Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 15

15 W hen Barbara awoke the room was filled with light. She turned toward Seiji: he wasn’t there. His futon was still beside hers but his clothes and suitcase were gone. Surely he wouldn’t just leave. She got up and dressed quickly. A pot of tea was on the kotatsu, one cup beside it, no note anywhere. She opened the door to the garden. A lizard was sunning itself on a stone, a stripe of iridescent blue. The water pipe’s loud tock made her jump. “Ohayo gozaimasu.” Seiji stepped inside the room. “Where were you? “I was arranging with the innkeeper.” He bowed slightly. “I hope you have rested well.” “Very well—it was wonderful.” “Yes,” he said in a low voice, his eyes not quite meeting hers. “I regret that I must depart.” “Right now?” 4 130 4 4 131 4 “Hamada sensei needs me to return to Mashiko to help with some oversea exhibit. This is day we agreed to return.” “What about our translating?” “I have written one paper for you in your book.” He nodded toward the black bag which stood beside the kotatsu. “Please have safe return journey.” She looked down at the kotatsu and the bag. He had packed up all of Michi’s papers. “I may not return to Tokyo.” “Not return?” He looked shocked; she felt a sting of pleasure. “Some friends have invited me to Kyoto for a week or two,” she said though she and Junko had not confirmed their plans. “I may decide to join them.” “Ah.” He bowed. “Please have fine holiday.” “Oh I will.” She forced a smile. “And I hope you have a fine time with Hamada sensei.” For a moment they stood looking at each other; she felt a wavering between them, almost like movement, then they bowed goodbye. She listened to his feet go down the hall. There were voices, then the sound of his truck rattling down the hill. She picked up her pocketbook and the black bag and went out through the garden. There was no point in giving Kawabata and company the exquisite discomfort of witnessing the gaijin’s departure. She half-ran, halfwalked down the hill, the black bag banging against her thigh. It occurred to her that she hadn’t looked carefully around the room; he could have forgotten the foxes. She stopped and felt in the side pocket of the bag; they were there, carefully wrapped. She looked up in the direction of the inn, no longer visible behind the trees, almost as if it had been a mirage. In her room, she lay on the bed, thinking of Seiji, his face close to hers, the delicate lashes beneath the fold of eyelid. They’d slept wrapped together, his leg over hers; she’d never felt so close to anyone. Yet he’d left without a word about what had passed between them. Longing swept through her. Get up, she told herself, move. She took her suitcase from the closet and started packing. There must be an early train. She couldn’t stay here moping. The front desk clerk told her the next bus left for the train station in an hour. She walked down the hill. It was a clear day and the enormous snow-capped cone of Mt. Fuji towered above the lower mountains on the other side of the lake. It seemed startlingly close, the contours visible beneath the snow. Barbara stood gazing at the reflection of Fuji-san on the water: the famous inverted view. It was shiny, too pretty, a postcard of Hakone . Wish you were here, she could write to Seiji. On the bus going down the mountain she sat with Michi’s bag on the seat beside her to discourage companionship and closed her eyes as if she were sleeping. He had turned out the lamp and rolled toward her. “Seiji,” she whispered. He traced her eyebrows, nose, and lips, then touched her breast lightly, a gesture that was a question. She pulled him to her. After, they lay holding each other without speaking. “Balabala,” he murmured into her hair, “Balabala-san,” making them both laugh. “Your name is too hard,” he said. “Give me a Japanese one, then.” “Ah—Kir¯ekitsu. Kir¯ekitsu-san. This will mean beautiful fox.” She’d gone to sleep with his breath against her face. Then, this morning, waking to find him gone. Perhaps there was some cultural subtlety she...