Misfortunes' Windfall

by John Jeng

  Part 2: Christmas Eve

  The TV was blaring a holiday special in the background, but Tabitha wasn’t paying attention to it. She was organizing her luggage. Her pots and pans sat outside in the apartment complex’s shared space for garbage disposal. Christmas wasn’t an official holiday in Japan, so she could at least count on the garbage truck coming tomorrow. She’d never liked cooking anyway. It was one less thing she had to worry about now.

  She cursed under her breath. She had tried to stuff all her dress shirts and pencil skirts into her suitcase, but the lid kept springing open from trying to compress too many things. She removed a tartan wool blazer and tried to close the lid again. No go. Everything she couldn’t pack had to go into cardboard boxes to be donated or transparent plastic bags for garbage collection. She cursed again, removing a pair of heels that was taking up too much room. Angrily, she chucked them into the plastic bag. It was always a sad day when a girl had to retire her shoes before their time, and even more so on Christmas Eve.

  The beep beep beep of her kitchen timer announced that three minutes had passed. Tabitha exhaled resignedly. At least her cup of instant ramen was ready. She peeled back the lid and let the oily aroma of the kitsune udon hit her face.

  Then came a knock on her studio apartment door. Huh? Tabitha hadn’t had a single visitor since her company moved her into the shoebox-sized apartment six months ago. Annoyed, she left the warmth of her kotatsu to looked through the peephole. There was an unfamiliar man wearing a conspicuous red parka on the other side of the door. He probably had the wrong unit number. But how could that be? Her apartment was clearly marked with the nameplate outside.

  She opened the door. “Moshimoshi?” she said tentatively, for that was how people said 'hello' in this country.

  The man stifled a laugh. “You mean ‘konbanwa,’ right?” Wow, he was baby-faced, Tabitha thought. Probably no more than twenty years old. “Konbanwa, Tabitha. Merry Christmas Eve.” His English pronunciation carried no hint of any accent. He held out a box with a transparent side to show her the words, Merry Christmas, written in frosting on a cake. “My name is Bungo Okami. The shrine maiden at the shrine you visited today is my younger sister. I am here to fulfill your wish.”

  “Your sister?” Tabitha scrutinized Bungo’s face and conceded there was a certain resemblance in the peculiar slant of their eyes. She was otherwise hopeless in distinguishing Asian people’s faces. “Sorry if I sound rude, but how’d you find me here?”

  “Inari-sama’s omamori. You should have gotten one before you left. It had a tracker chip inside.”

  “What?!”

  “Just kidding!” he laughed. “The truth is, I am a fox, and my job is to fulfill people’s wishes. Finding a client is a trade skill.”

  “You’re a fox?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Tabitha furrowed her forehead. Did he think she was stupid?

  “Look, I’ve got dinner waiting for me. If this is a trick, please just leave.”

  Bungo’s nose twitched. “Trick? No way. Foxes might play tricks in Western culture, but only half of them do in Japan. Our group of foxes serves the god Inari-sama to help those in trouble.”

  “Then prove you’re a fox. Are you going to transform into one for me?”

  “No, but I can smell your kitsune udon calling my name from all the way out here. Is that what you are having for dinner?”

  Tabitha’s eyes widened. It wasn’t possible. No one’s sense of smell was that good. “How did you know?”

  Bungo smiled. “Did you know that foxes just love fried tofu? I can smell its oily scent like a shark smells blood. Look, I will give you my card.” He produced a card holder from his parka and proffered a business card with both hands. A two-sided bilingual business card. Tabitha turned it to the English side that looked a lot like the card Inaho had presented.

  “Do you mind if I come in?” He held up a shopping bag with his other hand, indicating he’d brought other provisions. Tabitha scrutinized the man’s comely porcelain face one last time for an ulterior motive. But could anyone really tell? Since her undue dismissal earlier that day, she couldn’t help but feel cynical. However, Tabitha had to concede that if this was a trick, it was an elaborate one and she stepped aside.

  Inside, the man neatly removed his shoes and gave her a quick, reassuring smile. He climbed the odd step into the apartment’s foyer. Tabitha was struck by the uncanniness between the similarity of their heights.

  “It smells wonderful,” he commented. He glided toward the kotatsu, setting down his shopping bag on the table. Steam from the bowl of kitsune udon rose like an aroma diffuser.

