Zaniel can’t sing. That’s not to say I’m chastising him for it, because he did warn me. I just find it funny that everyone at Zozo thinks he’s Mr. Perfect, but when it comes to carrying a tune, he can’t do it. He can, however, keep up with rap lyrics, so our rendition of the Fugees’ “Ready or Not” starts out rocky and ends with a clean finish. The crowd below the stage goes wild. Most people are eating or on their cellphones, but they are all cheering. One elderly salaryman in the pit below us is bowing Wayne’s World–style, and the ones around him make scooping motions with their arms and shout “Motto, motto!” But we’re only allowed to sing one song at a time, so we bow and jog backstage.
“Whew! I didn’t think I was going to survive that!” Zaniel gasps. “You were right, though, it wasn’t that fast, so … Cybelle?”
“Yeah …” I trail off, distracted. There’s another set of stairs back here, leading down into darkness. There’s a cold chill coming from it, which is weird because it wasn’t cold outside at all. “Hey. What do you think is down there?”
Zaniel shrugs. “I don’t know. Come on. We still have to pick our next song.”
“Right. Um, how do you feel about ‘Gangsta’s Paradise’?”
He chuckles as I list off an assortment of rap songs we both might know as we head back to our table. I’m glad for the subject change. Thoughts of secret basement dungeons and torture chambers wash from my mind with the tide of people we wade through in this giant restaurant Zaniel has brought me to. On the speakers and on the stage, someone is now singing the Sailor Moon theme song. “I know this! ‘Moonlight Dentetsu,’ right?”
Zaniel bursts out laughing. “‘Densetsu’!” he corrects me.
“All right, all right. Sorry.” I make a face at him, but I’m smiling. “You’re not perfect, either, you know!” I hum along, leaning back against the soft leather cushion of our booth. I’m so full and tipsy I can’t sit upright anymore. The ceiling glistens with its star lights, people continue to shout above the restaurant commotion while servers run back and forth with trays of food and drinks. Up on the stage, a drunk salaryman has the mic and is surrounded by rambunctious co-workers. The crowd below the stage sings along. And here in the middle of all this mayhem is me, sitting across from this attractive young man I just met this morning. If he had told me this is where we’d end up tonight, I would have laughed in his pretty, doe-eyed face. But he’s a nice guy — too nice to be sick of my gaping and squeeing by now. He just smiles and refills my sake cup.
“There you go. The rest is all yours. Give it a good home.”
“It’s finished, already? How are you going through them so fast?”
“Stop nursing it. If this were a drinking contest, we’d have to sew you a special ‘LOSER’ sash.”
I empty the last of our second bottle of hot sake into my mouth and pretend to splash him with my cup. Our waitress offers to bring us a third bottle and takes away a giant plate that once held a lavish display of ohagi arranged around a bowl of adzuki and vanilla ice cream. I tell her we’re still working through it. She nods and takes away the dishes that once held our “fall futomaki” sushi, lemon-ginger fried chicken, wara-yaki salmon, and banana tempura drizzled with jasmine honey. She also offers to take away the box I got from the kitsune guy, but I still have one bite of lemon manjuu left inside. I pop it into my mouth and give her the box.
“So. Lady Cybelle,” Zaniel stretches like a cat, “how happy are you that you took me up on my offer?”
I finish chewing to speak. I did consider changing my mind when we had to go through all those dark, weird alleys. And the old man at the gate who shouted when he saw me didn’t help, but by then it was too late to stab Zaniel with my keys and make a run for it. I had already been spotted by the gorgeous maître d’, who looked safe enough for me to come in. So, I tell him the truth:
“I love this place. Didn’t think anything could replace Christon Café as my favourite restaurant. I mean, that tree in the courtyard! And the food! And the fact that they have stage karaoke …!” I throw up my arms at a loss for words. “This place is amazing! I’m so glad I didn’t stab you.”
He laughs as he looks down at his cup. “Me, too.”
“Shit. I’m sorry,” I sit upright. “I’ve creeped you out now, haven’t I? I tend to do that to people.”
“After all we’ve been through? Besides,” Zaniel lifts his ice cream spoon to his perfect, rosy smirk, “dark humour just happens to be one of my biggest turn-ons.”
Well, that shuts me up. I look away, as if it will hide my big-ass grin. Our waitress with great timing brings our sake. We fill each other’s cups, clink them together, and drink.
“Damn, Kamisawa-san,” I giggle. “You can really knock ’em back.”
He points to his nose. “Salaryman. It’s a job requirement.” We laugh as I pour him another and he drains it in one go. “Pick another song.” He hands me the menu tablet. I know just the tune for us. While I punch words into the search bar, he continues with our conversation. “So, as I was saying, we all dream the same dream. It just depends on how you look at dreams in general.”
“Yeah, you said that. So, you’re a lucid dreamer …”
“A dream walker. But, yes. You can call it that.”
“Right. You can walk into other people’s dreams and communicate with them … or so you claim.”
“Yup. But that’s not —”
“But that’s not the same as lucid dreaming.”
“Exactly. Being lucid means you know you’re dreaming. What I do is —”
“Different. Don’t worry, I got that part. But I still don’t get how this works. Okay, let me ask you a question. Let’s say, you can walk into my dream when I go to bed tonight …”
He grins shyly. “Mm-hmm …”
“But what if I go back to Canada? If you’re in Osaka, and I’m in Toronto —”
“I could still do it, if I had the time. I’ve been dream-walking for years, so I’m pretty good at it. Sure, it would be extremely difficult to find you, and we’d have to be asleep at the same time, so I’d have to figure out your time zone and plan around that — and then I’d have to sleep long enough to find you because there’s going to be millions of people between here and your city — but I’m pretty confident, yeah, I could do it.”
“I see. Damn, they don’t have ‘Sandstorm.’ And I’m still hungry. Hey, do we still want that ‘Potato Mountain’?”
“Sure. Order a couple of beers, too. And see if they have ‘Dream On’ by Aerosmith.”
“Okay. Now, what if I wanted you to … walk into one of my sisters’ dreams. Could you do that?”
“Yup,” he says without missing a beat.
“How? You’ve never met her.”
“I don’t have to meet her. It’d be harder because I’d have to approach a lot of people and say ‘Hey, are you Cybelle’s sister?’ and odds are I might never meet her, what with the odds of finding one person in seven billion who all sleep at an inestimable number of times in a twenty-four-hour period. But if you’re asking if I have the ability to find her without meeting her in person, then yeah. Absolutely.” He winks at me. “How else do you think I found you?”
“Yeah, right.” I bite my lip as I find “Dream On” and queue it up. “What if I wanted you to find my great-grandmother in Timbuktu, who doesn’t speak a word of English?”
“You have a great-grandmother in Timbuktu?”
“No. But if I did?”
“Still doable.”
“Even if she doesn’t speak English?”
“She doesn’t have to. We could still communicate. My grandpa called it ‘yumego.’ It’s like a universal language. One person speaks, the other understands. Language in dreams doesn’t matter as much as you’d think.” Zaniel reads the look on my face. “Don’t ask me how. It just works that way.”
“I thought you were the expert on all this!”
“So did I, until I met you.”
I shift around in my seat. This guy really knows how to flirt, doesn’t he? “Wait, hang on. That doesn’t make any sense! Couldn’t I just show you a picture of someone and you say, ‘Okay, I’m going to dream about this person’ and you go into your dream state, thinking you’re in that person’s dream?”
“We don’t go into other people’s dreams. We just run into each other.” He pauses to hand me one of the beer mugs our server has just brought us. “Ookini. Anyway, here’s the way my grandfather explained it to me. He was way more poetic than I am, and I’m drunk right now, so bear with me.
“Just like when we’re awake, we all share the same plane of existence: I’m sitting here, you’re sitting there, that man is standing way over there by the door, those people who just left are, I don’t know, going to their families who live an hour away, over ‘there,’ halfway around the world, your family is ‘there.’ We might be close, or far, but basically, we’re all in one wide expansive place — this city, Japan, Earth — and it’s the same when we dream. It’s all one big place, we’re just in different parts of it, at different times, but ninety-nine percent of people don’t know it. We think that we’re asleep, in our beds, not going anywhere. Okay, so maybe physically, yes, our bodies are still there — but ‘us,’ when we dream, we go far, far away, and we all go to the same place. But since we forget most of our dreams, or we don’t even realize we’re dreaming, when we come to it’s like we never left our beds. You with me so far?”
