TOKYO STRANGER
By Tina deBellegarde
Mr. Sasaki gets into his car, his pressed uniform sliding easily on the leather seats. The muted thump of the Mercedes door’s closing signals the start of his shift. He turns the ignition and gently the engine comes to life, quietly, almost imperceptibly, but his practiced senses can feel the hum as it idles. He tunes the radio, searching for the classical music program scheduled to begin at midnight. He pauses to admire his gloved hand on the dial. The gloves, a gift from his wife, his name stitched inside so they would never be lost at the station.
He glides the car into Drive and pulls into the colorful streets of Tokyo. The time on the dashboard shows twelve o’clock just as he arrives at the old apartment building.
She steps out as he pulls up. Tonight she wears a fuchsia dress riding high on her thighs, stiletto heels, and a silk wrap of emerald green thrown over her shoulder against the chilly breeze. She carries a small umbrella.
He presses a button, and the left rear passenger door opens automatically. She slips in and unwraps her shawl in the cozy interior.
“Konbanwa, Sasaki-san.”
“Konbanwa, Yuki-chan.”
Good evening, they greet each other, despite the late hour.
He puts the car in gear, and they start their weekly trip across town.
Friday night is his favorite fare. He peeks in his mirror and watches this young girl, so much like his daughter except for the startling slash of blood red lipstick. He can’t resist watching her fiddle with her mirror and her complicated clothes. He observes quietly as Yuki reapplies her lipstick. He can almost believe it is his daughter. Not only does she wear her hair in the same bob as Haru but the color is exactly the same. With hints of red or purple, magenta maybe. And like his daughter, she chews her lip as she thinks.
What is on her mind? Is she thinking about her upcoming evening or her life outside these midnight trysts? Does she have a family she is working to care for? Sasaki doubts it, she is so young. Or does she just look young? He has never seen her in the light of day, only embellished with the blues and reds of the late-night city lights.
Twenty minutes into his reverie he pulls into a silent street, the large homes on each side hidden by walls. He slows down as he approaches and inches his car close to the gate. From her purse she pulls out a tiny remote. He looks back through his mirror again; she is furiously chewing on the edge of her lip.
He puts the car in gear, but stops when he hears her catch her breath, as if startled. Once again, his eyes find her reflection. A tiny drop of blood emerges from her lip as if her lipstick had come to life. He passes her his linen handkerchief. She takes it from him with a slight bow of her head and dabs at the blood. Once, twice, but the droplet reappears. The third time the blood stops. She passes the handkerchief back. He glances at the blood and lipstick, the linen permanently damaged. He lays it carefully on the seat next to him so as not to stain his gloves.
The gate opens, he pulls in and parks. Sasaki releases her door and it quietly opens to the cool night air, but he tells her to wait, for the rain has already started, earlier than expected. He runs around the car and pushes open a wide golf umbrella. With this protection he escorts her to the door. She lets herself in, offers him a shallow bow in thanks, and closes the door.
He has over two hours until he must return to pick her up. Tanaka pays him for the entire three hours, doesn’t want him picking up any other fares between eleven-thirty and two-thirty. He wants Sasaki at his disposal. For what Tanaka pays him, Sasaki doesn’t mind as long as he is able to keep his mind occupied.
He drives away, dreading the idle time ahead of him. Guilt rushes in to fill the void. Guilt over his wife, over his daughter. And tonight, guilt over delivering this young girl to a yakuza boss or worse. Tanaka has a “business associate” visiting from out of town who specifically requested Yuki. She is Tanaka’s personal favorite. This stranger must be pretty powerful if Tanaka agreed.
Sasaki circles the block looking for a spot. He parks around the corner from the Black Cat Jazz Club and walks the half block in the misty rain.
He enters the smoky haze and sits at his usual corner seat by the bar. The bartender pours him a shot of whiskey on two cubes of ice. Sasaki removes his gloves before lighting up a cigarette and swirling the drink. He prefers his whiskey neat, but on Friday nights he allows himself one shot on some ice. It is his habit to nurse it slowly and allow the ice to melt, a diluted drink is better than none. He needs to have his wits about him to drive.
The cigarette, the drink and the alto sax smooth over his tension and guilt. They are his only remaining vices. Sasaki lights another cigarette and closes his eyes to listen.
When the musician finishes his set, he takes the stool next to him. “Very nicely done.”
The musician motions to the bartender. “Tengo, refill his drink on me.”
Sasaki pauses, thinking how pleasant it would be to sit here for another drink and chat with this musician, but comes to his senses. “Thank you, no. I’m done drinking for tonight.” He turns his wrist. Two fifteen. He empties his glass and puts on his gloves after saying his goodbyes.
Outside, he lights his last cigarette of the evening and smokes it under the black awning.
The rain is heavier now. He pulls up the collar of his uniform jacket and heads for his car.
⁂
The gate is closed when he arrives. Usually Yuki opens the gate once he pulls up. He sits in the drive, the car idling, a Mendelssohn violin concerto gently playing on the radio. The rain beating on the window almost drowns out the soft music.
He glances at his watch, two forty-five. He gets out of the car, pulls up his collar once again and looks around.
The rain suddenly lets up. In the silence he hears a tiny crack, like a squirrel walking on the autumn leaves. Then a little cry. Again, louder this time, more like a child. He walks along the path, tracking the sound.
It’s a steady cry. Then a hiccup and another whimper. He stands still to quiet his footsteps.
“Yuki, is that you?”
“Sasaki-san?”
He spots an opening where the gate meets the wall and squeezes himself through.
