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“I hope he’s quick about it.”

“Be prepared that he might find nothing.”

That was unthinkable. “Anyway, what’re Drackman and my father doing together? What are they up to? That’s pretty darn scary.”

“If you and your mother were to be killed,” Mr. Yoshioka said, “would your father inherit millions?”

“How could he inherit millions? We don’t have anything. Anyway, he divorced my mom.”

“Exactly. Whatever your father and Lucas Drackman are involved in, it surely has nothing to do with you. We can afford to let poor Yabu Tamazaki take his time with his investigation. But you should never again wear that toboggan cap.”

44

Assuming that Mr. Yoshioka had told me everything, I pushed my chair back from the table and got to my feet.

I wanted to ask him about Manzanar. I had at least a hundred questions. But I didn’t know how to broach the subject.

“One more thing, Jonah Kirk. Another acquaintance of mine, Mr. Toshi Katsumata, who calls himself Thomas or Tom but never Tommy, has worked for nineteen years in city hall, as head clerk of municipal-court records. The final divorce papers that your mother received gave your father’s address as 106 Marbury Street, which is actually the address of his rather less than reputable attorney, because he wished to keep his true residence from you and your mother. However, while the court allows your father that privacy, it must have his real address in the case file. Poor Mr. Katsumata has a sterling record and is a man of honor, so I am certain that it pained him to violate the privacy assured by the court and provide me with your father’s true address. Nevertheless, he is also a man of his word, and he values friendship.”

This development baffled me. “Why would I want Tilton’s address? I don’t want it. I never want to see him again. He’s never been a father to me.”

“I had made that assumption some time ago,” said Mr. Yoshioka. “But considering that you saw your father with the dangerous Mr. Drackman last week, I thought it essential that we know his address. He lives on the north side, quite far from here, a distance that I am certain you would not be allowed to travel on your own. But I will keep the address in case we should ever need it.” He got up from his chair. “There is yet one more thing you should know—well, two.”

He carried his coffee mug to the sink and stood with his back to me as he rinsed it.

When he shut off the water, he gazed out of the window above the sink as he said, “I must apologize if the first of these two things I have to tell you will in any way cause you pain or embarrass you, but it is information you must have.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated, and just then snow flurri

es blew down through the day and danced along the window glass. He said, “?‘Shiraume ni / Akaru yo bakari to / Narinikeri.’ ”

I figured he must know that I didn’t understand Japanese, even though the nuns at Saint Scholastica expected us to learn everything. But when only silence followed those words, I said, “Mr. Yoshioka?”

“A haiku, a poem by Buson. It means, ‘Of late the nights / Are dawning / Plum-blossom white.’ It seems to fit the moment. Petals of plum blossoms are white like snow, and night is soon coming.”

“It sounds kind of sad.”

“Every snow is beautiful and joyful … and sad, because every snow will melt.”

Lyrics are poetry; therefore, poetry is part of music, but just then I was less a piano man than I was a confused and frightened boy. Impatient, I said, “What two things do you have to tell me?”

“Sharing the apartment with your father is the magazine writer and would-be novelist, Miss Delvane.”

It wasn’t the prospect of my embarrassment that made him turn his back to me while making this revelation; it was his embarrassment on my and my mother’s behalf.

“But Miss Delvane lives here on the fifth floor.”

“No longer. She moved out on Thursday. I would not feel the need to tell you this, Jonah, but it has become necessary because of what I was told by Mr. Nakama Otani, who calls himself Nick or Nicholas but never Nickie. When I learned on Friday morning where your father now lives and with whom, I asked poor Mr. Otani to see if he could conspire to cross her path and, as they say, chat her up. He is very good at chatting people up. He managed to encounter Miss Delvane at a nightclub last night, New Year’s Eve, before your father joined her there. He learned much useless information about cowboys and rodeos and about the stingy nature of magazine editors. But he also learned that the man she lives with was recently divorced, that his one child is in the custody of his ex-wife … and that he talks constantly about one day getting his son back.”

“He gave me up without a fight. He didn’t want me. He didn’t want me and I sure as hell don’t want to live with him ever. Miss Delvane must be lying or probably he’s just telling her that because it makes him sound better.”

As snow slanted to the glass in thicker skeins, Mr. Yoshioka turned from the window to face me. “You may be right, Jonah. Most likely you are. But as long as your father is out there, you should be … watchful, cautious.”

“I am. I already am.”

“I want you to know that I am so sorry for telling you.”