The Sashimi Knife

I

The sashimi knife was of the Yanagiba type and dangerously sharp. Lydia bought the knife as part of her collection of kitchen knives. An adventurous cook, she ventured into Japanese cuisine almost as soon as we moved into our two-story house in Yokohama.  She learned from a sushi chef the correct way of slicing the fish in one smooth pull of the knife from its base to the tip. In time she was able to cut the maguro blocks we bought fresh from the fish market into thin slices effortlessly one slice after another.

Lydia loved to cook and invited friends over for meals. Inevitably, after eating, the friends would praise Lydia culinary talents. “Claude, you’re so lucky to be married to Lydia. A superb cook. A gracious hostess. Charming. And, you lucky devil, attractive. Why, she could model for a fashion magazine.”

I uttered the appropriate replies husbands give when hearing how wonderful their wives were. “Yeah, I guess I am lucky at that.”

Of course, only I knew about her little idiosyncrasy. She always made sure the door locks were securely bolted. When she was a high school student, she babysat for a family. Two men dressed in black and wearing ski masks pushed their way into the house. Ski goggles covered their eyes. One man held a knife against her throat; the other man ransacked the desk in the study until he found two flash drives. They both ran out of the house. Lydia was not hurt, but she was badly shaken. 

At night she went through her litany of questions.

“Front door locked?”

“Yes, Lydia.”

“The kitchen door?”

“Yes, Lydia.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, Lydia.”

To be fair, I should mention I also have an idiosyncrasy or two myself. My dreams are vivid. When I was a little boy, I often woke up at nights in a sweat. Afraid to go back to sleep. I would hear scratching noises under the bed. One night I looked under and screamed! I had seen my dead grandmother staring at me. On another night I discovered an anaconda snake slithering underneath. It had the head of my abusive stepfather. Its forked tongue shot out toward me. I screamed for my mother. She looked under the bed. “Nothing but dust and slippers,” she assured me. She accused me of having an hyperactive imagination. The doctors suggested I see a child psychiatrist. 

As I grew older, the fears of the night gradually faded but reoccurred at stressful moments. Lydia refused to look under the bed for me. “You can’t walk away from your problems, Claude. Someday you’ll have to look under the bed yourself.”

Other events in my life shoved the creatures into deeper layers of my mind where I kept them locked up. I had fallen in love with Lydia. We met at a seminar class in graduate school and after the briefest of formalities we had a torrid pre-marital love affair. She clawed me and brought out sensations in my body I couldn’t get enough of. And she wanted more of what I offered. Then we got married. And, well, let’s say she became the wife. A responsible person who wanted to move into a more mature relationship. She was the one who urged me to think of our future as a family with children. 

Her maternal instinct grew stronger after she started teaching at the Christian International Kindergarten. The school head was the Christian Interdenominational Church’s pastor, the Reverend Margaret ‘Maggie’ Knox, a devout Lutheran with fiery red hair and probing green eyes. She was also a licensed therapist. In a joking manner, she said, “The Japanese police depend on me to persuade suicidal foreigners against stepping off the ledges of tall buildings.” 

At dinnertime, Lydia couldn’t stop talking about how gratifying it was working with children. Her stories headed in one direction.  “Oh, Claude, wouldn’t it be wonderful to have children of our own?”

I was not particularly enthusiastic, but if it would make Lydia happy to become a mother, sure why not? I got into the mood. We tried, oh, God, how we tried. Lydia’s doctor had us undergo a  series of tests to find out the reasons for our infertility. It turned out Lydia had polycystic ovarian syndrome. The doctor told her it was treatable, but it would take time and she should keep her expectations within bounds. Part of the problem was me. I had a low sperm count. I needed a little working on myself. 

The news of our infertility hit Lydia hard. For a week she fell into a mild state of  depression and stayed home from work. “I can’t bear to see all those children at school. Somebody else’s children.” Fortunately, Reverend Maggie helped her work through her depressed state, and she was well enough to go back to teaching young minds. 

Actually, I was relieved. Me, a father taking care of bawling pestering kids? I wasn’t ready for fatherhood yet. No, sir! I couldn’t picture it. I valued my time, and I already contended with enough restrictions to my movements as a married man and a university professor. 

I taught at a women’s university in Yokohama in charge of Course Content Development. Developing course content kept me occupied for most of the time I was not teaching. If that was not enough, the department head placed another layer of time-consuming responsibility: Facilitator of the Foreign Languages Group, a title the department head came up with. 

“What are the duties of a facilitator?” I asked.

“That I will leave to you.”

II

There were four teachers in the group I facilitated over. 

Gabriel Laurent, the French teacher. He was a full-time associate professor married to a charming Japanese woman, Setsuko,  a watercolorist whose works had an international following. Two of her watercolors hung in my study at home. The students signed up for Gabriel’s classes in droves. Maybe because with his three-day growth of beard and long thick black hair he looked more like a Centaur than the father of twins. 

