South of the Border, West of the Sun Page 0,48
on a red woolen cap and was leaning out the window of the parked car. The girl’s mother wore a red cashmere coat and a large pair of sunglasses. When I went over there and took my daughter’s hand, the woman turned to me and smiled broadly. I returned the smile. The red coat and the sunglasses made me think of Shimamoto. The Shimamoto I followed from Shibuya to Aoyama.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” she said.
The woman was stunning. She couldn’t have been much more than twenty-five. Her car stereo was playing the Talking Heads’ “Burning Down the House.” In the back seat were two paper shopping bags from Kinokuniya. She had a beautiful smile. My daughter whispered for a while to her little friend, then said goodbye. Bye, said the girl. Then she pushed the button and closed the window of the car. I took my daughter’s hand and walked her over to where the BMW was parked.
“How was your day? Anything fun happen?” I asked.
She shook her head emphatically. “Nothing fun at all. It was terrible,” she said.
“Tough time for both of us,” I said. I leaned over and kissed her forehead, and she made the same sour face owners of snobby French restaurants produce when you hand them your American Express card. “I’m sure tomorrow will be much better,” I told her.
I wanted to believe that too. When I opened my eyes tomorrow, the world would be new, and every problem would be solved. But I couldn’t swallow that scenario. For I had a wife and two daughters. And I was in love with someone else.
“Daddy?” my daughter said. “I wanna ride a horse. Buy me a horse someday?”
“Sure. Someday,” I said.
“When’s someday?”
“When Daddy’s saved up some money. Then he’ll buy you a horse.”
“Do you have a piggy bank, Daddy?”
“Yes, a very big one. As big as this car. If I don’t save up that much money, I won’t be able to buy you a horse.”
“If we ask Grandpa, do you think he’ll buy me a horse? Grandpa’s rich.”
“That’s right,” I said. “Grandpa has a piggy bank as big as that building over there. With lots of money inside. But it’s so big it’s hard to get the money out.”
My daughter thought about it for a while.
“But can I ask Grandpa sometime? To buy me a horse?”
“Sure, you can ask him. Who knows, he might even buy one for you.”
We talked about horses all the way home. What color horse she liked. What name she’d give it. Where she would like to ride to. Where the horse would sleep. I put her on the apartment elevator and headed for work. What would tomorrow bring? I wondered. Both hands on the wheel, I closed my eyes. I didn’t feel like I was in my own body; my body was just a lonely, temporary container I happened to be borrowing. What would become of me tomorrow I did not know. Buying my daughter a horse—the idea took on an unexpected urgency. I had to buy it for her before things disappeared. Before the world fell to pieces.
12
From then until the spring, Shimamoto and I saw each other almost every week. She would stop by one of the bars, more often than not the Robin’s Nest, always past nine. She’d sit at the bar, have a couple of cocktails, and leave around eleven. I’d sit beside her, and we’d talk. I don’t know what my employees thought of this, but I didn’t care. It was like when we were in grade school and I didn’t let what my classmates thought about the two of us concern me.
Occasionally she’d call and invite me to have lunch. Most often we’d arrange to meet at a coffee shop on Omote Sando. We’d have a light meal and take a walk. We’d be together two, at most three, hours. When it was time for her to leave, she’d glance at her watch and then smile at me. “Guess I’d better be going,” she’d say. Her usual wonderful smile. I couldn’t read any of her emotions behind that smile. Whether she felt sad at leaving, or not so sad, or maybe relieved to be rid of me, I had no idea. I couldn’t even tell if she really did have to get home.
Anyhow, during the couple of hours we were together, we hardly stopped talking. Not once, though, did our bodies come in contact. Not once did I put my arm around her shoulder or even so