You will know that forgiveness has begun when you recall those who hurt you and feel the power to wish them well.
Lewis B. Smedes
ePub
A4Chapter 9
M
onday mornings were when most managers in Tozai Automotive’s Tokyo headquarters held their weekly meetings. The division chiefs would relate any news from the upper management meeting the week before and if any team leaders had things to report, this was the time for that, too.This Monday in mid-April, Nagasaka, the chief of the patent licensing division, was talking about the Great Seto Bridge that had just been completed and opened to traffic the previous week down in the Inland Sea. Together with the Seikan Tunnel which had opened a month ago, connecting the main island of Japan to Hokkaido in the north, Japan was getting smaller, he said, and more people would be driving cars, which meant increased demand for parts and increased competition to supply those parts. The ‘Japan getting smaller’ bit was doubtless a phrase he had picked up in the management meeting.
When the meeting was over, everyone went back to their seats and started work. Some were manning the phones, others pulling out documents, and others hurrying out of the door. An average Monday morning.
Makoto Takamiya started his day just like any other. He began by cleaning up the patent applications he’d left from Friday. In order to give himself something to warm up with, he liked putting off less pressing work until the next week. Yet before he could even finish that much, the E team was ordered to assemble. The call came from Narita, who had just been promoted at the end of the previous year.
The E team was the group responsible for everything electronic: electrical systems, electrodes, and computers. There were five of them working under Narita.
They gathered around the boss’s desk.
‘This one’s important,’ Narita said, his expression a little hard. ‘It has to do with our manufacturing expert system. You all know what that is?’
Everyone nodded except Yamano, a new recruit, who said, a little sheepishly, ‘Sorry?’
‘Do you know what an expert system is?’ Narita asked.
‘I’ve heard the term, but that’s about it.’
‘How about AI?’
‘Artificial intelligence, sure,’ Yamano said, though he didn’t sound all that confident.
The world of computing had been making rapid advances, in particular in the field attempting to make computers function more like human brains. For example, when two people passed on the street, they didn’t calculate the distance between them in order to avoid a collision. Rather, they used experience and intuition to adjust their speed and bearing. Adding that kind of flexible thinking and decision-making to computers was the goal of AI.
‘Expert systems are one application of AI – in effect an attempt to replace experts in certain fields,’ Narita explained. ‘Now, a human expert in a particular field isn’t just a walking bag of facts; they have the know-how to use those facts. If you can build that know-how into a system along with all the relevant data, and teach someone how to use it, then even a novice can make decisions like a pro – that’s what an expert system lets businesses do. They’re already used in fields like medicine and financial analysis.’
Narita looked at Yamano to make sure he was following.
Yamano nodded, though it was clear he was still a little unsure.
‘We’ve been putting a lot of energy into these systems here over the last two or three years. Our company’s been growing rapidly and there’s a real age gap between our veterans and our new recruits. That means when our veterans hit retirement age we’re going to lose all of our experts. Particularly in metallurgy, heat management and chemical processes in manufacturing, we need the knowledge and know-how of professionals, which makes losing our veterans really hard. Which is why we’re building an expert system now so even our younger technicians can handle the job.’
‘And that’s your manufacturing expert system?’
‘Precisely. We’ve been developing it in tandem with the manufacturing technology and systems development divisions. It’s already on their workstations and usable, or it was supposed to be,’ Narita said. ‘Right?’ He looked at the other three.
‘It should be working,’ Makoto said. ‘You need a tech password in order to use it, though.’
The technological information search password was what kept the company’s proprietary information out of the hands of anyone outside the company and any employee who didn’t have clearance. Makoto’s patent division members all had access because they needed to be able to search patent information to do their jobs.
‘Anyway, that’s enough explanation,’ Narita said, lowering his voice. ‘That doesn’t have much to do with us. Since the manufacturing expert system is only being used within the company, it won’t affect us in patents. At least, it shouldn’t have.’
‘But something happened?’ one of the men asked.
Narita nodded. ‘They just had a visit from somebody in system development. Apparently, there’s a computer program that’s been making the rounds of several mid-level manufacturers. A metallurgy expert system.’
Everyone exchanged glances.
‘Is there some problem with the software?’ Makoto asked.
Narita leaned forward. ‘Someone on the team got a copy and systems development and manufacturing tech were looking through the program and they found some data that looked a whole lot like the metallurgy component of our manufacturing expert system.’
‘Did someone leak our program?’ one of Makoto’s superiors asked.
‘We can’t say for sure, but it’s definitely a possibility.’
‘And we don’t know who’s distributing the software?’ Makoto asked.
‘No, we do. It’s a software company in the city. In Tokyo. They were handing it out as PR.’
‘PR?’
‘Yeah, it’s a demo version, apparently, with only a small subset of the usual data. You try it out and if you like it you buy the full package.’
Makoto nodded. It sounded like samples a cosmetics company might send out.
‘The problem is,’ Narita continued, ‘in the event that part of our system did get leaked, and they designed their program based on our data, how do we prove it? And once we do, can we use legal means to shut them down?’
‘And we’re going to be looking into that?’ Makoto asked.
Narita nodded. ‘There’s early precedent for enforcing copyright on software. But it’s very hard to prove whether the contents were copied or not. It’s a bit like plagiarism – it’s hard to draw the line between coincidental similarity and theft. But we have to do what we can.’
‘Yes, but,’ Yamano said, ‘if our expert system did get leaked, how did it happen? I thought all of our technical information was kept under lock and key.’
Narita grinned. ‘There’s an interesting story there about a certain company that developed a new kind of turbocharger. They made each of the components – all top secret – and after months they finally had a prototype put together. Then two hours later’ – Narita leaned closer to Yamano – ‘the exact same turbocharger arrived on the desk of the section chief in charge of turbo engine development at a rival company.’
Yamano’s eyes went wide. ‘Just like that?’
Narita was still smiling. ‘That’s the development race for you.’
Makoto smiled wryly at the naivety of the new recruit. He could sympathise – he’d heard a similar tale not long before.
It was a little after eight o’clock by the time Makoto returned to his apartment in Seijo. They had already started analysing the expert system, and that meant mandatory overtime.
When he opened the door, he thought he probably should have worked a little longer. It was pitch black inside the apartment.
He went through the foyer, hallway, and living room, turning on the lights in each room. Even though it was already April, the house had sat cold all day, and he could feel the chill of the floor even through his slippers.
Makoto took off his coat, sat down on the sofa, and loosened his tie. He picked a remote control off the table and pressed the big red button. Several seconds later, an image of a mangled railcar resolved on his thirty-two-inch big-screen TV. He’d seen the footage several times already, a news report of a train collision in a Shanghai suburb last month. The programme seemed to be talking about the aftermath of the accident. A hundred and ninety-three Japanese students on a school trip from a private high school in Kochi Prefecture had been on board. Twenty-six of them and the student leading the trip were dead.
