Removed – Chapter 32

I wake up the next morning alone in bed. I vaguely remember Jiro getting up a few hours ago, kissing me on the forehead, and leaving, but the memory is blurred by my sleep hangover. Rolling over to look at the clock (it’s already 10:00), I get a better view of my bedroom with the light filtering in from the living area.

Jiro’s things are here.

Next to all of my items on the desk are a shodō brush, ink set and a pile of paper, a metal bell, a fan, a small stuffed animal (a bunny, kawaii!), and a framed photo of him and Yoichi from when they were younger. Pulling on my clothes, I step out of bed and flip through the pile of paper. Jiro has been practicing writing sutras. His handwriting is lovely, so beautiful and precise.

I yawn and stretch, and something out of place catches my eye on the shelf. Over next to my omikuji from New Year’s Eve is now Jiro’s. Renai, a blessing in love. I remember him saying, “Maybe I’ll get lucky this year,” and tucking the slip of paper into his kimono. He saved it, too.

In the kitchen, Jiro sits at the table, reading on his tablet, and drinking hot tea from one of my mugs. He’s already showered and dressed.

“Morning, love,” he says, putting the tablet down. “Good timing. I made you coffee only about half an hour ago.”

“You made me coffee? Looks like I only have to teach Oyama.”

“Yeah, I’m the early riser in the family. Yoichi drinks coffee. I always made it for him.”

I go straight to the coffeemaker and pour myself a cup. It’s strong and dark, just the way I like it. If he had made me weak coffee, we would have been through.

“I hope you like it strong.”

“Yes. It’s perfect.” I let my sleepy face hover over the mug for a minute before taking a sip.

He pulls out the other chair at the table for me, and I sit down but prop my feet up on his lap. “How long have you been up?”

“Since seven. I went next door to talk to Usagi for a bit, and Oyama dropped off food, too.” His hands go to my feet when I remember I’m only ticklish there. I try to pull them away, but it’s too late. I start laughing and quickly put down my coffee before I’m doubled over with giggles.

“Oh! Oh! I’ve found your ticklish spot.” He holds my left foot with an iron grip, and I laugh and kick him with my right.

“Stop!” A swift kick lands straight on his shoulder, and he bumps into the table, jostling our mugs, and both his hands let go to prevent them from falling over. I snatch back my feet, but we’re still laughing.

He reaches out for his tablet as our laughter quiets. “I have something for you. You’re wild, and so I’ve been looking at images of wild chrysanthemums, the nogiku, variety. I think this would make the perfect tattoo for you.”

He hands me the tablet and stands up behind me to look over my shoulder.

These are not the chrysanthemums I had seen photos of once Sakai told me what kiku were. Each flower is wispy with long thin petals that curve up from the center, falling in waves from the inner, smaller curled petals to the outer longer, relaxed ones. They are so elegant. Jiro’s painstaking attention to detail makes every petal necessary.

“They’re beautiful. Nogiku.” I want to run my fingers over the lines, but that just doesn’t work on a tablet screen.

He moves my hair and traces with his finger a long section along my upper back, skirting the tops of my shoulders and neck. “Here. Quite large for your first tattoo but minimal color, I think.”

“Green and a little purple,” I say with a smile. “When?” I turn and hand him back his tablet.

“As soon as you’d like. I’ll forward the sketch to Manami now. She’s quick.”

“Tomorrow?” I stand up and wrap my arms around him while he tries to type around me. I’m difficult.

“Sure. I bet she could fit you in. She’s done everyone’s in the family. You should see Beni’s.”

The tattoos, they remind me of all of my time spent in Ku 1, how it was all a lie, but a lie to get me to the truth. That Sakai. He tempted me with the promise of knowledge and the revelation of secrets, and I watched and learned for months with no clear purpose or objective. I did the job because I trusted him. I followed these people, now my adversaries: where they went, what they ate, who they spent time with. I probably know them better than they know themselves. Now, thinking of the tattoos, the tattoo parlors, and the men and women I watched come and go from there, I’m sure the negotiation tactic I pulled with Matsuda is not going to last. Letting us buy him off would be no fun for him. And that reminds me…

“Jiro…” I still have my arms around him, my cheek against his chest.

“Yeah?” He sets down his tablet and plays with my hair.

“We talked about a lot last night, but we neglected something… Something you haven’t told me yet.” His hands stop. “Your father didn’t train you in sword fighting. I’ve always suspected. I could tell by the way you two fight — your styles are so different — but I didn’t know who did until last night. Matsuda did?”

I squeeze him a little bit tighter even though he’s frozen in place.

“Jiro? No secrets between us, remember? Just tell me.”

Should I feel guilty for making him tell me everything? Maybe he wants to keep some things to himself. Everyone keeps secrets, but I can’t do this job they want me to do if I’m not completely informed.

“I can’t.” I pull back from him and want to ask him why, but he shakes his head at me. “I can’t because it’s not my secret to tell, but” — he sighs — “you should know, of course. You should know everything. Get showered and dressed. I let you sleep late because you’ve been so tired lately, but we have things to do today. I’ll take you and some food up to my mother’s apartment, and she can tell you everything.”

