A forgotten tie

As I lay in bed that night, I thought back over the day’s events; where could I have left it? But I couldn’t come up with an answer. Suddenly I wondered if this weren’t some sort of an omen, a prediction. Was something fated to happen between Amataka and me? Would someone lose his life? If we weren’t meant to be, where would I end up?

Soon after Amataka left, I completed my degree and moved out of my dormitory. I rented a tiny apartment on the thirty-ninth floor of a nearby apartment building. I quit my weekend job playing piano at "Michiko", that bar in Ginza. (I had kept that job for two years so that I could continue studying at Tokyo University.)

For the first time, I had some free time on my hands and I felt relaxed. I browsed for hours in the Tokyu and Odakyu Department Stores, finally settling on one red and another black dress. My final brave purchase for the day was a Louis Vuitton briefcase.

I had had my eye on that bag for quite a while, ever since I had read an article in a fashion magazine immediately after arriving in Tokyo. The article recounted how Louis Vuitton bags and luggage had become so well known. There was once a great fire in the French city of Lyon. Amidst the rubble and the burnt embers, someone found a Louis Vuitton bag that had been left untouched by the fire. Ever since, Louis Vuitton has been a name to reckon with.

Later on, a newspaper article mentioned that while raising the Titanic, the crew found a large Louis Vuitton suitcase. They opened it to discover that everything inside, including the clothing, was perfectly dry. The bag was absolutely watertight.

This sent interest in Louis Vuitton bags skyrocketing and eventually upper class women around the world all had to own at least one. Money buys respect and Japanese in general follow the crowd. Naturally everyone had to have a Louis Vuitton bag – from the politician to the woman behind the scenes, from the wealthy businessperson to the well-to-do wife, even the madams and the bar girls in piano bars across the country knew status meant a Louis Vuitton bag.

I had used a large portion of my savings to buy this bag. I wanted to give myself a lift. "If I carry the best bag, eventually there's no question that I'll become the very best international reporter." The next morning, I put my most attractive foot forward and carrying my Louis Vuitton briefcase, set foot over the threshold of the Asahi Shimbun international bureau offices.

Chief editor Mishima and bureau chief Takahashi were very polite to me. Takahashi even gave me a tour of the place. Smiling, he called me the "flower" of Asahi Shimbun. "You're the only reporter here who speaks three languages. I'm sure we'll learn a lot from you. Work hard!"

That same day, I accompanied Takahashi to a dinner at the Capitol building in Tokyo where I interviewed the former President of Singapore, Lee Kuan Yew. Upon returning to the office, I wrote up an article, had it approved by Director Takahashi and the next day it was on the first page. "Who would have guessed that Chunjie-san's Japanese was so good? You're a talented writer." When Takahashi smiled his eyes narrowed and seemed to almost be swallowed up by his face. He continued to compliment me. Japanese add a "san" after names, both male and female as a symbol of respect.

Time flew by and before I knew it I had been working for the newspaper for three months. One evening after work, Yasumi, a friend from Tokyo University mentioned that a group of classmates were gathering at a party and she invited me to join them. I took her up on the invitation, got into my Red Honda and followed her to the party.

As we made our way to Tokyo University, we drove along familiar streets. I slowed down a bit. Just as I was driving down Amataka's street, I saw him in my rearview mirror. He had grown thin and was ambling down the street with a bag of groceries in hand. He seemed to be thinking about something…

My hands shook as they grasped the steering wheel. It felt as if my heart would pop out of my mouth. I put my foot to the floor and sped away. Tears poured from my eyes. In the deepest recesses of my heart, I whispered, Amataka, are you OK?

It wasn't that I hadn't thought of him over these past three months and I can't say that I didn't think to visit him more than once. But each time I was reminded of his mother's letter, I abandoned any thought of him. Amataka was such a special guy, really intelligent. There's no way that he would abandon his studies for me. And as long as we were together, his parents would refuse to support him.

On my way back home after I had sent Amataka to Narita Airport that day, I stopped at his apartment. I sat in that tiny room for what seemed like forever. I didn't turn the light on, but sat in the darkness breathing in the youthful air. I thought about the first time we made love. He was so young, so crazy for love. Just thinking about it brought tears to my eyes. I used the same hands that he had often held to lightly touch his pillow, then I lay down for a final time upon the tatami where in each other's arms we had once slept.

