Chapter 22

STEVE YAWNED AND STRETCHED, a thousand tiny fires burning in his body. He was grateful to be free of the airplane seat at last. Jiro had paid for first class tickets for himself and Autumn, but the seating was never meant to accommodate a man of his size. Factor in his list of minor injuries and the ride had been quite agonizing. He reached up to gather his carry-on bag from the cabinet overhead, glancing down at Autumn’s still slumbering form.

“Hey,” he said, gently shaking her shoulder. “We’re here.”

“Finally.” Autumn’s voice was thick with sleep. There was a red mark on her cheek from leaning against the window, and a line of unladylike drool on her chin. She wiped it away mid-yawn. “I’m starting to regret blowing off my Dad to come along.”

Steve helped her to her feet. He couldn’t help but feel guilty about taking her away from her father, especially since it was because of an unspoken agreement that they were in trouble as a couple. Being in a new place was just a temporary fix, and he suspected Autumn knew it as well.

While they waited impatiently for the long line ahead of them to filter outside, Steve’s mind went back to two days prior. They were sitting in the locker room of Reilly’s studio right after a brutal “hardcore” match where he and his opponent hit each other with a variety of implements. The crowd had certainly been enthralled, but Autumn took it upon herself to give him a hard time.

“Let me see,” she said, yanking the bloody towel away from his forehead.

“You’re just going to make it bleed more.” Steve squinted his eyes tight while she prodded at his dripping laceration. “Ow, what are you doing?”

“Trying to get a piece of glass out of your fucking skull,” she growled. “Why did you let him do that to you?”

“Well, beautiful…” Steve flinched as she pried the cut open wider. “Ow! I thought he was going to choke me with the florescent light tube. I didn’t know he was going to—OW—break it open and jab me in the forehead with the shards!”

“Duh, he’s called the Butcher.” Autumn let go of his head, and he felt profound relief. “Got it!” She held a tiny crimson-stained bit of glass before his eyes. “Didn’t it occur to you there was a reason no one else in the locker room wanted to have a match with him?”

“He’s world famous.” Steve shrugged. “I bet if we checked YouTube there’s already a video of that match.”

“Well, this is the last time you let someone massacre you with a goddamn broken light bulb.” Autumn grabbed his chin, not harshly but firmly, and focused her umber eyes on his own. “If you ever let someone cut you up like that again, we’re through. Clear?”

He had wanted to argue with her, but right then the trainer finally came in the locker room, medical bag in tow. Fingering the bandage on his forehead, he felt a bit of lingering resentment as he followed the line of slow moving passengers off the plane.

They made their exit and soon stood in the busy Narita terminal. As they were strangers to international travel, they rubbernecked for a few moments to get their bearings. All around them, modern Japanese in business suits mingled with relics of their past, like painted geisha girls.

“Everything is bright neon,” Autumn said, holding a hand over her eyes. She was wearing the black business dress she had worn to the art studio, striving for a less exotic appearance at Steve’s request. He himself was wearing a shirt and tie, though he had to use a clip-on, as most ties would not go around his massive neck without being ludicrously short.

“Yeah, it stings my eyes! Let’s go try to figure out where baggage claim is.”

They walked through the busy terminal, hands clasped. Outside the large, arched windows they could see the city, its streets locked in what seemed a perpetual traffic jam. It was a hazy, sultry morning, and a thick layer of mist shrouded the tops of the sky scrapers. With a little effort they found their luggage. Steve had only one additional suitcase, but he was burdened with no less than four bags that belonged to Autumn, while both her hands were full with tall suitcases on rolling wheels.

“Did you forget anything?” Steve said, grumbling as he dropped one of the bags.

“Yeah, an empty suitcase for all the clothes I’m bringing back home.”

“There’s so many people, I can barely see the walls.”

“Where are we going?”

“Toward carousel one, I hope—that’s where the driver is supposed to meet us.”

“Driver? Did you call for a cab when I was asleep?”

“No, Mr. Higashi is sending a car for us.”

“You think Higashi will be there?”

“Nah, he’s like royalty over here. He’s not going to be bothered to visit an American wrestler at the airport.”

Steve spotted a lanky man in a plain black suit and white shirt holding a sign with his last name on it. As he approached, the man dipped into a low bow.

“Greetings, Mr. Borgia,” he said in excellent if slightly accented English. “I will take your bags.”

