Dance Dance Dance

27

A week passed. Spring made solid advances, never once retreated. A world away from March. The cherries bloomed and the blossoms scattered in the evening showers. Elections came and went, a new school year started. Bjorn Borg retired. Michael Jackson was number one in the charts the whole time. The dead stayed dead.

It was a succession of aimless days. I went swimming twice. I went to the barber. I bought newspapers, never saw an article about Mei. Maybe they couldn't identify her.

On Tuesday and Thursday Yuki and I went out to eat. On Monday we went for a drive with the music playing. I enjoyed these times. We shared one thing. We had time to waste.

When I didn't see her, Yuki stayed indoors during the day, afraid that truant officers might nab her. Her mother had yet to return.

«Why don't we go to Disneyland then?» I asked.

«I don't want to go,» she sneered. «I hate those places.»

«You hate all that gooey Mickey Mouse kid stuff, I take it?»

«Of course I hate it,» she said.

«But it's not good for you to stay indoors all the time,» I said.

«So why don't we go to Hawaii?» she said.

«What? Hawaii?»

«Mama phoned up and asked if I wanted to come to Hawaii. That's where she is right now, taking pictures. She leaves me alone all this time and then suddenly she gets wor­ried about me. She can't come home yet, and since I'm not going to school anyway, she said to get on a plane and come see her. Hawaii's not such a bad idea, yeah? Mama said she'd pay your way. I mean, I can't go alone, right? Let's go, please. Just for one week. It'll be fun.»

I laughed. «What exactly is the difference between Disneyland and Hawaii?»

«No truant officers in Hawaii.»

«Well, you got a point there.»

«Then you'll go?»

I thought it over, and the more I thought about it the more I liked it. Getting out of Tokyo had to be a good idea. I'd reached a dead end here. My head was stuck. I was in a funk. And Mei was extremely, irrevocably dead.

I'd been to Hawaii once. For one day only. I was going to Los Angeles on business and the plane had engine trouble, so we set down in Hawaii overnight. I bought a pair of sun­glasses and swim trunks in the hotel and spent the day on the beach. A great day. No, Hawaii was not such a bad idea.

Swim, drink fruit drinks, get a tan, and relax. I might even have a good time. Then I could reset my sights and get on with whatever I had to do.

«Okay, let's go,» I said.

«Goody!» Yuki squealed. «Let's go buy the tickets.»

But before doing that, I made a call to Hiraku Makimura and explained the offer that was on the table.

He was immediately positive. «Might do you some good too, son. You need to stretch your legs,» he said, «take a break from all that shoveling you do. It'd also put you out of harm's way with the police. That mess isn't cleared up yet, is it? They're bound to knock on your door again.»

«Maybe so,» I said.

«Go. And don't worry about money,» he said. Any dis­cussions you had with this guy always turned to money. «Go for as long as you like.»

«I figure on a week at the most. I still have a pile of things to get back to.»

«As you like,» Makimura said. «When are you going? Probably the sooner the better. That's how it is with vaca­tions. Go when the mood strikes. That's the trick. You hardly need to take anything with you anyway. I tell you what—we'll get you tickets for the day after tomorrow. How's that?»

«Fine, but I can buy my own ticket.» «Details, details, always fussing. This is in my line of work. I know how to get the best seats for the cheapest price. Let me do this. Each to his own abilities. Don't say anything. I don't want to hear your-system-this your-system-that. I'll take care of the hotel too. Two rooms. What do you think—you want something with a kitchenette?»

«Well, I like to be able to cook my own sometimes, but it's—»

«I know just the place. I stayed there once myself. Near the beach, quiet, clean.» «But I—»

«Just leave it all to me, okay? I'll get the word to Ame. You just go to Honolulu with Yuki, lie on the beach and have a good time. Her mother's going to be busy anyway. When she's working, daughter or whoever doesn't exist. So don't worry. Just make sure Yuki eats well. And, oh yes, you got a visa?» «Yes, but—»

«Good. Day after tomorrow, son. Don't forget your pass­port. Whatever you need, get it there. You're not going to Siberia. Siberia was rough, let me tell you. Horrible place. Afghanistan wasn't much better either. Compared to them, Hawaii's like Disneyland. And you're there in no time. Fall asleep with your mouth open and you're there. By the way, son, you speak English?»

«In normal conversation I—»

«Good,» he said. «Perfect in fact. There's nothing more to say. Nakamura will meet you with the tickets tomorrow. He'll also bring the money I owe you for Yuki's flight down from Hokkaido.»

«Who's Nakamura?»

«My assistant. The young man who lives with me.»

Boy Friday.

«Any other questions?» asked Makimura. «You know, I like you, son. Hawaii. Wonderful place. Wonderful smells. A playground. Relax. No snow to shovel over there. I'll see you whenever you get back.»

Then he hung up.

The famous writer.

When I reported to Yuki that all systems were go, she squealed again.

