The Earthquake Bird (18 page)

Arrival at each station was a kind of homecoming for Lucy that night because she knew them so well, had lived different zones
of her life in these parts of the city. There are twenty-eight stations in the ring around Tokyo, twenty-eight beads in the
necklace. To me, each one has always been a unique gem. At Shinbashi I passed the old steam engine where I’d once waited for
Natsuko before we caught another train to Odaiba. There we rotated in a little capsule on the huge Ferris wheel, looked out
at Rainbow Bridge and Tokyo Tower, industrial plants and the gray sea. At Yurakucho station I ran my fingers along the sooty
bricks of the railway arches. Under these broad curves are small restaurants. Bob and I sometimes met in one for dinner. He
would ask my advice on every aspect of his life. I think, because my Japanese was fluent, he credited me with knowledge and
understanding I didn’t have, but I always did my best. Over spicy Chinese food he told me of his plan to become a rock star
although, at forty-one, he knew it was getting late. He confessed that the dental treatment that brought our paths together
had included cosmetic work with this aim. I’d never heard him sing so I had no advice that day.

Tokyo station came and went quickly. Many train lines converged here, undistinguishable, a row of nameless soldiers lying
flat in a box. I couldn’t guess which was the Yamanote, but when the lines separated again, I followed my feeling and was
right. The next set of lights and platforms belonged to Kanda.

By the time I had come to the ninth or tenth station it seemed pointless going back the same way. I paced on. Akihabara, Electra
Town where Teiji and I had looked at cameras, though he never bought any, strangely calm at night. Ameyoko where I went shopping
with Natsuko to buy cheap food from the sprawling street market. It was quiet but I could almost hear the daytime voices of
the gruff men shouting about their wares: slippery squid, fish, tea, coffee, shoes. Under the railway arches, yakitori bars,
now closed. At Ueno the park where I’d gone to view the cherry blossoms in my first year, not realizing that it would be so
packed with revelers I would hardly see the treetops. Yanaka, the cemetery where I’d sat before I went to Mrs. Yamamoto’s
house. It rose uphill from the train tracks and beyond. At night the tombstones looked like silhouettes of people, sitting
there on the hill, whispering secrets in the dark. Then, garish pink love hotels advertising rates for a night, cheaper rates
for a “daytime rest.” I went over the top of the loop past a dark old shrine at Komagome, around to Ikebukuro, and toward
Teiji’s territory. If I’d ever looked at this on a map I would have noticed that Takadanobaba and Shin-Okubo lie in the northwest
of Tokyo, but there is no reason why that should surprise me now.

Hours passed. Though I was already miles from home, my landscape didn’t change so much, only the features in the foreground:
nightclubs, love hotels, tombstones, parks, markets, shops, embassies. These were all contained inside an endless corridor
of anonymous rectangular buildings and railway tracks. I looked up at windows. Most were dark, showing just the dull outlines
of curtains and blinds. Here and there bright squares of yellow glowed like feline eyes. Occasionally a figure moved inside.
I looked to try and see the person, get an impression of their age or clothing, their movements within the room. Each time,
I wondered who the person was. Of all the millions of people who worked, woke, slept in this city, stacked up individually
and in groups, inside little boxes of home and work, which one was I spying on? I wanted to know these strangers who moved
from one box to the next, transporting themselves around the city on such vast structures of rail and road. I wanted to know
them because I was one, too.

Sometimes I lost sight of the Yamanote tracks and had to make my way around shadowy side streets until I found them again.
Bright vending machines displaying drinks and cigarettes provided light in dark alleys and corners. At other times I was able
to walk for a few miles without losing sight of the railway. On I marched, and in the early hours of the morning found myself
in Shinjuku, meters from the spot where I’d first seen Teiji. I thought of Sachi. The small theater where Teiji found her
could be a street or block away from me, for all I knew. I wondered how much time had passed between Sachi walking out and
Lucy walking in. I’d imagined her to be buried in the deep past, the way her photographs were buried in the box, but perhaps
Teiji had moved from Sachi to me without stopping and then from me to Lily, as though we were three stations along a track.

