December 6 (V5.0) Page 13

  “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself.”

  She shrugged. They sat quietly for a while and watched the slow passage of the stream. Harry felt her brilliant eyes light on him and dart away.

  “Can you swim?” she asked.

  “Sure.” He was a good swimmer, which was fairly un-Japanese. The Japanese liked going to the beach and splashing in the waves as a group, but going for a swim was regarded as virtually antisocial.

  She said, “If I stayed in Japan, I’d be a pearl diver. Ever see pearl divers?”

  “Pictures.” They were bare-breasted girls who wore goggles.

  “Here.” She took his hand and put a pearl in it. The pearl was milky blue, with a hole drilled in it. Harry guessed it had probably fallen off a strand. He could see her diving under a pew for it.

  “What am I going to do with one pearl?”

  “Do you want more? I can get more.”

  Her eyes were so intense that Harry said, “No, one’s plenty.”

  “Put it in your pocket.”

  After he did so, she took his hand and slipped it under her dress and up her thigh, which was so skinny he felt the bone. She had no chest, no shape at all, but her eyes were so intense, so many blues and greens at one time, that Harry couldn’t take his hand away until a voice came over the water. “Abby? Abigail?” The man on the far bank was waving. She let Harry’s hand slide out and whispered, “I have to go.”

  “Abby?” Harry said.

  “Yes?” She swung her focus back to him.

  “Double the money? Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.”

  She stood, stepped on her cigarette and hesitated on the verge of something inexpressible.

  “Hope your dad does okay,” Harry said.

  She nodded. After she was gone, darting along the trees that fringed the river, her gaze still seemed to hover over Harry.

  Harry lost the pearl almost immediately. He learned later that the church reprimanded Abby’s father but allowed him to remain. Harry heard the following year that Abby got pneumonia and died in Japan, just like her mother.

  11

  A GONDOLA SWUNG on a cable above the rooftop garden of the Matsuya department store. Sheathed in aluminum, streamlined and shining, the gondola looked like a spaceship from the future. The interior was more down-to-earth, with leather straps and wicker seats, but Harry and Alice Beechum had the craft to themselves and, from its porthole windows, a view of the Ginza’s wide avenues, willow trees, French cafés. The gondola floated eight stories above trolleys, noodle wagons, the buzz of motorcycles racing to different newspapers. Farther off were waves of blue roof tiles and the green ridge of the imperial palace; to the south, rising over charcoal smoke, the white cone of Fuji.

  The rooftop garden offered the foot-weary shopper an amusement park high in the air. Spider monkeys flew from tree to tree within a huge wire mesh enclosure. Cages displayed macaws, peccaries, raccoons. Children pedaled cars around a track while their mothers contemplated bonsai gardens. The latest attraction was a tank of water fifty feet in diameter holding model warships of the Japanese and American navies. Boys gathered around naval cadets who manipulated radio controls that sent the two fleets around the tank, the Japanese chasing the American, the Rising Sun after the Stars and Stripes. Battleships the size of sharks led aircraft carriers, cruisers and destroyers, their screws churning up swells. Out of tinny loudspeakers poured a navy anthem: “Across the sea, a corpse floating in water / Across the mountains, a corpse in grass.” The Japanese ships began firing, each salvo of guns signaled by red lights in their barrels and black smoke spewing from the Americans in retreat.

  Harry said, “You know, there’s hardly anything as satisfying as a rigged fight. An honest fight is just a brawl, a rigged fight is theater.”

  “You always have the most individual opinions.” Alice sat back in her riding suit of green tweed, her head resting on the golden pillow of her hair. Maybe it was the English complexion that made tweed sensual, Harry thought. He couldn’t help but think of stiff woolen fibers pricking her delicate skin, her map of light freckles and the fine down on her arms and the nape of her neck. She was saying, “I did my best to blacken your reputation after you left the Imperial, but you have to stop your friend Willie from telling any more tales about Nanking.”

  “He got carried away.”

  “He’s going to get you killed with those stories. The Japanese have a different version of their victory in Nanking. Willie tells me that you’re also being stalked by a man with a sword, a Colonel Ishigami.”