The reporter was saying that talks between Japan and China on compensation for the loss were stagnating.
Makoto changed the channel, hoping to catch a ball game, but then remembered it was Monday and turned off the TV. The house felt even quieter than it had before he turned it on. He looked at the clock on the wall. The clock face had a floral pattern – it had been a wedding gift – and it read 8.20.
Makoto stood, undid the buttons on his shirt, and poked his head into the kitchen. It was spotless, not a single dirty dish in the sink, and the well-arranged utensils all glittered as if brand new. But he was less concerned with the cleanliness of the kitchen than learning what his wife was going to do about dinner that night. He wanted to know if she had made something before she went out, or was planning on cooking something when she came back. From the look of the kitchen, the answer was the latter.
He looked at the clock again. Only two minutes had passed.
Pulling out a ballpoint pen, he wrote a large X on today’s date on the wall calendar to mark that he’d come home first. He’d started with the marks this month. He hadn’t told his wife what they meant yet. He was saving that for the right time. It wasn’t a particularly nice thing to do, but he felt that he had to record what was going on in some objective fashion.
There were already ten X marks on the page, and they were only halfway through the month.
He regretted for at least the hundredth time having permitted her to work and, at the same time, he hated himself for being so petty.
It had been two years since he married Yukiho.
As Makoto had expected, she was the perfect wife. She was good at everything, and everything she touched turned to gold. He was particularly impressed with her cooking. She was equally at home making French, Italian or Japanese, and it was always indistinguishable from something you might have in a restaurant.
‘I hate to say this, but you are the century’s most lucky man,’ a friend said. Makoto had invited some people over to the house for a party after they got married. ‘A beautiful bride, and yet she’s not content to just be beautiful. She’s also an amazing chef. When I think I live in the same world as you, I hate myself.’ The sentiment – and the jealousy that lay beneath – was shared by the other guests.
Makoto praised her cooking too. For the first few months after they’d got married, he made a comment almost every day.
‘My mother used to take me to some pretty good restaurants,’ she responded the first time he paid her the compliment. ‘I think you have to eat delicious things when you’re young to have a true appreciation for food.’ She blushed. ‘So I’m glad you like mine.’
The shyness with which she had said it only endeared her to him more.
And yet those halcyon early days of their marriage were over in the space of about two months. It all started with a seemingly innocuous conversation.
‘What do you think about playing the market?’
‘The stock market?’
For a second, he didn’t even know what she was talking about. Back then, the stock market had seemed so far removed from their lives. He was more bewildered than surprised.
‘What do you know about stocks?’
‘Quite a bit. I’ve been studying.’
Yukiho pulled several books on buying and selling stocks for beginners off of the bookshelf. Makoto didn’t do a lot of reading, so he’d never even noticed them.
‘Why do you want to buy stocks?’ Makoto said, changing tack.
‘It’s just I have so much extra time sitting at home doing housework. And the market’s really good right now. It’s a lot better than just parking the money in a bank somewhere.’
‘Yes, but it’s not without risk.’
‘That comes with the territory. That’s why they call it “playing” the market,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘It’s just a game.’
That turn of phrase – ‘it’s just a game’ – troubled Makoto. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it almost felt like he’d been betrayed.
What she said next only strengthened that impression. ‘It’s OK. I know I won’t lose. And I’ll just use my own money anyway.’
‘Your own money?’
‘I have a little savings.’
‘Well, I know that, but —’
He didn’t like that expression either – her own money. They were married. Didn’t their money belong to both of them?
‘No?’ Yukiho said, looking up at him. Makoto didn’t say anything, and she sighed.
‘I know, I know. I haven’t even really come into my own as a housewife. I probably shouldn’t start running off to other things quite so soon. I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again.’ Shoulders sagging, she picked up her books on stock trading and put them back on the shelf.
Makoto watched her thin frame from behind and thought what an ungenerous man he was. She’d never really asked him for anything before now.
‘I have a few conditions,’ he said. ‘Don’t go too deep, and never borrow money. Can you live with those?’
Yukiho turned around. Her eyes were sparkling. ‘Really, you mean it?’
‘Only if you can promise to follow the rules.’
‘I will, I promise, thank you,’ she said, hugging him.
And yet, as he put his hands around her narrow waist a bad premonition crept over him.
As it was, Yukiho kept her promise to him. She played the market and their fortune grew. Makoto didn’t know how much money she started with, nor how much training she did. Yet whenever the stockbroker called the house and he heard them talk, it was clear she was dealing in sums of more than ten million yen.
For a while, her life centred on the stock market. She would go to a brokerage twice a day to keep a handle on the market. And because she never knew when her broker might call, she hardly ever left the house. When she did, she would make a phone call every hour. She read six newspapers, including a financial paper and one aimed at professionals in manufacturing.
‘OK, that’s enough,’ Makoto said one day. Yukiho had just got off the phone with a broker and the phone had been ringing all morning. Normally Makoto would be at work so he didn’t care, but that day was the anniversary of the company’s founding and everyone had the day off. ‘I can’t even enjoy my day off. And we can’t go anywhere because you’re too busy trading. If we can’t live a normal life, I don’t see what the point is.’
It was the first time he’d ever raised his voice since they’d started dating. It had been eight months since their wedding.
Yukiho stood in silence for a moment, either surprised or in shock. When Makoto saw how pale she looked, he immediately felt sorry.
But before he could apologise, she did. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be ignoring you. Please believe me. I just got carried away, that’s all, because things are going well. I’m sorry. I’m a terrible wife.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘No, it’s OK, I understand,’ she said, picking up the receiver. She called the broker and, right then and there, told him to sell all of her stocks.
When she hung up, she turned around to look at Makoto. ‘I can’t do anything about the investment trusts right away. I’m so sorry.’
‘Are you sure you’re OK with this?’
‘I’m fine. It feels good, to be honest. And I can’t believe I was ruining your life over it.’
Yukiho sat down on her knees on the carpet and looked down at the floor. Her shoulders were trembling. A tear fell on the back of her hand.
‘Let’s not talk about it anymore,’ Makoto said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
The next day, everything in the house having anything to do with stocks was gone. Yukiho didn’t even talk about them.
And yet it was clear that the spring had gone out of her step. She seemed bored. Because she wasn’t going out, she stopped putting on make-up, and she hardly ever went to the beauty salon.
‘Wow, I look terrible,’ she said once, looking into the mirror and laughing weakly.
Makoto had even recommended she try taking some courses at a community college, but she didn’t seem that interested in learning anything. She’d been taking tea ceremony, flower arrangement, and English lessons since she was in school – maybe that had something to do with it.
