Tuvalu (31 page)

I snuck into the hotel and took the elevator to the twentieth floor. Mami at first refused to open the door. When finally she did she looked like a wrung-out dishcloth, face pale and sagging.

‘What are you doing here?' she asked. ‘I thought I made it clear.'

‘Made what clear?'

‘Made it clear I'm busy.'

‘With what?'

‘What does it matter what? What do you want?'

I had not expected this greeting, and thus had not prepared an excuse. I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Phillip.'

Mami frowned. ‘What do I care about Phillip?'

‘Aren't you his nurse?'

‘Do I look like a nurse?'

I shook my head, biting at the inside of my lip. ‘Can I come in for a moment?'

‘Do you need to?'

‘It'd be a lot easier, yeah.' I gave the impression of great solemnity to aid my chances and stepped inside. I crossed to the bar, dropped my jumper over it and groped for something to say about Phillip. Again it occurred to me how little I knew.

‘He's been smoking grass.'

‘That's it?' Mami asked. ‘What's that got to do with me?' Her voice was clipped, rude. She kept her arms folded over her chest, distancing me. Her face conveyed distrust and her eyes jumped over the room as if wondering what it looked like to another.

‘Well, you were interested,' I said. ‘Now I don't know, I, ah—'

‘Is that everything?'

The room looked messy and neglected—completely unlike it had on my previous visits. Clothes were scattered about as if Mami had been putting them on only to take them off and drop them. Judging from the number of garments, this had been going on for days. I counted five or six room-service trays piled high with dirty dishes. The curtains were drawn, the ceiling lights dimmed, there were magazines open everywhere, the TV was fuzz, and there was a hole in one wall roughly the size of a basketball.

‘Are you okay?' I asked.

‘Of course.'

‘You just look—'

‘What?'

‘Nothing.'

For a moment not a word was said, then Mami threw up her arms. ‘Oh for God's sake, you feed a stray dog once and it really does follow you for the rest of your life.'

‘I don't deserve that.'

‘The hell you do, Noah.' Mami was furious with me. ‘Go on,' she said. ‘Shoo.'

‘Not until you tell me what I've done.'

‘You?' She laughed.

Oddly, at the sound of this laugh, I felt compassion rather than anger. ‘Then what's this all about? Something's wrong. What?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Tell me, please.'

‘It's nothing.'

‘Just tell me.'

‘I did, you idiot!' Mami screamed. She seemed almost like a child. Then, inhaling sharply and letting the air out in a longish sigh, she composed herself, snatched up the TV remote and turned the volume to full. The static forced me, against my will, to yell.

‘Please, I want to help.'

Ignoring me, Mami began flicking through channels. On one a man with an absurdly large microphone cracked a joke and the studio audience roared. She kept flicking until the TV reached Video 2, a narrow slot of dark, expectant silence at which she threw down the remote and pressed buttons on the DVD player. She skipped chapters until Audrey Hepburn filled the screen. Regal, Audrey presided over a hall packed with people—journalists. It was
Roman Holiday
. The journalists were codedly explaining to the princess that, while they would treasure time spent with her, they would never print a word of it nor seek to impose again. She could resume her old life without interruption.

‘She escapes,' said Mami. ‘She wanders out into the world and they pose as guides, these men. But finally they know the game is up. She has her life to think of. She hates it. But she has it all the same and people demand. People always demand.'

‘I've seen it.'

‘Then why am I explaining it to you? Why are you still here?'

‘Maybe I don't believe you really want me to go.'

Without the slightest hesitation Mami picked up the TV remote and threw it at my head. It struck my chin, deflecting into my shoulder. My body remained rooted to the ground while Mami relaxed palpably, letting out—of all things—a hiccup. I turned and stared at the remote, now off in a corner, the batteries askew.

‘Now shoo,' she said again, softly, even sadly.

I left quickly, wiping a little blood from my lip and carefully closing the door behind me. The maid I once yelled at was in the hall with her full trolley. She frowned and stepped back, and I unhappily nodded hello.

I had no idea where to go. I took trains until at last I found myself outside Tsukiji-Shijo Station. I was back at the fish markets, seemingly drawn to them, as if the hostel was still home and Tilly still in reach. The jobbers had sold their fish to retailers and packed up, and the concrete was being watered by a tanker truck, front nozzles jetting white and washing away the morning.

A typhoon struck the following day. Tired of being cooped up in the airless box I worked at getting the window open. It took me twenty minutes of hefting and swearing but it finally gave. Fresh air buffeted its way inside. Above me, clouds sped past at three or four times their usual speed, and below people lost umbrellas or had them fold inside out with a faint, far-off whoop. Stray dogs—their noses down, tails up—scurried for shelter. Buildings howled. And liberated plastic bags took off down empty streets at speed, tumbling and seeming always to look behind as if on the run.

Halfway through this storm Phillip arrived home. He was saturated but his eyes seemed alert. ‘Look,' he said, opening the palm of one hand. ‘Stems. I bought stems.'

‘For what?'

He only grinned and, closing his hand, stretched. He looked inordinately tall and I noticed he had the beginnings of a belly.

‘Stems for what, Phillip?'

