Sputnik Sweetheart (11 page)

A
fter crying her heart out, Sumire got up, picked up the pajamas that had fallen to the floor, and slipped them on,” Miu said. “She said she wanted to be alone and was going back to her room. ‘Don’t think too deeply about things,’ I told her. ‘Tomorrow’s a new day, things will work out just like before. You’ll see.’ ‘I guess so,’ Sumire said. She leaned over and held her cheek against mine. Her cheek was wet and warm. She whispered something in my ear, I think. But in such a small voice I couldn’t make it out. I was about to ask her what she said, but she’d already turned away.

S
umire wiped her tears away with the bath towel and left the room. The door closed, and I snuggled back under the covers and closed my eyes. After an experience like that, I figured it would be hard to sleep, but strangely enough I soon fell fast asleep.

“When I woke up at seven the next morning, Sumire was nowhere in the house. Perhaps she woke up early—or maybe never got back to sleep—and went to the beach by herself. She probably wanted to be alone for a while. It was odd that she didn’t even leave a note, but considering the night before, I figured she was still pretty upset and confused.

“I did the wash, hung out her bedding to dry, and sat on the veranda, reading, waiting for her to come back. The whole morning passed, and no Sumire. I was worried, so I looked through her room, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I was afraid maybe she’d left the island. But her bags were still open; her passport was still in her purse, her swimsuit and socks drying in a corner of her room. Coins, notepaper, and a bunch of keys lay scattered on her desk. One of the keys was for the front door of the cottage.

“It all felt weird to me. What I mean is whenever we went to the beach we always wore heavy sneakers and T-shirts over our swimsuits as we walked over the mountains. With our towels and mineral water in a canvas bag. But she’d left it all behind—the bag, shoes, and swimsuit. The only things missing were the pair of cheap sandals she’d bought at a neighborhood store and the pair of thin silk pajamas I’d lent her. Even if you only meant to take a walk around the neighborhood, you wouldn’t stay out long dressed like that, would you?

“In the afternoon I went out to scour the area for her. I made a couple of circuits nearby, went to the beach, then walked back and forth through the streets of the town, and finally returned home. But Sumire was nowhere to be found. The sun was setting, and night came on. The wind had picked up. All night long I could hear the sound of the waves. Any little sound woke me up. I left the front door unlocked. Dawn came, and still no Sumire. Her bed was just as I’d left it. So I went down to the local police station near the harbor.

I
explained everything to one of the policemen, one who spoke English. ‘The girl who was traveling with me disappeared,’ I told him, ‘and hasn’t been back for two nights.’ He didn’t take me seriously. ‘Your friend will be back,’ he said. ‘It happens all the time. Everyone lets their hair down here. It’s summer, they’re young, what do you expect?’ I went again the next day, and this time they paid a bit more attention. Not that they were going to do anything about it. I phoned the Japanese embassy in Athens and explained the situation. Thankfully, the person there was quite kind. He said something in no uncertain terms in Greek to the police chief, and the police finally started getting an investigation up and running.

“They simply had no clues. The police questioned people in the harbor and around our cottage, but no one had seen Sumire. The captain of the ferryboat, and the man who sold ferry tickets, had no recollection of any young Japanese girl getting on the boat in the last couple of days. Sumire must still be on the island. She didn’t have any money on her to buy a ticket in the first place. On this little island a young Japanese girl wandering about in pajamas wouldn’t escape people’s notice. The police questioned a German couple who’d been swimming for a long time that morning at the beach. They hadn’t seen any Japanese girl, either at the beach or on the road there. The police promised me they’d continue to do their best, and I think they did. But time passed without a single clue.”

Miu took a deep breath and half-covered her face with her hands.

“All I could do was call you in Tokyo and ask you to come. I was at my wits’ end.”

I
pictured Sumire, alone, wandering the rugged hills in a pair of thin silk pj’s and beach sandals. “What color were the pajamas?” I asked.

“Color?” Miu said, a dubious look on her face.

“The pajamas Sumire was wearing when she disappeared.”

“What color were they? I’m not sure. I bought them in Milan and hadn’t worn them yet. A light color. Pale green, maybe? They were very lightweight, with no pockets.”

