13

Early the next morning while I was still asleep, the phone rang. It was Akané, of course.

She was sobbing into the receiver. After a moment, she asked if you were alone.

I said that I was.

At which point she really started to bawl. How did you feel then, Peadar?

I don’t know, it’s been so . . .

Like an arse?

Yeah, I felt like an arse.

So, what were you going to do about it?

I don’t know. Explain myself, I suppose.

Explain yourself?

I thought that if Akané understood that Haruka was the one I was cheating on, not the other way around, she . . .

But before you could “explain yourself”, she told you about how she had spent the night.

Yeah.

After calling you the night before, she went straight to a “gaijin bar”[1] where she hooked up with the first big black man she could find, a sailor up from Sasebo,[2] went back to his hotel and, well, you know what. All night long. And when she told you that, what did you do?

I hung up the phone.

Why?

I was angry. But, mostly sad. I was appalled, too, by what she did.

Appalled? How could you ever be appalled? Isn’t what Akané did the very same thing you had done?

Huh?

When you suspected Haruka of seeing someone else, what did you do?

I . . . I . . .

You went to Akané’s boutique, asked her out, and . . .

That was different!

Was it now? As they say, what’s good for the goose is good for the . . .

Oh, fuck off!

Oh, how I sometimes wish I could, Peadar.

It broke my heart that Akané would do something like that.

And how do you think Akané felt?

Well, obviously, she was upset, but, man, why did she have to do that?

Would you have felt differently if she hadn’t slept with a black man? Is that what you’re saying?

I . . . no, no, no . . . it’s not . . . It’s just that . . . Oh, I don’t know. Hey, I’m no racist!

Why, some of your best friends are black.

I didn’t say that!

You were going to.

Oh, shuddup!

So, did you think it was over between the two of you?

That morning? Yes, I did. It was awfully depressing, to tell you the truth. I felt like I was back at square one. Tatami returned to Japan a few weeks later and we slept with each other a couple of times, which quickly grew old. I really had no interest in getting back together with her. None whatsoever. Tatami, by the way, had some adventures of her own while she was in England; even got knocked up by a married man. She had an abortion, of course.

Oh, but of course . . .

Anyways, Tatami and I were never right for each other and it seemed that while she was away she came to understand that.

Better late than never.

I thought about trying to meet someone new, but there really weren’t any attractive “bachelorettes” around me at the time. And the thought of going through dating hell all over again filled me with dread.[3]

Oh, the memories!

I often thought of Akané during this time, the fun we had, the laughs, the wild love we would make. And as the weeks passed I grew to forgive her . . .

You forgave her! Ha! How magnanimous we had become, Peadar!

Sorry, poor choice of words. I came to “understand” her, what she had done, what she was feeling. I wanted to give her, us, myself, another chance.

So?

So, I went by her work, but she wasn’t there.

Actually, she was hiding in the back.

Was she? Well, I left her a small note, anyways: “Sorry for being selfish. I miss you. Call me.” That sort of thing.

Always the romantic.

It may not have been the most romantic thing, but it worked. A few days later, she did call, and was crying. I cried, too. I told her I wanted to see her and she came over right away. And that night, as we made love, she cried and cried and cried, salty tears streaming down her cheeks.

And the two of you lived happily ever after.

That may have been possible, I suppose, had I never gone back to Akané. She might have eventually found someone who really loved her, someone who would have asked for her hand in marriage, given her kids, and grown old with her.

Why couldn’t that person have been you?

Because, although I really cared about Akané, I no longer trusted her. I mean: was she going to resort to screwing the first gaijin she found every time I did something the least bit suspicious? And did I really want to marry someone who had been so easy to shag the first time?

Do you really think it was so easy?

Let’s see, I take her to the movies, ply her with a few drinks, and take her home. And, the next thing I know, we’re having sex on my sofa. Now, I’m not that good-looking. So, yes, I do think it, she, was easy.

What would you say if I told you that that hadn’t been your first time together?

Whaddaya getting at?

