Summer Haikus – Chapter 37

“Nakama wa doko no iru no?”

“Huh?” I snap out of another blank stare and realize I didn’t understand a word the baker said to me in Japanese. I’ve been doing this a lot, staring into space and imagining my life here, a happy and content job, a fulfilling life, but a life without Masa. I can’t say I’m pleased with the scenarios my brain imagines.

“Where’s your partner? Masa, right?”

“He’s visiting his grandparents in Kamakura.”

“Ah. He said he was hoping to visit them soon.”

I open my mouth to reply but stop. The baker knows just as much about Masa as I do. Or he knows things I didn’t know. Regardless, Masa forged a connection with part of my life that I have to continue with, while he may not. When he returns to the States and I never bring him around anymore, will I constantly be reminded of the fact I was left here and he moved on?

The baker glances sideways at me, folding his arms across his chest. “I have a son I could introduce you to. If you aren’t dating Masa…”

My chest aches like someone kicked it.

I bow to him and back away. “I hope we have enough pastries to make it through today and tomorrow. We have guests arriving from Paris today.”

“I’ll be sure to send something extra to please them,” he responds, bowing in return.

Wandering back to the ryokan after my errands, I decide to explore a quiet street I’ve never been down before. Distractions. I need lots of distractions over the next few weeks, anything to keep me from thinking about Masa, my life, my future here in Japan.

I’m walking and staring at my feet when a ginger cat crosses my path and meows. She looks up at me, and slinking in and out of my legs, drags her tail along the length of my calves.

“Hey, kitty,” I say, squatting down to scratch behind her ears. She purrs and leans into my fingers, closing her eyes and savoring all the attention.

“She likes you.” An old woman’s voice scares me, and I pop up and away from the cat. “That’s a rare thing. This one doesn’t like a lot of strangers.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, bowing. “Is she your cat?”

“No, no. She’s one of the local strays. I feed them from the back garden of the sentō every night.”

I shade my eyes and peer into the glare at the building I stopped in front of. This is the public bath house that left a message, and I never called them back.

“I apologize.” I bow again. “You called my ryokan two weeks ago. I didn’t have a chance to return your call, and I doubt my mother called you either.”

“Your ryokan?”

I laugh at myself, how easily that statement came out. It does almost feel like it’s mine.

“Yes, I took over the Kurogashi at the beginning of June because my mother, Rumi Sugai, was in an accident.”

“Oh! You’re Isano!” She rushes forward and takes my hand in two of hers. Despite the heat outside, both of her hands are cool and dry. “Is your mother all right?”

“She’s recovering and will be home this Saturday, actually.”

“That’s great news. I was worried for a moment.”

I try to smile but my lips refuse to bend to my will. Instead, I sigh and let my shoulders deflate.

“Are you all right, dear? You look very tired. Did you have a long week? Tanabata drained everyone!” She tries to wink conspiratorially, but I shrug my shoulders. Tanabata was Tuesday, and I was in Kamakura yesterday, but it feels like years ago. “You know what you need?” She takes me by my elbow and pulls me towards the door to her sentō. “A good soak and some relaxation. Your mother and I often spent time here together gossiping and plotting.”

She swipes aside the noren curtain painted with a giant yu (ゆ) character, ducks under, and slides open the door.

“I can’t. I need to get back to work.” I glance around at the front desk and the cubby holes for shoes, the giant stacks of clean towels, and board of locker keys. She reaches for a key, a towel, and a pair of plastic slippers.

“Nonsense. You should stay and soak, eat a hearty lunch, and return to work in the afternoon. You’ll feel much better.”

I remember last week, lying in Masa’s bed talking about all the stuff we wanted to do together, and going to an onsen in the mountains was one of the top items. A sentō is as close as you can get in the city.

“Sure. Okay. Thank you.” I bow as she smiles, grab my phone, call Reiko, and tell her I’ll be in later, after lunch. She doesn’t seem fazed or concerned, just happy and polite.

