Summer of the Big Bachi (28 page)

 

 

“But Yuki?”

 

 

“Him, too,” Mas said before he realized it. “I leave my address.”

 

 

 

Mas hadn’t had a woman stay at the house since Chizuko had died. Now that Akemi was with him, Mas began to see the house with her eyes. The pitiful lawn full of dandelions. The cracked driveway. Dingy windows. Mas was almost afraid when he opened the front door. The smell was the same. The rot of nothingness, like boxes that had been stored away for decades.

 

 

“Wait a minute,” Mas said, leaving Akemi in the hallway. He approached the room he never entered. He stopped for a moment and then turned the doorknob. Nothing. Then he remembered. The door was always getting stuck. Hadn’t Mari always complained that he needed to fix it? After he pressed down and turned the knob, Mas fell back in time. Posters of orange, purple, and blue with
hakujin
and black men holding microphones. High school banners. A record player. Twin bed with the same bedspread. They were all there, all in place. Untouched for twenty years.

 

 

Akemi was at the doorway.

 

 

“You stay in here,” Mas instructed.

 

 

Akemi looked around. “Your daughter’s?”

 

 

Mas nodded. “Long gone. She in New York.”

 

 

“Really?” Akemi looked genuinely impressed. “I’ve always wanted to go to New York. How is it?”

 

 

“I neva go.”

 

 

“Married?”

 

 

Mas hesitated and only grunted. He went into the linen closet in the hallway and brought in fresh sheets for the bed.

 

 

As they stripped the old sheets from the mattress, Akemi asked, “Did you know this man who calls himself Joji Haneda?”

 

 

Mas balled up the sheets. “Yah, I knowsu.”

 

 

“Is he, Mas?”

 

 

Mas’s heart thumped. Something seemed stuck in the back of his throat. “Heezu not your brotha.”

 

 

Akemi’s face fell.

 

 

“But I knowsu him, Akemi-
san
.” Both of us do, in fact, he thought.

 

 

“Oh.” Akemi folded her hands in her lap.

 

 

Before Mas could spit out the name Riki Kimura, Akemi stopped him. “Don’t say anything more, Masao-
san
. I don’t need to hear anything more.”

 

 

“But I needsu to tell you. Part my
sekinin,
too.”

 

 

Akemi shook her head.

 

 

“Your land. They gonna take away your land.”

 

 

Akemi seemed surprised that Mas had heard of the property battle. “Land is just that. Dirt. I wanted to leave it to Yuki, but not at the expense of my peace of mind. His peace of mind.”

 

 

Mas didn’t understand. This Joji Haneda had no claim on the property. Mas could testify, go to court if he had to.

 

 

“Please, Masao-
san,
I beg of you. My first priority is making sure Yuki is cleared. And then I can take him home.” Akemi stared at the yellow shag rug. “We won’t speak of this again. Agreed?”

 

 

Before Mas could answer, they heard the rumble and screech of a powerful car. Mas looked out through Mari’s drapes, caked with dust. Sure enough, it was the grandson in a large Jeep, frowning and looking in need of some explanations.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWELVE

 

 

“I’m taking you to a hotel,
Obaachan,
” Yuki said as he barged through Mas’s front door. Mas and Akemi emerged from Mari’s bedroom into the hallway.

 

 

“Empress Hotel— no, thank you,” said Mas.

 

 

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

 

 

Akemi scolded her grandson, “Yuki-
kun,
don’t talk to Arai-
san
like that.”

 

 

“
Obaachan,
this man is a liar.”

 

 

“Yuki!”

 

 

“He knows a lot more than he lets on.”

 

 

“He’s an old friend.” Akemi fingered the top button on her blouse.

 

 

“He mentioned none of that. I even mentioned your name straight out.”

 

 

Mas kept quiet.

 

 

“I got a room at a better hotel. I can’t permit you to stay here,
Obaachan
.”

 

 

“You can’t permit me?”

 

 

The boy’s brown cheeks reddened slightly.

 

 

“What happened, Yuki-
kun
? Were you with the police?”

 

 

Yuki’s eyes grew big, and he cursed, using words that Mas was familiar with, and new ones, as well. “You told her, didn’t you?”

 

 

“It was me,” Akemi said. “I forced him to. I needed to know. Now, how much trouble are you in?”

 

 

“I can’t leave Los Angeles yet. At least until she clears me.” Yuki pulled at some limp clumps of his red hair. “She’s conscious now, you know.”

 

 

“So— that’s wonderful.” Akemi glanced at Mas, who looked down at the worn boards of the hardwood floor.

 

 

“The police showed pictures of me to her. She says she can’t remember what happened.”

 

 

“Can’t remember,” Akemi murmured.

