a bunch. She used them to hide behind.
I waited.
All I offered was my silent companionship, but it must have helped.
Yukiko finally came out from behind the emotional crutch of the tissues to blink up at me. Tears trembled on her lashes, but her gaze was now steady. She was nearing eighty years old, was small and dainty, but for a second or two she looked as tough as steel. ‘Forgive me, Joe. You must think me a silly old woman.’
‘That’s not what I think. Not at all.’
Her hair was white, cut close to her head in an elfin cap. The soft amber hue of her skin was spared the mottle of age, and was relatively wrinkle free. She was immaculately dressed in an off-white silk sweater and slacks. She looked like a woman thirty years younger and the beauty that must have struck Andrew all those years ago was barely diluted. Even suffering the grief of losing her husband, she presented an image of steadfast calmness. Sadly, I knew that the image was born of the etiquette instilled in her all her life. It would have been easier for me if she had wailed and beaten at her breast in anguish.
‘Then you must think me selfish.’
I shook my head, before pulling over another seat and positioning it in front of her. I sat, leaning on my elbows, clasping my hands.
‘I know you have personal reasons for staying silent, Yukiko. And I respect your wishes.’
‘But?’ Yukiko smiled sadly. ‘I hear the “but” behind your words. You are not unlike Jared in that respect.’
‘You know who murdered Andrew.’
‘I do not.’ There was no reproof in her words, it was a simple admission – I believed – of her failure to find answers to her own questions.
‘But you have your suspicions about why he died.’
Yukiko didn’t answer.
I shifted, leaning that bit closer. I reached for her hands and held them in mine. She bunched her fists around the tissue and briefly I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark. But then I felt her hands relax and noted the slump in her shoulders.
‘If I tell the police then I will bring harm to others.’
‘I’m not asking that you tell the police. Tell me.’
‘I know what you would do, and what Jared would do. I do not want this to continue, Joe. I’m sorry, I can’t tell either of you.’
Giri , I understood, was a matter of honour, and it was OK for one of a Western mentality to scoff, but it was everything to Yukiko. It had been difficult enough for her to admit that she held some knowledge about her husband’s death, but now there had to be a war raging inside her.
‘This man, the one who murdered Andrew, is without honour,’ I said. ‘You have no obligation towards him. Whichever way you look at it.’
Suddenly Yukiko pulled out of my hands. Her back was tight to the seat. I thought she was about to slap my face.
‘I do not protect that pig !’
I understood what we had missed then. Whatever obligation Yukiko felt she owed it was to her husband. Not only that, but to Jed Newmark and perhaps others. I sat, watching her, waiting for her to gather herself. Either she would strike me for the dishonour of my words, or she would fold.
Thankfully it was the latter.
She stood up and, leaning against the counter for support, she made her way to a drawer from which she drew out a rolled newspaper. She returned to her seat and sat down before offering me the paper. I unfurled it.
‘Page fifteen,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Before turning to the page she’d indicated I took a glance at the cover, saw that the newspaper was almost a fortnight old. I looked up from it to find Yukiko staring at me. I nodded and she mirrored the gesture. She had suspected something was coming for the best part of two weeks, but had kept the secret to herself. Maybe I was wrong: she would have shared this with Andrew at least. I thumbed through the sheets to the correct page. Yukiko pointed at a column at the bottom. The story was accompanied by two photographs: one of a fire crew
I waited.
All I offered was my silent companionship, but it must have helped.
Yukiko finally came out from behind the emotional crutch of the tissues to blink up at me. Tears trembled on her lashes, but her gaze was now steady. She was nearing eighty years old, was small and dainty, but for a second or two she looked as tough as steel. ‘Forgive me, Joe. You must think me a silly old woman.’
‘That’s not what I think. Not at all.’
Her hair was white, cut close to her head in an elfin cap. The soft amber hue of her skin was spared the mottle of age, and was relatively wrinkle free. She was immaculately dressed in an off-white silk sweater and slacks. She looked like a woman thirty years younger and the beauty that must have struck Andrew all those years ago was barely diluted. Even suffering the grief of losing her husband, she presented an image of steadfast calmness. Sadly, I knew that the image was born of the etiquette instilled in her all her life. It would have been easier for me if she had wailed and beaten at her breast in anguish.
‘Then you must think me selfish.’
I shook my head, before pulling over another seat and positioning it in front of her. I sat, leaning on my elbows, clasping my hands.
‘I know you have personal reasons for staying silent, Yukiko. And I respect your wishes.’
‘But?’ Yukiko smiled sadly. ‘I hear the “but” behind your words. You are not unlike Jared in that respect.’
‘You know who murdered Andrew.’
‘I do not.’ There was no reproof in her words, it was a simple admission – I believed – of her failure to find answers to her own questions.
‘But you have your suspicions about why he died.’
Yukiko didn’t answer.
I shifted, leaning that bit closer. I reached for her hands and held them in mine. She bunched her fists around the tissue and briefly I wondered if I’d overstepped the mark. But then I felt her hands relax and noted the slump in her shoulders.
‘If I tell the police then I will bring harm to others.’
‘I’m not asking that you tell the police. Tell me.’
‘I know what you would do, and what Jared would do. I do not want this to continue, Joe. I’m sorry, I can’t tell either of you.’
Giri , I understood, was a matter of honour, and it was OK for one of a Western mentality to scoff, but it was everything to Yukiko. It had been difficult enough for her to admit that she held some knowledge about her husband’s death, but now there had to be a war raging inside her.
‘This man, the one who murdered Andrew, is without honour,’ I said. ‘You have no obligation towards him. Whichever way you look at it.’
Suddenly Yukiko pulled out of my hands. Her back was tight to the seat. I thought she was about to slap my face.
‘I do not protect that pig !’
I understood what we had missed then. Whatever obligation Yukiko felt she owed it was to her husband. Not only that, but to Jed Newmark and perhaps others. I sat, watching her, waiting for her to gather herself. Either she would strike me for the dishonour of my words, or she would fold.
Thankfully it was the latter.
She stood up and, leaning against the counter for support, she made her way to a drawer from which she drew out a rolled newspaper. She returned to her seat and sat down before offering me the paper. I unfurled it.
‘Page fifteen,’ she said, her voice barely a whisper.
Before turning to the page she’d indicated I took a glance at the cover, saw that the newspaper was almost a fortnight old. I looked up from it to find Yukiko staring at me. I nodded and she mirrored the gesture. She had suspected something was coming for the best part of two weeks, but had kept the secret to herself. Maybe I was wrong: she would have shared this with Andrew at least. I thumbed through the sheets to the correct page. Yukiko pointed at a column at the bottom. The story was accompanied by two photographs: one of a fire crew
Similar Books
