Weeds in the Jungle

by Stuart Parker

would be the ideal way to start the evening. There should be a bottle in the refrigerator. Let’s get it open, shall we?’

  By the time Taro had struggled off the stool, Koki had already fetched the champagne and was uncorking it. The chunky bottle was dripping with condensation; the dark green of the glass contrasted with the gold of the ring Koki was wearing on his middle finger.

  ‘Set three glasses,’ Koki instructed. ‘The first drink I’m going to have will be with my old friend right here.’

  Taro used two hands for each of the crystal flutes. Koki handed back the first one he filled. Then he splashed out one for himself and held it up in a toast. ‘Here’s to a prosperous evening.’

  Taro couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t drunk anything in hours and the champagne hit his throat like liquid heaven.

  ‘Go easy,’ chuckled Koki. ‘It’s probably the closest you’ve ever been to the south of France. You should at least try to taste it on the way down.’ He sipped his own and headed for the door with the bottle and two fresh glasses. ‘If my date drinks it down that quick, however, I won’t complain too much. Well, wish me luck. I’ll be back soon.’

  Taro dropped straight back down onto the stool. He had never been much of a drinker but alcohol had never hit his head this quickly before. His head felt lighter than the rest of him and he needed oxygen as the ballast to keep his body from flipping. Long, deep breaths. At some point sleep came.

  ‘Wow, that was easier than I thought it would be,’ said Koki enthusiastically, waking Taro up as he marched back into the room. ‘It’s amazing what a ride in a sports car and a glass of champagne will do to a girl. Better bring the girl back down to earth with a beer, I think. She likes Asahi and we’ve got plenty of that.’ He opened the refrigerator door. ‘I’ll take care of it. Hand me one of those towels, will you? She really got me sweating.’

  Taro was able to stay in his stool. He took the first of a pile of white towels from the table and waited while Koki poured out a glass of beer. He was surprised when Koki handed him the beer.

  ‘You probably haven’t had one of these in a while either, have you?’ said Koki. ‘Aso-san does his training hard, I know.’

  He took the towel from Taro, slipped off his bathrobe and began towelling down his sweat glistening body. His physique was incredibly toned and athletic. Large bicep and pectoral muscles that didn’t seem cumbersome, and he had a perfectly pronounced six-pack. There was something wildly magnetic about it.

  ‘Don’t go staring,’ laughed Koki. ‘You’ll make me nervous.’

  He took his time, nonetheless, paying special attention to his genitals. Once finished, he plonked the towel on Taro’s shoulder. ‘I’ll leave that with you.’ He departed the room, carrying a couple of cans of beers and accompanying glasses. The bathrobe remained behind on the floor.

  14

  ‘You’re asleep, too. Well, it is pretty late, I suppose. I’m feeling fresh myself. A fine girl who is not shy in bed. It’s priceless. I can’t remember the last time I came five times without having to wait till morning. I hope she remembers the morning-after pill because I haven’t been holding back.’

  Koki was rousing Taro from an uncomfortable sleep against a cupboard with a pincer hold on his shoulder - not painfully, but ensuring his words were heard. He was wearing black silk boxer shorts and his hair was freshly wetted back. ‘You seem to be good luck for me. Maybe we should do this more often.’

  He helped Taro sit up straight on the stool.

  ‘Share a drink with me to finish off a memorable evening. Whiskey will do the job. If there’s one thing a businessman knows well, an expensive drink concludes all important deals.’

  The whiskeys were already poured. Stiff doubles with ice.

  Taro was still feeling the effects of his earlier drinks. His eyelids scraped across his eyes as he confirmed that he was still in the same room, still in the same stool. He had been deeply asleep.

  Getting another drink to his lips wasn’t going to be easy, so Koki helped: he put a whiskey into his hand and then lifted the hand until he was drinking.

  ‘I wouldn’t have wasted this on her,’ said Koki. ‘The only way girls can drink whiskey is with cola. If she even suggested it, it would undo all the good work she’s put in tonight.’ He chuckled. ‘Well, maybe not all of it.’

  Taro started to lower the glass but Koki grabbed his hand again.

  ‘Don’t be bashful. There’s plenty more where that came from.’

  The ice cubes were pressing against Taro’s nose. The whiskey drained out from between them.