“I’d like you to call the embassy in Athens again and ask them to send somebody here. Insist on it. Then have the embassy contact Sumire’s parents. It’ll be hard on them, but you can’t keep it from them anymore.”

Miu gave a small nod.

“Sumire can be a little outrageous at times, as you know,” I said, “and she does the craziest things. But she wouldn’t leave for four days without a word. She’s not that irresponsible. She wouldn’t disappear unless there’s a very good reason. What reason, I don’t know, but it must be serious. Maybe she fell down a well out in the country, and she’s waiting for someone to rescue her. Maybe somebody kidnapped her. For all we know she could be murdered and buried somewhere. A young girl wandering at night in pajamas—anything could happen. At any rate, we’ve got to come up with a plan. But let’s sleep on it. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Do you think maybe . . . Sumire . . . killed herself?” Miu asked.

“We can’t rule that out. But she would have written a note. She wouldn’t have left everything scattered like this for you to pick up the pieces. She liked you, and I know she would consider your feelings.”

Arms folded, Miu looked at me for a while. “You
really
think so?”

I nodded. “Absolutely. That’s the way she is.”

“Thank you. That’s what I wanted to hear most.”

M
iu led me to Sumire’s room. Devoid of decorations, the boxy room reminded me of a big cube. There was a small wooden bed, a writing desk, a closet, and a small dresser. At the foot of the desk was an average-size red suitcase. The front window was open to the hills beyond. On top of the desk was a brand-new Macintosh PowerBook.

“I’ve straightened up her things so you can sleep here.”

Left alone, I grew suddenly sleepy. It was nearly midnight. I undressed and got under the covers, but I couldn’t sleep. Until just a while ago, I thought, Sumire was sleeping in this bed. The excitement of the long trip reverberated in my body. I was struck by the illusion that I was on a journey without end.

In bed I reviewed everything Miu had told me, making a mental list of the important points. But my mind wouldn’t work. Systematic thought was beyond me. Leave it for tomorrow, I concluded. Out of the blue, the image came to me of Sumire’s tongue inside Miu’s mouth. Forget about it, I willed my brain. Leave that for tomorrow as well. But the chances of tomorrow being an improvement over today were, unfortunately, slim. Gloomy thoughts weren’t going to get me anywhere, I decided, and closed my eyes. I soon fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER 10

W
hen I woke up, Miu was setting the table for breakfast out on the veranda. It was eight-thirty, and a brand-new sun was flooding the world with light. Miu and I sat down on the veranda and had breakfast, gazing at the bright sea as we ate. We had toast and eggs and coffee. Two white birds glided down the slope toward the coast. A radio was playing nearby, an announcer’s voice, speaking quickly, reading the news in Greek.

A strange jet-lag numbness filled my head. I couldn’t separate the boundary between what was real and what only seemed real. Here I was, on a small Greek island, sharing a meal with a beautiful older woman I’d met only the day before. This woman loved Sumire. But couldn’t feel any sexual desire for her. Sumire loved this woman and desired her. I loved Sumire and felt sexual desire for her. Sumire liked me but didn’t love me, and didn’t feel any desire for me. I felt sexual desire for a woman who will remain anonymous. But I didn’t love her. It was all so complicated, like something out of an existential play. Everything hit a dead end there, no alternatives left. And Sumire had exited stage right.

M
iu refilled my empty coffee cup. I thanked her.

“You like Sumire, don’t you?” Miu asked me. “As a woman, I mean.”

I gave a slight nod as I buttered my toast. The butter was cold and hard, and it took some time to spread it on the bread. I looked up and added, “Of course that’s not something you necessarily can choose. It just happens.”

We continued eating breakfast in silence. The radio news ended, and Greek music started to play. The wind swelled up and shook the bougainvilleas. If you looked closely, you could make out whitecaps in the distance.

“I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and I think I should go to Athens right away,” Miu said, peeling an orange. “I’d probably get nowhere over the phone, so it’d be better if I went straight to the embassy and talked with them face-to-face. Maybe someone from the embassy will be willing to come back with me, or I might wait for Sumire’s parents to arrive in Athens and come back with them. At any rate, I’d like you to stay here as long as you can. The police might get in touch, and there’s always the possibility that Sumire will come back. Would you do that for me?”