Mississippi Tom Tyler taught the English Communication Arts classes. He was a professional Blues and American Roots musician who taught part-time to cushion those periods when gigs dried up. He had a colorful background. News photographer. War correspondent. Musician. His partner was Ritsuko Muranami, a vibrant woman and author of several volumes of Japanese detective stories.

Then there was Nancy Suzuki, the blonde hair, suntanned, long-legged American Literature Teacher. Gabriel remarked with her figure she could become a model at one of France’s fashion houses. Her curriculum vitae was solid enough. She got her MA in American Literature from San Jose State University and wrote her thesis on John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath. A little outdated, I thought, but I kept my opinions to myself. She was a dynamic and popular teacher. Students enjoyed her audio/visual class presentations filled with color and variety. She was popular among the Japanese male faculty. They sought her out to help them improve their writing skills.

The fourth member in the group was Professor Naomi Fujimori, a Ph’d in English linguistics. She was in her middle 50s and had a dour disposition. She disliked Nancy with an unconcealed intensity. One afternoon after a meeting with the group broke up, she remarked to me in private: “The male faculty members are dumb animals. They’re more attracted to the way she crosses her legs than in learning where to place the comma in a complex sentence.” 

Naomi and Nancy were opposites. Naomi had never married. Nancy had become a widow at age 27. Her husband had been a Japanese insurance salesman twenty years older. Within a year of their marriage, he had an untimely accident. According to Nancy, he tripped over their pet cat and tumbled down a flight of steps. 

I heard a different version from Ritsuko during one of Tom’s gigs in Yokohama. “The police had suspected foul play,” she said, “but they dropped the case. Not enough evidence to support further investigation. Be careful. Tom thinks she’s a rattlesnake in a burlap bag.”

She laughed and I took her comment as a joke. I laughed, too. Why should I be careful? I was not foolish enough to get involved with another faculty member. I loved Lydia deeply. 

But in my conversations with Nancy I made sure I maintained a decorous distance. 

III

Lydia decided to throw a pot luck party to celebrate the birthday of one of the teachers at her school. Esmeralda Gutierrez. Esmeralda was a single parent of a baby boy she named Benjamin. Lydia became Benny’s ‘Auntie Lydia’ and frequently babysat for Esmeralda. “He’s so cute, isn’t he, Claude?” The subtext was obvious. She desperately wanted to have a baby of her own.

For the party, Lydia invited the teachers at her school. Reverend Maggie promised to drop by after she finished her therapy sessions at the Church’s Shelter for Abused Women. The teachers arrived with their partners and brought with them dishes they prepared at their homes. All of them were foreign residents from South Asia, Southeast Asia, and Mongolia, so we had an international selection of food to choose from. 

Lydia urged me to invite the faculty in my group. “I’d like to get to know your colleagues.”

I invited Gabriel, but he declined. “Setsuko has an exhibition on that day. I’ve got to babysit the twins.” Tom said he would come but not Ritsuko. “She’s visiting her mother in Nagano.” Nancy was delighted. “I’d love to meet your wife.” Professor Fujimori showed keen interest in the party. I knew she would get as prickly as a porcupine if I did not invite her. “Thank you, Claude. Shall I bring anything?”

Lydia’s friends were a talkative, lively group. And when Esmeralda arrived, the group let out with clamorous hellos. The women encircled Esmeralda and Benjamin. The baby looked bewildered as he looked with wide eyes into the faces surrounding his hand carried basket bassinet.  Auntie Lydia relieved Esmeralda of the bassinet and carried it my study. Esmeralda followed and set the other bags she carried on the carpet. The bags bulged with diapers and other necessities for babies.

The people I invited arrived later. Professor Fujimori came carrying a large Tupperware container of pork and vegetable soup. “Tonjiru,” she explained to Lydia.  As the party progressed, she and Lydia became chummier. “Call me Naomi,” she told Lydia. 

Nancy arrived just as Lydia was in the kitchen slicing a maguro block into paper thin servings.

“Lydia, I’d like to introduce Nancy Suzuki.” 

“Heard so much about you,” Lydia said and wiped the sashimi knife with a damp sponge.

“And Claude’s told me a lot about you. You’ve become quite the sushi chef.”

Lydia laughed. “At least I haven’t cut any of my fingers off.”

“Not yet,” I added. The three of us shared a good-natured chuckle. 

The chuckling came to an abrupt end when Professor Fujimori entered the kitchen. “Good afternoon, Nancy.”

“Hello, Naomi.”

Lydia was too busy arranging the sashimi on the serving plate to notice the sudden atmospheric frostiness. 

“Nancy baked an apple pie,” I said. 

“That reminds me, Claude, did you remember to buy the ice cream?” Lydia, ever the organizer, got us focussed on the party.

 

Before I could answer, the sound of Benjamin crying transformed Lydia into Auntie Lydia. She handed the plate of sashimi to Naomi. “Could you place this on the serving table?” Then she dashed off leaving Nancy and me to clean up.