“Uh, okay,” Steve said as the man took the burdens from him. Autumn gasped indignantly at the man’s failure to even acknowledge her.

“Not that one,” Steve said, holding on to the carry on.

“As you wish, sir,” the man said, struggling with what he was already carrying.

“What’s so special about that bag?” Autumn said, huffing as she dragged the cases behind her.

“It has my ring gear in it.” Steve took one of the cases from her grateful hand. “Pop says that you never, ever, ever let your ring gear leave your sight when you’re traveling. One time the airline lost his luggage, and he had to do the whole Deathslayer from Hell thing in a black sweat suit.”

“Oh my god, that must have been hilarious!”

“Yup, the lord of darkness, wearing ‘give up on life’ pants.”

“‘Give up on life’ pants…that’s what Crawley calls sweat pants.” Autumn scowled. “Been spending a lot of time talking to her?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, I’m just giving you a taste of your own jealous medicine.” Her quick kiss on his cheek took much of the venom from her bluster.

They followed the man out of the airport. They passed by a string of waiting taxis, Steve looking expectantly at each one. Then he glanced up and saw Jiro Higashi, standing on the curb in front of a long black limousine. He was tall for a Japanese man, a legacy of his Western grandfather, and stood only a few inches shorter than Steve. His head was mostly bereft of hair, but he still had a ring of gray going around from ear to ear. Steve could respect that; he had not shaven his entire head, as many wrestlers did when they started getting sparse up top. A mustache peppered with gray hung over his thin but expressive lips, which he stroked lightly as they approached.

A woman of middle years who was still ravishingly beautiful stood nearby, her hair black as midnight. Two children of about high school age stood nearby, a boy and a girl. They, like their parents, were dressed very well in suits that probably cost more than Steve had made in a year teaching.

“Mr. Higashi,” Steve said, striding up and offering his hand for a shake.

“Mr. Borgia,” Jiro said, taking the hand in his own. Steve inwardly grimaced at the strength of the man’s grip. Despite his age and semi-retirement, the man was obviously not lacking fitness. “Please allow me to introduce my family. My wife, Mariko, and my children, Ataru and Shinobu.”

All three bowed to Steve, which he awkwardly returned.

“A-hem,” Autumn said.

“Oh. Sorry. Allow me to introduce my fiancée, Autumn Winters.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jiro said, barely nodding in her direction. Steve decided to ignore the way Autumn put her hands on her hips and cocked an eyebrow. “I am here to take you to my home.”

“Can we stop by the hotel first? I’d hate to have our luggage cluttering up your house.”

“Hotel?” Jiro blinked several times, and then light dawned in his folded eyes. “You are mistaken, Steve-san. You and your lovely fiancée will be my honored guests for the next four days.”

“Honored guests?” Autumn said.

“Yes,” Jiro said, actually flicking his gaze to her for a moment, “for the son of the legendary Deathslayer, we can do no less. We are honored that you have come to repay your family’s debt.”

“Debt?” Steve said. “Uh, I don’t have much money—”

Jiro had already turned from him, and was speaking in rapid Japanese to the man who had taken their luggage. In short order their accouterments were stowed safely in the spacious trunk, and Steve was invited to precede Jiro into the back of the limo.

“We really appreciate your hospitality, Mr. Higashi, but we don’t want to be a burden.”

“There is no burden, Steve-san. My home is simple, but spacious enough to accommodate you as well as any hotel.”

Steve nodded, feeling Autumn shift uncomfortably in the seat next to him. He was worried about the mention of a debt, but the man wasn’t whipping out his bank book, nor had there been any mention of repayment in his twelve-page contract.

They rode to Jiro’s home, mostly making small talk. The long flight had served a meal, but Steve was unable to stomach the fois gras. Autumn had graciously offered to eat his piece as well, which had a great deal to do with the way his stomach loudly rumbled. Ataru, the young boy, giggled at the sound, but a sharp glance from his mother silenced him.

“Your wife would make a great teacher,” Steve said.

“I’m sorry?” Jiro said, eyes narrowing.

“Oh, it’s just that…she seems to be good with children…”

“Ah.” A brief smile crossed Jiro’s face. “Mariko was once an elementary school teacher. Of course, she retired once we were married.”

“Retired?” Autumn said, but Jiro did not pay any attention to her.

“Why did she retire?” Steve wondered. Mariko seemed awfully young to be retired.