He knew what they really needed to do was have children. Raising a child would steal away all of that free time overnight. And yet, they couldn’t. They stopped using birth control half a year after the wedding, but Yukiho showed no signs of getting pregnant.
Makoto’s mother wasn’t pleased. It was her belief that couples should have children early, when they were still young. She had, on more than one occasion, suggested they pay a visit to the doctor.
Makoto wanted to, too, for that matter. He even suggested as much to Yukiho, but she refused outright, an unusual move for her. When he asked her why, she said, her eyes a little red, ‘What if the operation I had made it so I can’t have kids? I don’t think I could live with myself.’
‘Even if that’s what it is, we should find out. It might be something they can fix.’
But she only shook her head. ‘Fertility treatments don’t really work, you know. And if we can’t have kids, so be it. Unless you don’t want to be with a woman who can’t bear children.’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I don’t care about children,’ he sighed. ‘Fine, we won’t talk about it.’
Makoto understood how horrible it was to badger a woman about not being able to have a family, so he hardly ever mentioned it after that conversation. To his mother he said that they had both gone to the hospital, she’d had a check-up, and there were no problems.
But sometimes he would catch Yukiho muttering to herself, ‘Why can’t I have children?’ And every time, the next thing she would say was, ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have had that abortion.’
All Makoto could do was listen in silence.
Makoto was lying back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, when he heard the front door open. He sat up a little. The clock on the wall read nine.
He heard footsteps in the hall and the door flew open.
‘Sorry I’m so late!’
Yukiho came in wearing a moss-green suit, juggling two paper sacks in her right hand and two plastic bags from the supermarket in her left. She even had a black shoulder bag over one arm.
‘You must be starving! I’ll get something ready right now.’
She put the grocery bags down on the kitchen floor and went into the bedroom, leaving a trail of perfume in her wake.
Several minutes later she came back out in her regular clothes, an apron in one hand. She tied it on as she went into the kitchen.
‘I brought something we can eat right away, so it won’t take that long. And there’s some canned soup, too,’ she called from the kitchen, still catching her breath.
Makoto had just started reading the newspaper but unexpectedly he felt anger growing inside him. He wasn’t even sure what it was. If he had to say, it was her damn cheerfulness.
Makoto put down the newspaper and stood. He headed for the kitchen where he heard her bustling as she worked.
‘Dinner out of a can again?’
‘Sorry, what was that?’ Yukiho asked over the din of the kitchen fan. That annoyed him even more.
Makoto stood in the entrance of the kitchen. Yukiho was boiling some water on the gas stove and looked at him curiously.
‘After you made me wait that long, you’re going to give me something reheated on the stove?’
Her mouth opened. She reached up and turned off the kitchen fan. Silence descended on the room.
‘I’m sorry. Are you mad?’
‘It would be one thing if this just happened every now and then,’ Makoto said, ‘but lately it’s been every night. You come home late, and start with the can opener. Over and over.’
‘I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to have to wait any longer —’
‘Oh, I’ve already waited. More than enough. I was about to make myself some instant ramen. Of course, if you’re just going to slap something out, I probably should’ve gone with the ramen.’
‘Sorry. I know this isn’t much of an excuse, but I’ve just been so busy – I know I haven’t been treating you well.’
‘Well, I’m glad business is going so great,’ he said, feeling his mouth twisting into an ugly smile.
‘Don’t be like that. I really am sorry. I’ll be more careful in the future,’ she said, putting her hands on her apron and bowing her head.
‘That’s what you say every time,’ Makoto spat, jamming his hands into his pockets.
Yukiho stood quietly, head drooping. What could she have said, anyway? Maybe, Makoto thought, she’s just waiting for the storm to pass.
‘Why don’t you quit?’ Makoto asked. ‘It’s impossible to be a housewife and hold a job at the same time. It must be hard for you, too.’
Yukiho didn’t say anything.
Her shoulders began to shake. Grabbing the edge of her apron, she pressed it to her face. He heard a sob come from between her hands.
She apologised again. ‘I know I’m no good. I really know. I’m just causing trouble for you. You’re letting me do whatever I want to, and I’m not repaying you at all. I’m just, I’m no good as a human being. Maybe you shouldn’t have married me,’ she said, hiccuping between sobs.
Which of course meant that Makoto couldn’t press her any harder. In fact, once again, he started to feel foolish for getting angry over something so small.
‘Whatever, it’s fine,’ he said, putting away his anger like a sword into its sheath. Yukiho never talked back, so it never became a fight.
Makoto went back to the sofa and opened the paper. Yukiho called from the kitchen, ‘Makoto?’
‘Yeah?’ He looked over at her.
‘What about dinner tonight? I mean, I’d make something, but I don’t have much on hand.’
‘Oh,’ Makoto said, his whole body feeling dull and weary. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s eat whatever you bought.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘There’s nothing else, right?’
‘I’ll have it ready soon,’ she said, disappearing into the kitchen.
Hearing the kitchen fan whirr back to life, Makoto shook his head, feeling like nothing had been settled at all.
About a month after their first wedding anniversary, Yukiho had surprised Makoto by asking if she could get a job. One of her friends in the apparel business was striking out and opening a shop on her own, and she had asked Yukiho if she wanted to be co-manager. Makoto asked her if it was something she really wanted to do and Yukiho said she did.
It was the first time he’d seen that look in her eyes, that sparkle, since she gave up on the stock market. When he saw that, he couldn’t say no.
He admonished her not to overextend herself, and Yukiho expressed her joy in a stream of thank-yous.
The new store was in South Aoyama, a trendy part of town. The whole front of the shop was a wall of glass, giving it a bright atmosphere and allowing passers-by to look in and see the wares from the street. Makoto only learned later that the money they had spent on renovating the place had come from Yukiho.
Yukiho’s partner was a woman named Naomi Tamura. She had a round face and a round body and there was the air of a commoner about her. True to her looks, she was a hard worker. At the shop Yukiho handled the customers, and Naomi brought out clothes and worked the register.
The shop saw customers by reservation only. In addition to giving the mystique of exclusivity, this provided Yukiho and Naomi time to find an outfit to match the customer’s size and taste. It also allowed them to avoid having a large warehouse for merchandise, since they only needed to carry items for particular clients.
The question was how well they would be able to leverage their networks in order to bring in customers, but they never seemed to have trouble keeping a steady flow through their door.
Though Makoto worried that Yukiho would spend too much time on her business, it wasn’t a problem at first. In fact, she put even more effort into housework after she started at the shop. Every night he returned from work to find a home-cooked meal waiting, and Yukiho rarely came home after Makoto.
However, about two months after the shop opened, Yukiho said something unexpected again. She wanted to know if Makoto wanted to become the owner of the shop.
‘Owner? Me? Why?’
‘The landlord’s looking for money to pay off some inheritance tax and he asked us if we wanted to buy the place.’
