Thackeray tried to remember what upstate New York was like. But all he could see in his mind's eye were children playing in the marble blue water. There was a small park tucked into a tree-lined knoll between the apartment and the church. There was a wading pool there. When the sun was hot and bright, kindergarten children came with their teachers and classmates to play. He would watch them from the porch of the apartment.

"Thack, I think I got it--"

Michaels balanced the head of a tack on the ball of his middle finger, wound up like Catfish Hunter and flicked the tack toward the bulletin board. The tack bounced off the cork and skittered across the linoleum.

"Too much wrist," said Thackeray.

"Are you guys tossing tacks around again?" said Sister Denison.

"O-hayo, Denison," said Thackeray.

"When people ask me what I learned on my mission I'll have something to tell them," said Michaels. He picked the tack of the floor, positioned it, and flung it with a sweeping over-the-shoulder motion. The tack stuck into the cork with a faint "thud."

"Ha! There you go."

"I'm really impressed," said Denison.

Thackeray asked her, "What's your companion doing?"

"She's tripling with Thompson and Yoshino. How 'bout you, D.L.?"

"I'm splitting with Randall Chourou's junior." Michaels looked at his watch. "They're coming in on the next train. We should get down to the eki."

"Just think," said Denison, as they walked down the steps in front of the church. "We'll only have to hike up this hill one more time."

"Tell it to this guy," Michaels said to Denison. "He really is dead, you know. Don't let him tell you otherwise."

"I'm just being a good missionary who doesn't corrupt his companion with trunkiness."

"The problem with you is that your trunkiness is subliminal. That makes it more deadly, eh?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

They stopped at the crosswalk across from the eki. "By the way, Thackeray Chourou," said Denison. "My companion wants to know if she could have your tea box."

"Thought she had one."

"Wants another one, I guess."

"If Michaels doesn't want it."

Michaels shook his head.

"Can you bring it up to the church tomorrow morning?"

"Sure."

"Thackeray Chourou! Thackeray Chourou!" Tanaka Kyoudai came up the street from the eki at a brisk walk. "Thought I was going to miss you." He smiled and wiped the sweat off his brow. "I wanted to give you this," he said, holding out a small, narrow box.

"Thank you, Tanaka Kyoudai," said Thackeray, accepting the gift with a short bow.

Tanaka Kyoudai smiled again. "Sorry to be in a hurry, but I have to catch the bus. Good luck in America, okay?"

"Arigatou. Ki o tsukete!"

They waved at each other. Tanaka Kyoudai climbed on to the bus and it roared away behind a cloud of grey diesel smoke. Thackeray tucked the small box into his suit coat pocket and then walked up the street to the train station.

The Yokohama air was heavy and wet, laden with the fine ocean fog that drifted off the bay with the night breeze. Thackeray took off his suit coat and leaned back against the cool cinder block. Standing still, water seemed to condense onto his face and arms until the skin glistened. The touch of the smooth dampness meant a lot to Thackeray. It meant that he was still here, still a missionary.

Randall and Denison were standing together by the white warning line. They had come to Japan exactly--Thackeray had figured it out once. Months, days, minutes, seconds. In twenty-four hours, they would be Americans again.

A southbound express train rumbled into the station, steel wailing on steel, overhead power lines arcing with electric blue. Its doors hissed open. Humanity flooded out onto the platform and streamed away towards the many exit ramps. A woman wearing a blue and white dress made of light fabric stepped out of the crowds, searching in her purse. She was young and attractive. Thackeray stepped toward her, and then hesitated, remembering that he was not alone.

She found the rail pass and snapped the purse closed. Looking up to find an exit, she saw the Americans. She smiled and waved. Randall and Denison were surprised at her salutation, and more surprised when Thackeray waved back. A month before she had "investigated" his church. Now, they were only friends, and it was good to see her.

The girl dressed in blue came over to the Americans. "Takori!" she said brightly, "what an nice coincidence--meeting you here." She looked suspiciously at Denison. "Where's Mr. Michaels?"

"We're leaving for America tomorrow," Thackeray explained. "So tonight out mission president is taking us to dinner."

