by Ri, Xesin
“She was a redhead?” asked Janet with great interest. “Like Ariel from The Little Mermaid?”
“No, not that girl. She was—what was her ethnicity, Markus?”
“I don’t remember,” said Markus.
“Yeah, I think she was German, Swedish and a little bit of Native American. She could tan—but that day she burned real bad, hot bad burn. I think she missed the next day, a little sore.”
Markus lifted his glass of orange juice to his mouth and took a sip.
“I’ll tell you that girl was—“
The orange juice fell from Markus’s hand and hit the edge of the table perfectly. The juice went, almost magically, onto Takashi only.
“Markus?” cried Mrs. Mist. “What happened?”
“I think I let it slip,” said Markus looking down at his plate and only quickly glancing at Takashi who had a great big grin on his face.
“I am so sorry,” said Mrs. Mist handing Takashi napkins to clean up the mess.
“Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Mist. I’m just fine. Just a little orange juice.”
Takashi stood up letting some of the juice roll off his shirt, hands and face.
A waitress came over with some better towels and started cleaning up. She was soon joined by a busboy.
“Could my friend get another glass of orange juice?” asked Takashi. He added, “He dropped his full glass, what an accident!”
Takashi laughed.
Markus ate one of the hot tater tots covered in still freezing cold ketchup, not finding the same amusement in the accident that Takashi did.
After getting reasonably dry, Takashi sat back down.
Sean and Janet both finished some of what they had on their plates when they both decided to go get more food.
“Mr. Takashi,” Mrs. Mist said and then paused to see if the old man’s attention was gained.
The old man nodded.
“I was wondering if your son told you that I am part Japanese?”
“Really,” said Takashi turning to Markus. “Man, I always thought you might be a slanty-eyed yellow devil too.”
Markus snickered.
Mr. Takashi looked at his son. “She is part Japanese, dad.” Mr. Takashi pointed at Markus’s mom. “Yes, dad.”
“This country,” said the old man, “is truly the melting pot I was told it is.”
Mr. Mist stopped eating a moment. Markus’s father had always assumed Takashi’s father could speak very little English but might understand more.
The old man continued, “When I was a boy, I was told this was a nation of many different peoples. A nation where a Japanese man might be and be one among many. It is that way. I am very proud. Thank you.”
Mr. Mist continued eating.
“What is your family history, Mrs. Mist?” asked Takashi for his father’s curiosity.
“I’m glad you asked. My mother was Japanese-Irish.”
“Cool,” said Takashi.
“And my father was a Kenyan who traveled the world running marathons in the sixties and seventies. He was actually a silver metal Olympian in the event. He fell in love with the United States, despite all the race issues here; fell in love with my mother, despite a few family issues; and became a citizen of the United States.”
“Dad, dad?” said Takashi to his father.
Old Mr. Takashi nodded.
“Did you hear what Mrs. Mist just said?”
The old man looked at her and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Part Japanese. Very good. All pretty women are a little bit Japanese.”
Mr. Mist chuckled lightly as did the rest of the table at old Mr. Takashi’s words.
“Thank you,” Mrs. Mist said trying to hold back her own laugh.
“Black skin is very pretty too,” said the old man trying to fix whatever he had said that made everyone laugh.
Mr. Mist let out a deep belly laugh.
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Mist unsure of what to say.
Takashi patted his father’s knee trying to get the man to look and see that maybe he should stop talking at this point. The old man heeded his son’s advice and took up to eating again.
“My dad would like to hear more, family history is very interesting to him.”
“Yes, very interested,” said the old man.
“Dad, just listen, okay?”
The old man nodded.
“Well, um, that was when I met Eugene.” Mrs. Mist touched her husband’s shoulder to let the old man know who exactly she was referring to. “Eugene and I met in college. He was studying law and political science at that time. I was undeclared then, but I was thinking highly of being an English teacher. In any case, he did go into law and business and politics; and I became a teacher.”
“I didn’t know you’re a teacher.”
“I am. I mostly substitute these days. Sometimes at your school. Markus doesn’t like talking about it. He’s a little embarrassed by having his mom, potentially, be one of the authority figures, times two.”
“Yeah, Markus gets a little worked up about language.”
Markus picked up his full water glass and gave Takashi a look from the corner of his left eye.
“Yeah, I get the message,” said Takashi.
“Markus has never really been much of a talker. Quiet from the beginning. And he was always so dark skinned. He was a very black baby. Mr. Mist and I were unsure whether or not he would be lighter skinned, due to my background, or darker like my father and his. But when Markus was born, he was blacker than any man in either family. He seems to get darker as he gets older too.”
“Sure does,” added Mr. Mist. “We called him Black Boy for a while. Thought about just naming him Black, seemed really fitting at the time.”
Markus looked at his father. He hadn’t heard this before.
Takashi asked, “Why did he get the name Markus? Using the k like that is a little different.”
“That was Eugene’s brother’s name, same spelling too.”
“Oh,” said Takashi.
Markus waited for his father to explain this, but his father sat there and continued eating like he didn’t hear the continuing conversation. He was thinking about something important, thought Markus, something that was not going to be discussed in mixed company.
