The Japanese Lover(63)

The betrayal was so immense there was not enough room for it in his chest: he could scarcely breathe. In Alma and Nathaniel Belasco’s world, marriage was more than the union of two individuals: it was a social, economic, and family strategy. It was impossible that Alma could have been preparing for it without revealing the slightest hint of her intentions; the evidence must have been there, but he was too blind and deaf to spot it. Now though he could tie up loose ends and understand Alma’s erratic behavior in their final days together, her hesitations, her subterfuges to avoid questions, her subtle devices for distracting him, her contortions to make love without looking him in the face. The falsehood was so complete, the web of lies so intricate and complex, the hurt done so irreparable, that he could only conclude he did not know Alma in the slightest, that she was a stranger to him. The woman he loved had never existed; he had built her out of his dreams.

Tired of seeing her son drained of spirit like a sleepwalker, Heideko Fukuda decided the time had come to take him back to Japan to discover his roots and, with a bit of luck, find him a bride. The journey would help relieve him of the despair whose origin neither she nor Megumi had been able to fathom. Ichimei was still young to start a family, but he was mature beyond his years; it was a good idea to step in as soon as possible and choose her future daughter-in-law, before her son became ensnared in the pernicious American custom of getting married out of amorous infatuation. Megumi was completely devoted to her studies, but she agreed to supervise a couple of their compatriots who were taken on to keep their flower business going. She thought of asking Boyd, as a definitive proof of his love, to give up everything he had in Hawaii and come to Martinez to grow flowers, but Heideko could still not bring herself to even pronounce the name of this stubborn lover, whom she continued to refer to as the concentration camp guard. It was to be another five years before Heideko’s first grandchild, Charles, was born and she finally agreed to talk to the white devil.

Heideko organized the trip to Japan without asking Ichimei’s opinion. She simply told him they had to fulfill the inescapable duty of honoring Takao’s ancestors, as she had promised him on his deathbed so that he could pass away in peace. Takao had not been able to do so during his lifetime, so now the pilgrimage was up to the two of them. They would have to visit a hundred temples and scatter a pinch of Takao’s ashes in each of them. Ichimei only protested feebly for the sake of it, because deep down he did not care where he was; the geographical location in no way affected the process of inner cleansing on which he was embarked.

In Japan, Heideko announced to her son that her own first duty was not toward her deceased husband, but to her aged parents, if they were still alive, and to her siblings, whom she had not seen since 1922. She had no hope of finding her son James, who disappeared completely after he was deported. She did not invite Ichimei to accompany her. She said good-bye casually, as if she were going to the corner store, without asking how her son was going to survive in the meantime. Ichimei had given his mother all the money they had brought with them. He saw her off on the train, left his suitcase at the station, and started walking with only the clothes he was wearing, a toothbrush, and the oilskin bag containing his father’s ashes. He had no need of a map, because he had memorized his itinerary. He walked all the first day on an empty stomach until at nightfall he came to a tiny Shinto shrine, where he lay down by a wall. He was about to fall asleep when a mendicant monk came up and told him that inside the shrine there was always tea and rice cakes for any pilgrim. This was to be Ichimei’s life for the next four months. He walked all day until he was overwhelmed with fatigue, went hungry until somebody offered him a bite to eat, and slept wherever night found him. He never had to beg and never needed money. He walked along with his mind blank, enjoying the landscapes and his own tiredness, while the effort of keeping going gradually wore away his sad memories of Alma. When he completed his mission of visiting a hundred temples, the oilskin bag was empty, and he had rid himself of the dark thoughts that had so oppressed him at the start of the journey.





August 2, 1994

To live with uncertainty, with nothing sure or safe, with no plans or goals, letting myself be carried along like a bird on the wind: that is what I learned on my pilgrimage. You are amazed that at the age of sixty-two I can still leave from one day to the next and set out with no itinerary or baggage, like a youngster hitchhiking, that I can go away for an undefined length of time without calling you or writing to you, and that on my return I can’t tell you where I’ve been. There is no secret, Alma; I walk, and that’s all. I need very little, almost nothing, to survive. Ah, freedom!

I go, but I always remember you.

Ichi





AUTUMN


When she had failed to turn up to meet him for two consecutive days on the park bench, Lenny went to look for Alma at her apartment at Lark House. The door was opened by Irina, who had gone there to help her dress before she began her day at the home.

“I was waiting for you, Alma. You’re late,” said Lenny.

“Life is too short to be punctual.” Alma sighed.

For several days now, Irina had been coming early to give her breakfast, keep an eye on her in the shower, and help with her clothes, but neither of them mentioned it, as that would have been to admit Alma was starting no longer to be able to live on her own, and would have to move to the second level or return to Sea Cliff with her family. They both preferred to see this sudden weakness as a temporary setback. Seth had asked Irina to give up her job at Lark House and leave her room (which he called the mousetrap) to go and live with him permanently, but she kept one foot in Berkeley so as to avoid the snare of dependency, which she feared as much as the idea of moving to the second level at Lark House scared Alma. When she tried to explain this to Seth, he was offended by the comparison.