Zen Queen

by Kirsty McManus

  This is amazing. I could stay here forever. Well, maybe not forever. I don’t have a self-contained room or anything—just a couple of partitions to block out busybodies—but still, it’s enough to get me by for now.

  I smile bitterly at the irony of being mistaken for a homeless person back in Australia, and now actually being one.

  I’ll have to come up with a plan. I can’t just sit in my little booth and surf the net all day. I need to find a way of earning some extra money.

  But first, I should write a few e-mails home. Alex hasn’t replied to my last one yet, but I think that maybe just by writing to him again I’ll feel a bit better. Except I can’t tell him exactly what happened. This might all get sorted out tomorrow and I’ll have worried him for nothing.

  I haven’t heard from the rest of the gang either. It’s a bit sad, really. I guess I can’t blame anyone but myself. Paul has obviously moved on to some other unsuspecting female. Michael certainly wouldn’t be concerned for my wellbeing. And Sam and Holly have enough of their own problems. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d split up while I’ve been away.

  This is all quite depressing. No friends. Unemployed. And homeless.

  Hysteria starts bubbling in my stomach. I’d better go for a walk instead. Get out in the open. Only it’s started pouring. It looks like a typhoon out there. Maybe I’ll stay undercover.

  There’s a walkway out the back of the cafe to an underground mall that extends for miles. I can’t even see the end. I feel like I’m in a rabbit warren.

  At least it’s a minor distraction. I’ll explore some shops and look for things to help ease my anxiety.

  I know I’m supposed to be saving money, but I can’t help myself and buy a few miniature fridge magnets shaped like sushi and chopsticks.

  Next, I buy a kit that allows me to pierce my own ears. I find it fascinating that they even make these kinds of things—and they’re so cheap. I’m not sure I’ll actually use it, but you never know when an emergency ear-piercing might be necessary. At a punk concert, perhaps. I wonder if I’ll be able to get it home through customs.

  There’s a shop where everything is one hundred yen—the Japanese equivalent of the dollar shops, I suppose. I buy myself a scarf and gloves in anticipation of future nights sleeping on park benches.

  My lunch is a pork bun and a plastic bowl of weird soupy stuff from the 7-Eleven. I keep changing my mind about whether I should conserve every spare cent or just spend normally until I run out. I think even if I do save what I have, I’ll just be putting off the inevitable if I don’t get any other cash soon.

  ***

  The prospect of sleeping at the internet café is a bit scary. I feel exposed, and even though David’s words about Japan being safe are moderately comforting, I can’t help but think of the creepy man from Kurama. There have to be weirdos living here. Didn’t I read a story once about some guys who killed a bunch of people with poison gas on the subway?

  I’m freaking myself out. But I can hear the dull rumble of nearby gamers, so at least I’m not completely alone. I lie sideways with my feet pressed against the door and a blanket draped across my stomach to keep warm. All the air conditioners here seem to be permanently set to arctic.

  It’s no use. I can’t sleep. I go and get myself another drink from the machine at the counter and log back onto the internet.

  There’s something soothing about seeing people you know making mindless comments on Facebook. I wonder what my friends would say if I casually changed my status to homeless in Japan. Probably not a good idea.

  My Aunty Jan wrote about the roast chicken she made for dinner. Alex has posted some photos from the fashion show. Thankfully I’m not in any of them. And my primary school friend Hayley is travelling around the US. I haven’t spoken to her since I was ten, but we both know what the other is doing thanks to the internet. She’s probably having a lot more fun than me right now.

  I’m wide awake, so I decide to take a stab at finding Luke again. I’ve got all night ahead of me and nowhere to be. I can scrutinise every single profile picture—all one hundred and fifty of them if need be.

  Number one is too young. He looks like he’s twelve. Number two is from the States. Numbers three through ten are obviously not him. What is it with people not putting their actual face in their profile? Do they not realise how hard it is for cyber stalkers to find them?

