The Salaryman's Wife(5)

“So what’s the meaning of Windom? It makes no bloody sense,” Hugh complained.

“Mmm.” His arrogance was bothering me. “Maybe a play on window and kingdom? You own all the views because you have a luxury car?”

“At least Hugh had a seat,” Mrs. Chapman broke in. “The Japanese trains are terrible. No one gives up their seat to old ladies, and young gals like Rei get molested. To think I was told people in the Orient are so polite!”

Now that she had everyone’s ear, Mrs. Chapman was unstoppable, plunging into a merciless replay. Thankfully, the young salaryman named Yamamoto manipulated the conversation back to the less volatile territory of Mrs. Chapman’s own life in the United States. I ate my way through the fish and vegetables and took a second helping of rice while she described the retirement life in Destin, Florida, home of the most beautiful white sand beach on earth. Still, there was so much sun it got a little boring, sometimes gave a gal an itch to travel.

“Is there a Mr. Chapman?” Hugh inquired, picking up the thread. She shook her head and told him she was a widow. As he murmured in sympathy, I noticed Mrs. Nakamura giving her the evil eye. No doubt Mrs. Chapman’s careless comments about meeting Asians through tourist agencies had taken their toll.

Worried an East-West table war was underway, I started a conversation about the food with a young couple who had joined the table late. Even though I was speaking Japanese, I felt Hugh Glendinning listening. When I tried to discreetly hide my serving of horse under some garnishing leaves, he picked his up and ate with gusto. I wondered if he’d be so happy knowing he was eating something that had once pranced merrily. Then again, I’d heard the Scottish national dish was something like a sheep stomach stuffed with intestines.

“You do this for a living, don’t you? Talk to people. You teach, or something,” he boomed when I had finally fallen silent.

“Right. It’s about the best job a foreign woman can get.” I would have preferred a position cataloging Japanese antiques in a small museum, but after six weeks of searching, I got realistic. My two offers were bar hostess or English teacher. I took the job with health benefits.

“I’ve been meaning to start language training. Tell me, do you work at Berlitz?”

“No. I’m just a contract employee at a kitchenware company.” I was starting to get embarrassed about being the poorest, most marginal person in the group.

“Kitchenware. What is it, Tiger, Nichiyu, Zojirushi?” he persisted.

“Nichiyu,” I said, surprised he knew it.

“So you’re from Tokyo also. I’m an international solicitor—I think Yanks would call me a lawyer? Mr. Nakamura has been good enough to let me muck about in his department at Sendai. So far, there’ve been no disasters.”

Sendai was known to me as a historic furniture-making town, so I had been surprised to learn it was also the name of an upstart electronics company. Sendai had probably hired him to assist with overseas trade, a dubious prospect given the collapse of the bubble economy.

“Glendinning-san is a good friend.” There was something oily in Mr. Nakamura’s smile as he nodded toward the Scot.

“And that’s why we want to share your first New Year’s Eve in Japan,” Mrs. Nakamura added in silvery tones.

“Setsuko knows it’s a lonely night for me.” Hugh rewarded his boss’s wife with a crooked smile. “In Scotland, New Year’s Eve is the night to end all. And January first is the best day of the year, traditionally the one people took for holiday instead of Christmas.”

“That sounds un-Christian.” Mrs. Chapman frowned the same way she had at the bath signs.

“But we have Pagan roots!” Hugh said cheerfully. “In one of the small towns, people still run through the streets with balls of fire, and on New Year’s Eve we drink our way from house to house. Nobody locks their doors because the parties carry on into the morning.”

“New Year’s Eve is family time in Japan,” said Setsuko Nakamura, including everyone but me in her benevolent gaze. “We spend time with the people we feel close to and dine on New Year’s foods with lucky meanings. For example, these long noodles celebrate the changing of the year. Vegetables and fruits represent the harvest from field and mountain.”

“Sort of like American Thanksgiving?” Mrs. Chapman looked at her dinner with new curiosity.

“Not quite. There’s an interest in, how do you say, fertility…the small round things like the black beans and fish eggs are hope for the birth of many children,” Setsuko answered.