“You’re not bad. That’s not true.”
“I’ve done terrible things,” she said drily. “Solomon, when I was a hostess, I sold drugs to one girl who ended up overdosing. I stole money from a lot of men. I’ve told so many lies.”
Solomon said nothing.
“I deserve this.”
“No. It’s a virus. Everybody gets sick.”
Solomon smoothed her brow and kissed it.
“That’s okay, Solomon. I’m not doing bad things anymore. I’ve had time to think about my stupid life.”
“Hana—”
“I know, Solomon. Otomodachi, nee?”
She pretended to bow formally as she was lying down, and she picked up the corner of her blanket as if she were holding a fold of her skirt to curtsey. The trace of flirtation remained in her still-lithe movements. He wanted to remember this little thing forever.
“Go home, Solomon.”
“Okay,” he said, and he did not see her again.
21
Tokyo, 1989
I never liked him,” Phoebe said. “Too smooth.”
“Well, I’m obviously an idiot, because I did,” Solomon said. “Besides, how in the world did you get that impression of Kazu in the little time you had? You met him for about two minutes when we ran into him at Mitsukoshi. And you’ve never mentioned this before.”
Slumped in the rented leather armchair, Solomon could barely face Phoebe. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he’d expected from her, but he was surprised by how unruffled she was by the news. She seemed almost pleased. Phoebe sat on the bench near the window with her folded knees to her chest.
“I actually liked him,” he said.
“Solomon, that guy screwed you.”
Solomon glanced up at her placid profile, then dropped his head back again on the back of the armchair.
“He’s a dick.”
“I feel much better now.”
“I’m on your team.”
Phoebe didn’t know if she should get up and sit by him. She didn’t want him to think that she felt sorry for him. Her older sister used to say that men hated pity; rather, they wanted sympathy and admiration—not an easy combination.
“He was a phony. He talked to you like you were his little buddy. Like he’s some big man on campus and you’re one of his ‘boys.’ Does that system still even exist? I hate that frat-boy brother shit.” Phoebe rolled her eyes.
Solomon was dumbstruck. She had managed to encapsulate his entire relationship with Kazu from that brief, almost nonexistent encounter at the food court of the Mitsukoshi department store. How had she done this?
Phoebe hugged her knees, lacing her fingers together.
“You don’t like him because he’s Japanese.”
“Don’t get mad at me. It’s not that I distrust the Japanese, but I don’t know if I trust them entirely. You’re going to say that I’ve been reading too much about the Pacific War. I know, I know, I sound a little bigoted.”
“A little? The Japanese have suffered, too. Nagasaki? Hiroshima? And in America, the Japanese Americans were sent to internment camps, but the German Americans weren’t. How do you explain that?”
“Solomon, I’ve been here long enough. Can we please go home? You can get a dozen terrific jobs back in New York. You’re good at everything. No one interviews better than you.”
“I don’t have a visa to work in the States.”
“There are other ways to get citizenship.” She smiled.
Solomon’s family had hinted on innumerable occasions that he wanted to marry her and that he should marry her; the only person who hadn’t said so explicitly was the man himself.
Solomon’s head lay immobile on the back of the armchair. Phoebe could see that he was staring at the ceiling. She got up from the bench and walked to the front hall closet. She opened the closet doors and pulled out both of her suitcases. The suitcase wheels rolled loudly across the wooden floor, and Solomon looked up.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“I’m going home,” she said.
“Don’t be like that.”
“Well, it occurs to me that I lost my life when I came here with you, and you’re not worth it.”
“Why are you being like this?”
Solomon rose from his chair and was now standing where she’d been only a moment ago. Phoebe dragged the suitcases behind her into the bedroom and shut the door quietly.