  “I can handle Ishigami.”

  “Oh, well, then nothing to worry about. Do you remember the wonderful stage direction from Shakespeare, ‘Exit, pursued by a bear’? You seem to have any number of bears. So, tell me what happened. Quick, did you get on the plane?”

  Harry grinned. From a furoshiki, he lifted out two glasses and a split of champagne that he’d picked up in the Matsuya food emporium.

  “I didn’t just get on the plane. After this morning’s little talk, my friend from Nippon Air will personally tuck me into my seat.” He thumbed off the cork and caught the foam as it rose. Opening champagne in such close quarters was chancy, but for some occasions sake would not do. “I’m going to sit right next to you, Alice. We will wave good-bye to Tokyo together. I may even teach you poker on the way.”

  “Harry, you’re the worst man I ever met.”

  “Even I blush. Cheers,” Harry said as if laying down a winning hand. “Nippon Air to Hong Kong on Monday the eighth. BOAC out of Hong Kong to catch the Clipper in Manila, then Midway, Hawaii and California, in that order. Happy?”

  “Ecstatic.”

  “Sounds like smooth sailing to me.”

  Alice shielded her eyes to watch a salesclerk down on the roof demonstrate a yo-yo. The yo-yo spun in place to Walk the Dog and snapped into orbit for Around the World. She asked, “What does Madame Butterfly think of you going?”

  “Michiko? I’m telling her tonight. I have to give her a chance to make other arrangements. I’ll set her up financially.”

  “Do you think that will make her happy?”

  Harry thought that “happy” was not a word that really related to Michiko. “Happy” was fatuous, like a helium balloon. Michiko carried the threat of a larger pop. “I’ll explain things to her. I’ll say it’s time to go. I’ll wear armor plate.”

  “That would probably be wise.” As the cable lurched, a thud came from within the furoshiki at Harry’s feet. “Did I speak too soon?”

  Harry spread the cloth and lifted the lid of the cigar box so that Alice could see the pistol inside.

  “That’s lovely. Harry, you’re aware that it’s illegal to own a handgun?”

  “I got stuck with it. It’s an army pistol. A Baby Nambu.”

  “Why would a soldier leave his gun with you?”

  “It was a setup, he had his own.”

  “If it was a setup, he’ll tell the police. Leave the gun with me. I have some degree of immunity, and once I get home, I’ll throw it in with Beechum’s collection. He has elephant guns, African spears, the lot.”

  “No, but I’d appreciate it if you took the box.” He tucked the pistol into the back of his belt and tried to settle in his seat.

  “Comfortable?” Alice asked.

  “Been more.”

  “What are you going to do with it? This is not Chicago, people don’t carry guns. You’re not thinking of using it on Ishigami, are you?”

  “A foreigner shoot a war hero? That would be an interesting form of suicide.” He spied a soldier and a girl sharing cotton candy. Public displays of affection were frowned on, but exceptions were made for boys who were shipping out. “You know, this rooftop used to be the place for suicides. You should have been here. Lovers lined up to hold hands and jump two at a time. It caused some anxiety about shopping in the neighborhood. You came for a cute chapeau and ended up planted in the si
dewalk by a pair of star-crossed lovers. The silver lining is, since the war, suicides are down.”

  “Has Michiko ever suggested a double jump?”

  “Well, she’s romantic that way.”

  “Wasn’t there an American reporter last year who died after he fell from the first story of a police station? The police said he jumped.”

  “He probably didn’t have many options.”

  “Whereas you only have to hide a gun from police who are already following you.”

  “I’ll get rid of it, don’t worry.” A gondola swung by in the opposite direction. Two little girls in red kimonos bowed from the passing car while Alice studied Harry as if from a distance rather than knee-to-knee.

  “Harry, we had fun, didn’t we?”

