The Silence Of Metawin.

旅

Shortly after arriving in Japan, Win Metawin decided something almost immediately. Although he didn't believe he could ever become fluent in such an alien-sounding language, he genuinely loved the sound of Japanese being spoken. He imagines that it has something to do with the lyrical, percussive quality being like woodland birdsong; the soft, abrupt 'chi' sounds and 'esu' endings like the calls of cardinals and rock pigeons, the low-pitched exclamations like red wing pheasants. Stood in a crowded marketplace the first evening they arrived in Tokyo, he surprised himself with how little the noise of the crowd around them bothered him. Something to do with being in a kind of language bubble, he supposed, untroubled by the expressed thoughts and feelings of the people around him. Curiosity soon got the better of him however, and he found he had to ask Bright the meaning of one particular word he heard repeated wherever they went.

"Sumimasen? This is the first word anyone needs to learn in Japan."

Seated in a cab headed for the central station, Bright's eyes had reflected the multi-colored neon all around them.

"And it means what?

"'Excuse me'."

"But they say it everywhere, for everything!"

"Maybe because they are profoundly sorry for everything we must all endure."

In another cab now, in another city months later, Win considers that perhaps Japan was and has always been Bright's true spiritual home. For a man who so abhors rudeness, and who so prizes balance, symmetry and beauty, this reserved, self-contained country is the balm he imagines both of them needed after the events of the last year, after all the wounds they had dealt each other. Half a year and thousands of miles from the bluff where Win had almost cost them both their lives, he can't help but feel profoundly grateful for their survival. Bright has never asked him why he did what he did, and he's grateful for that too. Trying to put into words the impossibly blurred feelings of elation, inevitability and despair he had felt that night they killed the Dragon together seemed both pointless and crass. Bright had understood them all after all. He had allowed himself to be taken willingly. Glancing over at him, Win studies the angles of his face. He has aged so little in the time that he has known him, while he himself feels decades, centuries older, covered in scars and marked by all their experiences. And yet, he considers, the opposite might also be said to be true. He also feels regenerated by them.

Bright speaks a couple of words to their driver, who nods abruptly in reply.

"This is our destination on the right I believe," he says and Win leans over to see.

The modest inn they are pulling up in front of is not entirely what he is expecting, and he casts a look at Bright to define his thinking.

"Two academics living on a stipend can hardly be expected to live the high life."

Win grimaces, "Does it at least have an onsen?"

"But of course," shouldering his bag, Bright gives him a look that can only be described as one of playful admonition, "We may be poor academics, but we're not animals Professor Teepakorn."

The room is simple but elegant, like so much of Japan, and after they've both showered and enjoyed a leisurely but superb dinner of soft-shell crab tempura, Win makes the call he has been alternately dreading and eagerly anticipating. Calling Inspector Nakamori on the direct number he left them at the cabin, he's in the middle of explaining that he and his colleague Mr. Guntitanon are now in Aomori city, when he realizes that the elderly Inspector seems somewhat flustered and upset.

"Maybe...are you in your hotel now Mr. Teepakorn? May I bring someone to you?"

Win glances at Bright, "It's late Inspector. Can I ask who?"