Peadar, do you remember asking me earlier to give you a hint?

Y-yes . . .

Well, here’s your hint: Nyao!

Nyao? What kind of hint is that?

Nyao!

Nyao . . . nyao . . . nyao . . . Meow! What the . . .? Nekko-chan? Akané was Nekko-chan??

Nyao.[4]

Go away!

[1] “Gaijin bar” (外人バー) is a generic term for any bar in Japan that attracts a large number of foreign (non-Japanese) customers. Many of these bars are run or managed by foreigners.

[2] Sasebo (佐世保), a small city in Nagasaki prefecture, is home to the U.S. Fleet Activities Sasebo Naval base.

[3] For more on this, read A Woman’s Nails by Aonghas Crowe.

[4] Nekko-chan is a minor character in the novel A Woman’s Nails.

12

I had been with Akané for a while . . .

It was 6 months to the day.

Really? All I remember is that we had grown quite close by then. I thought about Akané often—would get that funny feeling in my gut and all, something which hadn’t happened since Mié. I realized it was getting high time to let Haruka go.

High time, Peadar! That’s rich.

Yes, well . . . eh, hem . . . Haruka and I had our fun together—even traveled to Tokyo Disneyland for New Year’s. But, while I liked Haruka, I had never really been head-over-heels in love with her. It’s just . . .

Just what?

When you’ve been dumped yourself, and know how much it hurts, it’s not easy to do it to another person, especially someone you care about. I may not be the nicest person, but I’m not mean. I was hoping that our spending less and less time with each other . . .

Would lead to a natural end of the relationship.

It happens . . . And so, one night when Haruka was at my place, Akané called me up. I had always been careful to turn the sound of the phone off when I had either of them over to avoid this exact situation. But, for one reason or another, I had forgotten.

Akané had just gotten off work and was hoping to surprise you.

She surprised me, alright. The phone rang and my first reaction was to ignore it, just let it ring. But that would have looked suspicious.

So, you answered the phone and heard Akané’s voice.

And she said something like, “I got off early today, can I come . . .” And just then Haruka, who was in the kitchen, started chopping onions . . . LOUDLY. Akané could hear the sound of the knife on the chopping board—how could she not? It was like a cannon being fired—and she went berserk: “What’s that noise?!?! Who’s there?!?! Who are you with?!?!” Akané had become so agitated and was now yelling into the phone. Haruka could hear everything.

And the jig, as they say, was up, Peadar.

The jig was up, indeed. I hung up the phone, plunked myself down on the sofa, and sighed heavily. Haruka came over and sat down beside me.

How did she take it?

She was remarkably calm. I had to make a choice, she said. Would it be her or “that stupid bitch”.

And?

I was tired of sneaking around, tired of having to worry that one of them might come unannounced when the other was there.

Or call.

Or call, yes. I was tired of cleaning up after Akané left, searching for her long black hairs in my sofa and bed. And having to do the same with Haruka’s short brown hairs. I hated having to worry about what alibis I would use when the next national holiday came up. So, when Haruka asked me to choose between her and “that stupid bitch”, I answered: “I don’t want to be with either of you.” And Haruka said, “I understand.” She packed up her things and quietly left. It was all rather unexpected.

But not nearly as unexpected as what Akané would end up doing.

11

Why did you end up two-timing, Peadar?

After Mié dumped me . . .

Mié, again?

Would you let me continue? After Mié left me, I went through six months without a girl. And the longer I went, the more desperate I got. My standards plummeted.

A vicious cycle.

A “Bitch-ious” cycle’s more like it. One thing I learned then was that it was much easier to find someone new, someone better when you were already with someone. And so, my relationship with Tatami, morphed into a relationship with . . .

Haruka?

No, I was seeing another woman on the side.

Peadar!

Sorry, but that’s the way it was. Anyways, that relationship, or should I say those relationships, blended into the relationship that developed with Haruka.

And your affair with Akané?

I intended to eventually leave Haruka for Akané once I was sure that Akané was the one I wanted to be with.

