33

How was life now that Haruka was back?

To be honest, it was kind of a relief having her back.

A relief?

At first, yes. We still fought, of course. Bickered about trivial things day-in, day-out, but there was a comfortable predictability in all of it.

You really are a glutton for punishment, Peadar.

Perhaps, yes. But, in spite of my wife’s other faults, no one ever lavished souvenirs on me quite like Haruka would in those days. 

Oh?

I’ll never forget the hundred-dollar bottle of Reserva de la Familia Cuervo she gave me that year. It became my new standard for tequila.

Something to numb you with then.

It helped.

But then the novelty of Haruka being around started to wear off, didn’t it?

A bottle of tequila only lasts so long.

And Xiuying called, asking if you’d like to have dinner.

I don’t know if it is a Chinese thing, or just Xiuying, but from then on whenever I approached her she would pull back, and whenever I retreated, she would strike. Anyways, Xiuying and I met in town and when I asked what she was hungry for, she said, “You!” So, we skipped dinner altogether and headed to the nearest “rabuho” where we screwed like cats for the next four hours.

Xiuying had gotten divorced by then, hadn’t she?

Yeah, and had gotten her permanent residence visa, too, which got me thinking: if a Chinese woman with a loser for a husband could get it, then, by gum, I so could I!

Boys, be ambitious!

Yes, well, speaking of ambition, Xiuying was working for what the Japanese call a “shōsha”,[1] a trading company, during the day to learn the business and build contacts, and in the evenings and on weekends she was building her own business. She had become increasingly independent and confident. Success was not a matter of if but how soon. As I lay next to her, I liked to think that I had something to do with . . . 

You? You think youhad a hand at Xiuying’s success, Peadar?

Well, I . . . 

You had nothing to do with it whatsoever, Peadar. Xiuying would succeed in spite ofyou, not thanks to you.

You’re probably right.

Probably?

You are right.

And Xiuying would end up being as unreliable a lover to you as you had been to her.

She could be frustratingly unpredictable, but then I probably deserved it.

Probably?

I deserved it.

Peadar, I think there’s hope for you, yet.

[1]A shōsha (商社) is a trading company. Many wholesalers in Japan will import goods through shōsha rather than import the products themselves to avoid all the hassles involved in bringing foreign products or commodities to Japan.

The first installment/chapter of A Woman's Hand can be found here.

A Woman's Hand and other works are available in e-book form and paperback at Amazon.

24

You promised to meet Xiuying next week for your “lesson” not at your home, but in front of Yakuin Station. Both of you knew what to expect.

There was a love hotel, an unremarkable one, a few blocks from the station called the Personal Hotel Ōmiya. I had never been, but used to walk by it once a week on my way to a teaching gig. It was simple in design, no gaudy exterior or flashing neon lights like so many love hotels have. If you didn’t catch the sign at the entrance saying the rate for a “rest” was only 4,500 yen,[1] you wouldn’t know that it was a “rabuho”, that is, a love hotel.

Your hearts beating wildly, nervously, Xiuying and you hurried off the street and ducked under a curtain concealing the parking garage.

And there was that delicious terror again . . .

After choosing a room from a lighted panel, illuminated arrows showed the way, directing you upstairs and down a hall to the den of adultery. And once inside the room, the two of you threw yourselves at one another, kissing and biting each other’s skin as if you had been starved for flesh.

We were. Xiuying hadn’t had sex with her husband for over a year—imagine that! All that beauty and sexual energy going to waste, a magnum opus left un-played. And, as for Haruka and me, well, we hadn’t exactly been setting our futon on fire with passionate love every night either. It had been months since we’d had sex.

Naked below you on the bed, Xiuying spread her legs.

I eased myself in, gently, slowly, and sounds like nothing I’d ever heard from a woman erupted from that pretty little mouth of hers. I was so turned on; it was all I could do to not come right then and there. Less than five minutes into sex, though, the orgasm boiled within me . . . I pulled out and came with such force that the ejaculate shot through the air and struck the wall a good four or five feet above the headboard. For all I know, it may still remain today with a plaque next to, stating: Another Satisfied Customer.

Thank you for that, Peadar.

I had now committed adultery, something I had hoped with all sincerity that I would never ever do. A line had been crossed and it was very frightening. How do you undo something like that?

By promising never to do it again, of course. But you did it again anyways, didn’t you? Only a week later, the two of you were at it once more. And the week after that, and the week after that . . . every Thursday afternoon. Your “private language exchange”. And it got a little less frightening each time, the fling developing into a full-fledged affair . . .

