The turtle house, p.28
The Turtle House, page 28
A few months ago, we received word that as an effort between governments, remains from the house where Akio perished were found. They are demolishing the mansion to put up an apartment block, and the contractor, who must be a very good man, gathered all of the fragments of bone and teeth.
**I know it is very shocking—this is Akio’s nephew—my grandmother has begun to cry and can’t seem to finish this letter, so I will do so here. The words following are my own.**
Let me try to explain. After my uncle was poisoned, his body, along with the other officers’, was burned within an interior garden. The home, due to damage from our soldiers’ later retaliation that night, was unlived in for many, many years, then purchased and refurbished. The rooms I believe my uncle called “the annex” were forgotten for an even longer time. But when it was time to knock it down, it was there that construction workers found his delivery bag and all of its contents and sent it back to my grandmother. It is a miraculous thing, and the kindness of this stranger has touched all of our hearts.
There was a letter to you, sealed and addressed, in the bag. We have wrapped it (as the paper is very fragile) and enclosed it. My grandmother says that we do not want to interfere in your current life. She also says that she has not opened it, although she was very curious as to what the letter said.
We hope that this correspondence finds you living a good life. My grandmother has spoken fondly of your devotion to my uncle. You will notice that my family has not forgotten this young man—my name is the same as his.
Sincerely,
Mrs. Naomi Sato and Akio Sato
Mineko read the letter from the Satos several times. She ran her finger over the young Akio Sato’s signature, wondering if he perhaps resembled her Akio. Her hands shook as she peeled back the tape on the package. She tried to calm herself by taking a few deep breaths, but there was no peace to come. The envelope, the handwriting, her name, her old address. Using the same pocketknife, she slit open the envelope.
The paper was so yellowed it was the color of toasted yeast bread. All those years, the weather changing every season, it had lived alone in that pack, Mineko thought. A photo was inside, the back to her, the lightest of characters stamped there. She flipped it over and there she was, hands in front of her, clasped below her waist. She was wearing the orange coat, she could tell by the shape of it, but no hat. And there, behind her younger self, was the turtle house, the roofline sharp against the sky, missing the minogame on the corner. She glanced next to her young feet. There it was. Like a waiting pet. Mineko stared at her happy face and wondered how she ever thought she was unworthy.
Oh, Dear Empress of Turtles,
I write to you from a new year’s celebration in name only. The year is changing but being so far away from you and from home, there is no feeling of jubilation, although I am happy to serve the empire . . .
Mineko ached; she knew that he had to write that last line to keep his letter from being delayed. He always put such lines in his letters—she wondered how many soldiers had done this, stretching the truth so their words could stretch home.
I have ridden a thousand miles and I’m hungry like a turtle in a pond, waiting for old noodles. But I decided to write this first, in the hope that after dinner, I can escape to the mail house and sneak this letter in the evening bag. We messengers are to be fed first, just because some of the leaders are still traveling to the party, and this is a treat, as usually we underlings are the very last and thus the portions meager. Although I am happy to do this for the empire and our most noble emperor, who is divine in his ruling.
Mineko gulped. So if the messengers ate first, but did so in their own quarters, no one would have known about their deaths. Mineko felt sick, she wished she could yell into the letter—don’t go to the dining room! Don’t leave your desk. Oh, how soon after writing this did Akio go to dinner? How long after writing this letter, sealing it, placing it in his messenger bag did he take a bite, then another, and then start to feel ill.
As you have noticed, I included a very special photo. I took two that night, but didn’t have a chance to get them developed until this month. The one I have is of you with your arms out—the silly one—because I like looking at how big your smile is in it. You have the photo with the more serious side of you. I didn’t want you to forget our future home. Please visit regularly and let me know, immediately, if any ruffians move in. We’ll need to move them out somehow. I’ll leave that, my love, to you. You’re good with ruffians.
