Tuvalu (21 page)

The businessman tapped his foot and checked his watch before glancing towards the train timetable. I shook my head.

‘I was thirteen when Mum died. It's true what they say about thirteen, about it being unlucky. At first Dad did pretty well. The funeral and everything helped keep him sober. It gave him things to arrange and people to talk to. Then all that finished. There was nothing left to do. That was when we both finally knew Mum was dead.'

For a long while, as the businessman tapped one polished shoe, neither Tilly nor I said a word. I waited for more.

‘Not long after Mum passed away I heard a noise in the front yard. It woke me. It was late at night. Dad had gone and piled up everything that belonged to Mum. I think he just needed another job, something more to do. But he was also drunk.'

‘He was still drinking after she died?'

‘Yeah, he started again after the funeral. I watched him splash lawnmower fuel all over this pile he'd made— furniture, photo albums, clothes, mugs, a guitar, a record collection … There was nothing of Mum's left inside the house.'

‘And he lit it?'

‘The pile just shot up. There was this whoosh and he covered his face with his hands, then it swallowed him for a moment. He fell, screaming, started rolling around like a madman.'

‘What did you do?'

‘Nothing. I couldn't move.'

‘You didn't run outside?'

‘Dad rolled on the ground till the flames were out then staggered into my room. He smelt of burnt hair. He told me to call triple-zero. Then I put him under the shower.'

The payphone beeped.

‘I'm running out of money.'

‘I'm finished anyway,' Tilly said. ‘That's the whole story more or less. After that, he went to AA. For a long time he was great. He cheered up without booze, was a model father.'

Another loud beep.

‘Listen, the payphone's going to cut out. I'm sorry, I should have—'

‘Now do you understand?'

‘Understand what?' I asked.

‘I forgave him for the fire because I could see it marked an end to something bad, not just to good things. So it scared me coming home and seeing the bottles. He's back in the AA meetings. He doesn't like them but they help. I've got him back on Diet Coke and I don't want to see—'

The phone cut out without another warning beep.

‘Shit.'

I hung up and the businessman stepped in, nudging me aside. By the time I bought a new card there was no answer at the farm.

Lexington Queen

H
arry got laid.

Although this took place in the room next to mine it might as well have been a threesome. I heard everything —every grunt, every moan, every whispered request and every thank you. I lay on my back listening. The lucky girl, whoever she was, was not afraid to squeal and snort like some pained animal. She seemed unable to decide which sound best articulated her release. They would finish only to start up again minutes later, lasting a commendable half-hour each time.

Around dusk, quite exhausted, I went in search of a cheap meal. I found a largely deserted family restaurant, ordered a bowl of potato wedges and sat wondering what to do with the night ahead. After eating I paid the bill and began to walk without a destination in mind. A man with greying hair passed by on an old-fashioned bicycle. The type of bike was common in Tokyo; what caught my eye was the way he held a tray on the palm of one hand like a waiter. I tried to see what was on this tray, but he whipped past me with a single sharp sounding of his bell and disappeared around a corner. I walked on, staring into apartments as I once had with Harry until, tired and with sore feet, I found my way back to the hostel.

Outside, a girl from the hostess bar—the young naive one—was smoking a cigarette. Though I saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, she ignored me. I decided it likely this girl had come from Harry's room and guessed her to be his partner in the earlier activities. She wore stilettos, a skirt and tight-fitting top, just as she had while working. Her make-up was applied thickly, and with it she had accomplished a degree of prettiness without revealing too much of herself. I wondered if she was a prostitute, my interest purely fiscal. There was the question of my loan. By now I had little faith in the Ohio-bound toilets.

Stepping into my room I found Mami at my desk, writing a letter. She jumped up, alarmed, then suddenly angry. ‘Don't creep up!'

My spirits leapt at the sight of her. Her eyes were puffy as though she had been crying. She picked up the pen she had been using and clicked it a number of times.

‘I wanted to leave you a note and the door wasn't locked.'

‘You can't keep coming here,' I said, without meaning it.

‘You came to the hotel.'

‘My girlfriend's coming back.'

