Made In Japan. S. Parks J.
vending machine. She picked it up and nestled it against her ear, walking on.
‘Wait. Won’t it belong to someone?’
‘It’ll take a holiday just for a day or so.’
‘And Noru won’t mind?’
‘Who would tell?’
Hana smiled at her new friend’s independence.
‘Where exactly did Naomi live?’ The cat was tucked under Jess’s arm.
‘I don’t know but she would have known this main street.’ Hana wondered how much would it have changed; the racket of piped music, the disarray of wares halfway across the street, signs so numerous they had become wallpaper hopelessly competing for attention.
‘You look like her?’ Jess asked.
Idly Hana imagined there might be someone on this very street that might just remember her mother and recognize some similarity, some feature or in the way she walked.
‘A bit. Not really. We enjoyed the same things. We were similar in that way.’
‘You were?’
Hana nodded and pursed her lips, and for once Jess caught the subtlety that she had lost her and said she was sorry.
Hana went on quickly. ‘She lived here when she worked on the teahouse. Around eighty-nine.’
‘So …’ Jess registered with the strike of a can hitting the pocket of the vending machine.
‘So the teahouse is important.’
‘But you are looking for your father?’ Jess tugged at the ring pull on the can.
The suggestion winded Hana. The faceless man that was her father had been a completely unacknowledged presence for so long that she had edited him out of her existence in the way that he had surely done for her. How could this stranger not realize that she shouldn’t ask? There was a time when she believed her mother had not known who her father was. A faceless one-night stand in Tokyo? But she knew Naomi too well to really believe it.
At first she didn’t respond and then replied, ‘No,’ to Jess’s open skepticism.
‘Miho’s coffee is better than this,’ Jess concluded resignedly.
After supper, Tako skipped in, wearing a clean, pressed T-shirt.
‘Ladies, ladies.’ He chose to pronounce it as if it were a disease for dogs. He started regaling them with earthquake facts which had become a recurring theme with him, and he clearly enjoyed the response.
‘A thirty-nine metre wave.’ If he intended to frighten Hana he often succeeded.
Unexpectedly he produced a bottle of Blossom soap and presented it as a gift. Had he heard them complaining?
Noru scowled at her son as she cleared the table. Her housekeeping didn’t run to gifts for guests.
‘When do I show you round?’ Ever generous. He leafed though a guidebook as he held it under Hana’s nose. What could she tell him? He was the last person she would choose.
Her smile was noncommittal.
‘Okay, so when is best?’ he persisted.
There was something about him she didn’t trust. She searched Jess, who bailed her out very casually
‘We have a few trips planned. Thanks though.’ And she grabbed the soap before marching out.
It was Jess’s turn for the bathroom first and so Hana took out her battered city plan, tracing her finger across the legend of flags and dots and icons. She had scanned the whole of Shimokitazawa and found nothing.
Jess returned in a towel-wrapped turban …
‘Sweet to give us soap.’
‘Sweet?’ Hana hoped he was harmless.
As she scratched at the back of her neck Hana remembered the cat had slept in Jess’s bed for two days. It was sure to have fleas. Resignedly, she held her feet in her hands and rocked back and forth, eventually coming to settle on the uncomfortable homestay bed, intending to broach the subject of the cat with Jess soon.
On their way up the main street the next morning, Hana passed gift-wrapped melons in the window of the supermarket. They were the price of a European flight at home.
‘It is what it is.’ Jess was clearly resigned to the cost of living because she knew the short cuts. ‘I never eat melon,’ she said as if possessed of great wisdom.
Hana would not buy this as evidence of an economic sage but she did realize then, even without giving way to her taste for melon, that she would go to the interview at the end of the week or answer to her roommate, repeatedly. And so, before they reached the rail tracks, she had decided, since she planned to be in Tokyo for at least six weeks or more, she would join Jess at the club. Why not?
Her first quake began halfway to the station with what she thought was a train rumbling. She didn’t see anything particularly odd but she could hear the creaking of wooden buildings bracing against the tremor as if shaken by the vibrations of an ancient engine. It lasted for no more than ten seconds.
‘We should be inside,’ Jess advised and pointed to the pachinko parlour.
‘You okay?’
Once inside she was a little shaken but the vibration stopped as suddenly as it had arrived.
‘An earthquake virgin.’ Jess tried to make light of it to put her at ease. ‘We have loads of these little tremors. And the pressure release is a positive thing.’ She smiled with a bright idea. ‘Let’s play.’
Hana reminded Jess they were headed for Nakajima no Ochaya to drink tea but she was caught by the novelty.
The doors opened to a cacophony that drowned the shouts of welcome; chrome ball bearings in Brownian motion, like so many metallic castanets. Lights flashed in purple, red and emerald green in line upon line, and on the small screen of each pinball display an ancient geisha played out a love story or cartoon boy hero dazzled a conquering light sabre.
There were plenty of empty seats peppered with random regulars, most of whom slumped as if permanently attached to the furniture, spent cigarettes between their lips,
Jess whooped like a cowgirl to straddle a chair. She turned. ‘Are we feeling lucky?’
Hana was happy to observe and took up a position behind her. Winning balls from another machine clattered. She was far from the tranquility of the teahouse.
Jess took the joystick, jabbing at a console worn smooth as washed pebbles. Bearings collided and bounced through a maze of obstacles and at every winning gate more balls fed her play. It was a while before she was conscious of another person standing behind her. Hana turned to find Tako had appeared like a screen genii. He had a habit of turning up like an irritating pop-up ad. Had he followed them? He wore his shiny athletic jacket and bright white T shirt.
He couldn’t stay, but since he knew the game so well he would show them how it was done. Could he show them? Jess made way for him and he flashed his skills until three jackpot winners appeared on screen and a deafening number of balls fell in payout.
He indicated with a generosity as large as the sum was small that it was all theirs.
‘Yeeha!’ Jess called.
Tako rose for Hana to take a turn.
She declined, not wanting to risk the winnings, and thankfully, in the void of any encouragement, he left them.
‘I will add to the money,’ Jess announced, ‘and we’ll go for a big lunch.’
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