(2005) In the Miso Soup (10 page)

“Yes, I am,” I said. “Gaijin don’t think of New Year’s the way we do, as you know.”

“And that’s all to their credit if you ask me. Hey—did the police contact you?”

My heart stopped for a second. It turned out not to be about Frank, though.

“Did something happen?”

“You knew I had a homepage, right? On the internet?”

“Of course. You’re always bragging about having designed it yourself.”

“I am? Well, anyway, the police sent me a warning.”

“A warning? What for?”

“I had a few pictures on there. Nothing hardcore, but nudes, of course. After all, it’s a magazine for foreigners about the Japanese sex industry. But the police advised me to ‘practice self-restraint.’ In other words, clean it up or expect some heat. Hey, you could see some pubic hair, it’s true, but every magazine you pick up these days shows at least that much, so it’s obvious they
just want to make an example of me. I was afraid since your ad’s in there they might have contacted you too.”

“They haven’t.”

“Good. If they do call you, just say you don’t know anything.”

“I will. By the way,” I said, “you didn’t get any calls from a client of mine, did you?”

Even if Frank had called, I was pretty sure Yokoyama-san wouldn’t have given him my address.

“Oh yeah, I did,” he said.

My heart started thumping. I was using my mobile, standing beneath the sign of a cake shop near Meguro Station with my back to the wind. Jun was holding my hand and watching a live demonstration in the shop window of how to decorate a cake Japanese New Year–style. Every now and then she shot me a worried look.

“You did? Who was it?”

“What did he say his name was again? John, James, one of those names you hear all the time. He wanted your bank account number. I didn’t give it to him, of course, but . . . It was a pretty strange call, now that you mention it.”

“Strange? In what way? Was he calling from here in Tokyo?”

“That’s the thing, he said he was calling from . . . where was it, Missouri? Kansas, maybe. Anyway, somewhere in America. He calls me last night in the middle of the night. Closer to dawn, really. Pretty inconsiderate of the guy, I thought, or just plain ignorant. I’m sure he said one of those Midwestern states, so do the math—over there it’s December 29, Sunday afternoon. Who’s going to call from America on Sunday afternoon to ask me for your account number? Strange, right? Over there they all go to church on Sunday, don’t they? Or to the movies or whatever, but who’d make an international call to say I forgot to pay my guide, give me his bank account number? If it was the other way around I’d understand, if he was saying you owed
him
money, I could see that—but to tell me he wants to pay
you
? Besides, you’re the one
he should be calling, right? So I asked him, I said, ‘Did you call Kenji?’”

“And?”

“He said you didn’t answer. Any idea who it was?”

“Well, for starters, I always insist on cash or traveler’s checks. I’m not about to trust people to wire me my fee from overseas.”

“Of course not. Ask any hustler her golden rule—it’s got to be cash on the—Wait, that didn’t sound right. I’m not saying you’re—”

“What was he like? His voice and everything.”

“His voice. Well, the first thing that seemed odd to me was that he sounded so close. I know the international lines are pretty good these days, but still, there was no static or delay or anything. . . . His voice? I don’t really remember. It was the type you don’t remember, a voice you might hear anywhere, not husky or deep or high-pitched or anything. Pretty average way of speaking too. Not the most beautiful English but polite enough. That’s about all I can tell you. Is there a problem?”

“Not really.” I knew better than to think I could explain.

“The last thing he said was really strange, something about magic.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard this right.

“Sorry?”

“I think he realized I was getting suspicious. This was the middle of the night, after all. I mean, look, I’m a man who likes foreigners. Normally I’d bend over backward to help, but to have this guy wake me up before dawn and mutter this crazy stuff in my ear, I mean, come on. I may have been a little gruff when I said did you call Kenji, but then he starts telling me what a great guy you were and what a wonderful job you did, and how well he and you got along and how you hung out together like friends, and I just thought, this is getting weirder and weirder. I mean, would an American telephone somebody he’s never met from his living room or whatever in Kansas or Missouri on Sunday afternoon to say that the tour guide who introduced him to women at sex clubs in Tokyo was a great guy? Normally, I mean.”

I had a vision of Frank, his scrap of human flesh at the ready, calling
Yokoyama-san from his hotel room before dawn and saying: Kenji was a wonderful fellow, please tell me his bank account number. That was exactly the sort of bizarre behavior he was made for. As opposed to, say, giving himself a Mohawk, painting his body, and running naked through the streets.

“How do you know it was Frank?” Jun asked me. We were sitting at a table in the little “Café Corner” of the cake shop. After talking to Yokoyama-san I’d been standing there on the sidewalk stunned till she grabbed my arm and dragged me inside, saying I was pale as a ghost, let’s get some hot coffee. We both had cappuccinos, which were supposed to be special in this place, but I couldn’t taste mine. It was as if I had some sort of film covering my tongue and gums and throat. My heart was pounding and my mind was confused. I told her what Yokoyama-san had said.

“Of course, there’s no proof it was Frank,” I added unconvincingly.

“You think he stuck that thing on your door, too, don’t you?”

Sort of, I said. I hadn’t told her what I thought the “thing” was. Jun was too important to me. I didn’t want to share with her something as insane and intense and evil as what I was imagining. I wanted to handle it on my own, if possible. Spilling my guts to her about this would do nothing to brighten her life, that was for sure. But I should have known there was no way to hide anything from a sixteen-year-old girl. Sixteen-year-old girls are probably the most sensitive and perceptive group of people in this entire country.

“That thing was funny,” Jun said in an oddly childlike tone of voice. Like a nursery school kid seeing a corpse on the steps and telling her teacher: There’s a man sleeping outside!

“It looked like papyrus, didn’t it?” she said.

“Ah. ‘The fruit that tastes like first love,’ as they say in the ads?”