“Sanaa, you are one lucky woman. Oyama is the best dokumiyaku and chef in all of Nishikyō.”

Jiro and Usagi dropped me off at Mariko and Koichi’s apartment with a bag full of food and the promise they would be back in an hour and a half to bring me home. I will probably spend the rest of my life in this building, or at least until I’m shuttled off to Yūsei where they will erect another building to contain me for the rest of my life. Sigh.

Mariko lays out a plate of food for me: green salad with a bright orange carrot dressing, dumplings, and a fried tofu dish with fresh broccoli. We sit down at the table and dig into our meals.

Visiting Mariko in her apartment is interesting. Her space is impeccably clean, tidy, and beautifully decorated. Artwork hangs on the walls, mainly paintings, and I wonder how much of it is hers. Jiro’s drawings are here, too; his style is so distinct. I’m going to look at them properly when I’m done eating.

“You thought maybe you’d buy off Tadao Matsuda? Sounds like a gutsy move,” Mariko says, smoothing out the front of her Nishikyō grays as she sits across from me.

“I’d rather keep my eye on him than have him working for any of the other clans, don’t you think?”

“Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.” Mariko smiles, and we both try the dumplings. Delicious.

Mariko is quiet, but I’m learning she’s super bright and sharp. As the matriarch of the entire Sakai family, she has many responsibilities and people to care for. I’m sure if Sakai had ever married, his wife would have done a lot of the same things. The division of duties here is still strong despite women and men being equal in Nishikyō. Like the New Year’s Eve traditions, there are others that never die.

“Well, I regret to tell you there’s history between us and Tadao,” Mariko says. “I believe when I last saw him Koichi told him he’d slice his heart out if Tadao ever got near us again.”

Yikes. Must have been bad.

“Koichi and Tadao were boyhood friends. He worked for Sakai family for most of his life. They were schoolmates, and we were all connected until about eight years ago when Tadao decided to go out on his own instead of working for our family.”

“Why did he decide to leave? That was around the time he married Emiko, right?”

“Yes, I never expected him to marry ever. He’s so cold and detached. Who would want him? I certainly didn’t.”

“Oh no. You mean he…” I press my fingers to my lips.

“He was in love with me forever. I can’t tell you how many times I refused him, and he kept trying and trying. Even after marrying Koichi and having two children. The man just does not give up.”

This conversation is not boding well for my future. If Matsuda is this persistent, he will not rest until I’m dead or in the hands of someone who wants me dead. I’ve already pissed him off by being alive.

“He revealed last night he trained Jiro in sword fighting.” I’ve hit a wall with eating, anxiety making my stomach shrink to the size of a grain of rice.

“Jiro is very talented, and I’m not just saying that because I’m his mother.” She smiles at me. “He advanced so fast. Outgrew everything Koichi could teach him. Tadao is a master at fighting — read every book, trained with every master — and when that wasn’t enough, he figured it out for himself. Tadao offered to train Jiro, and, at first, they were a good match.”

She sets down her chopsticks and dabs at her mouth with a napkin. “Jiro is so kind and good — good to the core. He can be stern and commanding, much like Mark.” I nod. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. “But he has a soft heart, very loving. Nothing at all like Tadao. They clashed often.”

“What happened? Something must have happened.”

“Eight years ago was the last time Tadao tried to proposition me. When I told him ‘no’ for the billionth time, he lashed out and hit me. I was never so angry in my entire life. I’m good at defending myself — most of the women in this family are — but he was lightning fast. Jiro confronted him, and they fought. I think it was the first time Jiro had ever drawn his sword against another person, but Jiro surprised him. It’s a good thing for Tadao, bad for us, his leg healed after that. Jiro was aiming for the femoral artery.”

The blood in my head is slowly moving south. “Jiro actually tried to kill him?”

“Yes,” she says with surprise. “Of course. Tadao was close to the family, but he was, still is, suspected in the murders of several people. Jiro would have been doing everyone a favor.”

“But wait… wait… Jiro was only fourteen.” Fourteen years old and already such a good fighter he could have killed Matsuda. If I couldn’t close my eyes and imagine his smiling face, remember his warm hands on my body, or his playful laugh, I would be sick with fear. It says something about me too that I love him even more now.

The blood must be back in my head because the blush returns. Mariko is watching me with a slow smile forming.

“You must get better at hiding your feelings if you’re going to do this job. Your face went straight from fear to love in the span of five seconds.” She smiles and shakes her head a few times. “Jiro’s last girlfriend wasn’t even half the woman you are, and I realize now how stupid Koichi and I were to try to set him up with other girls after her. I’m glad they all didn’t work out.”

My blush response is threatening to turn my face to ash, but I do my best to think cool, calming thoughts and keep it away. “Me, too.”

I pick up my chopsticks again, my appetite returning, and remember something I had been meaning to ask Mariko about.

“Now, Mariko, you’re going to teach me your secret to Rock Paper Scissors. I must know and will not leave until you do.”