  Around the eighty-seventh result I strike it lucky. There he is! I must have missed it last time I looked. It’s the same photo as before.

  I suddenly feel a bit apprehensive. Will he be mad that I rejected his first request? Will he think I’m crazy because of the fashion show disaster?

  It’s not like I have any pride left. I’ve pretty much sunk as low as anyone can get. Before I can second-guess myself, I click the Add Friend button.

  The request is almost immediately accepted.

  Crap!

  Then a little chat window pops up. Oh my God!

  Him: Hey.

  Agh! Okay. I can do this.

  Me: Hey.

  Him: I’m glad you added me.

  Me: Yeah, sorry about before…

  Him: No, that’s fine. I totally understand. You don’t know me…

  Me: No! That’s not it! I was in an earthquake!

  Him: What? When? I don’t remember any earthquake.

  Me: Sorry, I mean there was one in Japan.

  Him: You’re in Japan?

  Me: Yeah. Posted for work.

  Him: Wow. How is it?

  Me: Um… interesting.

  Him: How long are you there for?

  Me: Not sure. The project could last a year.

  I don’t even know where to begin explaining my current situation, so I’m going to stick with the original plan for now.

  Him: A year, huh?

  Me: Yeah. It was all a bit rushed. I didn’t know it was happening until the last minute.

  Him: Oh. Hey, why didn’t you stick around after the fashion show?

  Me: Isn’t it obvious?

  Him: No. Why? Did I do something to offend you?

  Me: No! Of course not! Didn’t you see when my pants split?

  Him: LOL – no! Ah… that explains a lot.

  Me: Why?

  Him: Your friend Holly dropped her phone on the ground while you were on the catwalk and it took ages to find all the pieces. By the time I helped her get it back together, you were gone.

  Me: Didn’t Alex tell you what happened?

  Him: No. He was busy with the press or something.

  Me: So you swear you didn’t see anything?

  Him: I swear. I don’t think many other people did either.

  Me: Interesting. Well, I appreciate the lie if that’s what you’re doing.

  Him: I’m not lying! Anyway, where are you right now?

  Me: Osaka. In an internet café.

  Him: Isn’t it kind of late to be out?

  Me: We’re an hour behind. And it’s a pretty happening town.

  Him: I’m a bit jealous. All that amazing sushi and non-stop partying. Do you love it?

  Me: Yeah I do.

  If only I could sort out some appropriate accommodation. And improve my cash flow situation somehow.

  Him: I might have to come visit.

  I grin.

  Me: That’s rather forward of you. You don’t even know me.

  Him: Sorry. I don’t know why I just said that.

  Me: No, no. That’s OK. I’m glad you said it.

  Him: Well in that case, when should I leave?

  Me: How about tomorrow?

  Him: Sounds good to me. Let me clear my schedule and I’ll get on the next available flight.

  Me: Haha. Nice one.

  Him: Yeah I wish. Work is pretty busy right now.

  Me: What do you do?

  Him: I’m an accountant.

  Me: Interesting. Not!

  Him: Hey, it’s better than it sounds. And what do you do? I suppose it’s something glam
orous?

  Normally. Kind of.

  Me: Graphic designer.

  Him: Cool.

  Me: I don’t know anything about you.

  Him: Well, we’ll have to change that.

  Me: We will.

  Him: Hey, look. I’m sorry but I have to go. My roommate has just made dinner.

  Oh.

  Me: No worries. Enjoy the rest of your evening.

  Him: Thanks, you too. We’ll have to do this again soon.

  Me: Definitely. Bye!

  Him: Bye XOXO

  I feel like a giddy school girl. He signed with hugs and kisses! And he wants to talk to me again! Well, that went better than I expected. I usually panic after talking to a cute boy and spend ages analysing every word. Was I too forward? Did I sound desperate?

  I read back over the conversation and decide I was just the right level of cool.