‘Listen to you …' She laughed mockingly. ‘Such a player.'

‘I'm serious.'

‘Just tell me when she comes back and I'll never visit again. But until then, can I sit? I'm tired.'

I gestured towards the bed and Mami sat down. Every item of clothing and every accessory she wore had been selected to convey something—an aloofness perhaps. Her hair was raked back and fastened in a ball behind her head. She had applied an almost white foundation to her face and used a blue lipstick and purple eyeliner. With such additions her skin appeared illusory, her features muted, leaving her with the cold, expressionless face of a porcelain doll. Yet it was not a generic face. Not like the girl outside. It spoke instead of flair, the sort of flair required to make oneself inhuman.

Her clothing completed this carefully sculpted statement. She wore ruby-red high-heeled shoes, purple stockings, a ruffle-edged slip, a silk dress and a thick, dark cashmere coat which fell to just below her shapely knees.

‘You're all dressed up,' I said.

‘With nowhere to go.'

‘Why the make-up? Why so much of it?' I hesitated, then clumsily added, ‘You're pretty without it.'

Mami laughed. ‘You think that's why I wear it?'

‘I don't know. Why do you wear it?'

‘I saw something similar in a back issue of
Vogue
today and decided to put it together. I added and subtracted things though, so it's more an “inspired by”. Not all mine and not all theirs, whoever they may be. In this case, Marc Jacobs, Miu Miu and Yoshi Yamamoto. Today's little project.'

‘I like it.'

‘Or you're glad I like it, right?' Mami smiled. ‘That's what my father would say.'

‘Really?'

‘A practical man. When he sees me dressed up like this he always shakes his head, smiles and says, “I'm glad you like it”. That—aside from the fact he pays for all of it without question—is his best attribute, I'd say.'

‘He's quite conservative?'

‘Conservative … no. He pretends to be in all his meetings, I think. He has to do that. But he despises conformity. That's why he became a businessman.'

‘How does that work?'

‘True freedom lies in money. If you don't have money, you conform to things. You have to.'

‘What about his meetings and clients? Isn't that conforming?'

‘In a way. But a little conformity at the office means he can fly to Europe in a private jet. That's freedom. Don't try and tell me you're free here in this glove compartment of a room, because you're not.'

‘There are worse places than this room.'

‘Maybe,' Mami said.

‘You sound like you want to say “but”.'

‘Well, take a look around.'

‘True. Your father has it all worked out by the sound of it.'

‘Yes and no. Sometimes I think he has a little too much freedom. He's very pig-headed and he's always right even when he's wrong. For example, once he makes up his mind about someone he never changes it. If he doesn't like you right away he never will.' Mami paused, then added, ‘Though I wouldn't mind being more like that. I come and go with people. One day I don't like them and the next I do. I can't tell you how I'll feel about you tomorrow. For a long while I was angry with you.'

‘With me?'

She nodded, running the very tip of her tongue across light-blue lips. ‘Not just you, but with everyone else, too.'

‘But me especially?'

‘In a way. You almost killed me. But in another way, no.'

Mami stood and took up her perch on my windowsill, half in, half out. For a while she stared at the one or two stars and scattered airliners visible in the Tokyo sky. Then without a word she climbed down and stretched. ‘Things have been bad,' she said. ‘I had that feeling I told you about, and I like that you left me alone. But now I need to shrug it off. If you help, I'll return that denim jacket. Do you have a cigarette?'

‘No.'

‘Very well,' she said, sounding almost English. ‘We'll get some on the way.'

‘On the way where? I'm actually quite tired.'

‘You're always tired. You can't sleep, remember? Why not be tired somewhere other than here for a change? Don't you ever get sick of your ceiling?' Mami had not brought a bag but looked around for one all the same before leading me outside.

‘I don't care where we go,' she said, calling a taxi from her mobile phone.

‘You don't have anywhere in mind?'

‘No.'

We waited for the taxi and, when it came, climbed into the back seat. The driver turned and asked Mami for a destination, but she informed him that she was Thai, that she could not speak a word of Japanese. She pointed to me and set about slipping on light-blue gloves which she had produced from nowhere, and which matched her lipstick perfectly. The driver looked at me dubiously. He raised plucked eyebrows.