“Whose baby?” she asked. 

“Esmeralda’s,” I said and explained the circumstances surrounding the birth. “She’s a devout Catholic. So now she is the mother of a baby boy.”

“I envy her,” she said. She picked up the sashimi knife from the counter.

“Be careful. The knife’s sharp.” I pointed to the knife block.

 “Someday, I will have a baby.” She inserted the knife with precision into the slot. “When I find the right man.” She smiled at me. “A man like you.”

I laughed nervously. “Let’s join the others.”

The party picked up in momentum with the arrival of Mississippi Tom Tyler. I introduced him to Lydia. “You poor girl, married to this evil man! A pleasure to meet such a charming young woman.”

“Now, Tom, don’t overdo the southern charm,” Lydia laughed. She introduced him to Esmeralda.

“You the birthday girl? Well, I’ll just have to sing a special song for you later on.”

At that moment Nancy came walking out of the study room, cradling Benjamin in her arms. Esmeralda looked surprised and a little concerned. Auntie Lydia’s face hardened. 

“Look, Tom. A baby boy! Isn’t he cute?” Nancy rocked Benjamin gently.

“Hey, girl, when did you become a mother?” 

“She’s not the mother,” Auntie Lydia said stiffly. 

Benjamin started crying.

“I’ll take him now.” Esmeralda reached toward the baby. 

Nancy turned away. “Please, let me hold him for a little while longer.”

Benjamin cried even harder.

“Girl, sounds like the boy wants his mother.” Tom placed his hand on Nancy’s shoulder. “Better hand him back or we’ll never get any peace.”

Nancy held onto the baby for a long moment.

“Come on, girl. The baby’s crying for his mama”

 She handed the baby to Esmeralda.  “He might be hungry.”

Esmeralda carried Benjamin to the study room. 

“You should not have picked him up, Nancy.” Lydia was upset.

“Who are you to tell me? You’re not the mother!” 

Nancy’s outburst took everyone by surprise. 

From the expression on Lydia’s face I knew she was seething.

“Hey, girl what’s you all hot and bothered for?” Tom said.  “We came here to celebrate a birthday. Let’s not get into a tangle. Let’s celebrate.”

Tom had a way of diffusing awkward moments, having quieted a few during his gigs.

“I’m sorry, Lydia,” Nancy said. “That was rude of me. I should never have said that. Please forgive me.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Lydia said coldly. “But I think I understand why you said it.”

Nancy stared at Lydia cold blue eyes.  I thought to myself, Oh, God! They’ll be coming to blows. I looked nervously around the room. The other guests thankfully were filling their plates with food and involved in conversations. Naomi, however, was taking in the scene from inside the kitchen.

“I don’t know about you people,” Tom said, “but I’m hungry. Lydia, why don’t you lead me to that sashimi I heard Claude bragging about?”

Lydia’s smile masked her anger. “You like sashimi, Tom?”

“Can’t live without it.”

Lydia laughed. “Tom, save your tall tales for the classroom. Claude told me what you thought of raw fish.”

“That husband of yours is an evil man. Telling you all my secrets.”

My stomach fluttered with nervous tension. I wondered what to say to Nancy. She looked upset.

“I’m leaving,” she said.

“There’s no need for you to go.”

“I can’t be in a place where I’m not wanted.”

“Don’t be that way. We like you. We want you to stay.”

“Lydia doesn’t like me.”

“She was just a little touchy about Benjamin, that’s all.”

Nancy fell silent. She looked at me and in a voice that sounded like a little girl’s, she asked.

“Do you like me, Claude? I mean really like me?”

“Of course, I like you.”

“You’re a lovely man.” 

“I hope that means you’ll stay.”

She linked her arm around mine. “Only because you like me.”

We walked arm-in-arm to the serving table.  Naomi’s eyes bore into me. Lydia, fortunately, was busy in the kitchen. 

I handed Nancy a plate, but she nearly dropped it when Reverend Maggie arrived at the party. Esmeralda and the other teachers surrounded her. Lydia came rushing out of the kitchen to greet her. 

Nancy turned away.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, perplexed.

She looked back at Reverend Maggie. “Just a little surprised, that’s all.”

“You know Reverend Maggie?”

In an almost inaudible voice, she replied: “Yes, I know her.”

IV

Esmeralda’s friend Anita carried the birthday cake from the kitchen into the darkened dining room. The birthday candles lit up her smiling face and shining brown eyes. Everyone sang Happy Birthday. 

“Look at all those candles. You put too many, Anita,” Esmeralda laughed.

“Essie, dear, we ran out of candles,” Anita shot back. 

Everyone laughed, and I forced a smile. I don’t know why I was feeling edgy. The Lydia/Nancy exchange earlier kept nagging at me. And Nancy not explaining how she knew Reverend Maggie. She remained tight-lipped for the rest of the party. Lydia was cordial enough to her but in a stiff way. 

