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Thread: The Rising Sun.

  1. #1
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    The Rising Sun.

    The Rising Sun.

    Chapter 1. The Prologue.

    There is always a beginning, even for an event as definitive as an end. It was therefore both appropriate and applicable to Liam's frame of mind, that as he set out early that August morning, fate would probably determine as to whether this would be the last of his life's journeys.

    Was there a sense of sadness in this? Perhaps. When mortals attain greater clarity as to the inevitability of said mortality, by definition it is sad. Is there also a sense of
    apparent failure in not achieving such a thing as a finality in desires and in hopes? I
    don't know. I just seek balm to my soul in the likes of Robert Browning.

    "My own hope is, a sun will pierce
    The thickest cloud earth ever stretched
    That after Last, returns the First,
    Though a wide compass round be fetched;
    That what began best can't end worst,
    Nor what God blessed once, prove accurst.

    But enough of this depressing line of thinking. Liam was undertaking a new journey, a
    fresh adventure at a time when his dotage should have confined him to early nights and
    regulated living, wrapped up in an illusion of retirement.

    Retirement, my butt. Nearly five months had passed since he had finished the last assignment. Five months in which he had; painted the house, done the garden, put the dog out and brought the cat in, (or is it the other way around?), and sorted out all those papers that needed sorting. He had got, as is termed,"his affairs in order," and now realised that he missed the action. Even a series of trips to foreign climes that he had never visited before, but had promised himself, he recognised for what they were, namely a series of short term fixes.

    It was therefore with no hesitation that; when the offer came through to take up a position in Japan for one year, he needed but a fraction of a second to express his affirmation in a barely suffused ardency that would have done credit to a series of Judgement Day hosannas.
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 08-26-2014 at 08:43 PM.

  2. #2
    Registered User DATo's Avatar
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    Hark!!! A Titan is stirring !!!! *LOL*

    I'm very much looking forward to the rest of this story MANICHAEN.

    ... he needed but a fraction of a second to express his affirmation in a barely suffused ardency that would have done credit to a series of Judgement Day hosannas.

    LOVE IT !!!

  3. #3
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Yes. And I was sober when I wrote it!!!

  4. #4
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Chapter 2. British Airways.

    There used to be a certain mystique about British Airways, but then there has always been that about anything quintessentially British to those not born there. America has its cowboys, Arabia its deserts and the Eskimos their igloos, but to the Brits themselves, as to putting their finger on that mysterious essence of being British, it is equally elusive. So why do British actors, in the minds of US film moguls make the best villains, yet one could never contemplate James Bond being an Italian, or God forbid, even a Frenchman?

    Like British Airways, (the subject to which I now return), it's to do with the art of; understatement, reserve and an inbred assumption left over from halcyon days of Empire as to being somehow outside the rest.

    Liam checked in at Terminal 5, Heathrow for the daily flight from London to Tokyo Haneda. None of the chaos of Lagos airport, the oppressive security and watchfulness of Riyadh, or the laid back "soon come" torpor of Kingston, Jamaica.

    Quietly Liam was processed through like a Swiss yoghurt; immigration, security , business class lounge, boarding gate, and connecting corridor to the plane door itself. The stewardesses' dark blue and white attire, infused with a splash of red neck scarf was smart, the smiles seemed genuine and Liam was directed to his seat.

    At this juncture things started to unravel somewhat. For those of you lucky enough to be acquainted with really top drawer airlines, it's not so much the quality of the food or the wines on long distance flights, (though this can be important,) as to the fact that when you will be up in the heavens for eleven hours non-stop, through the night, you want to be comfortable. Liam, like so many of his ilk was 6 feet 4 inches vertically and not, (it must be noted,) insubstantial horizontally either. The chair / reclining bed, was two such pieces of furniture joined in tandem facing in different directions, with something called a " modesty screen" in-between. This, (far from ascetically pleasing,) functional feature, allowed cabin staff to pass meals and drinks across from the aisle seat to the window
    seat where the two incumbent passengers basically faced one another at a slight angle in the shortest of distances. Now, some of you may be cognisant of the fact that Englishmen do not start up conversations with strangers, unless to make reference to the weather; a factor in this instance somewhat remote from being hermetically sealed and above the clouds at 60,000 feet. Even more so, when one considers that Liam's opposite twin was Japanese, a race that exceeds even the English in a lack of eye contact or unrestrained banter.