Eventually? You dated the two of them simultaneously for quite some time.

That hadn’t been the plan.

What was “the plan”, Peadar?

I was going to dial down the relationship with Haruka and dial up the . . . I know how it must sound.

Do you now? So, did you “dial down” your relationship with Haruka?

A bit, yes. We would see each other only about once every one or two weeks, usually on the weekend. With Akané, it was more like once or twice a week. But, because of the nature of Akané’s work—she usually had weekdays off—we would meet during my afternoon breaks, on weeknights, occasionally on a weekend. I was definitely spending more time with Akané. And, to be quite honest, I was happier with her than I had been with another woman in a long time. For once, I wasn’t looking back. I wasn’t preoccupied by “what ifs”, anymore.

So, what went wrong?

10

Akané left in the middle of the night while you were sleeping.

When I woke up the next morning, I found a note on the table, thanking me for everything. She signed her name with a cute little drawing of Doraemon[1] next to it.

At the bottom were the phone numbers of Akané’s home and workplace.

That also surprised me.

Why so?

For one, I hadn’t expected a relationship to develop beyond that one night—my experience, however meager, had already taught me that much—and, two, Akané had mentioned that she lived with her family. Yet, here she was inviting me to call her up at home.

Did you?

No, no, no, no, no. I didn’t dare call her at home, at least not until after we had been dating for half a year. I popped by her workplace a few days later, instead, and . . .

The two of you went out for a second time.

Yeah. We arranged to meet on her day off. We were having one of those beautifully sunny days in early July, the kind we sometimes get just as the rainy season is coming to an end, so we went to the beach.

After a few hours on the beach, you went back to your place . . .

And made love, er, “fornicated” a second time.

You were insatiable when you were with Akané.

I was, yes. Every now and then I would find someone who brought out the sexual glutton in me. I don’t know what it is. Chemistry? The compatibility of our zodiac signs? Fate? You’d think it would be a good thing for the relationship—all that passionate sex—but it usually wasn’t . . .

Because a woman starts to feel as though the only thing you are interested in is her holes.

I know, I know. But, the thing is, the more I have sex with a woman, the more that sex starts resembling love. There’s nothing like having just done it with a woman, and, as you’re lying there, you get a second wind, and want to go at it all over again and again and again.

On the other hand, the worst feeling is lying next to someone you’ve just had sex with and all you want is for her to disappear from your life forever. Ring any bells, Peadar?

Like a belfry at noon.

 

[1] Doraemon is a manga and cartoon series created by Fujiko F. Fujio (Hiroshi Fujimoto and Motō Abiko) about a robotic cat named Doraemon who travels back in time to aid a schoolboy named Nobita Nobi.

9

After looking at the clothes for a few minutes I finally get up the nerve to ask Akané out: “I’m, uh, going to the, um, movies later. Would you like to join me?”

She replies with an emphatic “Yes!”

 

 

You were expecting her to say “No”?

I don’t know. Everything was so easy with Akané. Movies? Yes! How about a drink or two afterwards? Yes! Would you like to come back to my place? Yes! Sex? Yes! Yes! Yes!

At your place, you undressed her.

She didn’t put up a fight—none of that damé-damé[1] nonsense—and we made love . . .

You made love?

Okay, we screwed like alley cats on that old green sofa of mine.

You just laughed. Care to share with us what is so humorous?

Two things, actually.

Oh?

One, if sofas could talk . . .

Ew!

You had to ask.

And the other?

Akané was so small, so petite. It was like . . .

I know where you’re going with this and, let me tell you, it’s only slightly less disgusting than what you said about the sofa.

Whatever. I found that “aspect” of her, Akané’s “youth” if you will, very attractive.

She was young, Peadar. Only twenty. Nine years younger than yourself, if I’m not mistaken.

That’s right. Akané was nine years younger than me. Haruka, though, was the same age as me. And Tatami and Reina were a year or two older than me, so it’s not like I’m some lolicon[2] creep.

