Fishing for Stars (28 page)

In fact, Kevin liked Anna a great deal and moreover respected her for her acuity in business, constantly suggesting that they go into ventures together. Out of politeness Anna had asked me what I thought and seemed relieved when I told her I regarded it as a truly bad idea. Nevertheless he would seek her advice, often making a killing because of it. ‘Soon Bren Gun, she gonna be wearing Gucci from Paris,’ he’d promise after a successful venture, unaware that Bren Gun had been wearing fashion labels for several years and that Gucci was an Italian label.

The fifteen years that followed Anna’s return to the island were not without their ups and downs; she would spend one week of every month with me and I would see her when I occasionally went to Melbourne. Anna was two people, the loving and generous woman who visited the island, and the businesswoman who ran a house of bondage. In our twenties and thirties, when most couples are building careers and having families, she was slowly making a small name as a property owner. She had speculated and gambled on the development of a post-Olympic Melbourne and done nicely without being noticed by the big developers. Her foresight in acquiring the properties around Madam Butterfly was unknown at the time, and she was lumped in with other small speculators under the collective title of slum landlord, those bit players who hoped to gain from the city’s rapid expansion by buying in some of the right locations and making a small killing.

In fact, she was laying the foundations of a huge fortune. In the male business world of the sixties and seventies, nobody saw her coming. Her often rich and powerful clientele, many from the establishment and propertied elite, were generous with their advice, often boasting or confiding inside information. By slowly placing each building she bought into separate dollar shelf companies to protect her name, she quietly and discreetly built her property portfolio. Anna, for all her beauty, never glittered in public. She remained intensely private and low-key, crouched for the kill, ready for the Nauru property development site.

However, during the week she spent each month on the island, she let her hair down and soon became immensely popular, not only with the ex-pats but also with the local people, in particular amongst those who would eventually assume the mantle of leadership.

As a shipping company we clearly knew that ultimately our loyalty lay with the natives and self-government, but we had to appear to be neutral. Anna, who travelled with me around the islands, was investing in the future by supplying funds for education, overseas study and the development of political organisations whose members and leaders could be trained in basic leadership skills, politics, and recruitment techniques. She claimed the brightest kids on every Pacific Island, usually ferreted out from among the most gifted of the initial recipients of Uncle Joe scholarships. They were funded through the various indigenous political organisations she’d helped to create, to take accountancy and economics degrees in Australia, New Zealand, France and the United States. She would chuckle when the white rightwing elements on the island, which was almost everyone, would mutter darkly to one another in the clubs or at private dinner parties, ‘They’re being funded by the Communist party, you know. China and Russia are very involved. Moscow University is chock-full of Africans and Islanders. Jesus, some of the buggers have only just climbed out of the trees and they’re supposed to be taking economics degrees.’

Anna went to great pains never to accept credit for her largesse. ‘The people who will count in the future know who I am and those who have no future in the islands never need to know,’ she’d say, happy to keep a low profile in these matters. On the surface she appeared to be an extroverted, fun-loving, uncomplicated, witty young woman, a gracious hostess, a loving partner, and, everyone assumed, my beautiful mistress. I lost count of the number of times I heard, ‘Nick, you lucky bugger!’ when I was taking a piss in the club toilet. On one occasion in Rabaul it was the police commissioner, and I wondered what he’d say if I told him the beautiful woman he’d been ogling all night was a heroin addict and a murderer.

Now sitting in the bar in the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo nursing my second Kirin and waiting for Anna I wondered if the halcyon years were over. We’d been together for twenty years, most of them very good. We’d sailed and laughed and cried and shared each other’s misfortunes. It had been my idea that we try to contact Konoe Akira, but Anna’s obvious keenness to do so now concerned me.

I knew that she loved me in every way it was possible for her to love, but he had owned her in a manner I never could, or would wish to. He had been a part of the enormous damage done to her, although she could not accept this. In Anna’s mind, he was responsible for everything she had become, and she knew with certainty that without him she would be dead.

The difficult part for me to accept was that this was probably true. He had given Anna sanctuary within the tyranny of the Japanese occupation, while extracting a bitter and selfish toll that denied her the ultimate entitlement of her womanhood.

However, in the process he had furnished her with a set of finely forged intellectual weapons to survive and even to prosper in a hostile world. Anna couldn’t see that he had warped her mind and stolen the gift of absolute intimacy, the eternal way of a woman with a man.

Instead, I suspected, while he had no use for her body, she still believed he owned her soul, and that this was a higher state of being. If we located him and they met, I was taking the chance that they might renew their relationship, and come together again to create a far stronger bond than the unconsummated love between the two of us. By now he would be a man in his early sixties and probably at the height of his intellectual powers. Anna, with her own hard-earned, practised and disciplined intelligence, would make a worthy acolyte.

