THEME OF THE MONTH (JUNE 2021): A FATHER’S LOVE.

By Jamaica Van Til

This is a fictional account.

Love overcomes darkness.

闇を乗り越える愛。

The date was May 12, 1977, the location: a fresh market near Omoide Yokocho, Shinjuku. The time: 7:15 PM.

To the hungry lorry drivers, stressed salarymen, and university students who frequent there, all was normal. To the excited hawker stall owners and cafe operators, it was business as usual.

After dark, the multiple alleyways are lit by neon lights of all kinds: クラーケン寿司 (Kraken Sushi), 盆栽ビンゴ (Bonsai Bingo), トトロプリクラ (Totoro Photo Booth), 書道屋 (a calligraphy shop). Countless vending machines have lit up too, multitudes walk past one another in quick succession, masses of people: tourist, delegate, VIP, dropout flood the Shinjuku-Nishiguchi fresh market and find their way in the winding alleys to their respective destination. From above, the city lives up to its name: a city that never sleeps.

A young man, in his 20s, stood at a corner, his hawk eyes, scanning the masses of people for his expectant contant, Mr. Romanescu Borza, a soft spoken diplomat from an European country in his late 60s, who sported a light green hat, a simple plastic watch, and possessed an impressive track record for dismantling foreign import of heavy drugs from Japan to Romania. He was a good man, Tasuke reasoned in his heart.

An older man, Makoto Makamura nearing his 40s, sat at a table close-by, a tip-off had occurred months prior and the leads have led him to this location, he had good reason to suspect tonight was the night there will be bloodshed despite receiving spite from his colleagues for his conclusions. This is the night to prove them wrong, Makoto reasoned in his heart.

Tasuke saw Mr. Borza from a distance, the green hat gave him the green light, he fashioned a tiny saber sword from his briefcase and quickly hid it from view by thrusting it in his unzipped large jacket. This was his 10th assignment from his boss, he wondered if this moment would define his triumphant entry to the inner circle of the Isanagawa-kai clan (伊佐奈川会) which he so longed to be part of.

Makoto had eyed the younger man for the past 15 minutes, the brief brandishing of the medieval weapon, which he reasoned was to be used to hack Mr. Borza to death for his involvement in the most recent exposé of Yakuza heroine-smuggling in East Europe. The use of a medieval weapon to murder an european man — that is their signal for: ‘stop messing with us.’ This was typical Isanagawai modus operandi: to put fear in the hearts of people by orchestrating a bizarre, abrupt, reckless murder in a peaceful ginza (in this case, a shopping district). He wondered if this moment would define his unanimous acceptance as a respected police officer after several flukes in past years which gave the department much bad press.

Thus, under the starry night, both men, hardened by years of harsh treatment and unreciprocated approval from their seniors, reasoned in their hearts. Tasuke tightened his grip on the murder weapon as Mr. Borza walked closer and closer to the bar which Tasuke stood near by to. Makoto felt for his pistol, he will shoot first, call for backup later. He could afford no mistake this time. Both said in their hearts, “This is business as usual.”

Rain began to pour, Mr. Borza rushed for cover to open his umbrella, as he began to unload it, he felt a hand grip his neck and before he could utter a word, he saw a Hungarian sword-yielding arm about to slash his face.

“死ぬ !!! 外人!!!” (Die! Gaijin (Foreigner)!)

Mr. Borza gave a kick to his torso and sent him flying, he threw down his belongings and eyeing his murderer-wannabe under the pouring rain, readied himself with raised fists.

Makoto hesitated to call for back up, it was protocol to do so, but he wanted the spotlight, the win the day as a hero he longed to be.

Tasuke quickly recollected himself and madly lunged at the Romanian, sword in hand. He managed to slash the man several times. Before Borza lost balance, he suffered a deep cut in his arm and a couple of hard kicks between his eyes once he was on the ground.

Makoto shot — point blank — at Tasuke from the coffee shop and missed, both times. The pistol was not meant for long distance combat. “Finish the job.” Makoto warned himself.

“Finish the job.” Tasuke, likewise warned himself too.

Borza got up slowly and felt for his phone, he needed to call for help.

Makoto ran for the scene where a pool of blood had emerged under the pouring rain, and he could see Tasuke fleeing, he spent his remaining rounds on him — wildly — did they hit? Tasuke fled the scene unscathed.

Borza was sent to the hospital, his condition critical. Makoto stayed, until 10 to 20 of his colleagues arrived, leaving him with a lot of explanation to do.

“You are too impulsive, Koto San. Your temper will cost you much more than it has one day.” Makoto’s father gently chided him. Across the small dining table, Makoto continued to pour tea into his father’s tea cup without a word. A picture of his father in his senior officer uniform dating to 1965 hung on the kitchen wall behind him in the small apartment they have stayed for the past decade after Makoto decided to move his family to Shinjuku from Nagoya. He couldn’t stand being stuck in ‘rural disneyland’ as he liked to call it, alluding to the isolationism that occurred from living in rural places in Japan. He wanted to see the big city.