I nod. In my head, my sober voice tells me this man is deluded, but Drunk Cybelle finds this to be an interesting conversation. “Go on.”
“Okay. Ninety-nine percent, that’s what I said, right? Well, then you have that one percent. Or maybe more, or less — whatever — and they know they’re dreaming. They realize it all of a sudden, like, ‘Whoa, shit, I’m dreaming!’ But it’s not something they can hold onto. They still get sucked back into thinking it’s all real, and they just keep going along with it. It’s just a fleeting moment and poof. That’s it. Back to slaying dragons and showing up to work naked.”
“That’s another thing I wanted to ask you. Do dragons and monsters and stuff exist in this ‘other’ world, too?”
“That would make sense, wouldn’t it? Think about all the scary things that show up in your nightmares — and hell, even the good things that show up in your dreams — sure, they don’t exist here, but it doesn’t mean they don’t exist at all.” Zaniel pauses to take a swig of beer. “My grandfather had this theory, that all the mystical creatures we know and love lived here for thousands of years, but now that all this modernization and globalization has kicked in, they have no place here anymore. They had to move on, go somewhere else. We can convince ourselves we hunted all unicorns to extinction and destroyed mermaid habitats, or bulldozed all the faerie mounds to build condos —”
“If you’re willing to admit you believe in those sorts of things?” I can’t help but tease him a little.
“Exactly.” He lets out a dry laugh. “But we’ve also convinced ourselves that so many of those creatures were immortal. So, the whole extinction thing doesn’t really work. I guess we could say that some of those things can move between the two worlds.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s like a weird zone in time or space or whatever where all the supernatural stuff people’ve stopped believing in exist. Then, when sleeping humans wander into their world, the creatures get all excited and go running after ’em. We wake up thinking it was all in our heads; never give them a second thought.” I take another sip of beer and rest my head on the table. “And the world is so big, odds are … these things that chase after us … we never see them again. Not their exact likenesses. People say recurring dreams are rare, so —”
“They just don’t remember. The World is big. The dream world — or, what my grandpa called ‘Yume’ — is even bigger. What are the odds you’ll run into the same monsters over and over again? Well, there’s truth in that. Usually, you don’t. Not if they aren’t looking for you. Not if they don’t know where to find you. But not everyone is so lucky. Not the one percent.”
“Damn.” I gaze at him, resting my chin on one hand. “I feel so sorry for you, now.”
“Meh,” he shrugs. “I’m starting to see it’s not so bad. Sorry, that turned into a long explanation. I wish I knew how to explain it better. More poetic-like. My mom can. She’d like you. My mother.” He gives me a sleepy, silly grin. “You’re pretty, and sweet. Anyway. Forget everything I said. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company right now. If we sit down to analyze how all this is possible, it’s going to turn our hair grey.”
I look down at the table, trying to be covert about smothering my hand over my ever-widening grin. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”
“It should. That was your advice, lady.”
That does sound like something I would say, although I don’t remember saying it today. “So now you’re just going to repeat me to stay on my good side?”
“If I did, would you fall for it? Nah, I forgot; you’re smart, too.”
I try not to bite my hand off. Dude. He thinks you’re pretty and smart. And he hasn’t mentioned you being “kowai” once! Say something cool.
“I gotta pee.”
He shrugs. “Washrooms are one more floor up.”
The bathroom appears to be hooked up with the same speakers that make up the restaurant’s karaoke system. I wonder if Zaniel has slipped me something, because no way in hell would Sober Cybelle listen to anyone prattle on about how he can walk through dreams, no matter how hot he is. But to Drunk Cybelle, it all just sounds super trippy. I try to imagine it. It isn’t hard. This restaurant itself is a dream come true.
“Jibun Jishin,” I whisper out loud. “Hey, wait; I know this song!”
I quietly rap along as I wash my hands. Luckily no one else in here pays much attention to Samurai Champloo’s theme as it fills the ladies’ room with the strong scent of peach soap. Just as I dry my hands my phone vibrates in my pocket; as Mom scrolls by on the external display, I see how late it’s getting. It’s going to be one hell of an adventure getting to work tomorrow. Saturday. I have to call it a night. I hope Zaniel won’t care. This doesn’t feel like a real date. Not that I’d know.
Hi Cybelle sweetie, I read, how is Japan? How are ur students? Any new adventures lately? I’ve been talking to your sisters and I truly believe in my heart that you need to come home next year by April, etc., etc. “Oy.” I click my phone shut. Calling her will make this an adventurous weekend indeed.
There are more people wandering around the restaurant than before I went to the washroom. That looks like our table, over there. Everyone stumbles so much it’s like walking through a nightclub. I wonder if the owner ever worries that someone might get knocked into these bamboo railings and tumble right over. A lawsuit waiting to happen. That’s when I notice each floor is staggered; if you fell over, you’d land on the next floor below instead of plummeting seven stories down. Good to know. Someone could get themselves killed up here.
Someone squeezes my shoulder, hard. A deep voice breathes nicotine and sour beer into my ear. “Sumimasen —”
Without turning I tell him it’s not a problem. “Iie.” I shrug him off, just as hard. Then I pick up the pace and assertively worm my way back to my table. Drunk-ass weirdo.
Zaniel has definitely reached his limit, too. His whole face is bright pink. He looks like he’s sleeping, probably dreaming about something wonderful. A part of me wishes to curl up next to him and pass out; together, we could just wait here until morning, safe in the arms of a warm, deep, unconscious world. Dreaming together. On second thought, no, I need to go home.
I sneak into Zaniel’s side of the booth and flop down on the seat as hard as I can. Zaniel flails to life. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I joke. “Did I ruin your nap?”
“No,” he closes his eyes again and rests his head against the back of the seat with a lazy Cheshire grin, like he couldn’t care less that he was caught dozing in public. “Just my dream … Ah. There. Right back where I left off.”
“Do I want to know what you’re dreaming about? ’Cause I could see that drunk smile on your face all the way across the room.”
He blushes a little more, but his eyes stay closed. He suppresses a chuckle as he imperceptibly shakes his head.
“Oh, it’s that good, eh? Never mind then, I don’t want to know.” He sits silently with his eyes closed for a long time. I pick up his chopsticks and aim for his nose. He catches me by the wrist so fast I let out a startled scream, which turns into a laugh. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist!”
He doesn’t let go. “Tsk, tsk. I knew there had to be a catch with you. Now I have to learn how to sleep with one eye open.”
“Don’t do that. You stress out too much, your hair will turn grey.”
“You’ve heard what I do for a living. I’m already turning my hair grey.”
“Maybe it’s time to quit.”
He guides my wrist back down to the table, but instead of pulling away, his hand slips underneath mine. I marvel at his long black eyelashes while he watches as his thumb caresses my knuckles. “Maybe.”
Maybe. Manager’s favourite word. Maybe he’s thinking of something deep and dark in his past, something that gives him this perfectly angelic look as his eyes focus on my hand. My gosh. He’s so beautiful I could kiss him. No … maybe I should kiss him. After all, I do have to leave. Maybe …
“Rise and shine, lovers,” says a deep voice. Something smashes down on the table so close to my other hand I can feel the air from it. Zaniel is looking at something above my head with terror in his eyes. There’s a man standing at our table, big as a house, dressed in a black haori and hakama, with a giant fist tight around the neck of the four-litre shochu bottle he slammed in front of me.
“Oh! I’m sorry. Did I scare ya?” There’s no sympathy in his raspy voice; he laughs. “See, Hino? What’d I tell ya? Nothin’ to be afraid of.” He speaks with an accent I’ve never heard before but it’s also like heavy katakana English. I correct myself — I have heard it before. The fox man and the fish man spoke it, too. Where are all these guys from? Apparently, he’s addressing someone behind him, whose image I can barely see past him because he takes up so much room. And I recognize his voice. He’s the guy who grabbed my shoulder. Who exactly is this fucker?
“A-Akki … sama …” Zaniel finally speaks. “W-what are you doing here?”
“You lose track of time, dummy?” The giant man laughs again. “Jibun Jishin’s open to everyone this time of night. Trains’ll stop any minute, so I should be askin’ you what you’re doin’ here.” He’s talking to Zaniel, but he’s looking right at me. There’s a glint of green in his eyes, and I’ve never seen a dude with so many teeth. But maybe that’s all the alcohol talking (I’ve had a lot). “Relax, Zaniel-kun. No need to freak out. I went through the trouble to get this for ya! C’mon, we’ll all have some.”
