a lack of respect.”

  Masters smiled. “We are a different generation, Kimiko. She is from the new world.”

  “No Japanese girl should show disrespect, modern or not.”

  “Tell me,” he asked. “Why have you never remarried? Is it because you were never certain about your husband?”

  Color raced up into her face. “No,” she replied. “All of us who lost dear ones knew that if they had not returned within a year or two after the war they were dead.” She poured more tea into their cups. “I had no desire to remarry.”

  “I would think a beautiful woman like you would have to fight off the offers of marriage.”

  He drew back at the coldness which suddenly came into her face. She looked him straight in the eye. “How did you find my name and address?” she asked, bruskly.

  “From the police.”

  “Then I am sure they informed you,” she snapped, “that I was a registered prostitute for six years.”

  Masters sat motionless, staring into her icy eyes. Finally he looked away. “You didn’t have to take out the family skeletons for me. Each of us has our own crosses to bear.”

  Her face grew more taut. “Come on, Mr. Masters, do not play games with me. You were in Japan during the Korean War. What did you do here?”

  Masters remained silent.

  “Well?” she demanded. “How many peasant girls from the countryside did you buy on the corners?”

  His expression hardened. “Stop whipping yourself. Everything is for sale.”

  “Then let us stop pretending with each other. You know that a peasant girl does not own fine stores and home and car without having earned it in the one and only way that was permitted here.” Then she let him have it with both barrels. “I also know,” she hissed, “that it was you who killed Ito! You, and only you!”

  Masters stiffened in his chair. Abruptly, she rose from her seat and walked out. He remained at the table for a few more moments, pensive, then paid the check and went outside. He was surprised to find the car still there, Kimiko seated behind the wheel, staring straight ahead. When Masters got in, she immediately drove off.

  He remained silent for a long mile. “I had hoped you wouldn’t guess,” he finally said.

  She said nothing, just kept her eyes fixed on the road. Then she sighed, deeply, as if everything was a bad dream and that one must sometime awaken and face reality. “I cannot condemn you. It was war. But I condemn the loss of a wonderful man, and I am bitter because my children were never able to feel his love. Perhaps if he had not died, Ichiro would be a happy boy in the university instead of a poor, terrified criminal waiting to have his valuable life snuffed out.”

  He turned towards her. “Kimiko, I will accept the responsibility for your husband’s death, but believe one thing I wounded him only. I don’t know whether my shots would have caused his death or not, for as he lay there, one of my men shot him again.”

  The car abruptly swerved and she trod on the brakes. Carefully, she brought it to the side of th
e road and stopped. Then she laid her head on the steering wheel and wept.

  Masters took her by the shoulder. “Crying won’t change anything.”

  She pushed open the door and got out and began walking slowly by the side of the road. He sat until she became a small figure in the distance, then he left the car and followed her. After a while, he saw her turn back, and soon they met.

  She stopped directly in front of him and met his eyes squarely. “Keith, why did you come to Japan?”

  “I guess it was an attempt to atone for my sin. I could have stopped the final shot, but I didn’t.”

  “Why did you not stop it?”

  “I don’t know, Kimiko. I’ve asked myself that question a score of times, without an answer.”

  “But why did you wait until now to come here?”

  He shrugged. “I told you I have a heart condition, but understand that I may die at any time during another attack. Then it became important to find out about him, and you, while I was still able to.”

  She studied his face carefully. “And now?”

  He pursed his lips. “I guess I’ll go back home and wait to die,” he said gruffly. “Then I’ll find out.”

  “Is there absolutely no one waiting for you there?”

  “Only death.”

  Their eyes met and locked. She took a step nearer and looked deeper into them, searching for a hidden sign. Then her hands rose to his face and she stood on tiptoe to press her lips against his cheek.

  A passing car blared its horn in amusement as he reached out and swept her into his arms.

  CHAPTER 4

  Kimiko drove straight to Masters’ hotel and parked the car. “Would you like to come to supper at my home?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’d like that. What time should I come?”

  She glanced at her watch. “It is almost seven. Why don’t you rest for an hour and I will have Hiroko pick you up at eight o’clock.”

  “Okay.”

  “Keith,” she called, as he stepped out of the car. “Please do not mention our conversation to her. She does not know about me.”

  He leaned in through the window. “Neither do I.” They smiled at each other. “How about speaking of Ichiro?”

  “Perhaps it should be avoided as much as possible. They were very close, and Hiroko is not quite predictable. I will tell her I have spoken of him to you.”

  He nodded and strode into the hotel. Up in his room, he lay on his bed and thought about the boy. What a goddamn mess, he reflected. I need this aggravation like a first class migraine attack. If I had any sense, I’d get on a boat tonight and show my heels to Japan. This atonement crap is just a pipedream, a dramatic interlude to impress George Brighton between my waking up to reality and dropping dead from a crummy heart.

  And now I am acting like a country schoolboy, holding hands with a pint sized whore who has been screwed by half the army in Korea and thinking of a baked brain kid who had nothing better to do than murder people. I wonder how that little bastard did kill the union guy?

  He suddenly realized that he was very weary, and in minutes he was fast asleep.

  He awoke at the sound of a knock on the door. “Who’s there?” he called out.

  “Hiroko.”

  Masters looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock. “I’ll be right down.” He rose quickly, poured tepid water from a jug into a porcelain bowl, washed, and in a few minutes was down in the lobby. Hiroko was not there, so he walked outside and found her sitting in Kimiko’s car parked directly in front of the hotel.

  “Sorry. I must have overslept,” he said.

