Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Consequentially

-Consequentially-

The first time we had sex, she was crying. Tears began to slide down her cheeks, thickening into a river, along a quiet mountain slope. She made no sound and if she was in pain, she didn't show it. The tears seemed to have no relation to what we were doing. She looked just as confused as I was but she kept telling me to continue. It wasn't easy - though I did as she asked.

The T.V. set had been on at my apartment. She wanted a change of venue and couldn't bear the thought of returning to her Nirvana poster and empty fish tank, so I invited her over. It was her first time in a man's house, she confessed. But I didn't tell her I wasn't sure if it had been my first time in a woman's place either, weeks ago, after the new bus station had shown up - when things started changing.

I tried to prepare dinner from what groceries were left, which wasn't much. And so she sat quietly at my kitchen table - the one with a splinter that I would still rotate daily - and rested her chin on her palms, hair tied up, watching me cook. She said nothing, and I said nothing. I was making Japanese curry, which was about the only dish I had ingredients for. Carrots, potatoes, beef brisket and an instant curry roux. There was the sound of the bubbling pot and its concoction, utensils, and tinkling plates.

The only thing she ended up saying during supper was to ask if I had beer. It was evening and beer was in order. It seemed to be right. We cracked open two cans of Sapporo and downed it, while watching television. None of the channels were immediately interesting, nor was she interested in it either. She seemed to be thinking.

I stopped on the news channel. For a few days, there had been no word. We stayed in our respective apartments, without seeing each other, laid low and remained in the dark. We barely spoke to one another or exchanged messages. We would disappear from the world for a little while. What had happened was too surreal and too unexpected to grasp. It had been the clash of both poles, growth and destruction, beauty and death, hot and cold. Neither could we face one another. Something unearthly had happened that we couldn't comprehend ourselves. We had simply been swept along without much conscious choice like in the fearsome wake of a tsunami. What had happened on top of the ferris wheel remained within that clear gondola. It was an unspoken mutual agreement. There was no compelling evidence to confirm it as reality. Nor should we attempt to. It could have just been the makings of hallucination or the hyper-vivid texture of a wet dream. There was no need to enquire into the subject either. It would slip into the passing of time, and avoid our humiliated and damaged ego in totality. Yet, I was still tempted to keep my eye on the news however, for any signs that it would creep into being regardless, beyond our notice like a thief in the night. There had been nothing. Up until she called that day, asking to see me, and subsequently, appeared in my apartment.

The news was covering the plummeting value of stocks and the rumours of war on Israeli borders - as if it were still news or rumour - when it suddenly switched to something else. It began with the report on a suicide on a particular Tokyu train line Yokohama-bound. Suicides are not particularly uncommon, but our heads no doubt immediately snapped into focus. As if it were something trifling and inconsequential, the host casually introduced the topic with no difference in demeanor. I checked to see if we were still on the same channel.

The report included the time and date, location and manner of death. The man had left behind no sign of struggle, no notes, no residence, no lover, no family. It was apparent that he had sold his apartment two weeks prior to his death, which might have meant he had been homeless at the time. But yet, he was remarkably well dressed and well groomed. There wasn't any issue with his bank account either. He still had a stable portion of assets and finances. He had been working at a small printing and distribution company, and his employer seemed to be in shock of his untimely death. It was strange, but not too strange. It's not at all unusual in Japan. Most people keep to themselves and hide all sign of trouble. They don't want to be a bother to people around them. Perhaps it's better to just disappear silently. But it can never be the case, as the most important detail stressed repeatedly, was that it had delayed the trains in the area for an hour and the government would have to pay for the damage.