by Various
“That is good,” Tanaka-san said. His expression lightened. “That is very good.”
“Is Ichiro working today?”
“Yes, but he’s out at the moment. He’ll be back shortly. I’ll get you a little something while you wait, yes?”
“Thank you,” they both said.
Tanaka-san brought back some fish and rice on the hard paper takeout trays which employees used for themselves. He barked something unintelligible over his shoulder. One of the busboys rushed up and brought two stools to the table in front of them before disappearing back out to the restaurant. Tanaka-san said, “More of an herbal flavor than spicy, I’m afraid. The Chinese tourists love this. Everything is for the tourists these days.”
“Itadakimasu,” both girls said.
“It’s excellent, Tanaka-san. Thank you.” Miho said, after a bite.
“Domo. We’re all chasing money east and culture west these days, huh? We’ll all be one very boring culture soon.”
A round little woman in a flower-print dress wedged her way between them. “Is my husband boring you with his boring culture speech again?” Tanaka-san’s wife, Tetsuko, asked. She gave him a hard little pat on the shoulder.
“You see?” Tanaka-san said, “Even my speech is becoming boring. Where will it end?”
“That beer vendor is here again,” Tetsuko told her husband.
“You’re very busy,” Miho said. “Do you need help? I can wait tables.” Tanaka-san saw the gimmick of robotic waiters as beneath him, even though many of his competitors embraced it.
Tetsuko shook her head. “You’re a nice girl, but we don’t need another waitress. Concentrate on your studies.” Tetsuko left and shouted for a pickup.
“Don’t mind her, she doesn’t understand what it’s like when you need to be near someone,” Tanaka-san said. He indicated all of the people working in the kitchen with a sweep of his hand. “None of these people understand, but I do. I did the same thing to be near her, years ago. This used to be her father’s business. We’ll see if we can work you in somehow.”
“Oh, thank you,” Miho said.
“It’s time for that robot to go.”
Tanaka-san’s patience must have reached its end, she thought, for him to bring up Aimi in front of her, much less Tomi, whom he didn’t know that well. Tanaka-san went to talk to his vendor while the girls ate a bit more. The food tasted unique but good, and it came free, so it tasted even better.
Miho eyed a vacant food injector at the end of a line of ten machines, five of which were being used at the moment. By midnight, she knew, they’d be working to capacity. Nagasaki was fast becoming a twenty-four hour city.
Tanaka-san saw her interest when he came by.
“You know how to use these machines?” he asked.
“Yes. My mother requires help in preparing food for the high road parties on our block.”
He slapped a hand on the shoulder of the man at the closest injector. “Kakeru is a real chef. These other boys,” he said with a jerk of his head, “Use computer-designed recipes. That food is for dogs, in my opinion, but the Chinese like it.”
He snatched a piece of salmon from a stainless steel cold-prep table and threw it on the counter in front of the food injector next to Kakeru’s. “This is rather plain. See what you can do with it, huh? I’ll be back.”
“Okay.” Miho tore off a little piece of the fish and tasted it, earning a nod of approval from Tanaka-san. She took a seat at the injector and dipped her hands in the sanitizer, too late. She soon lost herself in the menu of the chemical library, picking out those salmon-enhancing flavors that her mother favored.
Tomi tugged Miho’s short jacket.
“Miho, Leslie doesn’t want to come down here. Can we go back soon?”
“All right, let me finish.” Miho finalized her formula and placed the fish in the injector. A thousand needles so small that they looked like a mist clouding the machine each injected a droplet of flavor into the fish at different depths, tenderizing it as they did so.
Tanaka-san swept up to her shoulder as if he had been there all along.
“All done?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Tanaka-san grabbed the whole piece of fish and bit off a piece. He chewed in an almost exaggerated way, working his mouth like the fish hadn’t been deboned. His face grew large somehow. Miho didn’t know what it meant.
“This is wonderful.”
“Thank you,” Miho said.