‘Do you want to?’
‘More than that, I think it would definitely be the right move. With that location there’s no chance the price will go down. And the number he’s quoting is, frankly, a steal.’
‘And if I don’t buy it?’
‘Then we really wouldn’t have any other choice, I guess.’ She sighed. ‘I’d have to buy it myself.’
‘You?’
‘I’m sure the bank would lend me money for that location.’
‘So you’d borrow money to buy the shop? You want it that badly?’
‘If we don’t buy it the owner’s only going to try to sell it to someone else. We might even lose our lease. If they can get us out of there and tear the place down they can sell it for a lot more.’
Makoto thought for a while.
It wasn’t out of their reach financially. Makoto’s family had several plots of land in Seijo, all of which Makoto was set to inherit. He could sell off some of those and purchase the shop easily. If he proposed it in the right way, he didn’t think his mother would object, either. As it was, they hardly used the land anyway.
On the other hand, he was opposed to Yukiho borrowing any money – if she did, he was afraid he would lose her to work entirely. Also, something didn’t sit well with him with the idea of her owning a shop in her own name.
He asked her to let him think about it for a couple of days. Though, in truth, he had already made up his mind. Hardly a month into 1987, the shop in Aoyama was his. Rent from Yukiho’s business now came into his account.
It was only a short while afterwards that Makoto learned how right Yukiho had been.
High demand for office space in central Tokyo led to rampant price hikes. Land increased by as much as two or three times in value in the space of weeks. Makoto received several offers to sell the shop and land, and whenever he heard the asking prices he had to pinch himself wondering if it all was real.
This was around the time that he developed a slight inferiority complex towards Yukiho. He began to think that in the home, in business, and more than anything else in sheer guts, he lacked what she had. He would never be her equal. He had no way of knowing directly how well she was doing in business. However, it was clear that growth was steady. She was already planning to open a second shop in Daikanyama.
Makoto lacked the courage to start something new. All he could do was cling to his company job, content to do the bidding of someone else. He had no inspired ideas to turn the land he had inherited to any good use, and he was even living in an apartment given him by his parents.
The stock boom of the year before only compounded his sense of failure. In February of the previous year, NTT had made its initial public offering, starting a new stock bubble in the process. It was common knowledge that anyone with any money had to be in stocks.
And yet they hadn’t benefited from the boom at all, because he had criticised Yukiho for getting involved. She never talked about stocks after that. Yet just thinking about what must have gone through her mind when she saw prices taking off made him uncomfortable.
‘Golf lessons?’ Makoto looked over at his wife’s face in the dresser mirror. He was lying in his bed, a semi-double. Her bed was a single. They’d slept in separate beds since moving in together.
‘I thought if we went on Saturday nights we could go together,’ Yukiho said, laying down a pamphlet in front of him.
‘Since when are you interested in golf?’
‘A lot of women are doing it now. It’s great for couples, too. It’d be fun if we did it together.’
‘Yeah.’
Makoto’s late father had loved golf. Practically every day he had off, he loaded his large golf bag into the trunk of the car and headed out to the country club. Makoto remembered how lively his father looked at those times. Maybe he just liked getting out of the house, since he lived with his wife’s family.
‘There’s an information seminar next Saturday. Let’s go,’ Yukiho said, getting into her own bed.
‘Sure, let’s go.’
‘Great.’
‘I have another idea for something we could do together.’
Yukiho laughed and slipped out of her bed, sliding into his.
Makoto reached out and turned down the lights by the head of the bed. He rolled over towards her and put his hands down the front of her white negligée. Her breasts were soft and bigger than you might think to look at them.
Except, his mind was elsewhere. He was hoping there wouldn’t be a problem today, as there had been so often recently.
He worked her breasts, looking at her nipples, and then pulled the negligée off over her head. He started to remove his own pyjamas. She hadn’t even touched him really, and already he was hard.
Completely naked now, he embraced her. She kept fit, even though he never saw her exercising. When he put his hands around her waist, she wriggled as though she was ticklish. Arms enveloping her, he kissed her neck and nibbled at her breasts.
His hand went to her panties. Lowering them down to her knees, he used his foot to peel them the rest of the way off. This was his usual technique.
He already had a premonition when his hand went to go between her thighs and his fingers brushed her pubic hair.
She wasn’t wet at all. He stroked her clitoris, but no matter how gently he moved his fingers, there was no lubrication inside.
Makoto was fairly sure nothing was lacking in his technique. Until only recently, things had worked just fine.
Giving up on the clitoris, he moved his finger down, trying to penetrate her, only to find her closed tightly. When he tried to force his way in, she whispered, ‘Ouch.’ He could tell she was frowning, even in the dim light.
‘I’m sorry, did that hurt?’
‘It’s OK. Come inside.’
‘Not if my finger hurts.’
‘No, it’s OK, I can deal with it. It hurts more when you go slow like that,’ Yukiho said, spreading her legs a little further.
Makoto moved until he was between her legs. Then, holding his penis in one hand, he pushed up against her vagina, thrusting his hips forward.
Yukiho gasped. He saw her gritting her teeth. Makoto blinked. He hadn’t pushed that hard. He wasn’t even inside.
He tried again and Yukiho groaned strangely.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘It’s just, my stomach hurts.’
‘Your stomach?’
‘I mean, lower down.’
‘Again?’ Makoto said.
‘I’m sorry. But it’s OK, it’ll get better.’
‘No, it’s not OK.’ Makoto said, picking up his underpants from the foot of the bed and putting them on. He put on his pyjamas, thinking, ‘I guess tonight’s a wash too.’ This was the way it always seemed to go lately.
Yukiho was putting on her undergarments. She picked up her negligée and went back to her own bed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘You know, we really should go see a doctor.’
‘I know, it’s just —’
‘What?’
‘I’ve heard that having an abortion can do this to you. The dryness… and the pain.’
‘I’ve never heard of that.’
‘Well, why would you have – you’re a man.’
‘Yeah, but —’
Makoto got the feeling that the conversation wasn’t going to go any place good and turned away from her, pulling the covers up. He had already gone soft, but he was still horny. If they couldn’t have sex, he at least wanted her to show her affection in other ways, but Yukiho wasn’t the type to do that sort of thing. And it was hard for Makoto to ask.
A few minutes later, he heard her sniffling in bed.
It seemed like too much of a chore to try to console her, so he buried his face under the covers and pretended not to hear.
The Eagle Golf Driving Range had been built in the dead centre of a square residential area. A sign out front boasted a longest driving range of two hundred yards and the latest ball delivery system. Inside the green netting, tiny white balls flew in a swarm through the air.
The school was about twenty minutes by car from their apartment. They were there by four-thirty. The information session was from five, according to the pamphlet.
‘Guess we got here early. I told you we should have left later,’ Makoto said, turning the wheel of the BMW.
