Removed – Chapter 13

I love Izakaya Tanaka and seeing it tonight brings a wide smile to my face. I like it when it’s quiet, not as busy nor crazy as it was on New Year’s Eve.

Miko’s family has been running this place for three generations. It’s one of the few places in Ku 7 that’s been around for almost seventy years. Her great-great-grandmother hand-painted the menu signs hanging along the front of the bar, and the family’s collection of golden maneki-neko, ceramic waving cats, line the walls above the booths.

I arrive at seven o’clock full of nerves, and Jiro is already sitting at the bar drinking saké and reading from his tablet. It’s nice to see him in street clothes instead of Nishikyō grays. His black shirt is tight enough to show off his muscular arms and chest, and his black pants fit him perfectly. I don’t know how he manages to be so stylish yet casual. It’s a side I haven’t seen of him.

I walk in, ducking through the noren curtains, and all the staff shout “Welcome!” and “Sanaa!” at me which makes me laugh out loud. Jiro laughs too, and how could you not with an entrance like that? I walk up and sling my bag across the back of the open chair next to him.

“Good evening, Sanaa.”

“Good evening, Jiro,” I say, tucking my hair behind my ears. Wow, he’s making me nervous already, and I just saw him a few hours ago.

Then I remember I slept in front of him. I should have never closed my eyes.

Sono appears at the bar and points to his cheek which is my cue to step onto the rung of my chair, lean over the bar, and give him a kiss.

“Hi, Sono. How are you?”

“I’m good. Saké tonight?”

“A little. I’ll have whatever Jiro is having.” I sit down next to Jiro, twisting my hair over my left shoulder out of the way. It’s getting so long now. I wonder if I’ll ever have time to cut it. Jiro’s eyes skate over my body, noticing gorgeous silk wrap top Aunt Lomo made for me a year ago. The material is a deep gray, the color of burnt incense, and embroidered with a small leaf pattern in silver thread.

“You’re popular here,” he says as he pours me a drink.

I smile at two of the wait staff as they walk by with food. “I’ve been coming here for ten years now. Miko and I have been friends for a long time, and I used to help her family before I got full-time work. Speaking of Miko…”

She pokes her head out of the back office and comes our way. Be sweet and kind, Miko.

“Sanaa, you look lovely,” she says as she leans in and gives me a hug. “I’m so glad to see you. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” We smile at each other. It’s a relief to be back here again.

“We have soy salmon teriyaki tonight. Interested?” Miko asks, always the hostess.

“Yes, of course.”

She turns to Jiro and all she says is, “Jiro,” squeezing his arm affectionately.

“Miko,” he replies, and she walks off towards the booths where Yoichi is sitting with friends.

“Your brother and Miko are still going strong.” Miko slips in next to Yoichi, and he puts his arm around her. They seem very happy. It’s only been ten weeks since they first met on New Year’s Eve, but for Miko, that’s a long time to be dating the same guy. I have a good feeling about them.

“Yeah, they are. What did you tell Miko about us?”

“Us what?” My eyes widen.

“How we met outside of New Year’s Eve. She said to me earlier, ‘I hear you’re training Sanaa.’ And I wasn’t sure how to respond so I nodded.”

I know it’s hard to believe, but I often forget about the lies that fuel my life.

“I told her I wanted to learn a different martial art and sword fighting came recommended to me. She, well no one, knows what I do with Mark every day.” I drink my saké quickly and set the cup down. This business with Sakai still makes me nervous, and after this morning, I find it more disturbing than I have the past few weeks.

“Sakai has asked for you to keep all of it secret. Yes, I know. He has asked me to keep the secret as well.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Miko. She accepts I would learn sword fighting all on my own. She wouldn’t expect any other motive than my crazy personality.”

Jiro smiles at me, disbelief in his eyes. “Really? I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Don’t be so surprised.” I laugh because this is the same conversation we had about Jiro’s drawings. “I love iaido despite how horrible I am at it.”

“You are crazy,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re one of my best students ever. I’ve never seen anyone pick up the forms so quickly. Especially someone who wasn’t brought up to sword fighting.”

