The Rising Sun.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 7. The Second Visit.

She asked if she could talk. A lovely combination of vulnerability alternating with strength and stubbornness. She apparently worked in the restaurant downstairs but was friends with the barman who she thought handsome. He had laughed. Apparently he was the owner and older than he looked. She had talked frankly, as one can to a stranger. Unhappy marriage, little show of emotion in the relationship, no children. He noted that she drank but not heavy, and smoked also. Great skin and hid her laughter behind long fingers when embarrassed. He had shook hands with the barman when he left, but in her case she did not rise and seemed uncertain. It had been his intention to hug her, but he limited himself to rubbing her back gently.

But I get ahead of myself. When I had originally entered, there had been a small group of Japanese up by the street window end, and one woman up to the far left. I had wanted to get a closer look at the swords from my previous visit and so sat nearer, (but not conspicuously so) to the woman who, seemingly detached, did not make eye contact or show attention.

The barman had asked after my Texan friend from the other night and I had apologised as to us having been a bit drunk and loud. There had been a mutual humorous appreciation at the prospective irony of a "Kill Bill" scene.

He explained that he had been a keen racing cyclist, and pointed out photos on the wall to that effect. It had struck me at the time as complex; both his demeanour and the way his bar was organised; very much a reflexion of himself. Bottles of high class booze gently lighted and arranged, guns in shadowy outline on the shelves, a fish tank with a bluish tint, pictures on the wall from the Godfather, and even one in the toilet from "Casablanca" with Bogart and Bergman.

The bar man had drifted down the counter to attend to other customers and it was then that the lone woman had asked if they could talk. Hesitant at first on both sides, they had opened up on whatever had come into their heads. Every now and then she would verbally collapse with the effort of trying to hold an English conversation. She had spent some time in Boston but admitted, that like so many Japanese, she had been basically shy and afraid of making mistakes. It had not been a success and she had felt out of it. She had explained how Japanese women were now so much stronger than their men, a fact he had increasingly acknowledged the longer he had spent in the country. She felt that her friends, who were few, did not recognise her as a good person, but he had not quite been able to put his finger on that one.

They had talked of tattoos on women,(apparently they do have them but vey small), of women in Japan being at ease in going into a bar or restaurant on their own. They had swapped views on the different values of their respective cultures, whereby in the West one generally questions everything, but the Japanese just accept what they are told. She had seemed to find this, (which to him was a truism,) both a revelation and fascinating.

Perhaps it had been the hunter in him, but he had then spoken of the need of all women to be hugged, whether aged seven or seventy and of a woman's sensitivity to male emotions, whether extremes of anger or tears.

He had looked closely. The skin was clear, her teeth perfect, the eyes inquisitive. He wondered if she moaned when she made love.

Before leaving, he had examined one of the swords more closely. She had said they were fakes, but to his mind they were still objects of beauty. When he had handed the sword back to the owner, the recipient had cradled it respectfully in two hands, raised it as if in a salute, and bowed.

It had been a cumulative moment in appreciating the traditions and style of this strange country, and he had been sorry at the prospect of leaving and moving onto a new assignment in Singapore.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 8 : One of Our Aircraft is Missing.

The call came through to the apartment on the Saturday afternoon.

“Liam san. What happened?”

The abruptness and almost accusatory tone unsettled him.

“Sorry Sagawa san, I dont know what you are talking about.”

The response was more moderate, though still decidedly factual.

“James san was arrested by the police last night on the other side of Yokohama, perhaps for fighting.”

It came as a shock. He had left the Texan after drinks in the Hard Rock Cafe and they had then proceeded downstairs near the station for a pizza and a beer. After that Liam had left him to walk home.

“Had he been drinking?” asked the Japanese boss.

“Of course he bloody had,” Liam thought. “Do you go to a bar to buy a Hershey bar?”

“Yes Sagawa san, a few but nothing excessive.”

“Was he drunk?”

“No,” Liam responded, “ A bit loud, but certainly not looking for a bar brawl.”


The week-end passed with no news. The Texan had been due to fly with the Japanese boss to Houston on the Sunday on a business trip.
Liam entered the office Monday morning. Sagawa san was sitting there at the end of his section.

“I thought you would be flying to Houston on your own?” Liam asked enquiringly.

