chair. For a few minutes, he stared quietly at the floor. Then his face crumpled in sorrow, and he began to cry. Wrenching sobs racked his small frame. Sitting at his ankles, Miako whined in sympathy.
“Can I get you a drink of water?” she asked once he had stopped.
He shook his head. “When?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it must have been last night, after the party.” She waited for his response, but there was none. He stared blankly at the floor, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. “We’ll have to notify the police,” she continued. “May I use your phone?”
He waved an arm vaguely toward the inside of the house.
Charlotte found the phone on an antique desk in the front parlor—Paul’s parlor—and, after making the call, rejoined him on the veranda. He was still staring blankly at the floor.
“Someone will also have to notify the family,” she said. “I understand from what you said last night that there’s a guardian in Japan.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. He sat motionless for a moment. Then he shook his head, and started to cry again.
He seemed oddly affected for a man who barely knew her. But then, people often reacted to death, especially sudden death, in strange ways. Charlotte had seen more than one family become unhinged in such circumstances. If he was in love with her, as everyone else seemed to be …
She sat quietly, looking out at the sea, which was framed by the wisteria vines. Although most of the flowers had already bloomed, a few tardy blossoms lingered, and bumblebees hovered around the long, fragrant flower clusters.
“Did she leave a note?” he asked after a while.
“Not a note exactly.” She described finding Okichi’s mementos and the half-burned business card. “I thought she might have been distraught over the scandal involving Mr. Tanaka,” Charlotte said. “Do you have any ideas?”
He shook his head.
In the distance, they could hear police sirens wailing.
After lunch, Charlotte set off with Spalding in his old Chevy down Bellevue Avenue. They were heading to the Newport Casino, the scene of a Meet the Sumos reception, which would be followed by the sumo tournament, the second in the two-day exhibition match. Connie had elected to stay at home. In her opinion, watching a sumo match was like watching “two elephants wrestling each other to death.” Bellevue Avenue was slow going: on weekends—starting on Friday afternoons—Newport was crowded with day-trippers and weekenders who came to go to the beach or to visit the half a dozen or more mansions that were open to the public. Long lines of people waited for admission to Marble House, Beechwood, and Rosecliff. Ahead, a tour guide blared out anecdotes about Newport’s Gilded Age over a public address system to a busload of tourists. It reminded Charlotte of Beverly Hills. As the tour guide described the dogs’ dinner, Charlotte and Spalding talked about Okichi- mago . Now that she was dead, Spalding had spent the latter part of the morning conferring with the other members of the Black Ships Festival Committee on what to do about the Afternoon of Japanese Culture scheduled for the next day. Finally they had decided that the show must go on: the other geishas would perform without her. Charlotte had been drafted to take her place as mistress of ceremonies. With the practical matters out of the way, Spalding was now trying to explain Okichi- mago ’s suicide in terms of the cultural concept of giri .
“Giri means obligation,” he explained. “To the Japanese, no act is ever an isolated event; every favor must be repaid in kind. To fail to fulfill one’s obligation is the worst sin a self-respecting Japanese can commit. The whole country runs on the principle of giri: giri to your boss, giri to your family, giri to your business clients.”
“And Okichi- mago failed to fulfill her obligation to Tanaka?”
“She certainly did,” Spalding replied. “Tanaka was her hanna , her
“Can I get you a drink of water?” she asked once he had stopped.
He shook his head. “When?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I think it must have been last night, after the party.” She waited for his response, but there was none. He stared blankly at the floor, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. “We’ll have to notify the police,” she continued. “May I use your phone?”
He waved an arm vaguely toward the inside of the house.
Charlotte found the phone on an antique desk in the front parlor—Paul’s parlor—and, after making the call, rejoined him on the veranda. He was still staring blankly at the floor.
“Someone will also have to notify the family,” she said. “I understand from what you said last night that there’s a guardian in Japan.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. He sat motionless for a moment. Then he shook his head, and started to cry again.
He seemed oddly affected for a man who barely knew her. But then, people often reacted to death, especially sudden death, in strange ways. Charlotte had seen more than one family become unhinged in such circumstances. If he was in love with her, as everyone else seemed to be …
She sat quietly, looking out at the sea, which was framed by the wisteria vines. Although most of the flowers had already bloomed, a few tardy blossoms lingered, and bumblebees hovered around the long, fragrant flower clusters.
“Did she leave a note?” he asked after a while.
“Not a note exactly.” She described finding Okichi’s mementos and the half-burned business card. “I thought she might have been distraught over the scandal involving Mr. Tanaka,” Charlotte said. “Do you have any ideas?”
He shook his head.
In the distance, they could hear police sirens wailing.
After lunch, Charlotte set off with Spalding in his old Chevy down Bellevue Avenue. They were heading to the Newport Casino, the scene of a Meet the Sumos reception, which would be followed by the sumo tournament, the second in the two-day exhibition match. Connie had elected to stay at home. In her opinion, watching a sumo match was like watching “two elephants wrestling each other to death.” Bellevue Avenue was slow going: on weekends—starting on Friday afternoons—Newport was crowded with day-trippers and weekenders who came to go to the beach or to visit the half a dozen or more mansions that were open to the public. Long lines of people waited for admission to Marble House, Beechwood, and Rosecliff. Ahead, a tour guide blared out anecdotes about Newport’s Gilded Age over a public address system to a busload of tourists. It reminded Charlotte of Beverly Hills. As the tour guide described the dogs’ dinner, Charlotte and Spalding talked about Okichi- mago . Now that she was dead, Spalding had spent the latter part of the morning conferring with the other members of the Black Ships Festival Committee on what to do about the Afternoon of Japanese Culture scheduled for the next day. Finally they had decided that the show must go on: the other geishas would perform without her. Charlotte had been drafted to take her place as mistress of ceremonies. With the practical matters out of the way, Spalding was now trying to explain Okichi- mago ’s suicide in terms of the cultural concept of giri .
“Giri means obligation,” he explained. “To the Japanese, no act is ever an isolated event; every favor must be repaid in kind. To fail to fulfill one’s obligation is the worst sin a self-respecting Japanese can commit. The whole country runs on the principle of giri: giri to your boss, giri to your family, giri to your business clients.”
“And Okichi- mago failed to fulfill her obligation to Tanaka?”
“She certainly did,” Spalding replied. “Tanaka was her hanna , her
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