Atonement for Iwo Read online

  She got the bottle and placed it by the sofa. “You must always keep them at hand.”

  He chuckled, delighted with her ministrations. “Okay, doc. What does the book say about you coming down here and kissing the patient?”

  She dropped to her knees and kissed him, another of her fleeting touch of lips. Then she sat on the floor by the couch.

  “Tell me about yourself, Keith.”

  “Me?” He laughed. “It would put you to sleep.”

  “No, seriously, tell me.”

  He knew what she was after. All women wanted to know the same thing. “I was married twenty years ago. Was divorced Christ, it’s been nine years now. Have a son a few years younger than Ichiro.”

  “What is he like?”

  “Bert? I really don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the divorce.”

  “Oh, no, your own son. Why haven’t you seen him?”

  “He didn’t want to see me. His mother was pretty bitter and some of it rubbed off on him.”

  “I’m sure he would like to see you again.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that. I’d lose.”

  “And your wife. Did you love her?”

  “I thought I did. I don’t know whether I did love her or not. I do know that I wish I had never married her.”

  “You must have loved her to get married.”

  “That’s a cliché, Kimiko, and I bet every guy who steps before the divorce court hears it a couple of thousand times.”

  “Did you ever love another woman besides your wife?”

  “No, but I was fond of a few others.”

  She seemed to grow still. “It is strange, but in the few days since I have know you, I have felt...well, a greater interest in things.”

  “A lot can happen in a few days, Kimiko. I’ve known people who died in a split second. Why can’t others wake up to personal feelings as quickly.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder. “Yes, they should be able to. I wish I were as certain about things as you are.”

  He grinned wryly as a thought abruptly struck. “I can afford to be certain. When you don’t know how much time you have left, you can take all the chances you want.”

  “You are a good man. You understand so many things and are not afraid to stand by your convictions. I always have doubts.”

  “You seem to be pretty sure of things to have built up the company like you have.” That reminded him of another matter. He sat up. “There must be an answer for Ichiro. Is there no further appeal possible?”

  She shook her head, sorrowfully. “No, we have been through them all.”

  “Won’t his age help towards a commutation of the sentence?”

  “There were two boys younger than Ichiro. It did not make any difference in their cases. Oh, Keith, I would give my life gladly if I could help him.”

  He rose and looked down on her sitting on the floor, a small, slender form, bowed with grief. He helped her rise, then went to the closet and took his jacket.

  “Where does Hiroko spend her days?” he asked.

  “She works for the Economic Division. She is a graduate economist.”

  He grinned at the affection in her voice. “You are proud of her, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. She is a lot like my husband. When she makes up her mind about something, she does not stop until she gets it.”

  “Where does she work?”

  “On Harumi Dori Avenue.”

  “Does she know anyone in the government who could help?”

  “No, I am afraid not. Knowing someone does not help in this case.”

  He kissed her. “I’ll take off now.”

  “Will you come to supper tonight?”

  “I’ll be there.” He descended to the street and hailed a taxi. The Economic Division was back towards the Ginza District, and directly inside the main door he found an information desk. The receptionist knew Hiroko.

  She came trotting down to the entrance in a few minutes. “Hi, Keith,” she greeted him, surprised at his appearance. “Want to go to a hotel now?”

  In spite of himself, he had to chuckle. “Not yet, Hiroko.” He looked round. “Can you get off work for a while?”

  “Sure.” She studied him closely. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, but let’s go to a quiet corner.”

  She led him outside and down the street to a small restaurant. They took a table at the rear and ordered cokes.

  “Hiroko, give me all the information you have about Ichiro.”

  Her face fell. “Poor Ichiro. He joined the Communist Party about two years ago. He told me about it, but I had to promise not to say anything to mother. He really hated you Americans. I guess that’s why he joined. The Party was trying to get into a union of clerks, so they supported one of the delegates who was running for election as the head of the union. When he was elected, the Party insisted that he select some of their people as his assistants. He refused. Ichiro told me that they were going to beat him up as a warning, but shortly afterwards there was an announcement over the television that the union leader was found stabbed to death.

  “Ichiro was very nervous for the next couple of days, then one night he confessed to being one of the group who had stabbed the official. I gave him all the money I had and he left home to go into hiding. I think he intended to stay in the countryside with some of father’s relatives, but the police arrested him before he could get away.

  “At the trial, they produced two witnesses who saw the murder and who identified the entire group. There were five boys. Ichiro said that the Party passed them orders in jail to say nothing, so they didn’t even confess and plead for mercy. The other four were executed over six months ago. Mother has been spending scads of money on appeals, but they’ve all been turned down.”

  “Are you sure there is no further appeal possible?”

  She shook her head. “We have one of the best attorneys in Tokyo, the kind who would fight right up to the end, and even he has given up.”

  “Is there absolutely no chance for a commutation of his sentence?”

  “Not since the others have been executed. The lawyer said the only reason he’s stayed alive this long is because mother has spent so much on appeals, and that it would be a great scandal if they commuted his sentence now as if money bought it.”

