The Japanese Lover(58)
Nathaniel was at his desk, in shirtsleeves, his tie loosened and hair a mess, surrounded by piles of open documents and legal tomes, but as soon as he saw her he came over to greet her. Alma buried her face in his chest, deeply relieved to be able to pour out her drama to this man who had never failed her.
“I’m pregnant,” was all she managed to utter.
Still holding on to her, Nathaniel led her over to the sofa, where they sat side by side. Alma told him about her love, the motel, and how the pregnancy was not Ichimei’s fault but hers, and that if Ichimei found out he would doubtless insist on marrying her and taking responsibility for the child, but that she had thought it through carefully and wasn’t brave enough to give up all she had always enjoyed by becoming Ichimei’s wife. She adored him but knew that the disadvantages of poverty drove out love, because faced with the choice between a life of economic hardship within a Japanese community she had nothing in common with, or of continuing to be protected in her own environment, her fear of the unknown won out; she was ashamed of her own weakness, Ichimei deserved unconditional love, he was a wonderful man, a sage, a saint, a pure soul, a delicate, considerate lover in whose arms she felt blessed.
She spoke in a rushing torrent of phrases, blowing her nose to avoid crying, trying to retain some dignity.
She went on to add that Ichimei lived on a spiritual plane and was always going to be a simple gardener rather than develop his enormous artistic talent or to try to turn his flower nursery into a proper business; nothing like that, he didn’t want more, he was satisfied to earn just what he needed to get by and wasn’t the slightest bit concerned about prosperity or success; his passions were meditation and calmness, but they didn’t put food on the table and she wasn’t going to start a family in a wooden shack with a tin roof and live among gardeners with spades in their hands.
“I know, Nathaniel, forgive me, you warned me a thousand times and I didn’t listen, you were right, you’re always right, I can see now I can’t marry Ichimei, but I can’t stop loving him either, without him I’d wither away like a plant in the desert, I’d die, and from now on I’ll be more careful, we’ll take precautions, this won’t happen again, I promise you, Nathaniel, I swear.” She went on talking and talking without pause, the excuses and sense of guilt welling up alternately, while Nathaniel listened without interrupting until she had run out of breath and her voice had died down to a murmur.
“Let’s see if I understand you, Alma. You’re pregnant but aren’t thinking of telling Ichimei,” Nathaniel concluded.
“I can’t have a child outside of wedlock, Nat. You have to help me. You’re the only person I can turn to.”
“An abortion? That’s illegal and dangerous. Don’t count on me for that, Alma.”
“Listen, Nat. I’ve looked into it and it’s safe, there’s no risk and it would only cost a hundred dollars—but you have to come with me, because it’s in Tijuana.”
“Tijuana? Abortion is illegal in Mexico too, Alma. This is crazy!”
“It’s much more dangerous here, Nat. In Mexico there are doctors who perform the operation under the noses of the police, and nobody cares.”
Alma showed him a scrap of paper with a phone number on it, and explained that she had already called up and spoken to someone named Ramón. A man had answered in terrible English, asking her who had sent her and if she knew the conditions. She gave him the name of her contact, assured him she would pay cash, and they agreed that in two days’ time he would pick her up in his car at three in the afternoon on a specific corner in Tijuana.
“Did you tell this Ramón you’ll be accompanied by a lawyer?” asked Nathaniel, tacitly accepting the role she had given him.
* * *
They left at six the next morning in the family’s black Lincoln, which was better suited to a fifteen-hour journey than Nathaniel’s sports car. Furious at being trapped in this way, Nathaniel initially kept a hostile silence, his mouth a tight line, brow furrowed, hands like talons on the wheel as he stared fixedly at the highway, but the first time Alma asked him to stop at a truck stop to go to the rest-room, he softened. She was gone for half an hour, and just as he was thinking of going to look for her, she returned to the car in a bad state. “I feel sick in the mornings, Nat, but later on it passes,” she explained. For the rest of the journey he tried to take her mind off things, and they ended up singing out of tune the most syrupy Pat Boone songs, the only ones they knew, until eventually, exhausted, she clung to him, laid her head on his shoulder, and dozed off.
In San Diego they stopped overnight at a hotel to eat and get some sleep. The receptionist presumed they were married and gave them a room with a double bed. They lay down together holding hands, just as they had done as children. For the first time in weeks Alma slept without having nightmares, while Nathaniel stayed wide awake until dawn, breathing in the shampoo scent on his cousin’s hair, thinking of the risks they were running, feeling upset and nervous as though he were the child’s father, imagining the repercussions, regretting having agreed to this sordid adventure rather than bribing a doctor in California, where everything was possible if the price was right, just as in Tijuana. As the first light filtered through the gap in the curtains he was finally overcome with fatigue and didn’t wake up until nine in the morning, when he heard Alma retching in the bathroom. They took their time crossing the border, with the predictable delays, and drove on to keep their appointment with Ramón.