smiled, “it made her strange to many Japanese, I suppose.”
“And being Christian couldn’t help much.”
“Perhaps not. Still, it gave her a place to retire to eventually.”
“The real function of the Christian community.” Owen said. “Old age retreats. In the U.S. a lot of retirement homes are denominational.”
“Denominational?” Yasuko asked.
“You know specific branches of the Christian church—Lutheran homes, Episcopal homes, Presbyterian homes, Baptist homes.”
“So many names.”
When they were on the train passing out from Suma along the Inland Sea, Owen watched the steel gray water so opaque, motionless, and thought it was the back of some infinitely placid and deep creature. The sky was grey too, hazy and stroked with darker tones toward the horizon.
“Tell me about the home.” Owen said.
“I’ve only been once before,” Yasuko answered. “It’s very modern and very clean.”
“And very depressing.” Owen volunteered.
“Yes, that too, I think. She seems to like it there. She has a group of friends, her team, I suppose. And they look after her.”
“Does she leave much?”
“I don’t think so. She plays the piano.”
“What kind of a room does she have?”
“Six mat with a very nice mahogany wardrobe—the rooms surround a courtyard. She has a view of that, and the dining room is close by. She likes visitors.”
“I would think.” Owen answered, still watching the Inland Sea.
He wondered if it ever got blue or blue/green. Just this endless solder color. “The authorities never punished her for intervening in the church’s future?”
“Did they know about it?” Yasuko answered, “I think they only dealt with Pastor Rielmann and Mr. Nielsen. Most likely they never connected her with it. She had no real power.”
“Still, you’d think they’d want a scapegoat.”
“Later they did arrest Mr. Nielsen.”
“And what happened to him?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think he ever contacted the church again.”
“Not a good sign.”
“I suppose so. But it was a difficult time—often you didn’t hear from someone for years and then they turned in okay at the end—is that the expression?”
“Maybe ‘turned up okay’ is slightly better.” Owen answered.
The home was further from the station than Yasuko remembered. Twice she paused to puzzle out signs Owen couldn’t read. The signs for the home usually were on brown backgrounds and that meant occasionally Owen saw directions before she did. Only when they came to a short steep hill did Yasuko acknowledge she was certain now of the way.
The sky had turned a solder color too, and Owen regretted not carrying an umbrella.
Mioko Tanaka wore a long grey skirt and brown sweater. Her hair was yanked back in a neat bun and she struggled standing with a cane, leaning forward a bit to watch them more intently as they came across the cement walk into the flagment portico.
“I’ve been standing here for forty minutes waiting for you and now at last you’ve come.” Mioko said rather too loudly, Owen thought, but the receptionist to the right and the nurse hovering nearby did not seem to understand what was being said.
Yasuko slipped out of her shoes and into slippers effortlessly but Owen struggled with the entry procedure, as always. Yasuko covered by handing Mioko her gift of a box of eight wrapped cakes.
“Good,” Mioko said, “we have a special visiting room and we can eat these there. I’ll make sure we get some tea. I’ve not had one of these in years. And I’m so glad you didn’t wrap the box up.”
Owen worried about his heavily wrapped gift of handkerchiefs.
“And is this the historian, you’ve promised me?”
Yasuko immediately turned and said, “Yes, I’m so sorry, this is Owen Mathias.”
“Owen what?” Mioko said, cutting her off. “I’m hard of hearing now and everything else.”
“Owen Mathias,” Owen said, extending his hand.
“Spell it.”
“M, A, T, H, I, A,S.” Owen said slowly.
“Oh math-eye-as,” Mioko said. “But you say it differently like math-ee-us.”
“Yes, that’s the way my family pronounces it.”
“Well, at least I can understand it now. Let’s go to the room. Although it looks like you’ve got something for me, too.”
“Yes, but it’s heavily wrapped.”
“I hate that—it’s my hands, I can’t work my hands so well anymore, and I hate asking for help.”
“You don’t have to ask,” Owen countered, “I’ll do it directly when we get to the room.”
“Good.” Mioko answered, “I suppose you want to lead there too.”
“Not a chance,” Owen laughed, “you, only, know the way.”
“Well, you’ve got that right. I know all there is to know about this place and how to get around here, even if I can’t walk very fast. I used to hate Japanese omiyage, little gifts for every occasion, and I never did it, except when I had to, but now and here I think it’s quite wonderful. And I quite like these cakes. You don’t often see something new here, isn’t that odd? Collecting new things all your life and then at the end you seldom see anything new.”
“I see new things everyday,” Owen said.
“Oh but that’s because everything is new to you here in Japan.”
“I’ve been here before,” Owen answered.
“Not here you haven’t , I’ll bet.”
“Right again.”
“Right as rain,” Mioko said. “That’s an expression I remember from my days in California. I was a musician once, in your country but a very long time ago. But I date my differentness from then. I never imagined I’d end up in such a room as this,” Mioko motioned to the green walls and the noisy fan unit mounted near the ceiling. “It’s like a little coffin isn’t it? The whole place is a slow rehearsal for a little coffin and then the flames.”
“Mioko,”
