Water Lily (9 page)

Ralph settled in the nearer armchair. He noticed a black plastic chair in the corner and hoped that the cocky young man would
not be joining them. Then the interpreter, a young woman in tight trousers and a T-shirt, scurried through the door and Ralph
realized that the chair was for her. C-list women wouldn’t be able to speak English. She introduced herself briskly and sat
down.

The first lady entered. She was aged about forty. She was a little overweight but had nice wavy hair and was quite attractive,
until she smiled. Her teeth were grey, almost black, and jutted out from her gums at all angles. Ralph wondered how much it
would cost him to have them put right; he could not get used to such a smile. He had read that cosmetic dentistry was becoming
more affordable—though her teeth would need to be ripped out completely and started again—but it was probably beyond his reach.
It would mean cashing in some savings that he had put by for a new roof. Still, he wouldn’t want to be standing next to teeth
like that in the pub. He wanted his neighbors to see his pretty wife, with her milk-teeth smile, not a wife who could be laughed
at. He would not be laughed at. He focused on her eyes. They were shiny, uncertain, and he felt a pang of guilt. His own teeth
were not perfect, not bad, but not perfect. He was here for love, after all, and she deserved a chance.

They shook hands. Her fingers were soft and waxy, little birthday-cake candles, and Ralph held on just a little bit longer
than he would in a normal handshake. He wondered if this was the hand that would be in his all the way back to En-gland, that
he would slip a ring onto. She sat on the edge of her chair, wriggled her way back until she was comfortable, gave a nervous
giggle. Her skirt stopped just above her knees and he noticed how thick, straight and smooth her legs were, like banister
posts.

Ralph leaned back in his chair and put his questions as though interviewing her for a job. He would be courteous but was not
going to bow and scrape to a C-lister.

“My name is Ralph. What is your name?”

She said something with three syllables that he couldn’t catch. It didn’t matter. He would hear it again later.

“Do you have a job?”

The interpreter told him that she worked in an office.

“Well,” he said with a smile, “you won’t have to do that if you come to England with me. I have a shop. And I have a house
with four bedrooms and a big garden. Money is no problem.”

He remembered that you were not supposed to brag in Japan. If you talked about something that belonged to you, you had to
be humble and say that it wasn’t very good. You had to apologize for it, even if you were talking about a member of your own
family. He couldn’t work out how to do that and still convey the message that he would give her every-thing.

“I’m not a
very
rich man. My house is modest. But I have a steady income. And it’s not a bad income. Not millions, of course, but …” His
voice faded.

The interpreter told her. She nodded, still smiling, but that was her only reaction. Ralph wondered if she had understood
correctly. He didn’t trust the interpreter with her short hair, big pink earrings, and quick voice. He spoke to the lady directly.

“In England—my country—I have beautiful old house. Four bedrooms. And garden. Very good house.”

The woman began to look nervous, though she was still smiling. Ralph wondered if she had understood a word.

“Do you have any hobbies?”

“I like swimming.” So she could understand him.

“Nice. But can you draw? Picture?” He mimed. They would do better to avoid using the interpreter, if they could.

“I’m … I am not good at drawing.”

“But you play the piano? Or the violin?” He paused for just a split second between the words.

She shook her head. “No, I can’t.”

He had thought that all Japanese women played instruments. “Didn’t your family have money to pay for lessons?”

She looked nonplussed. The interpreter, hawkeyed, glanced quickly between the two. He would ask more about her family.

“Do you live with your family now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you very close to them?”

She shrugged. “Yes.” Her voice was defensive, as if she wasn’t sure why he was asking. She should see, though, why this was
important to him.

“Because if you come to England with me, they would miss you very much.”

“Yes. Maybe.” She touched the tip of her nose, a sure sign of lying he had read, though he wasn’t sure why she might be lying.

He was not getting to know her at all so he tried a more important topic.

“I was married before. This would be my second marriage. What is your relationship history?” He was talking louder now. He
knew she wouldn’t necessarily understand him better if he shouted but at least it wouldn’t be his fault if she didn’t.