No one is saying you are.

 

[1] Literally, “No, no!”

[2] Lolicon, or lolikon (ロリコン), which is a portmanteau of “Lolita complex”, is used in Japan to describe men who are attracted to young women.

8

When you entered the shop, you were hesitant. Bashful, even.

I tiptoed in, not knowing what to expect.

No?

Oh, I knew what I wanted alright. It’s just that I didn’t think I would get it.

Well, she found that shyness charming. It was so different from the men she had known until then. Might I add, disarmingly so. You pretended to look through the racks. It was a brand you had probably never heard of before.

I hadn’t. And, it didn’t really excite the compulsive shopper in me.

And she said, “If you see anything you like, just tell me. Feel free to try anything on.”

The standard boutique chit-chat. I almost said to her, “I like what I see now.”

You’re lucky you didn’t.

Why?

You would have broken the Spell of Misperceived Impressions.

The wha’ o’ what?

The Spell of Misperceived Impressions.

Huh?

Listen: impressions influence how people see reality. They may not be accurate, but they will shape how someone sees you and interprets everything that you do. Akané saw you as shy, bookish, serious. All the things her past boyfriends were not. Haruka, on the other hand, thought you were an “elite salaryman” when she first saw you in the club wearing a new suit. Even when she learned that you were just a teacher, she still perceived you as a go-getter, a man with a bright future, someone who was going places. You laugh, but when a woman discovers that her impression of the man she’s dating has been utterly wrong, it can be devastating for her. She may even feel that she’s been betrayed, lied to. This is why Yumi found you to be such a loathsome scoundrel after fawning over you for so many months.

Ugh, must you bring that woman up?

Yes, I must. A woman risks a lot when she dates a new man, Peadar. Her future will be bound, more or less, to the fortunes of the man she ends up settling with. That’s why so many women want to marry up, to marry a man who has a better education, a better job with a higher salary, a man who comes from a better family. That family, after all, will become hers, that job and salary will eventually be supporting both her and her children. Whenever a woman lies down with a man, it is as if she is placing all of her chips on the table. She’s betting her life without quite knowing the hand she’s been dealt.

7

Haruka would do something that drove me up the wall.

Which was?

She would go off the radar for days on end. Now, I’m not the jealous, clingy type—I understand that people need their space—but if a woman promised to meet me or call me, well, I would expect her to keep her word. Haruka, though, she kept leaving me hanging, waiting for her to call.

You could have always contacted Haruka . . .

No, no, no. Haruka was living at home with her family. I couldn’t just call her up anytime I liked—Japanese parents can be overly protective—and I didn’t dare call her up at work. You just don’t do that in Japan unless you want to embarrass someone or get them fired. No, all I could do was wait at home until her Highness deigned to grace me with an audience. Sometimes a whole week would go by and nothing. And then one Friday night after we had been dating for a few months, Haruka stood me up one time too many. As a very last resort, I tried her at home only to get her sister who said she didn’t know where Haruka was or when she would return. I should explain that although Haruka wasn’t what you would call a bombshell, she was still wildly popular with men. The power of cleavage, I suppose. She once said there hadn’t been a time in her life since junior high school when she wasn’t dating someone.

So, what did you think she was doing?

I figured she was out with another man. She had said something a month or so earlier about having to collect her things from her ex-boyfriend’s apartment. Perhaps, they had gotten back together? The guy was apparently very rich, drove a Ferrari in a country where you didn’t see many conspicuous sports cars.[1] You know what I was driving then?

No, what?

A rusty old bicycle I had liberated from the station one drunken night.

And it was around this time that you went by Akané’s workplace?

It was the very next day, actually. In the afternoon.

Akané was surprised to see you. Happy, but surprised. She could tell that you hadn’t quite remembered who she was when she had bumped into you, and, to be honest, she was relieved.

Relieved? Why do you say that?

You really don’t remember, do you? I find it hard to believe that after all these years you still aren’t able to put two and two together.

Could you give me a hint?