But this photo is the small gift I have for you. The BIGGEST surprise is something that has taken months and months to procure. Before I left, I had one of my father’s assistants look into who really owns our turtle house! A bank, surely, but with so much time and chaos, which one was the question. Master Hayato has figured out the mystery, and I then moved on to the second phase of my surprise: buying the turtle house. The price was surprisingly inexpensive, and between the monies earned from working in my father’s patent office and what I would have spent in school this year . . . and a little extra from future inheritance . . . I have just enough. I have entrusted the funds to Master Hayato with the blessing of my parents, and the turtle house will soon be ours. Feel free to jump around in happiness, my love. Just don’t hit your hard head.
I close with this: I am wishing I were with you or you with me. I am wishing we could be nibbling on gyoza together from the food stall, close to the temple where the cymbal is being hit and monks are starting their ascent to pray. I am wishing I could hear your laugh—such a good laugh—and listen to all of your ideas that are more fair, more right, more sustainable than any other words I have ever heard. Please wait for a letter from me before you move into the house and begin your refurbishing. And say hello to the turtle children for me.
With love, forever, Akio
Mineko, still in the crook of the tree, made her way to the ground, needing something firm to sit upon, something steady. She pulled up her knees and rested her head on them, as if the world were forming her into a ball. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard that behind her eyelids there was not darkness but bright bursts of purple and fuchsia and white, stars created by the pressure.
The turtle house had been hers, really, all these years. All these hardscrabble years, all these lonely years, all these stranded years. She could have been home, maybe, in her house with her children. Mineko wept. And then she stood, eager to get back, ready to begin packing.
Book 4
Chapter 29
Curtain, Texas
April 5, 1999
There’s a downpour outside, the kind that turns the bar ditches into rapids. Dad is home because of it, and Mom can’t work in the flower beds. I happen to have the day off, and there’s nowhere for me to be. We are together in a house that feels too small. Mom and Dad are irritated with each other over Easter yesterday, each thinking the other could have handled something better. Mom is fit to be tied with me because she thinks I’m siding with Grandminnie, and Daddy is just pissed about everything.
He keeps circling the kitchen table where my turtle house plans lie unrolled, secured at the corners with paperweights. The photocopies of the Japanese homes are splayed next to the plans. I left it all out on purpose.
I’ve called Grandminnie at Autumn Leaves and she’s not answering. I can see her, sitting by the phone, dismayed and disgruntled, thinking that it’s one of her kids trying to reach her. I can’t imagine she’s anywhere but there, not like she’s suddenly taken an interest in the Monday afternoon Board Game Club. I leave several messages. I think of telling Grandminnie everything about Darren last night, and for a split second, I wonder if she’s disappointed in me. I go through the evidence again, like I’ve done so many times, to prove my innocence to myself. Then I replay Darren’s messages in my memory, the ones he left and I erased.
Listen, I don’t know what happened a couple of days ago. I was really drunk. I hadn’t had a margarita in forever. Tequila, man. I do know that you ran over my toes. And maybe you’re embarrassed by that. But that doesn’t mean I’m holding it against you. We can still be together, Lia.
Went by your place. It’s cute. I think I saw you from the bridge. Pink kayak? I didn’t know you kayaked.
I heard from your roommate that you are going to quit. I don’t get it. You are going to submarine your career. BT&B will never have you back if you do that.
You’ll never get another job because of the way you bailed, you know? Your career is over unless you call me back.
After that last message, I finally broke down and called the one person who understood what I was going through. Even though a few years had passed and I had no hope that she was still living with her mom in Sealy, after five rings, I heard her cautious hello. I babbled on about how sorry I was to be calling so late and how I was surprised she was there, and how I regretted that I hadn’t reached out sooner when she calmly, kindly interrupted me.
“Lia, it’s about Darren, isn’t it?”
Aimee had kept up with him through rumors and trade journal blurbs about who was working where and on what. She had run into one of her former professors at U of H, and he had just happened to mention Darren leaving Seattle and settling again in Austin.
