Chapter 6

8:00 A.M.

Akemi thought of her husband Mitchell’s flaws. He was too careful. For example, when they looked for an apartment to move into together, he worried about neighbors, would they be noisy. He asked the owner of the slightly rundown but solid brownstone and she said he could find out when he came to look at the place. (She was also careful, a middle-aged Japanese woman suspicious of a couple so unlikely as we seemed, regarded us with eyes askew). But Mitchell thought one trip to the apartment wouldn’t be enough. There might be noise at other times than our visit. He thought he should make many trips, morning afternoon and night, to be sure. The landlord told him that a neighbor played piano but Mitchell thought that wouldn’t be a problem. It was the possibility of other, unexpected sounds, of parties or even loud conversation that concerned him. The landlord was offering the place at a reasonable rent. The last tenant hadn’t complained, she said, adding that that person, a woman in her early thirties, had paid less than the market rate. The landlord had said this as an aside. It had nothing to do with us. Maybe the turn of events in question still perplexed her somewhat. She seemed someone who spent a lot of time in her head, fretting, good-natured enough but suspicious. Maybe she’d been through some bad things in her life or was just lonely.

She looked like she wasn’t intent on our taking the apartment, might even have preferred we didn’t, worried we’d be trouble, might feel relief if we turned away and she could find someone more “ordinary.” Americans. Both. Did she worry I was in the country illegally? Was that it? She was a type who didn’t want trouble: harried, harassed-looking, her hair mussed like it it had been hacked at by scissors in a hurry. Not a very generous person. Tight. I wouldn’t call Mitchell that, by the way. Open and unselfish, he had in common with the landlord worrying too much.

Another of his flaws was over-exercise. He’d go for a bike ride and be gone four hours, do double what he’d planned. He wants to stay in shape. Is that because of the age difference between us? I guess you really can’t call it a bad thing...

He had some famous friends he introduced me to. Politicians spanning several generations. They welcomed him as family, weren’t stand-offish. Maybe they could help now, intervene with the authorities to free me from the unwarranted detention. I know, though, that Mitchell makes a point of not imposing on them, presuming upon the friendship they’ve shown. He understands their attention is needed for matters more important than his personal concerns. He’d attended the funeral when one of the clan died and by mistake sat in the VIP section reserved for family only, in the front pews. Everyone was dressed in mourning wear, impeccably tailored, the solemnity, sorrow of the occasion tempered by the handsome spectacle and courage of those assembled, used to tragedy as extended families are, in touch with the turning of generations, as we Japanese are. They brushed aside Mitchell’s apology, which he voiced to a woman next to him on his left, a person’s-length away, early forties in a long dark wool dress, hair up. Someone he knew only by sight. She gestured that he was fine there, mock-rebuked Mitchell for even raising the issue, making a fuss- it was hurtful she said, scolding with a smile, that he doubted the affection in which he was held. And Mitchell couldn’t protest, had to be quiet for the service about to start.