    The British Airways mystique evaporated rather quickly after that. Lunch over and lights dimmed, it was tolerably comfortable; that is if one did not expect to change position and have the audacity to try and slumber on one's side.

    Breakfast was served in these airborne coffins about two hours from touchdown in Tokyo; a choice between sushi or a full English breakfast. At least to Liam's mind they tried, but the commercially inspired layout of anchovies in a tin kept intruding upon his consciousness. Now, Singapore Airlines or Qatar Airways, they knew how to design a bed, but that would have to wait for another trip.

    Strangely enough, about three days later in the Yokohama office, an e -mail was received from BA asking Liam to contribute to a survey regarding the flight. Every aspect was asked for, from; check-in, food, staff helpfulness etc, but not a word on the beds. I wonder why?
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 08-26-2014 at 08:46 PM.

  5. #5
    Registered User DATo's Avatar
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    Anticipating chapter 3.

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    Inexplicably Undiscovered
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    duplicate post
    Last edited by AuntShecky; 08-25-2014 at 05:13 PM.

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    Inexplicably Undiscovered
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    I like it so far!

    Couple of comments: I may be wrong (and if so, it won't be the first time), but when quoting a stanza or successive lines of poetry, I believe that you only have to use one set of inverted commas at each end. You don't have to enclose every line in its own quotation marks. An alternative is to set the passage in italics.

    Lose the apostrophe in the "its" for the possessive case. "America has its cowboys, Arabia its deserts. . ."

    "Quietly Liam was processed like a Swiss yoghurt through" Put the "through" closer to "processed." "Liam was processed through like a Swiss yoghurt." BTW, is that how the Swiss process yoghurt-- "quietly" ? Maybe when they process chocolate, there's more loud commotion. Oh, I kid.

    Eagerly awaiting more.

    Your fan,
    Auntie

  8. #8
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Thanks for the corrections Aunty. All taken on board.
    Best regards
    M.

  9. #9
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Chapt 3: Japan.

    Instances of culture shock for Liam, might be too numerous to expand upon at this initial stage, but a few might be noted to give a flavour. He was for example, mildly surprised when a slice of lemon was inserted into his beer one night at the bar, and moderately confused when confronted by food labelling in Japanese characters, each of which he understood could have multiple meanings, ( assuming that is that one could read them in the first place.) At the weekends in the malls and on the broad streets of Yokohama, slim women in traditional kimonos appeared, in apparent indifference to nearby spiked haired teenagers in confusing alien combinations of: leggings, oversocks, skirts and granny shawls.

    Eye contact was minimal, which his boss explained was a sign of shyness, not rudeness. The bowing was continuous: junior to superior, shop assistant to customer, even continuous nodding in agreement when listening to someone speak. If ever a race was different from the common herd of mankind, it was inhabiting the Land of the Rising Sun.

    The apartment he was allocated was nearby to the office; fifth floor, modern and spacious. Outside to the west, Mount Fuji could be discerned in the distance. To the south, the view was dominated by occupied apartment monoliths and those being currently constructed. At night as viewed from his bed, it was a comforting, sparkling metropolis of soft domestic lights and the red blinking beacons atop construction site cranes.

