A Dictionary of Mutual Understanding

Praise for
A Dictionary of Mutual Understanding

“I loved this book. I don't often say that much anymore, but this one had me rapt. I read it on an airplane, and when I looked up weeping from the last several pages, my husband, alarmed, said, ‘What's the matter?' And I said, ‘This book is so beautiful.' And it is. This is a mesmerizing, heart-wrenching story of love and regret, but ultimately, and most assuredly, the healing generosity of hope; I couldn't put it down. Lovely . . . An exceptional tale of a family in crisis whose lives are shattered by the bombing of Nagasaki. At once intimate and sweeping, profoundly subtle and yet remarkably affecting, the story reminds the reader that public catastrophe interrupts myriad smaller, but no less devastating, private troubles, magnifying their consequences and obstructing their resolution.”

—Robin Oliveira,
New York Times
bestselling author of
My Name Is Mary Sutter

“Extraordinary . . . Like
Snow Falling on Cedars
and
The Reader
, here is one of those rare life opportunities to look again at ourselves, and forgive our shameful past, achieved with striking style, an unflinching eye, and through a clever narrative. Brava Jackie Copleton. I cannot wait to read your next novel.”

—Mary-Rose MacColl, author of
In Falling Snow

“Iōjima, Nagasaki—names of places known from war. Jackie Copleton's debut novel delivers an impassioned story of family, loyalty, and love that allows us, as she writes, ‘to appreciate the human foundations' of these historic locations. It is through such intimate stories of people who have lived through war do
we begin to understand the vulnerability of survival and the real meaning of peace. Following the surprising turns revealed in one woman's remembrances—a memory made selective by loss and frailty—this story took me on an unexpected journey through Japan in a rarely examined era, and I closed its cover satisfied to learn it had led me to an elevated mutual understanding of our difficult global history.”

—Eugenia Kim, author of
The Calligrapher's Daughter

“A fully drawn portrait of a city and a life, this novel will hold appeal for history buffs, lovers of literary fiction, and readers of high-drama romance.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

“Astonishingly accomplished . . . A gripping love story and family dynamic is woven seamlessly with graphic descriptions of the aftermath of the bomb and the historical and cultural changes sweeping Japan. . . . While this is an often heartbreaking portrait of a mother's love told through diaries, letters, and flashbacks, it is also a meticulously researched history of Japan. The graceful style and clarity of [Copleton's] writing makes this an addictive read. With the seventieth anniversaries of Hiroshima and Nagasaki approaching, this novel is a must.”

—
Scottish Daily Mail
(UK)

“Full of delicate imagery drawing on Japanese nature and culture, this is a rich, romantic story, brimming with restrained emotion—with a twist that will take your breath away. Superb.”

—
Daily Mirror
(UK)

PENGUIN
BOOKS

A DICTIONARY OF MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING

Jackie Copleton graduated from Cambridge University with a degree in English before she moved to Japan to teach in English language schools in Nagasaki and Sapporo. She has worked as a journalist in the UK and the Middle East and holds an MLitt (Distinction) in creative writing from Glasgow University, where she was the joint winner of the 2011 Curtis Brown prize for best fiction writing. She lives in Glasgow, Scotland, with her husband, though they hope to one day live by the sea.
A Dictionary of Mutual Understanding
is her debut novel.

PENGUIN BOOKS

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

375 Hudson Street

New York, New York 10014

penguin.com

First published in Great Britain by Hutchinson, a division of The Random House Group Ltd 2015

Published in Penguin Books 2015

Copyright © 2015 by Jackie Copleton

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Published by arrangement with Hutchinson. Hutchinson is one of the Penguin Random House group companies.

LIBRARY
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CATALOGING
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PUBLICATION
DATA

Copleton, Jackie.

