Water Lily (6 page)

He would return and see what else they had to offer, what exactly was on the C list. Until then, he couldn’t bear to spend
another night alone in the hotel. He took a list of phone numbers from his travel wallet and dialed the last one. All this
travel, the reawakening of Apple and memories of Thailand, made him long for that heady, multicolored, coconut-flavored, anything-was-possible
atmosphere of Bangkok. He wanted to recapture it and live through that time again.

A voice answered and said something in Japanese that sounded like
washingmachine
.

“Hello. Is Terry there?”

“Yes, Terry speaking.” An English accent, at last. Ralph held the receiver against his head with both hands, felt he could
cry.

“This is Ralph Turnpike. Jed’s friend from the Happy Man. You might remember me. We met in Thailand one evening a few years
ago. I’m in Japan.”

“Oh, yes. Jed mentioned you were coming. We went for a meal in Bangkok, right? There was a group of you.”

“And to a cabaret.”

“Did we? Probably. I don’t remember too much to be honest. I think I was drunk for most of that holiday. You’re here on business?”

“Business. Yes, sort of. Just a couple of weeks. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind a drink one evening, if you’re not too busy.”

“Why not? I’m pretty tied up later this week but—”

He was being brushed off, again. Twice in one day. “Oh, never mind then. It was just a thought.”

“No, no. I was going to say, how about tonight? It’s short notice, I know. I suppose you’re doing all the formal entertainment
stuff with your company. Are they giving you much time to yourself while you’re here?”

“A bit. I don’t think I’ve got anything planned for tonight. Jed mentioned that you know the nightlife here pretty well.”

“I’ve lived here a while. You want to go to a bar tonight? We could do that.”

“I might as well get a little of the local flavor. When in Rome and all that.”

“I’ll think of somewhere and call you back.”

“If you have any other friends who might …” How to say,
please bring some pretty girls
?

“I’ll see if anyone’s around.”

“So, you live in Japan all the time? You work here?”

“That’s right. I’ll call you back.”

“Right-o then. I’ll wait by the phone.”

Ralph stretched on the bed. He wanted to go outside again, start the day from scratch as if he were just waking up, at night-fall. at
he had in Bangkok, he could find again in Tokyo.

He had lost his virginity in his early twenties, but the break that followed was almost long enough to see its restoration.
So in Bangkok Jed had helped him to arrange a refresher with a couple of prostitutes. In a darkened room, two creatures as
supple and supernatural as black cats teased, probed, and licked him to a state of joy. He had cried out in the night, as
if howling for some lost person, and afterward he’d cried into his pillow. In the morning the sun rose slowly and, feeling
as if he had penetrated the whole universe, he visited an orchid farm. He wanted to fill his head with exuberant color. There
were orchids of every hue, but now he could only remember the purple ones. Later he went into a shop and bought meters of
silk, to give to the next woman he slept with, who—he decided that day—would be his wife.

Now he liked to roll the pieces of memory together so that he met the women in beds of purple orchids, with people walking
past not watching, but knowing he was there. And the women were wrapped up in lengths of silk that he unraveled gently.

Satiated with sex and sex shows, Jed, Terry, and the others had headed south for snorkeling and Ralph said he would take a
train to Chiang Mai and join a trek. It was a good story; every-one knew he liked mountains and cooler air. Instead, he stayed
in Bangkok, visited an agency, and found Apple.

And Bangkok really was a magical place because, when he took the beautiful Apple away from it, she sort of shriveled into
nothing. All her sweetness evaporated until there was nothing left that was nice. In England she was cruel, taunting, uninteresting,
and altogether bad. It was a dreadful time. And when it ended he told people that she had left him and returned to Thailand.
They believed him and so he believed himself. It did appear to be true. There were no knocks at the door, no news re-ports
or difficult questions. No one in Thailand wrote or called to ask after her; she’d just gone. He was able to think of her,
happily back in Thailand with her family, chasing butterflies or walking under palm trees. And since nothing bad had happened
since, he was sure that Apple had forgiven him.