 

 

“The consulate may get involved. This may turn into some international incident. Some reporter with
Asahi Shimbun
was even waiting for me beside my rental car.”

 

 

A reporter from a real newspaper, thought Mas.

 

 

“He was asking me if I thought I might be used as an example.”

 

 

“Example?” Akemi repeated.

 

 

“I don’t know. I guess a lot of Japanese students are coming here and getting into trouble.”

 

 

As Yuki spoke, Mas tried to stay quiet and still. But Yuki wasn’t fooled, and circled back to him. “Damn old man. You know what’s going on. You know who did that to her.”

 

 

Mas waited for Akemi to defend him, but she seemed lost in her thoughts.

 

 

“I dunno. But I gotsu my ideas,” Mas finally said.

 

 

“It’s that mystery man, isn’t it? The man who calls himself Joji Haneda.”

 

 

Mas hesitated. For some reason, Akemi had asked him to keep quiet about Joji Haneda, and he owed her that much. “Shuji Nakane went ova to the mistress’s house,” he offered instead.

 

 

That got Akemi’s attention. “Nakane-
san
is here in Los Angeles?”

 

 

“Yes, I saw him at the exams,” Yuki explained. “I practically spit in his face, and he left.” He turned back to Mas. “Why do you think he had something to do with the lady?”

 

 

“His
meishi
. It was in her apartment. Kitchen table.”

 

 

Yuki and Akemi exchanged looks, worried ones, noted Mas. “She knowsu sumptin’.” He added, “About your land.”

 

 

The boy put two and two together. “It’s that Joji Haneda. He’s the one who’s in the middle of this. I know you know him,
Ojisan
. Who is he?”

 

 

“Yuki-
kun,
” Akemi interrupted, “let’s get some sleep. We can talk about it in the morning.”

 

 

The boy was on the verge of protesting, but his grandmother had already turned toward Mari’s room.

 

 

Mas gestured toward the couch. “I getsu some blankets.”

 

 

“Don’t worry,” Yuki snapped. “I’ll sleep in the car.”

 

 

* * *

 

The boy kept his word, and stayed in his car the entire night. “He’s fine,” said Akemi as Mas looked out the screen door in the morning. “He’s been backpacking in Africa. Spent the night on concrete and dirt, sleeping next to crocodiles. A big car like that is a luxury for him.”

 

 

“Itsu
orai
with you?” Mas always wondered what it would be like to have a grandson. But he never figured that a grandson could be as strange as Yuki Kimura.

 

 

“It’s a phase; that’s what I figure. He’ll settle down in a couple of years. Just imagine what he’ll be able to do. He’ll shake things up. That’s what these Japanese companies need, you know.”

 

 

Mas got some bread out of the freezer. There wasn’t much he could offer Akemi. Just some defrosted white Wonder bread and freeze-dried coffee. Oh, and the Fresno peaches that Tug and Lil had brought.

 

 

“Whatsu you doin’ ova there in Hiroshima?” Mas finally had the guts to ask after he lit one of the stove burners.

 

 

“Worked as a translator for Mazda. Twenty-five years. Know all there is to know about carburetors and cylinders.”

 

 

Mas was impressed. “Thatsu what I wanted to do. Work on engines.”

 

 

“I remember.”

 

 

Mas placed the kettle over the circle of blue flame.

 

 

“Actually, I think you told Joji. He mentioned that to me.”

 

 

Mas pulled a couple of peaches out of the brown grocery bag. They were soft, almost too ripe.

 

 

“Sometimes I think of Joji,” said Akemi. “Of what he could have become. He was so smart. And not only about numbers. About people. He thought a lot about you, Masao-
san
. Said that you were different than the other boys. Had spunk. Energy.”

 

 

Mas got a rusty knife from one of the kitchen drawers. He cut into a peach until he hit the hard pit in the middle.

 

 

“He wanted to go back to America. Did he ever mention that to you? Said that. Said that he wanted to go back with you. ‘Masao-
kun
doesn’t know America that well, left too early, but I’ll show him around. I’ll show him how to play football. He’d be good at it. He’s small, but he can tackle.’ ”

 

 

Mas felt his eyes water and kept cutting the peach into uneven pieces.

 

 

“Do you ever think about him?”

 

 

Mas wished that he could blurt out yes, but the last thing he wanted to ever think about was Joji Haneda.

 

 

“Our father died here. Did you know that? Was sent to a camp in New Mexico during the war. Finally buried in a cemetery called Evergreen, in East Los Angeles. You’ve heard of it?”

 

 

Mas threw the peach chunks onto a small dish. Chizuko was buried at Evergreen. He mentioned none of that and merely nodded.

 

 

“I’d like to go before I leave. Could you take me there?”

 

 

Before Mas could answer, the kettle began to whistle, loud, sharp, and out of tune.