Atonement for Iwo Page 9

  Kimiko’s lips on his cheek roused him. The sun had set and the garden was dark. He stretched and drew her down to his chest.

  “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Almost nine.”

  “I’d rather stay here and neck than eat.”

  She chuckled and massaged his shoulders. “We can do both. We will eat then come back out here.” His eyes closed under the soothing movements of her hands on his chest. She worked quietly, kneading the muscles of his neck and arms, and when he was about to fall asleep again, she kissed him and drew him to his feet.

  At supper, Hiroko was a different girl, almost like a sensible, obedient daughter or friend. She paid no heed to the obvious warmth between Masters and her mother, and even pretended to accept it as an accomplished fact. But Masters kept his guard up, knowing that every statement and action was being stored away for the inevitable showdown. He made no effort to accept the confrontation in the street as the end of her weird actions. Ten years ago, he admitted wryly, he would have waded through a couple of hells for a girl like her. He grinned to himself. Ten years ago, my eye! He would have done it a week ago. He leveled some rice into his mouth to keep from laughing at the thought that he might have done so if she had followed him to the hotel.

  Whenever his blood started racing at the thought of the girl, he would turn to look at Kimiko, and immediately a flood of contentment would replace the gnawing desire. He wondered what it would be like when they finally came together. It was sure to happen. It was as definite as anything could be.

  His thoughts turned to the time he and Kimiko would live together, probably in this house with Hiroko. He always liked to shave in the nude, directly before taking a shower. The door would open and Hiroko....

  Christ, how could a man live in the same house, knowing that in each dark corner lurked the booby trap that could explode and change everything in an instant.

  Or, while he was resting and Kimiko was at the store, Hiroko would take time off from work and crawl into his bed, naked.

  He was suddenly aware of her eyes on him, a gleam burning deep inside. You son of a bitch, he reasoned, amused. You know exactly what is going on in my mind. No wonder you could challenge me directly on the street, then sit across from me like a vestal virgin. Also that I have to fight to keep my loins from boiling over just looking at you. Then he chuckled to himself, for he suddenly felt a new surge of strength, an actual desire for combat with this incredible girl.

  “What are you smiling at?” asked Kimiko, also smiling.

  Masters came back to reality. “Who, me?” His mind groped for a way to explain his thoughts to Hiroko in a way she could not fail to understand. “I saw a little fellow urinating in an alley this afternoon.” The incident was so prevalent in Japan that Kimiko raised a brow, as if he said that a car had passed on the street. Hiroko’s eyes narrowed. She knew there was more to come. “It reminded me of a game we used to play when I was a kid. To see who could pee the furthest. We would toe a line, then let ourselves go. There was one fellow who was shy about exposing himself, so right before each game he would go home and use the bathroom. The kids tried like hell to get him to pee with them, but after a while they gave up and didn’t force him to play anymore.”

  He chuckled again, and Kimiko joined in because he seemed so pleased. Hiroko wiped her lips with a napkin and leaned back. A faint smile played over her face, then she let one eyelid drop in a very deliberate wink.

  CHAPTER 7

  At noon on Saturday, Masters walked out of the lobby of his hotel and stood by the door to wait for Kimiko. She drove up a few minutes later. It was a hot, sweltry day. He tossed his jacket onto the rear seat of the car and set his shaving gear on the floor.

  “How are you today?” he asked as he climbed inside. She had visited Ichiro at the prison yesterday afternoon and had been terribly sad during the evening.

  “I am all right,” she replied. “Did you eat a good breakfast?”

  “Yes. I was up before nine. I don’t know what this air is doing to me, but I feel like a million bucks.”

  “Did you get a nap afterwards?”

  He placed a hand on her firm, shapely knee and grinned. “One of these days I’m going to sit in your lap and suckle away like a baby.”

  She smiled in return. “I would enjoy that.” She swung into the traffic and set off westward, then reached into the glove compartment and handed him a pamphlet. “I found a shop that had the information in English about the temple.”