‘Grass, of course. What the fuck else would I grow in here?' Yawning through a smile, he wandered into the kitchen and I heard him open the fridge. I could picture him resting his weight on the door, eyeing my food.

In a strange about-face, Mami invited me to the Artist's Café high atop Tokyo Dome Hotel to celebrate her birthday. She sent the invite via work. At first I decided not to go. But her offer ate at me until I relented.

When I arrived at dusk, having taken a glass elevator to the top of a forty-something storey hotel, Mami was smiling and holding out an ornate envelope. She handed it to me, then led me towards an elegant bar with two uniformed staff.

‘I'm breaking with convention,' she said, head tilted as if asking me a question. When I frowned her smile warmed. She ordered drinks and gestured for me to take a seat at a narrow glass bench with headphones and a steel footrest. This was built against a floor-to-ceiling window and afforded me a superb view of the city. I could make out Tokyo Tower and a far-off ferris wheel even before I sat, perhaps the same wheel Mami had taken me on.

‘How are you breaking with convention?' I asked when she arrived at the bench with two whiskys and a plate full of nibbles.

‘You haven't opened the envelope?'

‘Not yet.'

‘It's my birthday and if it wasn't for you, well, I'd still feel awful. Throwing that remote helped me somehow, even though it was a despicable thing to do. I'm surprised you even came tonight. But you did. So instead of receiving a present I'm going to give you one. That's only fair.'

Mami gestured to the envelope. I opened it and found a thin wad of 10,000 yen notes. I at once shut it and handed it back.

‘A thankyou is perfectly sufficient.'

Mami placed it back in my hand. ‘No. I insist. Anyway, it's not my money. It's my father's and he'd want me to give it to you. It's how things need to be.'

‘Why?'

‘Why? I don't like to be indebted to a person. My family doesn't, either. This way we can put it behind us— as though it never happened.'

I again handed back the envelope. ‘No thanks.'

‘Pure madness.'

We sat in silence for a moment staring out over the city. In the last light of day it was square and grey and cluttered. The buildings were packed tightly beside one another, like old boxes in storage. Boxes on boxes, extending out endlessly. The glass deadened all sound. I watched great fans turn lazily inside the rooftop airconditioners and thought how unlike the hostel this was, how unlike the little street Mami had stood in, squinting up and telling me to stick my head out. Back then I feared her entering my life. Now she was excising me, cutting around and beneath me like a tumour.

‘And in addition to this gift—which will only be left here if you don't take it—I'm going to find you somewhere to live. You'll pay the rent but I'll act as a guarantor and pay the deposit. All you'll have to do is move in.'

‘I won't take it. None of it.'

‘You will. Just watch.' And without another word, Mami dropped the envelope on the floor and left. I called after her but she ignored me. The eyes of the staff followed her out, curious. I suspected they knew who she was because they grouped to discuss the visit as soon as she was in the elevator.

For a long while after Mami's departure, I remained. I sat staring out the window at the city, watching familiar red bulbs pulse on tall buildings while trains slid into a station immediately below. They came from opposite directions but stopped perfectly in line, time and time again. Nearby, a Mitaya store, the brightest in the area, demanded a degree of attention hardly befitting its size. And to my right, dwarfed by distance, sat Shinjuku, a lump, like an ant nest burning from the inside out.

I had come to associate this height, this detached overview of the world and its workers, with Mami. I decided it was a perspective I should never have known. Having stepped from my own anxious poverty just long enough to recognise the endless possibilities before me, the vast panorama of adulthood, I had marooned myself between two worlds.

I picked up the envelope on my way out and buried it deep in my coat pocket. Perspectives aside, there was rent to pay.

Tinkerbelle's Treat

G
rowing marijuana gave Phillip something to think about, distracting him from his daily headaches. He was in and out of the apartment like a bee, researching one horticultural detail after another.

I did not share his enthusiasm.The size of the project and Phillip's intention to sell the crop to a mystery buyer worried me. I researched Japanese drug laws on the internet but found little information that was concrete. The reliable sites were all in Japanese, the remainder posted by past and present foreigners. Though I did not trust the latter, they were clear on two points—Japanese law made little or no distinction between marijuana and heroin, and growing it was tantamount to dealing it. Which meant a hefty prison sentence.

When Phillip purchased tubular fluorescent lights and installed them without permission, I decided there was a need to put an end to this new hobby. I interrupted him as he read from a book on hydroponics, purchased in the English section of Kinokuniya.

‘You know,' I said, keeping my voice calm and level, ‘you never told me where the stems came from or who it is you plan to sell this crop to.'

‘It's a need-to-know basis, Tuttle.' Phillip put the book down, collected his wallet and keys, and crossed to the apartment door.

‘Bugger that,' I said.

‘What?' He looked irritated at not having escaped before my objection.

‘I share the risk.'

‘Relax. You know the guy.'

This surprised me. ‘Who?'

Phillip opened the apartment door as if about to leave but did not step out. It was raining and I could see large drops falling as straight and fast as darts. Unlike in the rainy season, this rain was cold. Suppressing a shiver Phillip pulled on a windbreaker with one hand.