Authors: Sujata Massey
Afterward, Takeo fell asleep almost immediately.
Just what I wanted—time to work. I waited twenty minutes to be sure he wasn’t going to wake up, then tiptoed back to the living room, where I wrapped up in the discarded robe lying on the tatami. The sight of it shamed me deeply. But what would have happened, I thought, if I hadn’t followed Takeo’s lead? We’d still be up talking—arguing, probably. There would have been no chance at all to look for the ibex ewer.
I walked the edge of the room, thinking about where it must have gone. Takeo might have placed it in formal storage—a bank vault, or something like that. I shook myself. No, that couldn’t be. Takeo didn’t take care of valuable objects in the manner that I did. To Takeo, the ewer was like any other object he used to arrange flowers. After he was done with the magazine shoot, he would have taken the old flowers out to the compost heap, rinsed the vessel in the house’s deepest sink—the one in the kitchen—and put it away. It wasn’t the right way to treat an old piece of earthenware, but then, Takeo was even less of a curator than I.
The kitchen. I hadn’t really looked through it yet. I carried the hurricane lamp with me into the kitchen. I saw a flash of movement, and realized that a mouse had run across the floor. Well, we’d been too caught up in things to put away the original food containers, which lay open on the kitchen table.
Where would Takeo put a vessel that he used for flower arranging? My eye was drawn to the massive old cherrywood
tansu
cupboard along one side of the wall. I gently opened the first sliding wood panel and held the hurricane light close as I peered inside. Sturdy blue-and-white teacups nestled alongside various earthenware bowls. The second compartment held square plates of different colors, some old and decorated with elegant hand-painted designs, as well as plainer modern ones.
I got to my knees and opened the lower sliding compartment doors. A prosaic watering can brushing the edge of a colorful Dale Chihuly glass vase that I remembered was one of Takeo’s favorites. As I touched the glass vase to withdraw it, it made a scraping sound. Something was shoved in, tight behind. I wiggled out the vase, and there it was: the ibex vessel.
For a moment, I just stared. Then I lifted it gently to the kitchen table. It felt so light, lighter than I’d expected—it could break so easily. I found myself trembling, after I’d gotten it to the table. I hurried to the
genkan
to retrieve my backpack, where I had my reference photos and notes about the characteristics of Mesopotamian pottery stored in an inner compartment.
The papers were dry, thanks to the fact that I’d kept them in a plastic zip bag. I also pulled out my measuring tape, because size was the first thing to check.
Takeo’s vessel stood eight-and-one-quarter inches high, as did the piece taken from the museum.
Good for the government; not good for Takeo
, I thought as I continued my survey. The ewer was reddish brown, as Elizabeth Cameron had said it would be; it also had a pleasing irregularity at the top edge, something that she hadn’t mentioned but that seemed consistent for an old, hand-shaped piece. I closed my eyes and held the ewer, trying to memorize its texture. Too bad I didn’t have the camera-phone: I could have had a digitally enhanced picture to compare with the slide from the museum—just as, if I’d had a chance to get to a professional laboratory, I could have had its age checked through thermoluminescence testing. All I had was my magnifying glass.
I used the glass to help me focus on the slight crackle of the ewer’s surface, and then ran my fingers lightly over it. Strange that the piece had survived so long without a chip—but that was consistent with the museum’s description. I held it to my nose and sniffed inside, catching the faintest odor of something organic. Takeo hadn’t cleaned it the way many
ikebana
artists would have, with a mixture of water and bleach. That was good for the ewer, at least.
A natural thief
, I reminded myself. I’d been sent across the Pacific to find out the truth about an object, and I’d found out the truth about a man. What had I expected? I’d felt so torn, wanting to succeed at the mission of finding the vessel; now I’d done that, but I was on the verge of destroying someone’s life. No, three lives. I’d screwed up things for Takeo and for his fiancée, not to mention Hugh.
What was the next step? I stared through watery eyes at the vessel, losing focus. I was tired. A flash of movement at the periphery of the room startled me. I refocused and saw that Takeo was standing in the doorway.
“You’re awake,” I said, starting to put away the pictures. “I was restless, so I thought I’d clean up the kitchen.”
He sat down across from me at the table, the hurricane light and ibex vessel between us. “This pottery certainly doesn’t need to be cleaned.”
“I—I—noticed it in the magazine photo. I wanted to look at it a bit. I don’t know much about Mesopotamian ceramics, and I’m interested, you know, branching out a bit into Near Asia, as the scholars are calling the region now—”
“You have some papers with you.”
