Water Lily (2 page)

“You don’t understand, Nanao. I wasn’t thinking about what anyone else was doing. We just went there to be alone together.
It was what we both wanted and it made us happy. It wasn’t any more serious than that. We didn’t actually use the love hotel
in the end.”

“You changed your mind?” Nanao looked hopeful. “No. All the rooms were full. It was a small one.”

“At least you didn’t use it.”

“We went to others, on different occasions, but they were far away so I guess they were safer.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“In love? No, I don’t think so. What does that matter?”

Nanao seemed disappointed and Runa realized that if she had been in love with Jun then to Nanao that would have been a kind
of justification. It would have been better. If love were involved the whole affair would have been understandable, but it
wasn’t. Love wasn’t part of it.

“What shall I do?”

“You have to stop seeing him. Apart from that I think you should do nothing. The letter may just be something spiteful. Are
they asking for money or anything?”

“No. They’re saying they want to kill me.”

“That’s ridiculous. If your relationship ends immediately, perhaps they won’t bother you again. But if any more comes of this
you’ll have to go and talk to the principal.”

“There are only a few years between us. It’s nothing. It’s no-body else’s business. If we’d met in a different situation—”

“Teachers and students can’t date each other, Runa. You know that.”

“It happens all the time.”

“That’s not the point. It’s wrong.”

“Wrong? at have I done wrong? I’ve been nice to him from the beginning. I’ve done everything right. The problem here is that
someone is threatening me, that I can’t be left alone to do what I want.”

“Have you any idea who took the picture?”

“No.”

“Who might have a grudge and not have the guts to say so?” Runa fidgeted with the corner of the tablecloth.

Nanao rolled her eyes. “Is there anyone in particular?” “Maybe an ex-boyfriend, I don’t know. They get so jealous. You can’t
predict what they’re going to do.”

“You’ll have to hope for the best. I can’t believe you’ve got yourself into this. Don’t you ever think about the consequences
of your actions?”

“Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.” Her period was late, a consequence she refused to think about yet.

“You should calm down. One day you’ll want to get married—”

“Married? Whatever for?”

Nanao looked exasperated, as if the answer was obvious. “If for no other reason than to allow me a rest from worrying about
you.”

“But if I was married, you’d have to worry about me a lot more.”

Nanao laughed. “You’re probably right.”

“You know I am.”

Runa looked around. She mustn’t forget why she had come. “Can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course. It’s too late for you to go home now. Sleep on it. We’ll think about what to do in the morning. You’ve been irresponsible,
but you’re my sister and I will help you.”

When Nanao had said goodnight and gone to bed, Runa waited for a few minutes. Then she searched the room in darkness looking
for Nanao’s passport. Nanao kept all her documents in one drawer and, sure enough, the passport was there. She took it and
pressed it to the bottom of her bag. Nanao wouldn’t know it had gone, not for months and then it wouldn’t matter. Runa wrote
a note for Nanao saying that she had decided to go back to the school and that she would call the next day, which was true.

She thought of the person, the letter writer who wanted to hurt her—who may have followed her—and it occurred to her that
one more item could be useful. She went into the kitchen and looked through the drawers. She found a penknife—Hiroshi’s perhaps—wrapped
it in a cloth, put it into her bag, and slipped out of the house.

Goodnight, Nanao,
she said in the blackness. She would head back to the school, but only for as long as it took to get a visa organized. A
few days, a week at the most. In the meantime, there was just one more thing to do. She must call her friend. She had friends
in many places, but no one would guess this one. No one knew about Ping.

T
he girl wore a powder-blue uniform with a matching pillbox hat. She stood in the corner, cushioned by a circle of space. As
she lifted her gloved hand to press the buttons on the panel, her mouth opened and a helium voice spilled out. The doors closed
and the elevator went up. Her speech continued to the next floor where the elevator came to a gentle stop. She paused for
breath and started on some new stream of words as a couple of passengers moved out into the ladies’ shoe department. Perhaps
she was thanking them for traveling with her. More customers stepped inside, turning abruptly silent as they crossed the threshold,
and she bowed to each one, careful not to make eye contact. Her half-smile was constant.