Of course, I replied.

“I’m going to go to the police station again to check on the investigation, then charter a boat to take me to Rhodes. A round-trip to Athens takes time, so most likely I’ll get a hotel room and stay a couple of days.”

I nodded.

Miu finished peeling the orange and wiped it carefully with a napkin. “Have you ever met Sumire’s parents?”

I never have, I said.

Miu gave a sigh like the wind at the edge of the world. “I wonder how I’m going to explain it to them.”

I could understand her confusion. How can you explain the inexplicable?

Miu and I walked down to the harbor. She had a small bag with a change of clothes, wore leather high-heel shoes, and carried a Mila Schön shoulder bag. We stopped by the police station. We told them I was a relative of Miu’s who happened to be traveling nearby. They still didn’t have a single clue. “But it’s all right,” they said cheerily. “Not to worry. Look around you. This is a peaceful island. We have some crime, of course—lovers’ quarrels, drunks, political fights. We’re dealing with people, after all, and everywhere you go it’s the same. But those are domestic squabbles. In the last fifteen years there’s never once been a foreigner who’s been the victim of a crime on this island.”

That might very well be true. But when it came to explaining Sumire’s disappearance, they had nothing to say.

“There’s a large limestone cave on the north shore of the island,” the policeman ventured. “If she wandered in there, maybe she couldn’t find her way out. It’s like a maze inside. But it’s very, very far away. A girl like that couldn’t have walked that far.”

Could she have drowned? I asked.

The policemen shook their heads. There’s no strong current around here, they said. And the weather this past week has been mild, the sea calm. Lots of fishermen go out to fish every day, and if the girl had drowned, one of them would have come across her body.

“What about wells?” I asked. “Couldn’t she have fallen in a deep well somewhere while she was out for a walk?”

The chief of police shook his head. “There aren’t any wells on the island. We have a lot of natural springs so there’s no need to dig any. Besides, the bedrock is hard and digging a well would be a major undertaking.”

A
fter we left the police station, I told Miu I wanted to walk to the beach she and Sumire had frequented, if possible in the morning. She bought a simple map of the island at a kiosk and showed me the road; it takes forty-five minutes one way, she cautioned, so be sure to wear some sturdy shoes. She went to the harbor and, in a mixture of French and English, quickly concluded negotiations with the pilot of a small taxi boat to take her to Rhodes.

“If only we could have a happy ending,” Miu said as she left. But her eyes told another story. She knew that things didn’t work out that simply. And so did I. The boat’s engine started up, and she held down her hat with her left hand and waved to me with her right. When her boat disappeared offshore, I felt like my insides were missing a couple of parts. I wandered around the harbor for a while and bought some dark sunglasses at a souvenir shop. Then I climbed the steep stairs back to the cottage.

A
s the sun rose higher it grew fiercely hot. I put a short-sleeve cotton shirt on over my swimsuit, outfitted myself with sunglasses and jogging shoes, and set off over the steep mountain road to the beach. I soon regretted not bringing a hat but decided to forge on. Walking uphill, I soon got thirsty. I stopped and took a drink and rubbed the sunscreen Miu had lent me over my face and arms. The path was white with dust, which swirled into the air whenever the wind blew. Occasionally I’d pass villagers leading donkeys. They’d greet me in a loud voice: “
Kali mera!
” I’d say the same thing back to them. I figured that was the thing to do.

The mountainside was covered with short, twisted trees. Goats and sheep made their way over the craggy mountain face, crabby looks on their faces. The bells around their necks made a matter-of-fact little tinkly sound. The people herding the flocks were either children or old people. As I passed they’d glance at me out of the corner of their eyes and then half raise their hand in some sort of sign. I raised my hand the same way in greeting. Sumire couldn’t have come this way by herself. There was no place to hide, and someone would have seen her.