I walked down the road that passes by Yoyogi Park. I couldn’t see inside but the treetops stood tall and feathery above the
walls. I heard the song again that we sang that night. “Ue o Muite Arukou.” I cried but didn’t bother to lift my head to stop
the tears falling out—as the song instructs—because there was no one around and I might as well let them fall as they wanted.
I came to my office in Shibuya. I’d never been there at nighttime and was pleased to see it. Perhaps it was the only place
in Tokyo where I could feel at home now, without Teiji or Lily. I might return to work in a day or two. It would put my mind
at rest to know that the blast furnace translation had been completed on time and to a satisfactory standard. As the sun grew
bolder and people left their houses for work and school, I was walking from Ebisu to Meguro and finally I arrived where I’d
started. Gotanda. I had walked the distance of a marathon. I had circled Tokyo.

* * *

The phone was still ringing as I entered my flat. I ignored it and filled a bathtub of hot soapy water. My feet were throbbing
and burning. I sat in the bath with water up to my neck and shut my eyes to the sights of the clubs and bars, the graveyard,
the apartments and their washing lines, the railway track endlessly crisscrossing other lines heading all over Tokyo and Japan.
And the carriages and engines that slept at the sides of the tracks, tucked away, empty.

My feet still hurt when I emerged from the bath. They were pink and purple, swollen. I walked as if I were trying on ice skates
for the first time and was hobbling from the changing room to the ice rink. The phone rang and rang. I picked up the receiver,
didn’t speak but waited. Lily’s shrill voice was loud and clear.

“Lucy. Are you there? I’ve tried to ring you so many times. Erm. I wanted to tell you that I’m so sorry about what you saw.
What happened with Teiji—we never planned it.”

You accidentally arranged to meet him at the station after I’d gone?
I couldn’t open my mouth to speak but the words screamed inside my head.

“And I feel awful. I don’t know what I can say to you.”

So why did you call me?

“I know it must have broken your heart.”

My pulse quickened. My face and neck burned. What did Lily know about my heart? I inhaled two lungfuls of air so that I could
say my next sentences without stopping for breath.

“My heart is a complex organ consisting of muscles, valves, and blood. It can be weakened, it can have an attack, and it can
even stop altogether. But it can’t break. So don’t phone to tell me that you’ve decided my heart is broken.” My eyes were
swimming in tears. I blinked to see better and hot water fell all over my cheeks. “My heart is fine.” My voice cracked. “But
I can’t move my feet.”

“Your feet? Lucy?”

I put the phone down and immediately the doorbell rang. Since I knew it couldn’t be Lily, I blew my nose, wiped my eyes, crawled
to the door, and hauled myself up to unlock it.

Natsuko stood before me with an armful of yellow poppies. The petals brushed against the ends of her hair.

“Lucy, what’s going on? Are you sick?”

“I’m not so well. I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“You look terrible. For God’s sake go and see a doctor, find out what’s wrong. Have you been crying?”

“I don’t need to see a doctor. Anyway, I don’t believe in them. It’s tempting fate to see a doctor when there’s nothing wrong
with you.”

“In that case see your friend, Lily. Isn’t she a nurse? Why don’t you ask her to drop round?”

I stared at her.

“Lucy, what is it? What’s happened?”

I wanted Natsuko to know, but I wanted her to know without my telling it because I couldn’t bear to hear myself recount the
story. I couldn’t do telepathy so I shook my head.

“It’s something to do with Lily. What’s she done?”

“Leave me, please.”

“All right.” She sighed, kindly. Her voice sounded Irish today. I don’t know which years or months of her life she spent in
Ireland but this accent emerged only occasionally. “I miss you at work. I’ll call you every day till I’m satisfied you’re
all right. Oh, I brought you these flowers. I saw them in the shop and thought they were such an incredible color they’d have
to make you feel better. I hope they work.”

I nodded. “Thanks. Me too.”

She left and I was at a loss. I didn’t want to sleep but I lacked the energy to walk again. The flowers were sunny and friendly.
I decided to put them in water. I had no vase because I’d never thought of buying cut flowers for myself and I’d never been
presented with a bouquet. I put them in a bucket. They didn’t look good. I found an old plastic bottle and cut the top off,
filled it with water. It was better than the bucket but the poppies didn’t seem as beautiful as when Natsuko had held them.
I took an old piece of black wrapping paper from my kitchen bin and glued it around the bottle. It made a perfect vase for
the flowers but since all my curtains were closed—I hadn’t opened them for four days—the room now seemed dingy. I opened the
curtains, then the windows. Sunlight flooded in, the same color as the poppies.