“But —”
“Geez, kid. You in some kinda rush? Didn’t look like it a second ago. Guess you were right, Hino. He don’t like us no more.”
The giant man steps to one side, exposing a girl behind him, hands in her school uniform jacket. For whatever reason, she’s wearing sunglasses. “Probably too busy with real life,” the girl says in an equally deep voice. “Give him the bottle and let us go.”
The giant man ignores her. “How is life, Zaniel-kun?” Geez, why the fuck is he still staring at me?
Zaniel swallows. “Fine.”
The man’s smile stretches further than the human face should logically go; it almost looks like something unravelling. He reminds me of the Grinch. It’s hard not to stare, but harder to look away. “Ain’t you gonna properly introduce us to your new friend?” he asks, leaning on the table so hard I expect it to break. He smells like a mixture of pine forest and sake strong enough to disinfect a toilet. I drop my gaze. Maybe I’ll just stare at my lap until this awkward-ass conversation is over and I can go home.
“No. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Zaniel takes my hand and gestures for me to get out of the booth. I’m so grateful I could kiss him. Hell, I would have, if it weren’t for the giant man blocking my path with his crotch.
“Aw, what’s your hurry?!” the big man shouts and stamps the table with his bottle again. “Sit down. We’re gonna have a drink. Oi, omae!” He grabs a passing waitress by the arm and even bumps her against our table. “We need four glasses — and bring us a plate of fugu liver. I ain’t waitin’ for these people to clear out. I paid good money to dine here, too, y’know!”
Shit. Cornered by a drunk samurai wannabe the size of a Gundam. Talk about timing. Zaniel pulls me back into the booth, shaking his head. What have I gotten myself into? Time to do the only thing I know how: smile, nod, and make the best of things until I get myself back to my apartment, alive and physically unscathed.
The giant man makes a grandiose gesture to the schoolgirl, who bows with a polite “shitsureishimasu” before sliding into the seat as far as she can. I’m a little offended until the giant squeezes himself in and plops down on the cushion hard enough to make it pop. He still has one massive tree-trunk leg sticking out of the booth. “We weren’t properly introduced. I’m Akki. I have a feelin’ Zaniel-kun still hasn’t told you about me.”
Something tells me not to confirm this fact, nor offer my hand. I give him my best Zozo smile. “I’m Cybelle. Nice to meet you.”
“Cybelle?” he snorts. “That’s what you call yourself? Heh. Never heard that one before. You ever hear that one, Hino? ’Cause I’ve never heard of it. Weird, huh?” Akki can’t seem to get over this new combination of sounds he’s discovered. “Cybelle. What kinda name is that, anyway? Cybelle … Cyb … elle. That’s a new one. Never heard of it.”
“Relax, dude,” I mutter. “Didn’t ask if you had.”
Zaniel looks like someone just jabbed him with a fork. He looks at Akki and seems relieved to see the giant laughing that loud barking laugh of his. “Oh, ho, ho, still cheeky, I see. I like that. Anyway. This is Hino.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” I nod at her. It doesn’t make sense to fuel this conversation any further. Not that Hino looks interested in talking. She just sits there and stares in my general direction through her shades. “Sorry to cut this short, Zaniel, but I have to —”
“Sumimasen, okyaku-sama,” two waitresses sing in harmony as they carry a giant platter of fries between them and set it on the table. “‘Potato Mountain’ degozaimasu! Jibun rashiku ite kudasai!” They bow and leave. Shoot, I forgot we ordered this. But judging by the disgusted look on this Akki guy’s face, I don’t have to share.
“Don’t mind Hino, Sigh-belle, she’s a bit of a bitch around strangers. No manners whatsoever, right? Not that —”
“Excuse me, Cybelle-sama,” Hino cuts him off, clearly not listening to a word her friend is saying. “May I ask you … what are you doing here in Japan?”
“Uh, well … I work for an eikaiwa, about twenty minutes west of here.”
“No. I mean, where did you come from? How did you come to be here?”
“I …” I’m temporarily distracted by the plate of quivering fish flesh a waitress sets down in front of the giant man, along with his four glasses. He slurps it down with one hand before the waitress has even finished bowing. “I came from Canada?” I want to add by plane, but something about this girl scares the sarcasm out of me.
Hino asks patiently, “But is that where you are really from?”
“Yeah, that’s a damn good question.” Akki squints at me. “How the fuck did you end up all the way out there?”
“I don’t …” I trail off, helpless. What the hell are they asking me?
“Forgive me,” Hino relaxes. “I understand; some of our kind are more concerned with privacy than others. I will not push further. May I ask instead, what brought you to our land?”
Our kind? Our land? “The food?”
When Hino smiles, I understand why she scares me. The movements of her face are just as frightening as Akki’s but for different reasons. She looks like a perfectly normal teenage girl, but at the same time I can tell what her incisors would feel like if she were to sink them into my skin. They’d pierce through human flesh like a knife through soft butter. “Ah, now I see.”
“What the hell is goin’ on with you tonight?” Akki chuckles at her.
“Like you will ever understand. It was nice to finally meet you, Cybelle-sama. I hope Japan is to your satisfaction. We should all be honoured to have your kind here.” She bows as low as she can despite the Formica table in her face, then turns to Akki. “I am leaving now. Excuse me.”
“But we just got here —”
“Move.”
With the agility of a startled spider, Akki scoots out of the booth for her to leave. At the last second, I get the bright idea to say I’d like to go with her, something about girls going to the restroom in groups. But I’m too slow. Akki blocks me a second time as she disappears into the crowd. He watches the girl almost forlorn before he finally sits back down.
“My, my, the effect you have on others, Sigh-belle,” the man snickers. He seems to be the only one amused by all this. “Anyway, I think we got off on the wrong foot — least, that’s what Hino thinks. She thinks we ought to be friends. Makes sense, ’cuz I ain’t got any, ’cept for maybe Zaniel-kun here. So, I thought, let’s get drunk and get to know each other! Ain’t never met one of your kind before. Thought it’d be interestin’.”
“Sorry, but I gotta leave. Zaniel, how much do I …?” Zaniel gives me a sad puppy-dog look. Shit. Not the puppy eyes. I want to go home. Or at least far away from this rando.
“Ah, don’t worry about the tab, kids! It’s on me.” The giant man yanks a golden ring off his finger and flings it onto the table. “I’ll even cover the gaijin crap. I’m that nice. But like I was sayin’, showin’ up on my territory and all that really threw me for a loop. Can’t blame me for overreactin’, right? But hey, don’t mean we can’t still be friends. We can be … if you’re smart about it.”
Gaijin crap? His territory? Oh please, don’t tell me this man is trying to say I don’t belong here. “I didn’t see any ‘Japanese only’ signs out front,” I reply in a cold voice.
“Pssh, yeah, that’ll change, hopefully. Ugh, speakin’ of which, what do you say we get out of here and head up to my place instead? You know, before the flood of people take over this place? I can show you a way better time there.” He snickers and points at me. “You’ll have to ditch the gaijin getup of course, ’cuz I don’t mess with that. Say, what’s with that getup, anyway?”
I sit there frozen for a moment. “You’re not serious.”
“’Course I am! I ain’t walkin’ around with no gaijin. Besides, this is Jibun Jishin! You’re supposed to do away with all that jazz. You know, you’re awfully uptight for a half-human.”
“A what?!” People passing by our table stop and stare, but I don’t give a shit.
“Well you are.” The man tries to cross his legs under the table and gives up. “What? What am I saying wrong?”
Zaniel looks between Akki and I, bewildered. He probably thinks I’m going to punch this dude, but no. I take a calming breath instead. “Okay. I think you’ve worn out your welcome, sir.”
Akki chuckles. “… what is that, some kinda joke?”
“Zaniel and I were having a conversation and you interrupted us. I’m sure you can find a table elsewhere. It’s a big restaurant.”
Akki’s smile slowly turns from lighthearted to menacing without moving a muscle. “I don’t want another table. I like this one. After all, that’s my friend you’re sittin’ next to. Zaniel hasn’t told you who you’re dealin’ with, has he?”
“He’s mentioned you. But I don’t care. You can’t go around talking to people like that.”
“Hmph. People. Right. Look, you’re obviously new ’round here. If it’s entertainment you’re lookin’ for, don’t bother with the kid. He ain’t gonna know the first thing about what to do with ya. I’m tellin’ ya, my place is more fun.” He looks at me like I would be a fool to turn him down. “Plus, I got swords.”
