Guess I’ve lived around them too long. Too late now to flee, to get back among whites and white ways.
Robert Childan said, “Paul—” His voice, he noted, croaked in sickly escape; no control, no modulation.
“Yes, Robert.”
“Paul, I… am… humiliated.”
The room reeled.
“Why so, Robert?” Tones of concern, but detached. Above involvement.
“Paul. One moment.” He fingered the bit of jewelry; it had become slimy with sweat. “I am proud of this work. There can be no consideration of trashy good-luck charms. I reject.”
Once more he could not make out the young Japanese man’s reaction, only the listening ear, the mere awareness.
“Thank you, however,” Robert Childan said.
Paul bowed.
Robert Childan bowed.
“The men who made this,” Childan said, “are American proud artists. Myself included. To suggest trashy good-luck charms therefore insults us and I ask for apology.”
Incredible prolonged silence.
Paul surveyed him. One eyebrow lifted slightly and his thin lips twitched. A smile?
“I demand,” Childan said. That was all; he could carry it no further. He now merely waited.
Nothing occurred.
Please, he thought. Help me.
Paul said, “Forgive my arrogant imposition.” He held out his hand.
“All right,” Robert Childan said.
They shook hands.
Calmness descended in Childan’s heart. I have lived through and out, he knew. All over. Grace of God; it existed at the exact moment for me. Another time—otherwise. Could I ever dare once more, press my luck? Probably not.
He felt melancholy. Brief instant, as if I rose to the surface and saw unencumbered.
Life is short, he thought. Art, or something not life, is long, stretching out endless, like concrete worm. Flat, white, unsmoothed by any passage over or across it. Here I stand But no longer. Taking the small box, he put the Edfrank jewelry piece away in his coat pocket.
12
Mr. Ramsey said, “Mr. Tagomi, this is Mr. Yatabe.” He retired to a corner of the office, and the slender elderly gentleman came forward.
Holding out his hand, Mr. Tagomi said, “I am glad to meet you in person, sir.” The light, fragile old hand slipped into his own; he shook without pressing and released at once. Nothing broken I hope, he thought. He examined the old gentleman’s features, finding himself pleased. Such a stern, coherent spirit there. No fogging of wits. Certainly lucid transmission of all the stable ancient traditions. Best quality which the old could represent… and then he discovered that he was facing General Tedeki, the former Imperial Chief of Staff.
Mr. Tagomi bowed low.
“General,” he said.
“Where is the third party?” General Tedeki said.
“On the double, he nears,” Mr. Tagomi said. “Informed by self at hotel room.” His mind utterly rattled, he retreated several steps in the bowing position, scarcely able to regain an erect posture.
The general seated himself. Mr. Ramsey, no doubt still ignorant of the old man’s identity, assisted with the chair but showed no particular deference. Mr. Tagomi hesitantly took a chair facing.
“We loiter,” the general said. “Regrettably but unavoidably.”
“True,” Mr. Tagomi said.
Ten minutes passed. Neither man spoke.
“Excuse me, sir,” Mr. Ramsey said at last, fidgeting. “I will depart unless needed.”
Mr. Tagomi nodded, and Mr. Ramsey departed.
“Tea, General?” Mr. Tagomi said.
“No, sir.”“
“Sir,” Mr. Tagomi said, “I admit to fear. I sense in this encounter something terrible.”
The general inclined his head.
“Mr. Baynes, whom I have met,” Mr. Tagomisaid, “and entertained in my home, declares himself a Swede. Yet perusal persuades one that he is in fact a highly placed German of some sort. I say this because—”