The Pearl Diver (31 page)

“I wanted to speak to you! I found Atsuko-san!” My aunt sounded as triumphant as she’d been the first time I’d spoken a full Japanese sentence.

“Tell me,” I said, getting out a pencil and paper.

Norie had taken the letters, and a gift of American candied nuts, to the address. Both had worked to sweeten the entry through the door of the house that had turned out to still be home to Atsuko, who had married, and had a grown son. In the house, Norie had instantly recognized Sadako’s picture hanging in the alcove in their best reception room. Since contact between the two sisters had broken, Atsuko had assumed that her sister was dead.

“Now what is interesting,” Norie said, “is that Atsuko-san had never seen those letters that her sister sent from America.”

“Yes, of course. Those letters were returned unopened from Japan—”

“The handful of letters that
we
read were returned by the sisters’ mother, who was the one who received the daily post. The mother and father were very much against the foreign marriage. Atsuko wasn’t. But as you can imagine, after what happened with the one daughter, the parents married Atsuko-san quickly—an
omiai
,” Norie added, using the word for an arranged marriage. “Atsuko-san lived with her husband’s family a few miles away, early on in the marriage, but eventually, she wound up in her house for a few months taking care of her own mother after she’d had a stroke. And then, one day, a letter from Sadako-san came. And she knew what had happened to her sister, and wrote back with words of love and support, she told me. This letter writing went on for about a year. By this time, Sadako’s letters did not come from Virginia, but from a place in Maryland called Kent Island.”

“Kent Island! That’s on the Eastern Shore. She could still be there!”

“Don’t become too excited, my dear. As I just said, the letters stopped.” Norie’s voice was gentle. “Atsuko said that Sadako confessed that she had run away from the marriage and planned to go back for Akiko-chan—Andrea,” Norie corrected herself. “But Atsuko never did receive a letter saying the two were reunited. The letters just stopped in late 1976.”

“Does Atsuko-san believe her sister is dead?” I asked.

“She suspected that something terrible had happened. Through the copies of the letters that I took her, she learned about the men who had frightened Sadako-san. I felt quite bad for taking them to her, actually. She broke down. She insisted that Andrea come to her.”

“She knows Andrea is still alive, then?”

“Of course! I showed her pictures on my digital camera. She wants her to come to Japan. They will pay for the trip, even.”

So Andrea was wanted. I felt a bit of warmth in the midst of the
gloom, but maybe it was unrealistic. “What about the family’s reputation? Do they really think they can get along with an American niece?”

“Atsuko never bore the prejudice that her parents did. That’s why Sadako kept writing to her, I’m sure.”

I heard a car door slam and looked out of my window to see that Hugh had gotten a rare space on the street. If he walked into the apartment now, I’d find myself trapped in his idea of an intimate evening. On the other hand, if I slipped out, I could get what I needed at the restaurant and be back within an hour and a half. Hugh would never know the difference.

“I’ve got to hang up now, I’m sorry,” I said to Norie.

“But wait! Atsuko-san must have Andrea’s telephone number. Her son speaks English and wants to be the interpreter—”

“I’ll call you back,” I said, the receiver already on its way down.

I grabbed the tin of paste wax from under the kitchen sink. A buffing cloth, a buffing cloth. There wasn’t a clean one around. I darted back to the bedroom and retrieved an undershirt from the laundry hamper. It would have to do. I had opened the kitchen door and had just stepped out on the fire escape when Hugh walked in the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” The puzzlement was clear in both his face and voice.

I tried to stuff his undershirt in my backpack so he wouldn’t notice it. “Ah, I had to run out to do something quickly.”

“Why didn’t you use the front door instead? And did you forget that we had plans tonight?” With each step he took toward me, his concern seemed to grow.

“Well, Hugh, the world doesn’t just revolve around you,” I said, unable to hide my frustration that my quick exit was no longer possible.

“I see.” He had dropped his briefcase on the floor, and was staring at me as if he’d seen a ghost. “Who is it, then?”

“What do you mean, who is it?” I tried to make a joke of things. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone woo-woo on me.”