  “Lots of fun.” It was true. Alice was fun, and there was no danger with her of being murdered out of jealousy or pique. A man could sink with Alice under the billowing waves of her soft mattress and down-filled quilt with the assurance that he would come up alive. She was brilliant with the Japanese language, loved the way the “flute” found its way to the “precious pearl” and positions like “Cat and Mouse in One Hole.” Her sheets were so scented with Chanel it was like nesting in a rose. The only problem was that Michiko could detect Chanel from a block away. “And we’ll have more fun. Have you told Beechum?”

  “Good Lord, no. He thinks I’m going for a lark and be back in a day. My brother owns a coffee plantation in Kenya. The whites there lead a life of stupid dissipation. You and I could go there, and no one would know the difference.”

  “Pull a Duke of Windsor? You’d marry a common American?”

  “I don’t propose to make an honest man out of you, no one could do that. I am only suggesting that there are people who disapprove of you. People at your own embassy. They could make things uncomfortable for you if you return home.”

  “People have always disapproved of me. When people approve of me, you have my permission to shoot me in the head. I am not escaping here to hang out at a water hole in Africa. I want to show you Hollywood, Monterey, Big Sur.”

  The gondola dipped by the monkey enclosure, where residents basked on branches. Nonetheless, Alice shivered. Harry noticed when she gave him back her empty glass how red her knuckles were. The tip of her nose was also red, which made her more endearing. She said, “Every day my maid searches the rubbish bin for incriminating evidence about me. She’s very sweet. She asked if I could leave something, anything she could give the police. I try to help her and stuff the bin with crossword puzzles. The police seem to find them extremely promising.”

  “You won’t have any trouble keeping them happy.” Harry had seen her finish the crossword puzzle of The Times as quickly as she could write. She did crossword puzzles in four languages. Most of the day, she was a brainless thing who spent her life at the Ginza’s shops and smart cafés, but every morning she spent in the code room of the British embassy. Even Beechum didn’t know. Her husband thought she had volunteered as a coffee lady, which he thought a damn good sign.

  “The Thought Police are after you, Harry. They aren’t going to stop you from taking off?”

  “We’re working together. I’m thinking good thoughts now.”

  “You told them about the Magic Show?”

  “Not that.”

  Her rosy cheeks drained of color. “You didn’t take them to Yokohama. Tell me you didn’t take them there.”

  “They showed up. Maybe that will satisfy them I’m doing my part for the war effort.”

  “What part is that?”

  “Everyone contributes in their own fashion. You’re a genius. I’m a businessman, kind of.”

  “You’re a gambler.”

  “So is Yamamoto. He knows that no navy can go to war without a source of oil, and the closest source to Japan is Dutch Sumatra, thousands of miles away. Sinking the American Pacific fleet isn’t enough, because Roosevelt can move ships at full speed from the Atlantic. They’ll refuel at Pearl and start sinking the emperor’s sloppy little tankers. But if the Japanese knock out all the oil at Pearl first, that changes everything. It wouldn’t be hard. All you need is a Zero with a fifty-caliber gun to blow those tanks to kingdom come. Then the nearest fuel to Pearl Harbor is California, thousands of miles away. Every new drop would have to be brought by American tankers, which are in short supply because they’re fueling England and getting sunk on the North Atlantic route. The fleet at Pearl is replaceable. Wiping out the oil tanks would buy Japan one year, maybe two.”

  “This is insane.” Alice closed her eyes. “First the gun, now this.”

  “So all I’m doing is adding an element of caution.”

  “You’re still altering company ledgers?”

  “A little. It’s not like the books were locked up, not adequately. No one gets hurt, because the American managers the Japanese might blame are back in the States and out of reach. It’s a harmless ploy, if you will, to create the possibility in the Japanese mind that oil was delivered in a secretive manner to tanks they haven’t located. You know how meticulous and paranoid the Japanese are. This is the sort of thing that drives them crazy. They can’t be so sure an attack will actually locate and wipe out all the oil reserves in Hawaii. Yamamoto understands odds. If he doesn’t think he can nail both the fleet and the oil, he won’t touch Pearl. No Pearl, no war.”

  “What happens when the Special Higher Police and the Japanese navy discover that you deluded them?”