*     *     *

Terry was at least six feet tall, bigger than Ralph. His mouth, nose, ears, bulging eyelids were all huge. Every feature was
as solid and tense as a clenched fist. When he smiled though, he softened. His handshake was short and warm. He led Ralph
from train to train and then along a noisy crowded street. The sun had gone down but the air was still wet and hard to breathe.
There were so many people going this way and that with such speed and purpose Ralph felt he was walking through a huge factory
where the walls and roof were miles away and the noise of production never stopped. Most of the people they passed were in
their teens or twenties, out in groups for a night of fun. Not one of them glanced at the two foreign men. Ralph was a little
disappointed.

On the way to the bar they stopped at a bank so that Ralph could get some cash on his credit card. Terry pressed the buttons
on the machine and looked away as Ralph tapped in his secret number. A little blonde woman appeared on the screen, bowing
with a wide smile as the machine dispensed Ralph’s money. He blinked.

“Crikey. That’s something you don’t get at home.”

“There’s another button you can press. It makes the woman turn round the other way so you can see up her skirt.” “Is there?”
Ralph glanced at the panel of numbers.

Terry was looking at him with amusement.

“Joke.”

“Oh. Ha ha. I get it.”

How was he supposed to know what there was and what there wasn’t? On a lamp post near him was a poster with a cartoon girl
in a skimpy bikini, legs wide open, smiling enticingly. Around it were colorful stickers of half-naked women and a variety
of phone numbers. They were everywhere. Why not on the bank machine too?

As they walked, Terry talked about his day at the magazine where he worked and explained that he had interviewed a famous
shamisen
player for an article about traditional Japan.

“Traditional Japan. That’s what I’m interested in,” said Ralph. “The delicate things, the old ways of living life. We’ve lost
so much of that in England. We don’t know what our traditions are anymore.”

“Do you know much about Japanese music, then? To be honest, I really don’t, so I had to bluff my way through the questions.
Luckily the old boy went on at great length regard-less of what I said.”

“No, I don’t know much. I meant, in general. I like traditional things, especially women.” He laughed, hoping to get a response
from Terry.

“I’m interested in Japanese poetry. I’m actually a poet as well as a journalist. Let’s go in here.”

Terry seemed more intellectual, a bit more respectable than Ralph remembered him. And smug, as if Ralph was supposed to be
grateful or impressed that Terry knew everything about this place and was a poet.

They entered what looked like an office block but had a couple of small shops downstairs. Terry led Ralph to the elevator
and they went to the top floor. When they emerged, they were in a cramped hallway. There were three grey doors, scratched
and bruised, without handles and the place was silent. Ralph swallowed. There didn’t seem to be a staircase. He was afraid
and he didn’t know why.

Terry swung one of the doors open and noise blared out. Ralph was relieved to see a bright and vibrant bar. He followed Terry
inside. It seemed strange to have a bar so high up without windows. The room was spacious, though, with wooden tables, and
an empty stage. Terry chose a table in the center with customers and waiters bustling past. Ralph would have picked a seat
in the corner; now he felt exposed.

It was an ordinary bar, not a strip club, not anything Ralph had hoped for. Just a bar with people—mostly Japanese men in
suits—drinking spirits and talking. Ralph had not remembered this friend-of-a-friend quite correctly. He’d imagined Terry
leading a life in Tokyo as wild as his holiday in Thailand, but here he was talking about traditional musical instruments
and being a poet. Ralph didn’t want to admit now that he wasn’t here on business at all, wasn’t with any company. He would
have liked to tell Terry about his shop in England but then it would be hard to explain why he was in Tokyo. Was it realistic
that he would have come all the way to Japan to buy a few paints, some hand-made paper? He couldn’t tell Terry about the agency.
He’d laugh.

Terry ordered drinks in Japanese. He seemed comfortable, chatting to the staff, flirting with the girl who cleared their table.
Ralph tried not to be jealous. He would have his turn soon enough.

“So, are you interested in poetry?” Terry put his hand into his shirt pocket and produced a small notebook.

“I suppose I’m more of a visual arts person. Sketching. I don’t know much about poetry—”

“Tell me what you think of this one.” He looked at the paper, furrowed his brow, and pursed his lips before saying, “Sliced
pink flesh glistens in dark seaweed envelopes, rotating sushi.”

The words came out all pushed together. It took Ralph a moment to separate them and work out what he had heard. Terry looked
eagerly for a response.