I shoved them back into my backpack. “Sorry, it’s confidential.”
“What?” Takeo’s expression turned from curious to hurt.
“Where did you get it, Takeo? Who sold it to you?”
Takeo shook his head at me. “Sorry, that’s confidential.”
I looked at him and sighed. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Takeo gave me a long look. “Well, I’m not going to be able to sleep again. I’ll make some tea.”
“But the gas doesn’t work—”
“The gas heater light came on again. That means Tokyo Gas and Electric turned it on.” Takeo filled a cast-iron teakettle at the kitchen tap. “And we never lost our water, either. This typhoon was a big deception.”
The rain was much lighter now, it was true. But I knew he was referring to more than the storm. I would have to talk to him somehow, without giving things away.
“You were about to mention who sold this vessel to you?” I asked when Takeo brought the teakettle over to the table.
“Nobody sold it. It was given to me.” He placed the kettle precisely on a rush mat, so the heat wouldn’t hurt the table. Then he moved back to the
tansu
and selected two mottled green tea bowls for us to drink from.
I hadn’t expected that, although it could be an excuse someone would use if he’d knowingly trafficked in stolen goods.
“So who was the generous giver?” I asked, when he sat down across from me again.
“I think I’ve told you enough,” Takeo said lightly. “Now it’s time for you to tell me what I want to know, things like whether you even wanted to make love with me in the first place!”
“Why won’t you tell me who? As I mentioned before, I’m really interested in this type of ancient pottery—”
“It’s out of your league, Rei. You couldn’t afford it. It’s a thousand years old.”
The vessel was at least twice as old, I thought but did not say. “Who gave it to you? Takeo, it’s very important that I know.”
“None of your business.” Takeo poured the tea, refusing to meet my gaze.
“Emi. You must have received it from her, or her father—” What Mr. Watanabe had mentioned about her father’s previous government posting in Turkey came back to me.
He gave me a long look. “It was from her father, to celebrate the engagement. And now I’ve given you what you so desperately craved, tell me what I want to understand—why you pretended that you wanted me when all you really were after was one of my possessions!”
“I’m not going to take it.” I put my hand over Takeo’s. “I can only suggest one thing to you, that this vessel might be better off back with Emi’s family—at least until the wedding. Believe me, Takeo, I’m suggesting this for your own well-being.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” I couldn’t even begin to sip the tea Takeo had made. It was too hot.
“Because—because I had seen it in their home, and admired it, so he gave it to me. It was part of the
omiai
process. I don’t think you can possibly understand—”
“Oh, but I do.” I looked at Takeo steadily. “Mr. Harada gave you something very precious because he wanted you to ensure that you married his daughter.”
“I didn’t agree to marry her because of a piece of pottery!”
“Of course you didn’t. You decided to marry because of her father and what he could do to advance your environmental causes.”
Takeo’s skin flushed with anger, but he didn’t deny it. He just sat silently.
I thought again. “Okay, I understand now why you can’t return it to the house. But maybe you should keep it somewhere safer for the time being, like a bank vault. I could assist you with setting something up.”
“If you think I should put everything over three hundred years of age in a vault, this house would be half-empty.”
“Takeo, I’ll do it for you, if you like. Please, just believe me this once—”
“I’m afraid I’ve been too believing,” Takeo said. “Our last evening—it was all a show, wasn’t it?”
“It wasn’t,” I said, not wanting to think about the fact that I’d come twice, two betrayals of Hugh within seventy-two hours of my arrival in Japan. I shouldn’t have felt this kind of pleasure with someone who was so bad for me.
When things were awkward, the best solution was escape. I stood up and said that I was going to pack up.
“But it’s still raining,” Takeo said. “Your clothes are wet and the floodwaters still must be high—”
“I’ve really overstayed my time here,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wonder if you would be kind enough to lend me jeans and a T-shirt or something like that. I’ll mail them back.”
It was almost nine in the morning by the time I’d taken my shower and gotten Takeo to lend me a shrunken pair of drawstring farmer’s pants, one of his many Greenpeace T-shirts, and thick wool socks that would protect my feet from the wet insides of the rain shoes.
“You forgot something,” Takeo called after me as I unlocked and slid open the front door. There was no more rain, but everything, from the top of the bamboo fence to the leaves and grasses, glittered with teardrops of water. Along the driveway, there were large puddles, but I knew I could make my way out—even if I had to cross people’s property to stay on high ground.