I look him dead in his eyes. They seem to have caught the reflection of some neon green light from somewhere. “No.”
It’s finally enough to wipe the grin off his freaking face. “Fine! Whatever! Didn’t want to sleep with you, anyway. Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself, I would’ve been doin’ you the favour. Come on, Zaniel, let’s bounce. This bitch ain’t no fun. Stuck-up, just like all the other fuckers.”
“He doesn’t have to go anywhere,” I blurt out.
“He’s mine,” Akki jerks his girth out of the booth and stands up. “Get your own.”
I turn to Zaniel, who has never look so scared. I don’t understand his fear. Maybe because I don’t feel scared myself. I didn’t expect him to defend me — people rarely do. If I was more sober I’d be more fearful of rubbing a guy like this the wrong way. It’s easy to guess what sort of crowd he hangs around. But right now, I’m not afraid of anyone or anything. “Are you?” I ask him. “Are you ‘his’? You really want to leave with him?”
Zaniel swallows. “No.”
“Then, don’t,” I say quietly, taking his hand in mine again. He relaxes. Even smiles a little.
“Oh hell, no,” Akki curses. “This stops NOW.”
He grabs my shoulder and starts to pull. I’m livid. I don’t know what he expects to happen, but this being the third time a man has put his hands on me this week does not sit well. I writhe from his grip and elbow him right in the chest. “Don’t TOUCH ME.” It’s not enough to do much damage, but it does throw him off-balance. He topples against the table.
Something else topples with him. It must have been in the folds of his haori jacket. A small pinkish-grey sphere rolls under the lips of the empty plates and comes to a stop against the soy sauce holder at the end of the table. A large brown circle points right back at me.
It’s an eyeball.
“What the hell …?” Zaniel asks, equally horrified. “You … you’ve been …”
Akki’s voice is deadpan. “Oh, don’t look so shocked.” He reaches for it and straightens himself up. “Geez, you and Hino are two pages out the same damn book. Killjoys.”
I’m locked into my seat, gripping the leather, focusing my gaze on something — anything — so I don’t scream, or vomit, or pass out. There was a fucking eyeball on the table.
“How long …” Zaniel’s voice is hoarse. “How long have you …?”
“Like it matters. Geez. Now, are we gettin’ out of here, or you gonna hang around with this … thing?”
“Thing?!” I start, but Zaniel is suddenly shoving me out of his way to slide out of the booth. I’m about to yell at him, too, until he pushes me behind him in a protective stance.
“Zaniel-kun, geez.” Akki looks mildly entertained. “Don’t run over the girl. Someone’s gonna think you got the shits.”
“Akki-sa—” he pauses. The silence hangs in the air like a dagger. Then it drops. “I quit.”
Akki is still smiling. He waves his hands like he’s talking to an unintelligent child. “No, dummy. I didn’t say ‘quit,’ I said —”
“I QUIT.”
Everything stops. The servers, the dinner talk, the karaoke singers. It feels like everyone is frozen in various poses of stunned awkwardness. “I’m done. Finished. This —” he points between himself and Akki “— is over.”
The smile on Akki’s face slowly disappears, then morphs into a warped mixture of admiration and respect. “I see. So you’ve decided to grow some balls. ’Bout time. A good woman’ll bring that out in ya.”
“Like you’d ever know.” Zaniel’s hand brushes against my hip. Instinctively, I grab it and squeeze. “And this has nothing to do with her. It’s about … how you promised you would never, ever hurt anyone.”
“Okay, Zaniel, shut up,” Akki lowers his voice as a couple passes by with wary glances. “Ain’t like the whole planet needs to hear.”
“I don’t care who hears. I don’t mind if the planet knows I’m no longer under Akki’s thumb. I’m done. And for the record, Cybelle’s not a thing. She’s a person. We both are. Being gaijin doesn’t make us any less of a human being.”
Akki looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. His face goes slack. “Gaijin?”
This idiot. What the hell did he think I was? “Yeah,” I say, trying to summon my drunken bravery back. “Gaijin. Duh. It’s not makeup; it doesn’t come off. Get on the tokkyuu, pal.”
Zaniel turns to me. “Come on. We’re leaving.”
A part of me wants to take his arm. Another wants to push Zaniel out of the way and run for it. A third has to go pee again. I honestly have no idea what to do. He takes the initiative by taking my hand. We don’t get far with Akki’s paw on Zaniel’s shoulder.
“The hell you are. Your little jokes have gone far enough, boy.”
“I’m not your boy.” Zaniel thrashes and shakes Akki off. “I haven’t been your boy for years. I’m through with this — this BULLSHIT you call … you know what, I don’t even know what to call it. I won’t help you do it. I don’t care about demons coming after me anymore. I’d rather deal with a thousand of them than one of you.”
Akki stands there, dumbstruck. So does the entire restaurant, for a time. Zaniel gives me a pointed look, turns, and walks away, pulling me along with him. My heart feels like it’s going to burst. It almost does when Zaniel suddenly lurches as he is grabbed from behind, whirled around, and socked in the stomach. Some people gasp as he crumples to the floor, but several more jump up from their tables and booths and scatter to get away. Before I can get down to see to Zaniel, Akki is stepping over his body and grabbing my upper arm, hard, squeezing me like I owe him money and he’s about to beat it out of me. I know no one is coming to help me. There’s only one thing left to do. I scratch the air like a cat with my free hand until I hit something that feels like a face, and when Akki shouts in pain and releases me, I lift up one foot and drive it right into his groin.
“OW!” Akki goes down clutching himself, looking hurt and confused. “What the hell was that for?!” He staggers to his feet and stands upright. I brace for another attack.
“Akki!” I hear Zaniel’s voice behind the large man. He turns just in time to catch the end of a four-litre shochu bottle square in the face with a splintering glassy sound. He spins 270 degrees, staggers backward, and flips right over the railing. Zaniel doesn’t lower the remains of the bottle neck until we all hear him crashing onto a table a few floors below, followed by the screams of whomever he almost crushed.
All I can do is stand here with my hands on my head. “Shit,” I say. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, you killed him. You killed him!”
“If only it were that easy,” is all Zaniel says. He tosses the broken glass aside like he smacks people with giant liquor bottles every day and takes me by the hand. “This is the part where we run.”
“Run?! Run where? There’s like a hundred cameras and witnesses in this place! We aren’t running anywhere! Holy crap, my whole life is over. My family won’t even cross the ocean to visit me — they’re not going to come bail me out of Japanese jail!”
He points to the emergency exit he’s dragging me toward. “No, we’re not going on the run, we just have to —”
“Let go of me! You fucking killed someone! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
He smiles. “Oh, how the tables have turned. But seriously, we really should get going before he does.”
I didn’t think my jaw could drop any lower. I don’t know how much time passes with me standing there, covering my mouth like an idiot while Zaniel pulls at me, before the whole room shakes with the scariest noise I’ve ever heard. It sounds like a pig squealing, but much louder — angrier, too — and it seems to be coming from below us. From what I can see over the railing, everyone on the lower floor is screaming and shoving each other out of the way. Something large and heavy flies into the air and slams into the railing, right where our booth is: an angry, ravenous animal is scrambling, clawing its way back up to the seventh floor. It’s hard to see because the restaurant is so dark, but if it wasn’t for all those drinks I’d say it was a shadow with neon-green teeth. No, not teeth. Tusks.
Panic ensues. Fights seem to break out on all sides of us as people run for the nearest exits. Crumpled on the floor, an older man laughs himself in stitches. “FAITOOO!” he cries with a mouth full of teeth and blood. As if they’ve prepared for this their whole lives, all servers and bartenders put down their trays and menus and file along in neat orderly lines to the nearest emergency exits. Everyone else pushes and screams. Zaniel grabs my jacket, umbrella, and purse, yanks me into a stairwell, and presses me against the cold stone walls to avoid the barrage of panicked, flailing patrons. Some still have napkins tucked into their shirts, others are still holding chopsticks, and one small woman has a mouth full of what used to be some kind of mousse cake half-spilling from her lips as she shouts for everyone to get the hell out of her way.
“Well, I said I could go for an adventurous Friday night,” I gasp. “Never again.”
Zaniel is giggling. He’s clearly still drunk. “Look on the bright side, at least you don’t have to work tomorrow!”