  He called the waiter to the table. “Tell him to bring me a pack of cigarettes,” he ordered Kimiko.

  “I thought you weren’t supposed to smoke.”

  “Do as you’re told,” he growled. When he lit the first cigarette, his head spun and his mouth burned. He drew in another lungful, thinking hard. Hiroko sat quietly, watching him.

  “Exactly how much time before the execution?” he finally asked.

  “Thirty four days.”

  “Where is he held?”

  “At the Tokyo Central Prison. It’s on the northwest side, about half an hour away by taxi. Do you want to go there?”

  He shook his head. “Listen, Hiroko, I may want you to help me with a few things. But before we start, I want you to get this screwing around business out of your mind. Do you understand?”

  “You want to sleep with me. I can tell it, now.”

  “For Christ’s sake, can’t you listen when somebody wants to talk to you.”

  “Then why make such a big case out of it. Let’s go to a hotel and have one affair. Then it will be over and done with.” She leaned forward. “I’m not kidding, Keith. It’s really important to me.” When he opened his mouth to answer, she cut him off. “Look at me. Look closely. Wouldn’t you like to see what I am like underneath?”

  He rose from his chair, upsetting the empty coke glasses, and strode out into the street. Quickly, he walked a couple of blocks, then looked back to see if she was following. He leaned against the side of a building and puffed as if he had run a great distance, but it did not help. His loins felt as if they would burst in the middle of the street. He walked another block to cool off, cursing this girl w
ho affected him so strongly.

  Kimiko called for him at seven. “How come you are driving?” he asked. “I thought you would send Hiroko.”

  “She has drawing classes every Monday evening.”

  “So, tonight’s the night,” he quipped. “Where do I attack you, in the living room or in the garden?”

  She pinched his thigh playfully. “Would you not rather see a Japanese Kabuki play?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Masters, breaking into a laugh.

  “No. There is a very old fashioned one tonight. I would like to take you after supper.” He groaned. “What is the matter? Do you not like them?”

  “Frankly, I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard about them and the music. I will go, but you will have to drag me.”

  She chuckled. “I intend to, for I know you will enjoy it. I know the words and music are not pleasant to Western ears, but the important parts of the show are the movements of the actors’ hands and feet. Each motion has a special meaning, and the audience must guess what the actors are trying to say. It is like a quiz game. Do you not feel wonderful when you are able to answer a question?”

  “If it’s a hard one.”

  “That is exactly it in the show. The actor says or sings certain words and the audience knows what each movement means, but putting them together to express an idea is what makes it so interesting. I will explain some of the motions before we go, then you can tell me whether you understand it.”

  “I am already confused.”

  “It is not too hard, Keith. Look, see the way I turn my hand?”

  “Yes, and I think you turn it with great distinction.”

  “You are hopeless,” she chided him, fondly. “Now, seriously, watch my hand.” She rotated it. “That means everything is going wrong. When I wiggle it like this, it means you should leave. And when I hold it like this, it means a bicycle. Now, if I make the three movements, what would it suggest?”

  He thought for a few seconds. “That something is wrong with the bicycle and that I should leave.”

  “That is very good for a start. Actually, in the sequence I showed you, it means that everything is going wrong and that you leave with or on the bicycle. What makes it more amusing is that the actor is also saying things by mouth and with his feet, and they must all be taken together. It is surprising what funny things he can express.”

  “How the devil do you learn all that?”

  “Oh, it takes some time to know it well. When an actor performs for children, he does very simple things, like a goat butting a bad man, or an evil spirit being caught in a bottle. They love it, and learn as they go along. Come with me, you will enjoy it.”

  During supper, Masters told her that he had spoken to Hiroko to learn more of the facts about Ichiro. “Do you mind if I speak to your attorney, too?” he asked.

  “I would be happy if you did. Sometimes it is difficult for me to understand all those legal terms.”

  “Does he speak English?”

  “I do not think so. I will be glad to interpret for you.”

  “No, not you. There’s enough misery for you in just thinking about Ichiro.”

  “How about Hiroko? She can take time off from work whenever she wants.”

  “All right. I’ll ask her.”

  She stretched out her hand and placed it over his. “Have you thought of anything which might be of help?”

  He shook his head. “I’m no lawyer, so don’t build any false hopes. I just want to discuss it with him and get as many facts as I can.”

  After supper, they drove to the theater. It was situated in a narrow alley, and parked around it were a number of new, expensive automobiles. Masters paid the two thousand, eight hundred yen admission fee, then they entered a rectangular hall dimly lit by candle lanterns hanging from the ceiling. A wide aisle ran from the stage to the rear of the theater. The seats were long, hard, wooden benches, set so close together that even his average height made him feel huge among the Japanese. When he sat down, his knees drove into the back of the man seated in front of him. He apologized and turned sideways to avoid a recurrence.

  He was surprised to see how well dressed the audience was.

  “This theater is for the people of this section,” explained Kimiko in a low voice. “There is another downtown for the poorer people.”