“Tetsuko, Tetsuko!” he called. She came and he held the fish in front of her. They’d been married too long for him to have to explain what he wanted.
Tetsuko pulled a piece off and tasted it.
“Ah,” she said and looked down the line of injector operators before stopping at Kakeru, a meter from her shoulder.
“No,” Tanaka-san said, turning her toward Miho.
“You flavored this?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re very talented. You must come work for us. Not waiting tables, in the kitchen.” Concern for her studies had been forgotten.
“Miho!”
She spun around to find Ichiro, much more muscular than the last time she saw him. He held two armloads of office supplies. Aimi, always by his side, was empty-handed.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, dropping his bags on the counter.
“I’m working here. In the kitchen.” She’d decided to work through the evening, sending an angry Tomi back to Leslie alone.
“Miho, you can’t do this.”
“Your parents like my work,” she said indicating the machine.
“My parents like you, Miho.”
“Don’t you?”
His body turned a few centimeters in Aimi’s direction, but his eyes never left the floor at Miho’s feet.
“Go home, Aimi,” he said. Aimi took a step and then stopped. Her eyes weren’t trained on anything in particular. It seemed to Miho that she had shut down.
“I do like you,” Ichiro said. “I like you a lot, but I like a lot of girls a lot. I’m not looking to be with one person. You need to see other boys.”
Aimi shifted again and came closer to Miho. “I have a solution,” she said in her squeaky little-girl voice.
“I want to see you, Ichiro,” Miho said. She blinked her eyes dry, not wanting to contaminate her work station.
Aimi rested her fingertips on Miho’s bare leg. They felt fever-warm and vibrated like the engine of the ancient car Miho’s uncle had once owned. Aimi’s shining blue hair quivered beneath the air-conditioning vent. She said to Miho,
“The closer you are, the more fearful Ichiro becomes. Maybe we could all have fun together, the three of us, and he wouldn’t be afraid anymore.”
Sweat broke out on Miho’s forehead.
“Aimi!” Ichiro said. Miho looked about to see if he’d attracted the attention of the others in the room. The strain with which Tanaka-san’s employees evaded her eyes told her that he had. In a lower voice, he said, “Go home immediately.”
“I’m sorry if I angered you, Ichiro.” She left without saying goodbye or apologizing to Miho.
“I’m so sorry, Miho,” Ichiro said, his red face still tilted downwards. “Please don’t pay any attention to her—she’s just a stupid robot. Forgive me for owning such a piece of shit. Please excuse me—I have work to do.” He grabbed his bags and headed for his mother’s office.
Miho wiped her forehead with a paper towel. Did he really like other girls? Real girls? She knew only of Rebecka, and that was over a year ago. No, he had no real girls. No real girl could win a man’s love like an artificial one could; Aimi’s loyalty—and perhaps more importantly, her respect—would be unquestionable. And Tanaka-san had mentioned the robot specifically, with disgust in his eyes.
So Ichiro wanted to get rid of Miho. She half-considered his advice, and tried to think of another boy she liked, but couldn’t imagine one. She suddenly wanted to leave. Maybe she could still catch up with
Tomi. But she’d already agreed to stay, and she wouldn’t disappoint Tanaka-san on top of angering Ichiro.
But why would he be afraid of her?
Two hours later, on the tram ride home, the remains of Miho’s dinner sat on her lap in a white plastic bag. The bag’s snake-like scales glittered in the overhead light like they had on the night of the blackout. It had been over three years ago, the quake that interrupted a decade-long cityflow that seemed to have been granted by the gods. For one strange day, power outages had rippled across Nagasaki like the ground itself, and the streets became clogged dead when the city’s Teslahubs could no longer power the telectric cars.
In the late evening, a knock had come at the Matsumotos’ door. Miho’s parents, absorbed by the earthquake news on their battery powered television, didn’t seem to hear. Miho answered and found Ichiro standing there, arms full of bags with that same snakeskin glimmer in the harsh shine of the room’s tiny LED candles. She let out a little squeal of delight, but what she really wanted to do was hug him.