This is comforting. In all our time training, Jiro never opens up and tells me I’m doing well. He usually just says, “Good, now let’s move on to this,” and continues to push me harder and harder. It’s probably my own fault because I’m stubborn and have been pushing myself as hard as he pushes me. Still, I love the way he guides my arms or body into the correct positions. Every time he touches me I try not to melt into a puddle on the floor. Our practice sessions are full of conflicting emotions for me.

“Thank you. I had no idea,” I say.

While he fills up our cups, plates of food arrive for each of us. Miko ordered the exact same meal for both Jiro and me, and it makes me smile. She always knows what’s best on the menu.

“Eat,” I say, pointing my chopsticks at his dish. “You’ll love it.”

A minute of silence stretches between us while I watch him. Gods, he’s gorgeous. I’m in trouble.

“Jiro, what do you do for your family?” I ask amid bites of food and sips of sake. His chopsticks halt in mid-air halfway to his mouth, and he lowers them back to the plate. Uh oh. “I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t ask about such things.”

I immediately regret opening my mouth and prying into his life. His face flattens and eyes dull, like he did in the first weeks we trained together.

“No. You’re bound to find out sooner or later. I don’t have a proper job, but my role in the family has always been the successor. I accompany Sakai or my father to all of their meetings and usually with my sword. I’m the most trained in my family. I bested Yoichi and my father at the age of twelve,” he says with a grin.

I look over at Yoichi’s smiling face and have trouble imagining him sword fighting, but I’m sure anyone who looks at me would think the same thing.

“I was meant for sword fighting. I’m a whole person when I’m carrying one. I’m always there for important meetings, and I know more than I should, but that’s mostly intentional. At this point, I’m next in line after Sakai.”

He drains his cup, and I reach out and fill it for him. The gesture makes him smile.

“The family business is harsh. We work with all three clans. Minamoto fights with Taira over property sales. Maeda fights with Minamoto over use of okiyas and theaters. Minamoto and Taira fight with Maeda over the gaming. They are all clamoring at Sakai for equal representation with Ms. Coen…”

“That’s what Mark does every day when he leaves me in Ku 1.”

It’s easier to eat now that Jiro is talking to me even if it’s not exactly a happy subject. I quickly finish off my meal and push the plate away from me.

“Yes, he meets with her at least once per day. Nishikyō may be filled with all creeds, races, religions, but Japanese rule here. Never forget that.”

“Are you angry?”

“Yes and no. It’s the way things are. Coen is a puppet. She rules because the clans let her. The only thing she ever did to defy them was to put Yamada in charge of colonization, and you see where that got her. Did you know he died today?”

“No. I didn’t have time to check the news today. That poor man. I always liked him. But wait, are you saying Yamada was murdered?”

We both stare at each other.

“I know Yamada was murdered,” he says. “Most likely by Minamoto, by Tadao Matsuda. Do you know him?”

I nod very slowly. Do I ever know him.

“He has extensive martial arts training. I suspect he thinks of himself as a modern day ninja, but he’s for hire which makes him dangerous. He’s clever, though. He never acts when someone is watching.”

Or when he thinks no one is watching. Hideo’s bleeding face and Matsuda’s vacant stare fill my thoughts, and all the blood is draining from my head.

Push it away, Sanaa. Don’t remember. Not now.

I quickly fan myself with my hand and take a deep breath.

“Are you all right? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

“Yes, I, uh…” What do I tell him? He obviously knows about Matsuda, knows what he’s capable of. I want to tell him about what I saw this morning, but I can barely bring myself to think about it, much less describe it in actual words.

“I’ve had a rough day,” I say with a sigh. I just can’t talk about it. I’ll watch it. I’ll get used to it like Sakai wants me to. That’s all I can do.

“You said that earlier, too. What happened? Will you tell me?”

My eyes are starting to tear, and I shake my head.

“You know, when your face goes all pale like that your freckles stand out.” He turns to me, and a blush comes to replace the blood my head lost. “I like them. They’re very cute.”

I wish I could breathe. I’ve gone from being sickened by thoughts of Matsuda to being complimented by Jiro in the span of ten seconds. Up until this moment, I thought I was doomed to be his friend the rest of my life. My hand touches my nose, and then I lower it self-consciously.

“I got them from my mother.”

“Really? I would think you got them from your father. He was English, right?” he asks. “I don’t see many Japanese girls around Ku 6 with freckles.”