“Be honest.”

“Is that the title? It’s a bit long. I would just call it, `Sushi,’ not that I’ve eaten any myself since—”

“No, that’s the poem. It’s a haiku. It only has seventeen syllables you see. But it’s supposed to have a word in it that indicates
season and I couldn’t see how to put one in. I don’t think I’ve quite got it right yet. It probably doesn’t matter. At this
stage, it’s the idea that’s important.”

“I see.”

“But food is my theme at the moment. The thing is, I’m working on a collection of food haiku. I’m trying to do one about Big
Macs to contrast with the sushi. I might bring the teriyaki burger into that one as a suggestion of East meeting West. That’s
got six syllables so I only need to add a or the and it would make up the middle line all by itself.”

“It sounds interesting.” Ralph stared into his drink. He had nothing to add to a conversation about counting syllables.

“I hope you don’t mind my trying this out on you. My girl-friend speaks pretty good English but she doesn’t get all the subtleties
of poetry. If I read any to her, she just says out of politeness that she likes it. When I talk about getting my haiku published,
she says she doesn’t think they’re quite Japanese, but of course they’re not supposed to be. I’m writing in English.”

“Is she oriental?” Ralph got a hard-on at the thought of Terry’s girlfriend. He wanted to hear Terry talk about the relationship
so that he could imagine it.

“Pardon? Oh, my girlfriend. Well, yes. She’s Japanese.”

“How did you meet her?”

“I used to teach an English literature class in the evening, part time. She was one of my students.”

“Really? I bet you taught her a thing or two. So was it easy, I mean, getting a date with her?”

“I suppose so. It was just two people getting together, you know.” Terry shrugged.

Ralph didn’t know. He fiddled with the end of his new tie. He heard his stepfather’s voice,
if you want to know then you’d better bloody ask
.

“Did you know from the beginning, then? I mean, that she was right for you. Could you tell that she liked you?”

“We hit it off in class.” Terry smiled. It was almost a smirk. “I thought she was cute so I asked her out.”

“Did you? You just asked her out after class? Lucky bastard, being a teacher here. You must be fighting them off every day.
What’s she like?”

Terry looked blank. “Hard to put a whole person into a few words. One day I’ll write a haiku about her and send it to you.”
He frowned again, as he had before reciting his haiku. “I will crystallize her into seventeen syllables and her season will
be spring because she was born in March. Yes, that’s good.” He paused for a moment as if trying to start composing it now,
then thought better of it. “So what did you say your business was?”

“It’s a small business. Does your girlfriend work?”

“Yes. She works for a travel agency. She’s been there a few years.”

“How nice. Does she … ? Is it … ?” but he couldn’t think of another question. He wanted to know how they looked together,
what they talked about, how often they had sex, and what she was like in bed. But what could he ask that would elicit such
confidences?

Terry was beginning to look at Ralph closely and Ralph wondered if he had asked too much already. The lights in the bar dimmed
and there was gentle applause. The stage lit up. Terry glanced around.

“There are dancers tonight. I’d forgotten which day it was. Looks like you’re in luck.”

Ralph’s spirits rose. This was more like it. Now he could relax and settle into the evening, knowing the whole day had not
been wasted.

“Good. It’ll be like being back in Bangkok.”

Terry’s mobile phone rang and he went into a corner to have a conversation with a finger in one ear. The phone was pale blue,
glittery—a girl’s phone—and tiny in Terry’s bulky hand.

Ralph sipped scotch and shut his eyes to concentrate on the burn in his throat. He imagined the girl in the powder-blue uniform,
dancing for him. She was so fresh and groomed. Was she capable even of taking off her uniform? She wouldn’t be nearly as sweet
in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. But what would her underwear be? He imagined some bright butterfly color, soft and clean,
just covering enough of her flesh for him to want to push his fingers under the lacy edges and peel it all away. When he opened
his eyes, four dancers had appeared in a far comer, pulling at sequined dresses. The music from the speakers changed and they
began to dance, wiggling their hips a lot but with no rhythm. Every now and again they noticed the customers and remembered
to smile but if you looked at their faces and ignored their bodies, you would think they were standing in a line for the bus.