The Flower Master (Rei Shimura #3) (16 page)

"It wasn't Armani, it was Issey Miyake, who just happens to be a Japanese designer. I know because I saw his suit in
Tatler
, the magazine you gave me expressly to show the photograph of Hugh Glendinning and his new girlfriend."

"You're attracted to well-dressed men, Rei. It's your personal weakness. But the outside is not an accurate reflection of a person's inside."

I could have told Tom that I thought Takeo's stomach looked amazingly lean under the stretched cotton of his worn Greenpeace T-shirt, but that would only bring more ire. So I turned back to the thought that made me the most unhappy and fearful. Clearing my throat, I confessed, "I saw Takeo talking with Che Fujisawa, who is the leader of Stop Killing Flowers. I wonder if they're planning something."

"Do you think they were involved in Sakura's death?" Tom asked.

"Only if Sakura did something against the environment. Something really terrible," I guessed.

"Rei-chan, you're not thinking of getting involved in this, are you?" When I didn't answer, he went on in the needling tone that I hated. "You've had some chances to help the police before, but that doesn't mean you should make it your unpaid part-time job. You've been poisoned. You need to recover and get on with your life."

"Thanks for taking care of me. I'm already feeling much better."

I'd given a perfectly appropriate answer, but I could tell from my cousin's scowl that he knew I was being evasive. Sakura Sato and Takeo Kayama were my problems. Not his.

On the way home, I visited some antiques shops to show Polaroid photos I'd taken of Mrs. Morita's plates. The negative responses confirmed my fear that I'd taken on a real albatross, but I couldn't bear to return to Mrs. Morita with a failure. Enough had gone wrong in my life lately. I was determined that at least one thing would work out.

Norie's ikebana class was in full swing by the time I reached Shiomidai Dori. Three women I didn't know were fussing with flowers on my newspaper-covered tea table, and Norie's friend Eriko was working at the kitchen counter. I'd never seen so many people at one time in my small apartment. Everyone bowed when I entered, but I was struck with an odd desire to excuse myself. Norie introduced me to her students, but I was too tired and stressed to remember their names. At least I knew Eriko, who patted a cushion for me to rest on. She alone seemed to understand I felt overwhelmed.

"You're in good time, Rei. We saved an extra portion of flowers for you," Norie said.

I deduced from the unfamiliar shopping bags bulging with bubble wrap that the students had carried their own ikebana containers from home. However, the chrysanthemums and ferns going into them looked oddly familiar.

"Where did you get the flowers?" I asked.

"The florist down the street. Because of the cemetery up the hill, it turns out there are many places to buy flowers," Norie said. "Of course, they are not of the highest quality, but I needed something fast."

Flowers meant for dead people made me shudder. Perhaps my aunt understood my feeling, because she said, "We're getting ready for the certificate examination next month. Chrysanthemum is often a flower the students must arrange, so today is good practice."

"What's this about examinations? I thought students automatically received a certificate of completion after finishing each book." I'd read in the foreign students' handbook that I needed to complete twenty lessons and pay ten thousand yen to the school to receive a fourth-grade certificate.

"That is the way it works for international students. Japanese have to create two flower arrangements for a formal examination," Norie explained. "They have no choice in materials, and one arrangement will be assigned, while the other can be freestyle. Then the highest-ranking teacher judges the arrangement."

"Does the judge watch them and then make an oral evaluation?" I asked, remembering how nerve-racking it had been to wait for Sakura and Masanobu Kayama to deliver their verdicts.

"No, the students arrange their flowers first in a room by themselves. They place a number next to their arrangements and leave the room. The judge comes inside and inspects their work. It's a way of judging on merit and not personality," Norie said. "I was actually hoping that you would want to take the examination, Rei. Not next month, of course, but by next year's time."

"Yes, you did well with our arrangement at Mitsutan," Eriko assured me.

"Really?" Norie turned to her friend. "Please tell me what the iemoto said."

"It wasn't that much of a rave," I interrupted. "He started talking about a memory of the time Takeo and Natsumi stuck irises inside a bamboo fence. I think he was saying the installation was like a child's work."

