The Ink-Keeper's Apprentice (16 page)

"Not good, Kiyoi. Two broken ribs, a broken leg, and a concussion."

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He'll live. He may never walk properly, but the doctors don't think his brain was damaged. Thank God for that."

"You've seen him then?"

"A couple of hours ago. He asked about you—maybe you can cheer him up a little. Tell me, Kiyoi, how long has he been demonstrating?"

"I've been in only one of them, Sensei, sometime last summer. I think it was the first time he was in a riot. It was an accident. We were walking near Hibiya Park when we, well, sort of got sucked into it. Tokida said it was a protest march, but people went wild and we couldn't get out of it."

"Did he have a knife?" Sensei looked me straight in the eye.

"Did he kill somebody?" I asked in a whisper.

"Did he have a knife?" he asked again.

I nodded. "He said he was trying to protect me.... He said he lost it. He didn't have it after the riot," I said, almost in tears.

"They claim he stabbed a policeman in the thigh."

"Did they find a knife on Tokida?"

"That's just it, there is no knife."

"Then how can they accuse him?"

"I have no idea, except that Tokida was arrested near the wounded policeman. The police mentality has always been a mystery to me; I don't understand why they're accusing Tokida. The only thing I can think of is that they've checked up on his Osaka records and figured him to be the likely suspect. I wish he'd told me about those demonstrations," said Sensei and held his head in his hands.

"But he did tell you he didn't have a knife," I said.

"That's what he said."

"Then he didn't have it, and he didn't stab anybody. You have to trust him, Sensei. He does a lot of crazy things, but he'd never
lie to you. I know. I know how he feels about you. He'd lie to his own mother before he'd lie to you."

We were now in front of the hospital. Sensei looked at me steadily.

"All right, he didn't do it. I believe you, and I believe in Tokida. If they want to prosecute Tokida, they'll have to go through me, and I say there's no case here. Come, he wants to see you."

I had not been inside a hospital since I was a child, and all the horrors of the place came back to me—the dimly lit endless corridors, the soft clinking of hypodermic syringes and the cutting instruments, the sick on stretchers and in wheelchairs. And the smell of antiseptic and lab alcohol.

Not bothering to take the crowded elevator, we went up the staircase to the third floor and entered a large, long ward with a row of beds on both sides. Most of the beds were occupied, and those patients who weren't asleep looked up at us, as if hoping to see a familiar face. Some stared blankly at the ceiling. The sight of them made me want to talk to them, one and all, and run out and get cigarettes and magazines for them. I was alive and well, and glad of it.

Tokida lay flat on his back on the second bed from the end, near an open window. His head was wrapped in bandages covering the sides of his face. His right leg rested on top of the blanket and was in a cast up to his kneecap. He was smoking. When he spotted us he started to raise his body, then winced in pain and lay back. He gave me a faint smile and reached for his glasses on the side table. Tears welled up in my eyes.

"Hey, lie back, you fool," I said and kneeled beside his bed.

"Did you eat anything for lunch?" asked Sensei.

Tokida nodded faintly.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

He nodded again.

"Do you hurt?"

He shook his head. "I feel fine. Morphine," he whispered.

"That's good," said Sensei. "Try not to move. We came by to see
how you were. I don't think it's good for you to talk, so we won't stay long. If you want anything we'll bring it tomorrow."

Tokida shook his head.

"It's a good thing they didn't break your drawing hand," I said.

"Indeed, it's been hard enough teaching you to draw with your right hand," said Sensei.

Then we fell silent. I took the glass ashtray on the side table and emptied it. Tokida reached for another cigarette and I lit it for him. His hand shook slightly.

"Now there's a funny sight," said Sensei, leaning out the window. "There's a little boy down on the lawn blowing bubbles. The poor fellow is having a hard time keeping the bubbles away from the dog. The boy turns round and round, away from the dog, but the dog is too quick. Now he's pushing the dog and spilling soap all over the place. All gone. What frustration! The boy drops on the grass, time for a little tantrum. Hear him?"

