“How old did you say you were?” I asked.
“Thirty-two. I’m ancient, remember? This is eighties music, I danced to it all over Germany and New York.”
“We’re five years apart.” Half a decade.
“Good at math, why don’t you teach that? Or music. I like your voice.”
We sang companionably for a while longer, Hugh doing an imitation of Robert Smith, The Cure’s mournful lead singer, that made me laugh so hard I almost missed the Hayama exit. I wondered why I could be so cheerful in the face of committing a crime and, as if on cue, got lost. It turned out the toll road entrance into Hayama was different than the taxi ride Hikari and I had taken. After driving aimlessly for a while, I admitted to Hugh I had no clue how to proceed.
“Hikari said to go north.” Hugh pulled out his map again.
“Hikari says a lot I don’t believe. I’d rather just stop at a police box to get directions,” I told him.
“Are you insane? Do you plan to register our names and faces with the police again?”
“Nobody knows me. I could go in and you could hide. Just get down low in the passenger seat. No, not with your head in my lap.” I pushed him off and kept driving. Where was the ocean? I was surrounded by hills. Finally I saw the convenience store I remembered as the turning point for Nakamura’s neighborhood.
“I’ll stay down in the car, so as not to blow your maid’s image.” Hugh looked like a giant, gray flannel-covered snail curled up between the car seat and floor. It would be funny if it weren’t so dangerous.
We went over the plan one last time. I would drive the car around to the back of the house and get out with the cleaning supplies. Hugh would wait a few minutes to ensure no one was looking, then drive on to a discreet parking place and return on foot.
A couple of neighborhood housewives were chatting and sweeping leaves from the street in front of the Nakamura house. I passed them, turning into the narrow alley running behind the block. I parked outside the Nakamura’s garden gate.
“If we get out of this unscathed, you owe me,” I said in parting.
“I offered you money before.” He peered up at me from his uncomfortable position.
“That’s not what I want.” I slid out and slammed the door.
22
My first feeling upon entering the Nakamura house was gratitude. Gratitude that the key had worked and no one was inside and the caterers had cleaned up the tsuya so well that my stab at cleaning would be minimal. Taking my shoes off and walking through the first floor, I decided the only place I’d have to expend serious energy was the kitchen.
Japanese kitchens were awful. It always amazed me that the zealous hygiene applied to the human body did not enter areas of food preparation. In the Nakamura kitchen, the small sink and counter were coated with grime. Oil-filmed cabinets were crammed every which way with boxes and jars. Atop the cabinets, blenders, and other small appliances had their cords hanging down, inviting accident. The drying rack was overloaded with a precarious array of dishes and cutlery; one false move and it could all crash down.
I switched on the hot water heater to fill my bucket. As I surveyed the dull linoleum floor, a steel-edged square in the middle caught my eye. The yukashita, the under-the-floor storage pocket, was a prime hiding place. I used the one in my kitchen to store favorite foods I didn’t want Richard to consume.
Prying the lid up, I looked into a neatly organized space containing a crock of miso and a bag of onions. There was also a very large, dead spider, which led me to breathe a little faster and slam down the lid.
I went through the cupboards, finding no secrets but enough space to store the dishes and cutlery from the counter. I was wiping everything down with a lot of detergent when the doorbell sounded.
I cracked open the back door and didn’t see Hugh. For some reason, he must have gone to the front. I padded out to the entryway and whispered a greeting into the intercom.
“Konnichiwa,” Hugh greeted me heartily, holding the large book aloft. “Jehovah’s Witness calling.”
I put my shoes on and walked outside, keeping my head down. There I bowed, opened the gate, and led him inward.
“Some housewives were staring at me when I parked the car, so I felt I had to stick to the main road. Remember how my head was down in the car? I never saw the house! It took me a while to identify the gate, but I recognized the name over the post box because the kanji is like the one in your surname.”
“Mura, which means village. What have you been doing, studying?”
“I can see my breath in here. It’s like Shiroyama.” Hugh strode into the dining room and switched on an electric heater mounted high on a wall. Warm, dry air rushed out. “Shall I start here?”