The Samurai's Daughter (31 page)

As I walked around to the back of the house, I reflected that Charles wouldn't be pleased to know that I'd overseen the delivery of his
tansu
purchase. He'd understand that I'd figured out that the gift he'd received from Morita Incorporated was a form of graft. I had to let Hugh know. I glanced at my watch. Two-thirty in the afternoon here meant it was seven-thirty tomorrow morning in Japan. Everything had gone so wrong in my life, but at least I was in the perfect zone of time to call Hugh, who was probably having his morning tea in the chaotic remnants of my Yanaka apartment.

But first, I'd have to get in. As I'd expected, the kitchen door and windows were all locked. I crouched down to examine the old milk door—the one I'd used for my teenage forays. I'd been slim enough to get through when I was one hundred pounds. Now I was twelve pounds heavier, but I liked to believe that some of the weight was muscle. Maybe that would help me to pull myself through.

I pushed gently at the door's surface, and it opened inward with a creak. Suddenly, I realized what I was doing: breaking and entering. The action was a repeat of what I'd done at the Imperial Hotel, but this was my house. I was sure my parents wouldn't charge me.

I pushed my head and shoulders through and into the kitchen.
The lights were off and the shades drawn. It was warm, though, and there was a faint aroma of green tea. My father had to be home. Why hadn't he answered the door?

I hollered his name a few times, but there was no response. Maybe he had one of his headaches and was napping upstairs. I stretched bit by bit; once my shoulders had made it through the space, the rest was easy.

Inside the kitchen, I stood up, dusting off my hips and thinking that if I could make it through the door so easily, burglars could, too. I'd have to get my parents to board it up. I took a few steps into the kitchen and went straight for the wall with the old-fashioned push-button light switches. I pushed the top one, but nothing happened.

So, the lightbulb had burned out. But not the hot-water radiators, I saw when I put my hand on the old Victorian model that ran under the window. Nor the gas range. I turned on the stove and put the kettle to boil. Then I went to the front of the house, opened the door, and lugged in my two suitcases.

“Dad?” I called again. No answer.

The kettle had come to a boil, so I went back to the kitchen and made myself a cup of Darjeeling. Then I flipped open the new cell phone and dialed my apartment in Japan. But instead of getting Hugh, I got a signal that the phone wasn't working. Apparently I'd run the battery down. Its recharger was in one of my suitcases, but I felt too lazy to unpack at the moment. Not to mention that once I unpacked in my house, it would be hard to repack. Not just because there were so many things crammed in—but because I knew I didn't really want to live in an apartment with strangers. Making all those calls to various landlords had been a dose of reality. Life was better living with people you loved than with strangers. I'd be a was a fool to give up this house, which held everything I needed, from my beloved Peter Rabbit mug to my parents. Growing up didn't necessarily mean living apart. The Japanese understood this clearly.

The cell phone hadn't worked, but I was sure the house phone would come through. I picked it up and got a dial tone. Super. I called my apartment in Tokyo. At the fourth ring—just as my
answering machine was coming on—Hugh picked up.

“I've arrived,” I said.

“But you were on the ground hours ago. I checked with the airline, and I've been waiting for your call.”

“I didn't want to wake you,” I said. “Anyway, in the time that passed, I've figured out something amazing.” First, I told him about Charles being the recipient of the
tansu
bought by Morita Incorporated, and the problem with its base that I'd inadvertently revealed. I explained how Mr. Ikehata had been worried enough to telephone Charles about it, and how Charles had said it should be taken out of the house.

“I didn't mean for Mr. Ikehata to know my name,” I said. “But there was no point in trying to cover up. If Mr. Ikehata gave a physical description of me to Charles, he'd know.”

“Oh, don't worry.” Hugh's voice was tender. “I don't care if Charles knows what you've done. And as far as my day goes, I'm not showing up at the Imperial Hotel. There's no point in my pretending to go on normally if it's true that he's gone to bed with Morita Inc. I'll spend the morning placing calls to all the other principals involved in the class action. They all need to know, so we can figure out the next step.”

“Was there a crime?” I asked, voicing the fear I had. “You see, because I'm taking the staircase chest to Hopewell's, following the rejection from Charles's manservant, it's almost as if he didn't really take it.” I sighed. “I screwed you over again, without meaning to. If I hadn't been so hell-bent on examining the false bottom of the chest, the old wood would never have been a problem—and the piece would still be in Charles's house.”