I could slap him. “I do have to work tomorrow!”
“What?! Why?”
“EIKAIWA.”
He cocks his head, thinking about it for a second, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, right! I completely forgot.”
“Oh, terrific. You’ve snapped. You’re violent and happy about it. Fantastic.”
“Just hold onto me and keep your legs moving. Whatever happens, do not let go. Think New Year’s shopping sale. Think rush hour at Shibuya Station!” His voice gets higher the more he speaks, like’s he’s getting off on the excitement.
“I don’t go to either of those things, just to avoid situations like this!”
“Then you haven’t lived, my dear. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Is that why you slugged that guy?! For adventure?”
He grips my hand tighter with a mischievous smirk. “Isn’t that what we’ve both been looking for?”
I groan to myself. “Sweet merciful … What have I done?” Wait a minute. What have I done? Nothing. I don’t owe this guy anything. I barely know him. He’s only been hanging around me for the job … right? “Zaniel,” I say calmly, ignoring the patrons pushing and shoving into us on their way down the steps. “I’m going to need my hand back.”
Zaniel gives me a puzzled look. He doesn’t let go, but I can feel his grip relax. I don’t bother to wait. I wrench my hand away. Now it’s my turn to push and shove my way down the stairs. Someone higher up the stairs, presumably a woman, screams. Another bout of panic ensues as the crowd surges down the steps. I hear my name over the cries of terror. A rogue salaryman tries to shove me from behind. I shove back as we all burst through an emergency exit door into a back alley. I’m carried by the tide of people into an empty shoutengai where I run past closed shops and stores until I see a sign for the Midosuji subway line. I fly down the steps and the empty station halls, not even stopping to dig my wallet out from my purse and scan it over the ICOCA panel. The train plays a happy tune as the door slides closed a split second after I run in. I don’t stop to look over my shoulder or catch my breath until I pass through each car to the last one, where I collapse on the empty row of seats. I’m alone. I’m safe.
I’ll never wish for adventure again.
“Ima oki … Ima oki … Ima oki … Ima oki …”
I open my eyes to the peaceful sounds of an autumn weekend morning: ambient chatter below my windows, people walking their dogs, a garbage truck rolling by, announcing to the world that it’s making a left turn. I snuggle deeper into my covers, relieved my head isn’t thumping in pain from last night, content to have the rest of the weekend to recover from the hell that unfolded in the blink of an eye.
“Ima oki … Ima oki … Ima oki … Ima oki …”
Oh, wait. There’s another sound I didn’t notice before — muffled, staticky. It’s my alarm clock lying prostrate on its side, clock flashing 12:00 p.m. It sounds broken. I don’t even have the energy to shrug. I’m going to need a dozen hotcakes to care. Looks like I’m going to lie here a while until I’m too hungry to function and I have no choice but to get out of bed. Ugh. Freaking Osaka. Freaking Jibun Jishin. I may never leave my house on a Friday night again.
Did I just say Friday night?
“OH FUCK, IT’S SATURDAY.”
I launch myself from my futon, dive onto my purse, and dump everything onto the floor. I snatch up my phone and check the time.
1:11 p.m.
My heart sinks into my stomach like a rock. If I had anything in my stomach right now, I’d be puking it up.
I’m holding back tears when I get on the elevator of the Zozo building. There’s a mantra screaming in my head: Third time’s a charm. Strike three, you’re out. A string of idioms with the number three follows. The first two times this happened, I got fucking lucky. There’s no way I’m not getting fired for being three hours late. Not a chance in hell.
The elevator doors slide open; the Zozo lobby is only half lit. I don’t hear anything — no shrieking students, no high-pitched singsong voices of teachers, no parent chatter, no rampaging Manager or Bucho spitting fire down my throat, nothing. I’m completely alone.
“Holy balls.” It’s so quiet the word “balls” echoes down the hallway. If anyone were actually here, they certainly would have heard it. Not again. There’s no way I am doing this for the third time in a month and getting away with it by some divine plan. It is a normal day, a normal freaking Saturday, and by all rights and accounts I should be getting the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. “What the hell is going on this time?”
“Morning,” a warm cello voice says behind me that makes me jump out of my skin. Zaniel is sitting on the waiting couch right beside the elevator doors. He’s scrolling on his iPhone with one hand. One long leg crossed over the other, dressed in jeans, long slim-fit black jacket, sunglasses, and a fashionable scarf, looking like he’s waiting for a bus. He grins at me. “Sleep well?”
“Oh no,” I groan. “What are you doing here?”
“Meow,” he pretends to claw at me. “I thought you’d be happy to see me again. Last night was so much fun.”
“If you’re here, it can’t be good.” I gesture to the empty lobby and the weird lighting. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m pretty sure I’m fired.”
Zaniel’s eyebrows arch into two devilish-looking shapes. “Are you sure?”
“Aaaaahhh,” I hear a voice come from the staff room. “Cybellesensei …” It’s Manager.
“Oh, sweet mercy,” I mutter. I drop my purse on the floor and kick my shoes off, not bothering with my slippers. I won’t need them when I’m on all fours, bowing in apology. “Manager, I’m so sorry, my alarm clock —”
Manager is lying on the floor, taking up half the staff room, wrapped in baby blankets, using the broken, twitching Anpanman toy as a pillow. He looks as happy as a just-fed newborn. “Cybellesensei,” he says again, dreamily. “Aaah … so sorry … I forget, again. No school. So sorry … maybe …” his eyes droop closed.
I stare at him for a long time. There are too many things going on in this room to wrap my head around all at once. “No school? What the hell?” I wait, then clear my throat. He snores. He is out cold. “MANAGER.”
“Ah!” Manager sits upright. “Ah, so sorry! Cybelle-sensei. Do you know? Maybe, today, typhoon will come. So today, no school. All classes — cancelled. I call everyone. But I forget you. Again. I’m so sorry. But today, you can take a rest!” He grins foolishly. “Like me! I rest, after I call everyone. I … so tired …” He wipes his hands over his face like he’s trying to wash the exhaustion away and lies back down.
“What the heck are you talking about? We just had a typhoon. Manager? Manager, can you hear me?! Fucking hell.”
“Everything all right?” Zaniel calls from the lobby couch. He’s still playing with his phone.
“No.” This is scary. Maybe he’s just severely hungover. I kneel down to Manager’s level. “Manager, if there’s a typhoon coming, why are you sleeping here?”
“Ah, ha ha …” he rolls away from me. “I’m so sleepy,” he says. “Meccha nemui na …”
Zaniel snickers in the staff room doorway. “Well, you heard the man. School’s out! Let’s go.”
“I can’t just leave him here. He’s an ass, but … but … I don’t know, we just can’t leave him here.” I go back to where I left my purse, to look for my phone, to call Yoshino. Perhaps she can talk me out of this drug-induced dream.
Zaniel crouches down next to me. His hand closes over mine before I can call anyone. “My lady —” he removes his sunglasses “— you just got yourself a three-day weekend. And you’re going to enjoy it.”
“How can I enjoy anything when —” I pull away a bit. “What’s going on with your eyes?”
On cue, they dart back and forth between mine. “What’s wrong with them?”
“Nothing. That’s just it. They’re gorgeous.”
Zaniel blushes. “Maybe they’re contacts.”
“They’re not.” I squint. “You don’t have any circles around the iris. Like you had yesterday.”
He rises to his feet and holds out his hands. “Nothing slips by you, huh? I keep forgetting how clever you are. Now, let’s leave the little men alone to their sleepy time and get out of here.”
“Oh, no.” I stumble away from him to stand up before my heart takes over my brain, which should be shunting me to the emergency exit. Not that I want to see one of those again anytime soon. “You did something to him, didn’t you? What did you give him? Drugs? Sleeping pills? Anpan? What did you do to him?! And who are you calling ‘my lady’? I’m not your anything.”
“All I said was there was a typhoon coming.” Zaniel pouts innocently. “I didn’t say it was coming now.”
I pause. “So, there’s no typhoon.”
The corners of his pouting lips begin to twitch. “You might say that. It’s funny … I was just sitting there, talking to myself about the typhoon Japan had a few days ago. And he just so happened to be taking a nap at the desk when I did. I guess something in my voice persuaded him to be extra cautious today?”
“Ah, now I get it.” I nod. “I’m dreaming. I knew there had to be something. I’m still asleep, in my bed, and this is all a lovely, glorious nightmare.”