Through the window we heard the child cry. Tokida chuckled.

"Sensei, I don't think it's good for Tokida to laugh," I said.

"Yes, quite. Let's be on our way, Kiyoi. Let Tokida rest a little. Don't worry about work, Tokida. Kiyoi will keep me company. We'll be back tomorrow."

"Thank you for coming," whispered Tokida as we left the ward.

At the small shop on the first floor Sensei bought a tin of fifty cigarettes and a magazine and told me to take them up to Tokida. He was giving me a chance to be alone with Tokida. I rushed back to his bed. He had his glasses off again, and seemed surprised to see me.

"Here," I said and put the two things on the side table. He gave me a nod and put on his glasses. I kneeled beside his bed and looked him in the eyes.

"Did you do it?" I asked.

He seemed puzzled.

"Did you stab that policeman?"

His eyes widened. "No," he said.

"I knew you didn't. I told Sensei you didn't."

"What are you talking about?"

"Didn't Sensei ask you about the knife?"

"He asked me if I had a knife and I told him no. What's going on anyway?"

"Don't you know? Didn't Sensei ask you about the policeman?"

"What policeman? What are you talking about? All I remember is Sensei asking me about the knife, and I told him I didn't have one."

"Never mind then," I said.

"No, tell me, what are they accusing me of?"

I told him.

"Fools," he hissed, clenching his teeth.

"Don't worry about it; it's all right now."

"Does Sensei think I'd do a thing like that?"

"No, of course not, it's all right, forget it. He was concerned because he spoke to the police first and only knew their version. It's all right now—he knows you didn't do it. He trusts you."

Tokida lit another cigarette and lay back.

"Do you hurt a lot?" I asked him.

He nodded and gave me a grin.

"But you're going to be all right. I'll see you tomorrow, Nisan," I said and left quickly.

That's what you call your older brother. I'd never called him that before, or anybody for that matter. It happened without my thinking and I was glad I had said it. More than anything I wanted him to be well again. I didn't ever want to draw better than Tokida.

The police dropped all charges against Tokida—insufficient evidence, they said. I didn't think the verdict surprised Sensei, but the news made him jubilant. He went out and bought a small keg of fine Kyoto sake and had a maid warm it up for us in our room. We laughed a lot that night, perhaps too much, trying to keep our spirits high, but our celebration wasn't complete without Tokida to share it with us.

I went to the hospital every day, and as Tokida regained his strength he became more talkative, but he never mentioned anything about the riot and I never asked. He felt bad about not being able to work, and probably felt a little jealous that I was doing all the work. He worried about his hand going rusty, so Sensei brought him a thick sketchbook and some soft-leaded pencils and soon Tokida was drawing his fellow inmates in the ward. He could draw anywhere, at any time—something I respected and envied. He was living the life of his hero, van Gogh, with his head wrapped
in bandages, drawing like a madman. He had to stay in the hospital almost two weeks.

I thought a lot about Tokida while he was away. He never had any trouble making decisions: He would make up his mind about something, go out, and do it. I envied him. I was always mulling over things, until I'd be too confused to know what I was thinking. But now I
had
to make up my mind about going to America. And the best way I knew was to talk to Mother, alone, to find out how she felt about it. I decided to see her at her shop without warning her ahead of time so she wouldn't have time to prepare what she was going to say.

It was late afternoon when I got off the train at Yokohama. As I approached the shop I was seized with an uneasy feeling, and slowed down my pace. I hadn't really thought out what I was going to say to her.

I was a few doors down the street from the shop when I saw Mother come out. Before I could think, something made me duck quickly behind a telephone pole. She was accompanied by a man, and they were walking away from me. I crossed the street and followed them at a safe distance.

He was tall, perhaps even a little taller than I, and was wearing a dark topcoat that contrasted with Mother's light camel-colored coat. They were carrying on an animated conversation, and from time to time they looked at each other and laughed. I saw his profile. He had thick eyebrows and a big angular jaw. Suddenly I thought about my father and wished something I hadn't wished in a long time; I wished that things had been different, that my parents were still together. I wished that the man walking next to Mother had been my father.

