welcomed me with open arms, and I explained how I had had to visit the hospital and my eyes were very sensitive to light and I would like to lie down quite soon. I spoke in a whisper and kept my head down, knees together and toes pointing inwards, the personification of shyness. She gave me a bowl of curry rice and showed me the bathroom and a small, clean bedroom with the futon all laid out, and there I was.
It was only eight, but I’d been up for thirty hours at this point. I lay down and turned off the light, and my imagination fed me pictures of what had happened to Noriko, and what they might be doing to Kelly right now, and I had to turn the light back on.
The guilt was a solid lump in my chest. I sent Yoshi a text telling him I was okay. I wanted to say that I loved him, but that wasn’t how we spoke.
Let’s not dwell on the dreams I had.
My phone alarm went off at six, and I was out of there by six thirty, and heading for the mall to pick up my bag, and then the bus station. Call me prejudiced, but I didn’t figure yakuza for early risers. I’d decided to keep the bandage for the moment, since the day was very grey still, and the sunglasses wouldn’t look right without it. And if the yakuza saw me, they’d probably think that only an idiot would disguise herself to look really noticeable.
Hmm.
The bus to Matsumoto was pretty busy, and the station itself packed with exhausted commuters, sleepwalking to work. I couldn’t see any obvious goons, and hopefully they couldn’t see me. I bought a ticket at the booth and then hung about, trying not to look interesting, until a serious-looking woman asked for a ticket for Matsumoto.
“Excuse me? I’m very sorry to bother you, but I have to get the bus to Matsumoto too, and my eyes…”
What a nice lady. We had time for a coffee so she got them both and insisted on paying, then helped me carry my bag to the bus and sat next to me. Her name was Ito-san, and she asked me a lot of questions about what was wrong with my eyes, but I’ve been a hostess long enough to direct a conversation and to know what people want to talk about. She had real eye problems, and though she was genuinely interested in me, she was naturally more interested in herself, and that was what we talked about on the long drive to Matsumoto. Or rather she talked, and I used years of practice to look fascinated and ask intelligent questions while I thought about something else entirely.
I had gone to sleep with guilt like an open wound in my heart. When I woke up, the guilt had fermented into anger.
This wasn’t my fault. This was Kelly’s fault for starting it, and the yakuza’s fault for everything they’d done. It wasn’t just their brutality to Noriko, but the other damage. Making Mama-san betray me. Making Yoshi lose his job, making him feel worthless. Making Yukie do whatever she’d had to do. They spread ruin and corruption into everything they touched. And, I had decided, I wasn’t just going to sit there and take it.
But now, on the coach, I realised that was exactly what I was going to do.
What else was there? Yoshi was right. I had nothing to give the police, and I’d only bring down more hell on my head—and maybe Noriko’s—if the yakuza knew I was talking to them. My only hope was for the yakuza to realise I wasn’t their enemy.
I’d spent a couple of years as a hostess, ingratiating myself with people I didn’t like, smiling at unfunny jokes and unwanted come-ons, open racism and mindless lechery. I’d made any number of repugnant people think I was their friend. I’d just have to be the Mitsuyoshi-kai’s friend too.
Though, a little part of my mind murmured, if an opportunity to screw them over did come up…
About half an hour before Matsumoto, I turned up the pitch of the conversation, bringing it on to lively stories and family anecdotes that I borrowed from Noriko and Yoshi, and by the time we arrived, Ito-san was rocking with laughter. I timed a
It was only eight, but I’d been up for thirty hours at this point. I lay down and turned off the light, and my imagination fed me pictures of what had happened to Noriko, and what they might be doing to Kelly right now, and I had to turn the light back on.
The guilt was a solid lump in my chest. I sent Yoshi a text telling him I was okay. I wanted to say that I loved him, but that wasn’t how we spoke.
Let’s not dwell on the dreams I had.
My phone alarm went off at six, and I was out of there by six thirty, and heading for the mall to pick up my bag, and then the bus station. Call me prejudiced, but I didn’t figure yakuza for early risers. I’d decided to keep the bandage for the moment, since the day was very grey still, and the sunglasses wouldn’t look right without it. And if the yakuza saw me, they’d probably think that only an idiot would disguise herself to look really noticeable.
Hmm.
The bus to Matsumoto was pretty busy, and the station itself packed with exhausted commuters, sleepwalking to work. I couldn’t see any obvious goons, and hopefully they couldn’t see me. I bought a ticket at the booth and then hung about, trying not to look interesting, until a serious-looking woman asked for a ticket for Matsumoto.
“Excuse me? I’m very sorry to bother you, but I have to get the bus to Matsumoto too, and my eyes…”
What a nice lady. We had time for a coffee so she got them both and insisted on paying, then helped me carry my bag to the bus and sat next to me. Her name was Ito-san, and she asked me a lot of questions about what was wrong with my eyes, but I’ve been a hostess long enough to direct a conversation and to know what people want to talk about. She had real eye problems, and though she was genuinely interested in me, she was naturally more interested in herself, and that was what we talked about on the long drive to Matsumoto. Or rather she talked, and I used years of practice to look fascinated and ask intelligent questions while I thought about something else entirely.
I had gone to sleep with guilt like an open wound in my heart. When I woke up, the guilt had fermented into anger.
This wasn’t my fault. This was Kelly’s fault for starting it, and the yakuza’s fault for everything they’d done. It wasn’t just their brutality to Noriko, but the other damage. Making Mama-san betray me. Making Yoshi lose his job, making him feel worthless. Making Yukie do whatever she’d had to do. They spread ruin and corruption into everything they touched. And, I had decided, I wasn’t just going to sit there and take it.
But now, on the coach, I realised that was exactly what I was going to do.
What else was there? Yoshi was right. I had nothing to give the police, and I’d only bring down more hell on my head—and maybe Noriko’s—if the yakuza knew I was talking to them. My only hope was for the yakuza to realise I wasn’t their enemy.
I’d spent a couple of years as a hostess, ingratiating myself with people I didn’t like, smiling at unfunny jokes and unwanted come-ons, open racism and mindless lechery. I’d made any number of repugnant people think I was their friend. I’d just have to be the Mitsuyoshi-kai’s friend too.
Though, a little part of my mind murmured, if an opportunity to screw them over did come up…
About half an hour before Matsumoto, I turned up the pitch of the conversation, bringing it on to lively stories and family anecdotes that I borrowed from Noriko and Yoshi, and by the time we arrived, Ito-san was rocking with laughter. I timed a
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