She turned to the interpreter for help. The two women ex-changed a few sentences—more than could possibly be necessary for
such a simple question—and Ralph tapped his foot. The interpreter told him that the woman had never been married before.

“Boyfriends?”

The lady understood the question this time and shrugged with a smile. What was that supposed to mean?

Japanese girls are protected by their families but sex before marriage is very common in Japan, particularly when compared
with many other Asian countries. Try to see this in a positive light. As soon as she is married your Eastern Blossom will
be devoted to you. Her experience will only enhance yours!

“Are you a virgin?”

“She doesn’t want to answer that.” The interpreter folded her arms, fixed her gaze on Ralph.

“You haven’t asked her.”

“It’s not a polite question. Do you think it’s a polite question?”

“If she wants to marry me, she’ll have to tell me a few facts.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m not asking you.”

“It’s not a polite question.”

Ralph uncrossed his legs, let them swing apart and leaned back.

“I assume, then, that she is not a virgin. Since she doesn’t wish to answer the question.” Ralph was pleased with the commanding
tone of his voice.

“Come on. She’s forty-seven. Do you expect her to be a virgin?”

The interviewee was watching with an expression of amazement. Ralph wondered how much of the discussion she understood. If
this strident young interpreter weren’t here poking her nose in, the whole business would be so much nicer. But, still,
forty-seven
. She was old enough to be his … well, she was too old to be his wife.

“Madam, you’re here to interpret. I’m not here to solicit your opinions so do not feel free to share them. Please do the job
for which you are paid.”

The interpreter ignored him, muttered something to the woman. The woman stood and waved her hand in front of her face as if
there was a bad smell in the room. Ralph understood that this was a rejection.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “No, thank you.” And she left the room. The interpreter followed with her lips pressed smugly together.
They were like two girlfriends in a pub, going off to the ladies’ to moan about an unsatisfactory boyfriend. Before the door
closed Ralph thought he caught the interpreter sticking her tongue out at him, but when he blinked she had gone and the door
was shut.

The leaves of the plants trembled. Ralph had blown an-other chance. He thought over his questions. He had asked about her
life, her family. What was wrong with that? He had told her that he had been married before. You couldn’t start a relationship
without knowing a few things. He didn’t want to find his new wife was a slut. It was reasonable to ask; the agency wouldn’t.
He was honest and she must be, too. Besides, she was far too old. He was no closer to finding his wife. These women were all
wrong. And yet, he had seen her, the perfect one. She was in the department store. And in so many forms on the streets. He
smoothed his hair and watched as the doorknob turned and the door creaked back open.

The second lady was younger—perhaps thirty-five or forty—and Ralph felt a prickle of hope. She had a soft face, reminded him
of a kind primary school teacher. A wide smile and glinting eyes. She wasn’t exactly pretty—her chin was too big—but you could
look at her without feeling bad. He wouldn’t mind being seen in public with her. She introduced herself in
good English
as Aki. He liked her simple name.

She told Ralph how she had always wanted to get away from Japan and go abroad. She wanted to pursue her career as an engineer
and said that it was hard for a woman to be a successful engineer in Japan. She explained about the working hours in Japan,
the lack of holidays, the effect of the recession on promotion. When she paused long enough for Ralph to speak, he could think
of nothing to say. It didn’t matter. She continued regardless, a steamroller on a thin country lane.

“So I’d like to do a masters at a British university and then find work there. Of course, I need to do some work on my English
first.”

Was she a gold-digger? She might expect him to pay for her university education and then be out all day and night, furthering
her career. If Ralph had wanted to pay thousands of pounds for a masters course, he would have done one himself. It was ridiculous.
He would not be an open wallet to fund her self-centered ambitions. He looked at her closely, narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want me for?”

She looked surprised. “Pardon?”

“Why do you want a British husband?”

“I want to get married. If I stay here and marry a Japanese man, it’ll be the end of my career, I’m sure. You just can’t work
the hours here and have a family. But I don’t want to be single forever. I want to grow old with someone. Why does any-one
want to get married?”

“For love.”

“Love? Yes, OK. That’s part of it.” She nodded slowly as if still thinking about her answer.

