Midnight and the Meaning of Love (54 page)

I led her around the outside of the strangely shaped studio simply to check the perimeter. She kept pace, walking two steps behind me. I could hear each of her steps as the rocks beneath our soles let off a muffled crunchy sound. The left side door was locked. I checked it with my gloved hands.

Around the triangular tip, Chiasa paused at the stained-glass windows. When I turned around to check her, she was trying to see inside. But I already knew that all she would see was an array of darkened colors. At the right side door there was only grass, not rocks like on the driveway. It would not open either. Chiasa stepped up to stand directly beside me.

“There’s no one out here,” she said. “We’ll go in the front door.” She seemed so sure that it would go down just like that. Facing the front door, Chiasa placed her gloved fingers in the slot below the keyhole and slid the heavy door open. I checked my watch. It was 8:00 p.m.

Inside of the igloo cave of Josna’s art palace, we stood still in the dark with only the glow of the lime light above our heads. Within a quarter of a second, Chiasa placed both of her hands on my sides and pulled me tight toward her body. When my back was pressed against her front, I turned my head to see what and why. She dropped down and pulled at my shirt, signaling that she wanted me to duck also. I ducked.

“There’s at least three other people in here with us checking out the same spot. Do you see them?” she asked, her lips pressed against my ear with only her
zukin
separating our skin from touching. I stood up, my smile coming across naturally. I used my left hand to ease up the light dimmer and extended my right hand to her.

“Get up,” I told her. She stood. The lights in the studio were on now.

“So fucking cool …,” she said. Her eyes were rapidly scanning the sculptures, which had been moved from their original positions where I saw them this afternoon and placed closer to the igloo cave entrance. “Can I look?” she asked.

“Ten minutes and we’re out,” I told her. I wasn’t too worried about being inside Josna’s place. She had invited me. It wasn’t the same as breaking in, I told myself. Besides, I knew there would be something in here that would reveal the truth about what was going on, since she obviously could not tell me over the telephone.

“There’s nobody here. What exactly are we looking for?” Chiasa asked, still standing stiff.

“Clues, anything she might have left or hidden here for me as she was rushed out. She probably left it somewhere that Nakamura’s men would not notice. You take the left side. I’ll take the right side. Check the drawers and behind and beneath things. What we really need most is an address to where they have been taken.”

“Taken …,” Chiasa repeated softly.

“Yeah, by some of those people who stick their hand in a situation and try to change the fate of others, like you said,” I told her.

Chiasa began moving around with the lightness, precision, and balance of a ballerina. In front of the shapely female sculpture, I saw her strike a playful pose, making her hands, fingers, body, and feet mimic the position and posture of the statue.

“Whatever happened in here, she knows,” Chiasa joked, referring to the statue. I knew she was trying to help me to lighten up. Real ninjas know that it is this lightness that makes for a more accurate and successful outcome. Being tight and heavy is a distraction to that deadly focus that is needed to execute and complete the mission.

“These are the same as the drawings in her diary. I mean, they were drawn by the same hand. I recognize the strokes,” Chiasa said, as she was paused before the drawings of Akemi’s teenaged mom. I didn’t respond. I was lifting vases and clay figures, searching for a note.

“Oh, she sure does force you to feel some kind of way, doesn’t she?” Chiasa said. “I mean, if you’re alive and you see something that this girl draws, or read something that she says or describes, it’s impossible not to feel something strong on the inside, right?” Chiasa asked. “That’s a really unusual talent, especially here in Japan. We are used to seeing beautiful, orderly, and detailed things, but not so much used to feelings—”

“Move on, Chiasa. Keep looking. Don’t get stuck there,” I said solemnly.

“I’m gonna go up these stairs,” Chiasa said trying to look all the way up into the rectangle.

“Check it out,” I agreed.

As I pushed my hands down below the seats of Josna’s small couch and searched inside and beneath the cushions, I heard the sound of the rocks in the driveway being crushed under the weight of wheels.