  He glanced at it, then back to her. “Say, did you bring my shirt along?”

  “Yes. All washed, ironed, and packed in my suitcase.”

  “Did you do it?”

  “Yes.”

  “You shouldn’t have bothered.”

  “But it gave me pleasure to do so.”

  He opened the pamphlet, looked at it for a few moments, then put it down. “Tell me about it. I’d rather hear you talk.”

  “It is called the Imtambi, a very old temple, perhaps four hundred years old. People go there to be consoled when they are sad and to give thanks when they are happy.”

  “Who do you pray to?”

  “Our deities. It is a Shinto temple.”

  “How long will it take to get there?”

  “About three hours. We could have gone by train, but I wanted to show you the countryside. It is very beautiful. There are flower nurseries and forests along the way.”

  “Have you been there often?”

  “No, only once. After the war. I waited for two years, then went to pray for Ito.”

  “And now for Ichiro. That’s a lot for a lifetime.”

  She hesitated a few seconds. “Not just for Ichiro. For us, too.”

  He turned in his seat and gazed searchingly at her fine profile, sensing the utter calmness that exuded from her. How perfect she was features and poise like an ivory carving, delicately worked, painstakingly polished an objet d’art.

  “What are you trying to say, Kimiko?”

  The tenseness in her shoulders was difficult to discern, for she was always erect in her carriage. “That today I shall be your woman.”

  He had to lean forward to hear her. He stared at her, wondering for the first time how all this could have started, grown, and swept along to this instant. As if every step along the road he had traveled had been part of a plan ordained long before he had first drawn breath, that he would have ended up at this place, at this time, no matter what course he had taken.

  “Please do not stare at me so hard,” she asked quietly, her eyes still on the road.

  “I can’t help it. Now it is I who have the thousand questions to ask.”

  “I will answer one of them. I spoke to Ichiro yesterday and told him about us. Also, that you were one of the soldiers who were at his father’s death.”

  “Oh no, Kimiko. You shouldn’t have.”

  “I had to. He is the head of the family since his father’s death. In our way of life he has the authority of his father. I was very grateful for his understanding.”

  “Why?”

  “He asked me if I loved you. I told him I did not know because I had loved only his father, and that you were not the kind of man his father was, but that in your own way you were a man I could be very fond of.” A tear rolled down her cheek. “He told me to listen to my heart. I was very proud of him.”

  Masters turned towards the window, not to look out, but to hide from her the expression in his eyes. “You should be proud of him,” he said, gruffly. “Then he knows I am an American?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he did not object?”

  “No. He is so much like his father. He understands now that the murder was a bad thing, and having once accepted that fact, he analyzed his feelings and decided not to dislike or hate anything again without first judging it on its own merits. He does not know any Americans, therefore he will not like or dislike until he has had more experience of them. He spoke this way as if he had a lifetime to
live instead of a month.”

  “Good for him!” said Masters, explosively.

  “What do you mean?” asked Kimiko, darting a startled glance at him.

  “That he hasn’t given up. Yesterday, I would have helped the boy, if I had been able to, because of you or your husband. To me he was just a nonentity of whom we spoke and who irked me because he brought you so much unhappiness. Today, he has identity, and I like him for having found courage and understanding with all the strikes against him.” He looked at his watch. “How about stopping for a while? I know you haven’t eaten since sun up.”

  “I packed a lunch. Do you mind?”

  “No.” He pointed down the road. “There’s a place, among those trees.”

  She slowed down, turned onto a path, and came to a halt about fifty yards in. At once, she lifted out a basket and blanket, and found a level spot for the picnic.

  Masters watched her kneel to take out the sandwiches and a thermos jug of tea. “You’ve got a good looking pair of knees,” he remarked.

  He was surprised to see her blush. “Keith,” she said softly. “Not before tonight. Please.”