“Kota San! I am talking to you! Answer me.” his father, now in his late 70s reprimanded his obstinate son.

Makoto gently placed the empty teapot on the table and left the apartment without a word, save for a slam of the apartment door on his way out.

******************

“外人はまだ生きている、太助。説明してください。”

“The gaijin is still alive, Tasuke. Please explain.”

Tasuke sat before his boss in a plastic chair in a darkly lit room, his face was pale, he had not eaten for days.

“I can explain -”

“He doesn’t belong to our clan. Look at him, he was slow to execute, and quick to run,” one mocked.

“Let’s cut him loose. Not before we teach him a good lesson,” one added.

The boss who sat before him, a man who was a father figure to Tasuke, in his late 70s responded, “Bring him to the dog house.”

Tasuke grimaced, and forced back his tears, and said in his heart, “Not again.”

Two strong men, each holding Tasuke’s arms, lifted him up and dragged him to the dog house, where he would be beaten by a masked man for many hours.

But not before his boss made one more remark, “もう一度だけチャンスを与えよう。次は私を失望させないでください。”

“I will give you one more chance. Next time, do not fail me.”

******************

Fast forward to the year 1980, in Chiyoda central, Tasuke was sent to amend his mistake, he was to take down all the Romanian delegates who will be meeting governmental high officials. He will travel by car, and sporting the same weapon that failed him years ago, he was resolved to prove himself worthy of respect he so longed from the widely feared clan.

Makoto was waiting for Tasuke from a distance, this time, he had installed a high precision rifle that will put him to a deep sleep so he could take him for questioning — トランキライザー — they call it.

Unbeknownst to them, both were being followed on that fateful day.

Tasuke’s taxi driver began to play his childhood songs to him from the radio, “Sakura sakura,” and of course:

“Little Elephant”

Zō-san, Zō-san

Ohana ga nagai no ne

Sō yo, kā-san mo

Nagai no yo

Little elephant, little elephant,

Your nose is so long.

That’s right, and mom’s nose is

Long too.

Zō-san, Zō-san

Dare ga suki na no

Ano ne, kā-san ga

Suki na no yo

Little elephant, little elephant

Who do you love?

Well, of course my mom

That’s who I love.

Tasuke became very tense, but the mission ahead of him occupied his mind too much to be bothered by the coincidence until the driver then questioned to him in perfect Hiroshima accent,

“You know, kid, a lot of us guys like to compare with each other about what car models we own, how big our engines are, and what size the rims can be. But you know, we never talk about where we are going. We don’t talk about where we are going in life.”

“Drive. I’m not interested.” Tasuke replied curtly.

The driver looked at him from the front seat, and pulled off his hat, and said,

“Son, your ma and I have been looking for you 5 years. Your sister has grown up and is working in Kansai now. She’s married. Your brother is getting married too. And I want you to come home.”

Dumbstruck, stunned but unbelieving, Tasuke wanted to kick the rear window and flee. “I have no father,” he reasoned.

“And you don’t need to worry, son, I have settled with Tamagaiki.”

This time, he caught his attention. Tamagaiki was his boss.

For the first time, Tasuke took a hard look at his aged father, now nearly bald, and very frail, he himself was an ex-Yakuza member who rebuilt his life from scratch upon finishing a decade long sentence in Tokyo for hard crime.

He still looked the same 5 years ago when he ran away from home in Hiroshima, except for a fresh slash across his face. The new slash explained it all, his dad was badly dealt with by his peers to “earn” his release, to put it lightly. Tasuke broke down in tears and wept in the backseat of the black Honda sedan for a long time. His father had found him and welcomed him home.

************

A strong arm wrapped around Makoto and lifted him up from the ground, and before he realized, a black sack covered his head, and he felt manhandled and thrust to the back of a van which sped off in the distance, far away from the strategic scene he had planned for months to locate Tasuke and the exchange that will take place between the international delegates.

Fearing for the worst, Makoto did not put a fight in the van but imagined he will die as martyr for his cause, he had ventured so close to his goal yet to no avail.

After what felt like an eternity, he was removed from the van after it had stopped and he was ushered to a waiting room in the police department in the city. His sack was removed and he was his dad behind a desk, eyeing something important. Puzzled, and embarrassed, he sat down without a word, and gave a deep sigh.

“Why are you here, Papa?” Makoto said, with little strength.

“Oh! The place was dangerous, Koto. Bad people were surrounding you. You always fight alone. But thankfully, I had friends who knew how to get you back,”

He paused,

“I also have found out who is behind the attempted murder and the clan who planned it. There will be a raid tonight, Koto San. You will lead them.”

Fazed, confused, and half-angry, Makoto felt so many different emotions at once but his father interrupted him. “I didn’t want to see you killed, Koto.”

“You are my son.”

Makoto fought back his tears and for once in his life, listened and believed in his father. His approval of him mattered, not that of the police force or the faceless public.

-THE END -