Ralph removed his glasses, wiped the frames with a small cloth, replaced them. He was standing a pace behind, slightly to
the side of her. He breathed in the scent of her hair. She smelled of the department store—clean, chic—as if she had sprayed
a concentrate of the shop’s scent into the air and stepped through it. He was a whole head taller so he had a perfect view
of her polished black hair, her funny little hat. He didn’t understand a word she said, but he stayed in the elevator at each
new floor, listening to the garbled sound, breathing the pocket of air above her head. If he could just touch her, put his
arm around the stiff blue cotton. Simply by being so close to him, she was calming his nerves.

He couldn’t remember when he had last looked at a woman in this way. It was wonderful that he could do all these new things
in Asia, starting here in Tokyo. At home he didn’t bother to look because he knew what they were like, even the pretty ones.
There was no mystery, no more secrets beneath the skin. He’d also noticed that younger women at home weren’t always as clean
as they might be. Now he was here, in this creepy, scary, sweetshop kind of place where he could have whatever he desired.
And at midday today his life would be transformed. Until then, there was so much to see and enjoy, so much to prepare him
for the change.

By the fifth floor, Ralph was the only customer in the elevator so the girl was talking and bowing for his pleasure alone.
She must be aware of him, right there, aware that he was a man, that he was foreign. He wondered how his presence was affecting
her, what ideas he might be putting into that head, slipping under the hat, that she couldn’t show. For someone who spent
her working days sliding up and down in a box, such moments would be her highlights, the stuff of daydreams and lunch-break
conversations. He shifted slightly so that he was at her side. He tried to see her face but caught only a glimpse of pinkish
cheekbone and the dusty outer edge of her eyebrow.

If he could just speak to her—but he never would. She narrated the journey to the sixth and seventh floors. For all Ralph
knew, she could be saying
and by the way, you’re so handsome
. On the eighth and final floor he walked through the doors. The girl held out an arm as if to show him the way. The gesture
was all the more charming for the fact that there was only one way, and she was still reciting her piece.
By the way, I’d like to marry you
. He turned, watched the doors draw together like bedroom curtains, and the girl disappeared.

He looked around. It seemed he was not in the department store anymore but at the end of a little indoor street of restaurants
and cafés. He had entered the store to buy a present and he wouldn’t find one here. Now that he was up at the top of the building,
he had nothing to do but go down again, and yet he couldn’t. He didn’t want to take one of the other elevators, but if he
arrived back at the same elevator so soon, he’d look as though he didn’t know where he was going. She’d think he was an idiot.
He followed the shiny tiled floor and glanced into windows that contained models of food: tempura, sushi, spaghetti, pizza,
sausages and scrambled egg on toast, glasses of green and pink liquid. It was late morning and people were already lining
up for lunch. Ralph wasn’t hungry and he shouldn’t eat until he was ready to take his pills. And even if he wanted to try
something, he wouldn’t have the courage to order a meal. He didn’t know how to eat the food and the people would stare.

He circuited the floor a couple of times, until the sight of plastic food began to turn his stomach, and returned to wait
in front of the middle set of doors.
Open sesame
, he whispered, and they opened. She was there, moving her eyes from the panel to Ralph, so he saw her whole face. It was
triangular and pale. Her smile lifted her cheeks. He wanted to smile back, but a crowd of young men piled in and shoved him
to the rear wall of the lift. They were half his age, arrogant with hi-tech sneakers and loud voices. He could see nothing
of the girl. On the ground floor, he walked out, took one look back, but already a fresh crowd was moving toward her. All
that remained was a white gloved hand, sticking out among the pushing bodies, a high-pitched babbling voice, the tip of a
hat.

But he must get a grip. There was so much to do and he was forgetting. He needed to find the gift. The store was more crowded
now and he had no idea what would be right. Bright, shiny assistants were positioned at junctions in the aisles, welcoming
customers. They shouted as he passed and made him jump; he wished they would go away. Buying a present was something he’d
always wanted to be good at—to be able to express something of himself and the receiver in a single item—but what would do?
Something feminine, edible, wearable? Something to show off to her friends?