    He had brought with him, and started to read Stendals "Scarlet and Black," which confused his daytime perceptions even more. How could one read a novel on French manners and character set in a time when Napoleon had been overthrown, and then venture forth into a society that was at such a variance? Or was it? Depending on one's interpretation of that particular book, it wwas either a contrast between a world with the sky above and the mire below; or as a mirror of the social superiority of the "ancien regime," comprised predominently of royalty and the Church. If there were linkages with Japanese living as percieved to date; then as such, they were subtle, obscure and open ended.

    Finally, there was he realised, something a little unnerving in the eyes. They rarely laughed, nor blinked, just looked; but in a way that seemed to absorb visual information to be stored away for a purpose unknown, and perhaps of a sinister nature. And yet, intermittently the mask dropped. Women's eyes were delicately lowered and remained hooded; almost as an adverse reflex for displaying interest or emotion. The leashed bird of prey on the falconers raised arm awaiting both the command and the release. Slender ivory fingers cool to the touch, the fragile whiteness of an Oriental profile, the desirable but gently unobtainable East.

    "One careless look on me she flung,
    As bright as parting day,
    And like a hawk from coven sprung,
    She stole my heart away."

  10. #10
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Chapt 4: Settling In.

    To let the words flow, words enthroned atop waves that will lap with soft rythmetic heatbeats into the shores and jetties of Yokohama Port.

    The initial step is both inviting and obscure. One month has passed since Liams arrival; the routine, (so essential to ones sanity) has been established, and now instinct wanes, whilst purpose comes to the fore.

    It was still an alien culture and he knew he stood out, but at least he had overcome the basics; where to shop, where to eat, the interchange of work and rest, weekends full of almost childlike excursions and work days now beginning to border on tedium.

    Life had reached a stage where money was no longer the driving force. He had already made it, and all additions to his personal wealth from now on were like the fabled shoes of Emelda Marcos, brought but rarely worn.

    No, something new was needed. Some stimulus to his existence, for the singularity of existence was not to his mind an option. Thats why, he had come out of retirement to seek that last adventure, that last hurrah of a mortal man.

    But at least he was busy, at least occupied in what a general perception might envisage to be an interesting job in an exotic location.

    Luck had it, that in the office one day he bumped into a Japanese colleague with whom he had worked before in the Middle East. When enquiring as to where he could buy a traditional Japanese “ukarta” or cotton dressing gown and some antiques, an offer was politely extended to show him some local shops, and they met one weekend. It was a very successful day. Initially the ukarta purchase was a problem, due to his size and the fact that the Yokohama summer was coming to an end, with stocks not that plentiful. However, eventually they stumbled across a corridor of a shop off the main highway, where an indigo blue ukarta, large enough to accommodate his girth and height was obtained. Koi goldfish that intertwined with reeds and disappeared in and out of folds of an Oriental cut provided a pleasing theme.

    The antiques purchasing likewise proved to be initially problamatic in so far as Japanese society seemed to have made that bold leap from the comforting old to embracing the stimulating new. Antiques therefore as such were relegated to second hand goods shops where international bric brac rubbed shoulders with sumari swords and supurb old ceramics. Shelves of unappreciated cast offs proved rich pickings for the trained eye. He eventually brought a selection of small rose wood containers for his daughters and an elaborately designed dinner plate, deep and substantial enough to accommodate the family roast upon a future return to the UK.

    The jewel in the crown however was the small family restaurant he was introduced to. They did not speak a word of English, but the standard and presentation of the assorted lunch on that day was in a class of its own; chilled cuts of sushi soaked in a pickled vinegar, sticky rice wrapped elaborately in thin wafers of seaweed, miso soup and small cups of green tea. Liam had his friend explain to the owners that, on future occasions when he came in alone, (possibly after work), it was to be left to the discretion of the owner to recommend the cuisene of that day, as long as it was washed down with a cold Kirin beer. Amidst much bowing, the deal was struck.The location and set up of this establishment appealed to him. Its anonimity, its shelter, a place to reflect on words and phrases that crowded into what he trusted was an imaginative awareness.