“I thought you might want something warm to eat,” he said.
“Ichiro-kun!” her father said, turning from the set. Miho took some of the bags and brought them to the table.
“I heard the power was still out here, Matsumoto-san, and asked my father if I might bring you dinner. Some districts have their power back already, although we’re still running off of generators.”
“Arigato, Ichiro-kun,” Miho’s father said with a bow. “Your gift is much appreciated. Let your father know that I will see him tomorrow to express my gratitude in person.”
They exchanged news about the quake. There had been some injuries, but no one had heard of any confirmed deaths. Automobile routers in the powered areas still struggled with traffic puzzles of a complexity beyond their means. The power outage had been unexpected for an average tremor, but the ways of the grid were mysterious at times.
“Please excuse me,” Ichiro said, “but I have to get back to the restaurant. We have a lot of business during blackouts, as you can imagine.”
“Of course, of course!” Miho’s father said. “You are a busy young man. Thank you once more.”
Miho was back by Ichiro’s side. In the shadows of the doorway she let the back of her hand brush against his pant leg.
“Thank you for coming all the way out here, Ichiro,” she said, watching the blue sheen of his cheekbone in the candlelight. “It must have been dangerous.”
“It was nothing,” he said, as his shining eyes found hers. “I was more than happy to come.” He took hold of her pinkie and ring fingers and squeezed them to emphasize his words.
“Send a message to let me know you arrived safely,” she whispered, touching her ear. She had forgotten that she could not receive any messages until their power had returned.
“I will.” A short bow and he was across the hall and down the stairwell. The door fell shut and he might never have been there, save for the bags of food her mother unpacked at the dinner table.
What had happened between then and now?
In the hypnotic rocking of the tram Miho slipped into the waking sleep which brings dream but no rest. She dreamt of her father in a perfect, glazed ceramic body, broad-chested and stronger than he’d ever been before. He held her tightly as they flew over the endless Pacific, a vast gray mirror in the moonlight.
“Where were you?” her mother demanded. She looked gaunt and terrible. A week ago Miho would have thought, like death itself. But then she’d seen her father and the comparison no longer seemed fitting.
“I found work,” she said as she kicked off her shoes by the door.
“You promised to meet me, Miho. Your father wanted to see you.”
“The pay is good. Food preparation for Tanaka-san’s restaurant.” She looked around to avoid her mother’s stare. Their little apartment was emptying out. Mother had made gifts of their less portable possessions to friends and neighbors. Her father’s electric guitar still stood on its stand in the corner. Miho knew half a dozen people who would have loved it. Her mother hated it, and yet it still clung to this place. It and the spider plant and one table were all that was left in their family room to suggest that any family had ever existed here.
“Your father is dying, Miho. It could happen at any time.”
“That’s why I need to work: we have no other money. What does he expect us to do? He’s leaving us destitute!”
Somewhere in that weakened frame, her mother found the strength. She struck Miho’s face with enough force to knock the young girl to the floor.
“Your father believes in loyalty, although I have failed to instill it in you. He has always walked a straight and unquestionable path.”
Miho held her stinging face. “Nobody else acts like that anymore! His employers are corrupt. They threw his life away to save themselves money.”
“That is irrelevant. Your father’s actions are impeccable. He does not give his life in vain.”
“And what about us?”
“He does not need another problem. We will see to ourselves. We will go to the country to live with my brother.”
Uncle lived outside of Yamaguchi. Too, too far. “I don’t want to leave here. I can work.”
She crawled to the foam-filled tatami mat in front of the door. Miho looked upon another mother. This woman stood straighter than Miho’s mother had ever done, even when things were well. Her will seemed to have grown big enough to strengthen and animate her body, so frail mere moments ago. Miho wouldn’t even consider talking back to this woman the way she had talked back to her mother so many times.
