Dance Dance Dance

The wine had its effect. I got sleepy. And then I remem­bered the slip of paper in my pocket and tried the number again. No answer again. I let the telephone ring fifteen times. I glared at the tube to see Winfield step into the batter's box, when something occurred to me.

What was it? My eyes were fixed on the screen.

Something resembled something. Something was con­nected to something.

Nah, unlikely. But what the hell, check it out. I took the slip of paper and went to get the notepad where June had written her phone number. I compared the two numbers.

Good grief. They were the same.

Everything, everything, was linking up. Except I didn't have a clue what it meant.

The next morning I rang up JAL and booked a flight for the afternoon. I paid our bills, and Yuki and I were on our way to Makaha. For once, the sky was overcast. A squall was brewing on the horizon.

«Sounds like there's a Pacman crunching away at your heart,» said Yuki. «Bip-bip-bip-bip-bip- bip-bip-bip.» «I don't understand.» «Something's eating you.»

I thought about that as I drove on. «Every so often I glimpse this shadow of death,» I began. «It's a very dense shadow. As if death was very close, enveloping me, holding me down by the ankles. Any minute now it could happen. But it doesn't scare me. Because it's never my death. It's always someone else's. Still, each time someone dies it wears me down. How come?» Yuki shrugged.

«Death is always beside me, I don't know why. And given the slightest opening, it shows itself.»

«Maybe that's your key. Maybe death's your connection to the world,» Yuki said.

«What a depressing thought,» I said.

Dick North seemed sincerely sad to see me leave. Not that we had a great deal in common, but we did enjoy a certain ease with each other. And I respected him for the poetry he brought to practical concerns. We shook hands. As we did,

the one-armed skeleton came to mind. Could that really be this man?

«Dick, do you ever think about death? How you might die?» I asked him, as we sat around one last time.

He smiled. «I thought about death a lot during the War. There was death all around, so many ways you could get killed. But lately, no, I don't have time to worry about what I don't have control over. I'm busier in peace than in war,» he laughed. «What makes you ask?»

No reason, I told him.

«I'll think about it. We'll talk about it next time we meet,» he said.

Then Ame asked me to take a walk with her, and we strolled along a jogging path.

«Thanks for everything,» said Ame. «Really, I mean it. I'm not very good at saying these things. But—umm —well, I mean it. You've really helped smooth things out. Yuki and I have been able to talk. We've gotten closer. And now she's come to stay with me.»

«Isn't that nice,» I said. I couldn't think of anything less banal to say. Of course Ame barely heard me.

«The child seems to have calmed down considerably since she met you. She's not so irritable and nervous. I don't know what it is, but you certainly have a way with her. What do you have in common with her?»

I assured her I didn't know.

What did I think ought to be done about Yuki's schooling?

«If she doesn't want to go to school, then maybe you should think of an alternative,» I said. «Sometimes it's bad to force school on a kid, especially a kid like Yuki who's extra sensitive and attracts more attention than she likes. A tutor might be a good idea. I think it's pretty clear Yuki isn't cut out for all this cramming for entrance exams and all the silly competition and peer pressure and rules and extracur­ricular activities. Some people can do pretty well without it. I'm being idealistic, I know, but the important thing is that Yuki finds her talent and has a chance to cultivate it. Maybe

she'll decide to go back to school. That would be okay too, if that's her decision.»

«You're right, I suppose,» Ame said after a moment's thought. «I'm not much of a group person, never kept up with school either, so I guess I understand what you're saying.»

«If you understand, then there shouldn't be anything to

think about. Where's the problem?»

She swiveled her head, going from side to side, popping

her neck bones.

«There is no problem. I mean, the only problem is, I don't have unshakable confidence in myself as a mother. So I don't have it in me to stand up for her like that. If you lack confi­dence, you give in. Deep down, you worry that the idea of not going to school is socially wrong.»

Socially wrong? «I can't make any reassurances, but who knows what's going to be right or what's going to be wrong? No one can read the future. The results could be devastating. But that could happen either way. I think if you showed the girl that you're really trying—as a mother or as a friend—to make things work with her, and if you showed her some respect, then she'd be sharp enough to pick up on it and do the rest for herself.»

Ame stood there, hands in the pockets of her shorts, and was quiet. Then she said, «You really understand how the child feels, don't you? How come?»

Because I wasn't always on another planet, I felt like telling her. But I didn't.

Ame then said she wanted to give me something as an expression of her appreciation. I told her I'd already received more than enough from her former husband.

«But I want to. He's him and I'm me. And I want to thank you. And if I don't now, I'll forget to.» «I'd be quite happy if you forgot,» I joked. We sat down on a bench, and Ame pulled out a pack of Salems from her shirt pocket. She lit up, inhaled, exhaled. Then she let the thing turn to ash between her fingers.

Meanwhile, I listened to the birds singing and watched the gardeners whirring about in their carts. The sky was begin­ning to clear, though I did hear the faint report of thunder in the distance. Strong sunlight was breaking through thick gray cloud cover. In her sunglasses and short sleeves, Ame seemed oblivious to the glare and heat, although several trails of sweat had stained the neck of her shirt. Maybe it wasn't the sun. Maybe it was concentration, or mental diffu­sion. Ten minutes went by, apparently not registering with her. The passage of time was not a practical component in her life. Or if it was, it wasn't high on her list of priorities. It was different for me. I had a plane to catch.

«I have to be going,» I said, glancing at my watch. «I've got to return the car before I check in.»

She made a vague effort to refocus her eyes on me. A look I occasionally noted in Yuki. Like mother, like daughter, after all. «Ah, yes, the time. I hadn't noticed,» said Ame. «Sorry.»

We got up from the bench and walked back to the cot­tage.

They all came outside to see me off. I told Yuki to cut out the junk food, but figured Dick North would see to that. Lined up in the rearview mirror as I pulled away, the three of them made a curious sight. Dick waving his one arm on high; Ame staring ahead blankly, arms folded across her chest; Yuki looking off to the side and kicking a pebble. The remnant of a family in a makeshift corner of an imperfect universe. How had I ever gotten involved with them? A left-hand turn of the wheel and they were gone from sight. For the first time in ages I was alone.

31

Back at the Shibuya apartment, I went through my mail and messages. Nothing, of course, but petty work- related matters. How's that piece for the next issue coming along? Where the hell did you disappear to? Can you take on this new project? I returned nobody's call. Faster, simpler to get on with the work at hand.

But first, a phone call to Makimura. Friday picked up and promptly turned me over to the big man. I gave him a brief rundown of the trip, saying that Hawaii seemed to be a good breather for Yuki.

«Good,» he said. «Many thanks for everything. I'll give Ame a call tomorrow. Did the money hold out, by the way?»

«With lots to spare.»