“You examined the
tansu
because you thought there was going to be something significant in the bottom,” Hugh said gently. “That didn't pan out, but if it had, there would have been an even stronger argument against Charles. Still, the fact remains that he went through all the motions of soliciting and accepting an inappropriate gift. That should be enough to get him thrown off the case.”

“Before we get too deep into legal rhetoric, there's something else you need to know.” I told him about the last-minute phone
call from Eric Gan, and how Eric had been so vehement that what he'd done to Ramon had been accidental, and how he thought he knew who really killed Rosa.

“I think he didn't do it, Hugh—and not just because he's an old beau and I feel sorry for him. I think the culprit was probably Manami.”

“Manami?” Hugh laughed. “That quiet, gentle girl who barely said two words to me the whole time we were cohabiting?”

“She's a nationalist of the most severe stripe, according to her old roommates. She's also unbalanced. Apparently she went into one of the women's rooms at night with a pair of scissors. It scared them enough to evict her.”

Hugh was silent for a minute. “Do you think they're telling you the truth?”

“Of course I'm not sure, but it seems plausible. The facts fit. Manami could easily have lifted Rosa's address from the files in your bedroom right after she'd heard the story about what you planned to do. I'm thinking that she thought if she could eliminate Rosa, there would be no way for you to pursue the case—and embarrass Japan. She definitely had time on Boxing Day to do the deed—”

“But she was working,” Hugh said. “That means she had to be at the hospital—”

“At the hospital, moving about from ward to ward. I remember from my father's days on call that he carried a pager to respond to requests from staff who wanted him to see patients. He could easily talk to the staff whether or not he was in the hospital. Manami too could have kept in touch with people by using her pager, yet been away from the hospital for an hour or two.”

“Where is she now?” Hugh asked.

“I don't really know. Either Japan, or floating around somewhere in the U.S. I'm just glad she left my family.”

“I am too. And I think what you've learned is quite provocative. However, it seems the American police have pretty much hung Rosa's death on Eric—whether or not they can extradite him to press charges.”

“That's just perfect for Manami,” I said grimly. “I'm sure she's
back in Japan now, in the bosom of her family. They'll never know, and she'll never tell.”

“Don't be too pessimistic, Rei. I'll talk to my friend in the American Consulate. If I bring up your points, perhaps some kind of search for her could be made. I'm sure it would be just for an informational interview, not an arrest, as there's no cold, hard evidence against her—”

“But there's none against Eric, and look where he is!”

“What do you mean? He attacked an old man. Don't tell me you want him to be forgiven for that?” Hugh's voice was horrified.

“I feel compassion for him. Although it tears me up, knowing how he hurt Ramon.” As I spoke, I knew that a few weeks ago I would not have been capable of sympathizing with someone who'd done what Eric Gan had. But so much had changed. I had embraced a man who'd been part of the Nanking massacre. And I was the descendant of one of the evil men who'd led Emperor Hirohito to make very bad choices.

“Darling, take a break from worrying. You're home, aren't you? Do what I always do after a long trip—take a hot bath, have some hot milk, and lie down. When you wake up, your parents will be home and you can let them help you brainstorm about what to do next.”

“Will you call me after you're done working today? I want to hear what's happening with Charles.”

“No, Rei, I'm not going to call you today. I want you to have a chance to sleep. I'll call you back tomorrow morning my time. Until then, sweet dreams.”

After I hung up, I stretched, putting my head down on the table. I was so tired. So much had gone on. Hugh was right—it was time for bed.

I kicked off my shoes, then thought better of it and put them next to the front door. I dragged my suitcases to the kitchen's dumbwaiter and set the crank to send them upstairs. After that, I went upstairs myself, savoring the feel of the old Persian runner under my stocking feet.

I walked straight into my room, and caught my breath. It was neat as a pin, and made up with turned-down fresh sheets. It was
as if my mother had gotten it ready for me—I enjoyed thinking that, rather than the more likely prospect that she'd made up the room in advance for the next time she had a surplus of guests.

Since I'd soon be sleeping, I left the curtains closed and went into the bathroom to turn on the bathtub taps. The water that came out was brown at first with rust, but then it became clear. And hot. There was even a scented candle on the old marble-topped vanity.

Suddenly, I was very glad none of the apartment shares had been available. I tooled around looking for my favorite towel and one of my old Lantz nightgowns. I opened my top dresser drawer, then remembered that my home wardrobe wasn't kept in drawers, but in some boxes on the third floor.