Swiftly, I dashed to the igloo and lowered the dimmer. Now the studio was pitch black except for a glare of light that Chiasa must have switched on upstairs.

“Don’t move,” I called up to Chiasa, as I carefully walked all the way to the rear of the house and slipped behind the velvet curtain and waited.

The headlights of the vehicle that I could not see briefly lit up some parts of the stained-glass windows. When both the ignition and headlights went off, I could not see anything in the darkened bedroom.
I could hear feet moving on the rocks in the driveway. I counted at least two people approaching, maybe three. I couldn’t think of any reason that Nakamura’s men would return here. And I hoped that no matter what happened here tonight, Chiasa would be safe. I regretted involving her in a situation that could get her knocked.
I should have made her wait outside while I searched the studio
was the thought that now screamed like a siren in my head. That’s why I needed to work alone, I defended myself in my thoughts. And why bother working with a woman? Even if she was a comrade, it was impossible for a man not to think of defending a woman first before everything else!

The lime light switched on in the triangular tip where I stood. I knew this meant someone was entering the front door. I waited.

“Dare ka imasuka?”
a male voice said. This wasn’t the regular greeting that Japanese people seemed to announce when entering a home. Then there were two male voices speaking to one another in Japanese.

I eased my penlight out of my pocket. I pointed it at the bed. It beamed through the net and up and down and across the satin sheets, searching. The bed was still made up neatly. I beamed on the clothing closet. The doors were still opened halfway. I shined it onto the closet floor, searching. I beamed on the door to what Josna had called “the water closet.” I could not see inside and did not want to risk moving and creating a sound alarm for whoever was out there in the living room. Yet they were chattering a lot. I heard the ruffling of the thick plastic that was wrapped around a few of the incompleted sculptures. Next I heard things being moved around.

Then suddenly I heard tapping, a light tap coming from the stained-glass window. Frozen in place, I looked through the darkened colors of the glass. I could not see the outline of any human body. Yet I could still hear the light tapping. I knew also that whoever or whatever was creating that sound could also not see inside and discover me either.

The lime traffic light switched on again, meaning the front door had been opened from its previously closed position. I waited.

Seconds later, I heard more Japanese talk outside the stained-glass windows. I also heard the rocks grinding beneath boots. I couldn’t hear any more sounds coming from the other side of the velvet curtain. Still I waited, just in case.

The men reentered the studio. The lime light and their constant
soft, polite speech made their presence obvious. The plastic ruffled some more. I heard something ripping, and the screeching sound of tape being stripped off its roll. Their speech grew a bit louder and just as constant.

Next I heard the front door close. I waited.

The ignition of what sounded more like a truck than a car started up. I stepped away from the stained glass just in case. After all, their headlights were on now and shining brightly as they began to move out, reverse, and angle their vehicle. The rocks crushed under the grind of their wheels.

After five minutes of standing like one of Josna’s sculptures, I pulled the velvet curtain back by just a couple of inches and peered out. The lights were off now and the studio was completely darkened. I watched and watched. Nothing was moving.

The lime light lit. I dropped the curtain closed and stood motionless. I switched even my penlight off. I heard movement but nothing like before and no chatter at all. The velvet curtain was yanked open and Chiasa stood facing me, frozen. She smiled.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she sang softly, teasing. “It’s clear.” I switched on the light, not thinking about nothing except being happy that she was safe and getting out of there before another uninvited guest showed up to Josna’s “par-tee.”

“What is that behind you?” Chiasa asked, but I didn’t turn around, believing that she was trying to fake me out and continue her simulated hide-and-seek game. When her face stayed straight and her eyebrows rose, I went for it and turned.

“Oh, that guy with the four arms. Josna calls him Lord Shiva, the god of destruction,” I said matter-of-factly and unimpressed. But then I looked again. Shiva had a flame in one hand, nothing in two of his other hands, and a rolled-up scroll in his fourth hand that wasn’t there this afternoon when Josna and I were together in the triangular tip. I had not noticed it when the lights were out. I pulled it from the palm of the statue. As I unrolled it, Chiasa stood beside me like a Siamese twin. We were both staring down at the wrinkled paper.