While I had believed it was necessary for her to face her demons by confronting Konoe Akira, I was taking a gamble with our relationship. I tried to tell myself that if Anna discovered that the bond between them had long since been broken, she might eventually recover. Now, sitting in the bar waiting to hear of her exploits of the previous night, I wasn’t feeling quite the clever Nick I’d thought myself to be on the verandah overlooking Beautiful Bay when I’d suggested the reunion.

Anna arrived wearing knee-length high-heeled boots, jeans and a white cashmere polo-necked sweater, her hair catching the light as she entered the bar. The barman, mixing a martini for another guest, stopped mid-shake and came over to us.

‘
Sake tokutei reishu
[sake served specially cold],’ Anna requested, smiling, unaware of our newfound notoriety. Pointing to the cocktail shaker resting on his mixing bar she added, ‘Please, serve your honourable customer, I am in no hurry and do not deserve prior attention.’

‘Sleep well?’ I asked as she leaned over to kiss me on the cheek.

‘Like a baby.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Ten hours. I needed it. A long night,’ she said in a staccato manner.

‘So, tell me.’

She glanced around quickly. ‘Not here, Nicholas . . . later.’

‘We can speak in English,’ I laughed. ‘We
are
speaking in English!’

‘I have to go back tonight,’ she said quickly in a low voice.

‘Back? Where?’

‘Topaz.’

‘The bondage joint in Roppongi?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I left my silver cigarette case behind.’

‘What, forgot it? Phone, tell them to put it in a taxi.’

‘No.’

I was losing patience. ‘Why not?’

‘It was deliberate, a calling card.’

‘Shit no! Anna, don’t tell me . . .’

‘I have to go alone.’

‘Bullshit! That’s not what we agreed.’

‘I know, but he won’t come otherwise. I told you, they don’t allow
gaijin
and I am allowed
only
because I have a special introduction and am a fellow professional in the art of
kinbaku
.’

‘Okay, then we’ll give it a miss. Go home.’

Anna’s violet-blue eyes looked at me, unblinking. ‘No, Nicholas, I can’t do that.’

‘You have killed before,
Nick-san
. We both know only the first time is difficult.Come, we must prepare.’

Oyabun
Fuchida
, Tokyo

I HAVE WRITTEN EARLIER
about the futility of pursuing an argument when the outcome won’t change anything, but I was furious. I saw myself as Anna’s protector, but now she wanted to face Konoe Akira alone. I hadn’t any idea what the outcome might be, but I convinced myself that it wouldn’t be good, that he could even harm her.
If
she’d mentioned me on her previous visit to Topaz, the house of bondage – and I realised it was a big
if
 – why was her former mentor insisting she come alone?

When I imagined the confrontation, Anna always saw Konoe Akira in a different light, not as the immaculately clad and all-powerful commander of the Japanese forces in Tjilatjap that she had known but as a civilian in his sixties with a severe limp. In my mind I had rehearsed her reaction to him after twenty years. First would come the slow realisation that the greying man in her presence was no longer in control of her mind, then the understanding that she was free from the horror of the past and of his power over her. I imagined standing at her side with a foolish grin on my face, trying not to show too much emotion in front of the bitter, disillusioned old man leaning heavily on his walking stick.

‘Anna, you could be walking into a trap!’ I cried angrily.

‘No, Nicholas, he has sent
his
calling card.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

She reached for her handbag. ‘I went to the porter’s desk on my way here, and . . .’ From the interior of her bag she lifted a gold fob watch and chain. ‘He sent me this.’

I took the magnificent chronometer, weighing it in my hand, the heavy gold links settling in my palm. ‘So you were expecting a message?’ I asked pointedly.

‘Yes, of course. They said they would contact me if he responded. When I woke up an envelope had been pushed under the door,’ Anna pointed at the watch in my hand, ‘to say there was a parcel waiting for me.’

‘Just this, the watch?’ I asked.

‘No, it came with a note.’

‘From him?’

Anna nodded. ‘It’s very friendly.’

‘May I see it?’

Anna hesitated momentarily then reached into her handbag and produced the note. It was carefully written in Japanese on handmade paper, set out in four widely spaced columns of exquisite kanji as if each was a separate message placed on paper after considerable thought.

Honourable Second Vase,

I am deeply honoured that you

wish to renew our acquaintanceship.

These flowers they want to dance

and you are making them stand

to attention. They are not an

orchestra, they are a jazz group.

We will meet tomorrow night at

six o’clock, when it is essential

that you are alone.

