even have the right to be sorry.»
Yuki looked at me, shocked and hurt. «Maybe I'm being too hard on you. But listen, I don't care what other people do. I don't want to hear that sort of talk from you. You shouldn't say things like that lightly, as if saying them is going to solve anything. They don't stick. You think you feel sorry about Dick, but I don't believe you really do. If I were Dick, I wouldn't want your easy regret. I wouldn't want people saying, 'Oh, I acted horribly.' It's not a question of manners; it's a question of fairness. That's something you have to learn.»
Yuki couldn't respond. She pressed her fingers to her temples and quietly closed her eyes. She almost seemed to have dozed off, but for the slight flutter of her eyelashes, the trembling of her lips. Crying inside, without sobs or tears. Was I expecting too much of a thirteen-year-old girl? Who was I to be so self-righteous? Still, whether or not she was thirteen, whether or not I was an exemplary human being, you can't let everything slide. Stupidity is stupidity. I won't put up with it.
Yuki didn't move. I reached out and touched her arm.
«It's okay,» I said. «I'm very narrow-minded. No, to be fair, you've done the best that can be expected.»
A single tear trailed down her cheek and fell on her lap. That was all. Beautiful and noble.
«So what can I do now?» she spoke up a minute later.
«Nothing,» I said. «Just think about what comes before
words. You owe that to the dead. As time goes on, you'll understand. What lasts, lasts; what doesn't, doesn't. Time solves most things. And what time can't solve, you have to solve yourself. Is that too much to ask?»
«A little,» she said, trying to smile.
«Well, of course it is,» I said, trying to smile too. «I doubt that this makes sense to most people. But I think I'm right. People die all the time. Life is a lot more fragile than we think. So you should treat others in a way that leaves no regrets. Fairly, and if possible, sincerely. It's too easy not to make the effort, then weep and wring your hands after the person dies. Personally, I don't buy it.»
Yuki leaned against the car door.
«But that's real hard, isn't it?» she said.
«Real hard,» I said. «But it's worth trying for. Look at Boy George: Even a fat gay kid who can't sing can become a star.»
«Okay,» she smiled, «but why are you always getting on Boy George's case? I bet you must really like him, deep down.»
«Let me think about that one,» I said.
Yuki's mother's house was in a large resort-housing tract. There was a big gate, with a pool and a coffee house adjacent. There was even a stop-and-shop minimart filled with junk food. No place someone like Dick North would have bought groceries at. Me either. As the road twisted and turned up the grade, my friendly Subaru began to gasp.
Halfway up the hill was Ame's house, too big for just a mother and daughter. I stopped the car and carried Yuki's bags up the steps to the side of the stone embankment. Down the slope, between the ranks of cedars, you could make out the ocean by Odawara. The air was hazy, the sea dull under the leaden glaze of spring.
Ame paced the large, sunny living room, lit cigarette in hand. A big crystal ashtray was overflowing with bent and
crushed Salem butts, the entire tabletop dusted with ashes. She tossed her latest butt into the ashtray and came over to greet Yuki, mussing her hair. She wore a chemical-spotted oversized sweatshirt and faded jeans. Her hair was uncombed, eyes bleary.
«It's been terrible,» said Ame. «Why do these horrible things always happen?»
I expressed my condolences and inquired about the details of yesterday's accident. It was all so sudden, she told me, she felt out of control, confused, uncertain. «And of course the maid came down with a fever today and won't be in. Now of all times, a fever! I'm going crazy. The police come, Dick's wife calls, I don't know what they expect of me.» «What did Dick's wife have to say?» «I couldn't make it out,» she said. «She just cried. And when she wasn't crying, she mumbled so I could barely understand what she was saying. And me, in this position, what was I supposed to say?. . . What
«I told her I'd send along Dick's things as soon as I could, but then the woman was crying even more. It was hopeless.» She let out a big sigh and collapsed into the sofa. I asked her if she wanted anything to drink, and she asked for coffee. For good measure, I also cleared away the ashtray and cocoa-caked mugs, and wiped off the table. While I waited for the water to boil, I tidied up the kitchen. Dick North had kept a neat pantry, but already it was a mess. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, cocoa had been dribbled across the stainless steel cooktop, knives lay here and there smeared with cheese and who-knows-what, the lid of the sugar container was nowhere in sight.
Poor bastard, I thought as I made a strong pot of coffee. He tried so hard to bring order to this place. Now in the space of one day, it was gone. Just like that. People leave traces of themselves where they feel most comfortable, most worthwhile. With Dick, that place was the kitchen. But even that tenuous presence was on its way out.
Poor bastard.
I carried in the coffee and found Ame and Yuki sitting on the sofa. Ame's head rested on her daughter's shoulder. She looked drugged and drained. Yuki seemed ill at ease. How odd they appeared together—so different from when they were apart—how doubly unapproachable.
Ame accepted the coffee with both hands and drank it slowly, preciously. The slightest glow came to her eyes.
«You want anything to drink?» I asked Yuki.
She shook her head with no expression whatsoever.
«Has everything been taken care of?» I asked Ame. «The business about the accident, legal matters, and all that?»
«Done. The actual procedure wasn't so difficult. It was a perfectly common accident. A policeman came to the house to tell me the news, and that was it. I told them to contact Dick's wife, and she handled everything. I mean, I had no legal or even professional relationship with Dick. Then the wife called here. She hardly said a word, she just cried. She didn't even scream, nothing.»
Another three weeks and Ame wouldn't remember there ever was someone in her life named Dick North. Ame was the forgetful type, and, unfortunately, Dick was forgettable.
«Is there anything I can do to help?» I asked.
«Well, yes. Dick's belongings,» she muttered. «I told you I was going to return them to her, didn't I?»
«Yes.»
«Well, last night I put his things in order. His manuscripts and typewriter and books and clothes—they all fit in one suitcase. There wasn't that much stuff. Just one suitcase full. I hate to ask, but could you deliver it to his wife?»
«Sure. Where does the family live?»
«I don't know exactly. Somewhere in Gotokuji, I know. Could you find out for me?»
Yuki showed me the study where Dick's things were. Upstairs, a long, narrow garret at the end of the hall, what had originally been the maid's room. It was pleasant enough,
and naturally Dick had kept everything in immaculate order. On the desk were arranged five precision- sharpened pencils and an eraser, an unqualified still life. A calendar on the wall had been annotated with meticulous handwriting.
Yuki leaned in the doorway and scanned the interior in silence. All you could hear were the birds outside. I recalled the cottage in Makaha. It had been just as quiet, and there had been birds too.
The tag on the suitcase, also in Dick's hand, had his name and address. I lugged it downstairs. With his books and papers, it was much heavier than it looked. The weight yet another reminder of the fate of Dick North.
«There's not much here to eat,» said Ame. «Dick went out to do the shopping and then all this happened.»