I headed resolutely up to the third floor, then walked down its long hall, passing the various guest rooms. The room in which Hugh had slept was in as guest-ready condition as my own. The room that had so recently been Manami's had its door slightly cracked. Out of curiosity, I pushed it all the way open.

It looked the same as before. Manami had not come back for her things. Her family photographs were on the bureau and her pathology textbooks were stacked on the desk. The quilt on the bed was rumpled, and her slippers lay kicked off on the floor. There was a cup of tea on the bedside table. I walked over and looked down at it. It wasn't like my mother to have let the room stay in such condition. But then I saw condensation on the cup's ceramic surface. The cup was warm.

As I picked it up, I heard the sound of a light footstep. I whirled around.

There she was.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn't mean to snoop. I thought you didn't live here anymore—”

“You told me to come back. You said it was the honorable thing to do,” Manami said quietly. She looked younger than ever, standing straight with her hands behind the folds of a voluminous, calf-length skirt. With her simple cardigan, knee socks, and braids, she looked like the kind of old-fashioned Japanese schoolgirl who had shown up in my father's old photos.

“I did say that,” I admitted. “Tell me, Manami-san, how long have you been back living in our home?”

“Three days. I was in a youth hostel for a while. But then I spoke to you on the phone, and you encouraged me to come back. To face your parents.” Her smile was brighter than it had ever been, and I realized that it was mocking me.

“My parents—they're gone. You didn't…” I trailed off, because I was afraid to voice what I feared.

“They went out for some kind of—romantic lunch.” Manami made a face. “That is what your mother said. Can you imagine, people that age, persisting in romance?”

“I can't! Did you work at the hospital today?” I was wondering whether she'd been listening in when I was on the telephone with Hugh. All the third-floor rooms had telephones.

“I'm not working there—I lost my position while I was gone. And now I've just heard that my visa's being revoked. I will have to return to Japan. In fact, I could really use the kind of Japanese hospital position that you pretended to offer to me.”

“I'm sorry.” I clenched my fists so hard that my nails bit into my palms. Would fists be enough to defend myself, if I needed to? “I shouldn't have told your parents that, but I wanted to be in touch with you directly, so I could know you were all right.”

“You didn't honor my parents,” Manami said. “Just as you didn't honor your own forebears, despite the business about working on a family history.”

“I'm, uh, interested to hear your opinion of my family history, but I'm so thirsty. Shall we talk about it over a cup of tea downstairs?” I took two steps toward the door, but she blocked me. I smiled, again feigning friendliness. “Let's go downstairs where we can make a fresh, hot cup—”

“That's not a good idea. I want to show you something you never did justice to in your family history.”

I breathed easier for a second. “What is it?”

“Your father hangs it in his bedroom like a trivial ornament, but it's really much more meaningful.” Manami brought out what she'd been holding behind the back of her skirt: the Shimura samurai sword. She swirled the long curved blade through the air.

I stepped back, banging my calves against her Empire bed.

“At university, I was in a club where we learned how to use it.”

“Would that be the New Imperialists?” I shot a glance over my shoulder to the pair of casement windows behind me. There was a balcony underneath them. If only I could get outside. The problem was Manami would be out there with me before anyone could come to help.

“How do you know about our group?”

“I was chatting with a student there recently, who told me. So, this is really—impressive. Do you play a sport that's like fencing or kendo or something like that with samurai swords?”

“It's called
iaido
, which is the solo practice of the
aiki batto
sword exercise tradition.” She smiled. “In the old days, every woman and man of a certain class had to know how to use these weapons—not
just on others, but on themselves, should they suffer a terrible dishonor, a situation where there was no way out.”

“
Seppuku
. The ritual disemboweling.” Was she intending to do that to herself—with my help? My stomach flip-flopped.

“Yes. Like Mishima-sensei did for himself after he tried to save our country for the emperor back in 1963. It happened before I was born…but my father was there.”

I blinked. “Your father was with the writer Yukio Mishima at the takeover of the Self-Defense Force Building? When he tried to liberate the military, but was, um, interrupted and gave up?”

“Mishima-sensei didn't give up! He took himself to the next world. And my father and our family never gave up our beliefs. Not like so many families who capitulated during occupation. The Okada family always held to its ideals.”

