Joe did a mock double-take and Mrs. Chapman turned and giggled, hoisting a plastic bag aloft. “Rei, you should have been with us this morning! There was an antiques flea market just up the street.”
“The Togo Shrine! It’s great, isn’t it?” I said.
“I got a call from the police about you the other night.” Joe scrutinized me. “We should talk about it. Where are you headed?”
“Actually, I’m on my way to meet some friends. Taro and Yuki, you’ll remember them, Mrs. Chapman.” I would have loved for Yuki Ikeda, with her interest in matchmaking, to see Mrs. Chapman’s escort.
“The last thing I need is cake,” Mrs. Chapman cooed. So she was dieting now. It was incredible what love had done to the woman who had once opined to me that all men were bastards.
“How about joining us tomorrow?” Joe persisted. “I was going to show Marcelle the Tokyo Stock Exchange in the afternoon, and then we were going to TAC for an early happy hour.”
I glanced at Mrs. Chapman, and I saw her face was rather oddly screwed up. Probably she was signaling for me to decline.
“Monday’s my busiest teaching day, I’m sorry,” I said. “I do want to see you again—both of you—how much longer are you staying?”
“Oh, I’m wait-listed for a flight later this week. Can you believe how badly organized the airport is?”
“Call me if you have any more trouble with the airline,” I said, imagining that as long as things were humming along with Joe, her plans might be delayed. “If you phone during the afternoon when I’m out, you might get Mariko. She understands English, but you have to speak slowly.”
“Another roommate? Dear, I thought you just lived with the fruit loop in your apartment. Remember, there was no room for me?” There was an injured undertone to her voice, and I cursed myself for being so careless.
“It’s temporary. She’s just a girlfriend in trouble who had to leave her home…I’m helping her find something.”
“That’s kind of you. Let me know if I can help—is she bilingual?” Joe asked.
“Sort of.” Unfortunately, what came out of Mariko’s mouth these days was mostly the obscene English Richard had been teaching her. I wasn’t going to mention that.
I got to the Hanae Mori Building about nine minutes late. Yuki was watching through the window and gave me a big wave when I jogged up.
“I’m sorry you had to wait,” I panted. “You’ll never guess who I met.”
“You should have brought them along! I think it is beautiful, this second chance at life and love,” Yuki said when I had told them about Mrs. Chapman.
“Next time. Where’s the menu?” I was weak from having skipped lunch, so I ordered the biggest cake in the glass showcase: apple strudel. Taro cheered my choice; he was going for the Black Forest cherry cake himself. Yuki, true to her New Year’s diet, stuck to black coffee.
After the waitress set up our dainty meal, Taro placed my antique box on the table. I opened it and found the newsprint that had lined the interior had been removed. Small strips of paper and glue remained.
“What happened here?” I didn’t hide my dismay.
“Oh, I already read the paper and could tell it was from the early sixties because there was some article with mention of the crown prince Naruhito. See, I made you a translation.” Taro handed me a typed piece of paper. “You seem sad. Look inside the box again.”
I peered at the box’s interior, running my finger over the scarred wood. The original lacquer finish was rubbed off and I saw, suddenly, what he wanted me to: letters carved in hiragana, Japan’s phonetic alphabet. The easiest alphabet, the one I’d known since I was nine.
“Shiroyama,” I spelled out. “So maybe the box comes from there, after all.”
“There’s more writing,” Yuki said.
I looked closely again and read “Uchida Miyo,” the name of the lost princess of the Shiroyama legend Taro had retold on New Year’s Eve.
“We don’t know that it’s real,” I said, trying to control my excitement. Anyone could have done it as a joke. Still, the grooves of the letters were worn smoothly, as if they’d been cut long ago.
“We could have it appraised at one of the antique stores around here,” Taro suggested.
“All those people know is how to mark things up for tourists. I’d rather take it to Mr. Ishida.” Yasushi Ishida was the man who had sold me the marvelous tansu chest a year ago. I could visit his shop on my way home.
“In any case, it’s a nice thing to take your mind off the trouble,” Yuki offered.