A dictionary of mutual understanding / Jackie Copleton.

pages cm

ISBN 978-0-698-40732-9

1. Families—Japan—Fiction. 2. Hiroshima-shi (Japan)—History—Bombardment, 1945—Fiction. I. Title.

PR6103.O694D53 2015

823'.92—dc23

2015006931

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design: Julianna Lee

Cover images: (geisha) Chowol Park; (man) Ilona Wellman/Trevillion Images; (bridge) David Et Myrtille/Trevillion Images

To Robert Brooks and William
Copleton

I was very thirsty, so I was looking for some water.

I found some oil on the surface of the water.

I really wanted something to drink.

After all, I drank that water.

– Nine-year-old girl injured during the A-bomb attack on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945

The voice of the waves

That rise before me

Is not so loud

As my weeping,

That I am left behind.

– Thousand-year-old Japanese
poem

Yasegaman: The combination of yaseru (to become skinny) and gaman-suru (to endure) literally means to endure until one becomes emaciated, or endurance for the sake of pride. Anthropologist Ruth Benedict once said that Japanese culture is based on shame while American culture is based on a sense of sin or guilt. In a shame-oriented society, for persons to lose face is to have their ego
destroyed. For example, in olden days, samurai warriors were proud
people. When they were too poor to eat, they held a toothpickin their mouth to pretend they had just eaten a meal.

Even the kindness of the half-light could not hide his disfigurement. The man stood on my doorstep hunched against the chill of a winter morning. Despite the scarring, I could tell he was Japanese, in his forties or fifties. I had seen such burns before, blacker versions, in another life. He wore a suit, no coat, and held a briefcase in fingers fused together. He bowed his bald head low, cleared his throat and apologised for the intrusion. Years had passed since I last heard it but the southern Kyushu dialect was unmistakable. He asked if my name was Amaterasu Takahashi and, despite my apprehension, I nodded. The muscles in his face twitched, perhaps in a smile. ‘Then I bring you good news.'

Few visitors came to my door except for passing men with their preacher pamphlets or health insurance policies.
I had use for neither. The stranger before me looked like no salesman, despite the briefcase, which he placed by his feet. He glanced at the ground, breathed in as if drawing up courage. The silver sun broke through the clouds and I saw the full force of his injuries. His expression was impossible to read, lost among the ruined flesh, but he sounded happy. ‘I have long dreamt of this day. It really is extraordinary when you think of it.' He seemed almost to laugh. ‘Miraculous, even . . . but also a shock.' He bowed once more, and then stood tall, arms stiff by his side. ‘Please don't be alarmed. My name is Hideo Watanabe.'

Who knows how long I stood there before I realised he was asking me whether I needed to sit down. I looked again at what passed for his face. Hideo is seven years old, dressed in his school uniform, his hair brushed forward on his forehead. He holds my hand as we walk down the garden path. We spot a praying mantis on the bird table. He asks if he can keep the insect as a pet. I tell him no. We walk to school and he waves to me from the gates. That is Hideo Watanabe. That was how I chose to remember him. The man standing in front of me was an aberration. I had mourned Hideo for too many years to believe him resurrected.

‘Hideo is dead. You can't be him. I'm sorry.'

‘This must be hard to take in. You might need some time.'

‘Please leave. I want you to go.'

The man nodded, put his hand in his suit pocket and pulled out a business card. He said he was staying at the Penn's View Hotel. His flight home was in a few days.
He offered me the card but I did not take it. He reached again into his pocket and this time produced a letter, crumpled by age or the journey undertaken. ‘This will help explain why I'm here today, why it's taken me so long to find you.' I did not move and the envelope and card trembled in his grip. ‘Please, you will find the contents difficult, but helpful.'

Seconds passed before I took both from him. I looked at my name printed on the top left corner of the letter. He picked up his briefcase and as he moved to go I asked, ‘If you are Hideo Watanabe, you will know what we saw in the garden that last morning?'

His words when they came were as delicate as a spider's web caught by a summer breeze. ‘I ask that you read the letter. That will get us started. It is good to see you, Grandmother. It really is.'

He raised that claw hand in farewell and began to walk away. I confess, when he spoke, I recognised some echo from the past. For one moment I imagined my daughter, Yuko, was talking to me in that careful staccato beat of hers, but I did not call him back to my door.