Plum Wine: A Novel

Chapter 17

17 B arbara spent the next morning trying to reach Seiji, using the phone in the classroom building so Mrs. Ueda couldn’t hear. There was no answer at his house until noon. She was sorry, his aunt said in a cool voice, a telephone number for him at Mashiko was not available. “When you do speak to him,” Barbara said, “would you please tell him I’m in Tokyo? He thinks I’m in Kyoto.” “Not in Kyoto,” his aunt said. “Is there some further message?” “No, no thank you.” After she hung up, Barbara went to her office and sat at her desk. Maybe she could write a note to him about the missing paper and take it to his house. She took out a sheet of paper, wrote “Dear Seiji,” then crumpled it up. She’d find another translator, a professional with whom there would be no messy entanglements. Someone anonymous, discreet. Someone she could trust. That librarian Michi introduced her to at the International House in downtown 4 142 4 4 143 4 Tokyo should be able to recommend someone. She’d spend the night there; it would be good to get away, no waiting for a call. In her apartment, she pulled open the top drawer of the tansu. The 1961 bottle looked naked, bare dark glass in the row of wrapped wines. She took the papers from the 1960 and 1962 bottles, rolled them together, and put them in the black bag with her overnight things. At the last minute she added the 1951 paper, and headed for the train station. The accommodations of the International House felt like home—twin beds, an armchair, a Western-style private bath with hot water. She lay down on one of the beds, exhausted; her body ached all over, as if she were coming down with something. When she woke it was after five. The library would be closed. At least she could have a peaceful evening here. She took a long shower, washing her hair with the Prell Shampoo she’d picked up at the American pharmacy. The smell of the shampoo reminded her of Allen Haywood, her first kiss. They’d been standing on the front steps of her house, grinning at each other. Suddenly his mouth was on hers, and his hands in her hair. She’d been surprised by the way her whole body came alive. “I loved that,” she’d said. The news came on as she was getting dressed for dinner. The Senate had rejected an amendment repealing the Gulf of Tonkin resolution . Defense Secretary Robert McNamara announced 20,000 additional troops would be called up, to join the 215,000 already in Vietnam. Allen hadn’t gone to college; maybe he was in Vietnam. She snapped off the radio and went downstairs to the restaurant. The dining room was crowded; there were no vacant tables. A Cambodian man sitting alone asked her to join him. He was handsome , in a rather fussy way, glossy hair, a brilliant smile, an ascot he kept straightening. They exchanged names and occupations: he was in the diplomatic service, at the International House for a meeting that had just ended. “I’ll be staying on a while, however,” he added. “May I ask you, are you entirely on your own?” “I’m not married if that’s what you mean.” There was no reason she shouldn’t go out with him. He was probably intelligent; she’d learn some interesting things about Cambodia. She and Seiji had no commitment. Their food came. He inquired after the quality of her meal in a seductive, mellifluous voice. After the waiter had cleared their plates he edged closer. “Will you have some brandy, Miss Jefferson? I have a fine Courvoisier upstairs.” “No thank you,” she said, picking up her pocketbook from the next chair. He must think an American woman was an easy mark. He put his arms on the table and leaned forward. “In that case, shall we explore the Tokyo night life together?” “I have an early meeting in the morning.” “Next evening perhaps.” She shook her head and looked around for the waiter. “I’m very busy right now.” “This is regrettable.” He leaned back in his chair, his arms across his chest. “If you have just one moment to spare, please tell me, if you would, Miss Jefferson, what is your opinion of American imperialist policy regarding Vietnam?” She gave him her...