Midnight and the Meaning of Love (59 page)

“So we agree then?” Chiasa asked me. “From this point on, I’m invisible. You don’t see me, don’t know me, nothing,” she pushed confidently.

“Nah, you stay with me,” I told her. “How else will I find you? How will I know if you’re alright?”

“Okay then, we can walk separately to the property. The exact point that we split up at is where we’ll agree to meet up at three o’clock today. That should give you enough time, right? And at three, the sun will still be blazing, no problem,” she pushed.

“You got it,” I told her. The sun was up solidly now. I began to move as though I were alone. Chiasa was invisible even though she was a short distance behind me on the opposite side of the road.

I was feeling funky, unwashed and uncleaned. As the sun heated up, I could feel my underarms beginning to sweat some and tingle. I looked myself over as I moved. If someone who had not seen me yesterday saw me right now, they would probably be fooled into believing I was fresh because my clothes looked crisp. The light wrinkles had fallen out with motion. Even the watermarks on my Tims were dried up. But I knew the real deal.

The call of the crows brought my head up. Three times bigger than Brooklyn birds of the same type, they were deep black, blueberry black, and their voices carried and echoed as they called out over the cornfields.

Soon the green and gold of the cornstalks ceased and I was greeted by fields of open, new green grass sprouting out of rich dark soil. The flight of a white-tailed eagle made my steps stop. The massive bird had remarkable wings. It was the way she worked them that made me pause. It was a slow pump, not a flutter, and the movements were both musical thrusts and menacing in the air. I watched her head turn down and her talons curl, and beautifully she swooped down into the field, grasping a small rabbit before taking a calm flight back into the atmosphere.
That’s what I’m doing,
I thought to myself.
I’m grabbing my girl on the first swoop and flying out into the atmosphere. Who’s gonna stop me?
I asked myself. “No one …” I spoke aloud.

Where the new grass ended there was a fence where I saw a serpent at play. He didn’t look frightening to me. His movement was effortless, like water moving in a stream over and under and between smooth rocks. I thought about Chiasa. The serpent won’t see her, I
joked to myself. She’s invisible. Besides, like she said, he didn’t want nothing to do with us. His occupation was soaking up the warmth of the sun and what was probably the heated metal of the fence. Should an eagle eye catch him in the sunlight, the serpent would become nothing but a tasty side dish.

Without warning I was walking into a pink storm. I had known the standstorms of my Sudan, and the snowstorms of New York. What surrounded and swirled around me now were pink petals as plentiful as raindrops, being carried by a west wind and blown about beautifully. It was a field of
sakura
trees, the magnificent cherry blossom that my wife loved so much. There were endless rows of them before me. I knew then that I was getting closer to her. Even if she was still three miles away, the beauty of the
sakura
oasis would easily draw her out of her bed and into the fields. I plucked some petals off my shoulders and placed them in my pocket for no known reason other than the fact that they had fallen on me.

Green and gold and then light green and then pink and now brilliant yellow and rich dark brown as a field of sunflowers came into view, lifting five thousand pretty faces facing the sun with the dark brown eye at its center. I realized I felt seduced.
Can a man actually be seduced by nature?
I asked myself. If not, why were the expansive fields of crops, trees, and flowers bringing me into a deeper love of my woman? I felt warm, my blood boiling, my pulse picking up, and love spreading and moving in my chest.

On what I hoped would be my final mile on this journey, a scent so sensational and sensual wafted through the air. Brilliant yellow fields turned purple. It was my last mile, a mile of lavender in every direction. I looked toward the skies and said,
“Alhamdulillah.”

That’s when I saw an explosion of colorfully painted kites, one of them white with purple edging and a long streamer painted in English. “Welcome, Mayonaka.”

Inside, only on the inside, I cried. My eyes followed the seemingly never-ending strings that extended from the kite’s bottom and down a mile to an area of tall grass. I turned to Chiasa, who was forty feet behind me. I pointed toward the sky.

“I see it,” she called out, excited for me. She put her palms around her lips to make her light voice carry. “I told you I have perfect vision.”

I dropped my backpack from my shoulders and went into it, pulling
out my fresh kicks. Hurriedly, I wrapped my Tims inside one of my used T-shirts and dropped them inside my backpack. I checked my pant pockets, felt the shape of my switchblade, zipped my backpack, and put it back on as Chiasa caught up.

“You see that tree over there?” she pointed to the other side of the road. I nodded. “I’m gonna mark it. That will be our meet-up spot only if you don’t see me before three o’clock today. And don’t forget, when you see me, don’t act familiar unless I do,” she said, straight-faced. “
Gambatte,
” she wished me good luck. “Oh, and hand me that, I’ll bury it,” she said, referring to my backpack. “You got your passport, wallet, keys, and everything essential on you, right?” she questioned.

“Right,” I agreed.

“Right there under that tree, the same place I’m marking for three,” she said, very self-assured.

I let go of the pack and set off in the direction of all the kites and their several colorful strings.

“Beware,” she said. “Don’t let love get you caught up in an ambush.” Her words slowed me down, reminded me that I’m not the rabbit. I’m the leopard.

“Let me get my rope,” I called Chiasa back. Pockets full, my rope wrapped around my waist loosely and hidden beneath my hoodie, my hands were free. I made my mind shift from longing lover to warm-hearted warrior.

Hidden in some tall grass before I could reach the kite strings, I spotted a parked vehicle. I crouched. The ignition was off. I pulled my gloves from my back pockets and put ’em on. I duckwalked closer up on it, but not too close. I pushed the tall grass aside to see if the car wheels were flat. What condition was the car in? Whose was it, or was it simply abandoned?

