SAM JUMPED for the gun. He never had a chance. The hammer on the Nambu was faster. It struck the cartridge.
Click.
Adrenalin slammed his head back, he never heard the misfire. The gun was still in his face. He slapped out and it skittered across the kitchen floor. It bounced off a table leg and came to rest beside a wooden crate of brown beer bottles. A single bullet lay in the Nambu’s rusting chambers. Not quite as old as the uncle, it was just as impotent.
Sam watched the old man collapse in the corner and heard a distant sound. His brain struggled to put the pieces in place. He looked down. A woman hung upside down from his fist. Her eyes bulged, her mouth opened and closed.
May’s aunt didn’t stop screaming until Sam pulled her out of the trapdoor and slapped her. He pushed the pair through the parlor into the bedroom. They stumbled and fell on a pile of futons and quilts in the center of the room. The fight had gone out of them. They huddled together, eyes wide with fear, and waited for retribution.
He watched silently, until he trusted himself to speak. “Tell me where my sister is or I kill you both right now.”
The aunt recovered slightly. Her mouth opened to argue. She gagged on the truth in his eyes. He wasn’t kidding, it wasn’t just a threat.
“She’s at the Tokunaga School,” her husband blurted out.
“How do I get there?”
The uncle tried to give directions. Too frightened, he babbled. The third time through Sam knew he could find the school. He looked around and found a purple obi, the belt for the old woman’s kimono, discarded on the tatami. She regained her voice as he tied her hands and feet. A strip of cloth torn from a futon cover served as a gag. The uncle received similar treatment.
The rental was where he’d left it, unmolested by traffic police. He drove as fast as he could, knuckles white on the wheel, through snarling city traffic. Until buildings dropped away, replaced by paddy fields and low hills. At the turnoff described by the uncle, he pulled into a gas station to use the phone. The cop made him repeat himself over and over but finally agreed to send a car.
A rutted dirt road led to the school. He parked under the only tree large enough to provide shade from the searing heat. A few ill-tended buildings were surrounded by fields lying fallow. He saw no children, heard no voices. The only indication that it was a school at all was a small sign, easy to overlook. It was made of plastic and tacked on the side of a metal prefab office adjacent to an old farm house.
A man in camouflage fatigues with an olive green towel draped over his neck sat behind a desk. He set down a bottle of beer as Sam walked in, turned down the play-by-play on a mini-TV, and stood up.
“Good afternoon,” he smiled, wiping his face with the towel. “Welcome to the Tokunaga School. I’m—”
“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Sam said. “Where’s my sister?”
Tokunaga looked as if he’d been slapped. His face reddened, his eyes registered shock and then anger. Whether parent or guardian, brother or sister, no one had ever dared to talk to him in such a manner. He was a sensei, for Christ’s sake. His response was predictable. He leaned forward and roared mindlessly.
Sam had met dozens of Tokunagas in his life. He grabbed the teacher by the collar and dragged him across the desk.
“You weren’t listening, asshole. I asked you where my sister is.” He lifted Tokunaga’s head and smashed it into the metal desk. Blood spurted from a broken nose and splashed across the TV screen.
“Where is she?” Sam shouted.
“Stop,” Tokunaga gasped, trying to stem the flow of blood from his nose with the towel. “She’s here. I’ll take you to her.” He nodded at the door and made a gesture for Sam to go first. Sam opened the door and stepped into the sunlight. It was sharp and blinding, almost painful.
Tokunaga snarled and smashed the beer bottle into Sam’s head. He crumpled and fell motionless into the dirt at the base of the steps. The ex-soldier leaped down and kicked him experimentally in the side. Satisfied Sam was out, he started dragging him feet-first across the yard.
The old sow noticed the activity, ambled over and nudged Sam with its snout. Tokunaga lashed out with his foot and the pig wandered away. He pulled Sam into the barn and grabbed a coil of rope hanging on a peg.
“Can I kill you?” Tokunaga growled, as he bent over Sam’s body and reached down to tie his feet. “Can I get away with it?”
Sam’s boot caught Tokunaga square in the face, driving him back. More blood escaped his nose as he sagged and fell to his knees. He stared at Sam in confusion and disbelief. Both men slowly climbed to their feet. They stood in the gloom of the barn facing each other on shaky legs.
Sam could feel blood dripping down his neck, soaking into his T-shirt. He was afraid he might pass out again. “Where is she?” he demanded, staggering forward.
Tokunaga grunted and charged. Most of his strength was gone. They came together—a tangle of arms and legs, curses and threats—and rolled through the dust, out the barn door and into the yard.
“Stop!” voices commanded, “Stop!” Hands reached down and pulled them apart.
Sam fought to get at Tokunaga. Until he saw the police cruiser parked in the yard. He stopped struggling and started yelling at a cop in plain clothes. Tokunaga, restrained a few yards away by a uniformed patrolman, yelled louder.
Inspector Arakawa sighed—it really is too hot for all this commotion—and slipped out of his suit jacket. He carefully set it on the hood of the cruiser and looked at Sam. “Are you the one that reported a kidnapping?”