Tom put on an impromptu concert after Esmeralda finished opening her birthday presents. In his showmanship fashion, he got people to sing and clap their hands. Even the dour Professor Fujimori clapped with unusual vigor. Auntie Lydia held Benjamin in her arms and swayed to the beat of the music. Esmeralda and her friends were dancing in the middle of the floor. Happy and oblivious to the tension I observed at one corner of the room where Reverend Maggie and Nancy were standing and talking. They were not singing, nor were they clapping hands. 

The party came mercifully to an end, and I was exhausted. At bedtime, all I wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep. I was not in a conversational mode while changing into my pajamas. 

“Thank you, Claude, for all your help today.” Lydia was applying a green cosmetic mask to her face in front of the dresser mirror. The dresser’s white light transformed her face into the grotesque creatures that hid under beds. 

“Yeah, it was a wonderful party,” I yawned. “Your friends are certainly a lively bunch of people.”

“Yes, they do know how to have a good time. They work wonders with the children at the kindergarten.”

“I bet.” I climbed into bed.

“Your friends are an interesting mix.” 

“A mixed bag of assorted nuts, you mean,” I joked.

“Not everyone.” Lydia was smoothing the mask with her fingers. “Naomi’s a member of the Christian Interdenominational Church. Did she tell you?”

“No, we don’t share private lives.”

“Reverend Maggie spoke highly of Naomi. Praised her for the volunteer work she does for the church. Maybe we should join the church. You could do volunteer work.”

“Lydia, I have no desire to volunteer for a church.”

“Tom’s volunteered to give a benefit concert to raise money for the shelter.”

“Oh, did Reverend Maggie corner him too?”

“What do you mean by too? Oh, you mean Nancy. What do you think about her?” The green mask peered into the mirror at me.

I wanted to go to sleep, but I knew Lydia would not let the topic of Nancy rest. “She has a solid academic background.”

“And she is attractive, isn’t she, Claude?”

“Yes, very.”

“Naomi had a lot to say about her.” 

“I imagine she would have.”

“Nancy’s got problems, Claude. You noticed the way she didn’t want to give the baby back to Esmeralda?” 

“Come on, Lydia. How many times have I seen you hold on to Benjamin?”

“And why else was Reverend Maggie talking to her for the longest time?” The woman in the green mask turned toward me. “Be careful, Claude. I know how you allow your fantasies to runaway with your imagination.”

“Fantasies? I have no interest in her in that way. She’s a colleague and that’s it.”

“Of course, Claude. But do be careful.” She slipped under the bedcovers with her back to me. Just as well. I was in no mood to kiss a green face.

“Doors locked?”

“Yes, Lydia.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, Lydia.”

V

On Monday, I was was not completely rested. I walked into the faculty room still groggy and nearly bumped into Professor Fujimori in front of the faculty mail boxes.  

“Ah, Claude, thank you ever so much for inviting me to the party.” Her smile caused cracks to form in her face powder. “Lydia is a dynamic person. I had no idea she taught at the kindergarten. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“Yes, a small world,” I agreed. A bit too small.  Professor Fujimori had a first period class and rushed off. 

In my office, I managed to catch a thirty-minute power nap before I got started on my work. For the rest of the school day, classes and student consultations pushed Lydia’s cautionary words about Nancy from my mind. Words prompted more by jealousy, I was sure, than by concern. It was needless of Lydia to worry about me falling under Nancy’s spell. I loved Lydia. I would never do anything to hurt her.

My work done at the end of the school day, I decided to head down to one of my watering holes in China Town for a drink. The Scandinavian. Eric, an irreverent ex-pat from Denmark, owned the bar and usually served drinks with an insult. The only other people from the university who dared to come to the bar were Gabriel and Mississippi Tom Tyler. But on that day, I entered the bar and damn! Nancy was sitting with Gabriel at a table. 

“Ah, Claude, there you are,” Gabriel sang out. “Where were you hiding all day?”

“Yes, I wanted to thank you.” Nancy sat with her legs crossed. A sizable segment of her thigh was on display.

“I had a lot to do today.” I sat next to Gabriel. I yelled my order to Eric. He gave me a middle finger followed by a thumbs up. 

Nancy was observing the signals and laughed. “You come here often with Lydia?”

“We go to other places.” I was nettled by Nancy’s sarcasm. 

“You know, Gabriel,” she said. “Claude’s wife worked miracles with the food last night. And can you imagine my surprise? She served sashimi.”

Nancy’s culinary editorial grated on my nerves. Even more grating for reasons I couldn’t explain, she was squeezing Gabriel’s hand. A touchy-feeling habit she no doubt picked up during her studies at San Jose State. But why should I get upset? I was married to a woman who worked miracles with food.

“Perhaps your wife and I could exchange recipes,” Gabriel said and finished his drink. ”I do a lot of cooking at home.”