‘I thought the roads might be crowded. Besides, we can watch other people hit. We might learn something,’ Yukiho replied from the passenger seat.
‘I’m not sure how watching amateurs practise is going to help.’
The country was in the middle of a golfing boom, and it was Saturday, which meant that the place was packed. You could tell just by looking at the car park, which was almost completely full.
It took some time to find a spot, but he did. The two got out and headed for the entrance. On the way in was a phone booth. Yukiho stopped in front of it.
‘If you don’t mind, can I make a phone call?’ she said, pulling her schedule book out of her bag.
‘Fine; I’ll go take a look inside.’
‘Great,’ she said, the receiver already in her hand.
The entrance was as brightly lit as a twenty-four-hour diner and two young women in bright uniforms were greeting customers. A handful of people were killing time on the grey carpet of the lobby.
‘Thanks; just write your name here. We’ll call you as soon as there’s an opening,’ one of the employees said. She was talking to a slightly overweight man who didn’t look as if he’d had much to do with sports in his life. He had a black golf bag next to him.
‘Is it that busy?’ the man asked, a scowl on his face.
‘Yes, I’m afraid there’s a wait of about twenty or thirty minutes.’
‘Great,’ the man said, grumbling as he wrote his name on the list.
Makoto walked up to the counter and mentioned he’d like to be in the information session. One of the employees told him with a smile that there would be an announcement and to please wait in the lobby.
Yukiho stepped through the doors and quickly walked up to Makoto.
‘We have a little bit of a problem,’ she said. ‘At the shop. I think I should go.’ She bit her lip.
On Saturday Naomi and a part-time worker ran things.
‘Right now?’ Makoto asked. His exasperation was plain in his voice.
Yukiho nodded.
‘So what about golf school? You’re not even going to stay for the information session?’
‘No, I’m sorry, but you can stay. I’ll take a taxi and if it’s too boring, you can go home.’
‘Oh, I will.’
‘I’m really sorry. See you,’ Yukiho said, taking off for the door.
Makoto watched her go, holding back the anger he could feel rising in his stomach. He knew that if he let it grow it was he who would suffer. He’d already had the pleasure several times.
He passed the time by checking out the golf shop in a corner of the lobby. Looking at the items there didn’t do anything to increase his interest in the sport. Makoto hardly knew anything about golf. He had a general grasp of the rules and understood that the goal for most golfers was to get under a hundred on the course. Yet he had no concept of what that really meant or how big a score that one hundred represented.
He was checking out a set of driving irons when he felt someone’s eyes on him. A woman was standing next to him in business slacks, facing in his direction.
He looked up and their eyes met.
It took a little while for him to be sure that it really was her before he finally gasped.
He was staring at Chizuru Misawa. She had cut her hair and looked a little different, but there was no mistaking her.
‘Chizuru? What are you doing here?’ Makoto asked.
‘Practising golf,’ Chizuru said, showing him the club case in her hand.
‘Right, I mean, obviously,’ Makoto said, scratching his cheek, even though it didn’t itch.
‘That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Mr Takamiya?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, kind of, I guess.’ He was happy that she had remembered his name.
‘You here alone?’
‘Yes, you?’
‘Yeah. Should we sit down?’
They managed to find two empty seats and grabbed them before anyone else came.
‘What a surprise, meeting you here,’ Makoto began.
‘No kidding. For second I thought it was a case of mistaken identity.’
‘Where are you these days?’
‘Shimokitazawa. I’m working for an architectural firm in Shinjuku.’
‘Still doing the temp thing?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Didn’t you say you were heading back to Sapporo when your contract with our company ended?’
‘I’m surprised you remember,’ Chizuru said, smiling, showing white, healthy teeth. Her smile made Makoto think that short hair suited her well.
‘So you didn’t go?’
‘No, I did, for a little. But I came right back.’
‘I see,’ Makoto said, looking at his watch. It was already four-fifty. The information session would start in ten minutes. He began to feel rushed.
That day resurfaced in his mind, two years and however many months ago. The night before his wedding to Yukiho, when he had sat there in the lobby waiting for her to show, and she never did.
He had been in love with her, he realised now, ready to give up everything to tell her. In that instant he had truly felt that she was the one he was destined for.
And she never came. He didn’t know why. All he knew was that fate had lied. There was nothing fated about it.
But seeing her now, he realised the torch he carried for her had not been entirely extinguished. Just being near her made his heart soar. He felt elated, a sweet elation that he hadn’t felt in so long.
‘Where do you live these days, Mr Takamiya?’ Chizuru asked.
‘In Seijo.’
‘Right, I think I remember you mentioning that before,’ she said. ‘It’s been two and a half years now, hasn’t it. Any kids?’
‘No, not yet.’
‘Not having them?’
‘Not, or can’t.’ Makoto smiled wryly.
‘Oh, I see,’ Chizuru said, a look of concern passing over her face.
‘How about you? Are you married?’
‘No, still single.’
‘Any plans?’ Makoto said, watching her face intently.
Chizuru smiled and shook her head. ‘Nobody to make plans with.’
Makoto felt relief at that, even as he had to ask himself what it mattered to him whether she was single or not.
‘Do you come here lots?’ he asked.
‘Once a week. I’ve been taking lessons.’
She said she’d been coming for the last two months. She was taking beginner lessons every week on Saturdays at five. The exact same class that Makoto and Yukiho were considering.
Makoto said that he had just come to hear the information session about the same course.
‘No kidding?’ she said. ‘I know that they look for new people every two months or so. So maybe I’ll be seeing more of you.’
‘I would imagine so,’ Makoto said.
Makoto was confused about this coincidence. Mostly because when he came, he would be coming with Yukiho. He didn’t want her to meet Chizuru. Nor did he want to tell Chizuru that she was coming either.
Just then they announced that everyone who had come for the information session should go to the reception desk.
‘I guess I should get to my lesson,’ Chizuru said, picking up her golf bag.
‘I’ll come see how you’re doing afterwards.’
‘Oh no, don’t, I’d be too embarrassed,’ she said smiling, the skin above her nose wrinkling.
When Makoto got home, Yukiho’s shoes were in the entranceway. He heard the sound of something frying from inside.
He went into the living room and found Yukiho in the kitchen, apron on, making dinner.
‘Welcome back. You’re later than I expected,’ she said loudly, moving the frying pan as she spoke.
It was already after eight-thirty.
‘What time did you get back?’ Makoto asked, standing in the entrance to the kitchen.
‘About an hour ago. I came home early to make dinner.’
‘OK.’
‘Hang on, it’s almost ready.’
‘It’s funny,’ he said, watching Yukiho in profile as she made her salad. ‘I met an old friend today.’
‘Really? Someone I know?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘And?’