“I don’t understand,” Jiro said. “I told you that we were married.”

Shinobu spoke to her father in Japanese, which caused him to be taken aback somewhat. Her mother put a hand on her shoulder, probably a more serious gesture than it appeared.

“My daughter has reminded me that not all women, either from your country or ours, retire upon gaining a husband. It is…an old tradition.”

“Forgive me, Mr. Higashi, but if I may say so, you seem to be a man who values tradition greatly.”

Jiro gave a slight bow of his head.

“I would that all Japanese felt the same way. With so many Western influences, our past is slipping away like sand through the hourglass.”

“I’m all about tradition—especially with regard to wrestling. My contract didn’t say who exactly I would be facing. Could I speak with them before the match, work out some—”

“There will be time later to speak of puroressu, Steve-san. For now, let me and my family be at your service. Relax, my new friend, all will be handled in good order.”

Steve leaned back in the seat, instinctively seeking Autumn’s hand. She took it quickly, perhaps feeling just as out of place as he did. He was glad to have her with him.

For as long as she stayed. He squeezed her hand tightly, not wanting her to slip away.

When they first approached Jiro’s home, neither of the Westerners were impressed with it. The walls around the homestead were low and quite plain. The only splash of color was along the top, where red slate had been arranged in an inverted V pattern. Nestled in the shadow of mountains, his abode was at least six miles away from the nearest neighbor.

When the limo turned onto a smooth, almost untouched blacktop road, Steve’s mouth gaped at the domicile they were approaching. It was styled after traditional Japanese homes of the feudal period, with a series of shallow steps leading to a smoothly polished wooden deck. The deck looked as if it wrapped all the way around the structure…or structures, as when they approached more closely, several other buildings could be seen behind the main house.

The limo pulled into a circle drive and parked before the main building. Autumn whistled as she beheld Jiro’s home, with its high ceilings and green tiled roof. Two fearsome looking statues of the Shinto god Raiden stood flanking either side of the staircase. Several trees expertly manicured to conform to the shape of the house provided shade.

“Your home is beautiful,” Autumn said to Mariko as she exited the vehicle.

“Thank you,” the woman said, the first time she had spoken. Mariko’s smile was warm enough, and she lacked the seemingly instinctive disdain that Jiro seemed to display toward Autumn.

Jiro led them up the steps, explaining the grounds as they went.

“The main house is the big one up front. That is where you will be sleeping the next few nights. Behind it are my dojo, gravel garden, and tea house.”

“This place is impressive,” Steve said. “Must have set you back a pretty penny.”

“I am sorry?”

“I mean, it must have cost a lot of money.”

“Ah, yes, it was quite expensive, but well worth it.”

“I’m not disputing that,” Steve said, casting his gaze all around. Every inch of the place, every timber of wood and every sculpted tile was clean to the point of gleaming. As they stood, a man Steve took to be a housekeeper ran by, shoving a white cloth on the floor before him.

They followed Jiro and his family as they strode toward a set of sliding doors. The family took off their shoes and left them on a metal rack next to the entrance. Steve followed suit, with Autumn a step behind.

Ataru’s eyes went wide when he noticed the ink on Autumn’s feet. Leaning toward his mother, he whispered something that made her laugh.

“I don’t get the joke,” Steve said, trying but failing to keep some irritation out of his voice.

“Forgive my son, he is young and foolish. He thought that since your fiancée has so many tattoos, she must be yakuza.”

“Yakuza?”

“Japanese mafia,” Autumn said. “They cover themselves with tattoos…of course, a true yakuza would never have ink that showed on his hands or feet.”

Jiro’s brows rose, and a tiny glimmer of what may have been respect shone in his eyes.

“Indeed,” he said, turning away from Autumn before she could gloat.

Jiro took them down a hallway of the same polished wood as the deck. The walls inside appeared to be made of paper and flimsy wood. It occurred to Steve that it must be quite difficult to keep secrets in such a house. They turned a corner and Jiro stopped before a set of sliding doors.

“These will be your chambers. I hope they are satisfactory.”

The doors slid open and the room that was revealed was simple but looked comfortable enough. Tatami mats covered the floor, providing some cushion. A very low table that no chair would fit under sat near one wall, a ceramic vase upon its surface. The vase contained a flower with a large red center and soft white leaves. A rolled up futon awaited their tired bodies.

“This will be fine, Mr. Higashi,” Steve said.