“Gabriel made the most delicious risotto,” Nancy continued her editorial. “Setsuko is a sweet person, Claude. Have you met Gabriel’s wife? I so envy her. She gave birth to twins. Twins, Claude!”

“Speaking of which,” Gabriel checked his watch. “My turn to cook dinner. Setsuko needs a break.”

I felt uneasy being left alone with Nancy. She was swirling the remains of the wine in her glass as she watched Gabriel walk out of the bar. She returned her gaze to me and recrossed her leg. She pulled her skirt down to cover her thigh to midpoint as Eric delivered my vodka martini on the rocks. 

“Here’s you sissy drink.”

Nancy finished her wine and held up her empty wineglass. “Another one, please. You know your house wine’s not bad tasting. It has a fruitiness to it.”

“I wouldn’t know.” Eric took the wineglass. “It all tastes like piss to me.”

 “You’re  quite a wine connoisseur,” I remarked after Eric walked away. 

“I do enjoy a good wine,” she said and leaned back on her chair. “When I was studying at San Jose State, a group of us formed a wine tasting club. We’d go to different wineries to sample their tasting flights of vintages. One of the guys in the group, his name was Masayuki, he taught me so much about wine. And about art. And about life.”

“Masayuki? Your husband?” 

“No, that sweet dear man, was gay. My husband Takeshi was a much older man.”

“Here’s your vintage piss,” Eric intruded. He set the wineglass down in front of Nancy. “Enjoy!” He looked down at her crossed legs and smirked in my direction. “Enjoy!”

The vodka martini on ice was beginning to eat holes in my stomach. 

“Eric is all bluster,” Nancy said, sipping from the wineglass. “Takeshi was blustery and abusive. He treated me like I was a Japanese doll in a glass case. I was his trophy wife on display for his friends and business associates. But if I showed the slightest bit of attention to anyone of them, he became insanely jealous. When I got pregnant, he accused me of sleeping around. One night he came home drunk, mean drunk.  He beat me and beat me. I passed out unconscious.”

“My God! He could have killed you.”

“He must have panicked. When I came to again, I was lying in bed. A doctor friend of his was leaning over me. He ordered Takeshi to call an ambulance. I needed emergency treatment if I wanted to save the baby. But in the end, I lost a baby boy.”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“And that’s when I went to Reverend Maggie’s shelter. She pulled me back to sanity. But she couldn’t  stop me from hating Takeshi.”

““Why didn’t you leave him?”

“He begged me to forgive him. Besides, he would never let me go. I was his trophy. And where could I escape to?”

“Back to the States.”

“He kept my passport in a bank safe deposit box.” 

“You were a prisoner!”

“He always wanted to know where I had been, who I had met, and was I with any man.”

“Why did you marry him in the first place?”

“He was charming and caring. Sort of like you are with Lydia.”

“But I don’t tie Lydia to a leash. And obviously he had you tied to a pole.”

“On the night Takeshi tripped and fell down the stairs, I was glad he was killed.” 

I looked at her, not knowing what to say. Her face had turned into a mask with cold blue eyes. Boyhood scenes from under the bed flashed through my mind.

“Do you think I am a heartless person, Claude?” 

“Heartless? No, no. Who am I to judge?” Lydia’s words came back to me. Whatever fantasies you have about her, be careful.

“But you think less of me, don’t you?”

I felt as if I was being sucked into a whirlpool. “No, you’ll always be a good colleague.”

“And friend?”

“And friend.” 

“Lydia’s so lucky to have a man like you.” She leaned close to me and before I could react she kissed me hard on the lips. I pulled back but she wouldn’t let go.

Her kiss surprised me. Even more startling, I found myself responding. Whatever fantasies you have about her, be careful.

“Nancy, stop!”

“You’re right, Claude. That was foolish of me. I’m sorry. I better go.”

I sat alone bewildered, aroused, and frightened. I looked over at the bar. Eric was smirking at me and made obscene gestures with his hands.

VI

I arrived home still in a daze. Nancy’s kiss was passionate. I wiped my lips once again with a handkerchief before I inserted the keys into the front door locks. But the door wouldn’t budge. Lydia had bolted the locks on the inside. I rang the doorbell.

“Is that you, Claude?” 

“Unlock the door!”

I opened it with peevish impatience. When I stepped inside, I let out a loud yelp. “What in the hell!”

Lydia was standing in the hallway with the sashimi knife poised above her head. “Shut the door! Lock it.”

“You’re scaring me.”  What had gotten into her? I had never seen her act this way before. Why did I ever let Nancy kiss me?  

We sat at the kitchen table, but she still held onto the knife. “It was horrible, Claude! That evil man violated me.”

“What evil man? What happened?”

“On the train. I was trapped in a crush of people inside the train car. I couldn’t move my arms. A hand reached up under my skirt. Fingers violated me! Violated me again and again. And a tongue worked its way into my ear.”

She jumped up and raised the knife.