‘Well, it’d been a while, so we decided to go have a little something to eat, and we ate at a restaurant by the golf place.’
Yukiho’s hands stopped. She brought her hand up to her neck. ‘Oh.’
‘I figured you’d be late. What was the trouble at the shop?’
‘Actually, I straightened that out pretty quick,’ Yukiho said, rubbing the back of her neck. She smiled weakly. ‘But of course you didn’t expect me back. Why would you?’
‘Sorry. I should’ve tried to get in touch.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll finish it up, so if you get hungry, go ahead.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So how was it?’
Makoto grunted non-committally. ‘It wasn’t anything special. They said they have a particular curriculum, and they follow it to the letter, stuff like that.’
‘Did it sound like fun?’
‘Kind of,’ Makoto said. He wasn’t sure how to explain it. Now that he knew Chizuru was going to the golf school, he didn’t want to take Yukiho there. He was ready to give up on it, but he wasn’t sure how to explain that to Yukiho.
‘I don’t know…’ he said, searching for the right words, when Yukiho cut him off.
‘I know I suggested it, and I might sound silly saying this now, but maybe this isn’t the best time.’
‘What?’ Makoto said looking at her face. ‘Isn’t the best time for what?’
‘Well, we’re opening that second shop, right? And we’re looking for a new employee, but it’s hard to find the right people – with all the big companies practically tripping over themselves to get good people, hardly anyone’s interested in a little boutique like ours.’
‘And?’
‘Well, I talked it over with Naomi today, and it sounds like there’s no getting around my coming in on Saturdays, at least for the time being. Hopefully it won’t be every week —’
‘You mean you’ll only have Sundays off?’
‘Something like that,’ Yukiho said, looking up at him. She was clearly afraid he would get angry.
But he didn’t.
‘Doesn’t sound like you’ll be taking golf lessons, then.’
‘I’m afraid not. Which is why I’m apologising because the whole thing was my idea in the first place. Sorry,’ she said, bowing her head.
‘Right,’ Makoto said, crossing his arms and going over to the sofa. ‘Guess that’s that, then.’ He sat down. ‘Maybe I’ll take lessons by myself.’
‘You’re not angry?’ Yukiho said, a little surprised.
‘Why should I be? I decided not to get angry about this kind of thing.’
‘Phew. I was afraid that you were gonna get angry with me again. It’s just we really don’t have enough people —’
‘It’s OK, really. Just don’t come telling me you want to join lessons later on, because you’ll be too late.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’
‘Good.’
Makoto picked up the television remote and pressed the button, thinking about when he might be able to make a call without Yukiho overhearing…
Makoto had trouble sleeping that night. When he thought about his unexpected reunion with Chizuru, he felt hot, as if he had a fever. Her smile flashed in his mind; her voice rang in his ears.
Part of the information session included going to see an actual class in session. Makoto watched Chizuru and the rest of her class hitting the ball with their instructor giving them pointers. From behind. When she noticed he was there, Chizuru seem to stiffen and missed the ball several times. Each time she would turn in his direction and stick out her tongue at him.
Makoto asked her to dinner at the end of the lesson.
‘There’s nothing for me to eat at home, so I was planning on eating out anyway. I’d rather not eat alone,’ he said, making an excuse.
She hesitated for just a moment before agreeing to go with him with a smile. Makoto didn’t think she was just coming along to be polite.
Chizuru took the train to get to golf lessons, so Makoto gave her a lift in his BMW to a pasta place he’d been to several times before. He had never taken Yukiho there.
The lighting was dim and Makoto sat across from Chizuru. Thinking back on it, he realised that they had never gone out together when she was working at his company. Makoto felt relaxed. It felt right, in his gut, to be with her. When he was with her, conversation felt easy. He even felt like he’d become a better talker. She laughed often and talked a lot herself. As she spoke about her experiences at different companies, an idea struck Makoto so strongly it startled him.
‘Why did you start golf? To stay fit?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. I guess I wanted to change something. Change myself, maybe.’
‘Did you need to change?’
‘There was something I felt I wanted to change, yes. I just felt kind of rootless drifting around like I do.’
Makoto smiled.
‘What made you want to start?’ she asked him.
‘Me?’ He searched for an answer. He didn’t want to say that his wife had suggested it. ‘I guess because I wasn’t getting enough exercise.’
Chizuru seemed to accept this.
When they left the restaurant, Makoto offered to drive her home. She refused, of course, but didn’t seem displeased, so Makoto pressed harder. She accepted.
He didn’t know whether it was intentional or not, but all through dinner, Chizuru hadn’t asked about Makoto’s married life once. Nor did he talk about Yukiho or say anything that might suggest her presence whatsoever. Only once they got in the car and started driving did Chizuru ask, ‘Was your wife out today?’
For some reason she seemed a little nervous when she said this.
‘She works, so she’s out quite a lot.’
Chizuru nodded. She didn’t ask anything more about his wife.
Her apartment building was right along a train line. It was a small place, only three storeys high.
‘Thanks so much. See you next week?’ she said as she got out of the car.
‘Maybe, though I’m not sure if I’m going to join the lessons yet,’ Makoto said. At the time, he hadn’t intended to at all.
I see. I suppose you’re busy,’ Chizuru said, looking disappointed.
‘Still, I hope we can see each other again. You don’t mind if I call, do you?’ Makoto asked. He had got her phone number during dinner.
‘Of course not,’ she said.
‘Great. Well, see you.’
‘Goodnight.’
When she got out of the car, Makoto felt a strong urge to grab her hand. He would grab her hand, pull her close and kiss her right there. But that was only in his imagination.
He saw her wave him off in his rear-view mirror as he drove into traffic.
He wondered if she would be happy if he started taking lessons – as his head sank into the pillow. He wanted to tell her as soon as he could. But he didn’t have a chance to phone that night.
He would get to see her every week. Just thinking that made his heart leap like he was a young man again. He couldn’t wait for next Saturday.
He rolled over and heard the steady breathing of sleep from the next bed.
That was all right. He wouldn’t be waking her tonight.
‘Meeting time,’ Narita announced to the members of the E team one day in July. The thin drizzle of the rainy season was falling outside the window. The air conditioning was on full blast in the building, but Narita still had his sleeves rolled up above his elbows.
‘We got some new leads from systems development about that expert system,’ Narita said once everyone was there. His hands were filled with printed reports.
‘Systems is of the opinion that if someone did steal our data there must’ve been an illegal access of our expert system, so they’ve been looking into that, and they finally found some traces of it the other day.’
‘So it was stolen,’ one of the more senior members of the team mumbled.
‘Last November someone used one of our workstations to copy the entire manufacturing expert system. They have a record of the copy being made, and that record itself was overwritten. Which is why they never found it until now,’ he added, lowering his voice.
‘So it was somebody in our company?’ Makoto asked, looking around at the other members.