The wheels were soiled but solid. The car was polished and new, with just a light coat of dust and dew over it. The driver seat was in the reclined position and the others seats were normal. There was moisture on the back window that fogged my ability to view everything clearly. From my front pockets I removed two black bandanas and tied them both together. I duckwalked to the driver’s door. The window was lowered by two inches, suggesting that the driver was still inside and probably asleep. Why else would everything be so still
and silent and why else would he be parked so far from any residence? I checked the time. It was 6:56 a.m.

In one swift motion, I opened the door and sealed the bandana around the sleeping driver’s eyes. Before he could get his eyes fully opened or his words out right, I stuffed a white washcloth in his mouth and tied him to his seat with my rope. Squirming, he kicked his feet but could only hit them against his pedals. I walked around the other side, opened the door, and picked up the keys from underneath ten or so candy wrappers on the front passenger seat. On the floor was a walkie-talkie. I lifted it, then closed the door to stop the low hum of the “door open” buzzer. I turned the knobs to the off position and pushed the walkie-talkie into my hoodie pocket.

He was Shota, same as his photo, I thought to myself. At least two more to go, Ichiro and Makoto. I thought and plotted.

When I arrived at the kite strings, I discovered that there were no human hands holding them and waiting eagerly for me. As I squatted down to inspect, I saw that they were lodged beneath a few scattered boulders.

The grass rustled—not the sound of scattering squirrels, leaping frogs, or bouncing bunnies. It was the pound of men’s boots. Still squatting, I did a one-eighty only to see an angry-faced Japanese man spotting me at the same time that I spotted him, his hand gripped tightly round the base of a baseball bat, his clenched fingers turning maroon. Unafraid, he began barreling toward me. Purposely I didn’t move. His courage was foolish. I would come up with a kick, relieving him of his weapon, followed by a precise strike that would send his head to an uncomfortable slant and break his fucking neck. I calculated that his next step would bring him right in the target of my kick span. When he lifted his leg to take it, something sped overhead too rapidly for my eyes to detect and lodged in his left shoulder right above his heart. His self-assured grimace turned to shock. His shock turned to paralysis. He fell backward into the dirt. After the thump of his body, there was only silence. I remained squatted for more to come. Minutes passed. No more came.

My eyes surveyed and measured every blade of grass, every rock, every leaf, and every branch. There was only the pretty puma perched behind me.

Makoto

“Don’t touch him,” she said, her voice as soft and soothing as a mother reading a children’s story to a toddler. “He’s not dead. He’s asleep. He won’t move a muscle for six hours or more. Move on with your mission,” she ordered me.

Awed, I stood up slowly, a hundred percent certain that what my eyes missed, her eyes would not. I brought the walkie-talkie over to her and turned it over along with the keys. I knew that whoever was holding the other unit or units would be communicating in Japanese. She would handle that. She and I exchanged no words, only a brief stare. Her eyes were powerful and peaceful all at once. She was like a woman after the orgasm. And there was not a trace of the playful person and there was no trace of fear. I respected her.

Beyond the brief gathering of trees and tall grass where Shota had parked, and beyond the dirt where the other guy had fallen, was a field of flowers. With the light wind, I heard the jingling of tiny bells. Nestled in the field, bending over with a basket, between the orchids and the daisies, was the Nepali cheetah. I searched for any movement beside her or behind her, or in the cabins off in the distance, but I saw no one else. So I approached. When she straightened her back, she saw me. Her mouth opened wider than her eyes were then. Her diamond sparkled even from the distance. I picked up my pace. She waited.

When I reached and faced her, she gasped as though she had never seen me even once before, her eyes a mixture of both surprise and fear.

“My lord,” she said. “You almost made my heart stop.” She stood, holding her hand over her heart. “Akemi is going to be so happy.” She shifted her energy, releasing her intitial intimidation and relaxing some.

“Where is she?” I spoke my first words, which came out more urgent and less cool.

“She’s in the back of the house making another kite. Did you see—?” she began saying.

“I saw,” I interrupted.

“I wrote the English words,” she said proudly.

“Point in the direction where my wife is,” I requested. I was beyond talking and delaying.

“I can—,” she offered.

“Just point,” I told her. So she did.

“Where’s Makoto and the others?” I asked to know and to see what she knew. “Today is Sunday, so there won’t be any field workers.”

“Oh, Akemi’s grandmother, Hana-san, sent them to a hotel one town over. She said that she didn’t like their black suits. She didn’t want her son’s security people on her peaceful property. So she sent them away. They’ll come at ten this morning. But Ichiro is family. So his grandmother kept him close. He slept here last night.”

“The grandmother?” I asked. “Where is she?” I asked, but I really needed to pinpoint the location of Ichiro and any and all men. They represented threats that had to be managed swiftly.

“Grandmother and Ichiro walked uphill together to the temple.” Josna pointed. “Hana-san wanted to give thanks for finally meeting her eldest son’s daughter. Nakamura-san never allowed his mom to meet Akemi. You may not know or believe this, but she is grateful to you. Because of you, she has heard her own son’s voice after many, many years and seen her granddaughter’s face for the first time. What will you do?” Josna asked me as though I was capable of extremes.

“I’ll see Akemi before anything.”

* * *

Wearing a dress made from flowers, all flowers, she was on her knees in the grass with bare feet and her paintbrush in her hands. When she turned to look, she dropped the brush and leaped up. She ran and jumped on me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her flowers shedding onto my clothes. She kissed my dirty neck before leaping down. She took two steps backward to look into me. She put two of her fingers in her mouth and her eyes filled with tears as she wept and laughed and smiled like one of the sunflowers.

“Mayonaka,” she whispered.