Arakawa was an amiable man of middle height. His tone, as quiet and reasonable as his smile, carried an unmistakable undercurrent. It demanded Sam be quiet and reasonable, too.
The patrolman led Tokunaga away to get his statement as Sam began to explain.
So far she had fallen, so far to return. Easier to suffer the world of nightmares than to relive the heat, the thirst and the children, lying dead inches away.
Only Sam’s voice could lift her up. She rose slowly, against her will—each scrape, bruise and break crying out as she surfaced. May coughed and rubbed her eyes; she tried to vomit but there was nothing left, just a little drool that ran down her chin.
Almost conscious, almost believing, she crawled across the burning steel and pressed her eye to an air hole. A tentative tear escaped and ran down her cheek. It wasn’t a trick or a dream. A second tear, more hopeful, followed the first. It was Sam. She could just see past the barn, into the yard. He was standing next to a car, a police car, talking to a man in a suit.
She wanted to scream but her voice was gone. Even if she could, he was too far away to hear. “Come on, Sam,” she urged. “I’m right over here. What are you waiting for?”
He turned his head, seemed to look straight at her. “Please, brother,” she whispered. “There really isn’t very much time left, you know.”
Inspector Arakawa raised his hand, stopping Sam in mid-sentence. “I understand the situation.”
“Then let’s start looking.” Sam bit down on his anger and impatience, working hard to keep his voice under control.
Arakawa looked over at Tokunaga. The housekeeper Tada, was standing a few feet away wringing her hands and looking confused. “This is private property,” he said. “We can’t conduct a search without a warrant. Basically, it’s your word against his.”
And I believe everything you’ve told me. He’d never been introduced to Tokunaga but had seen him around. After nearly twenty years on the force he could recognize a bad guy when he saw one. There’d been rumors about this school of his but no formal complaints. But scum like Tokunaga always made a mistake, it was as inevitable as the monsoon. Arakawa had filed away the rumors and had waited patiently. Today was the day.
“You need to have your head looked at,” Arakawa said quietly. “You’re still bleeding.”
“What?” Sam reached up and touched the back of his head. His fingers came away smeared with blood. He’d forgotten the wound. It was of no importance.
Arakawa reached a decision. He didn’t like the delay it would require but he had no choice. “I’m going to take you and Tokunaga to the hospital and then I’m going to get a warrant. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. The patrolman will stay to make sure the old lady doesn’t move your sister if she’s here. I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do.”
“What about the aunt and uncle?”
“I’ll radio in and have them picked up. Now, if you’ll get in the car. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be back.”
Sam started to argue. A look from the cop stopped him. He was only going to make things worse. Arakawa pointed to the back seat and Sam opened the door and got in. After a word with the patrolman, Arakawa shoved Tokunaga in the front seat and started the engine.
May’s eyes fell shut as Sam got in the car. She didn’t have the strength to open them again. She didn’t scream or even cry, she simply lay down on her side and curled up in a ball. He was leaving and she didn’t understand why. Hope, like a mirage, shimmered and was gone. She knew it wouldn’t come back. Not in time, not for her.
May apologized again and again. For giving up so easy, for not trying harder. But she couldn’t go on any longer. From beyond the terrible darkness, she heard a gentle voice, she saw a cool friendly light. “Goodbye, Sam,” she whispered, slipping away. “Goodbye, goodbye. I’ll always love you.”
Inspector Arakawa’s eyes never left Tokunaga as he radioed in his report. Sweat poured down Tokunaga’s face, his eyes were everywhere, bouncing around the barnyard, never resting.
Tokunaga could feel the cop staring at him. He tried to relax, to make his mind go blank. He looked at the farm house, he looked at the office. Not once did he glance at the freight container, just visible around the corner of the barn. He closed his eyes and began to tell himself hopeful lies—I can still get out of this—about a hopeless future. He began to feel better and started to smile.
A rooster crowed behind the barn. Arakawa glanced toward the sound. A hen cackled angrily and fluttered up out of the weeds. The sun bounced into his eyes, glinting off metal blue and white. He blinked. A pig stood on its hind legs, pawing at an old freight container. He shifted his gaze back to Tokunaga and now it was his turn to smile.
“So what’s in the box?”
Tokunaga was still trying to wipe the shock and fear off his face as Sam bolted from the car and began to run. Arakawa made no effort to stop him. Tokunaga’s expression was all the warrant he needed. The heat in the car was intense, it seemed hot enough to melt the plastic dash. He looked again at the metal box and casually backhanded Tokunaga across the face. He picked up the radio and called for an ambulance.
Sam burned his hand opening the steel door. The stench brought tears to his eyes and drove him back. He reached inside and lifted May out of the box.
The patrolman was yelling in his ear, gesturing. Sam couldn’t understand the words. He stroked May’s forehead and refused to let her go. Her face was terribly flushed, hot and dry. He knew his tears weren’t enough but he couldn’t think, he didn’t know what else to do.