They crossed an intersection, and when they came in front of a small cafe the man motioned to Mother to go inside. My watch said four-thirty-five. I decided to wait for them to come out, even if it took
four
hours. I browsed in the shops on the block, always keeping a sharp eye on the cafe door. Who is he? I wondered. What are they talking about? What are they drinking? Coffee? Maybe whiskey sours. Is he a business associate of Mother's? Should I go up to them when they come out and say hello?

The more I thought about these things, the more uneasy I felt. I was miserable, and yet I could not bring myself to leave. I bought an apple from a fruit vendor and took one bite, then threw the rest in a trash bin.

Forty-five minutes later they came out smiling at each other, and Mother nodded her head a couple of times to him. The man had probably paid for the drinks and she was thanking him. I felt my heart beat as I followed them. It was getting dark and the bright shop lights hurt my eyes. I put my coat collar up, to break the wind and to hide my face. The man held Mother's elbow lightly as they crossed the busy street, and hailed a taxi.

I stood there a long time, looking in the direction where the cab had disappeared in the traffic. I felt a heavy numbness in my head, and in my body. The ground under me seemed to have disappeared, and yet my body was heavy. I wished I hadn't come. What she did wasn't my business, but I didn't
have
to know about it. I tried to fool myself by thinking perhaps I had seen things, that I had made up the whole thing, but it was no use. The cold air stung my eyes and burned my cheeks; the chill cut right through my wool coat, and I felt it on my spine. The coldness was the only thing I truly felt, and in a strange way it comforted me. I walked in the darkening light, all the way to the train station.

Mother was thirty-six years old, but she didn't look it; she was beautiful. It was stupid to think that she didn't have a suitor. Would she marry him? Perhaps she was holding out because of Grandmother and me. Especially me. My schooling was expensive; my apartment was expensive. If I were out of the way, she'd be free to do whatever she pleased. I now had my answer.

I went home and wrote to Father. I would go with him to America.

***

The day Tokida was released from the hospital, Sensei brought him home in a taxi, and we helped him up the staircase. Because
of his broken ribs he couldn't use crutches, and had to limp around with a walking cane. He couldn't sit on the floor with the cast on his leg, so Sensei had the innkeeper bring up a tall office desk and a chair and set them up in a corner.

Later that afternoon when Sensei left for the evening I told Tokida of my decision.

"I'm going to America," I said. "I'll be leaving next summer."

Tokida said nothing.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked.

"What did Sensei say?"

"I haven't told him yet."

"So what's the big secret?"

"It's no secret. I wanted you to be the first to know."

"You're not going to like it there, I tell you. I'll give you two years and you'll be back. What made you decide all of a sudden?"

"I've been thinking about it for a long time."

"What's wrong with being a cartoonist here? I thought we would work together."

"Maybe we can do that anyway. I'm not going to the moon, Tokida. I might come back in a year or two and, who knows, maybe we can set up our own studio then."

"No, Kiyoi, once you go, that's it. You'll never be the same again. It's like my trying to go back to Osaka. You think things are better over there? Are you running away from something?"

"No, I'm not running away from anything."

"Why are you going then?"

"I don't know, Tokida. Maybe just to go to a new place. Don't you ever feel like that sometimes? Going to a foreign country and being a complete stranger?"

He looked at me steadily.

"I guess there's nothing wrong in that. I did it myself. You ought to do it then; I didn't know you felt like that. Sure, I know what you're saying, you want to be alone for a while, but I tell you, Kiyoi, don't stay there if things don't work out. You're not going to lose face by coming back. Do what you want to do and don't ever listen to anybody."

"No, I won't.... Will you tell Sensei about it? I don't want to tell him I'm going away."

"I'll tell him. It's probably better that way. You want a cigarette?"

"No, thanks."

"Don't worry about Sensei. I'll tell him."

"Thanks."

***

I told Mother next, at Grandmother's house. She would never know how I had arrived at my decision. I felt like I was testing her, to see how she would react.