“I don’t think so,” I muttered, continuing down the stone driveway.
“Take it! I want you to have it as a memento, since this was what you were really after.”
I turned and saw he was holding the vessel carelessly, a couple of fingers in the handle.
“Don’t drop it!” I shouted, unable to hide my fear.
“You’ve always cared for things more than people, haven’t you?” Takeo shook his head.
It was more than that. Maybe the anger was a face-saving move, I thought suddenly. Takeo could have finally understood that there was something amiss with his engagement gift and wanted out of the whole corrupt deal.
“All right, I’ll take it, thank you very much.” I strode up to him, thinking, this will settle it for all. It’s not the way the people in Washington expected things to go, but I wouldn’t look a gift ibex in the mouth.
Takeo placed the vessel in my hands. “I’m sorry, Rei.”
“You don’t have to say it—”
“You’re right that what we did doesn’t—work—anymore.” He shook his head mournfully. “And I can never undo what I’ve done to Emi.”
“It may sound unbelievable, but I do wish the two of you well. I wasn’t trying to take you away—” I tried to blink away the tears that were forming.
“I understand,” Takeo said shortly. “Well, we won’t do it again. We’ve learned.”
“I guess this will be good-bye, then,” I said. We looked at each other for a long moment.
“I probably shouldn’t see you again. In Japan, it’s just—”
“I know. My aunt explained how things have to be.” I paused. “Well, if I’m going off with your vessel, I want to travel safely. Could I trouble you for a good, strong box and lots of packing paper?”
We walked into the house again, and I set the vessel down on the tea table in the living room, while Takeo came up with a box and tissue paper. The sound of the unlocked front door sliding open startled both of us. We exchanged glances.
“Your father?” I asked nervously.
“He’s in Kyoto. I don’t know who it could be.”
I had a sudden flash of fear, as if someone had come for the vessel, just as I’d finally gotten my hands on it.
Takeo gave me a last look and walked out of the room toward the entryway. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed, reasoning that it would be better to present a united front against a burglar, if that’s what we were up against. I took the precaution of picking up a telephone receiver, because even though it didn’t work, the burglar wouldn’t know.
I stopped short in the hallway when I saw the small, slim girl in a pink raincoat holding a Hermès print Kitty umbrella.
Emi had arrived.
“Emi-chan, how wonderful to see you. You came all by yourself? What a surprise!” Takeo, never good at pretending, didn’t sound happy at all.
Instead of answering him, Emi stared at me, her eyes, if anything, larger than before.
“It was just a quick visit,” I stammered. “I—I am just now leaving—”
“But you are wearing his clothes.” She gestured at the Greenpeace T-shirt and baggy farmer’s pants that I had rolled up a few inches over my ankles.
I thought quickly. “Yes, I was caught in the rain. My clothes were soaked through. He kindly lent these things to me so I could walk out to catch a train back to the city. In fact, I was just leaving—”
“You always say you’re leaving.”
I stopped, remembering what I’d said to her the last time.
“The rain stopped last night,” Emi continued. “So you must have come yesterday.”
“It was a surprise visit,” Takeo said before I could muster up another faltering excuse.
“Oh, I see. Just as the auction was a surprise, and going to the Kaikan was a—coincidence!”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Sorry!” Emi’s voice cracked. “And to think I was so silly to ask my father’s driver to go to the trouble of bringing me here. Everyone advised against it, so why did I come?”
“Are you saying that the floods have subsided, then?” Takeo said. I could have shaken him for his insensitivity.
“Not all of them. I was scared we wouldn’t make it, but I really wanted to see you. I brought the painting that you forgot.”
The handbag painting. She’d risked driving sixty kilometers in a typhoon-struck region to make sure Takeo saw the handbag painting in the house. Or maybe she’d done it because she’d had a sense that we’d meet in Hayama and things would happen.
“I’ll bring in the painting. We’ll all look at it,” I offered, sliding into my shoes and starting out the
genkan
to the garden. I saw a long black car idling, and a blue-uniformed man standing in the garden, his hands crossed before him. When he saw me, he made a quick bow.
“Excuse me, but could there be…an honorable hand-washing place…”
I could imagine how long the car trip had been. I took the painting out of the trunk of the idling car and led the driver into the house and to the powder room off the hallway. After that, I thought I’d see if I could discreetly get the ewer out of the living room and into my backpack.
When I ducked my head into the room, I found that Takeo and Emi had gotten there first. Takeo had put his hands on Emi’s shoulders, but she was twisting away. In doing so, she caught sight of me and gasped.
