John Rain 08: Graveyard of Memories (20 page)

“It hasn’t, you mean?”

“Yeah. It hasn’t.”

“But…are you going to stop trying?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t see the bathroom. It’s probably pretty small.”

“I’m sure it is.”

“Can I say something?”

She gave a little laugh. “Could I stop you?”

“I’ve been in some…difficult situations. I don’t want to talk about them. I don’t even want to think about them, not now, anyway. But what I learned in those situations is to not be sentimental. To just be practical. People need to go to the bathroom, just like they need to eat and drink and sleep. So when you need to go, I’ll push your chair for you, or you can do it, and you put your arms around my neck, and I’ll get you seated, and I’ll back out and close the door and you call me when you’re ready. I know you have to go to the bathroom sometimes. I mean, you’re beautiful, but you’re human. Humans need to go to the bathroom. At least that’s what I hear.”

She laughed, but other than that didn’t respond.

“Will you trust me?” I said.

She looked away. After a moment, she started nodding, almost imperceptibly. “All right,” she said. “Okay.”

I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “Okay. Okay, great. On the way over, I want you to tell me all about this guy Terumasa Hino, okay? Teach me about jazz.”

She smiled, a little uncertainly. “Okay.”

She pushed herself over to the van. I walked alongside her. “Now listen, if I do anything wrong, or anything that makes you uncomfortable, you just tell me, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ve got that covered.”

I opened the cargo doors and slid out the two-by-sixes. “I can just push you up, is that all right?”

“I can do it.” She took hold of the wheels and propelled herself up with a quick series of long, smooth strokes. She was stronger than she looked. Well, of course—her upper body was constantly getting exercised. From behind, I was able to take a close look at her legs. She was wearing jeans, but I could see the limbs inside were withered. I wondered again what had happened to her. Well, if she wanted to tell me, she would. Otherwise, not. I slid the two-by-sixes back in, closed the doors, went around front, and drove off. I went slowly and carefully—I didn’t want to take any chances on Sayaka getting bounced around in back. These days, you’d probably be arrested for putting someone in a wheelchair unsecured in the back of a cargo van, but it was a different world then. No child seats, no shoulder belts, no bicycle helmets, no safety warnings or polarized plugs…it’s a wonder anyone even survived to reproduce.

On the way to Shinjuku, she told me about Hino: jazz trumpeter; led his own quartet; his instruments, his influences, his significance. She said he was on the cusp of fame and she thought one day he would be a legend. I realized I’d gotten really lucky seeing that flyer. If it had been anything else, I didn’t think she would have come with me. We’d be having sushi or something in Uguisudani. Not that it would have been bad, but this was different. I liked how engaged she was, how enthusiastic. I liked how out of the ordinary this was for her. How special. I liked that it showed she trusted me.

“So what is it about jazz?” I asked as we drove.

“You said you like Bill Evans, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, what is it about Bill Evans?”

I had to think about that. I’d never tried to articulate it before. “I don’t know. Listening to him…if always feels like a haven. Does that make sense?”

She laughed. “It makes perfect sense. You listen to Hino tonight and then tell me more, okay?”

I managed to find us a spot on the street not too far from Taro. I was feeling confident, optimistic. A part of my mind lingered on the late unpleasantness—the pooling blood, the smell of gun smoke, the animal shriek of a man stabbed in the guts—but for the most part it felt compartmentalized. Walled off. Safe. That was another part of my life, another part of who I was, but it had nothing to do with tonight. I was someone else now. Maybe I shared his memories, but that other person wasn’t here.

I actually believed I could maintain that. I was too young to know that some memories don’t fade, or age, or die. That the weight of some of what we do accumulates, expands, coheres, solidifies. That life means coming to grips with that ever-present weight, learning how to carry it with you wherever you go, understanding and accepting that it’ll be with you and on you and in you for all your days, until you reach a point where all the energy you ever had is devoted just to shouldering its mass. And when you’re finally able to set down that burden, it’ll only be because it was time to set down everything else, too, everything you had, or have, or were ever going to have. And you better hope that’s really the end of it, because no one knows what happens after.