I look forward to seeing

the photographs of the

persimmon trees

you have planted.

Sincerely,

Konoe Akira

Anna, I felt sure, could see my frown increasing as I attempted to absorb the meaning hidden within the note: the address, Honourable Second Vase; the allusion to the vase of flowers made no sense and was obviously some kind of code between them. ‘The flowers as a jazz group?’ I asked. ‘What’s that all about?’

‘It is a small joke about flower arrangements,’ Anna explained, slightly flustered. ‘He is reminding me of the first day we met. It’s meant to tell me that I may come on my own terms and that our meeting will be a friendly one.’

‘Oh, you know this, do you?’ I returned the sheet to her and noted how carefully she folded it, holding it a fraction too long and close to her chest before placing it back in her handbag. Anna, I could sense, was excited. ‘I see. A joke about flowers to tell you that you’re safe?’ I said without humour. ‘Well,
Blossom
, I will nevertheless wait outside Topaz until you return from discussing your mutual flowery arrangements.’

Anna ignored my sarcasm and the not very clever and needlessly disparaging play on words. She threw up her hands in a gesture of impatience. ‘Ha! I can just imagine! A six-foot three-inch
gaijin
with his arms folded across his chest waiting outside the entrance like a nightclub bouncer. You are sure to go unnoticed!’ Anna tossed her head, always a sign that she was nervous and thinking on her feet. ‘Nicholas, I’ll be fine, quite safe. Sending the pocket watch . . . the flower joke . . . it’s obvious he wants it to be a cordial meeting.’

Clutching at straws I said, ‘Yes, but can he be trusted? Didn’t you say he was a heroin addict?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Anna said, indignant. ‘Yes, he uses heroin, or he did. So do I. It doesn’t make us potentially violent or untrustworthy.’

I didn’t much care for the virtuous coupling of the two addicts. ‘Anna, it’s a trap. I just know it! My instincts in such matters are rarely wrong.’

‘That’s total crap, Nicholas! Your instincts are no better than mine. Besides, I’ve made up my mind and I’m not jeopardising our meeting because he thinks I’ve brought along what he’ll see as a personal bodyguard. As it is, he could well believe that
I’m
the one setting the trap.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well, for instance, he could be afraid I’ve come to Japan to report him for war crimes.’

This had occurred to me, but I hadn’t mentioned it to Anna. I should have known the thought wouldn’t have escaped her, although almost certainly a case such as this wouldn’t be reopened. The War Crimes Tribunal might have charged him, but a hearing was unlikely. Konoe Akira was from a leading family and, like so many important families, his had probably allied itself with one of the large vertically integrated industrial groups usually organised around a bank, groups such as Mitsui, Mitsubishi, Yasuda, and many others. The War Crimes Tribunal had finally come to the conclusion that these groups, and the individuals within them, were essential to Japan’s post-war reconstruction. Hearings, unless they concerned the more heinous crimes, were postponed and eventually the charges were dropped. There were few trials after 1950.

‘What do you mean? He’ll think I’m some big
gaijin
policeman from Interpol? You obviously didn’t make any mention of me when you left your calling card.’

‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t.’

‘Why not?’

Anna sighed, sipped her drink then looked at me directly. ‘Why? Because I never intended for you to be at our first meeting. I have things I need to say . . .’ Anna shrugged, blue eyes wide. I had seen that look before, her eyes challenging me, telling me her mind was made up.

My father was right – our argument wasn’t going anywhere good and I’d pushed Anna into a corner, making her explain her motives and, in turn, forcing her to offend me.

‘Right!’ I said, getting to my feet, managing, though only just, to keep my voice more or less civil. ‘I need a shower. Will I see you upstairs before you go?’

‘Of course . . . I have to change.’

I turned and walked to the entrance of the bar.

‘Nicholas!’ Anna called.

I stopped and looked back, scowling. ‘What?’

Anna smiled and held out her hand. ‘The watch, please.’

I looked down, surprised that I still held the gold watch and chain, the calling card with its unspoken message to her across the years. Suddenly, unable to contain my fury, I hurled it at the bar, its chain trailing through the air behind it and whipping past the barman’s head to crash into a stand of bottles on the counter, the heavy gold chain snaking around a Johnny Walker bottle and preventing it from falling to the ground. ‘Good luck!’ I cried furiously.

While I instantly regretted my fit of jealousy and the vulnerability it exposed, I lacked the guts to apologise in public. Instead I fled the cocktail bar like a petulant schoolboy, the surprised drinkers no doubt watching my angry departure, then staring at a mortified Anna.