“Cancelled,” was the brief retort.
“Cancelled in order to sort this out,” came as a supplimentary.

“They are pissed,” Liam thought. “Dont push it any further.”


As the week progressed little was learned. At the local police station Liam was politely told that no information could be given.


Little by little it came out from one source or another. The Texan on leaving Liam had gone on a bender for reasons only known to him and His Maker. As to how the night progressed, no information could be discerned. But gradually the final act became clear. He had been refused entry to one bar on the basis that it was members only. This had not gone down well with the Lone Star State indigine and a fracas had ensued. The police had been called and to date, as noted before “One of our aircraft is still missing.”

[108 fountains]

Very interesting, MANICHEAN.
The descriptions of the expat experiencing,and learning,the Japanese culture are spot on.
Looking forward to more.

[DATo]

It occurs to me that I had read this latest installment when it was first posted but did not comment. Perhaps, because it was short, I had anticipation of another soon-to-follow segment.

I look forward to finding out what has happened to The Texan ... a nice touch of mystery to an already interesting read.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 9.

He had been sleeping restlessly of late. None of that really deep sleep that takes away pain, percieved or otherwise. The nights alternated between the bed and the couch until the dawns inperceptably crept in from the Pacific. Feverish tiring thoughts ran through his brain, and in the mornings the bed sheets were dank with the odour of sweat and resembled tight irregular wave patterns upon the cotton fabric.

That was until one morning, when for reasons unfathomed in human semi-consciousness, he had found himself walking with a young fresh girl with short fringed hair. They were hand in hand, touch upon touch, unaffected and spontaneous. Acceptance in a childlike manner of a mutual need.

He had put his arm around her waist and she responded and kissed. It lifted so much off him, that the experience was still alive and vital in his mind as he awoke.

“Perhaps thats it,” he reasoned,
“The growing old with nothing new to love any more. And yet, just to feel those emotions was to live, whether they were opposite extremes of joy or sadness.”

The weather was turning cold, and looking out he noted that what he initially thought was white cloud, was in fact snow atop Mount Fuji to the west.

Walking the eleven minutes into work from the apartment, the smart professional set of Yokohama could be discerned; unemotive, even those taking their young kids to school.

Entering the office building the pace quickened. Older Japanese businessmen in dark suits emerging from the metro, merged like liquid humanity into their younger fellow worker bees, alternately attired in short sleeved shirts and carrying leather shoulder pouches. He reflected that the incongrinuity crept in even more so at the weekends, when was added the feminine ingredient attire of subtle yet exotic kimonos.

The boss was in when Liam attained the 32nd floor. Back from the business trip to China he looked more serious than usual, and it was all to come clear when an internal meeting was held later that morning.

It was outlined that the Texan was due to be released from police custody that day, but that he was restricted from leaving Japan until all financial compensation, (plus whatever civil fines applicable), had been agreed and paid. In the meantime, notice was to be served both on himself and his apartment.

It was a mess, an absolute bloody mess, as is so often the case when things go pear shaped in another mans country. In the meantime Liam was told that the Texan’s wife was flying out from Houston.

“Time to get the wagons in a circle,” came to mind.

[Dreamwoven]

I came into this story late, but enjoying it more and more.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 10. Jail Time.

When one has attained a nadir of personal misfortune, there is an imperative to share emotions, albeit sometimes with the most unlikely of people. Unless that is, for the few, fortunate to have reached such a high plane of spiritual self-containment, that nothing of the material world can touch their inner peace.

The Texan, despite being representative of the physical toughness of his breed, yet still, the mental resilience waivered as the days relentlessly progressed in that Yokohama police cell. While routine just deadened hope, basic confinement eroded the very essence of normal existence. He remembered very little of what he was accused of; fighting in a bar, causing damage to the premises and injury to the owner. What he did know though, was the strange reality of a cell shared with three Japanese inmates, none of whom spoke English or shared a common culture.

The guards were polite but firm. He was given two blankets, one of which served as a pillow for when they nightly removed their futons from lockers. The floor was wooden on which they sat, and behind a clear glass partition, (designed presumambly to prevent suicides),was situated a toilet. Thus were they both contained and watched.

