«No, nothing at all. I was merely concerned.»
«Can't you just be quiet?»
I did as told and Yumiyoshi cried until she couldn't cry anymore, then she hung up on me.
On May seventh, Yuki called.
«I'm back,» she announced. «Why don't we go out for a ride?»
I tooled the Maserati to the Akasaka condo. But when Yuki saw the car, she wrinkled up her face unpleasantly.
«What's with this?»
«I didn't steal it, don't worry. My car fell into an enchanted spring and what do you know? The fairy of the spring appeared looking like Isabelle Adjani and asked, 'Was that a gold Maserati or a silver BMW just now?' And I said, 'Neither, that was a copper Subaru,' and—»
«C'mon, bag the stupid jokes,» said Yuki. «I'm asking a serious question. Where the heck did you get this thing?»
«I traded temporarily with a friend. He needed to borrow the Subaru, for personal reasons.»
«A friend?»
«You may not believe it, but yes, I do have at least one friend.»
She climbed into the passenger seat, took a look around inside, then made a funny face. «Weird car,» she said.
Dopey.»
«Now that you mention it, the owner said the same thing. Although his words were slightly different.»
That shut her up.
I pointed the Maserati south, toward Shonan. Yuki wouldn't speak. I played a Steely Dan tape on low and drove with care. The weather was clear and warm, so I was wearing an aloha shirt and sunglasses, and Yuki had on a pink Polo shirt. It was like being in Hawaii again. In front was a livestock truck full of pigs, their red eyes peering through the slats at us. Could pigs distinguish between a Maserati and a
Subaru?
«How was it in Hawaii after I left?» I finally asked.
Yuki shrugged.
«Things go all right with your mother?»
Another shrug.
«Get your surfing down?»
Still another shrug.
«You look real healthy. Perfectly tanned. Like cafe au lait, all smooth and delicious.»
Shrug.
You couldn't say I wasn't trying. I was trying everything.
«Is it your period or something?»
The same.
So I shrugged back.
«I want to go home,» Yuki said. «Hang a U.»
«This is an expressway. Even Niki Lauda couldn't manage a U-turn here.»
«Then exit someplace.»
I turned to her. She looked exhausted suddenly, her eyes lifeless and unfocused. Perhaps a bit pale too; it was hard to tell through the tan.
«Want to stop and take a rest?»
«I don't want a rest stop. I want to go back to Tokyo.
Now!»
We got off at the expressway at Yokohama, then headed back on going in the opposite direction. When we reached Akasaka, Yuki asked if we could go sit somewhere. So I parked the Maserati in the lot, and we walked to the grounds of Nogi Shrine and found a bench.
«I'm sorry,» said Yuki, trying to be reasonable. «I felt sick. I didn't want to say anything, so I held it in.»
«You don't have to hold it in. I know how girls get. I'm used to it.»
«It's not like that!» she shouted. «That has nothing to do with it! What got to me was riding in that car. That
«What's wrong with the Maserati? It's not such a bad car. It handles real well, rides pretty nice too. True, a bit too flashy for my simple tastes. Even if I could afford it, I guess I'd never buy a car like that.»
«I don't care what brand that car is. The problem's
«No,» I said. «Although I got to admit, I don't feel one hundred percent comfortable in it. I thought it was because I was used to the Subaru. You know, you like what you're used to, but that's not this pressure you're talking about.»
She shook her head. «No, it's not that at all. This is something real
«Is this more of your . . . ?» I cut myself short. I didn't want to say anything that sounded condescending.
«Yeah, it's more of that. I
«Well, what was it? What did you sense in that car?»
Yuki shrugged yet again, but this time she was talking. «It'd be easy if I could explain, but I can't. I can't picture it. There's just this feeling—a heavy, dark, awful lump of pressure in me. And it's totally ...» Yuki searched for the word, hands on her lap. «It's
But
«The Curse of the Maserati,» I intoned.
«This is no joke. You shouldn't be driving that car,» she said, very seriously.
«Okay, okay,» I gave in with a smile. «I know you're not kidding. I'll try not to drive the Maserati too much. Or maybe I should go sink the thing in the sea?»
«If possible,» said a grave Yuki.
It took Yuki about an hour to recover from this shock to her system. We sat on the bench, and she rested her chin on her hands and kept her eyes shut. People passed through the grounds. Old folks, mothers with children, foreign tourists with cameras strung around their necks. Occasionally, a salesman-type or salaryman would stop and take a breather on a bench near us. Dark suit, plastic briefcase, glassy stare. Ten minutes later, he'd be off beating the pavement again. By most standards, a normal adult should be working at this hour, and a normal kid should be in school.
«What about your mother?» I asked. «Did she come back with you?»
«Mmm.» That was Yuki saying yes. «She's up in Hakone with that one-armed guy. Sorting out her photos of Kathmandu and Hawaii.»
«And you didn't want to stay in Hakone?»
«I didn't feel like it. There's nothing for me to do there.»
«Just thought I'd ask,» I said. «Tell me, what exactly is there for you to do on your own in Tokyo?»
One of her patented shrugs. Then, «I can hang out with you.»
«Well, I couldn't ask for more myself. However, trying to be realistic, pretty soon I ought to be getting back to work. I can't afford to keep running around with you forever. And I
don't want handouts from your father either.»
Yuki sneered. «I can understand your not wanting to take handouts from my parents, but why do you have to make such a big deal about it? How do you think it makes me feel, dragging you all around the place like this?»
