Memorial(33)

I’d glance at Eiju and he’d just shrug, like, You asked to be here.



* * *





Eventually Hiro told Eiju, You should’ve hired this fucker earlier.

He’s just moonlighting, said Eiju. Apprenticing.

Like a child, said Takeshi.

A child star, said Hiro.

Children mean work, said Eiju. Sana would know.

Sana groaned behind his bottle. His two friends slapped his back.

Twins, said Takeshi, when he saw my face.

Finally decides he’s gonna leave his girl and then she pops out two sons, said Hiro.

We decided together, said Sana. Nobody popped out anything.

You’re drunk, said Eiju.

Two boys, said Sana. When they grow up they’ll be just like Mike.

They’ll make sandwiches, said Sana, from Texas.

No shit, said Hiro. Must be nice for Mike’s girl to have a cook around.

The three guys looked my way, fingers laced across the banister. They’d been drinking, but they weren’t drunk enough to miss a response.

When I finally opened my mouth, Eiju started coughing.

He leaned over the banister. Grabbed at the counter.

The four of us watched him. The guys at the bar looked my way, concerned.

When Eiju recovered, wheezing, wiping at his mouth, I handed him a napkin, and he waved it away.

Hiro and Sana played with their thumbs.

Then Takeshi let out a laugh.

Shit! he said.

We thought you were done for! yelled Sana.

I felt a chill. But all Eiju did was grin.

Nope, he said.

If that happened, said Eiju, who else in this stupid city would babysit you?



* * *





After the guys took off, Eiju started closing up shop. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. For once, he looked like the old man that he was.

It isn’t like Takeshi was lying, I said.

About what, said Eiju.

I don’t have a girlfriend. Won’t ever have one.

I am gay, I said.

Eiju kept scrubbing the counter. Threw his whole back into it. Looked like he’d all but toss his fucking shoulders out, but then he finally sat down, feeling around under his apron.

He pulled out a box of cigarettes.

You are fucking kidding me, I said.

Shut up, said Eiju. So you’re a fag.

That’s fine, he said. Whatever.

And you’re just gonna kill yourself faster, I said. I guess that’s your response?

It’s nothing you haven’t already done to me, said Eiju. My own son.

Didn’t you call yourself childless? Isn’t that what you just told your fucking customers?

And, at that, Eiju slammed his fist on the counter.

You little fuck, said Eiju, in English.

There it is, I said, in English. There’s the man I remember.

You don’t get to parachute over here and do this, he said. Not now. Not in this life. You don’t get to do that.

But even just saying that took his breath away. Eiju started to sit, nearly missing the chair. When I jumped up to help him, he waved me away.

Fuck off, he said.

But I guided him toward a stool.



* * *




? ? ?

After a few days, I found a busted notebook by the apartment’s toilet. Threads fell from the seams. Everything in it was written in English. My father had scribbled a bunch of lists, all of them in the tiniest handwriting. Grocery lists. Train routes. Practical shit. But then there were other things.

Like, a brief list of things Eiju didn’t believe in: socks, fate, predetermination, promises. Chili oil. Locked doors. Christmas cards. Christmas. Savings accounts. Birthday parties, gifts. Ultimatums. Last strikes. Luck.



* * *




? ? ?

Most days, Kunihiko passed through the bar to help Eiju.

He was a little younger than me. Thick but not as thick. And his clothes were always two sizes too big, but all he did was smile. When we met, I was chopping vegetables in the nook behind the bar, skinning sweet potatoes and straining dashi, and Kunihiko wandered in the back, looking lost as shit. But it would be a while before I realized that’s just how he was.

The first thing he said was that I looked just like my father.

If you say so, I said.

Really, said Kunihiko. It’s the eyes!

He’d started working for Eiju after wandering into the bar one night. His job at some local bank had dumped him. Apparently he’d made an astronomical fuck-up with the wrong person’s account. Something big enough that he didn’t want to share it, big enough that his boss dropped him super quick, big enough to lead Kunihiko on a three-day bender. Eiju’s bar was the only spot he actually remembered drifting into—he woke up drooling on the counter, with Eiju slapping him awake.

I was lucky, said Kunihiko. If Eiju hadn’t hired me, who knows what the hell I’d be doing.

You’d be doing the same shit everyone does, I said. Something else.

Something else, said Kunihiko, laughing with his chest.

He was goofy. Always rocking his shoulders. Kunihiko showed up late every evening, forever fucking up everyone’s orders, but our patrons treated the kid like a mascot, even when Eiju wasn’t having it.

He barked at Kunihiko for juggling utensils.