Each of the men was in their own way, quite distinctive. One of the Japanese, a lot taller and thinner than the Texan had scaled dry skin that he tried not to look at. The second, he named “Three Finger Joe”, as it gradually transpired through a combination of improvised sign language and the observation of his various “irezumi” tattoos, that he had somehow been an unsuccessful member of a Japanese “yakuza” gang. Somewhere in this unpromising career, there had been an apparent unspecified transgression. They had deemed it necessary to have him perform “yubitsume” by removing the tips of two fingers from his left hand as a form of penance or apology. The last inmate, the Texan named “Crazy Charlie” and not without reason. He never spoke, but made incoherent noises and would sit for days and nights in the corner staring at a spot in the wall. Other times at two o’clock in the morning, he would collapse, loudly and without reason in the toilet, shocking the recumbent forms of his other inmates into immediate consciousness.

It was three to four days before the Texan’s normal medication for diabetes and blood pressure arrived. He knew that somewhere in that period he lost it; that his mind had gone; that the pressure had overcome his defences leaving him exposed to an unrelenting confusion of dreams bordering in and out of consciousness.

Each day, at set times, four sets of food were passed under the door at. Miso soup for breakfast, bread and a banana for lunch, rice and whatever for dinner. He had little or no appetite, but whatever he did not eat was wolfed down by the other three. Exercise was fifteen minutes a day, and on the way to the small yard, a faucet in the corridor was passed, where one could wash without removing ones clothes. A quick splash under the arms beneath a raised T shirt to inadequately remove an accumulation of sweat in clogged pores, whilst down below, a clammy area of unchanged underwear that itched and seemed to clog into a no go zone, where one reluctantly cultivated a fear of examining in any great detail.

It was on the second week that the Texan discovered the rules of confinement allowed, (subject to payment), for a Sunday order in from a local restaurant. He chose uncomprehendingly from a plastic Japanese written menu, and to the astonishment of the guards was not backward in coming forwards regards portions and quantities. It was a strange sight, these four characters sitting cross legged on the floor. The Texan, still without appetite, tasted of the meat balls, the noodles and dishes unrecognisable to a Western eye, whilst his companions eyed nervously the food laid out, until, as was his generous nature, he bade them to indulge.

After that, a new priority was set. The Texan no longer cleaned the floor daily with the others. That was done for him. Likewise he was accorded choice of sleeping position and whatever other small favours they were able to extend.

On the streets of the city, the chill of October took hold and the leaves dropped lifeless from trees to lay damp and sodden on grey wet pavements. But within a Japanese cell, there evolved between three Japanese and one American inmate, a hierachy and inter-relationship, not unlike primates in the wild, yet uniquely in todays world, a bonding of East and West in conditions of shared misfortune.

[DATo]

i sense we are about to veer on to an interesting new avenue in this story. Looking forward to finding out what happens next.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 10 The Catchup.

The reader must be excused if he thinks that the tale has, like the effects of a hoar frost on premature flowering, killed off this particular recounting of events in the Far East. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. For reality had been such, and events had moved so rapidly, for the narrator only now being able to regroup his thoughts sufficiently to resume.

For this I must apologise, and relate a hasty summary, of what at the time might have been expounded upon in greater detail and more assiduous reflection.

To start with, the Texan was eventually released from the police cell in Yokohama, albeit; unwashed, fatigued, confused and generally unrepentant. The compensation to the bar owner was vaguely agreed upon, and, not being under any formal restraint from the authorities, he made his grateful way to Narita airport, thence to Houston and freedom. The last news was that he had landed a good job back in the States, straying no further from home than Philadelphia. It had been a strange, transient episode.

For a time, the Japanese back at the office put up the pretence that all was normal. No mention was made of the Texan, and though, within a small group, all knew he had gone, to maintain face, he was still copied on all correspondence.

His section of responsibility, inclusive work on the Chinese Mainland was allocated to Liam, and with this in mind, the latter was soon assigned a one week visit to Quingdao on the Eastern seaboard. If one is prone to understatement, then this trip would have been described as " interesting." In effect, it was fascinating and stirred the juices tremendously. Old China, that one reads about in the history books was no longer there as far as he could see, only the odd dwelling place incongruously swamped by high rise concrete dwellings and flyovers. But the people were so much more open than the Japanese and genuinely hospitable. The food was unbelievably good and healthy and he developed a passion for the black tea and the traditional ceramic appendages used in the process of drinking it.