“Who is it?” Hugh repeated in a steadier voice. “Obviously, you’re going to spend the night, or a portion of the night, somewhere. But why on earth you want to sleep in one of my vests while you’re in bed with another bloke mystifies me. Borrow his clothing, why don’t you?”

“I’m sorry I took your precious undershirt or vest or whatever you want to call it. Here.” Already I had balled it up and thrown it at him.

“Now I’m starting to understand. I’ve been gone too long.” Hugh cocked his head and looked at me coldly. “All those restaurant people…which one is it? One of the waiters or that soulful Japanese chef? Or have you gone AC-DC? Is it Andrea who turns you on?”

“You can’t be serious.” I cocked my head at him, trying to figure out if his reaction was a joke. He was a pretty good practical joker, when he wanted to be.

“I wouldn’t put anything past you, Rei. After all, you have no desire for me anymore.”

“I do. I’m just in need of a little rest and relaxation, I told you that yesterday.” I stepped back fully into the kitchen, closing the door behind me while I kept my attention on Hugh. I didn’t know what he’d do next.

“Rest and relaxation, you say. Well, I’ve got the ticket for you.” His Scottish accent burred the
r
s to a smooth, menacing edge. “Come here.”

I didn’t move.

“Well, if that’s the way you want it.” Hugh strode over to me, and picked me up in his arms as if I were as light as Jacquie or Win. Then he carried me to the bedroom, where he dumped me on the sleigh bed.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

“Okay, I know you’ve been weight lifting and all, but it seems out of character for you to use force on me—”

“Did it hurt when I carried you?”

“No, but it was rather—startling.”

“Good. Now, take off your clothes, like I said.”

“I’m not some army private, Hugh. I don’t have to respond to orders.” I was going to tell him that the kind of orders he was giving were what the military would deem illegal, but before I had a chance, the striped T-shirt I’d been wearing was halfway across the room, and he was yanking down my jeans. They went by the foot of the bed, followed by my bra, which he removed with a quick snap of one hand.

“Did you learn that move from watching
Happy Days?”
I said to defuse the tension.

“I don’t watch American television,” he said between gritted teeth.

I was scared, suddenly—but also, I admitted inwardly, a little excited. I watched Hugh loosen his tie, then pull it off. But instead of hanging it up, he tied it to another tie he pulled off his tie rack, and then another one. Within the space of two minutes, he’d created a long, thin length of multicolored silk.

“Um, isn’t that the Aquascutum your mother sent you for your last birthday? You wouldn’t want to ruin it by tying a knot you’ll never get out.”

“I know how to make good knots. I sailed when I was a boy.”

He wasn’t exaggerating about his ability with knots. Before I had time to grab my right wrist away, it was tied up. He slid the long rope he’d made under the mattress, then pulled it out on the other side, where I’d already stretched my other arm.

I couldn’t quite believe what I’d done. To cover up my confusion, I told him he had me in an incorrect position.

“No,” he said. “I have you right where I want you.”

I couldn’t see what he was doing anymore, but I felt my underwear slide off my legs. Then, the sound of more crisp knots and my ankles were bound. I could move up and down a bit, but I couldn’t turn over.

“This is about my independence, isn’t it?” I murmured. “The ultimate attempt to beat me down.”

“Why would I do that?” said Hugh as he covered my back with his own body. I decided to experience it for a few seconds before coming out with any more protests.

As his tongue touched my skin, so lightly, experimentally that I had to struggle to hold still, I said, “You can’t just make someone come.”

“Can’t I?” His hands were everywhere, detecting what I was afraid he would find out—that my reaction, tonight, was quite different from the night before.

“Oh!” I said, inadvertently. I was determined not to reward him with pleasure.

“That’s right.” He kissed me between the shoulder blades. “You have no choices tonight, no responsibility for the way that it feels. You can’t help it if you like my hand inside like this—or my tongue over here.”

No choices. There was absolutely nothing I could do but stay tethered in place, allowing his mouth and fingernails and palms to do what they wanted—no, I corrected myself,
what I wanted
. He was doing exactly what I wanted, but I would never have said that, not now.

The ordeal seemed to last for hours—my hovering on a precipice, his movement away from the one touch that would set me off, end it all. I forgot about being tired, I forgot about being angry and humiliated. I forgot everything except for what I was feeling at that moment, with Hugh.

