CHAPTER 1
SHE CRUMBLED AND TURNED TO ASHES
At first, nothing was unusual.
In my dream, I was on the phone with my sister. She sat at her desk by the window in her rented room in Akakawa. The sun shone through the curtain, casting brown highlights on her long dark hair. She asked me question after question, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
Then, before my eyes, she crumbled and turned to ashes.
When I woke up in a black sedan, the dream would have slipped from my mind had it not been for the white porcelain urn in my lap. Shaped like a vase, it was decorated with a painting of a falling cuckoo and chrysanthemums. Inside were the ashes of my sister. Keiko Ishida was only thirty-three when she died.
I loosened my tie and asked Honda, ‘How much longer?’
He turned the steering wheel. ‘We should be there in half an hour.’
‘Mind putting on some music?’
‘Of course not,’ he answered, flicking a button.
The radio was playing Billie Holiday’s ‘Summertime’.
For a Friday afternoon, the journey was smooth. The sun was high, no traffic jam in sight. Even the music was the kind that makes you tap your fingers.
My hands tightened and I stared at them. Honda’s eyes shifted to me.
‘Keiko used to love jazz,’ he said.
I nodded, unable to speak. The stack of cassettes that made up her collection, what would happen to them now?
‘The funny thing was, she couldn’t name a single jazz musician,’ he continued.
I cleared my throat. ‘You don’t need to be knowledgeable to appreciate jazz.’
‘Well said, Ishida.’
Actually, it was my sister who had once said those words to me.
Even now, I could picture her sitting at her desk, her hand twisting the phone cord. A self-satisfied smile on her face as she murmured, ‘You don’t need to be knowledgeable to appreciate jazz.’
Strange how I had this image etched in my mind, even though I had no idea what her rented room looked like.
‘We’re here.’
Honda’s voice roused me. The car had stopped in front of the Katsuragi Hotel.
‘Thank you for helping me arrange the memorial service,’ I said.
‘Don’t mention it. Keiko helped me a lot in the past,’ Honda said. He and my sister had taught at the same cram school.
I nodded and got out, clutching the urn. I was about to go in when I heard him calling after me.
‘Ishida.’
I turned around. Honda had already wound down the passenger window.
‘What are you going to do with…?’ He scratched the back of his neck and stared at the urn I held in my hands.
‘I haven’t decided yet.’
‘If you want to scatter the ashes at sea, we can ask the memorial service staff. They will do it for a small fee.’
‘That won’t do,’ I said. ‘My sister was afraid of water. She couldn’t swim.’
It was Honda who had arranged my accommodations.
‘It’s sparsely furnished, but cheap and decent,’ he had said, the perfect description. A queen-sized bed, a small television, a wardrobe, and a dressing table with matching chair—that was all. The furniture was dated but functional. Relatively clean, the room had an en-suite bathroom and a slight musty odour.
Placing the urn on the dressing table, I looked at my watch. Two thirty. An hour before I had to be at the police station. I took off my suit and left it hanging over the back of the chair, before going to shower. I needed to wash away the smell of the funeral incense.
Closing the bathroom door, I glanced back at the dressing table. The urn was there, standing silently.
I arrived at the police station to find a single young officer manning the counter.
When I gave him my name, he opened the office door.
‘Follow me,’ he said, leaving the counter unattended.
He led me down a cramped corridor and asked me to enter a room. I knocked on the door twice, took a deep breath, and turned the knob.
‘Excuse me,’ I said.
A middle-aged man was behind a desk full of folders. His hair thinning, and he wore a faded black suit over a crumpled white shirt.
The windowless room was smaller than I expected. The desk ran from wall to wall and divided the room in two. I wondered how he managed to sit there. Did he climb over the desk, or did he crawl in from underneath?
He looked at me. ‘Mr Ren Ishida?’
‘Yes.’
‘Please have a seat.’ He gestured to the two empty chairs in front of the desk. ‘I’m sorry for what happened to Miss Keiko Ishida. It must be a difficult time for you and your family.’
He shifted the folders over to one side and handed me his business card. ‘I’m in charge of Miss Ishida’s case. You can call me Oda.’
I nodded and read the card. Hidetoshi Oda, Detective.
‘Mr Ishida, I need you to tell me as much information as you can.’ He took out a tape recorder. ‘Can we proceed?’
CLARISSA GOENAWAN is an Indonesian-born Singaporean writer and the winner of the Bath Novel Award 2015 for her spellbinding unpublished mystery novel RAINBIRDS. Clarissa’s short fiction has appeared in literary magazines and anthologies in Singapore, Australia, Japan, Indonesia, the UK, and the US. She loves rainy days, pretty books, and hot green teas and you can find out more at: www.clarissagoenawan.com
Read more: Interview with Clarissa Goenawan on winning the Bath Novel Award 2015
Read more: Interview with Clarissa Goenawan on accepting representation from Pontas for RAINBIRDS