The other item of note was the massage establishments. He was dubious at first as to their genuineness and security, but was reassured one night in a bar behind the hotel by a Norwegian expatriate worker, that there was nothing to fret about regards security and professionalism.

And so it was he indulged, initially in the moderately advertised "foot massage for seniors." The young lady administering this treatment was diminutive in both height and bodily stature, but she might well have been a welder in her spare time judging by the strength of her hands. After placing his feet in a tub of hot water mixed with unknown herbs, she proceeded to tenderise his shoulder muscles with her elbows; somewhat akin a
piece of steak being softened up. This expanded via the use of; thumbs, fists and feet to kneld and pummel his back and arms. Eventually, with some trepidation on the part of the recipient, she got around to the feet, (which if one's memory still served correctly) was the initial objective of the exercise. The lower extremities were likewise shown no mercy. Unconditional surrender was finally declared when she produced with dramatic effect, suction cups and a taper flame to heat parts of the feet. He declined as gracefully as he could with appropriate hand gestures; having reached the parameters of inquisitiveness as to the mysteries of this aspect if Chinese culture. That night he felt as bruised as any boxer after a hard fight, but the next day was remarkably more flexible.

In China, one perverse and slightly irritating aspect of everyday life he found was the tardiness, if not downright non-functioning of lines of current day communications, especially e-mail messages, which did not help when news eventually came through that his Filipino wife of twenty years had cervical cancer and was in hospital.

At the end of the week he flew back to Japan, to be informed that he was to be transferred at short notice to Singapore. This he quickly changed, explaining that compassionate leave to the Philippines was required. At first obdurate, the Japanese eventually relented on the basis that after such leave he proceeded direct to Singapore.

[Steven Hunley]

Sensitiveness both separates us and unites us, as we are all created by the fatality of our temperament into a unique and individual universe.

...for percieved criticism is but a dead hand laid upon a living thing, unless it is a genuine response to the object criticised, or something reciprocal in us.

There were places in Africa that Liam had remembered, where beers were passed out to patrons through metal bars. Here, it was akin, a professional drinkers buffet.

Outside in Motomachi, the last of the tiny pet dogs dressed in tarten style jackets were being exercised by their owners, and the mostly ritual Japanese team building sessions were coming to an end, as sober suited business men proceeded to catch bullet trains home to their families.

This stuff, the details and the observations, just get to me. I've missed some of these entries and see I've been depriving myself of fun. Whoa be to he who deprives himself of this much fun. I should know better.

The details, separating the fiction from the truth in these images and wondering what the percentages of each are in any given line, is downright entertaining! Keep it up by all means!

[108 fountains]

Unbeknownst to Liam, several friends and acquaintances - not his closest friends, but people with whom he occasionally corresponded online, people from around the world - awaited with concern and sympathy to hear any news. While none of them knew his wife, they knew Liam well enough to know that, while he had seen much of the world and had made it through many previous trials, this was going to be a difficult time. He would make it through this trial, too, they knew, but it would tell on him. Although they were too far away to offer any real support or solace, they wished him to know that he had their best wishes and warmest regard.

[Lee]

I have lurked on this forum for a long time and have always enjoyed reading your stories, but you never seem to completely finish one before starting another.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 12: The Last Goodbye.

When he landed at Naga Airport in the Bicol Region of the Philippines all was familiar; yet the nature of his journey this time isolated him from sights that were normally balm to his outer tiredness. The palm trees seemed not to sway so with the breeze, the mountains to blend so harmoniously in the distance; a backdrop to flooded rice fields couched in a distant haze of heat.

The eldest Joel was there with the pick-up truck.

He tried to appear cheerful but Liam sensed the inner tiredness and desperation.

“Right son, what exactly is the situation with your mother?”

He reached across his father and into the glove compartment handing across the results of two scans.

“Cervical cancer that had spread to other parts of the body” was the basic translation of all the medical terminology contained therin.

“Mum is at the faith healers now, here in town.”

They proceeded in silence to a house set back in a barangay warren of alleys, chickens, kids, rubbish and washing being dried.

“She is inside Dad. Go in.”

Liam entered. There was an improvised alter, almost as if in church in front of him. Numerous women seemed to be there as onlookers and then he focused his attention at a huddle of figures and forms to the left.