There were stands and shelves of designer handkerchiefs, scarves, and bags. Colored silk and leather gleamed under the shop
lights and hurt his eyes. There was jewelry too, but that would be expensive. Nothing seemed quite right for a person he had
only spoken to once. A box of chocolates or a bunch of flowers would suffice but he’d like to go a little further. Ralph wanted
to show some hint of himself, of his personality, in this gift. He should have brought a present from England, some-thing
from his own shop or one of his sketches, perhaps.

Three women pecked at a large red basket of hair accessories, pulling at objects, holding them up to each other, and making
noises of excitement, approval, indecision. They were like geese around bread crusts. There were bows, clips, black and silver
nets with small beads, colored combs with little spurts of black wig attached. Ralph was surprised. When he looked at women’s
hair, he never thought it might be fake. He wondered if such things were available in England, in shops he passed regularly.
He wouldn’t know. Women may wear things that were really no different from toupees, for all he knew. His own hair was thinning
but he would never dare to stick on a bit of fake hair. Men just couldn’t, not without the risk of ridicule. He wanted to
take a closer look, to see how the things worked, but he was the only man in this section, the only foreigner in the shop,
and it would seem strange. For a moment he stood still, confused.

He spotted a section selling men’s ties and went to take a look. If he couldn’t buy a present, at least he could afford a
new tie. It would show the agency that he had made an effort, that he was smart and respectable, a man with expensive ties.
They felt nice between his fingers, silky and cool. The one he chose was soft, maroon with a leafy design. He held it against
his shirt and walked over to a mirror. The tie looked smart and classic but he was not sure what he looked like in it. He
glanced at his reflection, turned sideways, took in his whole appearance, but was none the wiser. He looked anxious and hot,
that was all. Mirrors rarely gave him much information. He peered into the glass but couldn’t see himself—not that, like a
vampire, he wasn’t there—there just wasn’t much of a face to see. He had two eyes, a pair of spectacles, a nose, a mouth,
a chin, some hair. He saw them all but they never seemed to come together to make a recognizable face like the kind other
people had.

A squirt of woody aftershave from the perfume counter made him feel clean, and he couldn’t resist just one more trip in the
elevator before heading for the station. He went up and down in each of the three elevators but the woman had gone and been
replaced by different versions of her. Their uniforms smelled the same as hers but these girls were taller or shorter, their
hair blacker or wavier. He was wasting time and now he would be late for his appointment. He went from the fourth to the ground
floor and out of the store. This was no good. Why was he not concentrating on his appointment? He couldn’t afford to be dreaming
about any woman he happened to pass in a shop. He let himself get caught up like this, let people catch his eye and hold it,
but there simply wasn’t time anymore.

The building was tall and shabby. Stairs wound around the outside to the top, the ninth or tenth floor. Ralph put a thousand
yen note and a couple of coins into the taxi driver’s hand. For the first time, he didn’t reach for his calculator to convert
the fare into pounds. Whatever the cost, it was preferable to being lost or late. Sometimes you had to weigh things up. Besides,
if he added the cost of the taxi to the price of his plane ticket and everything else, it was negligible. It was probably
less than the airport tax. Or the cost of all the cups of coffee he’d had at air-ports. The taxi driver passed Ralph some
change. Ralph put a few coins into his pocket and pressed the others back into the driver’s hand as a tip. The driver seemed
to think Ralph was confused about the change and handed it back again, counting the coins carefully into Ralph’s palm the
way you would count money to a child. Ralph’s face turned hot and drops of sweat tickled his back. He stuffed the coins into
his trouser pocket where they were heavy against his leg.

On the street he checked his watch. He was early. He sat on the bottom step to catch his breath. His feet were swelling and
he loosened his shoelaces. He looked up and down the street, wheezing gently. There were smart boutiques, coffee shops, pleasant
green trees. He liked the neat broad roads and junctions where pedestrians used the crossings and no one dodged dangerously
between cars. People carried stylish paper shopping bags, walked with dainty footsteps. It was clean and orderly, if not beautiful.
This could be a nice city—if only the heat and humidity didn’t conspire to bring out all his ailments. If it were cooler he
would spend more time exploring, more time sketching.