I imagined my childhood. And suddenly it felt as if Amataka had been my childhood friend. We played away those early years, but one day his family took him somewhere far away. On the day of his departure, he sat up in the truck and as they pulled away, he looked back at me, standing beside the road looking lost. For a long time now, I had divined that Amataka and I were one and the same. Words such as "son and lover", "brother and playmate" couldn't express the complexity of our relationship. But he was all of them to me. He was a part of me.

A while later, I rose in the darkness and turned on the light. I cleaned his messy room, then sat down before the low table, placed a piece of white paper before me, thought for a moment, then picked up my pen:

Amataka:

As I write this here on the tatami in your room, you're flying over the Sea of Japan. Just a month ago, I sat here on this same tatami and read your mother's letter. I know everything. I told myself that I would send you to the airport and that would be it. Amataka, you're so smart, so sensitive. As we said our last words, you knew that that was our final goodbye. "I'm afraid I'll never see you again." Those were your words. They've stayed with me and filled my heart with an unbearable sadness.

I'm saying goodbye now. I'm leaving, forever. Don't ask where I'm going and don't come looking for me. The person you'll find won't be me. Can you understand?

I'm going to find my own way and you need to step away from the crowd and make a way for yourself. This decadent generation of yours, all of these university students have such a hopeful future – what's wrong with them? Why aren't they doing something about it? The Japanese sun will not shine much longer. It's growing dark and eventually that sun will set. The responsibility rests with people like you. As your grandfather has hoped, follow the way of the samurai. Amataka, you've really grown up. It's time to let go of yourself now and live for your people. Live a remarkable life.

Love has no borders, but in every person's heart there's a homeland. The love for one's homeland is like your love for your mother. It's irreplaceable. You can get far away from it, but it will simply continue to grow stronger with the distance. Your mother once scornfully referred to me as "that Chinese woman". Those words chilled my heart. Perhaps she didn't realize that in the long river of history, ‘Japanese women' have never been nobler than ‘Chinese women'. No need to talk about that though. Regardless, I'm proud to be a Chinese woman. I would rather abandon a lover than to hurt my motherland.

Amataka, my dear, dear boy, don't cry when you read this letter. Life is just a series of goodbyes – and a series of gatherings. In my heart you will always be that cute little boy by the gates of Tokyo University who looked my way that day. Your purity gave my spirit hope.

Farewell. It's time for me to go. I must step beyond your door, leaving behind only the very best of wishes…

Chunjie

After seeing Amataka that day, I couldn't stop thinking about him. Why was he so thin? Was he still going to school? Had he been to Shanghai to find me? Are his parents still paying his tuition? I wanted so much to just appear in his room, out of the blue, and surprise him. I'd hold him tightly in my arms and wipe the tears from his eyes…

My life has always been like a movie with me as the main actress. I'm always either wildly happy or desperately sad. Unconsciously I think I've always preferred to be at the airport, on a pier, or at a train station somewhere saying goodbye. Whether I'm sending someone else off or someone else is saying goodbye to me, that feeling of romance is always, always there.

I imagine myself walking barefoot on a beach on a sunny day. I walk along slowly, pensively, letting the wind blow through my hair like in a painting. I turn back for a moment and in the distance see my lover beckoning to me. I raise a white handkerchief or a yellow ribbon and run towards him. He calls my name loudly and runs in my direction…

All of this is just a part of life for those of us who live in a dream world. Some women arrive on this earth for love. Without it, they're unable to go on. Love means both life and death to such women. I'm probably one of them.

But all I have to do is recall Amataka's mother's letter and I return to reality. Let the past be the past. This too shall pass.

One day, several colleagues asked if I had seen the missing person's ad in the newspaper.

I found a copy and began to read:

Wang Chunjie, female, twenty-four years of age, 1.67 meters tall, born in Shanghai, China, graduate of Tokyo University international journalism program. Someone close to death wants to see her one last time. Anyone with information please call: 03-8739-6623. Chishima Amataka.

I read it over and over as if I couldn't figure out what I was looking at. I couldn't speak. Amataka, what's wrong with you? Then I remembered how thin that thread between life and death was. He had been so miserable that day in the cemetery. He also had such admiration for great writers like Kawabata Yasunari and Mishima Yukio who had bid farewell to life's sadness by committing suicide. More than once, he had told me that he wouldn't wait until he was old and gray to leave this world.