“I’m sorry,” Miho said, bowing her head. “I will see my father.”
“You cannot go tonight,” the woman said. “You shall go tomorrow, after school.
One year ago, S3NS3I told them that Nagasaki had lived three lives. The old port reached back to the days of pandering to Dutch, Chinese, and Portuguese traders as well as the latter’s holy men during the age of sail. It saw thriving warship production in the still-young twentieth century. Then came the post-bomb city, a scar-tissue city afraid to grow too high or too far from the cooling salve of nature. The one legged torii gate at the Sannō Shinto Shrine endured as one of the few reminders of the first two lives. Built in 1652, the bomb tore it in half three centuries later. The remains still balanced there today. Miho’s was the third city, The Infused City, which analysts predicted would overtake Tokyo in another twenty years at its current pace. A gluttonous, vertical place that gobbled up cheap South Korean refugee labor and Chinese money until it nearly choked, in a land where American dollars and soldiers had dried up.
As a part of the lesson, S3NS3I took them to Peace Park and toured them through the same monuments they’d seen a thousand times before. Nobody complained. S3NS3I was a lenient model, and her students, who were all around sixteen years old, regressed by a couple of years when they got outside together on a nice day. Ichiro and a couple of the other boys unbuttoned their shirts, and Miho and Tomi exchanged flowers they’d bought on the feeds and stuck them in their hair.
Ichiro shoved his friends around a bit for Rebecka’s sake. She smiled with half attention at their foolishness, her designer heels dangling from her fingers while she strolled from monument to monument. The park was a new experience for her. She’d come from Sweden two months earlier when her father settled into his latest multinational. She was older, European, and perfect. She had a synthetic larynx that gave her a voice like white noise, and color-changing nails that sparkled electric snow. What chance had Miho ever had against that? Ichiro returned to Rebecka’s side in short order, taking her shoes and interlacing his fingers with hers.
Miho turned away and ran ahead of the group to the Fountain of Peace, attracted to the rainbow made by the spray of the water. An old man stood there before the steps with a beckoning smile, as if he’d been placed there with the sole purpose of greeting her. He bowed and offered her a flower.
“A young beauty like
yourself requires a beautiful flower for her hair,” he said.
She felt her head, thinking her flower had fallen during her run. “I have one. You see?”
“You have a flower, but not like this. True beauty develops, my dear child, then is gone. A flower plucked from the earth is ever-changing, perfect for mere hours before it begins to wilt.”
Miho felt sad that the man didn’t understand. “New flowers don’t ever wilt. You can appreciate their beauty so much longer.”
The old man smiled, holding the flower out to her once more. “When is the last time someone of your generation appreciated anything ‘so much longer’?”
She gave the man a crooked smile for his attempt at humor, took the flower from him with thanks, and put it in her hair next to the synthetic one. She wandered back, lingering a bit so her group might come to her. A large reddish dog circling in the grass a few meters away had gotten its fill of the park and lay down at its master’s feet. Once down, it hissed a heavy, tired sigh, and Miho imagined hidden pneumatic servos in its legs releasing their excess air. She grinned.
Later, when they left the park, Ichiro stripped down to his undershirt. He flexed his muscles for Rebecka in exaggerated bodybuilder poses.
Laughing and shaking her head of snowblind-white hair, Rebecka said, “You don’t know what real men look like. The men where I come from are twice your size. Even the boys are bigger.” Everyone laughed, and then laughed harder at the speed with which Ichiro’s shirt went back on. When she saw his face, Miho stopped giggling. His friends didn’t stop until he took a wild swing in their direction.
Miho went to visit him that evening. The Tanakas lived in an apartment home not far from their business. The floors of the huge building looked like suburban streets with real trees lining the halls. The three dimensional facade of a cozy home surrounded the door of each division, and the curved walls and ceiling of the corridor reflected a translucent sky blue which diffused the lights that they masked. Miho rang, her heels hanging off the miniature walkway and onto the sidewalk.