"Oh." Norie's face fell, and I realized suddenly that I shouldn't have said anything so negative with Norie's students listening. Not only had I disappointed my aunt, I'd caused her to lose face.

"I think the master liked the arrangement and was just nostalgic," Eriko said. "Rei didn't understand the nuance of his language."

"Yes, of course I have trouble with Japanese," I said, accepting the correction for my aunt's sake. "Anyway, your students' upcoming examination is much more important. Who will be the judge?"Norie didn't answer. After a pause, one of her students said, "It used to be Miss Sakura Sato."

"She and sometimes some of the school's other grandmasters," Norie corrected.

"Could you ever be a judge?" I asked my aunt.

"No, because your aunt and I are not high-ranking teachers," Eriko reminded me. "My guess is the judge will be either Mrs. Koda or, for family reasons, Natsumi Kayama."

"I hope it's Mrs. Koda. She has so much experience, and she's very kind. I'm sure that some of the more experienced foreign arrangers—Lila Braithwaite, for example—would be willing to take the examination if they had the chance," I said.

"Foreigners don't need a real degree," Eriko insisted. "It's just a hobby they do for the year or two they're in Japan. When they go home to the West, they have something to show off to the ladies in their garden clubs!"

"Have you been to the West? To these garden clubs?" I asked Eriko a bit sharply. I didn't like the way she was talking about my countrywomen.

"Of course not. But I've met the women." Eriko raised her eyebrows, which were shaped like two perfect half-moons.

"We should never forget that foreigners saved the Kayama School." My aunt surprised me by speaking up. "After the war, most Japanese people did not have enough money to buy rice, and certainly not flowers. The only people able to afford ikebana classes were the Americans. A navy admiral's wife became a student at the Kayama School, and after that many foreigners joined. These women made many generous donations to keep the school alive until Japanese women were again able to afford ikebana."

I followed my aunt as she turned her attention to her students' work. She suggested small things: the turning of a branch so that the arrangement would be beautiful viewed from all angles, or the rearrangement of a clump of ferns so that they looked as if they had naturally grown from the middle of an ikebana dish. The students did not bow their heads the way they had before Sakura or the headmaster. They seemed eager for Aunt Norie's guidance, moving the flowers as she suggested.

While my aunt concentrated on her students, Eriko whispered to me, "I'm sorry I upset you about the foreign students, Rei-san. I think of you as one of us. It was wrong of me to make you feel bad when you are still so weak from your illness."

"I'm making a good recovery, thanks to my aunt and people such as yourself," I said. In standard Japanese etiquette, you were supposed to attribute good health and success to whomever asked after you. Remembering what Norie had said about the financial hardship in her marriage, I added, "Thank you very much for the beautiful white roses. They are such a luxury."

"I first brought them to you in the hospital, but you were too sick to notice then. But look at this charming room! Full of flowers from many well-wishers—Takeo Kayama even." Eriko gave me a tiny, sparkling smile.

My aunt must have complained to her about Takeo's visit. Nervously I said, "It isn't anything, really."

"Because your aunt doesn't want it to be." Eriko kept her kind but knowing gaze on me. "Do you want to talk about it later on? I understand how difficult Japanese relatives can be."

"I'll be fine. There 's nothing to talk about." As I rejected her offer, I felt glum, although I didn't understand why.

* * *

The class ended an hour later. After moving the furniture back to its proper place, Norie made up my futon so that I could lie down. Nestled in the soft quilts, I slept solidly all afternoon. I awoke to a room gray with the onset of evening. Aunt Norie sat close to the andon lantern, using its weak light to illuminate the sewing that she was doing. She was trying not to disturb me.

"What kind of embroidery are you doing? Sachiko work?" I raised myself on my elbow to get a better look.

"No, I'm darning your brassiere! The band is almost worn through." She stood up, snapping on the harsh overhead light and dangling my bra so that I could see all its faded glory.

"I planned to throw it away," I said.

"Actually, you wore it under your clothes at the Mitsutan exhibit. I saw it when the nurses undressed you at the hospital."

My groan was interrupted by a ringing telephone, which Norie answered. "Oh, Richard-san! How nice of you to call again." She paused, listening to whatever he was saying to her. Richard spoke very good Japanese. After a few moments she laughed and said, "So desu, neh!" They were in agreement over something.