“Kenji.”

“What?”

“Normally I like your little puns, but now’s not the time.”

I hadn’t meant it as a joke. I’d honestly mistaken “papyrus” for “papaya.” I’m not proud to admit it, but that’s how out of it I was.

“Did it have blood on it or something, that thing? It was all dark and nasty-looking. Was that blood?”

“I think so,” I confessed, throwing in the sponge. I didn’t have the energy left to lie. “I think it was a piece of someone’s skin.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“As a warning. Warning me not to talk to the police or whatever.”

My mobile rang in my jacket pocket. Dark forebodings always come true. It was Frank.

“Hi, Kenji!” in this super-cheerful voice. “How you feeling?”

He seemed to be at a pay phone, and it sounded like the words were coming not out of his mouth but straight through his skull from his brain. On our table was a little clipboard with a sign:
Please refrain from using your mobile phone in the Café Corner
. Jun pointed at it and gestured that I should go outside, but a cute young waitress who’d been rearranging cakes in the window said it was all right, since there weren’t any other customers right now. Jun thanked her. This little cake shop was a favorite of Jun’s, and apparently she and the waitress had struck up an acquaintance. It was unnerving to hear Frank talk as I watched Jun and the waitress interacting. His voice had the power to transform an everyday little scene like this into something else entirely. I felt like I was being sucked through the gap between what Frank’s voice symbolized and what Jun and the waitress symbolized, down into the belly of some monster.

“I’m fine,” I told him, struggling to keep my voice calm. Don’t let on, I told myself. Act like you know nothing. Let him think you’re just some dimwitted nightlife guide.

“Good! So I’ll see you tonight?”

“Nine o’clock?” I said.

“More fun—I can’t wait! Last night was fantastic!”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, and by the way, I changed hotels.”

My pulse was racing again, and my throat was bone dry.

“Oh? Which hotel?”

“One of those highrise places by the new government buildings. The Hilton.”

“And your room number?”

“I wanted to switch to a nicer hotel since I’m only going to be here two more nights, but it was hard to find a room, what with New Year’s and all. They tell me that in Japan New Year’s Day is like our Christmas.”

He didn’t give me a room number. I doubted he was staying at the Hilton. What he was really telling me was that I couldn’t find him even if I tried.

“How’s your girlfriend?”

I wondered if he was watching us right now, and scanned the street outside the window.

“Oh, she’s fine. I’m surprised you remember I’ve got one.”

“I was afraid she might be mad because I kept you out later than planned last night. She wasn’t, was she? Girls—you know how selfish they can be.”

Was he watching us right now? Did he know I was with Jun?

“She wasn’t mad. Actually I’m with her now. Everything is fine.”

“You’re on a date? Oh, heck, I’m sorry to bother you!”

“No, it’s all right, I’m glad you called. You didn’t look well when I left you last night. I was worried.”

“I’m okay now, and I’m really sorry for all the trouble I caused you. Today it feels like my brain is regenerating like crazy. I can tell a whole lot of new brain cells are being produced, and I can’t wait till tonight, tonight I want to have sex for sure!”

“Frank, could you tell me your room number at the Hilton? In case there’s an emergency and I need to get in touch with you?”

“What do you mean, emergency? Like what?”

“I don’t know, nothing major, but if there’s a mix-up on where to meet or if something happens and I’m going to be late, wouldn’t it be better if I had your—”

“Oh. Right. Well, actually I haven’t checked in yet. I made a reservation and left my luggage there, but the room’s not ready.”

“Will you call me again when you know the number, then?”

“Of course. Oh but wait, I’ll probably be out all day and might not have a chance to call. And if I’m out you wouldn’t be able to get me anyway.”

“Do you mind if I ask the front desk?”

“Um, I’m afraid that’s no good, I’m staying under a different name—I mean, not Frank. You know how it is. I plan to have some fun the next couple of nights—naughty fun, if you know what I mean—so I didn’t want to use my real name. But as for where to meet tonight, how about out in front of the batting center?”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“Out in front of the batting center we went to last night. The batting cages were on the second floor, right? Not there but at street level, remember the game center? Right around there. I liked that place.”

“Frank, I’ve never arranged to meet anybody in a spot like that before. I prefer to go to the client’s hotel. Why don’t we meet in the lobby of the Hilton?”

“Well, I was there earlier, and it’s not really my kind of place. I don’t feel at ease there. What can I say? It’s so crowded and noisy and kind of snobbish, don’t you think? I don’t like it there so much. I’m a country boy originally, you know, and I just can’t relax in a place like that.”

So why did he change hotels? A minute ago he’d told me he wanted to move to a nicer place because he only had two nights left.

“Frank, I’m coming down with a bit of a cold. I don’t want to be outside any more than I have to. Can’t we meet somewhere inside a building? Besides—” I was going to add that a lot of dangerous characters hang out in that area, but he interrupted me.

“All right, of course, you’re right, it’s stupid to meet outside, what the hell was I thinking? I’m sorry, Kenji, but, you know, I really had fun yesterday. I had a little episode at the end there, but I’ll never forget how nice you were to me. That batting center will always be one of my best memories, I just want you to know that. But never mind, let’s meet somewhere else, but not the lobby of the Hilton.”

“How about your hotel from last night, the Shinjuku Prince? It’s near Kabuki-cho. Or would you rather check out some other—”

“No problem,” Frank said. “I love that place.”

“All right. I’ll see you at nine o’clock in the same cafeteria off the lobby.”

I was about to hang up when Frank said something that stopped me again.

“Kenji, why don’t you bring your girlfriend?”

“
What
?” I said a little too loudly and looked up at Jun’s face. She was still stirring her cappuccino—hadn’t even taken a sip yet—and watching me with a worried look.