“Do you want him? Well, you can have him!”
“Please calm down, darling. Nothing has changed. Rei will assure you of the same thing.” His eyes pleaded with me.
“I have no interest in Takeo,” I said softly. “All he is to me is an old friend—”
“Oh, that story. Old friends, old times. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean that I’m stupid. I know when it’s time to go, and I’m leaving—” She broke away from Takeo. Passing the
tansu
, she grabbed up the vessel. She paused for a minute, then swiveled toward me.
“I’m sorry you’re upset,” I said. “I wish you all the best for your marriage, I was just telling Takeo.”
“Everything’s changed, since you’ve come. It’s because of you—” and before I could realize it, the ewer was hurtling through the air, right at me.
I screamed and reached out my hands for it, but I was distracted by the sight of Takeo, in my peripheral vision, diving in front. We bumped into each other just as the ibex ewer hit the tatami.
“Oh, no!” I screamed, feeling my own world crash along with it. Emi dashed from the room. Takeo ran after her. A car door slammed and an engine started.
As if on cue, the chauffeur emerged from the powder room, drying his hands. At the sound of squealing tires, his head turned toward the open door. “What’s that?”
“It sounds like someone went,” I said, stepping clumsily into my shoes and hurrying out, just to see the limousine slaloming down the hilly driveway. Takeo and Emi were nowhere in sight—obviously, they’d gone off together.
“She’s not driving, is she?” he asked, his face crumpling into an expression of panic.
“I don’t know who’s behind the wheel,” I said.
“She must be driving. And if anything happens, I shall be held responsible. I should never have left the car to tend to my selfish personal needs—” The chauffeur gave me a little wave and started running down the driveway.
“You’re not going to catch them!” I called after him. “They were going—really fast!”
“I must try!” His voice floated back to me faintly as he disappeared down the hill.
I wasn’t going to join the chase. I had my own disaster to clean up. I stepped out of my shoes and dejectedly dragged myself back to the living room, where the vessel lay in pieces.
I sank to my knees, examining the fragments. It was terrible how easily the vessel had broken. Heavy clay usually broke in larger chunks, and perhaps might have even survived a fall onto a mat-covered floor. The only reason could be the force with which Emi had thrown it.
I took a tissue from my pocket and began to lay the pieces of pottery on it. I couldn’t imagine how I was going to explain to Michael Hendricks what had happened to the priceless vessel. Suddenly, the loss of my visa to Japan seemed like nothing in comparison with my knowledge I’d caused the destruction of one of the oldest, greatest antiquities of the Middle East—no, of the world.
Ouch. A rough bit that I’d picked up broke through the skin of my forefinger, and I watched idly as a tiny drop of blood slowly formed through the open skin. Earthenware wasn’t usually hard enough to cause damage when it broke, but it somehow seemed appropriate for me to have blood on my hands, mixed with the dust of one of civilization’s ruined treasures. I left the ruins on the floor to get up to find some toilet paper to stanch the bleeding. In the process, I stepped on more broken pottery. Damn it. I crouched down to pick the piece out of my thick sock, and then I saw it—the interesting texture I’d felt in the night, patterned with light, rightward-swirling whorls from its time on the potter’s wheel.
I stood there, my bleeding finger forgotten, feeling my heart hammer as I looked, shard by shard, to make certain about my conclusion. Yes, the ewer had been formed on a potter’s wheel, an invention that wasn’t part of ancient Mesopotamian pottery making. I examined it further, making mental notes.
Takeo’s vessel was a fake. And for once, a fraudulent antique was a very good bit of news. No world treasure had been smashed. Takeo wasn’t guilty of harboring stolen art; neither for that matter were Emi’s parents. Everyone was off the hook, and I could shoot out of this hellhole of Japanese embarrassment back to Washington fast—tomorrow, maybe. I’d make a few calls to see if I needed to take the shards all the way back to Washington or whether Mr. Watanabe could accept them.
I used the box Takeo had found for me but had hastily abandoned upon Emi’s arrival. Every sizable piece went in, and then I used a damp cloth to wipe clean the place on the tatami where the vessel had fallen. As I packed up the shards, I thought about whether I should leave Takeo a message telling him not to worry about the loss.
I couldn’t, I realized: any note that Emi found might set her off in another rage. I would have to go incommunicado, permanently. But the important thing I could hold to myself was that their engagement present was innocent, even if their relationship wasn’t, anymore.