“Oh no, you’re awake. You must be, because I am, too. And from what I can tell, you were fully late for work today — don’t look at me, not my fault — but lucky for you, I thought you might be a little worn out from all the excitement last night and figured you might like a day off. Now you’ve got one! You’re welcome.”
“Great!” I head straight for the elevator. When I punch the button, it opens right up. “I’m going home.”
“An-punch! An-kick! Mata ne!” Anpanman groans from the staff room.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Zaniel picks something up off the floor — a backpack — and leaps in after me. “We’re going out. But,” he looks me up and down, “you’ll want to go home and change into something else. It’s going to be a long day.” I glare at him for a long time. He jumps a little, realizing he hadn’t pushed the button for the ground floor. I’m still glaring at him. He blushes when he finally notices. “Yeah, I figured you’d give me that look. Come on; follow me.”
We go outside where he leads me past the bike rack to a neatly parked scooter. It’s large enough to seat two average-sized passengers. Zaniel lifts up the large seat to reveal two motorcycle helmets — one white, with a black dot, and one black, with a white dot.
“Dare I ask what you intend to do with this?”
“I don’t know,” he sings. “By that growling noise in the elevator I was thinking you might like to get some breakfast first. Maybe you won’t be so afraid of me on a full stomach.”
Damn. He has a point. I’m also sure I’d be better off eating something for energy when the time comes to pepper-spray him and shove him off a bridge. “Fine. There’s a Saizeriya down the street, a Mos Burger, a KFC, and a Mister Donut in the mall, a McDonald’s that way, and a … What’s so funny? You’re laughing at me, now? What’s so funny?!”
Zaniel shakes a teasing finger at me. “If we go to all of those places, we’re never going to get anywhere.”
I can’t help smiling a little. “Those are your options. Don’t be a jerk.”
He laughs again and tosses the black helmet at me. I almost drop it. “Tell you what. I’ll give you an hour. If you’d like to go home and change out of your lovely suit, if you want to grab one meal or ten, it’s up to you. I’ll wait right here, and if you’re too scared to join me on a little trip, I will understand.”
I caress the helmet in my bike basket the whole time at the red light while waiting to cross the intersection near my 7-Eleven, and let it rest in my lap as I eat some eggs at my kotatsu and watch Doraemon on TV for the first time in — wow, I can’t remember how long it’s been since I had a Saturday to myself. What harm can come from just chilling out here until Tuesday? Plenty of harm can come from a joyride with a cute, possibly homicidal stranger who now knows where I work.
I groan. He is cute. And I really don’t know what else I’ll do with my day.
“Son of a bitch.”
I take a quick shower, put on a pair of jeans, an Afropunk T-shirt, my Kuromi scarf, and my favourite hoodie. I also eat a matcha bagel with rose jam after I pack some snacks, gloves, and a small spa bag and throw them all into my messenger bag. If I end up wandering the streets on the run from the law tonight, I’m going to need them.
Zaniel is still where he promised he would be. “So, where would you like to eat?”
“I had breakfast. Let’s get this over with.”
He smirks, lowering his sunglasses from the top of his head. “Suit yourself.”
“You promise you’re not going to murder me.” It’s not a question.
Zaniel takes my hand and locks my pinky with his. “I promise.” He pauses. “I’m sorry for what happened last night. I took too long to stand up for you. It won’t happen again.”
I nod, slightly impressed. “Apology accepted.”
“Not yet,” he pulls me onto the back seat. “That was just the verbal part of my apology.”
Riding on the back of a scooter is smoother than I thought. It’s also scarier. I have no choice but to pretend this guy knows what he is doing as he swerves and leans around the compact cars and mopeds we pass on the main roads. Then we hit the highway. I feel the scooter engine shivering between my thighs as it accelerates to match the speed of traffic. I was a little hesitant about touching him before, but all that shyness is gone and I wrap my arms around Zaniel’s waist, tighter than any seat belt. The sky is a lovely clear blue, beautiful as any given day in spring, and just as warm. My ass there’s another typhoon coming. What am I thinking? Why am I not at work? What the hell am I doing on the back of a scooter with some random albeit gorgeous guy I just met yesterday? And what’s in this backpack he has me wearing? What if it’s drugs? I should be at work.
These are the first words out of my mouth when we finally pull over at a rest stop that looks like a space station and my jelly legs can barely get me inside. “I should be at work. And you haven’t said where we’re going.”
“No,” Zaniel tousles his helmet-hair and beams at me. “I haven’t.”
He guides me inside and plants me right in front of a meal ticket jidouhanbaiki to get some food (he hands me a crisp 10,000-yen note) while he uses the restroom. My mind is reeling with panic — we are hella far from Nishibe — which gains me the sympathy of several large men in biker outfits who think I don’t know how to use the machine and put all their English skills together to order me two chicken katsu curry plates. They reluctantly depart when Zaniel returns, but every now and then they wave from their booth and ask me if I like Japanese food.
The curry and the coffee Zaniel treats me to help my nerves a bit. So do our conversations. I have to keep reminding myself that this dude is a complete stranger, because he’s so easy to talk to. He’s no different from the way he talked during his interview. I honestly can’t pinpoint why he doesn’t have a single close friend. No mention of killing puppies or vowing revenge on his mother or looking for someone to complete him. Maybe others shy away from him. I can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s his eyes. He mistakes my deep thought for reluctance to get back on the road. “Ready for round two?” He smiles reassuringly. Teasing me, he pulls out my chair and offers me his arm, like I’m a fragile old lady. He even picks my helmet up off the table with great care, handing it to me as if it were a giant egg.
“See you again!” the biker with the highest mohawk shouts at me. I wave back with my left hand, then I feel something slide against my right pinky and gently pull me away. The biker guys make high-pitched wooing sounds before I can look down to see Zaniel’s pinky locked with mine as he nonchalantly guides me back to his scooter. He doesn’t even look their way. I have to admit, it’s a pretty sly way to tell people to back off, taking handholding to an exponentially high level.
“It’s okay,” I joke after a while. “I don’t think they’re going to kidnap me and make me teach them English at knifepoint.”
Zaniel studies me with a mockingly unconvinced look. He weaves the rest of his fingers through mine. He grins. “You never know.”
Again, my legs turn to jelly. They tremble against Zaniel as the scooter revs to life. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise.”
All the towns we pass through are small, just wide enough to fit a few houses and a Jusco or two. Everything else is rice paddies and rolling green hills. Then we hit a solid block of traffic and Zaniel guides us down several smaller, one-way streets. I start to worry … until I recognize the familiar orange-red silhouettes of Fushimi Inari’s torii through the trees, and then the telltale spike of the Kyoto Tower antenna as we pause at a traffic light. “See?” Zaniel points at the tower. “We made it one piece. You need to relax. You’re officially on vacation from your stressful job today. Now, we should get something to eat … unless, you’re not hungry yet?”
“I’m always hungry,” I shout over the revving car engines.
“So I’ve noticed!”
We drive on a little more, past the tower, some shrines and temples, up and down a couple of side streets, along the Kamo River, whizzing past a group of maiko being chased by tourists armed with selfie sticks in front of the Minami-za kabuki theatre. Then we cruise into a big parking lot and the scooter engine stops. Wobbly legged and jittery, I follow Zaniel back to the main street in the direction of an electronic train schedule board hanging over a big expanse of space. People hobble this way and that as they manoeuvre themselves into an old-school-looking building. “Keihan railway, Eizan railway, Demachiyanagi Station” it says in English and Japanese.
“What are we doing here?” I wonder, still looking up at the building. “Where are we going?”
“I told you. It’s a surprise.”
Zaniel takes the change from lunch and buys two tickets for each of us. I make a face at him while the station attendant takes one of Zaniel’s tickets and puzzles over mine. “‘Happy birthday’ surprise, or ‘I was the killer all along’ kind of surprise?” I ask.
“Happy birthday surprise, silly; what do you take me for?” I wager a guess. “Someone who hypnotizes a girl’s boss into giving her the day off, that’s what.”
He smirks. “Doesn’t make me a killer.”
