Memorial(54)
It’s not even eight yet, I said.
Sora shrugged, cracking open his can.
The two of us sat, staring at our fathers.
Has yours started bugging you about the business? Sora asked.
You could say that, I said.
Mine tells me I need to start talking to clients. But he never gives me the chance.
Your dad probably wants you to just take the initiative.
Then he needs to show me how.
And I didn’t say anything to that. It felt, for the moment, like the guy just needed someone to listen.
Maybe you’re right, he said, after a while. But just when I think he wants me to say something on my own, he gets the biggest attitude. Everything has to be on his terms.
Mine’s the same way, I said.
And he wants me to get married before I take over everything. Make an heir. Or so he says.
How’s that working out for you?
It isn’t, said Sora, taking a long pull of his beer. And it won’t.
You’re young. It’s not a race.
That’s not what I’m saying.
When I glanced Sora’s way, he didn’t say anything else.
Does he know, I said, and I felt the kid exhale beside me, emptying all the air in his lungs.
Then he turned to his shoes, kicking at the tires.
No, he said.
I think so, he added. I don’t know.
That’s cool, I said. It’s not your job to know that.
We could never talk about it, said Sora. It’ll never come up. I don’t know what he’d do.
He’d deal with it or he wouldn’t. You don’t get to control that.
It’s different for you, said Sora. You don’t live here.
I’m from here.
But you’re not from here. You get to leave.
Sora kept kicking at the tires. I watched him do that.
Sorry, he said.
Don’t be, I said.
I shouldn’t have said that.
You’re not wrong.
I know. But I still shouldn’t have said it.
I get where you’re coming from, I said.
It’s just that we only get so much time, I said. You know? And I’d hate to see you waste that.
Sora looked at me again. He scrunched up his eyes. But then he laughed.
You don’t even know me, he said.
Shut up, I said. I’m your elder. I’m trying to mentor you.
Fuck, said the kid, grabbing at the other beer.
I waved for him to pass me another one, and he opened the can before he did. We watched our fathers box each other’s shoulders by the garage, dodging fists.
* * *
When they’d finished bullshitting, Eiju and Hikaru walked our way. Three beers in, they laughed and laughed, burnt red in their faces.
There they are, said Hikaru. Already drunk. Looking like a couple of real men.
Eiju didn’t add anything to that, just smiling. Sora took another swallow from his can, and his father squeezed his shoulder, and the kid made a face that shook me, because I knew it all too well. But I didn’t say a word.
* * *
We drove back to the bar a few hours later. The traffic had picked up only slightly. The occasional car followed along behind us, before trailing off down some other lane, and Eiju sat in the passenger seat, with crumbs all over his lips, and eventually he put both hands on his knees and sighed.
You know, he said, Hikaru thinks his son’s a fag, too.
I didn’t say anything to that. I stopped at one light, hooking a right.
I told him not to worry about it, said Eiju.
You told him not to worry about it, I said. The man who still says fag.
Keep your eyes on the road, said Eiju.
I mean, what can he do about it? he said. The boy’s not like you though. Whole different situation. Hikaru’s gotta pass his place off to someone else, and that’s hard to do if his kid doesn’t have a kid.
What makes our situation any different?
The fact that I’m not Hikaru.
Well, I said. Sora could still have kids.
You’re joking, said Eiju, looking at me. You’re not in America anymore. Here we consider people beside ourselves.
I don’t think any country has a monopoly on consideration for others.
You know what I’m saying.
Maybe you should be clearer, I said.
Just because you can do something doesn’t mean that you should, said Eiju.
That’s not Hikaru’s decision to make, I said.
We sat at a stoplight. Eiju fondled a toothpick between his lips.
Maybe it isn’t, said Eiju. But he’s making it anyway. The property’s going to someone.
So you feel sorry for him.
Is that what it sounds like?
It does.
Well, said Eiju, it’s none of my goddamn business. Their family’s their family. I’ve got my hands full with mine.
We settled in front of a light. A small troupe of schoolkids crossed in a steady jog.
If my hands weren’t on the steering wheel, my fingers might’ve exploded from their joints.
I didn’t ask what family, specifically, Eiju was referring to.
I didn’t tell him that the only thing he did with his actual family was abandon us.
* * *