Free The Other Woman by Paul Sean Grieve Page A

fairly young women and while individual words
were hard to discern, she was confident they were all speaking
Japanese. This was a great relief to Hikari. Since Mme Kudo had
said the special visitor would be one who spoke English, the fact
that there were so many other Japanese women there helped her relax
a little.
    Suddenly, the door swung open and before
Hikari stood a short, dignified woman of about 50, her long greying
hair tied back in a relaxed bun. Wearing a green knitted sweater
and black slacks under a white striped apron, she smiled warmly at
Hikari. Hikari bowed respectfully, her wind-ruffled hair falling
forward over her petite shoulders. The woman returned the
gesture.
    “ Ohayo gozaimasu,” they each said
in turn.
    “Kudo-san desu ka?” asked
Hikari. Are you Mme Kudo?
    “ Yoroshiku
o-negaishimasu.”
    “ O-jamashimasu,” said Hikari
politely as she stepped gingerly through the doorway.
    The other women, all dressed casually, stood
and bowed politely, giving their names. There was Keiko, a tall,
slender woman who appeared to be in her 30’s, Hiromi, a short and
somewhat heavy set but none the less attractive young woman with
long, straight hair dyed golden-brown and Aki, a serious looking
woman in her mid 20’s. Hikari introduced herself and knelt on the
tatami floor.
    Looking around the room, Hikari couldn’t help
but stare out the full-length windows offering a breathtaking view
of Awase and the east coast of Okinawa. Nestled tightly amid
smaller houses in the affluent Kishaba neighbourhood of
Kitanakagusuku, Mme Kudo’s home was far more impressive inside than
it appeared from without.
    “ We’re waiting for our guest of
honour,” explained Mme Kudo as she poured Hikari a cup of hot
tea.
    The doorbell rang and a few more women
trickled in. There were more introductions as Mme Kudo poured tea
for the newcomers, who took up places on the tatami mats. The
conversation was light and convivial, in the manner of a group of
women meeting for the first time, yet there was an air of tension
in the room, which grew as the chatter died down into an awkward
silence. The silence was broken by a gentle rap at the
door.
    Mme Kudo hurried from the kitchen to answer it
and the door opened to reveal a tall, white-skinned man in his 50’s
with grey-speckled blonde hair. Mme Kudo reached out a hand to him,
which he shook warmly as they both bowed. They chatted briefly in
English as he removed his shoes on the landing, then Mme Kudo led
him into the large tatami room where all the women
knelt.
    The man smiled and waved hello to the
assembled crowd of Japanese women, who remained seated as they
perfunctorily bowed, a little unsure of how to greet him. Mme Kudo
introduced him as Greg-san, explaining that he had lived in Okinawa
for close to five years and that he owned and operated two
successful western-style restaurants on the island.
    “ Greg-san is going to share some
of his experiences with us today,” said Mme Kudo in polite
Japanese. “I believe he may have insight into some of the matters
you all have in common.”
    Mme Kudo then asked a couple of the women to
help her serve the meal, which was a mix of Okinawan and western
light foods, including sushi, mini-sandwiches and a platter of
cheese, crackers and sliced fruit. They all chatted casually as
they munched and the women were impressed by Greg’s Japanese,
which, though far from natural, allowed him to express himself
rather well.
    When the meal was over, Mme Kudo addressed the
women.
    “ I would like to formally thank
you for coming,” she said in Japanese. “I know that what brings us
together today is not happiness, but sadness, and that what unites
all of you is not success, but what you perceive as personal
failure.”
    The women looked on glumly as Mme Kudo
continued.
    “ You have all been invited
because, in one way or another, you’ve recently experienced tragedy
in your love lives and by coming together and sharing these
experiences, you