The Shakey’s Pizza at Kichijoji station was off limits. President Atkinson made the rule clear at the end of the morning session of the August all-mission conference. The Shakey’s noontime menu included the all-you-can-eat special for about fifteen bucks, at the current exchange rate. Not a cheap meal, but a hungry missionary could put down enough to make it a cost-effective excursion. So much so that the franchise owner would probably have gone broke in an afternoon. It could be considered an act of Christian charity that the Relief Society fed them instead.
But that evening a handful of missionaries stopped in before taking the Chuo Express into Shinjuku. Dinner prices proved dear, but Chadwick had gotten indulgent in his old age and Thackeray was willing to pay to keep him company.
“Hear you had a run-in with Jensen,” Chadwick said.
“A bit deal over nothing. But it got me transferred to Odawara.”
“If that’s what happens when you get on Jensen’s bad side, I should have been more disagreeable myself. It’s a good district. Gordon’s a good guy.”
When they found the rest of their districts, Longstreet had already launched into his favorite story. “You’ve got this zone leader, okay? It’s his last day. He’s in the mission home, and a bunch of greenies just arrived. The ZL spots this one, looking like he’s confident, he’s tough, and he says to him, If I had to be in your position right now, I’d slit my wrists. And the greenie looks right at him and says, If I knew I was going to turn out like you, I would too.” Longstreet chortled and slapped the table. “Love that.”
He looked up and saw them. “Sheeze, Chadwick. I thought you’d died a long time ago.”
“A few more weeks.”
“So what’re your plans?”
“No plans.”
“C’mon, Chaddy. You’re gonna come back and see us.”
Chadwick shook his head. “Don’t think so. Wouldn’t be the same.”
“No joke, it wouldn’t. No rules, no curfew, no companion.” Longstreet elbowed Elder Stanwick. “Nothing personal, dode.”
Stanwick grinned. “Hey, feeling’s mutual.”
Chadwick said, “I’ve seen guys who’ve come back, looking for it. And they don’t find it.”
Thackeray knew what Chadwick was talking about. In Senzoku district, on one of their splits together, they had gone up to Kamata to teach a first discussion to a high school teacher they’d tracted out the week before. They’d finished up pretty late, and stopped at a soba shop to get something to eat before heading back.
An American was sitting at the end of the counter, finishing up a bowl of soba. He said, “You guys missionaries?”
“You got it,” said Chadwick.
“What district you in?”
“Senzoku.”
“Really?” He moved a few seats down. “I was in Senzoku on my mission. Hard to believe, eh?” He stroked his beard and smiled wryly.
“So what do you do now?” asked Chadwick.
“English teacher. What else?”
“And how is the real world?”
He waited a long time to answer. “When I on my mission, I thought it’d be great coming back again. And, okay, the job’s not bad, can’t complain about the money, but when it comes right down to it, it’s a job. Nothing special. You don’t have that ki you had as a missionary. And the craziest thing—you think, no rules, no companion, all the good times you’re going to have. But the fact is, when you’re a missionary, all you got is time. Rules, companions, big deal. The rules in the real world are a lot worse, you find that out real quick. You won’t believe me, but there’s no freedom like being a missionary.”
Neither of them knew how to respond to that. It was the kind of statement you had to take at face value. So Chadwick asked him about where he lived, what kind of apartment he had. He asked them about the mission, what kind of dendo they did, how many baptisms. They wanted to talk about the world, all he wanted to talk about was the work.
“Missionaries die, you know,” he said, “and they come back as ghosts.” He laughed to himself. “That’s the way it feels, sometimes. You guys, I mean missionaries, look so real. I think to myself, that was the real life. I just didn’t know it at the time.”
There was a long quiet moment. Thackeray finished his soba. Chadwick glanced at his watch. “Getting late.”
“Yeah. I should be heading back myself.”
Chadwick got out his billfold. “So where do you attend church?”
“The Tokyo gaijin ward usually. One of these Sundays I’ll come down to Senzoku and check you guys out.”
“We’ll be there,” said Chadwick.
Thackeray had looked back over his shoulder as they left. The ghost sat by himself at the counter, gradually disappearing from view as they walked away.
“Did he ever show up?” asked Stanwick.
“Not before I transferred. But I doubt it. Every RM I’ve seen here—it’s the same kind of thing. Like what Thomas Wolfe said, you can’t go home again.”
“Yeah, sure.” Longstreet produced the back page of the Monday classifieds from the Japan Times, unfolded it on the table. “Take a look at this. English teachers, 2500 yen an hour. Can you believe that? I’ve talked to guys who teach classes for two thousand a head.”
The missionaries crowded around Longstreet to look at the show-and-tell. Except Chadwick. There wasn’t much of a point. He didn’t belong to their world any longer. A missionary that close to the great beyond—Chadwick was fading like a shadow in the twilight, and it wouldn’t be long until the body was dust and only the spirit remained.
He hadn’t told the truth. He’d come back. Someday. But he wouldn’t come looking for what he’d left behind. Because he knew it wouldn’t be there to be found.