Maybe later.

 

[1] Times have certainly changed in this regard. 

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.

5

You met Haruka at a bar.

A nightclub, actually, in Nakasu of all places. When I would tell people that I had met my girlfriend in Nakasu, most assumed that she was a hostess.

But she wasn’t.

No, Haruka was what the Japanese call an O.L., an “office lady”, with a major apparel maker. The night we first met, she had been out drinking with co-workers. I myself had been knocking back overpriced whiskey-and-waters at a “snack”, a hostess bar, earlier in the evening when another customer suggested we go clubbing.

 

“Sure, why not?” I say, finishing my drink.

 

You laughed.

Yeah. It just occurred to me that none of this would have ever happened if only I had declined the guy’s offer. Where on this planet of ours would I be today? What would I be doing? And who would I be with?

It’s hard to say. Fate can be a fickle little devil.

At any rate, I know where I was that night, what I was doing, and who I was with.

 

I’m here at Keith Flack for no more than fifteen or twenty minutes when a cute young woman only eighteen or nineteen years of age walks up to me and says: “You live in Aratō, don’t you?”

“I do, yes.”

“That’s what I thought,” she says. “Me, too. I often see you in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“Would you like to join us?”

By “us” she means a group of women, including Haruka, who are sitting on the other side of the room.

 

 

That was certainly easy.

It certainly was.

So, you ended up drinking together and . . .

You must remember that this was back in the mid-nineties. It was still early days for the Internet; hardly anyone had cellphones, let alone an e-mail address. There was no such thing as Facebook or Mixi[1] or Twitter or Instagram or . . .

So?

So, nothing happened. After a while, Haruka and her co-workers stood up and said, “Well, we’ve had fun, but . . . you know, last train. Good night.”

Fortunately, Fukuoka is a small town.

More so than I could appreciate at the time.

A few days later, you went downtown, into Tenjin[2] . . .

It was in the middle of the Golden Week holiday[3] and I was heading for the station—I was going to visit a friend living in Kumamoto City—and who of all people should I happen to bump into, but Haruka.

The two of you couldn’t have helped appreciating the serendipity of it all. What do the Japanese call that, again?

Gūzen.[4]

That’s right, gūzen. A million plus people in the city and here you are bumping into each other twice in one week.

Yeah.

So, did you get her phone number then?

No, I didn’t. I had been more interested in her younger co-worker, actually. You know, the one who had come up and talked to me in the first place. But Haruka and I chatted for a few minutes and she asked if I often went to Keith Flack and . . .

You said, “Almost every Saturday” even though you had never been there before.

Yeah. Funny that.

You went to the club every Saturday after that, though, didn’t you, Peadar?

I did, yes. I’d never been into “the club scene”, but that was where the girls seemed to be. And they weren’t shy. So, . . .

Those were the days, weren’t they? You just sniggered. Would you like to count me in on the little joke?

Life’s funny is all. You happen to go to a club one night and meet someone who will play a major role in the next ten years of your life. A few months later, you’re waiting for that person on a street corner and you end up meeting another person and playing a major, if not fateful, role in that person’s life.

 

 

I’m at the club a few weeks later when a friend of Haruka’s, a girl I’ve never seen before, taps me on the shoulder and, without introduction or formality, shoots me the question: “So, what do you think of Haruka?”

Slightly flustered, I reply that Haruka seems like a “nice” girl . . .

It’s not that Haruka is a knockout—far from it—but she does have a cute face, a friendly smile, warm eyes, and the hint of something substantial under her blouse . . .

“So, why don’t you go and talk to her?” she says, taking me by the hand and pulling me in the direction of Haruka. “The only reason she came here tonight was to meet you.”

 

 

That surprised me.

Why should it have?

Like I said, it was a low water mark in my life. I didn’t have a hell of a lot of confidence.

And so, you sat down with Haruka and talked.

I did. We ended up having a rather nice conversation, talking about everything and nothing, and before I knew it, two hours had passed.

Did you take her home?