I thought about how I could phrase things to break her. I wanted to make her lose confidence, to wilt and put down the sword. “But, Manami-san, if you, an Okada family member, commit suicide…you'd shame your family. The right thing to do is get psychiatric help. As a physician, you must understand this—”

“Help from whom? Your father, who is so anti-Japanese that he became an American citizen? No, I wouldn't take help from him.”

The house had become more quiet somehow. I heard the sound of Manami's fingers as they stroked my father's family sword. “I admit that I embarrassed myself. I did not fulfill my professional goal. But in another way, I served my nation. A lying voice is gone.”

“Ah, why don't you let me hang up my father's sword downstairs again,” I said. “Then we can have some tea in the kitchen and you can tell me the things I need to know.” It was hard to keep my voice light, when I was about to faint. I'd been in dangerous situations before, but never had I been five feet away from a sword that had probably killed dozens of people in the past—and might take another life, now. Suddenly, I hated the Shimura sword.

“I don't want tea, haven't you listened?” Manami screeched. “It seems there's no point in my telling you anything. You figured it all out. I heard you on the telephone.”

I took a deep breath. “Yes, I told Hugh some things that—that I suspected. And because Hugh knows, there's no way that you
could escape discovery if you decide to use the sword.” I couldn't bring myself to say,
if you kill me
. I was being extremely Japanese in avoiding harsh language, I realized with a brief pang.

Manami's lips wobbled. “It doesn't matter. If you die here, your parents will know I did it, too. But your father already knew. That's what you told me on the telephone.”

“What?”

“Let me repeat the words exactly, as you said them to me. You said your father always knew that I was troubled and that he was on the verge of going to the police. So that's why I came back—”

“My parents? You didn't already—” A sob broke from me.

“Not yet. But you've set things up very nicely, Rei. Your parents—who are out having lunch and shopping—will come home to see your shoes by the door, and your coat and some various other things. They'll be overjoyed that you are home and will rush upstairs to look in on you sleeping in bed. And when they're bending over you to see why you don't wake, that's when I'll finish
them
.”

“You're not well,” I said in a tight voice, having pulled myself together, now that I knew my parents were alive. Manami was insane. She had a basic antisocial streak that she'd melded to perverted nationalistic beliefs. I found myself thinking she would make a fascinating case study for a forensic pathologist. The only problem was that I didn't want to be a footnote in that study.

“Take me down to the second-floor bathroom,” I said, choosing my verbs carefully. Before, I'd suggested that we do things together. What I'd figured out was that she was hungering for control. “Please end my life honorably in my room, as you suggested. We wouldn't want to mess up the carpets and floor—that would tip them off about your actions.”

I saw some confusion in Manami's face, and the sword dropped a fraction. To me, that was the world. In that second of hesitation, I charged past her for the door.

“Stop!” Manami screamed, and I felt the sword tearing through Ultrasuede. But just as I anticipated pain racing down my back, a different one came. The bedroom door banged into my head, and then I heard another crash.

Manami collapsed with a scream like none I'd ever heard
before. And my mother was standing in her stocking feet over Manami's prone body, a heavy wallpaper sample book in her hand. From the expression on her face, she looked ready to bang Manami again.

But Manami was no longer a threat. She had fallen on the sword, and a growing dark red stain was flowing over the old hooked Pennsylvania Amish rug next to the bed.

“Call the ambulance. She's losing blood fast.”

I heard my father's voice. My gaze jumped beyond my mother to see him push past her and grab a sheet of the bed to press to Manami's middle. Of course. He was a doctor, concerned about someone who might be dying—no matter that the person had almost killed his daughter.

I picked up the telephone next to Manami's bed and dialed 911. After I'd given all the details, I rushed to my mother to throw my arms around her. “How did you know?”

“Well, to be honest, your father and I enjoyed lunch so much we decided to cancel our afternoon appointments and come back home for a little…break. We saw your shoes by the door, and the filling bathtub. We felt you were here but weren't sure where, so we came upstairs, and we heard it all.”

“You came in here like a commando instead of calling for help,” I said, coming up beside her to look down on the woman she'd felled.

“We didn't bother, because by the time we got up here we realized that to make any move or sound might give us away—and result in danger to you,” my father said. “That sword. I never would have dreamed it could be put to such terrible use.”

“But that's what swords are all about,” I said. I remembered our ancestor who'd used it to save the daimyo and lost his arm in the process. In a sense, Manami had committed a similar act. She'd used the sword to protect her fantasy of what Japan once was, and should be again.

I thought about it until the sirens wailed up to the front of the house, and then I went down to let in the paramedics.