 

 

And Xiuying starts to fall in love with me, and starts talking about leaving her husband, starts saying things like, “Wouldn’t it be nice if we were both single?”

And lying naked beside her, I reply flatly, “Yes, yes, it would.”

And she asks if I love her, and without emotion I say, “I do. Madly.”

She wants me to say it, so I say it four languages: “Xiuying, I love you. Aishiteiru. Je t’aime. Ich liebe dich. Wǒ zuì téng ài nǐ.”

And she holds on to me tightly, body quaking, tears flowing from her eyes.

 

 

Meanwhile, your own dry eyes were fixed on the door to the hotel room as you wondered how you might be able to put a little distance between yourself and Xiuying.

She left me with little choice. Xiuying’s relationship with her husband had started to unravel. Listen: Xiuying found out that the reason he had “resigned” from his company was because he had been caught embezzling. As for his plans of starting an importing firm, well, those never really panned out, and, because bad luck comes in threes, a tumor was found somewhere in his body. Now that he was unemployed, the poor bastard didn’t have the insurance or the cash to get it removed. Xiuying asked me if she could borrow some money, but I could never have given her the kind of money she needed without Haruka finding out. In the end, I couldn’t help him and I couldn’t help her.

Talk about fair-weather friends.

That’s just another word for arsehole.

I know.

There was more to it, though. I started to get the feeling that the woman was cursed.

Cursed?

Yes, cursed. As beautiful, talented, and intelligent as she was, Xiuying was Bad Luck Incarnate, and, go ahead, call me superstitious, but bad luck is as contagious as the flu.

Peadar?

What?

You are superstitious.

 

[1] ¥4,500 was equivalent to about thirty-eight dollars in 1997. 

The first installment/chapter of A Woman's Hand can be found here.

A Woman's Hand and other works are available in e-book form and paperback at Amazon.

6

You took Haruka to a ballgame on your first date.

Yeah, I did.

How terribly romantic of you, Peadar!

Hey, it was fun. After buying some tickets off of a scalper in the parking lot, we went into the Dome, sat down with some beers, and watched Daiei come from behind and beat Seibu.[1] After the game we went back to my apartment.

Did you score yourself?

No, I was tagged out on second. But, a week or so later, we went out again and I was able to circle the bases, so to speak. That was a fairly typical pattern.

What was?

Screwing a Japanese girl on the second date. She may be just as eager for a roll on the tatami as you are, but she doesn’t want you to get the idea that she’s easy, that she’ll just spread her legs for anyone. I have found that the ones who do end up sleeping with you on the first date tend to be struck with a buyer’s remorse of sorts and are much harder to lure back into the sack than the ones who waited until the second date. Weird, isn’t it?

More determined than ever not to make the same mistake twice, I suppose.

Whatever. Want to know what else is strange?

Sure.

I can pretty much remember intimate details about the first time I slept with every woman I have “known”—what she was wearing, what she said, where we did it, how she responded, and so on—with everyone, that is, except Haruka. I remember lying on my sofa with her after the ballgame and undoing her shirt, seeing her breasts for the first time—really the loveliest pair I had ever beheld until then . . .

Must have been nice after Tatami.

Oh, it was! Poor Tatami was flat as a board and had nipples the same size, color, and shape as the eraser on a 2B pencil. I remember burying my face in Haruka’s cleavage and thinking, “Thank you, God! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” That second date, though, is a total blank.

Why do you think so?

Beats me. Ours was never the most passionate of relationships. Haruka and I would have sex every now and then, yes, but it was always very conventional, almost boring. Nothing kinky. We never stayed in “love hotels” or watched "adoruto bideo". In a sense, it was also the most “mature” relationship I’d had up until then.

Why do you say that?

From early on Haruka and I would spend our Sundays together, eating at nice restaurants, taking day trips, seeing the occasional film. Most of my relationships until then had been dominated by what was happening in the sack. Every date was designed such that, sooner or later, I would get laid. But with Haruka, it was less about the sex and more about what we were doing together. There was always another place to visit, another restaurant to try, another movie to watch.

I see.

And, it was the first time in my life that I didn’t need to worry about money. It was a very stable time for me after three financially and emotionally tumultuous years.

So, why did you start dating Akané?

 

[1] In 2005, after years of struggling financially, Daiei was forced to sell its majority stake in the Fukuoka Daiei Hawks to Softbank, a little known Japanese telecommunications and Internet company. The team is now called the Fukuoka SoftBank Hawks. The Lions added Saitama to their name in 2008 and have since been known as the Saitama Seibu Lions.