“Lydia! Put the knife down.”

She looked at it as though realizing for the first time she was holding it. She placed it on the table. Slowly she sat down, hid her face in her arms and started sobbing.

I picked up the knife and my first thought was to hide it somewhere. But then I would have to hide all of the kitchen knives. I placed it back into the knife block. Her sobbing became more pronounced. I was about to hug her when she screamed. “Don’t touch me!” 

I held my hands up. “I won’t touch you. But calm down. Please calm down.”

“Sorry, Claude, I don’t want to be touched.” 

“Maybe we should call Reverend Maggie.”

“Yes, yes. Please call her. Tell her I won’t be going to work tomorrow. I want to take a shower. I feel dirty.” 

Reverend Maggie was concerned when I explained what happened to Lydia and about the knife. “I’ll be over later this evening.” 

I fixed the dinner, a simple pasta with meat sauce, but Lydia hardly touched it. My attempts to draw her out of her silence were only marginally successful. I lost my appetite and sat in silence watching Lydia staring down at her plate. Her lips moving in wordless conversation.

The doorbell shattered the silence. Lydia leaped up and screamed. 

“Stop! Stop it! It’s Reverend Maggie. I told you she was coming over.”

She eased back down on the chair, and I answered the door. 

Reverend Maggie rushed into the kitchen. “Lydia, what’s going on with you? Let’s talk, shall we?”

The two of them went into the study and closed the door behind them. I cleaned up in the kitchen. That was when I noticed the sashimi knife. It was on the kitchen table.

The two of them talked for about twenty minutes or so. When they came out, Lydia dashed upstairs. “Give me five minutes.”

“Take you time, Lydia. I need to talk to Claude.” Reverend Maggie spoke in a quiet voice, I think to put me at ease.

“What’s going on, Reverend?”

“I suggested she stay at the Church’s shelter for a while.” 

“The shelter? Why?”

“The incident on the train reawakened older issues.”

“Older issues?”

“She needs a little time to herself. Be patient, Claude.”

I was getting upset. Why couldn’t Lydia confide in me? I was her husband. 

“Has nothing to do with you, Claude. Her issues go way back.” 

Again issues. But Reverend Maggie refused to elaborate.

Lydia came down the stairs carrying a suitcase and overnight bag. She had made a decision without consulting me.

“I don’t like it! Why can’t she stay with me?”

Lydia rubbed her hand on my cheek. “Try to understand, Claude. I’m upset. Upset a man violated me. And all those eyes looking at me.”

I reached for her hand, but she yanked it back. “Please, don’t touch me.” 

Her frightened look knocked me back a step. “Alright, Lydia. I understand.”

“I’ll be in contact with you, Claude,” Reverend Maggie picked up Nancy’s suitcase.  Lydia turned to me. “I love you, Claude.”

Later that night, I lay awake on the bed staring up at the ceiling. What was wrong with Lydia? Issues? What issues? Worries. Will she get better? Damn! I should never have kissed Nancy!

 I was finally falling asleep, when scratching noises under the bed jolted me awake. I was not ready to look under that night. I grabbed a pillow and a blanket, went downstairs, and fell into a fitful sleep on the sofa. 

VII

I arrived at the university exhausted and ill-tempered. The faculty room was crowded with teachers preparing for their classes. Nancy was sitting at a table near the windows, but I thought it best not to speak to her. I grabbed the mail and messages from my mailbox and walked back into the hallway. 

“Claude!” Nancy caught up to me as I was entering the cafeteria. “Something the matter? You look upset. Was it because of yesterday?”

“No, it has nothing to do with you. I had a terrible night.”

Over coffee and muffins, I told her the whole story.

“How horrible!”

“And on top of everything, she’s spending a couple days at the shelter.”

“You can’t blame her. What she went through is traumatizing.”

“I just hope the time with Reverend Maggie will help.” 

“Poor Claude.” Nancy rubbed my forearm up and down. “So much on your mind. And so much work to do. We’ll get through this day together.”

A strange tingling sensation came over me. What did she mean by together?

“I’ve got to go to class. See you at the faculty meeting this afternoon.”

Embryonic desires were coming alive. I shook my head. No, no. I don’t want to go in that direction.

At noontime, I tried calling Lydia on her cellphone, but she had it turned off. For the rest of the lunch hour, I spent dealing with a tearful student whose test paper I marked in red.

The time for the faculty meeting arrived. I really wanted to nap in my office. The lack of sleep from the night before was catching up with me. I found a spot at the conference table next to Gabriel, a strategic distance away from where Professor Fujimori was sitting.  

“Should be an exciting meeting,” Gabriel said. “Curriculum change proposals always bring out the beasts in teachers.”

“I hope I can stay awake.”

“Phew! I didn’t think I’d make it on time.” Nancy’s precipitous arrival saved me from providing Gabriel with an explanation.  She settled in the chair next to me. “How are you holding up?” 