I pushed Sayaka along in the wheelchair, mindful of our surroundings, on the lookout for anyone in a punch perm and cheap suit swaggering in our direction. But I saw no yakuza, only streets crowded with every kind of pleasure-seeker: groups of students going for a cheap dinner or a movie; businessmen entertaining clients; salarymen sneaking off for some sexual recreation before heading home and lying to their wives. There were people laughing and talking and horns honking and touts calling from storefronts and the sounds of motorcycle engines and the rumble of trains. A weird kind of harmony amid the chaos, a melodious cacophony.

When we got to the entrance to Taro, I said, “So here’s the tricky part. What do you want to do? I can help you down, get you seated, and send someone up for your chair. Will that work?”

She nodded. She looked a little scared.

I thought the easiest thing would be to just scoop her up in my arms, but I imagined she wouldn’t like that. I knew I wouldn’t—it would make me feel too much like a baby, an invalid. “What’s comfortable for you?” I said. “I’m thinking if I squat down next to you, you can put your arm around my neck, I can put mine around your waist, and away we’ll go. Sound okay?”

She nodded again. “Yeah.”

I got down next to her, and we did it the way I suggested. It was more awkward than I’d anticipated, and I realized I’d been stupid—I’d helped drunks walk, and wounded men walk, and I was expecting something similar here. But she couldn’t put any weight on her legs at all. They were useless, just dangling from her body. God, no wonder she must have hated being out of her chair, relying on other people.

“Wait a second, I don’t think this is going to work,” I said. “Here, I have a better idea.”

I shifted around until I was facing her, my back to the stairs. “Put both arms around my neck. Tighter. That’s it. Now just…lean against me. Don’t worry, I won’t drop you, I’ve got the bannister.” I put my free arm around her waist and arched back a little so I could take some of her weight onto my torso, then started down the stairs backward. She was surprisingly light. But of course—her legs would weigh almost nothing. I moved slowly and carefully. I tried not to notice how her breasts felt pressed against my chest, or how her arms felt around my neck, or what her back felt like through her blouse. Or how good she smelled. I wasn’t notably successful.

We made it without incident, if “without incident” can be said to include our unspoken agreement to not mention the hard-on that arose to accompany our passage. What can I say, I was only twenty. I was horrified when I felt it start to happen, but there was nothing I could do. And my embarrassment was made worse by the smile she seemed to be trying to suppress. I didn’t know what kind of feeling she had down there, but somehow she seemed to be aware of my condition.

We went inside the club. Kyoko was issuing instructions to a thirtyish guy behind the bar and to two college-age girls I assumed were waitresses. When she saw us, she immediately sent a bartender to retrieve the wheelchair, and made sure he placed it front center. In fact, there wasn’t a bad seat in the place—it was too small for anyone to be more than a few paces from the stage. Kyoko chatted with Sayaka for a few minutes—how Kyoko had opened this place, who she booked here, the musicians they both liked. Apparently, Kyoko was personal friends with Hino, and promised we would have a chance to meet him. Sayaka was ecstatic. People started drifting in, and within a half hour, the place was packed.

“Everything okay?” I asked as we waited for Hino and his quartet to come on.

She nodded. “Yeah. Kyoko’s really nice. Natural. A lot of people think if you’re in a wheelchair, you must be stupid, and they talk to you like a spinal injury is the same as brain damage. She’s not like that.” She paused, then added, “Neither are you.”

A minute later, the lights dimmed, and Hino and three other guys came walking briskly up the side of the room, the only place where there was any kind of free passage. The room broke out in wild applause. Hino raised his trumpet above his head and gave it a shake in greeting, and the applause and shouting redoubled.

They took their positions on the stage—Hino, the pianist, the bassist, the drummer. Then, without any fanfare, they started playing. I didn’t know the piece—I knew very little jazz at all back then—but it was beautiful. Starting softly and building slowly, it was elegiac and full of longing and it made me happy and sad, sometimes alternately, sometimes at the same time. It made me feel like I was missing something and I didn’t even know what it was. It was alluring, but frustrating, too, to be able to sense something so profound and not be able to grasp it.

I realized I was nodding along to the music and stopped myself, embarrassed. I saw Sayaka glance at me and smile. I looked around. Everyone was nodding their heads, or tapping their toes, or swaying slightly. It was hard not to. These people didn’t know each other, none of us did, and yet we were all responding the same way. It was like a community of strangers, united by…what? I didn’t know. Whatever we felt in the music.