When I walked from the shower back into the bedroom Anna was seated at the mirror brushing her hair. She was dressed in the Chanel suit, the outfit she’d worn to meet the Mitsubishi executives, and was wearing the two solitaire diamond earrings. ‘I wish to apologise. I only hope the watch can be repaired,’ I said, shamefaced.

‘It isn’t broken,’ she said crisply without looking up at me. Then placing the brush on the dressing table with a small, deliberate bang she rose from the chair and reached for her handbag. ‘Well, I’ll be off. The car will be waiting downstairs.’ She glanced briefly at me, her expression deadpan. ‘Blossom mustn’t be late now, must she?’

‘Kiss?’ I asked with a rueful grin.

Anna had already moved several steps from where I stood and now halted and bent over slightly with her derrière facing me, and in a voice far from amused snapped, ‘You can kiss my arse, Nicholas Duncan!’

‘Gladly,’ I returned, but by this time she’d reached the door and moments before it swung shut I heard the click-clack-click of her expensive stilettos on the Italian marble foyer leading to the lift. ‘Jesus, what now?’ I said aloud, plonking myself down on the edge of the bed, aware that I’d screwed up big time.

The
‘what now’
turned out to be another long, vexing and sleepless night as I waited for Anna to return to the hotel. My imagination ran riot – Anna in a silk kimono attending to Konoe Akira’s perverted needs, showing him how much more she had learned over the years, helping him to inject heroin, seated at his feet, her blue eyes fixed on him, drinking in every word he said, even modestly telling of her success and giving him the credit for it. My febrile imagination knew no bounds. I even pictured Anna naked with her worshipful master fucking her, his tiny cock happily accepted, vaginismus free, as she moaned in ecstasy.

By 7 a.m. I could contain myself no longer. I dressed and went downstairs to hail a taxi. ‘Roppongi – take me to a place called Topaz!’ I instructed.

The taxi driver hesitated. ‘I don’t know this place in Roppongi, sir. Do you have the address?’

I pointed to his radio. ‘Call your base,’ I snapped. He did so and moments later the operator answered to say they couldn’t locate a place of that name. ‘Shit!’ I exclaimed in English. Then in Japanese I instructed him to wait. I jumped from the taxi and ran up the steps, entered the hotel and, with my newfound
yakuza
notoriety, interrupted a clerk on the telephone. He immediately hung up and stood to rigid attention. ‘Topaz, in Roppongi!’ I barked. ‘I need the exact address.’

‘Immediately,
Duncan-san
!’ He reached once more for the telephone and instructed the hotel switchboard to find the address, then waited nervously for the reply. A minute or so later he shouted down the receiver, ‘Look again!’ Finally, his hand shaking, he placed the receiver back into its cradle. ‘
Duncan-san
, we regret there is no such address,’ he apologised.

I guess I was exhausted and overwrought. ‘This is bullshit!’ I cried, my fist thumping the desk so that the clerk jumped backwards and brought his hands up to protect his face, anticipating a punch. I shoved my hand in my pocket and withdrew two notes, a thousand yen and a five-thousand yen. Placing the thousand on the counter I said, ‘Here, give this to the taxi driver. Tell him I no longer need him.’ I handed him the second note. ‘For your assistance,’ I growled.

I returned to my room, then decided on the spur of the moment to have breakfast, realising that I hadn’t eaten since I’d left the penthouse apartment of my butterfly-collecting mate the previous day. I told myself I needed coffee, food and a little time to calm down.

I couldn’t yet grasp the fact that Anna had lied to me, deliberately concealing the whereabouts of her assignation with Konoe Akira. Christ! What was going on? Was this a conspiracy hatched between the two of them? Our trip to Japan organised long before we’d left? Was my suggestion that she come along with me a carefully cultivated thought planted by Anna, when I’d imagined it was all my own idea? Had I been suckered into the whole thing?

Over a couple of cups of strong black coffee, toast and a ham omelette – I couldn’t stomach the thought of salted salmon or dried horse – I calmed down somewhat and realised that I was exhausted and not thinking straight, asking myself too many emotionally charged and unanswerable questions. Anna was a big girl, travelled frequently, spoke Japanese fluently – she wouldn’t have needed an excuse to come to Japan alone to sort things out with Konoe Akira. She could have done so by travelling via Japan on one of her trips to Europe and I would never have known the difference.

I needed to understand Anna’s reason for deliberately concealing the place of assignation with Konoe Akira, after we’d agreed that we’d meet him together. Something must have occurred when she’d gone looking for drugs. Was she attempting to protect me if things went wrong? It seemed unlikely. Did she, as she claimed, want to confront her one-time mentor on her own, believing that this was the only way she could lay the ghosts of the past to rest?