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No response at first, of course. She doesn’t work in finance, and she has to have known that lying to a rich man about working in finance was a big mistake.
“Mergers and acquisitions,” she deflects.
Right.
“Hmm, you don’t sound super confident about that,” I reply as I watch her expression become wary.
“Leave me the fuck alone, Aleksander. You can throw accusations at me once we’re somewhere safe for the night. Until then, I don’t feel the need to defend shit to you.”
Despite my curiosity, I decide to let her take the lead when we walk up to a string of shops that are closing for the night. There’s a small outdoor fruit market where an old man and woman are wrapping up their produce to put away until morning. Their slow, easygoing mannerisms suggest that they would be helpful to us, if only to point us in the direction of a hostel, so I direct us toward their corner of the street in search of some direction.
“Do you think you could communicate with them well enough to ask for help?” I ask, feeling a bit silly that I’m now expecting this poor woman to carry all the weight if finding a place for us to stay. This was my plan after all, and I suppose I just didn’t expect her to be of any help. Why would I have?
“Yes, assuming they speak basic Japanese,” she replies irritably. “I learned the language from military software when I was in college. I’m not just some teenager who is obsessed with Japanese media.”
I shrug as she continues onward. She’s being a real bitch, but I’m hoping that her attitude is just the after effect of dehydration and exhaustion. Once she’s been fed and rested, she’ll be fine.
She takes the lead, cautiously approaching the man and woman in order to avoid appearing confrontational. She opens the conversation with a basic Japanese greeting, one that even I recognize. From there, I don’t understand a damn thing. I hate feeling so useless, but I have to admit that I’m grateful to have her here. What are the odds that she would be able to get us out of this?
The man and woman are agreeable and sunny despite clearly being exhausted from the day’s work, and they seem eager to help us as Faye explains our situation. The old man points up the road as he explains something to her, and I’m beginning to feel much more hopeful about the progression of the night.
“Okay, so he’s saying that he and his wife here have a spare bedroom in their house that we can stay in for the night. I guess their youngest went away to college last year and they’ve been bored and lonely since, so they’d be happy to have us,” Faye explains, a relieved smile spreading across her face.
Even though I’m certain that she’s still pissed at me, it feels good to see her relax a bit. And besides, staying in a little old Japanese couples’ house sounds a hell of a lot more interesting than staying at another five-star hotel. Maybe that’s just because I’ve stayed in too many five-star hotels in my lifetime.
“Alright, are we going to follow them there then?” I ask.
She nods, and we assist the couple in packing up their stock before we all make our journey up the hill to their house.
Faye maintains conversation with them as we walk, and she seems particularly engrossed in the topic at hand as she carries a bag full of mangoes on her shoulders. It’s clear that she’s sore, not only from the descent from the plane but also from the sex we’d had. She’s walking with a bit of a limp, and I feel conflicted as to whether that makes me feel good or guilty.
The little house at the top of the hill is a quintessential Japanese country house with a low outdoor porch and a large sliding glass door. It’s beginning to rain as we step up to the house, and the sound of the raindrops hitting the leaves on the trees around us puts me into a strangely calm, serene daze. We might actually get to rest a bit now. Once we both feel more human, maybe Faye will open up to me a little more.
“Should I offer them some money? Could you do that for me?” I ask Faye as we settle into the main living space before being given a set of minimalistic Japanese bedding. “I feel like we should at least offer something.”
She turns to the old man and asks him, to which he refuses. He motions toward the shed where we had dropped off their fruit overstock, his expression more than grateful.
“He said no payment is necessary. I guess we saved him and his wife two extra hours of work by carrying their fruit up the hill for them. They get extra sleep, which I guess is more than enough. Can’t say I blame them.”
The couple sets us up in the spare bedroom, and we both collapse into our floor beds almost immediately. My own weight pressing down on my muscles and joints is painful, but I fall asleep too fast to allow it to bother me. Faye sleeps nearby, and I watch her chest rise and fall as she’s taken by the tidal wave of fatigue in a matter of minutes.
15
Faye
Iwake up at what feels like four in the morning to the sound of crickets outside the window. I’m feeling profoundly refreshed considering how difficult the day before was, but I’m under no pressure or obligation to remove myself from my little floor bed quite yet. Aleksander is still sleeping on the other side of the room, breathing heavily but not in a labored or obnoxious manner.
The whole atmosphere is so peaceful and safe, especially now that Aleksander’s enemies think we’re dead. I know it’s naïve to assume that they wouldn’t at least consider that we crashed on purpose, but unless they have state-of-the-art tracking software implanted under our skin, it’s unlikely. I have to keep reminding myself that these people are simply human at the end of the day. No matter how evil or ruthless they seem, they’re just greedy assholes.
The breeze coming through from the woods behind the house smells so sweet and fresh in contrast to the city air of Tokyo and Las Vegas. Even though we’ve only been here for one night, my breathing feels easier, cleaner. It makes me wonder what it must feel like to live in a place like this all the time, relatively untouched by the ravages of first-world consumerism.
I turn onto my side and watch Aleksander sleep motionless under his blanket. It’s so strange to me how much more human he looks when he’s asleep. Having him lord his power over me and bark orders at me has stripped most empathy from my view of him, but now that I see him this way, he almost seems like an overgrown puppy. His eyelashes are long and thick, reminding me of my baby nephew’s eyes when he nods off in the back seat of my car. Even such a subtle detail is able to bring about feelings of warmth and familiarity that hadn’t been there previously with him.
It feels good, I have to admit. Seeing him in such a defenseless, non-aggressive manner feels like such a unique contrast. He almost looks cuddly, and with the slight chill in the early morning air, I’m tempted to crawl over to him and wiggle my way into his arms. I’m almost annoyed that I even thought about that now, because the mental visual strikes something in me that feels like hunger.
I can’t act in a way that will make Aleksander view me as being codependent or clingy. He’s still my captor at the end of the day, and I refuse to become another victim of Stockholm Syndrome. It’s such a silly position to put yourself in. Why would you ever choose to empathize with someone who took you away from everything you know, removing your autonomy?
I can’t help but think of my poor mother right now, likely pacing a rut into her carpet as she waits for updates that won’t come. I’m not sure how much she would know about the situation at this point, but Aleksander seems particularly concerned about how much information has been released to the press. Apparently, my name has already been brought up several times, and being in Japan right now pins me as a guilty flight risk. I’ll have to work three times as hard to claim my innocence once we make it back to the States.
