I stared at her, wide-eyed, and from her to Luc, who was nursing his beer and smiling to himself.
‘You’re kidding,’ I said. She shook her head. ‘Well what was the programme then?’ I asked. ‘Would I know it?’
‘It was a sit-com, pretty standard family fare. Called The Family Way. The family in the show were called “Way”, hence the name. Funny, eh? I was Annie Way.’
‘You were Annie Way?’ I shouted at her hysterically. ‘I know that show. You were Annie Way? God, of course you are! I can see it in you now. I always thought there was something familiar about you. Jesus!’
‘You know the show then?’ Luc said. ‘We never got it here. I never saw any of it.’
‘Know it?’ I said, doubling up with excitement and laughter. ‘I used to watch it religiously every week for about six years. It was one of the biggest shows on television. It was like a phenomenon. So why aren’t you still doing it then?’
‘Because I hated acting,’ she replied. ‘It was okay for the first year or two. I mean, I revelled in all the attention when the show first started and was climbing the ratings. I even got nominated for an Emmy, you know? Got beaten by Katharine fucking Hepburn, if you can believe that. But after a few years of it, I just wanted to go to school and have some friends. I mean the only people I talked to were writers and producers and directors and actors and shit. I wanted to meet some kids. But I had a contract and my dad wouldn’t let me break it or he was going to sue me or something, so I was stuck in that crummy show till I was twelve. And once it folded, I was pretty much in demand, but I refused to do any more work. My dad was like having heart failure about it because I was making more money than he was and I was in a position where I could have basically had a licence to print my own money, but I just didn’t want to do it so I dropped out of TV altogether. Best decision I ever made. My dad refused to speak to me for ages though. But Jesus, I was only twelve years old. I deserved a life.’ She paused for a minute to let all of this sink in. ‘So there you go,’ she said. ‘My deep, dark secret. I was a child superstar.’
I shook my head and sighed. ‘That’s amazing,’ I said. ‘You think you know someone.’
‘Hey, we only met a couple of months ago,’ said Annette. ‘I’ve still got some secrets from you, you know. I haven’t given you all the goods yet. What time is it now anyway?’
‘Nine o’clock,’ I said, glancing at my watch.
‘Excellent. She should be here any minute.’
‘She better be nice,’ I said quickly, my stomach starting to tighten slightly with nerves. It had been a long time since I’d been on a date, and I’d never been on a blind one in my life.
‘I think you’ll like her,’ said Luc and he was biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. He glanced across at his wife who shushed him immediately.
‘Well who is she anyway?’ I asked. ‘Where did you meet her? What does she do?’
‘I don’t really know,’ said Annette. ‘I only met her for the first time last night.’
‘You only just met her?’ I said, amazed. ‘I thought you said she was a friend of yours?’
‘I never said that,’ she replied innocently. ‘Did I ever say she was a friend of mine, Luc?’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘You never said that.’
‘Jesus,’ I said, sitting back in frustration. ‘She could be a serial killer, for God’s sake! You’re setting me up on a date with someone you don’t even know. She’s going to take me back to her place, promising an uncomplicated night of passion and debauchery, tie me to the bedpost and cut my kidneys out!’
‘Oh you should be so lucky. And stop dramatising everything anyway! We don’t know her, so what?’ said Annette, her face breaking into a wide smile and her eyes were focused on someone standing behind me who had just come through the doors to the veranda. I didn’t turn around yet but caught the look on Luc’s face as he sat up straight and gave whoever she was a split second up-down look of satisfaction. His left eyebrow raised a little in approval. ‘You made it,’ said Annette and there was an unmistakable note of triumph in her voice. ‘William, your date’s arrived.’ I stood up and turned around at the same time. She was a little shorter than me and quite petite; her slim body was wrapped in a red-print summer dress which accentuated her curves. The kind of girl who men look at when she walks through a bar. I took her in at an instant and I thought my legs were going to give way as I reached a hand back to steady myself against the chair. She wiped a tear away from her eyes as I said the only word that sprang to mind. Her name.
‘Hitomi.’
Chapter Nine
Reunions
My great-grandfather finished performing in Scouts of the Plains shortly after learning of the death of General Custer at the battle of Little Big Horn. The dramatic performances continued, as they formed the substantial part of Bill’s income, but advertisements were taken out in local newspapers to inform people that he himself would not be taking part in the entertainments for several weeks. Although bookings did not diminish, as more and more people still wanted to see the show, Bill insisted that ticket prices be halved for all shows in which he did not perform. Clearly he did not want it to seem that the plays could be just as popular without him in them as with.
Genuinely upset by his old friend’s death, Bill spent the next couple of days in the saloons, getting drunk and sleeping with as many of the young actresses as he could. Louisa and his relationship had so broken down that although they ostensibly lived together, they could go weeks at a time without ever laying eyes on each other, Bill preferring to spend most of his time in the town and living out of a hotel near the theatre. After a few days he decided to travel towards Fort Laramie, where General Merritt was stationed, in order to find out whether he could play a part in the Sioux War which had just been declared. He brought few possessions with him but packed one special item in his case which would cause some amazement when eventually produced. He also invited Ned Buntline to join him as he wanted a literary record of whatever might take place over the following weeks.
