Rainfall

I saw surprise on her face. “I told you, he didn’t.”

“Someone broke into his apartment after he died.”

“I know. I got a call from the police when it happened.”

“The point is, they couldn’t find what they were looking for, and they think you have it.”

“Look, if you want to take a look around my father’s apartment, I can let you in. I haven’t cleaned it out yet, and I still have the key.”

The people who had broken in had come up empty, and my old friend Tatsu, as thorough a man as I have ever known, had been there afterward with the resources of the Keisatsucho. I knew another look would be a dead end, and her suggestion only served to increase my frustration.

“That’s not going to help. What would these people think that you have? The disk? Something it’s hidden in? A key? Are you sure you don’t have anything?”

I saw her redden slightly. “I told you, I don’t.”

“Well, try to remember something, can’t you?”

“No, I can’t,” she said, her voice angry. “How can I remember something if I don’t have it?”

“How can you be sure you don’t have it if you can’t remember it?”

“Why are you saying this? Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because nothing else makes sense! And I’ve got to tell you, I don’t like the feeling of people trying to kill me when I don’t even know why!”

She swung her feet to the floor and stood up. “Oh, it’s only you! Do you think I like it? I didn’t do anything! And I don’t know why these people are doing this, either!”

I exhaled slowly, trying to rein in my anger. “It’s because they think you have the damn disk. Or you know where it is.”

“Well, I don’t! Oai nikusama! Mattaku kokoroattari ga nai wa yo! Mo nan do mo so itteru ja nai yo!” I don’t know anything! I’ve already told you that!

We stood staring at each other at the foot of the bed, breathing hard. Then she said, “You don’t give a shit about me. You’re just after what they want, whatever it is.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is true! Mo ii! Dose anata ga doko no dare na no ka sae oshiete kurenain da kara!” I’ve had enough! You won’t even tell me who you are! She stalked over to the door and picked up a bag, started shoving her things into it.

“Midori, listen to me.” I walked over and grabbed the bag. “Listen to me, goddamnit! I do care about you! Can’t you see that?”

She tugged at the bag. “Why should I believe what you say when you don’t believe me? I don’t know anything! I don’t know!”

I yanked the bag out of her hands. “All right, I believe you.”

“Like hell you do. Give me my case. Give it to me!” She tried to grab it and I moved it behind my back.

She looked at me, her eyes briefly incredulous, then started hitting me in the chest. I dropped the bag and wrapped my arms around her to stop the blows.

Later, I couldn’t remember exactly how it happened. She was fighting me and I was trying to hold her arms. I became very aware of the feel of her body and then we were kissing, and it seemed as though she was still trying to hit me but it was more that we were tearing at each other’s clothes.

We made love on the floor at the foot of the bed. The sex was passionate, headlong. At times it was like we were still fighting. My back was throbbing, but the pain was almost sweet.

Afterwards I reached up and pulled the bedcovers over us. We sat with our backs against the edge of the bed.

“Yokatta,” she said, drawing out the last syllable. “That was good. Better than you deserved.”

I felt a little dazed. It had been a long time for me, a connection like that. It was almost unnerving.

“But you don’t trust me,” she went on. “That hurts.”

“It’s not trust, Midori. It’s . . . ,” I said, then stopped. “I believe you. I’m sorry for pushing so hard.”

“I’m talking about your dream.”

I pressed my fingertips to my eyes. “Midori, I can’t, I don’t . . .” I didn’t know what the hell to say. “I don’t talk about these things. If you weren’t there, you couldn’t understand.”

She reached over and gently pried my fingertips from my eyes, then held them without self-consciousness at her waist. Her skin and her breasts were beautiful in the diffused moonlight, the shadows pooled in the hollows above her clavicles. “You need to talk, I can feel that,” she said. “I want you to tell me.”

I looked down at the tangled sheets and blankets, the shadows carving stark hills and valleys like some alien landscape in the moonlight. “My mother . . . she was Catholic. When I was a kid, she used to take me to church. My father hated it. I used to go to confession. I used to tell the priest about all my lascivious thoughts, all the fights I’d been in, the kids I hated and how I wanted to hurt them. At first it was like pulling teeth, but it got addictive.

“But that was all before the war. In the war, I did things . . . that are beyond confession.”

“But if you keep them bottled up like this, they’ll eat you like poison. They are eating you.”