The train is packed, but we manage to nab the last space on the seat. The ride is relatively quiet between Zaniel and I. Our attempts to make small talk about how many tourists Kyoto gets are pointless. It’s too loud to hear ourselves over them. At the last stop, tour guides shout in what sounds like Mandarin over the chatter of the train car. We herd off with all the others. Zaniel grabs my hand and pulls me through the violent crowds to a long flight of steps and a cable car. We sit across from an elderly couple who stare at us the entire way up. The cable car dangles precariously over the treetops as it ascends into the mountains. Everything gets quieter the farther we get from the city, which spreads down below us like the sea. “Keshiki ga subarashii desu ne?” the woman says to Zaniel, remarking on how much I’m enjoying the view. She asks Zaniel where we’re from, how long have we been in Japan, and whether we’ve been to Enryakuji Temple before. Zaniel blushes and says we’re going up Mount Hiei. I sneak a glance at him, which makes him even redder. When it comes time to disembark, they insist on letting us go first. The woman says something to her husband about how she could never do what I’m doing, living in a foreign country. “Gaikokujin tsuyoi na,” her husband replies.
“You could have just told me where we’re going, you know,” I pretend to scold Zaniel. “I’ve been here before.”
“But then,” he says, looking around to get his bearings, “it wouldn’t have been a surprise. You hungry yet?”
“Um, kind of.”
“Good. Come on.”
Like I have a choice. “You say that a lot.”
He just laughs.
We go to a little 7-Eleven next to the station and take our time selecting bento boxes and Chu-His, along with some chilled plums and pickles, then weave through the mob of tourist groups heading for the temple. I’m glad we’re not going there, even though I don’t understand why he wanted to bring me here. Mount Rokko would have been much closer. Why drive all the way here? Still, I don’t question it. If he’s here to kill me, I rationalize, I can always push him off a cliff or something.
We talk less and less on our way up the mountain. We stop once or twice, exchanging embarrassed chuckles between us at our own exhaustion, but after some time, the trees thin out and we reach a wide open clearing. We can see the whole city from here. Zaniel takes a thick blanket out from his backpack and spreads it out on the ground for us. Sitting feels great. Digging into my bento feels even better. Zaniel is just as hungry as I am, if not hungrier. He finishes slurping down his last noodles and reclines on his elbows when I’ve only just finished my hijiki salad. I assume he’s enjoying the view until I sneak a glance over at him. He’s staring at me. I can’t help smiling despite the mouthful of food. “Now what?!”
He grins back, shyly looks down at his lap. After I finish eating, he hands me a Chu-Hi from his backpack. He then takes his phone out of his backpack, pops in an earbud, and offers me one (after a thorough courtesy wipe on his thigh). I shrug sure and take it. I can’t place the music or the artist, but it’s lovely, soothing stuff. Drawn-out organ chords and enigmatic high-pitched lyrics in a language I’ve never heard before. “What is this?”
“Sigur Rós.”
“I love it. And it really goes with the view.” We don’t say anything more until the song ends. “The colours are so bright up here.”
“Some say it’s because of all the fires up here.”
“The what now?”
“Rumour has it Kurama no Hi runs longer than just a day up here. People say these mountains are full of yokai. They run about all month long, lighting their own fires, having their own month-long festival … thirty days of feasting and fighting …” He pauses. “Sound familiar?”
“Hmm. Sounds like a thirty-day holiday I could use. Er, without the fighting. Maybe.”
Zaniel studies me. “How do you really feel, working in eikaiwa?”
“I like it. Honestly. Sure, there’s a lot of dramatic crap that comes with it, but that’s something you deal with anywhere, in any job.”
“You think so? You don’t think things would be better for you back in Canada?”
“Nope. It’s strange, really; you can pick up your life and move ten thousand miles away, and when you get there you’re stuck with the exact same situation you ran away from.”
Zaniel goes back to studying the horizon. “I guess,” he says finally. He doesn’t sound happy about my conclusion. I want to change the subject. Is this a date? No, that’s a stupid question. What do normal people talk about in these kinds of situations? “The view up here is really, um, something.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize I’m repeating myself. Shit.
“Nice, isn’t it? I haven’t been up here during the day since I was a kid. I still can’t believe how beautiful it is.”
“I still can’t believe I’m not at work.” The look he gives me in return cracks me up. “Okay, okay! Don’t mess yourself. You’re right, though; it’s quite a view.”
Zaniel looks right at me when he says, “It is.”
I feel my face get hot. “Um … well, you seem to know this area really well.”
His smile turns grim as he looks away. “I’ve been up here more times than I’d like to think. It’s not really the same, in my dreams. It’s … darker. Colder.”
“Oh.”
He clears his throat. “When I first moved to Japan, I went to a private international school here. We hiked around these mountains. We made curry together, and everyone was super nice to me. I thought about it a lot throughout school. How it set the standard of how I wanted to be treated in my Japan life. I started to see it as a cosmic joke that had been played on me.
“A few months after my grandpa died, I came back one night, by myself. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t have a plan that day, just a wish. The wish for it to all stop. Coming home every day with a new bruise, or a new nickname, waking up every night with a new scratch. You can only take so much abuse from others just for being what you are … You know what I mean?”
I nod. “I do.”
“So, after school I hopped on a train and the next thing I knew, I was up here. I thought I was alone. I wasn’t. Akki was there. He saw what I was there to do. He talked to me. We talked for a long time. He ended up saving my life that day. He said he saw a bit of himself in me. But whatever that part is, it’s gone now. Last night showed me that. He’s not the same guy I met. Maybe he never was that guy; maybe it was all a front to hook me. I don’t know. I just know we’re done. I don’t want to turn out like him.”
To turn into a giant, racist, eyeball-collecting weirdo? I don’t get it. “What do you mean?”
“I was always looking for someone to make him happy, I think partly because I owed him, and partly because I could see how bad he is at talking to people. You know, you’ve met him. I thought I was helping him. But in all that time I never thought of looking for someone to make me happy.”
I nod again. “That’s no way to live. You don’t think he’s going to … I don’t know … come after you?”
“Nope.” His smile returns. “I didn’t see a wink of him after the restaurant last night. In fact, I didn’t really see anybody. Maybe one or two, but they waved hello and left me alone. It was the first peaceful night of sleep I’ve had in years, and it was fantastic. It makes me wonder if I ever needed him.”
I’m not entirely sure what he’s talking about, but he certainly looks happy. I don’t want to discredit that. “Thank you for sharing your story with me.”
“Thank you for listening.”
A long awkward silence follows. I cross and uncross my legs. It’s starting to get cold. “Okay, I’m going to ask: What were you interviewing me for yesterday? It couldn’t have been just to watch the sun set.”
With a pause and a heavy exhale, Zaniel rolls up his sleeves, and extends his arms to me. I notice for the first time that he has two bracelets of beads on his wrists, one black and one red. They’re beautiful. “I decided a while ago that the time to get rid of these had come … but I couldn’t get them off. Believe me, I tried.”
My hands are reaching out to him before I understand what they’re doing. My fingers finesse the tiny knots holding each bracelet together. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get them off. Zaniel sighs and clutches his wrists. There are deep red circles where the beads once rested against his skin. Burn marks?
“Okay, you’re free. What do we do with these?”
He looks around himself and picks up one of our tiny conbini bags. He holds it open to me. Without asking I drop them in. Instead of putting it in his backpack or something, he hops up, jogs to the edge of the cliff, and whips the bag into the air.
“Ah,” he says after a beat, like he was expecting the bag to come flying back. “Much better.”
“… did we just litter?” I tease.
“More like ‘returning,’ than littering.” He comes back. Those are burn marks on his skin.
“Zaniel …?”
“I know. It’s okay,” he says, reaching out to me. He helps me to my feet. “I’ll explain later. We have to get out of here before it gets dark.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. It’s gonna be freezing up here soon.”
“Yeah. Freezing …”
We pack up our garbage (I’m glad to see nothing else go over the cliff), Zaniel’s blanket, and our helmets and head back down the mountain. It’s gotten dark so fast. The next cable car won’t come for another thirteen minutes, so we wander around the tourist shop. I buy a bag of peanuts from the shop and get a hand-painted postcard of Lake Biwa from a kind elderly man selling art next to the shop. His monkey assistant, “Mon-kyam,” accepts my two hundred yen in his tiny monkey hat. Zaniel takes a picture of him on my shoulder with his phone just as the cable car arrives. On the ride down the mountain, the lights of Kyoto shimmer like a starry sky. We get seats facing the city at Yase Hieizan-guchi Station and wait for the train to depart.
