Dance Dance Dance

you talk, the more it kind of grew on me. You fuss over tiny details, but you're awful generous with big things. There's a pattern that builds up. I figure you know more than you say, maybe you're covering for somebody. You're an interesting charac­ter. Almost like Yuki that way. You have a hard time just surviving. This time you came through okay, but the next time you may not be so lucky. Remember, the police aren't so nice. I've got no beef with your system—I actually have respect for it—but you could get hurt, sticking to your guns like that. Times have changed. You got to adapt.»

«I'm not sticking to my guns,» I said. «It's more like just a dance. Something the body remembers. It's a habit. The music plays, the body moves. It almost doesn't matter what else is happening. If too many things get in my head, I might end up blowing my steps. I'm clumsy, not trendy.» Hiraku Makimura glared at his golf club in silence. «You're odd, you know?» he said. «You remind me of something.»

«Same here.» Picasso's Dutch Vase and Three Bearded Knights?

«I like you, son. I trust you as a person. I'm sorry that I have to ask you to look out for Yuki. But I'll make it up to you someday. I always repay favors. Like I said before.»

«I heard.»

25

At seven o'clock, Yuki came sauntering back. She'd been walking on the beach. Would she like dinner, then? Not hungry, she said. She wanted to go home.

«Well, drop by whenever you feel in the mood,» said her father. «This month I'll be in Japan straight through.» Then he turned to me and thanked me for making the long trip, apologizing for not being able to be more hospitable.

Boy Friday saw us out. As we turned the corner from the backyard, I spied a four-wheel-drive Jeep Cherokee, a Honda 750cc, and an off-road mountain bike parked in a corner of the grounds.

«Heavy-duty living, eh?» I commented to Friday.

«Well, it's not namby-pamby,» Friday responded after a moment. «Mr. Makimura doesn't live in an ivory tower. He's into action, he lives for adventure.»

«A bozo,» Yuki mumbled.

Both Friday and I pretended not to have heard her.

No sooner had we gotten into the Subaru than Yuki said she was famished. I pulled into a Hungry Tiger along the coast road and we ordered steaks.

«What did you talk about?» she asked me over dessert.

There was no reason to hide anything, so I gave her a general recap.

«Figures,» she sneered. «Just the sort of thing he'd dream up. What'd you tell him?»

«I said I wasn't cut out for an arrangement like that. It wouldn't be bad, us getting together and hanging out, when­ever we wanted to. That could be fun, but no formal arrangement. You know, I may be an old man next to you, but we still have plenty to talk about, don't you think?»

She shrugged.

«If you didn't feel like seeing me, you could just say so. People shouldn't feel obligated to see each other. See me when you feel like it. We could tell each other things we can't say to anyone else, share secrets. Or no?»

She seemed to hesitate, then nodded, «Umm.»

«You shouldn't let the stuff build up inside. It gets to a point where you can't keep it under control. You got to let off the pressure or it'll explode. Bang! Know what I mean? Life is hard enough. Holding down the fort all by your lone­some is tough. And it's tough for me too. But the two of us», I think maybe we can understand each other. We can talk pretty honestly.»

She nodded.

«I can't force you. But if you want to talk, just call up. This has nothing to do with what your father and I dis­cussed. And try not to think of me as a big brother or some­thing. We're friends. I think we can be good for each other.»

Yuki didn't respond. She finished off her dessert and gulped down a glass of water. Then she peered over at the heavyset family stuffing their jowls at the next table. Mother and father and daughter and baby brother. All wonderfully rotund.

I planted my elbows on the table and drank my coffee, watching Yuki watch them. She was truly a beautiful girl. I could feel a small polished stone sinking through the darkest waters of my heart. All those deep convoluted channels and passageways, and yet she managed to toss her pebble right down to the bottom of it all. If I were fifteen, I'd have been a goner for sure, I thought for the twentieth time.

How could her classmates be so rotten? Was her beauty too much to be around everyday? Too pointed? Too intense? Too aloof? Did she make them afraid of her?

Well, she certainly wasn't cool like Gotanda. Gotanda had this remarkable awareness of the effect he had on oth­ers, and he held it in reserve. He controlled it. He never lorded it over people, never scared them off. And even when his presence had inflated to star proportions, he could smile and joke about it. It was his nature. That way everyone around him could smile along and think, Now there's one nice guy. And Gotanda really was a nice guy. But Yuki was different. Yuki was not nice.

She didn't have it in her to keep tabs on everyone else's emotions and then to fit her own emotions in without stomping on people. It was all she could do to keep on top of herself. As a result, she hurt others, which only hurt her­self. A hard life. A little too hard for a thirteen-year-old. Hard even for an adult.

I couldn't begin to predict what the girl would do from here on. Maybe she'd find a way to express herself, like her mother did, and make her way in art. Maybe she'd channel her powers into something positive. I couldn't swear to it, but like her father, I could sense an aura, a talent, in her. She was extraordinary.

Then again, she might become a perfectly normal eigh­teen-year-old. It wouldn't be the first time.

Humans achieve their peak in different ways. But who­ever you are, once you're over the summit, it's downhill all the way. Nothing anyone can do about it. And the worst of it is, you never know where that peak is. You think you're still going strong, when suddenly you've crossed the great divide. No one can tell. Some people peak at twelve, then lead rather uneventful lives from then on. Some carry on until they die; some die at their peak. Poets and composers have lived like furies, pushing themselves to such a pitch they're gone by thirty. Then there are those like Picasso, who kept breaking ground until well past eighty.

And what about me?

My peak? Would I even have one? I hardly had had any­thing you could call a life. A few ripples. Some rises and falls. But that's it. Almost nothing. Nothing born of nothing. I'd loved and been loved, but I had nothing to show. It was a singularly plain, featureless landscape. I felt like I was in a video game. A surrogate Pacman, crunching blindly through a labyrinth of dotted lines. The only certainty was my death.

No promises you're gonna be happy, the Sheep Man had said. So you gotta dance. Dance so it all keeps spinning.

I gave up and closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, Yuki was sitting across the table from me.

«You okay?» she said, concerned. «You looked like you blew a fuse. Did I say something wrong?»

I smiled. «No, it wasn't anything you said.»

«You just thought of something unpleasant?»

«No, I just thought that you're too beautiful.»

Yuki looked at me with her father's blank stare. Then silently she shook her head.

Yuki paid for dinner. Her father had given her lots of money, she informed me. She took the check over to the reg­ister, peeled a ten-thousand-yen note from a wad of five or six, handed it over to the cashier, then scooped up the change without even looking at it.

«Papa thinks that all he has to do is fork over money and everything's cool,» she said, piqued. «He's real dim. But that's why I can treat you today. Makes us even, kind of, right? You're always treating me, so fair's fair.»

«Thank you,» I said. «But you know, all this goes against classic date etiquette.»

«Huh?»