  After a while, the candle lanterns were pulled up higher to dim the interior. Masters peered apprehensively at their proximity to the ceiling, visualizing the mad dash for the exits if one of them should set the old building on fire.

  The curtain opened. The entire front of the stage was illuminated by a row of clean burning candles. “Why do they use candles instead of electric lights?” he whispered to Kimiko.

  “Custom,” she whispered back. “In the villages there was no electricity. It would not be the same if they used electric lights.”

  A tall, heavy man in a flowing silk robe, wearing a dragon’s mask, came out and bowed to the audience. They applauded politely. Then a short, slender man, also dressed in silk, his face painted a startling white with black rings around his eyes and hair drawn to the top of his head in a knot, entered the stage and bowed. The audience nearly tore the theater apart with its applause.

  “He is Kazuo Yamagata, the most famous pantomimic in Japan,” explained Kimiko, vigorously clapping her hands.

  Suddenly, the actor in the dragon’s mask took up a stance and his hand moved. A deathly hush enveloped the audience. From one side of the theater came the nerve jarring wail of a flute. Everyone leaned forward. Masters glanced at Kimiko. Her eyes were glued to the stage and her lips were open, like a child watching a marionette show.

  The masked actor made a series of movements and uttered a number of sing song words. Masters nudged Kimiko. “Did he just make the motion for house?”

  She grasped his hand. “Good, my dear. He is saying that a dragon is circling the house of the old man, waiting for him to come out.” Her eyes immediately turned back to the stage. Suddenly the audience began to laugh.

  “What happened?” he whispered.

  “The old man says he smelled night soil.”

  Masters realized that he had been watching the dragon only. His eyes began shifting from actor to actor. A few minutes later the audience roared. The old man had made a movement of his hand and foot. He made the movement again, realizing that some of the audience had not yet understood. The roof nearly went off the building.

  Kimiko, tears in her eyes, dragged her attention away to whisper, “He says that he had made a mistake about the odor. It was not night soil, but the tax collector.”

  Then the audience began hissing. “The dragon is going to wait until the old man is asleep to attack him,” said Kimiko, actually enraged. Masters almost laughed aloud at how seriously she was taking it.

  As the play continued, he found himself recognizing a few of the words and gestures Kimiko had shown him before coming to the theater, but was unable to relate them to the play.

  Finally, after over an hour, the old man spun, clapped his hands, and the dragon fell to the floor. The audience broke into smiles, cheering, standing up to clap their hands. The old man and the dragon came to the edge of the stage and bowed, acknowledging the applause which lasted a good five minutes. Then the candle lanterns were lowered from the ceiling and the packed crowd made its way out.

  Arm in arm, Kimiko and Masters walked the two blocks to the car. She was still smiling. “It is not easy to explain, Keith, as the story is a series of episodes. It is like that comedian you have, Bob Bob..”

  “Bob Hope.”

  “Yes. I saw him one time, and although I could understand the words, I was not able to appreciate his humor. The American audience, however, went into hysterics.”

  “I understand.”

  “Would you mind going again?” she asked, drawing closer to him.

  He felt her breast press against his arm, and knew it would be no great hardship to put up with events like tonight if
it brought her such pleasure.

  “No,” he replied, and was surprised to learn that he really meant it.

  When they reached the house, she asked if he wanted some tea.

  “I’d like some air,” he said. “Let’s go into the garden. That candle smoke was heavy.”

  She took his arm and they strolled over the soft grass.

  “It is so peaceful here together,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I feel more content than I’ve ever been before. In America, it was rush, rush, all the time rush. A half hour for gulping down a sandwich, working in the evenings, sitting glued to the television set like it was a drug. Never the time for a peaceful walk on the grass, breathing in fresh air, not giving a damn that each moment is passing by and being lost forever.”

  “Is each moment really lost forever?”

  “Yes. But now each moment seems to replace a year of what I once called living. I was always waiting for tomorrow, or something to come, or something to be gained, or something to be faced. As if there was never really a now, a this very instant. All of a sudden, I’m beginning to live consciously, as if everything is happening right now. I take this step and it is right now. And when I speak of the step I have just taken, it is not an action of a few seconds ago, but a part of right now. It’s because you are here with me, Kimiko.”

  She walked along quietly for a few steps. “You feel deeply about me,” she finally said. Her head turned towards him and her eyes probed for his in the shadows. “Does what you feel about me use up those precious moments?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head. “A week ago I would have said yes. Maybe even three days ago or yesterday. But not now.”

  “I am sorry?” she murmured.

  “What for?”

  She took a deep breath. “I think you want me. But I am not ready.”

  He smiled. “Of course I want you. But maybe this is love and we both don’t know how to accept it. But I do feel that you are waiting for something, and I think I know what it is.”

  She stopped him in the light of a lantern so she could see his eyes. “What is it, Keith? I do not know myself.”

  He looked steadily at her. “You know I was in Tokyo during the Korean operation. And we both know the hotels the officers used to stay at, and the corners we would pass in the evenings, and the bar rooms full of girls with their eyes operated on.” Her head drooped, but he force