I am sorry that I could not speak properly to you over the phone. Even now I am scribbling in the water closet. I worry that I will lose
the trust of Mr. Nakamura if I make even one simple mistake. At the time of your call, his men were here watching me carefully. Mr. Nakamura sent them to get me, to my great shock, in the form of an order, not a request. “You are the only one who can console her,” he said to me over the telephone, as the enforcers watched me receive my orders.

Akemi has been sent far away to her grandmother’s house in the Hidaka Mountains in Hokkaido. She was sent straightaway from her doctor’s visit, also without warning. So this is all very sudden and strange. We have never been to visit her grandmother’s house before. I hear that it is out in the wilderness. She has no electricity, only solar power, no telephone or phone service.

Akemi phoned me finally from the airport. She was in quite a panic, but our call was cut short. She complained that she was not allowed to go home and collect her belongings and is very distraught about not having her mother’s ashes, which are in a gold urn in her wing of their estate.

I don’t know how far you are willing to go for her. She is gambling it all. If you choose to go back to NY when you receive this message, I promise I will make her understand and we will find a way for her to join you soon in New York. Akemi would kill me for suggesting that, but I have to be realistic. She is quite a romantic and a dreamer.

Should you choose to come to Hokkaido, we will be there for at least the next ten days of Mr. Nakamura’s Asian tour, which is not so great for me. I don’t know if the security men will remain there in Hokkaido with us or not. I guess it depends on how seriously Mr. Nakamura takes your efforts to meet with your wife. As you can see up to now, like Akemi said, her father is extremely determined to keep you apart.

I have left the keys and security codes in a container in the freezer upstairs in the kitchen. It will allow you into my cottage on the Nakamura estate. You can access Akemi’s wing through the back door of my cottage. From midnight to 4:00 a.m. no one will be there. If you go earlier than those times, or even ten minutes later, you will be discovered. If you want to take the risk, please bring the gold urn. For some reason Akemi is worried about this urn, but not her own schooling or clothes or shoes or books or art supplies even.

I pray that Lord Shiva protects you, my Muslim brother. And if this all falls apart, please promise me that you will never reveal my role in helping you.

Love,
Josna

I was fired up, but even my fury was played out and useless. I was still in the battle, but Nakamura was making all the moves and hits. He wasn’t bogged down dealing with the girlfriends of Akemi. He was moving the pieces to make all my thoughts and actions obsolete. His daughter Akemi had become his queen in this chess game. He had protected her well enough that she was still in his possession. I had hit him up a few times but nothing worth mentioning at this point. Certainly I had nothing to be proud of.

“Hokkaido, Hidaka Mountains, what do you know about these places?” I asked Chiasa.

“I am so psyched!” she whispered with excited softness. “Let’s do it. We can do it!”

She followed me up the stairs to get the keys and codes from the second floor of Josna’s studio, where I had never been, the same area where Chiasa had hidden when the men had arrived moments ago. It was an incredible, colorful ceramic-tiled kitchen with a serious ventilation system. Two pots and two pans dangled from the ceiling by the stove. There was a round, glass table with two heavy glass chairs. When I looked at it closely, I saw that the entire set was made of colorful marbles. They were buried in every centimeter of the tabletop and even in the legs and seat and back of the matching chairs.

Her kitchen was spotlessly clean, which led me to believe that Josna wasn’t a cook. It was easy to leap to this conclusion because she had grown up in Japan. In a Sudanese or Indian or even Nepali kitchen, where similar spicies are blended and cooked and served, the aroma never leaves, even after careful cleaning. Chiasa pulled open a cabinet and it was stuffed with ramen and other quick-fix junk that I had seen the Japanese throw into their bodies while standing alone or sitting alone inside any one of their numerous convenience stores. They bought and sold and consumed it voraciously like it was delicious and natural and nutritious food.