‘I won’t be expected to take part in any fighting myself, will I?’ asked Buntline as their train pulled into the station nearest Laramie. ‘I’m not a man of action particularly, as you know. More of a man of letters, me.’
‘You’ll be right beside me all the way, my friend,’ explained Bill cheerfully. ‘However if we’re in the middle of a skirmish with a band of murdering Cheyenne charging around us, ready to take the scalps from our heads, and you choose not to take your pistol from your belt, then that’s entirely up to you. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.’ This was not the answer Buntline had hoped for and he longed to return to his peaceful theatre where those who were murdered and scalped could always stand up again to take their final curtain call when the applause began.
Fort Laramie was the last great fort before the Rockies and it was there that a decade earlier the treaty had been signed with three separate branches of the Lakota Indians – the Miniconjou, the Oglala and the Brulé – whereby that tribe would not spread further across the country than what is now most of Nebraska and the two Dakotas. This giant reservation was agreed to by the Sioux leaders in return for their rights to hunt buffalo exclusively across the land but it was an agreement which had caused ten years of trouble for all. The government gradually sought to enclose the tribes tighter and tighter within that space and the Indians had never fully appreciated the significance of their sudden apartheid until it was too late.
General Wesley Merritt had taken over command of the Fifth Cavalry after the departure of General Carr and was delighted to see Bill arrive as they were old friends and the latter’s celebrity added a certain glamour to their cause, in which Merritt also enjoyed basking.
‘You don’t mind if old Ned Buntline travels with us, do you General?’ asked Bill. ‘He’s the writer in the company, you see, and I like to keep a record of what happens.’
‘Will you be writing a pla
y about the Sioux Wars, Mr Buntline?’ asked the general anxiously. ‘If so, you will portray me with honesty, I presume?’
Buntline smiled. He had learned not to say much to others while Bill was present, his employer not liking to feel either upstaged or excluded from the conversation. He listened attentively as the general and the scout discussed their plans but having no head for military manoeuvres his attention wandered somewhat and he was only brought back to the conversation by the sound of Bill’s hand unexpectedly slamming down hard on the general’s oak-lined desk.
‘By God, I will avenge him,’ roared Bill. ‘I tell you now, Custer and I, we didn’t always see eye to eye but I respected him, by God, as he did me and killing him … well that’s taken this war one step too far.’
‘There’s no question it’s ignited the hostility of the whole country against the Indians,’ admitted Merritt. ‘People were getting lethargic about it. This war’s being going on for so long but without it actually being declared one as such. Now we can call it what it is. And we can go after those murdering savages and pick them off one by one, as they did with Custer and his army.’
‘But the plan, General. What step do we take from here?’
The various armies stationed across the Platte region were preparing at that time to surround the reservation states and force battles with the tribes. It was a plan of intended genocide, but a dangerous one nonetheless as the Indians had proved fearsome enemies in recent times. They had also begun a guerrilla campaign whereby they were destroying the telegraph lines and the railway tracks of the Union Pacific Railroad in an attempt to slow down both communications and the chain of supplies to the soldiers.
‘The tribes are linking up,’ Merritt told Bill. ‘I heard this evening that eight hundred Cheyenne are preparing to leave Red Cloud to join Sitting Bull in Big Horn country.’
‘Sitting Bull,’ said Bill through gritted teeth, spitting his chewing tobacco on the ground of Merritt’s office in disgust at the name of the tribal leader responsible for the massacre which had claimed his friend’s life.
‘If they join together, they will be a stronger force than we have ever seen before,’ said Merritt. ‘If Sitting Bull’s forces can defeat Custer, imagine what double their capacity can do. I heard from President Grant just before you got here. He wants the Fifth Cavalry to intercept the Cheyenne before they can reach Sitting Bull.’
‘Can we not go straight to Big Horn?’ asked Bill in frustration. ‘Finish the job that Custer started?’
Merritt shook his head. ‘Orders, I’m afraid. The Sixth and Eighth will be heading in that direction but will be relying on us to stop the Cheyenne. You’ll ride with me?’ he asked hopefully.
‘I shall ride at the front by your side, General,’ replied Bill, swelling himself up to his full height. ‘By God, the Cheyenne will quake when they see the two of us riding together to pick them off. Aye, and our own men will be inspired by it too.’
Merritt nodded his head, pleased by the other man’s enthusiasm. He had worried that the amount of time my great-grandfather had spent on the stage in recent years might have weakened his passion for real warfare over the make-believe; there was no question that he was a little more portly than he had been in his younger days when he had been a buffalo hunter or scout for the army, but it was the good life of the theatre impresario which was giving him his extra padding. Although a celebrity, it was clear that he still had the heart for a fight, which was just as well as one would be given him.
