Her voice rose against the half-truths of advertisement jingles. ‘The professor had suffered a seizure and he died and never returned.’
They came to a halt in front of a statue of a dog.
‘Here is Hachikō. This is your Hachikō exit.’
Naomi stopped out of politeness but had an eye on the next waymark as a pedestrian claxon sounded on the massive crossing. She hoped to make the lights but she could see the crowd thinning and the last stragglers beginning to run to beat the change. She would miss it anyway.
‘The emperor heard about this act of loyalty so admired in the Japanese character and he agreed to this statue.’
The girl followed her eyes towards the sea of people.
‘Where do you go from here?’ The girl doll tugged at the line of her sharp fringe.
The lights changed. Naomi’s mounting anxiety dissipated as she surrendered to being very late.
‘It’s near PARCO, Udagawacho,’ she said, reading the biro on the back of her hand.
‘I know the store. I’ll go that way with you.
She might be difficult to shake off, Naomi thought.
‘Is it out of your way?’
‘I guess not.’
Waiting for the sea of people to move from the edge of the road. Languid little questions followed as they made their way through the crowd.
‘Yes, almost a month. An amazing city. ‘
The Japanese girl was time-easy and very laid back. It was late; it would rile him but there was little she could do about it. Her responses were short.
‘An architect but not qualified. And you?’
‘PR. My friend is an architect. You should meet him.’
She might be the type who knew everyone. Over the sea of heads a digitized figure cartwheeled across the face of five buildings as the accumulation of bodies waiting to cross deepened.
The girl beside her bridged the alien space between her and the crowd, somehow emphasizing it. The otherness of the place was daunting. Had she really committed to living here? They crossed to walk up the hill together. At the Seibu Store a six-foot seed pod filled a window and shook like a silent maraca; the first sign, in the urban landscape, that was organic. She wished the seed would grow to a pantomime vine and she could climb it and escape.
‘PARCO,’ the girl announced.
‘Thanks.’ Naomi hoped it wouldn’t be too difficult to shake free of her politely.
‘I’ll leave you here.’ The girl began backing off easily, waving as she left.
‘Thanks. Thanks so much,’ Naomi yelled back.
And then, on a second thought, the girl turned again, taking a paper from her clutch.
‘I’m Miho. Give me a call sometime.’
A B-52 bomber wingspan formed the lintel entrance to the café. A self-conscious witticism from an international designer. Josh was sitting beside a half-drunk cup of coffee at a table just inside and she met him with an emollient kiss. With a copy of the Economist to hand and his leg crossed high, he had the distant ease of man of privilege. He finally smiled.
‘Half my waking life waiting for you, then a little more time waiting for the apology.’
‘I am sorry,’ she said, throwing the map on the table and sitting down.
He cut her no slack at all.
‘I nearly drowned in the crowd.’
He glanced approvingly at the close-fitting knee length skirt she had chosen. She had good legs.
‘You’re a good swimmer, Naomi.’
She thought of the girl in the cotton dress, cum lifeguard.
‘Nice choice.’ She surveyed the apocalyptic interior of the café, ready to acknowledge that there were some good reasons for coming to Japan; if only to see at first-hand the architectural experiments.
‘You want to order coffee? You’re too late for a bite.’
Josh proceeded to pick up the map and painstakingly refold it along the original lines, the fissures in his complexion lost in his flexing jaw.
‘You been having a picnic with this?’
Often he left the hotel room early to get to the office because he was keen and he finished his working day late as London woke and Sydney was a sparkling hour ahead. Some days he tried to cover it all. Because she hadn’t yet found them an apartment he had been obliged to take control.
‘The apartment we saw yesterday was great and I just don’t get why you don’t like it. Great views, central …’
‘It was just so soulless. We could be anywhere in the world.’
‘With Tokyo Tower on the skyline?’
‘It’s a warren. A ghetto exclusively for Westerners. We should live like locals while we are here.’
‘Is international so bad? With a gym and pool, and when else do we get to live in a condominium?’
Josh looked out over the expansive pavement. A smell of sweet soy baking drifted on the air. He had persuaded her to uproot and he supposed he should give her a say in where they lived.
The sun was still struggling to break through the heat haze and, just as she ordered ice tea, the diminutive figure of Mr Kami, the rental agent, left his motorbike and came towards them, swinging his helmet from its retro leather strap.
He laid it on the table wearily as he surveyed them. Slight as a jockey, his simian face ridiculously wizened.
Naomi shook his hand, entranced as he rolled a matchstick between his yellowing teeth.
‘I show you a Japanese traditional style without fear or favour,’ he said proudly, retrieving his helmet. The girl was certainly opinionated and had wrong-footed him yesterday over the luxury apartment he had felt sure he would secure for them. They were so young yet sky-high real estate values that made his eyes water were within their budget because a company allowance would cover it. Quite why she carried so much weight in the decision when the guy had liked it was a conundrum. His own choice was limited to the pigeon coop he called home.
Josh gave Naomi a knowing look. The man was a walking set of idioms and ‘without fear or favour’ was his catchphrase.
‘Excellent,’ she emphasized as Josh recovered his Economist.
Mr Kami opened his arms expansively and swung them, helmet and all, in the direction he intended to take them. He would bring them to their senses. They, or more precisely she, had asked for a property with character. Well, he would show them a rental with character. Given his wealth of experience, this was just one step in a well-worn process. The property he had in mind was one they would be unable to settle on but fitted her revised brief and he knew it would send them straight back to the Tower of Babel and the cloying luxury that people mistook for privilege in Hiroo. The detour this morning would ultimately save him more effort in the end. That said, she was wasting everyone’s time, including her own. What she was looking for did not exist. She was a romantic, impractical girl, looking for a Japan lost some time back with the shogunate.
The