‘That’s likely, yes,’ Narita said, his face severe. ‘They’re going to look into it a little more before deciding whether or not to take it to the police. Of course we still can’t prove that the expert system making the rounds is a copy of ours. We won’t be able to do that until we’ve analysed the data down to the last byte. Still, it’s looking more likely that that is the case.’
Yamano raised his hand. ‘What if it wasn’t somebody from inside the company? Couldn’t someone have come in on a vacation day and used one of our workstations?’
‘They’d still need an ID and password,’ Makoto said.
‘Actually, on that point,’ Narita said, ‘systems has been looking into that exact possibility. Whoever did this would’ve had to be very good with computers. A pro. Which leaves us with really only two possibilities. The first is that somebody inside brought in the thief. The other possibility is that somehow a thief got hold of somebody’s ID and password. I don’t think any of us have really been aware how valuable that information is, myself included. Somebody might have caught us with our pants down.’
Makoto felt his back pocket to make sure his wallet was still there. His employee identification card was inside. He had written the ID he used to access the workstations and the password on the back.
He remembered being told explicitly not to do that – write down the password and ID together in the same place where someone might see it – and thought he should probably erase them as soon as he got a chance.
‘Whoa, at Tozai, too?’ Chizuru said, taking a sip of coffee out of a paper cup.
‘You mean this happens at other companies?’ Makoto asked.
‘Yeah, it’s been going around lately. They say information is money these days. Pretty much every company has all their data on computers now, which works out great for people looking to steal information. You can take a whole stack of documents and put them on a single floppy. And you can search them with a few key presses to find exactly what you want.’
‘I see how that would be good.’
‘And Tozai just had an internal network, right? Imagine if they were like some of these places that have connections to external networks. There are more of those these days. That would let someone sneak in from the outside, which makes it even more dangerous. Apparently it’s already been happening for a few years now in America. They call them hackers, the people who sneak into other people’s computers to play tricks and steal stuff.’
He was impressed with Chizuru’s knowledge, guessing it came from being at so many different companies. He reflected that it was she and other temp workers like her that had transferred all of his own company’s patent information from microfilm to computer disks.
It was almost five o’clock. Makoto threw his empty cup in the bin. The lobby of the driving range was filled as usual with people waiting their turn. They hadn’t been able to find empty seats so they were leaning against the wall as they talked.
‘So, have you practised your approach since then?’ Makoto said, changing topics.
Chizuru shook her head. ‘No. I barely have time to come practise. How about yourself?’
‘I haven’t touched a club since class last week.’
‘But you have a natural talent for it,’ she said. ‘I had such a head start, and you’re already learning higher-level things than I am. I was never very coordinated, I guess.’
‘They say that if you start off a little rough, you get better faster.’
‘If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working,’ Chizuru said with a laugh.
It had already been three months since Makoto had joined lessons at the driving range. To date he hadn’t missed a single class. For one thing, golf was far more interesting than he had anticipated, though his eagerness to meet Chizuru every week was his true motivation.
‘Care to go anywhere after practice today?’ Makoto asked. It had already become customary for them to go out to eat after lessons were over.
‘I’m fine with any place.’
‘How about Italian, then?’
‘Sure,’ she said, smiling.
‘You know,’ Makoto said, glancing around before continuing in a low voice, ‘I was hoping I could see you some time on a day when we don’t have practice. Just to talk, without worrying about the time.’
He was confident she wouldn’t think this was an imposition. The question was how much she would hesitate. Meeting on a day when they didn’t have practice was a very different thing from grabbing dinner on the way home from lessons.
‘That’d be fine,’ she said simply. It sounded natural, though that might have been an act. A smile lingered on her lips.
‘Great, well, I’ll think of a good day and let you know.’
‘Just give me a little warning and I can move work around.’
‘Sounds good.’
That one simple exchange had Makoto walking on sunshine.
Makoto’s date with Chizuru was set for the third Friday in July. They would have plenty of time because it was the beginning of the weekend, and Chizuru would be able to get off work earlier that day.
There was another thing working in that day’s favour: Yukiho was supposed to leave for a week-long purchasing trip to Italy that Thursday. She had been going to Italy once every few months of late.
Makoto came home on the Wednesday before Yukiho was set to depart and found her in the living room with her suitcase wide open getting ready for the trip. ‘Hi,’ she said when he walked in, but her eyes were on the calendar spread out on the table.
‘Dinner?’ Makoto asked.
‘I made some stew, you go ahead. I’m a little busy right now.’ She still didn’t look at her husband.
Makoto went into the bedroom without saying anything and changed into a T-shirt and sweatpants.
He had felt the change in her lately. Until recently, she had been so distraught over not being able to be a good wife to him that she would cry. But now it was, ‘Go ahead and eat.’
He wondered if it was her success at work that made her so stand-offish. Or maybe it’s because I’ve stopped demanding anything of her, Makoto thought. Before, whenever something rubbed him the wrong way, he would get mad immediately, but lately, he hardly raised his voice at all. He was happy if each day went by uneventfully.
His re-encounter with Chizuru Misawa had changed everything. Since that day he had lost all interest in Yukiho, nor did he want her to have any interest in him. This is what they mean when they talk about people drifting apart, he thought.
Makoto went back to the living room and Yukiho said, ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Natsumi is staying over tonight. It’s better if we go to the airport together tomorrow.’
‘Who’s Natsumi?’
‘You haven’t met her? She’s been working at the shop since the very beginning. We’re going together this time.’
‘OK. Where she’s sleeping?’
‘I cleaned up the guest room.’
So I guess it’s all decided then, Makoto wanted to say, but he held back.
Natsumi arrived just after ten. She was a little over twenty, with a pretty face.
‘I hope you’re not planning on going like that,’ Yukiho said when she saw Natsumi wearing a red T-shirt and jeans.
‘I’ll change into a suit tomorrow. This is going in my luggage.’
‘I don’t think you’ll need a T-shirt and jeans. We’re not going as tourists. You should probably leave them here.’ Yukiho’s voice had a severity to it that Makoto had never heard.
‘OK,’ Natsumi replied in a small voice.
The two women started talking in the living room, so Makoto went ahead and took a shower. When he came out of the bathroom, they had gone off to a different room.
Makoto pulled a glass and a bottle of Scotch out of the living room cupboard, grabbed some ice from the fridge, and sat down in front of the television. He had never been much of a beer drinker. Whenever he drank alone it was Scotch on the rocks. It had become a nightly routine.
The door opened and Yukiho came in, but Makoto didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on the sports news.
‘Makoto?’ Yukiho said. ‘Think you could turn it down? Natsumi can’t sleep with that noise.’
‘You can’t hear it in there, can you?’
‘You can. That’s why I came to tell you to turn it down.’ There were thorns in her voice. Makoto scowled, grabbed the remote and turned the volume down.