“Good. I will leave you to refresh yourselves.”

“Uh, Mr. Jiro,” Autumn said, “where’s the head?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The bathroom, uh, the toilet is probably what she’s asking for…”

“Ah,” Jiro said, a bit of embarrassment crossing his features, “but of course, it was a long drive.”

After showing them the bathroom a short distance down the hall, Jiro left them, saying he would return shortly to call them to dinner. Upon her return Autumn kicked the futon and unrolled it, plopping down on its surface.

“Don’t wreck the place,” Steve said.

“There’s no springs in these kind of beds. Besides, I’m not the one who weighs almost three hundred pounds!”

“It’s mostly muscle!”

“Oh, I know it’s muscle…”

She rose to her knees, hands vigorously stroking his leg. Steve took a step back and looked aghast.

“What are you doing? The walls are made of paper…paper, Autumn!”

“Pffft, the Japanese worship sex, Steve. Why do you think he took his family to the other side of the house? Why do you think he left us alone?”

“To refresh ourselves, like he said? C’mon, beautiful, don’t get us deported!”

Autumn had not stopped her efforts at all, intensifying them instead. Her hands rose up to his belt buckle and unbuckled it.

“Stop,” he said, half chuckling. “C’mon stop it—”

Autumn pulled down his shorts, leaned her head in close. Her eyes glanced up to him as she went to work, something that had always driven him crazy.

“Okay—don’t stop!”

Steve reached down, put a gentle palm on the top of her head. He tilted his head back, gasped…

The sound of their room doors sliding open caused them to disengage. Mariko walked in, her eyes focused on the cloth bundle in her hands.

“I brought you some bath supplies…oh my!”

Steve and Autumn sheepishly stared back at her, he fumbling to buckle his belt. Mariko backed out of the room, bowing even as a smile spread across her fine features.

“I’m sorry,” she said, as her feet trailed away.

“Great,” Steve said, “now no one’s gonna want to get us for dinner!”

Autumn clapped enthusiastically, even putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling, as Jiro finished a karaoke rendition of “Nights in White Satin.” His accent was heavy, but he made up for it with poise and a clear, deep love of the song. They were sitting in what Steve would have called a living room but what Jiro referred to as a study. There was a flat screen HDTV on the wall, totally at odds with the more ancient surroundings. A soft mat cushioned their bottoms as they all sat on the floor. Mariko, Ataru and Shinobu had joined them, and the night was surprisingly festive.

“That was amazing,” Steve said, adding his own applause.

“You humble me.” Jiro was smiling from ear to ear. It was a different side of the seemingly serious, dour Japanese man, challenging Steve’s assessment of his character.

“Our turn is up,” Autumn said, rising to her feet. “You didn’t pick that stupid song from Grease, did you?”

“Maybe,” Steve said, grinning as he picked up one of the mikes and handed it to Autumn. She rolled her eyes and heaved a heavy sigh.

“Steve, I told you I hate that fucking mo—”

She stopped speaking when the first heavy riff from “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” wafted out of the speakers hanging flush on the wall. Her face broke into a wide grin.

“You get me, Steve. Somehow, you really get me.”

“Don’t make me mess up.” He grabbed the other mike and sang the opening line. Autumn enthusiastically joined him on the other mike, throwing out phony gang signs.

Jiro and his wife seemed a bit taken aback by the hard rock-hip hop song, though their children were delighted. Steve and Autumn got a little bit loud on the chorus, and were joined by the Higashi siblings. As the song ended, Steve and Autumn high fived and took a bow.

“Very…interesting,” Jiro said, loosening his collar a bit. He rose to his feet, Mariko copying him a second later. “If you will forgive me, it is getting late. My children do have to attend classes in the morning.”

“We should retire as well,” Steve said. “Thanks for the hospitality, Mr. Higashi.”

Jiro bowed slightly, then he and his family took their leave. Jiro lingered in the study for a moment, his raised eyebrows enticing Steve to come closer.

“My children’s rooms are not far from your own, so if you and your fiancée wish to…talk…it might be best if you did it in the outside garden. The sound of the running water tends to drown out noises, as my wife and I can attest.”

He clapped Steve hard on the shoulder and left, a slight smile playing at the edges of his mouth. Steve turned around to face Autumn, his face reddening.

“What was that about?” Autumn said.

