Memorial(41)

Say something, she said.

I’d been pushing some shopping carts around the grocery store’s parking lot with a coworker, a guy named Rafa, a big Salvadoran dude. He saw me on the phone, and then he saw my face. He put a palm on my shoulder, shooing me toward the sidewalk. I walked toward the neighborhood behind the store, away from the noise, not really looking where the hell I was headed.

After a while, still on the phone, I’d wandered a few blocks away. The neighborhood was rich as fuck, just stuffed with money, full of the fattest houses. This Latina nanny walked a little whiteboy on the sidewalk, and he skipped over the cracks, laughing. She held his hand while he did that. The toddler lifted both arms, and she’d pull him over the weeds. I couldn’t read the smile on her face. I wondered if the boy would remember it. Ben would’ve said something about how kids never really forget.

I said, It’s that bad?

It is, said Ma.

And you’re just telling me? Just now?

I am. Because it just became that bad.

A silence passed over the line. I could hear the traffic surrounding Ma, the sound of life going on in Tokyo. She’d called me at the end of her workday at the jeweler’s.

When did you find out? I asked.

Michael, said Ma.

When?

It’s been three weeks.

And you didn’t tell me?

You didn’t need to know.

Did he tell you? Is that how you found out?

He did, said Ma. It was.

So you’re talking again, I said.

It was mid-morning for me. It would’ve been well into the evening for my mother. I could see her stepping out of her shop, settling in front of a bike rack, clicking her heels toward the road.

So, I said, you’ve gone to see him?

What do you think?

I think you should.

It isn’t necessary, said Ma. We’ve already spoken. His doctor’s keeping me posted.

That’s not enough, I said, nearly shouting into the phone, and I heard Ma choke something back.

Listen to me, said Ma. I didn’t call you for advice.

I never said that you did.

No. Stop talking. You need to understand that I’m not asking you what to do, or for your help. I’m not asking you for anything. I’m just giving you the news.

Fine, I said. I’m sorry.

No you aren’t, said Ma. But I understand. I get it.

Ma.

It’s fine. Your father is dying.

The nanny and the whiteboy hobbled in place beside the intersection. He’d motion to cross, and the woman would tug on his arm. After the third time, he hugged her leg, and she set a palm on his hair.

Eiju told me he’s already made his arrangements, says Ma.

So he’s not even gonna try to fight this.

From what I understand, he’s done fighting. It’s over. He wants to ride out the time he has left.

Okay, I said. Then you should come here.

What? said Ma.

You should come back, I said. To Houston. Stay with me for a while.

You aren’t serious, said Ma.

There was genuine confusion in her voice. I was speaking before I was thinking.

I am.

You don’t have room for me, said Ma.

I’ll make room, I said.

And the person you’re living with?

Don’t worry about that.

I know you don’t want to worry about Eiju, I said. So come here and worry about me.

Ma stayed silent on the line. The kid and his nanny looked both ways, before she lifted him by the arms, jogging across the road. He laughed the whole way, and she laughed, too, and once they reached the sidewalk, he stomped at the cracks between them.

My mother told me she’d think about it. I told her the offer was there.

Good night, I said. You can let me know whenever.

I’ll do that, said Ma. Good morning.



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? ? ?

Eiju’s favorite sounds in this life: the bridge of Frank Zappa’s “Watermelon in Easter Hay.” Crickets in the morning. The sound of a fresh beer mug fizzing. A car ignition struggling to turn. A train’s doors closing, the hum of a convenience store. Mitsuko humming after sex, just biding her time in the sheets.



* * *




? ? ?

From time to time, strangers wandered into Eiju’s bar. They were usually just locals who hadn’t known it existed before. They’d spot the alley lights from the road beside it, or they’d hear Hana or Sana laughing absurdly from the window. Or they were wildly drunk themselves, looking for more booze to hold their high. Sometimes tourists passed through because they just didn’t know any better, and Eiju was always the harshest with them. Most of his regulars couldn’t do shit to temper him.

One time Natsue told him that this was childish. That he’d open his eyes if he wanted to expand his business.

Eiju asked why she thought he was trying to expand anything.

It’s called being a decent human, said Natsue. A good host.

Eiju asked her who’d said he was either.

They were backpacking through the country, staying in Osaka overnight. Or they were visiting from BnBs in Kyoto. Or they’d sojourned from Tokyo because they’d heard that Osaka was popping. Or they were in town for business. Or they were visiting a partner’s parents. And Eiju was always the gruffest around Americans; he didn’t want anything to do with them. One time a guy came through because he was teaching English in Chiba, and this was winter break. Once, an entire gang of British bros stumbled in, stuffing themselves through the sliding doors, and the entire bar fell silent while the four of them talked and talked. One time a mixed chick from California told me she was visiting her father, he’d fallen ill like a week beforehand, and this chill ran all over my fucking back until I asked her more about it. But she didn’t want to talk about her situation. She wanted to get fucked up.