  “They won’t find that out unless they fly over every valley on Oahu. Anyway, the fact is, I have discouraged them about this piece of information. I tell them over and over how phony it sounds to me. The more I deny it, the more they believe. That’s when you know a sucker is hooked, when you can’t chase him away.”

  “Is that it, they’ve swallowed the bait so deep? Then why get on the plane?”

  “It’s a stupid gambler who doesn’t hedge his bet. Besides, you’ll be on it.”

  “Harry, I despair.”

  “Well, it’s worth a try.”

  The porthole opened on pivots. Harry found cigarettes and lit one for her, too.

  “Have you let Butterfly in on your little game?” Alice asked.

  “No, she wouldn’t turn me in, but she might kill me.”

  “You don’t find anything the least pathological about your relationship with her?”

  Harry considered. “I’d say it keeps me sharp.”

  “No doubt.” She looked down as a store clerk blew a cornet to announce a sale of balsa-and-paper gliders that hung like mayflies from a pole. “May I tell you something? I have been in and out of the embassy code room for two years now. We have sent London a steady stream of information that, I am now convinced, is flushed immediately into the Thames. We speak to the deaf. Yesterday we received a cable asking whether German pilots were flying for the Japanese. London doesn’t think the Japanese can fly planes. It’s a matter of eyesight, they say, and thick glasses. The Japanese are as bad; they don’t think Americans can fight. Harry, no amount of information, accurate or inaccurate, makes any difference now. What makes you suddenly want to be a hero? It’s perverse.”

  He delivered what he thought was his most ingratiating smile. “Alice, I’m not going to be a hero. It’s not my style. Besides, heroes get caught, that’s what makes them so heroic. I don’t get caught.”

  “Harry, everyone gets caught.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’m a diplomat’s wife. Once war starts, we’ll simply be exchanged for Japanese diplomats.”

  “‘Once’? That’s an interesting choice of word.” Harry took her hand and traced the lines of her palm as if they held a secret. “Lady Alice, is there something in the air? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “I know when to quit. Harry, I hate it when you look at me like that. Sometimes you are very Japanese.”

  “Is that so?”

  “I think I finally have you figured out. I have your code, Harry. You’re l
ike a crossword puzzle where every tenth word the answer is in Japanese. Maybe that explains Michiko.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And it wouldn’t matter if I did know something you didn’t. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”

  “Who cares? We’ll be oiling each other in a cabana at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It’s not a safari, but it has its charms. Why are you smiling?”

  “Harry, it’s a fantasy. You and I were not meant to be with anyone. It’s sheer incompatibility that keeps us together.”

  “We’ll give it a shot.”

  “Realistically, how long do you think we would last?”

  “I give us six months.”

  “Beechum will cut me off, I won’t have a penny.”

  “Three months.”

  “Will you drink heavily and beat me?”

  “Like a gong.”

  “Like a church bell, an American would say.”

  “Backing out?”

  “No. I would like you to do me a favor, however, and help your friend Willie before you go.”

  “Willie and Iris? I already said I would. What do you care?”

  “I like Willie’s stories. If you’re going to help him, do it fast.”

  The gondola descended over the ice-cream stand and pedal-car track and a volley of exuberant cheers from the schoolboys watching the battle in the tank. If the naval engagement was ever in doubt, its outcome now was clear. The Japanese fleet plowed at full speed through the water, guns glowing from the fire of their shells, while the American fleet waddled in disorder, stacks pouring charcoal smoke that signified hits in the engine room. Some American warships were so enveloped by smoke that they seemed to be sinking. The scene suggested wholesale horror and confusion, men diving from the decks and trying to outswim burning oil or the suction of a great ship going under and overcrowded lifeboats circled by sharks. As Harry and Alice emerged from the gondola, he didn’t notice anyone in the crowd watching them. Everyone was too captivated by the battle in the tank. The excitement was so overwhelming that some boys couldn’t stand still. They ran with their arms out like torpedo planes or raised imaginary periscopes. The loudspeaker sang, “Across the sea, water-soaked corpses, we shall die by the side of our lord.” The children chanted, “Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”