«Can you get ready by yourself? Pack your swimsuit and whatever you need?»

«It's only Hawaii,» she said patronizingly. «It's like going to the beach at Oiso. We're not going to Kathmandu, you know.»

The next day I ran errands: to the bank for cash, to the bookstore for a few paperbacks, to the cleaners for my shirts. At three o'clock, I met Boy Friday at a coffee shop in Shibuya, where he handed me a thick envelope of cash, two first-class open tickets to Hawaii, two packets of American Express travelers cheques, and a map to the hotel in Hono­lulu.

«It's all been arranged. Just give them your name when you get there,» Nakamura said. «The reservation's for two weeks, but it can be changed for shorter or longer. Don't for­get to sign the travelers cheques when you get home. Use them as you please. It's all on expense account. That's the word from Mr. Makimura.»

«Everything's on expense account?» I couldn't believe it.

«Maybe not everything, but as long as you get receipts, it should be fine. That's my job. Please get receipts for what­ever you spend,» he laughed good-naturedly.

I promised I would.

«Take care of yourselves and have a good trip,» he said.

«Thanks,» I said.

At nightfall I rummaged through the refrigerator and made dinner.

Then I quickly threw together some things for the trip. Was I forgetting anything?

Nothing I could think of.

Going to Hawaii's no big deal. You need to take a lot more stuff going to Hokkaido.

I parked my travel bag on the floor and laid out what I'd wear the next day. Nothing more to do, I took a bath, then drank a beer while watching the news. No news to speak of, except for a not-too-promising weather forecast. Great, we'll be in Hawaii. I lay in bed and had another beer. And I thought of Mei. Extremely, irrevocably dead Mei. She was in a very cold place now. Unidentified. Without customers. Without Dire Straits or Bob Dylan. Tomorrow Yuki and I were going to Hawaii, on someone else's expense account. Was this any way to run a world?

I tried to shake Mei's image from my head.

I tried to think about my receptionist friend at the Dol­phin Hotel. The one with the glasses, the one whose name I didn't know. For some reason the last couple of days I'd been wishing I could talk to her. I'd even dreamed about her. But how could I even ring her up? What was I supposed to say—»Hello, I'd like to talk to the receptionist with glasses at the front desk»? They'd probably think I was some joker. A hotel is serious business.

There had to be a way. Where there's a will, et cetera.

I rang up Yuki and set a time to meet the next day. Then asked if by chance she knew the name of the receptionist in Sapporo, the one who'd entrusted her to me, the very one with the glasses.

«I think so,» she said, «because it was an odd name. I'm sure I wrote it in my diary. I don't remember it, but I could check.»

«Would you, right now?» I asked.

«I'm watching TV.»

«Forgive me, but it's urgent. Very urgent.»

She grumbled, but fetched her diary. «It's Miss Yumiyoshi,» she said.

«Yumiyoshi?» I repeated.

«I told you it was an odd name. Sounds Okinawan, doesn't it?»

«No, they don't have names like that in Okinawa.»

«Well, anyway, that's her name. Yu-mi-yo-shi,» Yuki pro­nounced. «Okay? Can I watch TV now?»

«What are you watching?»

She hung up without responding.

Next I rang up the Dolphin Hotel and asked to speak to my receptionist friend by name. I didn't know how far this would go, but the operator connected us and Miss Yumiyoshi even remembered me. I hadn't been written off entirely.

«I'm working,» she spoke in a low voice, cool and clean. «I'll call you later.»

«Fine then, later,» I said.

While waiting for her call back, I rang up Gotanda and was just leaving a message that I was going to Hawaii when he came on the line.

«Sounds great. I'm envious,» he said. «Wish I could go too.»

«Why not? What's stopping you?» I asked.

«Not as easy as you think. It looks like I'm loaded, but I'm so deep in debt you wouldn't believe.»

«Oh?»

«The divorce, the loans. You think I do all these ridicu­lous commercials for fun? I can write off expenses, but I can't pay off my debts. Tell me you don't think that's odd.» «You owe that much?»

«I owe a lot,» he said. «I'm not even sure how much. Not as smart as I look, am I? Money gives me the creeps. The way I was brought up. Vulgar to think about it, you know. Didn't your mother ever tell you that? All I had to do was work hard, live modestly, look at the big picture. Good advice—for then maybe. Whoever heard of living modestly these days? Whoever heard of the big picture? What my mother never told me was where the tax accountant fit in. Maybe my mother never heard about debts and deductions. Well, I got plenty of both. Which means I gotta work and I can't go to Hawaii with you. Sorry, once you get me going I can't stop.» «That's okay, I don't mind,» I said.

«Anyway, it's my problem, not yours. We'll go together the next time, okay? I'm going to miss you. Take care of

yourself.»

«It's just Hawaii,» I laughed. «I'll be back in a week.»

«Still. Give me a call when you get back, will you?»

«Sure thing,» I said.

«And while you're lying on the beach at Waikiki, think of me. Playing dentist to pay my debts.»