  “That’s all right.” She started the engine and moved promptly into the traffic. “Did you enjoy yourself at my grandparents’ home?”

  “Yes.”

  At a traffic light she stopped and glanced at him. “Mother said that you have a bad heart. Also, that I am to apologize for speaking so disrespectfully.”

  Masters could hardly keep his eyes from the girl. She fascinated him with her strange, sensuous beauty. Experience had taught him that the girl knew it, too. He pulled himself away from his thoughts to answer her. “I assume that you are apologizing only because your mother ordered you to.”

  The traffic light changed and she started off. “Yes,” she replied, with Kimiko’s directness of speech.

  “I don’t accept it,” he said, deciding to join battle. Her head swung round at his brisk refusal. “I am a stranger to you and your mother, and I don’t want to interfere with Japanese customs. So far as I am concerned, you had the right to ask your questions in the way you did. If your mother feels different, then that is between you and her. I just won’t accept an apology that is not really meant as one. So let’s not make a federal case of it. Forget it.”

  Her brow wrinkled further. She drove in silence, attempting to comprehend his abrupt retort. Her eyes flicked at him. “You are a much harder man than I thought,” she finally said. He let the remark pass unanswered. Then she flashed an open smile at him. “Okay, Mr. Masters, I apologize for myself, not because mother ordered me to do so.”

  Masters grinned back. “I accept it on the condition that you say it without smiling. You’re a fine looking woman, and the smile makes the words too easy to accept.”

  She chuckled. “I guess that’s meant as a compliment.”

  “You can take it as one.”

  The traffic had thinned out and she sped through the streets. “Mother likes you,” she commented after a few minutes. He did not reply to her probe. From the corner of his eye he saw from the expression on her face that she was considering another tack. “Where did you stay?” she asked casually.

  “At your grandparents’ house?” he said easily, chuckling to himself. He decided to take a shot at her. “Are you trying to learn if we shared the same sleeping mat?”

  Her reaction was not what he anticipated. Her face grew taut and her breasts visibly swelled. She swallowed. “My mother is a very beautiful and desirable woman.” He decided not to answer her, just looked out of the window. But Hiriko would not be put off. “Well, did you?” she demanded boldly.

  “Did we what?” asked Masters, enjoying himself tremendously.

  Her breathing was noticeably heavy. “Did you share the same mat?”

  He turned towards her. She was driving slowly, her eyes bright, her breasts rising and falling with excitement. He was suddenly aware that if he placed a hand on the girl, she would explode.

  “Don’t get any false notions, Hiroko,” he said harshly. “Your mother took me to the countryside to show me what life was like many years ago. We barely know each other. Don’t try to read a big romance into it.”

  She did not appear to have heard him, or, if she did, it made no impact. “What is it like,” she asked tensely, “for middle aged people to have an affair?”

  He almost laughed out loud. Under her words, he sensed a direction she was aiming for that had nothing to do with the comments thus far. “Lay off, Hiroko,” he said quietly.

  A flush rose to her face. “Don’t treat me as a child!” she snapped. “I know what it’s all about.”

  So I was right, he decided. She wants to play games. His loins suddenly grew warm. “Fine. Then wait a few more years and you’ll have all your questions answered about middle aged people.”

  She held back her resentment at his remark. “What is it, a big secret?” she asked, her eyes staring straight ahead. “What would it be like if say, a middle aged man had an affair with a younger woman?”

  Well, there it is, thought Masters. If I run now, then this utterly desirable woman child would have the evil eye on me forever.

  “She wouldn’t satisfy him,” he lashed out at her. “It would be just a tangle of arms and legs and sweat on the stomach. And he wouldn’t satisfy her either. He’d be too old. Now, stop this crap and let’s get home.”

  She turned startled eyes on him, as if he had slapped her face, as if he had rejected her. Then her mouth snapped shut and h
er foot slammed down on the accelerator.

  As Masters reached the door to the house, it opened. Kimiko was standing there with a tall, straight backed Japanese. At first glance, Masters told himself that this man, about sixty years old, was one very tough person.

  “Good evening,” said Kimiko, bowing in greeting. She turned to the tall, hard faced Japanese. “Admiral, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Masters from the United States, who is visiting Japan. Mr. Masters, this is Admiral Kowasachi.”

  The Japanese took in all the details about Masters with one swift look, then he bowed very slightly, almost just a nod. Masters knew enough about Japanese customs to recognize this as tantamount to an insult. The deeper one bowed, the more respect was being paid. Kowasachi offered none. Masters set his jaw and just acknowledged the greeting with a dip of his chin. The admiral bowed more fully to Kimiko, then without a word, he started down the path. A long, black, chauffeured Mercedes was waiting at the curb.

  Once Masters stepped inside, Kimiko bowed again, as if they had not met for a few weeks or so. He found her old fashioned manners bewitching.

  “Who was that interesting fellow?” he asked.

  “A friend of mine. He has given me some sound financial advice over the years.”

  “Speaking of friendship, do I bow now?” he asked, smiling.

  Kimiko laughed and reached out a hand to shake his. “Good evening, Mr. Masters,” she said, noticing her daughter about to enter behind him.

  “Would you call me Keith?” he said, turning his head to include Hiroko. “I would feel more at ease.”

  Kimiko nodded. “I am called Kimiko,” she said, keeping up the deception. She was beautiful, sheathed in a silk dress of forest green, with small emeralds dangling from her ears and a string of perfectly matched pearls around her throat. “Would you care for a juice before dinner?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then please, sit here.” She settled him at the head of the table and the wrinkled, old servant served the meal at once. Hiroko sat opposite him, seemingly subdued.