It was probably all to the good, he said. If my hearing hadn't been ruined, I probably would have died in the South Pacific. That's what happened to most of the troops who survived Nomonhan. Nomonhan was a great embarrassment for the Imperial Army, so they sent the survivors where they were most likely to be killed. The commanding officers who made such a mess of Nomonhan went on to have distinguished careers in central command. Some of the bastards even became politicians after the war. But the guys who fought their hearts out for them were almost all snuffed out.
Why was Nomonhan such an embarrassment for the army? I asked. The troops all fought bravely, and a lot of them died, right? Why did the survivors have to be treated so badly?
But Mr. Honda seemed not to hear my question. He stirred and rattled his divining sticks. You'd better be careful of water, he said.
And so ended the days session.
After my fight with Kumiko's father, we stopped going to Mr. Honda's. It was impossible for me to continue visiting him, knowing it was being paid for by my father-in-law, and we were not in any position to pay him ourselves. We could barely hold our heads above water in those days. Eventually, we forgot about Mr. Honda, just as most busy young people tend to forget about most old people.
In bed that night, I went on thinking about Mr. Honda. Both he and Malta Kano had spoken to me about water. Mr. Honda had warned me to be careful. Malta Kano had undergone austerities on the island of Malta in connection with her research on water. Perhaps it was a coincidence, but both of them had been deeply concerned about water. Now it was starting to worry me. I turned my thoughts to images of the battlefield at Nomonhan: the Soviet tanks and machine gun emplacements, and the river flowing beyond them. The unbearable thirst. In the darkness, I could hear the sound of the river.
Toru, Kumiko said to me in a tiny voice, are you awake?
Uh-huh.
About the necktie. I just remembered. I took it to the cleaners in December. It needed pressing. I guess I just forgot.
December? Kumiko, thats over six months ago!
I know. And you know I never do anything like that, forgetting things. It was such a lovely necktie, too. She put her hand on my shoulder. I took it to the cleaners by the station. Do you think they still have it?
I'll go tomorrow. Its probably there.
What makes you think so? Six months is a long time. Most cleaners will get rid of things that aren't claimed in three months. They can do that. Its the law. What makes you think its still there?
Malta Kano said Id find it. Somewhere outside the house.
I could feel her looking at me in the dark.
You mean you believe in what she says?
I'm starting to.
Pretty soon you and my brother might Start seeing eye-to-eye she said, a note of pleasure in her voice.
We just might, I said.
I kept thinking about the Nomonhan battlefield after Kumiko fell asleep. The soldiers were all asleep there. The sky overhead was filled with stars, and millions of crickets were chirping. I could hear the river. I fell asleep listening to it flow.
5 Hooked on Lemon Drops
Flightless Bird and Waterless Well
After doing the breakfast dishes, I rode my bike to the cleaners by the station. The owner- a thin man in his late forties, with deep wrinkles in his forehead-was listening to a tape of the Percy Faith orchestra on a boom box that had been set on a shelf. It was a large JVC, with some kind of extra woofers attached and a mound of cassette tapes standing by. The orchestra was performing Taras Theme, making the most of its lush string section. The owner himself was in the back of the shop, whistling along with the music as he ran a steam iron over a shirt, his movements sharp and energetic. I approached the counter and announced with suitable apologies that I had brought a necktie in late last year and forgotten to pick it up. To his peaceful little world at nine-thirty in the morning, this must have been tantamount to the arrival of a messenger bearing terrible news in a Greek tragedy.
No ticket, either, I suppose, he said, in a strangely distant voice. He was talking not to me but to the calendar on the wall by the counter. The photo for June showed the Alps-a green valley, cows grazing, a hard-edged white cloud floating against Mont Blanc or the Matterhorn or something. Then he looked at me with an expression on his face that all but said, If you were going to forget the damned thing, you should have forgotten it! It was a direct and eloquent look.
End of the year, huh? That's a toughie. Were talkin more than six months ago. All right, I'll have a look, but don't expect me to find it.
He switched off his iron, set it on the ironing board, and, whistling along with the theme from A Summer Place, started to rummage through the shelves in the back room.
Back in high school, I had taken my girlfriend to see A Summer Place. It starred Troy Donahue and Sandra Dee. We saw it in a revival theater on a double bill with Connie Franciss Follow the Boys. It had been pretty bad, as far as I could remember, but hearing the music now in a cleaners, thirteen years later, I could bring back only good memories from that time.
That was a blue polka-dot necktie? asked the owner. Name Okada? That's it, I said. You're in luck.
As soon as I got home, I phoned Kumiko at work. They had the tie, I said. Incredible, she said. Good for you! It sounded artificial, like praise for a son bringing home good grades. This made me feel uneasy. I should have waited until her lunch break to phone. I'm so relieved, she said. But I've got someone on hold right now. Sorry. Could you call me back at noon? That I will, I said. After hanging up, I went out to the veranda with the morning paper. As always, I lay on my stomach with the want ads spread out before me, taking all the time I needed to read them from one end to the other, the columns filled with incomprehensible codes and clues. The variety of professions in this world was amazing, each assigned its place amid the papers neat rows, as on a new graveyard map.
As happened each morning, I heard the wind-up bird winding its spring in a treetop somewhere. I closed the paper, sat up with my back against a post, and looked at the garden. Soon the bird gave its rasping cry once more, a long creaking sort of sound that came from the top of the neighbors pine tree. I strained to see through the branches, but there was no sign of the bird, only its cry. As always. And so the world had its spring wound for the day. Just before ten, it started to rain. Not a heavy rain. You couldn't really be sure it was raining, the drops were so fine, but if you looked hard, you could tell. The world existed in two states, raining and nonraining, and there should be a line of demarcation between the two. I remained seated on the veranda for a while, staring at the line that was supposed to be there.
What should I do with the time until lunch? Go for a swim at the nearby ward pool or to the alley to look for the cat? Leaning against the veranda post, watching the rain fall in the garden, I went back and forth between the two. Pool. Cat.