"Oh," said Kimiyo. "That's right. You did say--" Disappointment dimmed her eyes. "But I will see you tomorrow morning?"

"Yes."

She was glad to hear this. "Tomorrow, then." She held out her hand. "It's getting late," she said. "Have a good time in Tokyo."

Thackeray took her hand firmly, and there was a warm smile in his eyes. "We will."

She waved to the other two, "Bye-bye."

The two men watched her walk away.

"She's a fox," said Randall. He laughed. "Eh?"

Thackeray almost frowned."Actually, she's a rather intelligent young lady."

"Uh, huh. With a couple of investigators like that, I might think twice about leaving."

Denison overheard the remark. "Chauvinist!"

Randall raised his hands in mock defense. "Hey, just being realistic. I've done my time in the desert and the greener world awaits."

"I don't know."

"Don't know what?"

Thackeray was quiet for a time. Then he said, "Don't know if I really want to go." He winced to himself as he spoke. He knew the words sounded contrived.

Randall looked surprised. "What's this?" he asked, with too much incredulity. "A deathbed reprieve? Am I seeing a little love for the ol' mission?"

Eyes met for a moment.

"That was over a long time ago."

There was a thick pause.

"Yeah. Sorry. Forget it."

What did he know? thought Thackery. He'd only met Elder Randall once since leaving the MTC, in a zone conference in Kunitachi. But then he remembered a phone call he'd received from Chadwick the week after he was transferred to Odawara: "I'm dying tomorrow, Thackery. Thought I'd give you a call and see how you were doing."

"How did you know where I was?"

"News travels fast in the mission," Chadwick told him. "Gossip travels at the speed of light. You gotta be ready for the backlash. I bet you've heard some beauty stuff about me."

Thackery turned away and closed his eyes. It seemed so far behind him now--those long bitter months in Senzoku and Kunitachi. Don't be bitter, Chadwick said. Bitter about what? Still, the details were vivid in his mind. Being a missionary didn't mean the times would always be good, and it hurt like hell when the times were bad.

He shook the thoughts away, sweat ran down his cheeks.

"You're so dead," Michaels told him earlier that day, "I ought to dump you in a tea box and mail you home."

He didn't want to die. There just wasn't enough time to atone for the past. Resurrection was sometime tomorrow, but it wouldn't be the same world. Not anymore.

A train pulled up to an adjoining platform and the calliope of noise jostled the missionary back into the present. The other two were in conversation. He looked out across the commuter platforms. He would miss the trains. The trains always knew where they were going.

"Uh--excuse me."

The man who addressed him was an American, about his age. He wore faded jeans and a khaki vest. Although the same height as the missionary, he showed an advantage of twenty or thirty pounds of solid muscle. But however intimidating his physique, it was quite negated by the helpless look on his face. Behind him were several other men dressed like him, with similar expressions. They were probably sailors out of Yokosuka Naval base, coming back from fun and good times on the Ginza.

"Uh--" the spokesman for the group said again. "Where are we?"

Thackeray wanted to laugh, but didn't. "You're in Yokohama station." He anticipated the next question: "And the Yokosuka train is the last platform on the left. You'll see the sign."

"I knew you were the right man to ask," the sailor said with gusto. He whacked Thackeray on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

Thackeray watched the sailor saunter back to his compatriots and smiled to himself. Young, scared, dying on the run. Would it all really matter in the long run. Probably not.

The Tokyo express arrived. The crowds surged forward to the warning line. Thackeray let himself be carried in the flow, and inside, miraculously, there was an open window seat. As the train jolted into motion, he remembered the small box in his pocket. He took it out and slid off the cover. Inside was a delicate bamboo fan. Unfolding the rice paper blades, he saw that on the center two blades Tanaka had written, "Doumo Arigatou, Thakeray Chourou."

Thackeray closed up the fan and placed it back in the small wooden box. He sat back in his seat and stared out the windows across the aisle. He watched the city lights fade into the distance. "Sayonara," he softly said. Sometime tomorrow morning, there would be time for a final good-bye, but then it would be too late.

Much too late.