“I think I knew it was just a matter of time. Tell me what happened.”
Aimee’s warmth made me feel safe for the first time in weeks. I climbed into my bathtub with my jeans on, sliding the curtain closed and leaning back against the tile wall.
“So, he forced himself on you.”
I told her step by step what had happened, every detail I could remember.
“It was luck that I got away from him.”
“It wasn’t luck. You made a decision and acted on it. That takes guts, Lia.”
“I ran over his foot and ruined my career.”
“He would have ruined your career had you not done that.”
“I thought it wouldn’t happen to me. I thought . . .” I didn’t say how I thought that I was better. That I thought I was smarter. I thought I wasn’t a target because I was a more serious student, how I thought I wasn’t a target because he respected me more. And then I realized what that meant I thought about Aimee. “I’m sorry.”
Aimee sighed. Then she told me something that gutted me.
After the night in his office, after she had gotten back to her apartment and had taken a shower, there was a message waiting for her from Darren. He said that he had been thinking about it and because she was such a promising student, he wanted to recommend her for the Student Advisory Board.
I did the math. Just two days later, after not hearing back from Aimee, he had offered it to me.
“I heard from the group guys that you had been announced as the board rep. That’s when I knew you were on his list. I should have done a better job of warning you. I could tell that you didn’t get it after we talked, and I’ve felt bad about not making it more clear. I’m sorry.”
After we hung up, promising each other to check in soon, I started packing. With each shirt I shoved into my duffel, I wondered how much of my career I had earned and how much had been slipped toward me because of Darren’s attention. When I thought about each block that had built me into an architect on BT&B’s premier team, I couldn’t ignore those blocks that had Darren’s fingerprints. My commercial architecture career was a giant game of Jenga. Removing the Darren-related moments made everything topple over in a heap.
I call Grandminnie again but hang up before I leave a message. After we had paced the house out last night, we sat and watched the sun dip low beyond the horizon, slipping until it was nothing but an orange line. Then we gathered up our stuff, covered the furniture properly, tossed some chunks of bread to the turtles, and I took her home.
When I asked her if she wanted me to walk her in, she said no, but then she did ask for something interesting; she asked if she could borrow the tape recorder and tapes. She said she wanted to hear her own story for herself.
At dinnertime, we get a call. Mom lets it go. She has picked up a pizza—something she rarely does, which demonstrates her anger at all of us in a very typical Mom way. She’s too angry to cook. The phone rings again, and Daddy, on the fourth ring, picks it up.
“What? No, she’s not here. Yes, I’m sure. And she’s not at my sister’s? Never signed out? So she’s somewhere there!”
My dad hangs up the phone and gets his truck keys. Yelling out from the living room where we hear him pulling on his boots, he tells us that Grandminnie hasn’t been seen today. All day. That her room was left unlocked and she didn’t come down for after-lunch cookies and how she missed dinner at five.
Mom and I simultaneously look at the digital clock on the microwave: 7:32. We race to find our shoes and then out the front door to where Daddy is pulling out of the drive.
“We’re coming, too!” Mom blurts out, letting me climb in first and onto the skinny bench seat in the second row.
Autumn Leaves is all abuzz. Sadie, the front desk lady, asks us straightaway if we want to call the police.
My dad looks like the thought of Grandminnie being in real trouble hasn’t truly crossed his mind, that she has just misplaced herself, and that Sadie’s question has brought the image of body bags and swirling red and blue lights into his mind.
“Not yet, let’s just look.”
We split up and scour Autumn Leaves, knocking on each door, even though the staff says they have already done this. Mae decides to walk around the building with a flashlight, now that night has fallen.
“She’s not a cat, Mae,” my mother mutters, instead digging through Grandminnie’s drawers.
“Looks like she’s missing some underwear, maybe some of the clothes that I bought her. Lia, go check the bathroom. She’s not going to go anywhere without her Shiseido!”