Arakawa pulled the little girl from her brother’s arms and set her in the dust. He saw a broken arm, he saw heat stroke—he saw she wasn’t breathing. He didn’t think she was going to make it.
Sam knelt and tried to help the cop with CPR. When the inspector shook his head, Sam tried harder. The cop didn’t know May—she would never give up.
Arakawa watched the ambulance pull out of the yard with its lights flashing. He prayed a little for the kid and then retrieved Tokunaga, standing forgotten, handcuffed to the door of the cruiser.
He cuffed Tokunaga’s hands behind his back and dragged him over to the box. Two bodies, one small, one smaller, lay beside the freight container. He shooed the sow away from the children and forced Tokunaga to look. “You did this,” was all he would allow himself to say.
They stood together as the bodies were loaded into ambulances and driven away, this time without lights or siren. Arakawa ordered the patrolman to take the housekeeper to the station in the cruiser. “But how will you get back?” the patrolman asked. Arakawa said he would call for a car. The young cop did as ordered. He looked worried and uncertain as he drove away.
The sun was down, the yard in dark shadow. The pig glanced at the two men and strolled into the barn. “Get in the box,” Arakawa ordered. He pointed a pistol at Tokunaga’s head, giving him a choice.
“Please...” was all Tokunaga could manage. He tried to climb inside but the heat and the smell nearly brought him to his knees. “Please...”
Arakawa assisted Tokunaga into the box and shut and latched the door. He shrugged and walked out of the yard. A small breeze lifted his spirits a little as he walked down the dirt road. The smell of alfalfa, strong and sweet, filled the deepening gloom. The inspector suddenly felt very tired. He stepped off the road and sat down under a small tree. Soft sounds, near and far—Arakawa listened with eyes closed. He heard it all. The rustle of palm fronds, the call of earth and sea. He listened to voices gone forever and wished for a moment’s silence, nothing more.
The connection was bad, his voice a whisper over wires stretched to breaking, heart to heart. She wanted to ask him to speak louder but was afraid. Evening shadows crept across the walls. Can you fly down? Tonight? She promised and gently set down the phone. A cry of sadness escaped her throat.
There were things she needed to do, arrangements to be made. Minutes passed. She sat, her head at an angle, staring at the wall. Street noises receded and were gone. The light grew soft. It slid out the door, cascading off the balcony to the street below. She felt a coolness on her cheeks as a summer wind touched her tears.
Helen stepped out on the balcony. Remembering her first days in Tokyo, she felt all alone under a decorated sky. A new arrival—the city had been master, she apprentice. It had taught her the shape-changing art. An import, too big to fit, she’d been forced to shrink. Painful reminders had been administered when needed. She’d thought it natural, a cultural adaptation. And if others had commented on her silence, only she’d known of a growing bitterness.
Excessive love had proven a distractive palliative. She’d conjured emotions as ethereal as the sunset and called them real. And then May had miraculously come into her life. A little sorceress, she’d cast charming spells, visions of past and possible Helens. Sam had followed and she’d grown even more, expanding to reach for his love.
She looked at the temple below. Awed by sharp angles and shiny surfaces, she’d gotten lost somehow, forgotten where she was. Now she remembered. She’d nearly disappeared just to survive, a believer in shades of gray. She shook her head. Not all differences were neutral—ask Kiyomi, ask May—children trimmed to fit like bonsai.
The hospital was quiet and dark with nurses dozing at their stations. Sam sat outside May’s room resting his head in his hands. He prayed she live one minute longer. The hand on the clock ticked over and he repeated his prayer. The door opened and a nurse hurried past without a glance.
He’d grown used to the footsteps of the doctors and nurses. They moved between darkness and light on crepe soles that only whispered of their approach. Sam raised his head to a different sound, loud and urgent.
Helen was out of breath from running. “I got here as fast as I could. How is she?”
Sam shrugged. “Not good, I guess...hell, I don’t know...the doctors won’t tell me anything.”
“But she’s hanging in there, isn’t she?”
“Yes. One of the nurses said every minute is important. The longer she lasts...”
“When can we see her?”
“I don’t know. They kicked me out an hour ago.”
Helen took his hand. “All right, we’ll wait. She’s going to be OK. Trust me.”
Sam tried to smile. “That’s my line.”
“Not any more, it’s mine now. Come on, if she can make it this far she can make it the rest of the way. Have a little faith. She’ll come back to us.”
Deep into the night, the doctors relented. Sam and Helen sat silently at May’s bedside, listening to her breathing. It was a weak sound that struggled to be heard in a room loud with despair. Sam held May’s hand, Helen held Sam’s. Doctors and nurses came and went, their footsteps and whispers punctuating a history undecided.
Sam leaned down and encouraged May once more. His words and tears joined with Helen’s. They fell gently, one by one, over the little girl.
May’s eyelids fluttered just before dawn. She lifted a hand to rub her eyes. “Why’s my face all wet?” she complained. Sam smiled, Helen whispered thank you and May fell into a softer, safer sleep.