T
he beach was deserted. I took off my shirt and swimsuit and went swimming nude. The water was clear and felt wonderful. You could see all the way to the stones on the bottom. A yacht was anchored at the mouth of the inlet, sail stowed, and the tall mast swayed back and forth like a giant metronome. Nobody was on deck. Each time the tide went out, countless little stones were left behind, clattering listlessly. After swimming, I went back to the beach and lay down, still naked, on my towel and gazed up at the high, pure blue sky. Seabirds circled above the inlet searching for fish. The sky was utterly cloudless. I dozed there for perhaps a half hour, during which time no one visited the beach. Before long a strange hush fell over me. This beach was a little too quiet for a person to visit alone, a little
too
beautiful. It made me imagine a certain way of dying. I dressed and walked over the mountain path, back toward the cottage. The heat was even more intense than before. Mechanically moving one foot after the other, I tried to imagine what Sumire and Miu must have talked about when the two of them walked this road together.

Sumire might very well have been pondering the sexual desire she felt. The same way I thought about my own sexual desire when I was with her. It wasn’t hard for me to understand how she felt. Sumire pictured Miu naked beside her and wanted nothing so much as to hold her tight. An expectation was there, mixed in with so many other emotions—excitement, resignation, hesitation, confusion, fear—that would well up, then wither on the vine. You’re optimistic one moment, only to be racked the next by the certainty that it will all fall to pieces. And in the end it does.

I walked to the top of the mountain, took a break and a drink of water, and headed downhill. Just as the roof of the cottage came into view, I remembered what Miu had said about Sumire feverishly writing something in her room after they came to the island. What could she have been writing? Miu hadn’t said anything more, and I didn’t push it. There might—just
might—
be a clue in what Sumire wrote. I could have kicked myself for not having thought of it before.

W
hen I got back to the cottage I went to Sumire’s room, turned on her PowerBook, and opened the hard drive. Nothing looked promising. There was a list of expenses for their European trip, addresses, a schedule. All business items related to Miu’s work. No personal files. I opened the
RECENT DOCUMENTS
menu—nothing. She probably didn’t want anybody to read it and had erased it all. Which meant that she had saved her personal files on a floppy disk somewhere. It was unlikely she’d taken the disk with her when she disappeared; for one thing, her pajamas didn’t have any pockets.

I rummaged around in the desk drawers. There were a couple of disks, but they were all copies of what was on the hard drive or other work-related files. Nothing looked promising. I sat at the desk and thought. If I were Sumire, where would I put it? The room was small; there weren’t many places to hide something. Sumire was very particular about deciding who could read what she wrote.

Of course—the red suitcase. This was the only thing in the room that could be locked.

Her new suitcase seemed empty, it was so light; I shook it, but it didn’t make any sound. The four-digit padlock was locked, however. I tried several combinations of numbers I knew Sumire was likely to use—her birthday, her address, telephone number, zip code—but none of them worked. Not surprising, since a number that someone could easily guess wasn’t much use as a combination number. It had to be something she could remember but a number that wasn’t based on something personal. I thought about it for a long time, and then it hit me. I tried the area code for Kunitachi
—my
area code, in other words: 0-4-2-5.

The lock clicked open.

A small black cloth bag was stuck inside the inner side pocket of the suitcase. I unzipped it and found a small green diary and a floppy disk inside. I opened the diary first. It was written in her usual handwriting. Nothing leaped out at me. It was just information about where they went. Who they saw. Names of hotels. The price of gasoline. Dinner menus. Brands of wine and what they tasted like. Basically just a list. A lot of the pages were blank. Keeping a diary wasn’t one of Sumire’s strong points, apparently.

T
he disk was untitled. The label just had the date on it, in Sumire’s distinctive handwriting. August 19**. I slipped the disk inside the PowerBook and opened it. The menu showed two documents. Neither of which had a title. They were just Document 1 and Document 2.

Before opening them, I slowly looked around the room. Sumire’s coat was hanging in the closet. I saw her goggles, her Italian dictionary, her passport. Inside the desk were her ballpoint pen and mechanical pencil. In the window above the desk the gentle, craggy slope was visible. A black cat was walking on top of the wall of the house next door. The bare little boxy room was enveloped in the late-afternoon silence. I closed my eyes and could still hear the waves on the deserted beach that morning. I opened my eyes again, and this time listened closely to the real world. I couldn’t hear a thing.

I set my pointer on Document 1 and double-clicked the icon.