    Outside, taxis drove by with drivers in white gloves; neon signs unintelligible to the Western eye seemed to fill every spare space, and dusk imperceptably gained a foothold over both the peak of Mount Fuji and the streets of the nearby metropolis sprawl.
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 09-03-2014 at 04:36 AM.

  11. #11
    Registered User DATo's Avatar
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    Very nicely written chapters and a VERY interesting and convincing description of Japan and the Japanese culture. Your writing gives one a realistically crafted impression of what the main character is experiencing. I am looking forward to reading more.

  12. #12
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Chapt 5: Scottish Laser.

    Strange name for a pub, but by now I have ceased to be surprised by a lot of things in Japan. Actually, once you are cognisant of the owner being Japanese and his wife, a red headed Scot from Glasgow, it begins to make sense. The significance of the word “laser” I leave to the readers imagination.

    I am drawn back there by being stood up on Sunday. First time in my life I’ve been stood up by a woman; a salutary experience and an unfamiliar one. Its normally the other way round I’ve been led to believe. It stings all the more having been a bar girl, a breed I thought I understood. One offers, (as discreetly as circumstances allow), a degree of financial help and she says “I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.” For those of a nomadic existence its as essential as the oxygen you draw into your lungs.

    I leave the apartment at about two o’clock, proceed three stations along on the Yokohama tube, and am but a short walk away from Motomachi Street where the bar is located.

    Its empty save the two staff behind the counter. I’m not sure what I would have done if she had been there. In theory I suppose I hold the moral high ground in being the aggrieved party, although likely there would have been a touch of tension.

    I start with Guinness, (my first in-country) and its surprisingly sweet tasting, but then, thats a prejudice like so many in life that one can overcome. If its a dive you feel comfortable in and you throw in an exotic location, it gets the mental juices going. After all Hemingway thrived on them; his favourite watering holes in Havana. A few pints later with single malts taking up the slack and I’m even day dreaming of the great man myself. After all, I’m telling myself, I’ve reached that age and undergone the trammels of a life apprenticeship. I’ve even got the white beard.

    But deep down, I know that tomorrow its the hangover with its partner-in-crime, the reality of of recognizing my own verbosity and confused thinking. Apparently, I’m even moving with remorseless accelleration towards the abyss of tautology.

    Surmounting the altar of drinks are two TV screens showing a Hollywood film. It makes a change from Japanese TV with its period dramas and game shows, but thats as far as one can make a judgement. Its a sci-fi Manhatten apocalypse drama whose main characters comprise: Thor (complete with hammer), the Incredible Hulk looking like an Emerald Isle body builder on steroids at last orders, a masked Captain America complete with a single starred shield, (perhaps Texan?) and a very sultry Tatiana, presumambly fresh from the conflict in the Ukraine.

    Dear Lord, why can’t this place be transformed into a scene from Casablanca? Why can’t my future and my destiny walk in?

    “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 09-16-2014 at 04:51 AM.

  13. #13
    Registered User DATo's Avatar
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    Still reading. Still enjoying. I like the well-timed pace and feel of this story as well as the style in which the narrative is being delivered.

    Looking forward to reading more.

  14. #14
    MANICHAEAN MANICHAEAN's Avatar
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    Chapter 6: Missing In Action:

    The morning had passed and his Texas collegue had still not appeared at the office. The Japanese sub-department head was getting restless. Odd sounds at intervals emanated from him, as if to express his internal disquiet at this unscheduled deviation from the natural order.

    On Liam’s part, he just presumed that when James had refused to share the taxi home on the bridge near Ishikawatchu Junction last night; that he was intent on an instinctive bender. He had been already in his cups when they had split, but seemed destined on further drinks, along with a visit to an alluded “Kit Kat Club.”