He did not recognise her initially. The body had wasted, the face drained, but it was the eyes that were the nexus; even more so than the large growth on her neck. The eyes, like trapped orbs, staring out, recognition and fear combined.

He knew then that it was too little, too late.



The next two weeks were in retrospect a haze despite the drama of outside influences. Typhoon Ruby came and went, first the wind and then the rain and he lay each night next to a dying woman who had been the nearest thing he had known as a wife for the last twenty years.

All seemed to be imploding and relentlessly draining whatever reserves he thought he possessed. And yet it was the women that showed the strength, caring for her around the clock; daughter, in-laws, sister, neighbours, even grandchildren. Death was not something to be tucked away discreetly in a corner, but faced cheerfully as best one could on a daily basis.

The first night was perhaps the most difficult, even more so than the final goodbye.

She was still lucid at the time and it was as if she had been storing those precious words, cradling them in her very being, until he had returned.

“I’m sorry darling” was spoken softly to him, as if the illness was her fault.

It was perhaps the last real conversation they were to ever have.

[DATo]

I think anyone who has participated in a death watch can identify with the feelings expressed in the last installment. The scene and the mood is described casually but with the recognizable sound of an iron bell tolling in the distance which draws ever nearer. I think you captured this mood very well in the last chapter. The events (or perhaps I should say the tone) of the last chapter also brings the hectic pace Liam has been experiencing to a screeching halt. I sense that this part of the story contains the climax which will season the remainder of the story ... just a guess.

[MANICHAEAN]

Chapter 13: Chinese Gardens

It was six o'clock on a Sunday evening at the Kai Xiang Seafood joint down by Chinese Gardens in the Jurong District of Singapore. For those of you not familiar with this city, it is dotted with semi open air food outlets that serve a mixture of different quite exotic ethnic foods; in this case strangely enough everything from; Hong Kong duck and pork, to Vietnamese dishes. Then of course, the inhabitants being nearly ninety per cent Chinese, all the noodles, dum sum and other delicacies are on call.

This particular establishment was becoming a favourite with Liam. Although usually the only white face there, he was becoming recognised and more importantly acknowledged. When he strolled in, (this being the weekend) in shorts, T-shirt and flip-flops, his Carlsberg beer was already on it's way from one of the waitresses before he had even sat down.

To one side the range of tables opened up onto an expansive green space with lush grass, and in the background beyond, towered the high rise apartments, so indicative of the housing infrastructure in a country so short of land and living space.

Through the laid out tables, almost as an afterthought ran a pedestrian walkway, and it was a great place to watch the world go by: skinny flat chested Chinese girls, overweight paunchy Indian men, odd individuals on bicycles ringing their bells and the occasional
Malay in traditional attire.

A rather pretty girl from the beer stall came across to top up his beer. Around him the big reserved tables were getting ready for the family bookings so prevalent in this society. Young executives from something in IT smartly dressed but casual, wife, kids, grandmothers all together enjoying the ambient heat and spicy food. The fans revolved overhead. Everybody seemed to be talking in either loud Mandarin or Singhalese, incomprehensible to Liam, whilst on more secluded tables sat lone individuals nursing a beer or an Indian tea; ultra sweet and thick from a liberal addition of condensed milk.

It was time to reflect. That morning after a swim to clear his head, Liam had phoned the Philippines and was told by the son that the doctors in Manila had refused to operate on his wife. She had gone back home to the provinces to die.

It was a transient stressful period for all concerned; waiting for the final act, but at the same time to Liam, it was so alien that it had not hit home yet. Perhaps the grieving would come later.

It was disturbing to him also that he did not feel guilty; that he was not blocked up with emotion. Was he cold in his feelings, having simply gone to visit, say his final goodbye and leave? He knew deep down he would not have been able to cope with the remorseless daily ritual of deterioration and pain he had witnessed, almost as if it was in someone he did not recognise any more. Two weeks had been enough and it had taken it's toll.

It was now that those, of a more sensitive and courageous disposition were administering the last remnants of: expressed love, succour and care.

In the meantime he was back at work in Singapore; albeit at the moment sitting in a
mental twilight, spiritually isolated and surrounded by strangers that knew not of his life, nor of the depth and the components that lay therein.