“Barely, thanks.” The tickling sensations returned. Got to keep focused. Poor Lydia. 

The Department Head called the meeting to order. The longer the meeting progressed, the drowsier I grew. Midway into the discussion about the need for improving student evaluations, I nodded off to sleep. Nancy rubbed her hand briskly up and down my thigh. “Better wake up,” she whispered into my ear. 

I opened my eyes, feeling aroused.  She continued stroking my leg. I gripped her hand. “I’m awake now.” She removed her hand, but I remained fully alert for the rest of the meeting. 

I looked around the table. The other professors were intent on inserting their opinions into the discussion to notice. Professor Fujimori, however, must have found Nancy whispering into my ear far more engrossing. 

The meeting finally came to an end. “Well, shall we adjourn to our watering hole,” Gabriel suggested.

I begged off. “I need to make some phone calls.”

In my office, I called Lydia, but her cellphone was still turned off. I called Reverend Maggie.  “She is going through group therapy now, Claude. Be patient. And understanding. A few days more and she’ll be home.”

A few days more?

I walked off the campus and discovered Nancy waiting for me near the campus gate. 

“I think you need someone to talk to,” she said. 

Had I been less sleepy and less stressed out, I might have offered more resistance. But when she hooked her arm around mine, my resistance crumbled. 

“Come on. I’ll take you to a quiet place where we can talk.”  She led me to Mariko’s Boutique and Wine Bar on a backstreet near Ishikawacho Station. The ground floor featured pricey women’s fashions. She took me to the second floor to the wine bar. We sat at a darkened corner where the walls were decorated with over-sized posters of Can Can Dancers by Toulouse-Lautrec. 

“What kind of wine do you prefer?”

“Wine?” I had barely settled down on the chair. “What do you suggest?”

She raised her hand. The server, a college-aged woman dressed in one of Mariko’s fashionable one-piece dresses, came to take the order. “A bottle of Vinho Verde.”  

“A bottle,” I said, a bit too robustly. “I was thinking of a glass.”

Nancy laughed. “Don’t worry, Claude. It’s a light-bodied wine from Portugal. It has a slight effervescence and a low alcohol level.”

She was right. The wine did have a light body and was tangy to the tongue, but on an empty stomach the effervescence was having an impact.  I tried to focus on what she was telling me.  An unbelievable and bizarre tale.

“I want to tell you a story, Claude. About how I got pregnant.”

“That’s not necessary,” I said. My mind was already overly burdened by concerns for Lydia.

“Please, Claude. I’ve got to tell you.”

“All right.” Her hand resting on mine aroused my curiosity.

“One night Takeshi invited a group of his friends over to view his trophy.  He made me dress in a strapless mini dress. They all leered at me. I was used to these exhibitions. Takeshi often invited them over to view me. I was his trophy.”

I really didn’t want to hear this story. But I found myself with each sip of wine becoming fascinated.  

“Takeshi was incapable of impregnating me. He beat me to punish me for his male inadequacy. And on that night when his friends sat around me, he had drugged my drink. I passed out. I vaguely remember hands pulling my clothes off. And one by one, the men took advantage of me.”

“Nancy, why are you telling me all this?”  

“Because I understand what Lydia went through on that train. You don’t know what it’s like to have men paw you and violate you. It’s demeaning. It’s dehumanizing.”

She pressed her face against her fist. Tears streamed down her cheeks. 

I took her into my arms. “It’s OK. It’s OK.” I patted her back and spoke words I would have spoken to Lydia. 

Nancy looked up at me and in a voice like the little girl’s at the birthday party, she asked, “Do you like me?” 

“Of course I like you.”

The wine’s effervescence got the better of me. I kissed her with the same vehemence I kissed Lydia in our pre-marital days. I had lost control. And we ended up in a love hotel.

IX

I was exhausted after I arrived home around noon and stepped into the shower. Nancy was passionate. She clawed me and brought out sensations in my body I couldn’t get enough of her. And she wanted more of what I gave her. It was making love to Lydia all over again. But in the frigid cold shower pounding down on my head, I realized what I had done. I had sex with a woman I didn’t love. I had let my fantasies run away with me. Lydia had warned me. “Do be careful. Do be careful.”

I was toweling myself dry when I noticed I had a text message on my cellphone from Lydia. 

Call me when U have a moment. 

My heart picked up a beat. I got dressed, all the while wondering what Lydia wanted and worrying how she might react when she learned about my night with Nancy. I decided to get something to eat before I called back. 

In the kitchen, I was slicing meat from the leftover pork roast with the sashimi knife to make a sandwich. Lydia would have raised a ruckus for using her prized knife, but I wasn’t particularly paying attention which knife I drew out of the knife block. My mind was cluttered with conflicting emotions and feelings of guilt. Damn, damn, damn. Why did I do it?

I managed to cut two slices of meat without cutting my fingers when the cellphone rang. Nancy’s number appeared on the screen. I was in no mood to speak to her. The cold shower had doused the flames. The phone rang with persistence. I set the knife down next to the phone. But Nancy apparently was not giving up. I answered it.