I rubbed cream into my feet until they were soothed. Then there was no stopping me. I went onto the balcony, loaded the washing
machine with stale, dirty clothes and switched it on. I scoured away the tide mark in the bath, threw away the three empty
toilet-paper rolls that had been lying on the floor, damp and soggy, for weeks. I sprayed the mirror, wiped away dust and
flecks of toothpaste till it sparkled. I wasn’t ready to face my own reflection yet, but I was coming closer to that moment.
In the kitchen I washed cups and plates, scraped gray scabby mold into the bin. On my hands and knees I swept away thick furry
dust that lay behind bookshelves and in the corners of the room. I wiped the television remote control, button by button.
I squirted and rubbed away a stain that had been on the television screen for months. I hadn’t disturbed it before because
it looked like Teiji’s dried semen and therefore it was precious, though I couldn’t see how it had got on the television.
It was probably spilled food.

The washing machine beeped. I took my damp clothes and hung them on the line. I dragged my futons from their cupboard and
flung them over the balcony railing to air. I bashed them with my pink plastic futon beater and watched the dust rise in little
clouds then disappear. I vacuumed the whole apartment. Finally, when I could think of nothing else to do, I vacuumed the balcony.

I drank tea and listened to Dvořák. I went to the greengrocers’ and bought shiny red apples to put on the table with my yellow
poppies. Then I curled up on the floor and slept, a deeper, calmer sleep than I’d known for days.

And in the early evening a cool breeze entered through the balcony door, crossed my apartment and went out of the window at
the back. It woke me gently and I sat up. Slowly, not entirely awake, I went out and began to unpin the washing.

The doorbell rang once more. I’d had Lily and Natsuko today, could this be Teiji? I guessed not. I already believed I wouldn’t
see him again. But I found myself wanting it to be Teiji. I had just unpinned a pair of stockings and, rather than walk five
paces along the balcony to my washing basket, or attempt to repin them, I put them over my shoulder. It was not a big deal,
not a conscious decision. I just put them there while I went to answer the door.

Lily faced me in the doorway. She was shaking nervously. Her hand went up to her cheek and down again, several times. I fixed
my eyes upon hers. She made her case; she hadn’t wanted to hurt me, she just got caught up in the excitement of the weekend.
If anything she’d done it to hurt Andy, not that he would ever know of course, but that might have been what was in the back
of her mind, she thought. She wasn’t sure if she and Teiji had a future together but if I wanted to be friends still, she
would give up Teiji. She would go and tell him now that it was over.

“So is it OK? We’re still friends?”

“No, we are not. Goodbye.”

And I closed the door.

I am confused about my feelings at that moment. I know that there was a part of me that felt sorry for her. She was a pathetic
sight, standing on my doorstep quivering before me. I am sure that she was shocked by what she’d done and I also acknowledged
that it was brave of her to come and face me. I know I had those feelings. But I know that I was also disgusted, and freshly
angry. She would give up Teiji if we could be friends, but if not she wouldn’t? Hearing her say Teiji’s name sent me back
to Tokyo station, to the moment I cried out, the way they turned to stare at me. My pity for her dissolved. I hated her, for
stealing my lover and deserting me as a friend. I stood behind the door wondering why I had let her off so lightly. My anger
grew until I shouted out in rage. I don’t know what words I bellowed to my four walls but after a few seconds I could hear
my neighbor’s vacuum cleaner above my voice.

I went down into the street to find her. It was only a couple of minutes after she’d gone, but she wasn’t there. I thought
I heard a quiet burst of laughter but I didn’t see anything and the noise stopped as soon as it had started. I walked a little
farther along toward the station. My eyes were opened as wide as they would go and I used them like searchlights, beaming
from one side of the road to the other, shining in every corner and nook. The muscles ached but I didn’t want to blink or
narrow my eyes for a second, not until I’d found her. I arrived at the station but she wasn’t there. I turned back. It was
odd. Even if she’d run to the station she couldn’t have had time to get there, buy a ticket, and get on the train. It was
a long, straight road and I would have seen her ahead of me. A couple of cars sped past and then the world went quiet. I heard
nothing but my footsteps on the pavement.