‘Roppongi,' I said, because it came to mind. He spun around and thrust the car into gear.

‘Where are we going in Roppongi?' asked Mami.

‘I don't know. You know the area better than me.'

‘I doubt it. It's not the first suburb to roll off my tongue at night.'

‘Then you should have directed the driver.'

I stared out the window. Office buildings scrolled past. They were tightly wedged together and well lit. There was a light rain blurring the convenience stores and traffic lights we passed. The driver, alternately steering and checking a global positioning system on the dash, tuned the radio into a Japanese talkback station.

Mami yawned and glanced across at me. ‘Don't get all sleepy,' she said. ‘Not yet.'

Arriving in Roppongi, we made our way through a number of bars, ending up at Lexington Queen. We walked down a steep, dark staircase, at the bottom of which stood a heavyset bouncer all in black.

‘How much?' Mami asked.

‘Three thousand for him, two thousand for you.'

‘All you can drink?' I asked, handing him the money.

He nodded and stamped our hands.

Mami put her coat in a locker and sealed it. On the walls around us there were pictures of celebrities visiting the club. In Melbourne these sorts of walls contained local TV personalities. But here they were all Hollywood's biggest stars—far too many to count.

The bar was staffed by two foreigners, both black and muscular, and the floor around it was packed with fittingly beautiful patrons. Off to the left was a dance floor which was filled to capacity. Some people danced in tight-knit groups, others alone. The lighting was low and there was a rustic, almost dirty feel to the place, like a cavern.

I ordered two vodka shots and beers as chasers.

‘Why did you do this?' I yelled to Mami as we battled our way through the crowd, looking for a place to sit. We were nudged and bumped by waifs, drunk Japanese youths and big, thug-headed foreigners. My beer splashed onto my shirt as the music changed, and the people on the dance floor thrust their hands up and whooped. The venue was so overfilled it had come to a near standstill.

‘Do what?' Mami shouted back over her shoulder.

‘Bring me out?'

‘I've told you. Because you're honest.'

‘But—' I let a sumo wrestler pass with difficulty, then another. Both nodded their heads in thanks. The surrounding mass of bodies pushed me against Mami. My hand came to rest on her thigh. Our mouths were almost touching and I worried my breath was bad. ‘But,' I tried again, ‘why are you so desperate to hang out with someone honest?'

Mami shrugged. ‘I'm tired of all my usual friends. And they're probably just as tired of me. They're rich. We all attend the same events and we all know the same people. I can tell you every word they'll say before they even say it and they can likely tell you the same about me.'

‘And I'm different?'

‘Very. I can detail myself to you. You're like a diary. You're not confident enough to try and play me, to lie, to be cruel. That's important because either I find people I can trust or I sit at home on my own. New people are a risk—men especially. Who wants to be some foreigner's exotic Japanese fling? Not me. I'm not saying I'm asexual. I'm just saying I don't want to be some dickhead's doll.'

The three foreign men who had been listening to this monologue, nudging ever closer to Mami, now looked away, eyes moving on, darting from woman to woman. Mami had, I suspected, raised her voice especially for them, because she now leant in and placed the tips of all five fingers to my elbow.

‘This might sound mean and I'm not sure I should tell you, but basically I was looking for someone with no clue.'

I pulled my arm away. ‘That was mean, yeah.'

‘Wait, let me finish.' Mami took my arm back. ‘In my world, my normal everyday world, everything is a competition. Every last thing is a contest. It's the same in your world, I'm sure. But we inhabit different worlds. In yours, wherever it is and whatever it is, I'd be lost. I'd have no idea. There'd be no way for me to know about it because I wasn't raised in it. At the end of the day we all only know one world—the one we grew up in.' Mami paused, thinking. She took a large gulp of beer as if satisfied with all she had said, then, swallowing, seemed to change her mind. ‘Unless we're moved around a lot by our parents,' she added, ‘which I wasn't. Not at all. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? I'm not saying it very well. A shame.'