“No,” I say, thinking this statement is awfully damning of my being non-Japanese especially after our discussion in Ku 10. My soaring hopes of romance come crashing to the ground. “And I’m not like the other girls in Ku 6.”

“No, you’re not,” he says with a smile and a shake of his head, and my stomach collapses.

“Jiro, I am never going to be as Japanese as you want me to be.”

My temper rises, and I have to breathe to keep it down, even though shock comes over Jiro’s eyes and his jaw drops.

“I wasn’t raised in Ku 6. I didn’t go to the festivals as a kid. I never celebrated Hinamatsuri or Bunka no hi. Never went to the concerts or gone to any of the plays. It’s… it’s not the way I want to be, but it’s the way I am.”

Between Sakai and Jiro, I completely regret not knowing more about my Japanese heritage. I get it. I understand. I’ve not grown up like my mother intended, and now I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to correct it. Is Jiro really poking fun at my not being Japanese enough?

I’ve had enough of today. I get up from my chair and grab my bag.

“Wait.” His hand comes down on my arm. “Wait, don’t go. That’s not what I meant…”

“I’m going home,” I say, and pulling my arm away from him, I stand stiffly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sensei.” He winces and closes his eyes as if I’ve slapped him. Good. I’ve restored order to our relationship.

As fast as I can, I turn and leave, but it’s not stopping Jiro from following me to the door.

“Sanaa! Please wait.”

I hasten my legs and don’t look back, but I can hear the door open again and Miko’s voice. Fine, Jiro. You tell Miko why I left.

I go straight home, and I’m so thankful the trains are running fast because I don’t want a bunch of strangers to witness me crying. I hate crying in front of other people, and I’ve done it way too many times lately for my liking. I’ve also beaten both of my aunts home for once. I didn’t even stay for very long at the izakaya tonight.

What just happened with Jiro? One minute he’s complimenting me, and the next I’m running for the door like the place is on fire. Is he comparing me to other girls in Ku 6 on a daily basis? I thought maybe, just maybe, he liked me for who I am. Am I the silly, half-Japanese experiment to him? Put a sword in my hand and maybe I’ll be enough? This evening has left me feeling dumb and inadequate. How could I be so stupid? Another boy has managed to embarrass me for entirely different reasons. This time I’m not the skinny tomboy, I’m the outcast. I will never be enough all on my own.

I dump my bag on my bed, change into pajamas, and pull my hair back into a quick braid before climbing into bed with my tablet. I think it’s time I put this silly nonsense aside and went back to Chad. It’s been months, but he might meet me tomorrow. He’s written me a few times but I’ve ignored the messages. I’m sure I can make it right. I could use the familiarity of his face, his voice, and his body. He’s not especially passionate with me — he barely even kisses me — but it’s better than nothing.

I take the tablet out of silent mode and find two messages from Jiro sent ten minutes ago. I don’t even want to read them. I want to smash my tablet to pieces.

But my finger goes straight for the first message anyway.

“Sanaa, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset tonight. When I said you’re not like the other Japanese girls in Ku 6, I wanted you to know I like that. I wouldn’t want you to be any different. Forgive me.”

There’s a message here too from Miko: “I don’t know what happened but Jiro feels really bad for offending you. Give him another chance. He’s been asking questions about you for weeks at the izakaya, and I’ve been so wrapped up in Yoichi, I haven’t said anything to you. Stupid boys. They make us crazy. Tell him you’ll see him again. Xo Miko.”

I have to see him, Miko. Every day. Sigh. This whole falling for Jiro situation is the dumbest thing I have ever done.

Back to my inbox, I click on the other message from him. It’s simply titled, “From today.”

This time the drawing brings tears to my eyes and all thoughts of Chad fade away. It’s me, but only my arm crooked under my head, my hair falling down over it. There’s the slightest glimpse of my ear and the curve of my chin, but the genius of this sketch is how Jiro has caught every fold of fabric, every strand of hair. He paid close attention to the shape and slant of the light, the way the soft fabric of my shirt cast a hard shadow on the mat. It’s perfect in every way.

Of course I’ll forgive him. If he were here right now, I’d hug him. Hold him. I want to wrap my arms around him so badly. I take the tablet and clutch it to my chest.

It’s not the same.