Markus shook his head.
Mrs. Mist moved the subject. “Markus gets his cardiovascular abilities from my side of the family, but his height is definitely all Mist family genes. We don’t have anyone over six-foot tall. Markus is our running boy. He can run for day and days.”
“Then, why am I not starting?” asked Markus.
“You just grew too fast. You’ll get your coordination sooner-or-later, and when you do, the coaches will make you the starting forward. You just need to be patient. Who knows, you may be the tallest in either family when you are done growing.”
“Very tall boy. Very strong boy. Japanese and Irish and African ahh, ah—good mix. Very bright too. All your children are very intelligent.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Mist nodding, trying to be respectful as she accepted the compliment.
“Mist-san, ahh, Mr. Mist—yes?”
“That’s right, dad.”
“What do you do with the high h. corn?”
Mr. Mist paused from eating a moment.
“Well, I guess the easiest way to start is to know how familiar you are with it.”
“He’s asking what you know about high hydro, dad.”
“I read. Mostly Japanese—some English. I try, but Japanese is easier. English words plays a lot of fun, words.
“I work Toyota. It was very good. I like learning about fuels. American muscle cars, classics.” The old man waved his hands in the air and looked up. “Beauty they are.”
“Dad loves cars, motorcycles, and anything having to do with them. He’s seventy-one, but he still can’t believe it when there is a new, faster, better car.”
Mr. Mist and Markus showed a father and son similarity when they both rocked
their whole bodies when they discovered just how old Mr. Takashi really was. They had both been guessing just about right.
“Fast cars, American movies and beautiful young women: American is very good,” said Mr. Takashi.
Takashi laughed.
The Mists were all a little off-guard by whether or not Takashi and his old father were close or that Markus’s friend humored his old father. They seemed to get along, but the old man would jump from gentle to inappropriate and back before their eyes, somewhat like his son. Mrs. Mist was doing the math in her head at the oldest Mrs. Takashi could be to be mother to Takashi and when she would have married Mr. Takashi. Thirty-eight was still an okay age to have a healthy pregnancy and child. Mr. Takashi would be about fifty-four in that case. Not so bad, thought Mrs. Mist, if it were true.
“With the news,” said Mr. Takashi, “I hear very good things about high hydrocarbon corn. More than fuel. I am excited. New power. New efficiencies. New engines. New standards. Revolution, yes?”
“I would agree,” said Mr. Mist.
“Are you scientist?” asked Mr. Takashi.
“No. I am a lawyer and what is called a lobbyist. I work on behalf of a number of different groups and businesses who wish to consolidate the high hydrocarbon corn industry. In fact, I was instrumental in making sure the laws help strengthen the industry, allowing for greater growth and making sure people like you, Mr. Takashi, get the new fuels and technology you dream about.”
“Dad,” said Sean.
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you worked with ADD?”
“I do, son.”
“Aren’t they evil?”
“Sean,” said Mrs. Mist curtly.
“What? I told some kids the other day at school about dad working with ADD, and they said that means dad’s evil. They said that ADD closes farms and hurts their parents. I told them dad doesn’t work for them but just with them when they need something special. They didn’t really care.”
“ADD is not a bad company, son. People just can’t handle change.”
“Are their parent’s farms going to get shut down?” asked Sean.
“There might be some farmers who have some issues if they grow the h. h. stuff. Other than those, the rest of their parents and myself will have nothing to do with one another.”
“What about the Wents?” asked Sean.
Markus sat up and looked at Sean and then his father.
“How do you know the Went farm?” asked Mr. Mist.
“That’s where Markus is detasseling this year, like last year. And my class took a field trip there two springs ago,” answered Sean.
“Mine too, only one spring ago,” said Janet.
“We all visited it as kids,” said Takashi. “Everyone knows the Went farm, Mr. Mist.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mist exchanged a worried glance between them.
“Daddy, the Wents are nice people,” said Janet.
“Everything will be fine. Look, this is the United States of America. Things are going to be okay. Sometimes there are rough times. Farming in Indiana isn’t going away any time soon, and the Wents have more than enough experience to find new work.”
Mr. Mist paused.
“Find new work?” asked Sean, really looking into his dad’s eyes.
“Mr. Went is a very hard working man, son. I am sure with all the jobs out there he will do just fine no matter what he does. Don’t worry about him.”
“But you said, not two minutes ago, ‘People just can’t handle change.’ Are things going to change for the Wents?”
“Daddy, you can’t hurt the Wents.”
“I’m not hurting anyone,” boomed Mr. Mist at his daughter.
“Eugene,” said Mrs. Mist. “Everyone is done eating. Maybe we should leave.”
“I wanted dessert,” said Janet.
Sean looked over at the ice cream and cakes at the dessert table.
“We’ll get some at home,” tried Mrs. Went. “We’ve got the ice cream from the milkshakes we made last night.”
“No,” cried Janet.
Mr. Mist stood up grabbing the check laid down by the waitress just after she’d brought them their last refills a few minutes before.