Yukiho was still standing there. He could feel her eyes on him. So she wants to say something. The thought crossed his mind that it could be about Chizuru. But that was impossible.
Yukiho sighed. ‘Look at you, living the life.’
‘What?’ He looked up at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I mean just look at you, doing whatever you want, whenever you want. Drinking your Scotch, watching the ball game —’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m just saying you’re living the life,’ she said as she turned to go into the bedroom.
‘Hold on, what do you mean? If you have something to say, say it.’
‘Keep your voice down. Natsumi will hear,’ Yukiho said, furrowing her brow.
‘You’re the one who started it. I’m asking you what you meant.’
‘Nothing, like I said,’ Yukiho turned back around to face him. ‘I was just wondering if you have any dreams? Ambitions? Or do you just plan on spending the rest of your life this way, getting old, never trying to make something of yourself?’
He felt his hair bristle and tightness come into his jaw. ‘You think you have ambition?’ he scoffed. ‘You’re just playing at being a businesswoman.’
‘I am running a business.’
‘Whose business? I bought that shop.’
‘And I’m paying rent, aren’t I? And who are you to talk? You bought it with money you got from your parents.’
Makoto glared at her. She glared right back.
‘I’m going to bed. I have to get up early tomorrow,’ she said. ‘You should probably get to bed soon too. And don’t drink too much.’
‘Leave me be.’
‘Goodnight!’ She disappeared into the bedroom.
Makoto sat back down and grabbed the bottle of Scotch. He poured a long slosh into his glass. The ice was almost gone. He drank it down and somehow it tasted more bitter than usual.
When he opened his eyes, his head was pounding. Makoto frowned and tried to rub the fog out of his eyes. He could see Yukiho sitting at her dresser putting on make-up.
He glanced over at the clock. It was time to wake up, but his body felt as if it was made out of lead.
He went to say something to Yukiho, but couldn’t think of anything. For some reason she felt impossibly distant.
He looked at her face in the mirror and blinked. Why was she wearing a patch over one eye?
‘What’s that for?’ he asked. ‘Why are you wearing a patch?’
Yukiho looked around slowly. Her face was like a mask. ‘It’s from last night.’
‘Huh?’
‘You don’t remember?’
Makoto was silent. He tried to remember anything about last night. He recalled getting into a fight with Yukiho and drinking a little more Scotch than normal after that. But he couldn’t remember what he’d done afterwards. He just had a vague memory that he’d got very sleepy. And yet he didn’t remember how he had gone to bed. The pounding in his head was making it hard to remember much of anything.
‘Did I… do something?’ Makoto asked.
‘I was asleep last night and you came in and ripped the covers off…’ Yukiho swallowed before continuing. ‘Then you shouted something and started hitting me.’
‘What?’ His eyes shot wide open. ‘I didn’t do that.’
‘You most certainly did. My head, my face…’
‘I don’t remember that at all.’
‘You were drunk,’ she said, standing and walking towards the door.
‘Wait, no,’ he called out her. ‘I really don’t remember it.’
‘Oh? That’s funny, because I’ll never forget.’
‘Yukiho…’ He tried taking a deep breath. His head was swirling. ‘If I did that I apologise. I’m so sorry —’
Yukiho stood for a while, her head drooping, then she said, ‘I’ll be home next Saturday,’ and opened the door and walked out.
Makoto let his head sink into the pillow. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to retrace what had happened the night before, but found nothing but darkness.
The ice clinked in the tumbler in Chizuru’s hand. Her face was flushed beneath her eyes.
‘This was really fun. I mean everything. The talking, the food,’ she said, shaking her head as if in disbelief.
‘I had a great time too,’ Makoto said. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this good.’ He leaned on the counter and turned towards her. ‘It’s because of you. Thanks.’ It was an embarrassing thing to say in public, but thankfully the bartender was otherwise occupied and didn’t seem to have heard.
They’d ended up at a hotel bar in Akasaka near the French restaurant where they’d eaten dinner.
‘No, I should thank you,’ she replied. ‘I just feel like years of bumbling around has been swept clean.’
‘What bumbling around?’
‘Nothing, it’s just I have a lot on my mind,’ she said, sipping on the straw of her Singapore Sling.
‘Me too,’ he said shaking the ice to stir his Chivas Regal. ‘I’m really happy I met you again. If I were a religious man, I’d praise God.’
This, too, was a brazen admission. Chizuru smiled and lowered her eyes.
‘There’s something I have to confess,’ he said.
She looked back up, her eyes shimmering.
‘I got married two years ago. But the very day before the wedding I made a decision, a huge decision, and it took me some place.’
Chizuru raised an eyebrow. Her smile faded.
‘I need to tell you what happened.’
‘OK.’
‘Except,’ he said, ‘I’d rather that we were alone.’
Her eyes widened slightly, and he held out his right hand, open. The hotel room key was on his palm.
Chizuru looked down, silent.
‘The place I went,’ he said, ‘was the Parkside Hotel. The hotel where you were supposed to stay that night.’
She looked up again. Her eyes were bloodshot.
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
She nodded yes, her eyes never leaving his.
As they made for the room, Makoto told himself this is right. Everything up until now was the mistake. I’m getting things back on the right path.
They stopped in front of the room and he put the key in the door.
The client’s name was Yukiho Takamiya. She was a beautiful woman; she could have been an actress. But her face was just as dark as all the others.
‘So your husband’s asking you for a divorce, is that it?’
‘That’s right.’
‘But he’s not telling you why, correct? He just doesn’t think it’s working anymore.’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have any idea why he’s making this move?’
The client seemed to think for a moment before she said, ‘I think there’s another woman. I – I had someone look into it.’
She pulled several photographs out of her Chanel bag. They clearly showed a man and a woman meeting in a variety of places. The man had a company-man haircut and a company-man suit, and the young woman had a short bob. Both of them looked happy.
‘Have you asked your husband who she is?’
‘No, not yet. I thought I should talk to you first.’
‘Right. Let me ask, do you want a divorce?’
‘Yes. I knew it wasn’t working, too.’
‘Did something happen?’
‘I think it’s been since he started seeing her, but sometimes he can be violent – only when he’s drinking, though.’
‘That’s no good. Does anyone know about this? I’m talking about a witness – someone who could corroborate this.’
‘I haven’t told anyone. Except once, when it happened, a girl from work had come to spend the night. She must remember.’
‘Right.’
As she took notes, the lawyer thought there were a number of ways they could approach this. She took another look at the photograph. She knew the type: they looked like perfect gentleman, but treated their wives like dirt. It was her least favourite type.
‘I just – I just don’t believe it. I can’t believe he would do something like this. He was so nice before,’ Yukiho said, putting a white hand to her mouth and beginning to cry.