No, no, no. At that point, I still wasn’t all that interested in her as a potential girlfriend. I think that if I had been, I would have blown it. I mean, women can smell it when a man is desperate. A married man will always be infinitely more attractive to women than a man who’s never been laid.

It’s the way they are wired.

Faulty wiring then.

 

 

[1] Mixi, founded in 2004, was once the leading social networking site in Japan. It had about 80% of the market in Japan until smart phones became ubiquitous and people switched to other sites, such as Facebook, Line, Twitter, and so on.

[2] Tenjin (天神) is Fukuoka City’s main shopping area and de facto downtown.

[3] Golden Week is a string of public holidays, starting with Shōwa Day (昭和の日) on April 29th and ending on May 5th, or Children’s Day (こどもの日).

[4] Gūzen (偶然) means “accident, chance, coincidence”.

 

4

And how long had you been with this girlfriend by then?

Two?

Two years?

No, no. It was only two months, possibly three. It was during the rainy season, around late June or early July, when Akané spotted me on the corner that day. Haruka[1] and I had only been dating since early May.

And your eye was already wandering?

I am, what I am.

But that’s not really true, is it? It’s not as if you were a lady-killer in those days.

No, I’m embarrassed to admit, I was not.

Who was it, again, that you were dating when you first met Haruka?

Ugh, do you have to remind me?

Yes.

It was Tatami.

That’s right, Tatami! Good Lord, Peadar, what were you thinking?

That’s the problem: I wasn’t. It was something of a low water mark in my life . . . I didn’t have hell of a lot of confidence.

So, when Tatami went away to England for a year and was finally out of your hair you met Haruka, right?

Yeah. Tatami left in April and, let me tell you, I was never happier to see someone go. We promised to write regularly, of course—you know the things people say—but, I don’t think we exchanged more than a handful of letters during the next twelve months.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Got that right.


[1] Haruka is a name that is sure to be brutalized by the American accent. It is not pronounced Ha-ROO-ka, but rather Ha-du-ka with a slight emphasis on the first syllable.

3

Of course, your girlfriend wanted to know who the woman was and, without having to lie, you answered: “I don’t know that woman from Adam’s off ox.” But in the darkened cinema you couldn’t get Akané out of your head, could you? You racked your brains, but still couldn’t remember.

How was it that someone as pretty as Akané could end up being so thoroughly erased from my mind?

Because, Peadar, in those days when you weren’t three sheets to the wind, you were invariably four, is how. Embarrassing, isn’t it?

 

 

“You can say that again.”

“What?” your girlfriend turns to you and asks.

“Nothing, nothing.”

2

It was ages ago, so long ago you probably don’t remember exactly when, but you do remember the day alright. You were waiting in the rain for your girlfriend to arrive when someone called out your name:

 

 

“Peadar?”

I turn around and find an attractive young woman, petite with long black hair, her large feline eyes looking up at me.

“Peadar, right?”

“Y-yes?”

“We met at Umié . . . Do you remember?”

If I tell her the truth, why, there will never be anything to write home about, she will continue on down the road and perhaps find someone else, someone much better than me, but . . . No, I have to say: “At Umié, yes. Yes, I do remember! How have . . . you been?”

“I’ve been good, really good,” she replies, combing her hair behind her right ear. “Been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“A long time, indeed!”

“Waiting for someone?”

“Y-yes, I, uh, I’m going to the movies with, um, . . . with a friend.”

“Movies? Sounds nice. Wish someone would take me to the movies!”

And there is my opening—as open as a trap, they say—but I won’t realize it till much later in the day after I’ve had sex with that “friend” of mine. So, I ask the woman where she’s off to, and she replies: “To work.”

“In Nakasu?”[1]

“I’m not a hostess, Peadar,” she says with a laugh. “I work over there at that boutique.”

“Over there?” I say, craning my neck to get a good look down the street.

“On the corner.”

“Oh. I never noticed that a clothing store was there.”

“Few people do. It’s always so quiet, I’m surprised we haven’t gone out of business.”