"Your aunt's a sweetie. Why are you so scared of her?" Richard asked when my aunt finally handed the receiver to me.

"I'm not! It's just that I occasionally feel stifled," I said in the English I hoped she wouldn't understand.

"I suggested that I take you out for a health drink at the tea shop. She strongly believes in homeopathic remedies, did you know?"

"Yes." So Richard wanted to see me tonight. I was still smarting a little over his rejection of me twenty- four hours earlier.

"I'm just recording a few more lines on an English tape for a student. By the time you get dressed. I'll be ringing the doorbell." Richard seemed to become aware of my stillness. "That is, if you still want to go."

"Okay," I said. "I could use the break." I dressed quickly, not wanting a debate with Norie about what I was wearing. I chose a pair of leggings that didn't constrict my bruised bottom, and a large DREAMS COME TRUE sweatshirt—"large" in Japan meaning the equivalent of a women's size six. As I sat in the entryway, tying my beloved Asics sneakers, I thought sadly of the many miles I'd run in the shoes over the past year. Now I could barely toddle to a teashop.

Richard blew into the apartment like a small black bat. His tattered leather jacket glistened with rain, and the small ring in his lower lip trembled as he spoke to my aunt in super-polite Japanese. "Shimura-sama, I apologize for my disturbance. I see you are embroidering a garment. How lovely your work is! I wish that I could sew. With a needle and the right pair of scissors, I could have the perfect wardrobe."

Norie quickly buried my bra in her sewing basket. If my futon was considered too intimate for outsiders' eyes, underwear was even more taboo. Waving me off, she admonished, "Come back quickly. Dinner will be ready soon."

"She didn't invite me to dinner," Richard complained when we were on the street.

"Japanese rarely invite people home for dinner. Not because they're unfriendly, but because they think their homes are too small and the menu won't be good enough," I said as we passed a yakitori shop with its traditional welcome curtain flapping in the chill breeze. The tantalizing, smoky smell of grilled chicken made me almost wish that I weren't a vegetarian.

"Mmm, yakitori. I don't suppose you want to change our plan, maybe have a beer and a few skewers?"

"I worry that my aunt would smell the evidence. Besides, I'm surprised you would have time for something other than a quick cup of tea. Don't you normally see Enrique at this time?"

"Jealousy rears its ugly head," Richard teased. "Well, you should be glad I saw him last night at Salsa Salsa."

"Why?" The pavement was wet with some kind of slop from the tofu-maker, and I skidded as we rounded the corner.

Richard caught my arm protectively. "I'll wait with my news till we're sitting down."

"How exciting can it be?" I asked, consciously trying to slow down as we turned into the narrow alley that housed the Yanaka Tea Shop. Mr. Waka's Family Mart notwithstanding, this was my favorite neighborhood business. The small wooden shop, built at the turn of the century, still had most of its original exterior, including an exquisitely carved panel over the door showing a samurai gentleman and lady taking tea. Inside, old wooden placards hung on bright red walls, advertising teas that could help with everything from constipation to a broken heart. Shelves full of boxed teas available to take home lined one side of the store; on the other side, a few tables were available for those who wanted to drink their potions in-house.

"Special of the month is a snake-blood beverage. It's supposed to be very powerful against hangovers, but it's expensive." Richard, whose kanji knowledge was far greater than mine, paused while reading the menu. "How about Sakura-yu? That's a tea made from pickled cherry blossoms. That would be salty, right?"

I nodded, although the last thing I wanted was a taste of cherry. Luckily, our waiter advised that I drink ginseng tea for energy and matters of the heart. Since he had no troubles with romance, Richard tried kombu-cha, which was made from a type of kelp that was supposed to ensure long life.

The tea was served in small tea bowls, with a smooth glaze on the inside and a rough outward surface that was similar to the urns Mari Kumamori had brought to the ikebana exhibition. I put the small bowl to my mouth and, after a few sips, decided it tasted similar to green tea. I looked around at the other tables and noticed that a significantly large number of young people were drinking tea. Was tea becoming trendy?