“Come here,” said Mrs. Mist getting up and getting Janet’s jacket ready.
Markus, Takashi and Mr. Takashi all stood up.
Sean was trapped as his mom tried to get Janet’s coat on. The girl sprung free and fled to the dessert bar.
“Janet!” yelled Mrs. Mist losing her composure.
But the girl was getting a plate anyway.
Sean stayed in his seat sipping a little water watching his mother try to figure out the best way to deal with her daughter’s total, and public, disobedience.
“Hey, Markus—maybe my father and I ought to leave.”
Markus nodded.
“Mr. Mist, my father and I would like to thank you again for treating us. This is a really great place and my father and I enjoyed it, right dad?”
“Very good food,” said the old man.
The old man nodded and with coat in hand stopped on his way out. Standing next to Mr. Mist he said, “A man think the boys will be the tough ones, but it is the little girls who give you the hells. You are a very good man. Very good father. You provide you family well. Be proud. I am glad our families know each other. Very good, very good.”
Mr. Takashi bowed slightly to Mr. Mist who nodded in return.
Father and son took a moment, on their way out, to wave to Janet who saw them and waved back as she continued piling up her plate with ice cream. Mrs. Mist took a moment to smile and wave as the old man left. Her attempt to be pleasant while she was so angry made the old man laugh and look back at Mr. Mist.
Takashi ushered his father out.
“I’m going to get some dessert too,” said Sean.
Mr. Mist nodded to his youngest son.
Markus stood there with his father. His father still held the restaurant bill in his left hand. He held his wallet in the other. Markus stood next to his dad as Sean got himself some ice cream.
“Mom looks like she’s just about fried,” said Markus.
“Son, does anyone ever give you trouble in school?”
“No.”
“Good, they might start.”
“Why?”
“Son, I helped make something that is going to shut down just about every h. h. grower not affiliated or supported by ADD. Farms are going to close and be bought out. It’s a consolidation. The law is—a puzzle. The puzzle should be almost impossible to beat. Your friends may not be your friends. We may even have to move away. We’ll get a bigger house if we do.”
Markus listened and looked at his little sister, little brother and mother returning from the dessert bar in victory and defeat, respectively.
“Maybe, Mr. Went is one of those that will be okay.”
“Son, I made this thing strong. I’m going to make a lot of money. We’ll own hundreds or thousands of acres before the end of next year. As far as I know, there is really only one big nut who’s probably too tough to crack. The rest are doomed.”
“Look, sprinkles,” said Janet to her father.
“Very good,” said Mr. Mist.
“Isn’t it colorful, daddy?”
“It sure is. Very good, very good,” said Mr. Mist.
Mid-May
His Head Ought to be On Display at the Merchandise Mart
The computer on Ray Synad’s desk changed the background picture displayed on his flat-screen monitor every five seconds. Each random picture would briefly illuminate the darkened room, fading from one picture to the next, bringing life and color to the mess on Ray Synad’s desk and the cluttered walls, full of pictures, and even the pencil marks where Ray Synad and his team presented ideas for saving his farms and keeping his companies solvent. Visitors had once been rare here; now, Ray couldn’t remember the last minute before now when he didn’t have someone calling him on the phone, chatting across the int
ernet, or sitting in his office telling him something new and awful. Under the brilliant colors of his computer screen, Ray sat and stared out from between his fingers. What he stared down at was the parking lot below and Aurora beyond. He did not notice the colorful, shifting glare on the window around his thin reflection; he only saw day slowly falling to night once again, as it did many, many times before.
Jack was gone, gone to New York City of all places. Of all the wizards of industry, who would have thought Ray Synad’s sister would be one. She borrowed a few bucks, asked Ray to buy into her idea too and gave it a go. A couple of supermarkets seemed like a pretty good idea. It might even be a good investment, he had thought. She’d managed a pretty good sized one for a few years. Together, they got the right people, made the right decisions. Six stores later and she was rolling in cash for herself and also for Ray. Jack started helping out with the stores more and more, especially since the situation with the h. h. corn had arisen. And now, Ray sat alone in his office with Jack’s resignation letter sitting on his desk. His sister and Jack were going to open up eleven stores there. She had eyes on small chains she might buy in Florida and California sometime next year too. The Orrs no longer had an apartment in Illinois. When Ray asked why they couldn’t run the stores from here, his sister had said she just wanted to be where the action was. She wanted more than the Midwest had to offer. Jack had nodded so easily in agreement. It was like Jack had just been waiting to leave for years.
There wasn’t anyone to fight. His sister was gone, out of state. Their mother had long since died. And, try as he might, he couldn’t get any of his ex-wives on the phone. His third wife had even up-and-married a guy without letting Ray know until she reported she didn’t want the alimony anymore. It was nice that it was over, he supposed. He was dating a few girls, but he couldn’t have a good fight with any of them yet.
Ray lifted his head from his hands. He made two fists and rested his chin on them. He stared out the window at the sky.
He noticed his computer’s slow lightshow reflecting on the window’s glass and around its chrome frame. He watched that, in his gray office, trying with all his might to have a moment of relaxation like a normal person.