‘Right you are then, Buffalo Bill,’ Merritt said, standing up to shake his hand, honouring my great-grandfather by addressing him by his stage name. ‘Be ready at dawn then, for that’s when we ride.’
Ned Buntline could feel his heart sinking within his chest. Death, he believed, was close at hand.
Although it seemed slightly old-fashioned, Hitomi and I embraced the idea of spending the night before our wedding in separate places and so I went across the hall to Luc, while Annette stayed in with Hitomi in our apartment. We probably wouldn’t have bothered with such rigid formalities had Annette not insisted.
‘It’s bad luck otherwise,’ she said, laying down the law. ‘And anyway, since I’m the one responsible for getting you two back together, you owe me one. So do as I say or the wedding’s off.’ We did as she said. We had opted for a small register office wedding since neither of us had family who would be attending. Annette was the matron of honour, Luc was my best man and we invited a couple of friends from the magazine and from Hitomi’s office at the university to join us for dinner later in the evening. We planned it small and intimate, exactly the way we wanted it.
‘You know,’ I said that evening as I packed a bag full of the things I would need for the next day. Curiously, even though I was only going across the hall for one night, I seemed to need to take an entire rucksack of belongings. ‘This is the first night we’ll have been apart since we got back together.’
Hitomi smiled and nodded. Her hair was pulled back from her forehead and tied in a ponytail with just a rubber band. She was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt and no make-up and looked entirely stressed out with pre-wedding nerves. She looked gorgeous. People remember different things from their wedding day, but the snapshot that stays in my mind is of that evening before the wedding, in our bedroom, packing my bag, and Hitomi looking as if she was going to collapse with worry any moment.
‘Relax,’ I said, coming up behind her and placing my hands on her shoulders, kneading them carefully between my hands in a familiar movement, trying to ease out the knots which were forming there. I leaned forward and kissed her neck lightly; her skin was warm and she leaned her head back towards me. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you?’ I asked, only half joking.
‘Of course not,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I’m just tense, that’s all. You don’t get married every day of the week, you know.’
‘True.’
‘I’ll be fine once it’s all over. And I miss my family, you know? I wish they were here.’
I nodded but said nothing. I knew a little about how she felt. It had been just over a year since Annette had traced Hitomi to the Japanese language department at the Sorbonne; incredibly, in my anxiety to find her it had been one of the most obvious places that I had not thought of. Our reunion that night in a bar by the Seine had been emotional and upsetting at the same time. Luc and Annette had left us to get reacquainted almost immediately and we had sat there till the small hours of the morning, rediscovering each other.
Hitomi had left Japan almost immediately after I had gone to London, believing somehow that our relationship was simply not meant to be. She loved me as much as I loved her but was under pressure from her parents and from Tajima to break up with me. Although they were far from an ultra-traditionalist family, they still wanted their daughter to marry a Japanese man. In time, I grew to realise that this was not due to any particular racial motives, but entirely because they did not want to lose Hitomi to the world. And if she was to marry a man from another country, she might live in his country and not theirs. Ironically, our married life was to be spent in only two countries, and neither of them were to be the countries of either of our births.
She hadn’t received my messages in Japan, and my letters had not been forwarded to her. I grew angry at the thought of Tak opening my letters and reading the sentiments of love which I had sent to her, probably mocking me for them, distributing them among his friends as signs of my stupidity, but that anger was lessened by the fact that once we saw each other again, even after such a break, Hitomi and I recognised our own faces in the other and knew that we had been designed for each other. And, as I pointed out to her that evening, we had never been apart for a single night since.
Annette enjoyed several months of smug self-satisfaction over our reunion and when we eventually decided to marry, she was overjoyed. However, even that was a small emotion compared to my own. We invited our families to Paris for the wedding but they declin
ed graciously, sending gifts and congratulatory cards instead. It was probably for the best. Isaac sent a letter and we kept in touch frequently by phone and I agreed to visit him shortly afterwards.
The year between reuniting with Hitomi and marrying her had brought a series of good things to our lives. Hitomi, who was lecturing at the university now, was promoted to assistant-professor level and her classes had expanded as more and more students, particularly business students, wanted to learn Japanese. She enjoyed her life there and had made a lot of friends, who I saw from time to time, but in general we liked to keep our professional lives mostly to ourselves in order to keep some sense of the personal and private.
My work was now appearing in magazines and newspapers around the world and I had become quite well known for a journalist. From time to time I appeared on French television, either as a commentator on some magazine show or as an arts reviewer. I presented a one-off travel show aimed at budget holidays and was in such demand for television programmes that I sometimes noticed people giving me second glances in restaurants or bars, recognising me from my public persona. Although I pretended this was something that I did not want at all, privately I quite enjoyed the feeling of my small loss of anonymity and particularly enjoyed being recognised if I had friends with me. For a short time, ego took over, but Hitomi kept me in check.