“I’m about to go into my first sentō since arriving. Jealous?” I type to Masa as I undress in the locker room.

“Immensely. Want to know where I am? At the police station with my grandparents. More investigation. I’d rather be arranging flowers.”

“Funnily enough, I know you’re serious.”

“Have a good soak and relax. You deserve it. Xoxo.”

“Xoxo.” I smile down at my phone. I’m glad he’s taking the communication initiative seriously. It was hard on my heart when we were silent after our disastrous first kiss.

I lock my purse and all my clothes in a dark wood locker and enter the washing area naked. It’s a good thing I know how to use a sentō. My mom took me to a few when I was a kid and we traveled in Japan with my grandparents. Some old women sit in a corner, naked as the day they were born, gossiping about a politician and the NHK drama everyone lately has been interested in. I haven’t watched more than an hour of Japanese TV since I landed.

The room is divided up into washing stations, so I take the washing cloth I was provided, sit down on a stool in front of a spigot, and lather up the soap. I examine myself in the mirror, detached from my own feelings. How can I be sitting here thinking about TV when my life is swirling around me? I drag the sudsy water over my arms and chest and stop to stare into space, a pinprick of light angling through the fog in my head.

I finish washing, and ignoring the women in the tub on the right, I gently lower myself into the hot water of the tub on the left. I’m unaware of the traits of this particular bath house, if they offer special soaking waters from local hot springs or if they have a reputation for cleanliness, but if my mother came here often, it’s probably special in some way.

The angle of light broadens and my head clears as I sink my shoulders under the water and stretch out my legs. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about success, what it means to be successful or to be a failure. On many occasions, I have thought of myself as a failure because I couldn’t get my head together, couldn’t handle my own reactions to everyday life, or couldn’t make my dreams come true. But maybe the reason I’ve never really succeeded, never made it anywhere, is because I let life happen to me. I plan it and massage it into its little boxes in my calendar, but events are always on someone else’s terms. I just try to deal by planning my reactions.

The reason I’m here in Japan running the ryokan is because my mom wants me to, not because I chose to do it. I went to MSU because Halley was going there. I’m sitting here in this bath because I let some woman pull me off the sidewalk and stick me in this tub.

I sink even farther into the tub, up to my chin, and reconsider. No. I’m choosing to run the ryokan. I’m choosing to leave MSU, and I choose to sit in this water and enjoy myself because Masa’s right, I do deserve this. I have worked hard for all my little successes, and I have the chance to be successful for years to come.

If I’m going to run the ryokan, I’m going to make it my own. I remember my ryokan wishlist and think this bath house is a good place to start. I turn and fold my arms over the edge of the tub, rest my chin on them, and sigh, the hot water clearing away the aches and pains of the last few days. I could offer trips to the bath house for paying customers to get a glimpse of what everyday life in Japan is like. We could teach them proper sentō etiquette and bring more business for the bath house owner as well.

As my mind wanders, the lady who runs the place peeks her head in and scurries through the washing area, lining up the stools, replacing or filling up almost-empty soap dispensers, and mopping up standing water. She smiles at me and bobs her head. Yes, the bath house, a new website for the ryokan, videos and photos on all the popular social networks, sake tastings on Fridays, and special packages for Japanese holidays. This is where I’m going to start.

But where do I go from here with the rest of my life? How do I get the things I want?

Masa’s last haiku replays in my head.

—-

“Her body and mine

Or freezing winters at home — 

Life’s hardest choices.”

—-

I might be wrong, but I’m sure he’ll be happy if he stays here with me, and I’m sure we’ll both be miserable if he goes home to Michigan. Regardless of his financial situation, I need to convince him to stay. I tap my fingers on the ceramic tile of the bath and count out the beats of a haiku. Five, seven, five.

Five, seven, five. Seventeen little syllables can say so much in so little space.

They can speak a world when I’m tongue-tied and desperate.

My summer of haikus is not over.