  I switch off the screen and curl up on my reclining chair. I’m suddenly feeling quite sleepy.

  ***

  After a pretty good night’s rest—considering I’m surrounded by World of Warcraft junkies—I wake up determined to sort out my situation. If nothing else, I need to earn enough money to at least buy a ticket home. Then if things keep getting worse I won’t feel so trapped.

  I buy an egg salad sandwich and chocolate milk from the 7-Eleven. Convenience stores and vending machines are going to be my sole food sources from now on. And no more frivolous purchases. I’ve decided every cent is important. I’ll have to get a temporary job while I sort out this whole mess. Or sell something. But I’m not sure I have anything that anyone would want to buy. The only thing remotely valuable is my laptop and I can’t quite bring myself to hock it. Besides, I live in the land of technology. I’m sure my machine is the equivalent of an old Commodore 64 to the Japanese.

  I wonder how I can get another job as a graphic designer. It’s going to be tricky not speaking the language. My plan to learn Japanese is going slower than I anticipated.

  I’m sick to death of the internet so I head out into the real world again. I’ll go back online in a few hours if I don’t have any luck out there.

  Maybe I can find a notice board for ex-pats. I remember seeing a massive bookstore somewhere when I first arrived—surely they’d have one. I’ll start there.

  I scramble through the sea of morning commuters. It feels like I’m going in the opposite direction to everyone else. And I feel slightly odd being half a head taller than the average person. Every now and again I spy a Western person, absorbed in their own thoughts. It’s funny, but all the Western men look about seven foot tall.

  I see the bookstore near the escalators. I’m just about to go in when I see a Japanese man attempt to put his wallet in his back pocket and miss. He keeps walking and climbs onto the escalator. The wallet is lying on the ground and no one seems to notice.

  I run over and grab it before a dishonest person sees it. I follow him up the escalator, but lose him in the crowd. All the Japanese men are wearing identical black suits and white shirts and I don’t know who I’m looking for.

  I peek into the wallet to see if there’s any photo ID. Maybe I can match his face to the picture.

  Wow! There’s a whole bundle of bank notes in here. The guy must be loaded. I estimate close to two grand allowing for the exchange rate.

  Is this a sign? Am I supposed to use this money to get home? No. I mustn’t. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. I couldn’t even steal an apple from my neighbour’s tree when I was a kid.

  But it’s so tempting. I’ve had the worst luck these past few days and surely the guy wouldn’t notice if I took a few notes.

  But I can’t do it. Yet I can’t find him to give it back. The platform is packed solid. There are even men wearing yellow jackets and white gloves whose job appears to be cramming people onto the trains.

  Maybe there’s a Lost & Found. I hope it’s obvious where to go.

  ***

  It takes almost forty-five minutes before I come across some sort of administrative office. I go up to the counter and wait in line. I hope my karma appreciates this.

  There’s a man in front who seems rather agitated. The woman serving him looks more annoyed than scared, so I assume he’s just disgruntled about his malfunctioning train pass or something.

  Finally he throws his arms up in the air and spins around, almost knocking me over.

  “Sumimasen,” he mutters as he steps around me.

  Hey! It’s the guy!

  “Ah, excuse me, sir?”

  He stops and looks at me uncertainly.

  I hold up his wallet. “Does this belong to you?”

  His eyes light up and he breaks into the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

  “Yes!”

  Oh good. He speaks English.

  I hand it back to him. He looks like he wants to hug me but isn’t sure whether it’s appropriate. “Thank you very much. Where did you find it?”

  “Near the escalator. You went to put it in your pocket, but it fell on the ground instead.”

  “You are a lifesaver!”

  “It’s Okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “This is my whole pay. My wife would be angry if I lost it.”

  “I’ll bet. Well, I’m glad it all worked out.” I go to leave.

  “Wait! Let me take you back to your hotel.”

  “Ah no, that’s okay.”

  “I insist.”

  Oh dear.

  “Um, I checked out already.”