"Death is simply the beginning of another life, don't you realize that? When the body disappears, the spirit travels to another world to create a new home." He had said that one summer evening as we sat cross-legged on the grass on the campus of Tokyo University.

Amataka was the first person to share the gospel with me. Children born in the United States seem to often have a deep faith in God.

Years later, as I stood before Amataka's grave, I would mumble, "But God would never tolerate the taking of one's own life!" I had traveled alone from New York to Tokyo and soon I was boarding the subway at Ikebukuro, bound for Mori Park where Amataka and I had once walked. Before I knew it, I was standing before his grave. Finally, although Amataka had been born in the United States, something of Japanese culture, perhaps it was the Japanese spirit, took hold of him and filled his bones.

A "missing person" advertisement brought me back to a haggard Amataka.

Everything that happened was like something out of a movie script. We said nothing. We couldn't speak. We simply held each other and cried bitterly. Amataka cried so hard that he lost his voice.

He had only spent two weeks in Los Angeles before returning to Tokyo. After reading my letter, he immediately flew to Shanghai to find me. He was a person who paid great attention to detail. He had already recorded my mother's address in his address book. Unfortunately, when he arrived, neighbors informed him that my mother was living at my uncle's house and that I was still in Tokyo. The next day, he immediately returned to Tokyo.

He told me that he searched far and wide. Then he finally decided to place missing person ads in several newspapers that he knew I often read.

What could I say. I'm a woman and my heart is soft. Or perhaps it was just fate.

That night I took Amataka back to my apartment on the thirty-ninth floor. We held each other all night. I had no interest in sex whatsoever. In reality, just the thought of it made me feel guilty. He wanted me, wanted me desperately. I lied and said that I had my period. There was nothing I could do. I finally had to use another method to help him release his emotional and sexual tension.

That was it. He fell asleep in my arms like a little lamb.

The weekend had arrived and it was Amataka's twentieth birthday. Early that morning, we took the subway to Tokyo's Disneyland. "Amataka," I said excitedly, "I'm working now and I have a pretty good income. So today's on me. Don't hold back. Whatever you want, just say the word. I've got three hundred thousand Japanese Yen in my wallet." Since beginning my new job, I hadn't taken any time off to enjoy myself. And after all, today was Amataka's birthday!

This was our first trip to Disneyland. I had heard that everything in Tokyo's Disneyland had an Asian flare to it. Even the little characters in "It's a Small World" were Asian. We both fell in love with a pair of Mickey and Minnie dolls, so we picked out the largest ones and bought them. Amataka whispered into my ear, "Mickey is our son and Minnie is our daughter. Some day we'll have twins like them, OK?"

"Yah, sure. You're only twenty and already thinking about becoming a father. You're crazy!" I blushed and knocked him over the head with the Mickey doll.

In the same store, I noticed a very special tie. It was very tasteful, cream colored silk the color of which grew lighter as you moved downward. Mickey Mouse was neatly embroidered in brown at the bottom of the tie. I asked the salesclerk to show me one. Wow, so expensive – thirty-five thousand Yen. I checked to see where it was made – France. I absolutely loved it. I just couldn't put it down. I pulled Amataka aside and asked him if he liked the tie. "Why don't I buy it for you for your birthday?"

Amataka took it in his hand, looked at it closely, and felt the quality of the silk. "It's really nice. And it's so soft, yet it has good body. But it's too expensive. Forget it, don't buy it. You've already bought me a present – see, Mickey and Minnie." He held up the dolls and waved them in the air.

I bought it anyway. After all it was only two days' salary. I liked giving men ties, especially because of Sheng Yanzi's words: "A tie represents the connection between two hearts." Ties don't come in different sizes either and they're always useful.

I put the tie and several other things that I had purchased into my bag.

Late that night though, after we had dined on Shabu-Shabu in Akasaka and returned home, I pulled everything from my bag, but couldn't find that tie anywhere. "Oh my God. Where's the tie?" I searched and searched, but I couldn't find it. How strange.

As I lay in bed that night, I thought back over the day's events; where could I have left it? But I couldn't come up with an answer. Suddenly I wondered if this weren't some sort of an omen, a prediction. Was something fated to happen between Amataka and me? Would someone lose their life? If we weren't meant to be, where would I end up?