Miss Yumiyoshi called a little before ten. She was back at her apartment. Ah yes—simple building, simple stairs, sim­ple door. Her nervous smile. It all came back so poignantly. I closed my eyes, and the snowflakes danced silently in the depths of the night. I almost felt like I was in love.

«How did you know my name?» was the first thing she

asked.

«Don't worry. I didn't do anything I shouldn't have. Didn't pay anyone off. Didn't tap your phone. Didn't work anybody over until they talked.» I explained that Yuki had told me.

«I see,» she said. «How did it go with her, by the way? Did you get her to Tokyo safe and sound?»

«Safe and sound,» I said. «I got her to her front door. In fact I still see her now and then. She's fine. Odd, but fine.»

«Kind of like you,» said Yumiyoshi matter-of-factly. She spoke as if she were relating the most commonly known fact in the world. Monkeys like bananas, it doesn't rain much in the Sahara. «Tell me, why did you want to keep me in the dark about your name?» I asked.

«I didn't mean to, honest. I meant to tell you the next time we met,» she said. «If you have an unusual name, you tend to be careful about it.»

«I checked the telephone directory. Did you know that there are only two Yumiyoshis in all of Tokyo?»

«I know,» she said. «I used to live in Tokyo, remember? I used to check the telephone book all the time. Wherever I went, I checked the phone book. There's one Yumiyoshi in Kyoto. Anyway, what did you want?»

«Nothing special,» I said. «I'm going on a trip from tomorrow. And I wanted to hear your voice before I left. That's all. Sometimes I miss your voice.»

She didn't respond, and in her silence I could hear the slight cross talk of a woman speaking, as if at the end of a long corridor. Quiet yet crisp, strangely charged electricity, with what I took to be a tone of bitterness. There were pained breaks and jags in her voice.

«You know how I told you about the sixteenth floor in total darkness?» Yumiyoshi spoke up.

«Uh-huh,» I said.

«Actually, it happened again,» she said.

It was my turn not to respond.

«Are you still there?» she asked.

«I'm here,» I said. «Go on.»

«First, you have to tell me the truth. Did you honestly believe what I told you that time? Or were you just humor­ing me?»

«I honestly believed you,» I said. «I didn't have the

chance to tell you, but the very same thing happened to me. I took the elevator, stepped out into total darkness. I experi­enced the very same thing. So I believe you, I believe you.» «You went there?»

«I'll give you the whole story next time. I still don't know how to put it into words. Lots of things I don't understand. So you see, I really do need to talk to you again. But never mind that, tell me what happened to you. That's much more important.»

Silence. The cross talk had died.

«Well, about ten days ago,» Yumiyoshi began, «I was rid­ing in the elevator down to the parking garage. It was around eight at night. The elevator went down, the door opened, and suddenly I was in that place again. Exactly like before. It wasn't in the middle of the night, and it wasn't on the sixteenth floor. But it was the same thing. Totally dark, moldy, kind of dank. The smell and the air were exactly the same. This time, I didn't go looking around. I stood still and waited for the elevator to come back. I ended up waiting a long time, I don't know how long. When the elevator finally got there, I got in and left. That was it.» «Did you tell anyone about it?» I asked. «You think I'm crazy?» she said. «After the way they reacted the last time? Not on your life.» «Yeah, better not tell a soul.»

«But what am I supposed to do? Whenever I get into an elevator now, I'm scared that I'm going to end up in dark­ness. And in a hotel like this, you have to ride the elevators a lot. What am I going to do? I can't talk to anybody but you about this.»

«So why didn't you call sooner?» I asked. «I did, several times,» her voice hushed to a whisper. «But you were never in.»

«But my machine was on, wasn't it?» «I hate those things. They make me nervous.» «Fair enough. Well, let me tell you what I know about what's going on. There's nothing evil about that darkness. It

doesn't harbor any ill will, so there's no need to feel threat­ened. But there is someone who lives there. This guy heard your footsteps, but he's someone who'd never do you any harm. He'd never hurt a fly. So I think that if you find your­self in that darkness again, you should just shut your eyes, get back in the elevator, and leave. Okay?»

Yumiyoshi chewed silently on my words. «May I say what I honestly think?»

«Of course.»

«I don't understand you,» she said. «I don't understand you at all. When I think about you, I realize I don't know a thing about you, really.»

«Hmm. I've told you already how old I am. But I guess for someone my age, I've got a lot of undefined territory. I've left too many loose ends hanging. So now, I'm trying to tie up as many of those loose ends as I can. If I manage to do that, maybe then I can explain things a little more clearly. Maybe then we can understand each other better.»

«We can only hope,» she said with third-person detach­ment. She sounded like a TV anchorwoman. We can only hope. Next on the news . . .

I told her I was going to Hawaii.

«Oh,» she remarked, unmoved. End of conversation. We said good-bye and hung up. I drank a shot of whiskey, turned out the light, and went to sleep.