Mom’s right. Her face creams are gone. The tube of red lipstick is missing.
“How about her walking shoes?” Dad asks.
Gone as well. Along with her purse, her Japanese crackers, and her carton of cigarettes that we aren’t supposed to know about.
I open her closet again and push back a few things to reveal the corner where the bowling bag had been kept. Gone.
“What’s this?” My dad has the bag of tapes and the tape recorder in his hands. “They were sitting on top of the microwave.”
I wonder if she intended to leave them.
“A project we’ve been working on,” I say, letting each word inch out of me slowly.
“Does it have to do with that silly house?” my mom asks, arms crossed.
No. Yes? Silly! I stay quiet.
“I think she’s run away! But where?” Aunt Mae says, looking through another drawer. She’s still in her pharmacist coat, having raced over from work. Her hair is in a high bun, twisted just so. “Who else could she have gone to besides us?”
Aunt Mae’s lips are in a tight line, and I know that Dad has called her and told her about Easter.
“I’m going to tell Sadie that we want to call the police,” Dad finally says.
Everyone is moving around me, like a bunch of bumper cars. They don’t get it. I feel like my skin doesn’t fit me anymore, as if I’m wearing a too-small shirt. I start to sweat. Don’t be a scarediddy-cat, I hear in my head.
“Jesus, what is wrong with you people?” I yell. I touch my throat. I can still feel my vocal cords quivering, so yes, that came from me.
“You don’t get it! You don’t even try! If you love her like you say you do, then—”
“Lia Renee Cope! What has gotten into you?” My mom slams the bedside drawer she’s been going through. My father’s jaw is set. Aunt Mae’s eyebrows are so lifted, a ripple of wrinkles has taken over her usually smooth forehead.
I hold out the bag of tapes. “If y’all would just listen, I think you’d figure out why I’ve helped her with this house thing. Not because I wanted to hurt you or anything, but because Grandminnie . . .”
I don’t know how to say it. They are waiting for me. My dad has his hand on the door handle.
“You all have been really unfair with her. She never wanted to live here; she just wants another chance at a life that’s her own!”
“Okay, Lia. We’ll listen to these tapes. Let’s not argue.” Aunt Mae puts both hands on my shoulders and looks deep into my eyes. “Please, we talk about everything once she’s found.”
Someone calls the corporate office of Autumn Leaves first. Then the Dennis County Sheriff’s office. They say that they’ll send someone out, but she’s an adult and there’s been no obvious foul play.
Before we meet them, we climb into Dad’s truck, Aunt Mae and I squeeze into the back, and we cruise Dennis looking for any sign of Grandminnie. I’m terrified she’s hurt somewhere.
I push Play on the first tape and as we drive, we listen. My father’s face softens when he hears my grandmother’s voice. My aunt Mae puts her forehead against the back of the passenger’s seat. My grandmother is talking about her own mother, her sister, the home she slept in, and the other home—the turtle house—where she played. It is quiet in the truck; we listen and we drive slowly around and around Dennis town square.
At the end of tape one, Mae looks at me. “I knew about the house; she mentioned it when I was a child. But I had no idea she loved it so much.”
“She never said anything to me,” Dad says.
We take the familiar roads to the assisted living and the sheriff deputy is there. His car is parked out front, lights going, and it’s the same small, muscular man from the night of the fire, the new hire. The one whom Grandminnie had scoffed at.
It is decided that he’d send out word to the surrounding counties, fax her photo around, and do a little search himself, drive by Dimple’s store, her home, too. But us—we should go home, rest, she’ll probably come back tonight. Hell, she’s probably at our house already.
We all get in the truck and head back to our house, where the cold pizza awaits. What they don’t say, what they can’t say, is that they want to hear more of their mother’s voice. I ready myself for their questions. I never intended for them to listen like this, though I guess I don’t know what my intentions were back when Grandminnie and I started recording. But in the truck, I push Play.