“Love is all of it.” He said this irritably. His nose was itchy, probably from all these plants. He would have loved to take
out his hankie and blow his nose hard, but apparently that was bad manners in Japan. Instead, he sniffed, repeatedly.

Aki was not the kind of woman he wanted to meet. She was the kind of woman he had hoped to get away from. She completely misunderstood
the point of men and women marrying, and was obsessed with her own career. She hadn’t asked Ralph a single question about
himself.

“Is there anything you’d like to know about me?”

Aki reached into her bag, pulled out a lighter and packet of cigarettes. She lit up nonchalantly, as if not aware she was
doing it, and puffed smoke into Ralph’s face.

“How old are you?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Would you put that cigarette out, please?” He coughed loudly to make it clear.

She seemed surprised and looked at the glowing end of the stick as if someone had just put it into her hand.

“Sorry. I find myself smoking when I’m nervous. Shall I open a window?”

“I’m on medication. It’s bad for me.” Ralph became more stressed at the sound of his own raised voice. “Put out that cigarette
now.”

Aki stood, ground her cigarette into her empty and left it there.

“I want to meet a gentleman. I don’t like you,” she said and clattered out of the room. Ralph expected the door to slam behind
her but it didn’t. It creaked slowly and shut with a barely audible click.

He cupped his hands over his mouth to breathe without inhaling smoke. He felt shaky. He was going to stop breathing. He was
going to die. Why would no one help him?

The young man popped his head around the door. Ralph was rigid with hate and wanted to punch him. The man smiled broadly as
if Ralph were his favorite uncle.

“No luck then? I’m sorry about that. Maybe you’d like to come by again some time. Potato chip?” He held out a large bag. “Sweetcorn
and seaweed flavor. Bet you don’t get those in England. They’re good.” He put three or four chips into his mouth at once and
crunched.

Ralph stood, shaking, and jabbed the air in front of Mr. K.’s son with his finger.

“I’m not hungry. I’ve wasted enough time here, thank you. I saved up for this trip for months and all I asked was that you
live up to your promise of helping me find a suitable wife. I can’t hang around forever you know, coming and going with-out
any help from you. I have a life to get on with. This has been a disaster from start to finish and none of it is my fault.
I’ve had a wife before. You’re insulting me. I’m not C-list and I won’t—”

“Perhaps it’s just not for you. Maybe you’re not the marrying type. Hey, I know for sure I’m not.”

Ralph pushed the plastic chair out of his way and clattered into the reception area. Mr. K.’s son followed. The secretary
was nibbling chips delicately from a piece of paper that had been folded carefully to make a little chip-holding boat. When
she saw him she wiped her fingers on a handkerchief and put the boat under her desk. She busied herself at her computer, as
if trying to appear professional.

Ralph turned to Mr. K.’s son and eyed the bag of chips. He was hungry and would have loved to grab a handful but he must remain
aloof and indignant.

“I was married to a Thai lady and met lots of other nice ladies in Thailand who wanted to marry me. The agencies there were
better. They provided me with so many possibilities, I couldn’t even meet them all.” His voice cracked on every fourth or
fifth word and he sounded to himself like a boy on the edge of puberty. “I had the pick of Thailand. You may not see what
I have to offer but plenty of other people certainly do.”

“I can’t say I know much about agencies in other countries. You could go back there—”

“No, I can’t. And I don’t have to tell you why.”

“You don’t.” The young man dropped his voice, spoke calmly. “You don’t have to tell me anything at all, Mr. Turn-pike. I can’t
argue with you there.”

“You promised to find me a suitable match.”

“Sorry. As I mentioned before, I don’t usually work here. Personally, I didn’t promise you anything. Sometimes I guess there’s
no such thing as a suitable match. There’s only so much you can do. If you don’t mind my saying so, you’re kind of getting
a bit old, aren’t you? I’m not an expert here, but I’d say that’s your problem. This is Japan.” He stroked his thick shiny
hair as he spoke. “See, these women are looking for glamour or a life abroad or something—I don’t know what—but they’re not
actually desperate. I mean it’s not like they’re starving and have to get out of the country to send money back to their families.
You might do better in a Third World country.”