  “Special rites?”

  “Yes. Special rites.”

  “Purification?”

  “No. After you spoke to me in the garden, I knew that my past life, could be overlooked.” Her face became more crimson. “I went through these rites almost twenty five years ago, when I married Ito.”

  He reached out a hand and touched her lips with his forefinger. “Alright, Kimiko.”

  When they had finished eating, she made him lie down to rest, then she lay down beside him, snuggling into his arms. Soon he closed his eyes and sank smoothly into slumber, never questioning why his loins did not ache from her nearness nor why he felt more content than he had ever been in his life.

  An hour later, she woke him, poured small cups of tea, and soon they were back on the road. It was shortly before five o’clock when they reached the huge park which housed the Imtambi. They left the car in a guarded lot and started up the long trail. It was high in the mountain, the air fresh and strong with the scent of pine needles and well tended forests.

  Every few minutes, Kimiko stopped to make a remark about the temple.

  “Come on,” smiled Masters. “Don’t keep stopping on my account. I’ve never felt better in my life.”

  “And I intend to keep you that way,” she said, persisting with the pauses, although he was not even breathing hard.

  They walked a mile before the temple came into view. It stood in a wide clearing on top of a rounded knoll, a tall, square edifice of hand hewn stone, gray with the passage of years, like a mountain farmer from the north, shapeless, just a pile of rock with an irregular doorway. In front of the temple was an arch of long, pine logs, peeled and weathered by the sun and the winds, standing guard over this mass of stone dug up from a quarry near the coast and dragged by man and beast to this spot, to make the land holy.

  Along one side of the temple stood vase after vase of flowers, impeccably arranged and enhancing the natural beauty of the park, but, in truth, clashing with the grotesque heap of stones rather than paying homage to it. On each side of the path leading to the doorway were small flower stands.

  Kimiko purchased two vases of flowers, and, dropping to her knees, rearranged them to suit her taste. Then, handing one to Masters, she led him to side of the building and set hers down against the wall. He placed his vase next to hers and followed her into the temple.

  It was a huge vault, dark and damp, oppressive from the fumes of hundreds of candles standing on rough boards along the walls. About three quarters of the distance to the far end stood a wooden railing holding a gate in the center, separating the main room from the sanctuary. To the right of the gate was an upright board with a paper pinned on a cross slat, naming the deities present in the shrine. Two tall candles burned on each side.

  Kimiko passed through the gate, washed her hands in a stone fountain, rinsed her mouth, then walked slowly to the altar, bowing and softly clapping her hands.

  Masters waited patiently, watching her offer her prayers and place a donation in a metal box. Then she came back through the gate, purchased two candles from a stall near the railing, and handed one to Masters. They lit their candles from those flickering by the gate and placed them on one of the boards at the side of the temple.

  Kimiko walked to the center of the vault and made a slow turn, as if she was counting the candles along the walls, then returned to the railing. She folded her hands, bowed, and prayed again.

  Masters remained behind, staring intently at her. How small she was, seemingly lost in the vast space of the massive stone temple. Then, before his very eyes, she seemed to grow, to fill the room and rise up to the square ceiling, to press against the bulky rock sides until he felt that they would give way before her. And in his mind, a thunderous bell began to peal.

  I love you, Kimiko, his silent cry rang out, and he heard its echo lift off the sides and rebound from the roof and pour through the small doorway. I love you, Kimiko, it rang and rang, and pounded back into his ears until he could hear nothing else, and it filled his brain so that he could not call it out again until the reverberations had died down and this declaration of love had been forever engraved within his heart.

  Then she stood erect and turned to look at him and he understood why this was a hall of God.

  She came to him, walking firm and straight, until she was but a breath away and she bowed. Then he understood even more; that this was the giving of herself to him, that every moment of her life had been carefully saved for this instant, that all the beauty of body and mind and soul had been painstakingly garnered and sheltered and nourished, so that here and now she might offer it to this middle aged man with the cropped brown hair and light blue eyes and defective heart. Even the memory of Ito.