When the song was over, the room erupted in fresh shouts and applause. Hino introduced his quartet, and explained that the song was called “Alone, Alone and Alone.” I must have been the only one there who didn’t already know.

While they played, Sayaka and I snacked on a variety of small plates. Sayaka didn’t drink—I thought maybe because she didn’t want to have to be taken to the bathroom more than absolutely necessary, but I wasn’t sure—but I ordered a whisky. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I figured whisky was a sophisticated drink and it seemed like it would go with jazz. Of course, when the waitress asked what brand I wanted, I was stymied, and covered by asking her what they had. Hibiki and Yamazaki, she told me. Mentally flipping a coin, I told her I’d have a Yamazaki. Twelve-year-old or eighteen? Feeling like the mask of sophistication I’d tried to don was being peeled right off me, I told her the eighteen. Straight or rocks? Was she fucking with me? Straight, please. At which point, the q-and-a game mercifully ended. As it happened, the Yamazaki was so good I ordered another, and would have gotten a third if Sayaka had been drinking with me, and if I hadn’t needed to drive later.

I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the performance—not just the music, but the experience of sharing it with a roomful of strangers. I had expected any pleasure I might take in it to be mostly vicarious, but it turned out to be much more than that. Occasionally, I would be struck by something discordant—an image or a sensation of what I had done in the last few days. But I was able to push those intrusions away. If I could continue to be mindful of the moment and not of my memories, I thought, I’d be all right. That was one life. This was another. They were separate, and I would keep them so.

When the show was over, the applause finally done, and the patrons beginning to file out the door, Kyoko introduced us to the band as promised. Hino gripped Sayaka’s hand in both of his and bowed simultaneously. It was a nice gesture, a combination of the western and the eastern, with a lot of warmth in it. Kyoko brought over one of Hino’s albums and he signed it for Sayaka. She couldn’t stop smiling, and I was glad to see her shedding some of the detached cool that had so characterized her when we’d first met.

Sayaka needed the bathroom before we left, and it went fine. If she felt any embarrassment about having to be helped in and out, she didn’t show it. I followed suit when she was done, and paid the bill at the door.

“Well?” I said. “You ready?”

She nodded, and we got her up the stairs pretty much the same way we’d gotten her down. With pretty much the same embarrassing impediment on my part. The bartender followed us up with the wheelchair. I helped Sayaka get seated, we said goodnight, and headed back to the van.

“Was it okay?” I asked, pushing her along through Kabukichō’s neon-lit alleys, maneuvering around revelers, Sayaka’s head swiveling as she took in the sights and the noise and the crowds. I knew I was being paranoid, but still I was careful to keep my head down, just on the remote chance I might be recognized.

She glanced back at me. “It was amazing. Thank you.”

That made me really happy. Without thinking, I said, “Hey, do you feel like taking a walk? I mean—”

She laughed. “I know what you mean. Where?”

“I don’t know. Ueno Park, maybe? It’s right next to Uguisudani, so…”

There was a pause, then she said, “No, let’s do something different. I want to see something new.”

That was encouraging. I thought for a moment. “Do you know Kitazawa-gawa?”

“The
hanami
place?”

“Yeah, in Setagaya. It’s crowded when the blossoms are blooming, but otherwise it’s just a nice place for a stroll.” I realized as I said it that “stroll” wasn’t the right word. But she’d already told me she understood what I meant.

She smiled. “Well? What are we waiting for?”

chapter
twenty-two

W
e drove the short distance southwest, parked, and got out. Setagaya was an upscale suburban part of Tokyo, outside the Yamanote, where people with money might move if they wanted a little less urban density and a little more green. It was quiet most of the time, and at night could be remarkably serene. And Kitazawa-gawa, a kind of nature walk to the extent such a thing could be said to exist in Tokyo, was particularly charming in the evening, with a little creek burbling along beside it, lots of grass and trees, and evocative shadows cast by tall iron streetlights. I pushed Sayaka along, enjoying her company, liking that she trusted me enough to take her somewhere new. I was beginning to appreciate how difficult it must have been for her to get around. The world was nowhere near as handicapped-accessible then as it’s since become, and every grassy or other soft surface, every narrow space, every curb represented an obstacle. And that’s with someone there to help. Alone, just a few short stairs would have been for her what a twenty-foot wall would be to me.