It was the first decent night’s sleep I’d had in weeks. I got to work early and wrapped up my university story. It was dry and full of data, “University Enhances English Language Curriculum.” Amista handed me a copy of her next story on the rape case, telling me to read it when I had time.
On the white board Ashimine-san had assigned me a new story about the activities of Okinawan and American Women’s Clubs. Apparently, there were groups in which Okinawan women and American military wives socialized and did charity work together. I was disappointed and wished he’d assigned the piece to Cece, after all, she was a military officer’s wife. Nonetheless, I researched the piece for the afternoon, reading up on joint hospital fundraisers and ikebana classes, where together, Okinawan and American women learned flower arranging. Aside from an event called, “Blogs to Build Unity,” the courses could have been offered in nineteen-sixty. Frustrated after being cooped up all day, I needed out of the office.
I turned off my computer, grabbed Amista’s story, got in the car and headed west. When I arrived at Okinawa City Beach at the northernmost end of the Sunabe Seawall, I parked and walked on the sand. It felt soft on my toes and the water sparkled in the afternoon sun. There were only a few people around, a family tossing a Frisbee and a soldier jumping in the waves. Nathan was nowhere to be seen. I plopped down on the sand and let my eyes adjust to the reflections and bursts of light reflecting off the water. As if I hadn’t seen it before, I took in the dark and light shades of blue all around me, the water that melted from aqua to navy, the turquoise sky and the shifting line where sky collided with sea. The air smelled pleasantly of salt and fish.
Amista’s story was titled, “Okinawa Erupts as Airman Denies Guilt.” The deckhead was, “Stone history of violence, Ishikori silent.” I was about to read it when my phone rang. It was Rose. We spent the next thirty minutes chatting. She asked about Hisashi and I assured her I wasn’t dating him. We both agreed that dating Owen’s brother was probably a bad idea. During our conversation my text alert kept beeping, but I ignored it and called my mom after I hung up with Rose. I didn’t tell her anything more than that I was fine, that work was going well and that I loved her.
After a few more minutes staring into the East China Sea I scrolled through my texts. “I’m in Ginowan Hospital.” It was Hisashi. I jumped to my feet and landed on a sharp seashell. I pressed the hem of my dress on my foot to staunch the bleeding and called him. He told me he had been attacked in the parking lot at the office, early, before anyone else arrived. A group of boys or men, he wasn’t sure, roughed him up. He drove himself to the hospital and they would release him soon. A shudder rippled down my spine, the peace I’d started to feel, seeped out of my skin. “What can I do?”
He asked me to meet him at his apartment. I GPSed it and drove fast, gripping the steering wheel hard, worrying.
Hisashi’s place was swanky, in Ginowan, right on the ocean. The building was a gleaming high-rise, modern and glassy. I continued to marvel at how Okinawa went from ramshackle to sleek in the space of a few miles.
When he answered his door, I hugged him. He was hot and damp. His forehead and cheek were bandaged as was his hand. The apartment was three times as big as my own and decorated with modern furniture and a crystal chandelier. I inhaled vanilla, a set of three candles on his coffee table. I stood back to take it all in, including his injuries. His face was the purple and red hues of a professional boxer after a fight.
“I wish I could say the other guys look worse,” he said, smiling, though he must have been in pain. He told me there were three of them with bandanas wrapped around their faces. “I didn’t get a good look, but they were young, I could tell from their eyes.” We sat down on his black leather couch.
“Please tell me you spoke to the police.”
“The hospital made me report it, but I wouldn’t have otherwise.” Such stubborn pride, I thought. “The officer said it was probably a random attack on anyone who works at Okinawa Week, the police don’t think I was targeted specifically.”
Fear choked my throat. It could have been me, Amista or anyone who had been attacked. “Did you tell Ashimine-san?”
“No. He will feel responsible.”
I exhaled, incredulous that he’d make that mistake again. “How can you possibly hide it from him after what happened with the signs? He’s going to see your face.”
“Lucy, there are things you don’t understand about our culture,” he began.
He was right, I didn’t understand most things, but I couldn’t hold my tongue. “If you won’t tell him for yourself, at least consider that it could have been Amista, or Cece or me who was attacked, or could be attacked later.”
Hisashi closed his eyes, pressed them shut. Then he said, “Okay. I will warn our coworkers. But not Ashimine-san. He’s old fashioned.”
“My God,” I said, exasperated. I couldn’t put myself into the mindset of someone who wanted to avoid embarrassment for his boss more than he wanted safety, or justice for that matter, to see the culprits thrown in jail. I bit my tongue. I commented on the luxury of his place, with its lively red silk throw pillows on the couch and a real dining room off to the side of the living room. Nothing like my spartan apartment.
“I like living on the water,” he said, rubbing his bandaged hand. “Come look.” Two sliding glass doors opened to the West, and the view was all twinkling aqua water and light blue sky. “Lucy, I want to talk to you, to put a few things out in the open.” I nodded, wary about what would come next. “It must be strange for you to get to know me after knowing Owen. We are not at all the same.”
“I realize that.”
“And I can’t say I understand what your relationship with him was.” I didn’t answer, kept my promise to myself not to deepen Hisashi’s grief by talking about my unrequited infatuation. “I have our grandmother’s tea set. My mom told me it’s for you, from Owen.” He brought me into his dining room and on a long, black lacquer buffet, there it was, the pretty red and pink tea set Owen had promised me. It was even lovelier than I remembered, with delicate pink cherry blossoms etched over paper-thin crimson porcelain. A ripple through my chest, its beauty stunning, my memory overflowing. It’s infused with love, Owen had said, and impossible for tea served in it to be bitter.
I told Hisashi that it was too special, should remain in the Ota family, but he said no, Owen’s wishes should be honored. He gingerly lifted it and placed it in my hands and another string fell away from the binding of my heart. This gift from Owen was a symbol, a sign that our relationship had been real, had life and weight. At one point, I’d hoped the tea set had been smashed to bits, and now I was grateful that it shone in my hands, as if Owen himself reached out to me, offered amends for hurting me.
Hisashi was tired and needed rest after his ordeal, so I got ready to leave. By the door, he stopped me and said, “I could really use some R&R. How about we take a drive around the island tomorrow. Go to a tea house, see some landmarks?”
“I absolutely want to do that,” I said, and he gave me a ginger hug. I wrapped the tea set in towels from my trunk, to make sure each item was safely tucked into a soft spot. I drove back to the Sunabe Seawall and sat on the concrete barrier, until the only illumination was the reflection of the moon on the water.