  ‘Quite a night cap.’ Koki removed the glass and rested it on the table. ‘But before you do retire, why don’t you come see my girl. She’s a beautiful sleeper. Better than you, at any rate, snoring away on your stool. Aso-san would never tolerate such lethargy. I’m not sure the man’s even human.’

  He hooked a hand under Taro’s armpit and effortlessly hauled him upright.

  ‘You’ll never have seen a girl sleeping so contently. It might rub off on you.’

  Taro felt his legs moving under Koki’s guidance. They were out the room and heading down a passageway. Taro’s blurred vision left nowhere for detail, and his head was too heavy to get passed his feet.

  ‘Maybe I just want to show her to you out of pride,’ added Koki. ‘There’s nothing that makes a man happier than being able to put a smile on the face of a beautiful woman. That certain kind of smile. But you’ll have to promise to be quiet. It wouldn’t do to wake her.’

  They had stopped walking. Koki gently opened a door.

  ‘This is it,’ he whispered.

  He eased Taro through the doorway. The room was lit by two dimmed paper lamps. A cream coloured futon was against the far wall, below an open window beyond which an Armani store was dominating the view.

  There was a naked girl with a cotton sheet reaching only to her thighs. Her skin was aglow with erotic elegance. Her black hair filled the space between her pillow and the wall with a beautiful chaos. Her breasts moved in gentle breaths in fine shadows. Her perfectly shaped abdomen curved down into barely discernible pubic hair.

  Koki grabbed Taro by the chin and guided his eyes up until he was looking at her face.

  ‘Do you see her?’ Koki asked and his voice turned to acid. ‘I think you’ve met her before.’

  Taro looked into the closed eyes and placid features and his knees began to buckle in a reflex action. The hand at his chin smothered his agonising gasp, kept him on his feet to see her a moment longer. It was Hiromi.

  15

  ‘Wake up. Wake up.’

  The gruff tone of voice and the accompanying jabs to the side were familiar enough, though the voice itself was not. Taro kept his eyes closed a moment longer, trying to recall what had happened last before subjecting himself to whatever lay ahead.

  The image of Hiromi naked on the futon came at him vividly; his heart was pumping a foul, nauseating brand of blood.

  What had happened next? A searing pain in his neck. And a blinding flash of white light. Then blackness. Yes, Taro could remember that incredible pain clearly now. These current jabs to the side were almost affectionate in comparison.

  ‘Wake up. Wake up.’

  Taro was ready now. He opened his eyes to see that he was being prodded by a policeman’s boot. A young policeman. An older one was looking on impassively.

  ‘You’re in a public area,’ said the young policeman. ‘You must put your clothes on immediately.’

  Taro was shocked to see that it was true. He was lying on his side and he was naked and covered in insect bites. Clothes were strewn around him, but not the yukata he had been wearing.

  He pulled himself off the patchy grass, damp with perspiration. He was in a dusty featureless park boxed in by apartment buildings. Although the sun was already steaming up the earth, he knew it must have been early. He wouldn’t get away with indecency in such a public area for long.

  A mosquito buzzed at his ear. It was a tr
igger to a terrible itch that started at his ankles and worked its way upward. He reached for the clothes that had been left beside him: canvas pants and a grey t-shirt.

  ‘You have been drinking,’ said the young policeman, observing Taro’s stilted movement. ‘You will have to come with us.’

  The older policeman was already walking away, happy to leave the dealings with drunks and vagabonds to younger members.

  Whenever possible the Tokyo police preferred to walk offenders to their stations. Perhaps they did not want vagrants stinking out their cars. Taro did not stink, but he was scratching like a dog with fleas.

  It was only a ten minute walk to the police station. Passing the Kameari train station on the way, let Taro know where he was. North East Tokyo. Four hundred yen and thirty minutes on a train would take him back to his old life. Not that the thought of it filled him with any great joy. Hadn’t he been planning on ending it at the time anyway? He couldn’t remember.

  Taro was not unused to talking with the police. They were sometimes useful in his pizza deliveries, being a reliable source of street directions. And there was also the time his bicycle was stolen.

  ‘Sit down here. We will need to see some ID.’ It was still the young policeman doing all the talking. The old one stood by the wall with his arms folded. There was a time in every company when age brought the privilege of being a bystander. Taro’s father had not made it that far by a long way. Maybe for those that did all that was left of them