He follows the noise until he finds her. Yuki is crouched behind the hydrangea bush, barefoot, one shoe in her hand, her fuchsia dress darker in some spots. Her hair clings to her face, the obvious tears lost in the rain.
“Are you hurt?”
She shivers, but doesn’t answer.
When he gets closer, he realizes the spots on her dress are blood.
He looks her over, but decides she is uninjured. He scoops her up, she doesn’t protest.
Tiny as she is, he hardly has to exert any effort at all. He presses the button to open the gate then places her gently in the back of the taxi. The car is still idling and the warmth engulfs them both.
“You have to tell me what happened.”
“I…I wouldn’t let him…I couldn’t let him.” But Yuki gives him nothing more.
“I will be right back.”
As he turns to close the door, she puts a hand on his arm. “Please don’t leave me.”
He is torn. He looks at her, so small in the car. Wet and still shivering. It reminds him of the times he took his daughter to the ocean. She would erupt from the water with her hair hugging her chin. Shivering, her arms crossed until he wrapped her in a towel.
He gently pries Yuki’s hand from his jacket.
“I promise. I will be right back.”
She shakes her head and grabs his arm. “I promise.”
She closes her eyes and lets go.
He finds the front door ajar. He stops to listen. There is only silence. He looks toward the stairway and sees a streak of blood along the bannister. At the top he stops again. Complete stillness. The door at the end of the hall is the only one open. He approaches it slowly.
In the bedroom, he finds the stranger face down on the bed on blood-soaked sheets. Yuki’s green shawl sprawled along the foot of the bed is like a winding mossy trail leading to her purse, the contents spilled on the bed. Her missing shoe, along with a knife covered in blood, are on the floor beside a pair of men’s slippers.
Sasaki turns to run. But in the hallway he stops.
He returns to the bedroom. He removes his gloves, then retrieves the shawl and the shoe. He grabs Yuki’s lipstick and keys along with the rest of her belongings and shoves them back in the purse.
He grabs a towel from the bathroom and wipes down every surface, the headboard, the doorknob, the side table, anything Yuki might have touched. Then he gingerly picks up the knife and wraps it in the towel.
⁂
Down the boulevard, his temples pound as he forces himself to drive within the speed limit back to Yuki’s house.
He rummages around in her purse until he finds the key, then picks her up and carries her into the building.
He tries to avert his eyes while he strips off her clothes and leans her in the shower. He searches for the warmest clothes in her closet and helps her dress. He dumps out the contents of a shopping bag and fills it with more clothes and toiletries. He finds ten thousand yen on her dresser and adds it to the rest.
Back in the car, he puts the bag on her lap and closes the door.
“Sasaki-san, where are you taking me?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for the answer. She leans her head on the door jamb and falls asleep.
Forty-five minutes north of the city, he pulls up to a deserted train station and buys a ticket at the kiosk. The sun is just peeking up over the tracks. The train is due in twelve minutes. He waits ten minutes, then goes to get her.
“Take this.” He hands her all his money. Combined with her own money, enough to last a while if she is careful. “I bought you a ticket to Aomori. Do not come back here. Ever. Do you understand?”
The rumble of the train drowns out his last few words.
She nods and steps into the open door. The doors close behind her. She leans her head on the glass and the last he sees of Yuki is her dazed eyes staring out over the platform as the train pulls away.
Sasaki drives his car onto the bridge behind the train station. He grabs the package in the trunk and scrambles down the embankment to the riverbed. He finds the largest stone he can handle, adds it to the towel and ties a sturdy knot. Then throws it into the river. He watches it sink before he leaves.
⁂
Sasaki enters his apartment. Dog tired. More tired than he has ever been in his life. He walks to the far corner, taps the bell and tilts his head in prayer, then looks up at the picture of his wife and daughter on the altar. How many years has it been?
He closes his eyes again. Nineteen years, and he has finally redeemed himself. Nineteen years since they took that fatal drive, when he wasn’t there to protect them. Nineteen years of aging alone. All that remains is his job. Driving to numb the pain.
He strips, one piece of clothing at a time. Slowly, deliberately. First his hat. He places it carefully on the dresser. Then he removes his jacket and slides it onto the hanger, buttoning the first and last buttons. His pants, he picks up by the crease and clips to the wooden hanger. He does not rush. With the same reverence as every other day, he hangs his uniform in its proper place.
After he showers, he sits on the bed. Usually he sleeps for eight hours before getting up to start his day shift.
Today he would have to settle for less sleep, but he needs to be refreshed when they come for him. He must be sure he isn’t too tired, that he will be clear-headed. He needs to be completely convincing, so the search will stop at him.
He gently swings his legs up on the bed and rests his head on the pillow, contemplating the ceiling. If he sleeps until noon, he could get enough rest before they come for him. It would take them about that long to find the gloves. It would take them about that long to track him down at work and then show up at his door.
He closes his eyes.
“Tokyo Stranger” by Tina deBellegarde excerpted from When a Stranger Comes to Town, edited by Michael Koryta, Copyright © 2021 by Tina deBellegarde. Published by Hanover Square Press.
Tina deBellegarde’s debut novel, Winter Witness, is nominated for the 2020 Agatha Award for Best First Novel. Her story “Tokyo Stranger” appears alongside celebrated authors in the Mystery Writers of America anthology When a Stranger Comes to Town. Tina lives in New York with her husband Denis where they harvest shiitake mushrooms and tend to their beehives. She travels to Japan regularly to visit her son Alessandro. Visit her website.
Read her review of Sayaka Murata’s Earthlings.
With the cherry blossoms in mankai (full bloom) now in Japan, we take some time to contemplate their beauty through poetry.