  And for Ito, he returned her bow.

  Side by side, they moved to the doorway, and there he stopped to allow her to pass out first, then he turned and looked across the dimness to the alter and bowed.

  When he came out into the sunlight, he stood for a moment to allow his eyes to become adjusted to the glare. She was standing on the path looking back at him.

  “Wait here,” he said, and went past her to one of the stands. There he purchased a vase of flowers and placed it on the ground next to theirs.

  They started back to the car. Halfway down, she stopped and told him to rest.

  “What was the third vase for?” she asked.

  “Your husband. I owe him a debt.”

  For a moment he thought she would cry. Then she reached up, took off her jade ear rings, and handed them to Masters.

  “I marry you,” she said simply.

  He did not understand the ritual, but instinct took over. He searched in his pockets, and in the end he took off his gold and onyx tie pin with the initial M in the center. He handed it to her.

  “I marry you,” he answered.

  Then side by side, they continued on their way.

  At the parking lot, she called over the guard and asked a question. He replied, gesturing with his hand to point out directions. Back on the main road, she continued on for a few miles then turned back into the forest. The dirt road climbed higher and higher until, near the top, it brought into view a large, many gabled hotel of pine wood, encircled by a rich, green lawn. Behind the hotel, the mountain fell away into a deep valley, then sloped upward again to a lower, tree covered mountain. Down in the valley, still colored by the setting sun, was a narrow ribbon of water, becoming less and less distinct as the sun’s rays filtered and were trapped by the dark forest.

  An attendant came out for the suitcase and shaving bag, and they walked up to the registration desk. He wrote ‘Mr. and Mrs. K. Masters’ on the card. Kimiko made a comment to the desk clerk, and the attendant led them up a flight of stairs to a room overlooking the valley.

  When he left, Kimiko opened the windows and drew Masters out onto the
balcony. “The temple is there,” she said, pointing north.

  Below, in the rear garden, was a large fish pond surrounded by wrought iron tables and chairs. Waiters were placing cloths, silver and glasses on the tables, while others were lighting hooded Japanese lanterns strung throughout the dining area. He put his arm around her shoulders and they stood quietly watching the final red purple of the sun sink below the mountain line.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Kimiko.

  “Unfortunately, yes.” He looked back into the room. “Where’s the bed?”

  “We will sleep on mats. The chambermaid will arrange them when we go down to eat.”

  He chuckled. “Is that the best they can do on my honeymoon?”

  “I asked for them. At home, I shall buy a big American bed for you.”

  “What do you use?”

  “A mat.”

  “Is it large enough for two?”

  “No. It is always single.”

  “Forget the bed. I’m a lifetime away from them anyhow.” He reached for her, but she slipped away.

  “Not yet, my dear,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

  He groaned. “More ritual?”

  “Yes.”

  “How the hell do you Japanese find time to have children?”

  Laughing, she placed her arms around his neck and stretched up to kiss his lips. “Dear Keith,” she said. “I have not laughed like this for a very long time.” She took his hand. “Come, we will go to supper now.”

  They had turtle soup, boiled trout, fresh from the stream, with mixed vegetables and thick, white radishes, melons for dessert, and finally, fragrant tea. Masters leaned back and heaved a sigh of contentment. He pulled out the package of cigarettes he had bought in the restaurant with Hiroko, lit one, smoked half, then snuffed out the butt.

  Kimiko insisted that they take a walk, so they sauntered along the garden paths and into the forest where hanging lanterns lighted the way, then back to the hotel and up to their room.

  Kimiko opened her suitcase and took out a long, silk bathrobe. She handed it to Masters. It was powder blue, with a dragon’s head exquisitely embroidered over the left breast pocket. In the center of the dragon’s head were the initials, KM. She handed him a towel.