“I think we just got told to have sex in the garden, so we don’t disturb his children’s sleep.”

“We could try duct taping our mouths shut…”

“I think only one of us is supposed to do that. Hanging out with Crawley at the tattoo parlor has made you even kinkier.”

Autumn fluttered her eyes at him.

“All girls are into kink on some level.”

“C’mon,” Steve said as they walked back to their room, “that can’t be true.”

“Oh, no one wants to get raped for real…it’s the idea of being powerless that’s a turn on, not the actual powerlessness itself. I shouldn’t have to tell you, you were hard as a rock before I finished tying you to the—”

“Shhh!” Steve clapped a hand over her mouth. “We’re not outside yet!”

“I don’t think their English is that good,” Autumn said once her mouth was free. “But whatever.”

They went to the end of the hall and opened the sliding doors at the rear of the residence. The scene that unfolded was almost breathtakingly beautiful. Bright pastel flowers ran in a hedgerow, forming an equator of sorts. The babbling stream that Jiro had mentioned came through a grate under the wall and meandered through the garden. It seemed as if Higashi had built his home around a natural creek. The dark stream ran over a waterfall and splashed into a large pool filled with colorful koi. An arched bridge stretched elegantly over the narrow waterway, paper lanterns shedding soft light on the scene.

Most wondrous of all were the fireflies. Dozens, maybe hundreds of the luminescent insects buzzed about the garden. The slower moving yellow flashes mingled with much quicker green ones. Their delicately glowing abdomens cast little spheres of light that reflected in Autumn’s brown eyes.

“Wow,” she said, her hand clasping with Steve’s.

“Yeah.” Steve felt that further vocalization was unnecessary. They walked around the garden for a time, silently enjoying both the natural beauty and each other’s company. The smell of something akin to honeysuckle filled the air with an enticing aroma. Autumn’s hand felt very small in his own, and not for the first time he worried for her health. It did not seem fair that their happiness might be taken away at any moment due to her disease. He let go of her hand and put his strong arm around her shoulder, squeezing her tight.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

Steve kissed her gently on the forehead.

“I don’t want to lose you, not ever.”

“Then maybe you should stop giving me shit about leaving after my surgery.”

Steve felt a vein throbbing in his forehead. Even here, surrounded by beauty, they couldn’t be happy. They’d traveled to another country, but hadn’t gone far enough to escape the specter haunting them.

“That’s not what I was…Never mind. This place is beautiful.”

“Yes, it is.”

“But not as beautiful as you.” Steve kissed her softly, enjoying the warmth of her breath in his mouth. She returned the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, and they stood for some time lost in each other’s embrace.

After a while, Steve led her by the hand to a small nook in the hedgerow. A wooden bench painted with red lacquer sat nestled within. They sat upon its smooth surface and continued their amorous explorations.

Autumn hiked up her dress and pulled her underwear to the side, arranging herself on Steve’s lap. She groaned as he slid inside her, his hands busy massaging her generous bosom though the thin fabric of her dress. They were in no rush, the sedate surroundings influencing their passion.

Autumn lurched forward, her hips moving like the sea at storm. Their eyes locked, and they smiled in unison. Their foreheads touched briefly, noses rubbing together, before Steve shifted his waist and she was racked with an intense wave of spasms. She leaned backward, his strong arms easily supporting her weight, dark hair brushing along the gravel walkway. Her cries mixed with his own, until she writhed in his arms. They were both exhausted and damp with sweat.

Steve slowly lifted her back into a sitting position. When her face was close enough he took her lips again, their mouths mingling together until they were as one. They stayed that way for over an hour, the fireflies and moonlight keeping them company.

Autumn eventually pulled back and stared him in the eyes. Her mouth was a tight line, unreadable as either angry or happy.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” She leaned her head on his shoulder.

“It’s not nothing.”

He felt her sigh against him.

“Steve, why are you with me?”

“Because I love you,” he said quickly. His heart skipped a beat, and then thudded strong in his chest.

“Yeah, I know, but do you trust me?”

Steve opened his mouth. He intended to say that of course he trusted her. However, he couldn’t lie to the woman he loved. The pregnant pause developed into an uncomfortable silence.

“That’s what I thought.” She kissed him on the cheek and rose to her feet. “Good night, sugar.”

He sat in the garden until a faint red glow heralded the dawn. Then he lay down next to Autumn, rolled his back toward her, and pretended to sleep.