The Salaryman's Wife(123)

“I don’t care. Just get up.”

I did and was marched over to my kitchen table, where she brought the knife to my wrists and began sawing at the tape with which she had bound me.

“Time to write a note about how sorry you are to have to do this, but it’s time for you to leave the life.”

“It’s time for me to leave the life? No one would believe I’d write that. It’s so overblown and maudlin!” I didn’t know where the words were coming from, but I had to keep talking.

She stopped unhitching my hands. “I was giving you a few extra minutes. A favor in exchange for what you’ve done for me. If you’d rather just jump, we’ll go straight to the window.”

She pushed me to the side window and slammed it open with one easy move of her left hand. Cold air tinged with gasoline and rotting vegetables blasted my face. The trash heap was ten feet to the right of my window. If I were a magician, I could waft myself toward it and land safely atop the garbage bags. Otherwise it was four stories to concrete.

“I won’t jump. You’ll have to throw me out.” I turned to face her, making calculations. Even though she was taller and heavier than me, it was unlikely she was spry enough to lift me. All she’d carried off so far was hitting Setsuko over the head and shoving Mrs. Yogetsu before a train. She’d certainly not be able to pick up a body and throw it. But it turned out she had something else in mind.

“Good-bye, Rei.” Her face was tranquil as she began moving the knife in a straight path toward my throat. I rushed at her, causing her to overshoot her mark, the knife slicing through fine cotton and glancing off my collarbone. I felt the cut but was seized by adrenaline as I slid under her arm and toward the door.

“You fool.” She slammed her body into mine, and we both landed on the floor.

The telephone began ringing. I lunged for the receiver as Mrs. Chapman’s knife nicked my biceps, drawing a beaded line of blood. Then there was a loud cracking sound, and I knew she had gotten me on the head, the place she should have gone for in the beginning.

Things went black for a second. Then, Mrs. Chapman emitted a yowl that told me I was still alive. The telephone continued to beep. I crawled toward it and knocked the receiver down to the floor with my shoulder.

“Who is it?” I said, disoriented because of the bizarre scene unfolding before me. Mrs. Chapman lay on her back like a beached whale, a long sword touching her throat. I squinted and realized the sword was really a metal crutch. The crutch was connected to Hugh Glendinning, looking very much like a Celtic hero on his last breath. He had only one crutch left for support and was leaning dangerously to one side.

“Easy, now,” Hugh said to Mrs. Chapman, and then to me, “That’s blood on my shirt, darling. Something tells me this is the last time I’ll lend you anything good.”

I didn’t reply, concentrating on the faraway voice on the telephone.

“Hallo, this is Winnie Clancy. May I speak to Hugh, please?”

“I think he’s—indisposed.” This was no fantasy world if Winnie was calling, I thought with a catch of joy.

“Fast worker, aren’t you?” Winnie said in her clipped accent.

“Mrs. Clancy, would you do me a favor?”

“What?” She sounded exasperated.

“Call 110,” I said with a bit of swagger and my best American accent. “Tell them to come to three-fourteen-nine Nihonzutsumi, apartment 4B. Come over yourself if you want to see Hugh. But call the cops first, if you want his Scottish ass alive.”





34


Hugh was using soap in the tub, something I had never seen done in Japan. Thin swirls of old soap floated in the water, ghosts of unlawful baths past. I shuddered, thinking of the damage he had done to his bath’s heating mechanism.

“You’ll look like a boxer tomorrow.” Hugh turned on the cold water tap briefly to refresh the wash cloth before returning it to the bruise under my eye. He hadn’t exaggerated about being the king of sports injuries. He’d made sure the nurses gave me an ice pack for my face during the time I’d waited for Tom to come out of surgery, shoot Hugh an accusing look, then take it all back when he heard the story.

“I still haven’t figured out how you knew Mrs. Chapman was the one.” I settled back against Hugh’s chest, resigning myself to the fact I would allow him the soap and anything he wanted that night.

“I broke out of that damn hospital at four A.M. and went home to have my first decent sleep in a half-week,” he said, beginning to massage my shoulders. “When I woke up, Winnie and Piers were there. They made me watch a videotape of news footage showing you leaving my building the morning after you stayed over. Piers was nattering on about the unsuitability of our relationship as I lay there, eating up the vision of you looking so lovely in my shirt. Then I had a nasty shock.”