“Hello, Nancy.”

“Claude, what took you so long to answer?”

“I just stepped out of the shower.  What’s up?”

“Nothing in particular. I wanted to hear your voice.”

“Look, Nancy, this is not a good time to talk.” Impetuously, I blurted out:  “I’m getting ready to call Lydia.”

“Lydia! Yes, you do that!” Her voice turned snarling. “Call Lydia and tell her last night you were impregnating Nancy.” She clicked off.

I stood staring at the phone. This was going to end badly. I lost my appetite and was about to wipe the sashimi knife clean with a damp cloth when the phone rang. Again Nancy!

“Yes, what is it?”

“Claude, I wanted to apologize for hanging up on you.” Nancy’s voice sounded hoarse. “Please don’t be angry with me.”

“No, problem.”

“It was wonderful, wasn’t it? Our night together.”

“Yes, it was passionate, all right.” I wanted to get off the topic. “You exhausted me. I’ll probably take a nap later on.”

Nancy laughed. “I won’t keep you. I wanted to hear your voice.  And I wanted to tell you something.” She paused. 

Sweat was forming in beads on my forehead. Tell me what? 

“I love you, Claude.” 

The words knocked the air out of me.

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes, but it’s all a little too sudden for me. We need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? I love you. And you love me. You were so passionate.”

“Nancy, we have to talk.”

For a long moment, she remained silent. I could hear her breathing. Finally, she hung up.

This was turning into a nightmare. I picked up the sashimi knife to return it to the knife block when the phone rang. Nancy! 

I gripped the handle tightly and held it up, its blade extending to the reflection of the man with a contorted facial expression in the kitchen window. I set the knife down on the counter and answered the phone.

“You’re so cold to me. Heartless. I told you I loved you and what did you say?  We need to talk. Well, go ahead. I’m listening.” Nancy’s voice acquired a harsh, unyielding quality. So different from her moans of pleasure in the hot bath of the Love Hotel.

I tried to sound calm and reasonable. “What we did last night was a moment of passion. It was wonderful, but it was a moment of passion. Nothing more.”

“Nothing more? You said you could not get enough of me. You wanted more of me. You wished you had met me earlier in your life.”

“And that was the truth. I wished I had met you earlier. I like you a lot, . . . .”

“But you don’t love me. Oh, please, Claude, say something original. You men make me sick. You had your way with me and now you want to toss me aside like a Raggety Ann doll.”

“You’ve got to understand, Nancy. I was upset. Lydia is going through a difficult patch.”

“Ah, yes. Lydia. I was a substitute for Lydia. You’re no different from Takeshi’s perverted friends. Drugging me. Acting out their fantasies on me like I was an inflatable sex doll.”

“That’s not true.  I like you as a person. I respect you.”

“You respect me. You like me as a person.  Well, you better respect me because I’m pregnant.” 

 “Pregnant?” The word squeezed through my throat. I couldn’t believe what she was telling me.

“Yes, Claude. Pregnant with your baby.”

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed. “Nancy, you’re delusional. How can you tell?”

“Delusional, am I? A woman knows when she’s pregnant.” 

 Tell me how you know for sure you're pregnant?”

“A little thing called a home pregnancy test proved positive.”

I pulled the phone from ear and stared at it. Unbelievable! Lydia had gone through several home pregnancy tests only to have the doctor tell her she was not pregnant. It was far too early for home testing to be truly accurate. Nancy definitely had issues.

“Claude! Claude! Are you there?”

“Yes, Nancy. I’m here.”

“There is no escaping your responsibility, Claude. We have to think what is best for our baby.” The voice on the phone now was that of a little girl’s. “You’ll have to tell Lydia.”

Tell Lydia! But tell her what? I spent the night with Nancy? That was bad enough. But to hear a story, however farfetched, that I got Nancy pregnant would crush her. 

“Claude, say something.” 

’“This is all so sudden.  We can’t rush. Please understand, Nancy. We need to think carefully and take our time. 

“I understand, Claude. But do you? You’re the father of my baby. That’s all you need to understand.”

“Yes, I understand. More than you might think. I’m going to hang up now. Please wait for my phone call. I’ll have to speak with Lydia.”

“Tell her I think she’s a remarkable woman. And tell her someday she’ll also become a wonderful mother.”

I sat in the kitchen weighed down by the delicate situation I found myself trapped in. The chances of me successfully ‘impregnating’ Nancy were minimal. But it was that one chance that bothered me. And Lydia with her issues? What was I going to tell her? One good thing about Lydia.  She was always level-headed. She had a knack for bouncing back. And she was right. You can’t walk away from your problems, Claude. 

I took in a deep breath. The time had come for me to look under the bed myself. I wiped the sashimi knife clean and returned it to the knife block. Then I dialed Lydia’s number.