  Half-packed cardboard boxes littered the room, but Bungo looked unperturbed. He opened the box to reveal a festive white and red velvet cake. Tabitha had to admit as she slid into the kotatsu’s warm embrace the cake did add a sort of Christmas cheer to the room.

  She watched him produce a few glass bottles from a shopping bag, and mix a shandygaff into a champagne glass for her. Huh? Where had that champagne glass come from?

  “Why do you say you’re a fox?” said Tabitha, her voice still sounding more suspicious than she wanted to let on. “I’ve been thinking about how to interpret that.”

  “You can take it literally or figuratively. Both would be true. We take the form that will best serve our patron.” He pushed a slice of cake toward her. “Help yourself.”

  “Come off it, you’re pulling my leg.”

  “No, I am serving you a slice of cake,” he said, placing a plate in front of her.

  They stared seriously at each other for a moment.

  “Kekeke,” Bungo snickered.

  “Har, har,” went Tabitha.

  “You still do not believe me.”

  “No, not really,” she deadpanned.

  “Fine, I will prove it to you.”

  Bungo drew the curtains of the studio apartment. He surveyed the empty second-story balcony through the sliding glass door.

  "May I borrow a stool or stepladder?" he asked. Tabitha handed him a bar stool, wondering what kind of charade this was going to be. He stepped out and placed the bar stool onto the balcony. Then he placed a flashlight behind on the stool on the railing and switched it on. It was bright, a hundred lumens at least. Finally, he sat cross-legged in front of the flashlight so that a halo of light appeared behind him.

  “I will show you my silhouette, but you must promise not to open the curtains until I say so. When I rap on the glass, turn off the room lights. You will see my silhouette. When you are satisfied, turn the lights on in your room and I will come back inside.”

  Tabitha drew the curtains. She heard the tap, tap, tap and turned off the light in her room. The outline of a man sitting down was melting away, becoming more and more slender. The robust outline of the parka was changing, too. The figure on the other side of the curtain sharpened, until finally, she could indeed see the silhouette of a fox in profile, swishing its bushy tail to and fro. Was this another magic trick? It looked real. Uncannily real.

  “How are you doing this?” she exclaimed.

  “What does the fox say?” came the yowling from the other side.

  She turned on the light, and Bungo’s human form slid back inside.

  “How’d you do that?” Tabitha exclaimed again, now more excited than cautious.

  Bungo shrugged. “It comes with being a fox, Miss.”

  “But why just the shadow? Why not let me open the curtains?”

  He shook his head at her, bemused. “Because reality is sometimes too harsh to face, shadows are as close as one can and should get to embracing reality. That is from Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Although…” Bungo bit his lip unsure if he should continue.

  Tabitha waited. “Although?”

  “If you really wanted to see my fox form, you could have just pulled the curtain.”

  “But you said-”

  “Do you always do everything you are told? I could not have stopped you,” he lau
ghed. “Shall we eat?”

  “Oh yeah, sure,” Tabitha agreed, suddenly feeling that she wasn’t being a very good host. “Here, let me get you a plate for the cake.”

  “No need,” said Bungo. He took out a clear plastic container bound by a rubber band and unscrewed a thermos that hung around his neck. Inside the pocket of his parka was a box of sushi wrapped in deep fried tofu. “Christmas cake and shandygaff for you, inarizushi and mineral water for me,” he said. “I moonlight as a pâtissier, so I can guarantee the quality of this Christmas cake.” He took a sip of water and then said offhandedly, “How do you like Japan?”

  “It’s…” Tabitha had fielded this question many times from strangers back when she still had a job, but she couldn’t pretend anymore. “It’s not as nice as I’d thought it’d be. It’s funny because I thought I was changing my life by leaving America, like I was going to do something meaningful in this country. But I’ve been here six months and I haven’t made a single friend or even learned the language. I just feel like a failure, and I don’t want it to end like this, but I don’t know if I can stay. With only a week left on my current apartment lease, I don’t even know if I can find a new company to sponsor me, let alone find a place to live.”

  “Inaho told me about what happened. I am sorry your job ended.”

  “It’s frustrating, you know? My job shouldn’t have ended the way it did. I can’t accept it.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “And I don’t want to go back to America where my family will find out what a