“Do you still hang out at Umié? I haven’t been myself in quite a while.”

“Umié is no longer there,” she says matter-of-factly.

“No?”

“It was busted by the cops a long time ago.”

“No!”

“Shō and Hiro were dealing marijuana.”

“You don’t say!”

“Trust me, everyone knew about it. I’m only surprised the police didn’t catch on sooner.”

And then my “friend” shows up.

“Well, I gotta get going,” the young woman says. “Come by and say hello if you’re ever in the neighborhood.”

“I will . . .”

“Akané.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s Akané, by the way.”

“Akané! Yes, yes. I knew it! Bye now.”

“Bye, Peadar.”

 

[1] Located on a small island between the Naka and Hakata rivers, Nakasu (中州) is the largest red-light district in the western Japan after the Tobita Shinchi in Ōsaka. There are over three thousand “adult” entertainment establishments, ranging from high-end restaurants and members-only cabarets to hostess bars to “soaplands”. (I’ll let your imagination run with that.)

1

A week after returning from a two-week long vacation in Hawaii, I drop by my editor’s office. After shooting the breeze for a few minutes, he digs the letter out of a desk drawer and hands it to me.

“Like I said, it looks like it’s from a woman’s hand.”

The envelope is addressed in neat handwriting to the editor, but inside is another envelope with my name scrawled roughly on it.

Opening it, I discover that it has not been sent by a fan, but rather by a lover: a lover, as I like to say, from another life.

 

 

Dear Peadar,

 

I saw your interview in the paper.

I told you before that you seemed to have changed. But, when I read the interview, I was happy to find that you had become your old self again, the one that I fell in love with all those years ago.

But, ever since we lost contact with each other, I couldn’t stop thinking, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

I feel as if you’ve deserted and hurt me again. You hurt me so much and now you’ve gone and done it again by remarrying and having a kid.

I’ll never forgive you. For the rest of my life, Peadar, I will never ever forgive you.

 

Akané[1]

 

 

I feel a fresh pang of guilt and say, “I haven’t forgiven myself, either.”

“What was that?” my editor asks.

“Nothing,” I answer, tucking the letter into my breast pocket, next to that heavy heart of mine. “Nothing.”

 

[1] I have added accents to Japanese words and names so that those unfamiliar with the Japanese language will be able to more accurately pronounce them.

  Akané is pronounced “ah-kah-nay”. The name means “madder”, as in the plant the roots of which are used for dying textiles red. 

0

You’d become so cocksure of yourself, hadn’t you? What was it you said to your editor when he told you a “fan letter” for you had arrived at his office? That’s right, you said, “I hope she’s young and has got big tits!” Yes, yes, we know you were only joking. But, she wasn’t. No, Peadar[1], she was dead serious.

 

[1] Peadar, pronounced “Pah-dr” or “Pah-dish”, is Irish for “Peter”.

Author's Note

You never know where the idea for a novel will come from. Sometimes, it comes in a brilliant flash of inspiration; more often than not, from long, deliberate meditation. Occasionally, however, a story will be borne out of personal experience.

Writing a novel based on things that really happened can be tricky in that life doesn’t always provide a convenient denouement, drawing all the loose strands of the plot together. Relationships usually fade without drama, without leaving that niggling feeling of What if? Real people seldom die, are killed, or commit suicide in a timely manner—plot devices which are overused in novels—and sadly, there are few happily-ever-afters in real life.

That said, something happened a few years ago that had me remembering a past life of sorts, a time when I was thirty and simultaneously dating a number of women. One of them would become my first wife, another would become the quintessential woman scorned, and a third would become the wretched casualty of my fickle heart. Fifteen years later that third woman would write to tell me that she would never ever, ever forgive me for what I did to her.

And so, I present a third novel based in Japan about the curious relationships that occur between an American man and Japanese women. Consider it an Act of Contrition. Unorthodox in structure, I hope this novella doesn’t feel like an Act of Contrition for the reader, too.