    The evening had originally started well enough. They had left work dead on 6pm, traversed three stops on the metro and were seated at the “Laser Rush Bar” with drinks in their hands before a subsequent hour had slotted into place. Liam had demolished a huge plate of turkey Caesar salad, washed down with two pints of Guinness, a gin and tonic, and finishing off with a Drambuie. "Well," he thought "he was finished," until the Lone Star State representative commenced the, (by now), usual exposition to all assembled personnel of it being Liam’s birthday. It was becoming embarrassing for Liam riding shotgun with this guy. Every bar they entered in Yokohama, he proclaimed Liam’s birthday. Invariably free drinks were proffered, (in this case Suntory whiskey), but Good Lord, how long could it go on? Either they would be arrested as con-men, or have to start drinking in Tokyo, having run out of bars in Yokohama.

    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.

    Liam had suggested a change in venue, another bar he had discovered last weekend during daytime hours and which at the time had been closed.

    Paying the bill at the Laser, they had proceeded about two streets along to an aptly named “X Bar.” An empty beer keg with a faded sign at the side of a small restaurant, gave a mystic clue to an adjacent steep flight of stairs. At the first landing to the right, a substantial thick glass panelled door provided a portal to the next chapter of their evening. Inside, a long bar curved its way the length of a room. Partially coloured windows at one end gave a view out onto the street, whilst inside a tasteful, warm ambient lighting graced lines upon lines of bottles; not limited to shelves alone, but upon the bar itself. 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.

    Liam’s canon of faith had it, that the first drink in a new place gave a definitive indication as to the standards of both the drinking establishment and its bar staff. Wherapon two gin and tonics were subsequently and suitably approved of. But then it had started to get silly, as it so often does when one comes up against the basic limitations of all flesh.

    James had started on double tequilas, followed by Cuban rum & coke. To Liam it initially became somewhat amusing as his friend declared that “For Whom The Bell Tolls” had been written by Edgar Allen Poe. When informed that he was misinformed, a mixture of bewildement and hurt filled his face. Sensitiveness both separates us and unites us, as we are all created by the fatality of our temperament into a unique and individual universe.

    “Are you sure?” he had asked abruptly, 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.

    “I’m sure,” Liam had responded and proceeded to the toilet at the rear. On the wall above the cistern a photo of Marlon Brando as “The Godfather.”

    He was reminded of the saying:
    “You must excuse my son. He talks when he should be listening and he listens when he should be talking.”

    Back at the bar, James had taken an unhealthy interest in a samarui sword which had been resting on two wooden stool supports high up on a wall, and he was now asking the barman to show it to him.

    Liam had got there just in time to prevent a potentially dramatic unsheathing akin a “Kill Bill” fight scene.

    The blade had been slightly drawn and the brightness of an overhead light on the exposed steel raised apprehension as to what this increasingly drunk "Geiging" would do next. If he had started waving it around, other dark suited customers and their smart female appendages, might have started throwing themselves down the one and only staircase.

    As it was, Liam had managed, on the pretext of examining it closer, to gently take possession, and thus returned it to the watching, noting, and grateful barman.

    “Right, thats it,” Liam had exclaimed.

    “It’s been a good night. Lets get back now.”

    “I was thinking of the Kit Kat Club,” James had responded, still with a glint of the Alamo in his eye.

    “Nope, thats it, I’m finished. Still got work tomorrow.”

    Soon after they had parted company, Liam home by taxi to the apartment, James off into the Yokohama night.


    Which brings us back full circle to today. The Japanese boss is increasingly making noises similiar to a chicken prepared to lay an egg, whilst out there somewhere, one of our aircraft is still missing.
    Last edited by MANICHAEAN; 09-18-2014 at 02:38 AM.

  15. #15
    Registered User DATo's Avatar
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    Sorry it took me so long to respond to your latest installment. I am only now recovering from the bender I acquired in Chapter 6.

    Nice description of Japanese bar hopping - brings back memories of my youth ... which upon consideration ... scare the hell out of me *LOL*

    The plot thickens. Awaiting the next installment.

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