I came the first time as the sun was setting outside the thin muslin curtains that were moving in the half-open window. All through the neighborhood, I imagined people were eating their dinners, reading newspapers, listening to the news on the radio. It was that kind of neighborhood. Somewhere, there was probably a couple arguing, another having sex. But not like this. I didn’t know anyone who’d had sex like this.

I heard my voice raggedly asking him not to leave me, to give me more. Finally, he moved into me from behind. Like an animal, I thought, for a few great minutes before I coursed upward and felt myself break into a hundred sharp fragments. I was turning into a shooting star, a bomb, a grenade…

Hugh collapsed next to me ten minutes later. Or maybe it was an hour. I didn’t know or care.

“Sorry,” he said.

“What?” I murmured absently. It almost sounded as if he’d apologized.

“I really did think I could make you come.”

“It happened. Twice, in case you wondered. For the record books.”

“Yes, our private record book.” His voice was tender. “But I think you’re right, I probably did it—that way—because I was reacting to your independence. And I’m sorry about that. Shall I release you from captivity?”

There was a great deal of difference between being tied up and being delightfully serviced by—rather than servic
ing
—a man, but I wasn’t in the mood to deliver a neo-feminist lecture. I was completely flustered as he moved around the bed, quickly releasing me from the silk bonds. When he was finished, I drew my legs together and curled up so I that was against his back. With my lips on his skin, I confessed how much I’d liked what had happened.

“If only it were all so easy.” Hugh sighed heavily. “When I first met you, I knew you were the only one—but you turned out to think I was the stupidest Westerner on the island of Honsh
. And then we got engaged last Christmas, and I thought things were finally going to be perfect, but they’ve turned out not to be. No matter how well we shag each other.”

“Speaking of that, I was wondering—did you use protection?” I asked.

“Of course.” Hugh reached back and patted my hip. “Although I hope you’ll consider letting me ride bareback sometime after we get married.”

I rubbed at my wrists. “But we
shouldn’t
marry. This just proved it. People who are married never have sex like this.”

“Oh, that worry again. Why can’t it stay good? Don’t you realize that this is what I want, too?” He rolled around so that he was facing me.

I was silent for a minute, then said, “When you’re involved in raising a baby, you can’t just drop everything and be hedonistic with each other.”

“You can’t,” Hugh agreed. “Except when the baby’s napping.”

“Look, if monogamy is what you’re after, you’ve got it. I just don’t want to ruin it by becoming a Mrs.”

“Did you know that the old English root of the word ‘Mrs.’ is ‘mistress’? I’d think that might appeal to your provocative side.”

“I can be your mistress
without
being married,” I said. “Don’t you think it might be…spicier…if we had separate residences?”

“No,” Hugh said flatly.

“Come on, Hugh. It would mean the thrill of you laying your toothbrush and shaving things next to my toiletries on Friday nights. We’d go out for breakfast on Saturday mornings because I wouldn’t have a huge tin of your favorite Darjeeling on the counter. And later on, there would be the thrill of my
not
having to wash your laundry, because you’d take it back to wash at your own place.”

“Ah,” said Hugh. “So I might enjoy the thrill of paying for your dinner, rather than budgeting for it out of my regular household account. Or the thrill of buying you lingerie on a business trip, hoping that you might wear it on a date sometime.”

“Precisely!” I said, even though the things he’d chosen to be thrilled about seemed rather impersonal.

“The thrill of telling our parents that we’ve canceled our engagement for the sake of spicy shagging! The thrill of telling the same to our respected Japanese elders and friends. Yes, I can see the thrills arriving fast and furiously for the rest of our lives!”

“You’re making fun of me.” I kissed his neck.

“I’m not.” Hugh pulled my face up to his, and kissed me on the mouth. “It’s just that I really treasured the idea of living with you, forever. It made my heart race to see my old family ring on your left hand, and I dreamed about fixing up a flat in the city and perhaps even a small country house, after we had a—”

A child. A bairn or a wee one, a baby or an
aka-chan
. There were so many ways to say it, but he didn’t. Nor did I. I just kissed his face, which was wetter than before, and fell asleep with him for a little while.