I notice after a while that Zaniel’s hand is resting on mine. I play it cool and pretend to scan the entirety of the train car. There’s plenty of room on his side of the seats, but I don’t say anything. In time, he rests his head against mine. He must be falling asleep. I close my eyes. The train jolts to life, but I don’t let up the pretense of sleep. Even the scores of people clamouring into the car marvelling at us, possibly taking our photo (I hear several camera clicks) does not faze me. This feels good. He feels good. I don’t want anything to take this warm feeling away.
The train slows to a stop. A voice comes on the intercom. “Attention, everyone. Please remain calm. There is a boar on the tracks.”
Like wildfire, everyone jumps up from their seats and runs to one side of the car to get a good look. Oblivious to the chaos, a train attendant steps into the car and bows. “Attention everyone, attention. We are momentarily stopping the train. Once the way is clear we will move again. We apologize for this inconvenience.”
Someone wails. “Geez, look at the size of that thing! What do we do?”
“We just have to wait.”
“Look at its eyes …”
“They’re green!”
“That is fucking scary. What the hell do we do?!”
“Look at the size of him. That thing could rip a man in half.”
“Shut the hell up! All of you, get a hold of yourselves. It’s just the reflection from the headlights. You wanna scare everyone? Just be cool; it’ll have to move sometime.”
“Mama, I want to go home!”
“Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.”
“Thank you for your patience,” says the attendant, who disappears the way he came in.
The giant boar stands its ground as the passengers whip out their cellphones and cameras. A hundred flashes snap at him, but it remains unmoved. It continues to survey the crowd, trotting over to the car doors, sniffing and snuffling. People looking at their phones exclaim, screaming that its tusks are covered in blood, they’re sure of it.
Somewhere in the bushes, a voice rings out: “This is stupid. We should go.” But the boar does not respond. He is hell-bent on his task. This is the car he is searching for. He can smell it. He parades around a little more, letting the humans push and jostle, and really get their elbows into one another, to point, to take more pictures, to cry for their mothers.
The boar gallops up to the window and smacks its hooves against it. Everyone cries out in terror, fleeing the window, except for a few foolhardy people who just take even more snaps on their cameras of the cloudy fog the boar breathes onto the glass.
The boar looks right at me, narrows its almost-human eyes, green as radioactive material, and slams into the glass, twice. The third time the glass cracks and breaks. The boar leaps through the window and launches right at me with a high-pitched squeal.
I scream.
“Hey.” Zaniel has one hand around my shoulder. The other is rubbing my back. “It’s okay. You were dreaming.”
I’m sitting stock straight. The scream I thought was mine is the gentle screech of the train brakes in front of Takaragaike Station, according to the intercom. A few people look at me oddly — but then, what else is new? “We stopped.”
“Yeah.”
“There was a boar on the tracks.”
The hand on my back stops mid-circle. “You must have dreamed that part,” he says. He doesn’t look happy when he says it. He reads the look on my face and guides me back to a reclined position. He rests his head against mine again, his arm presses up against my shoulder. “Don’t go back to sleep,” he murmurs. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”
“Hmmm …” I try to keep my eyes open. “Have you heard this saying? About how if Tokyo were a person, he’d be a cold, stern salaryman, and Osaka would be his glam rock, visual kei, gum-chewing, rebellious Lolita daughter?”
He laughs. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I can’t remember. But if it’s true, I think Kyoto would be a beautiful woman, in furisode and everything, but only during the day. At night she’d be something else. Something mysterious. Like those stories you hear about people with no faces running into you at night. But she’s not scary or evil or anything. She’s just different.”
“That’s an interesting metaphor. Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”
“I might have. I don’t know.”
We’re pretty quiet until the train arrives at Demachiyanagi Station. We retrieve the scooter and drive along the river, now lit up almost like Christmas, and stop briefly at Kyoto Station. Zaniel lets me wander around the shops decked with giant boxes of fruit cakes, chocolates, baby-pink Hello Kitty stationery with temples and shrines in the backgrounds, black bean nama yatsuhashi, and fancy Kit Kats. He buys me a small box of tea cakes that look like flowers and bunnies, which we polish off after a quick selfie on Zaniel’s phone, before we hit the road again. I feel high on sugar and fumes all the way home. I don’t want this day to end.
Goodbye, Kyoto. See you again.
It’s brighter than it was on the mountain when we get out of the city. I cling to Zaniel’s waist like a drowning sailor again as we swerve between the cars on his two-seater. I close my eyes again, this time because I’m tired, but the noise of the drive and the vibrating against my ass keeps me from falling asleep. Our matching black-and-white helmets with converse tadpole eyes must look like Yin and Yang snaking down the highway like a stealthy sea creature in the ocean. Schools of blue whale trucks and white bass coaches moan and honk around us. A bus full of teenagers shout hello from their windows. They wave, but when some of them stick their tongue out at me I flip them off just as Zaniel guns the engine and the scooter leaps forward. We’re both laughing under our helmets.
It feels late when I recognize the distant Saizeriya I sometimes frequent. “Where do you live?” Zaniel asks at a red light.
“Down this way, past the McDonald’s and the 7-Eleven. But you can drop me off here, it’s fine.”
Zaniel says nothing. The light turns green and we take off. He pulls over at my building, safe and sound. My legs don’t feel so Jell-O-like when I get off the scooter and hand him my helmet, which he tucks away safely under his seat.
“Thanks. I had a great time with you today. You’re sure you’re not a killer, right? You can tell me. I promise not to get mad. I’d rather you tell me now than tell me … you know, later.”
“I could ask you the same thing. Are you capable of killing someone?”
I give him a sideways glance. “I don’t like how you sidestepped my question.”
“So did you.”
“You’re interviewing me again.”
“Maybe.”
We’re both trying not to smile.
“Well …” Zaniel checks his watch. “I should go. And thank you for … you know, today. Taking me up on such a strange quest.”
“I had a great time. When can we do it again?”
“Depends on when Grandma loans me her scooter next. She’s going to love you, by the way.”
“Why? You gonna set us up on a date?”
“I should! She’s always badgering me to teach her English, then never listens to a word I say, so I don’t know what I can teach her. She’ll listen to you, though. You’re pretty and polite, with your tiny hands and your ‘healthy’ skin …” He tries to pinch my cheeks in a poor imitation of an old woman. “And the way you’re always hoovering down food …”
“Am not!” We both laugh again. Then it gets too quiet between us. “You really want me to meet your grandmother?” I ask.
“Well, yeah. I think you have to, now. She’s been bugging me to bring a nice girl home for years. Don’t worry, she’s one of those tiny non-threatening obaachans who love foreigners. I’m telling you, she’s going to eat you up.”
“I don’t wanna be eaten up,” I grin.
“I hope it doesn’t sound like I’m rushing you into anything. I mean, we have all the time in the world.”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, that reminds me … my contract ends in five months, and they want to know if I’m renewing, and … well, I still haven’t decided …”
“Cybelle —”
“I’d just rather be up front with you. I’m not trying to freak you out or anything, but if we’re talking about meeting grandmothers, I just think you should know …”
Zaniel cuts me off with a hug. I’m stunned at first, but then his peachy scent overtakes me. My eyes droop and my arms wrap around his body, which feels long and warm. He repeats, steadily: “All the time in the world.” He pulls away to look me in the eye. “Trust me. You haven’t scared me off, and you haven’t seen the last of me.”
“Okay. Good. Let me see you off.”
“It’s fine. Just make sure to lock the door behind you. This isn’t Canada.”
“Hardy har har.”
Before I can stop myself, I throw my arms around his neck. He laughs, staggering against the scooter a little, but his reciprocal hug is stronger than the first. Without another word I run into my building. I can’t help peering through the glass of my front door to watch him go. He doesn’t move an inch until the door clicks locked. He gives a little wave goodbye with his long fingers, re-straps his helmet.
A sudden thought occurs to me. I throw open the door. “Get home safe,” I call out. His smile turns a little sad for a brief moment, but he nods yes before he takes off.
Upstairs, I lean against my genkan door, feeling tired and giddy all at once. I haven’t felt this amazing in years. My body slides down the door as I let out the biggest breath of air I didn’t know I’d been holding. What a week. I still don’t quite understand what happened today, aside from having the best date I’ve had my whole life. My eyes close, and I can still see his face — his sharp piercing eyes, his soft-looking mouth — and hear his voice, promising me I haven’t seen the last of him. I curl up on the floor and turn on the heater to get some warmth into my fingers and toes. Just a minute or two here, and then I’ll take a bath or find something to eat. Just another minute, here, on the floor …
I’m so sleepy.
But it’s okay. I’m home.