  “So let me take you to the airport.”

  “I’m not leaving yet.”

  He looks puzzled. “But where are you staying?”

  I can’t tell him the internet café.

  “Um…well…”

  “It’s okay. You can tell me. I want to help you for being kind.”

  “The thing is…” Why can’t I think of anything to say? Maybe I should just pretend I’m staying at the hotel I was at before. But I don’t want to go back there—it reminds me of my predicament. My eyes start to well up.

  The man looks alarmed. “Are you okay?”

  I can’t help myself. “No. I’m staying at an internet café because I got fired, and my office in Australia seems to have forgotten about me, and I don’t have enough money to get a ticket home…”

  His eyes widen. “You’re living at an internet café?”

  I nod miserably.

  “You can’t live at an internet café. You come live with me.”

  Yipes.

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll be fine. I’m going to get a job today.”

  “It’s tough to get a job in Japan unless you know people. Do you know people?”

  “Well…”

  “You come to my house. My wife will look after you. You can stay with us until you find a job. I will ask at my office if they have work for you.”

  I smile. “That’s very sweet, but I couldn’t.”

  “You have to. Come on.” He gets out his mobile and makes two quick phone calls.

  “All done. My boss says I can be late and my wife wants to meet you.”

  This is too much. The tears start rolling freely.

  “Hey. Don’t be sad. Everything will be all right.”

  I can’t stop crying long enough to tell him I’m overwhelmed by his generosity. I just nod again.

  I collect my suitcases from the lockers and my saviour carries one for me.

  “My name is Masahiro.”

  “Nice to meet you Masahiro. I’m Jessica.”

  FIFTEEN

  A few minutes later, I begin to question the intelligence of my decision. I was freaked out by a strange American man trying to walk with me at Kurama, yet I’m going home with a Japanese man who offers me shelter?

  There’s something so innocent about him, though. Something gentle and unthreatening. Plus, I could probably take him in a fight if I had to—he’s at least half a foot shorter than me. But he seems genuine enough. I think I can trust my instincts.


  We catch the train to a station called Awaji, where Masahiro leads me through a narrow alley towards a clump of gorgeous little houses. They remind me of something out of a Disney movie, because they’re so perfectly formed and look like oversized toys. When I take a closer look at the brick walls, I realise they’re all part of a tiled façade.

  We stop out the front of a particularly cute house with a bright orange box-shaped car parked in the driveway.

  “I like your car,” I smile.

  “It’s a Nissan Cube.”

  “We don’t have them at home.”

  “Really? It’s a popular car in Japan.”

  He opens the gate and we walk to the front door where his wife is waiting. She smiles uncertainly.

  “Hi,” I hold out a hand to shake hers. “I’m Jessica.”

  She shakes it softly and then retreats inside.

  “My wife is shy. But it’s okay. She will like you.”

  I wonder how he knows that when he doesn’t even know me.

  We take off our shoes, and Masahiro encourages me to put on some guest slippers lying at the door.

  We head inside, and I get my first glimpse of an authentic Japanese house.

  I like it. It’s not very big, but they make use of all the available space. The furniture is quite low to the floor—and the chairs don’t even have legs. Masahiro quickly points out the function of each area and shows me where I’ll be sleeping upstairs. It’s a tiny room that looks like it already belongs to someone.

  “You will share with my wife’s mother.”

  Oh. That could be awkward.

  “Ah, thank you.” I hope she doesn’t mind some stranger barging in on her privacy. What am I doing? I can’t just camp out in Masahiro’s house. But when I consider the alternative, I don’t have much choice.

  “I have to go to work now, but my wife will take care of you. She is a good cook. I will be home late tonight.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  He leaves me to settle in. I hear him talking to his wife downstairs, but I don’t know what they’re saying. I hope she doesn’t get upset the second he leaves. I know I wouldn’t be impressed if I was married and my husband brought back some random girl to stay at the house.