Memorial(61)

He leaned against the counter, holding one wrist in the other. I scratched at my shoulder.

Look, I said. I see Eiju every day. He knows what he’s doing. And what’s coming.

I couldn’t help him, said Kunihiko.

That’s not your job.

That’s where you’re wrong.

Kunihiko stood up, with his hands behind his back. Our foreheads nearly grazed each other’s.

I should’ve been there, he said. At the hospital. When he found out he was sick. For all of it. Because I’ve been with him, this whole time. And you should have, too. That’s the problem. The problem is that you were gone.

Kunihiko had beer on his breath. He was breathing on me now, leaning his forearms on the counter.

He could’ve died, said Kunihiko.

Bullshit, I said.

Stop. He could’ve. And what would you have done then?

I think that’s enough, I said. Have you been drinking?

No. Maybe. But where were you, exactly? Really?

None of your fucking business, Kunihiko.

Out fucking boys, probably. While your father chokes on his deathbed.



* * *





There’s this phenomenon that you’ll get sometimes—but not too often, if you’re lucky—where someone you think you know says something about your gayness that you weren’t expecting at all. Ben called it a tiny earthquake. I don’t think he was wrong. You’re destabilized, is the point. How much just depends on where the quake originates, the fault lines.



* * *





Anyway. That’s what I felt.

I waited to see if Kunihiko would break the silence again, but he did not.

I said, That’s none of your business.

I bet you think I’m an idiot, he said.

No. But I think you’re being fucking ridiculous.

Do you really think Eiju wouldn’t have told me that, said Kunihiko. Me?

I think you’re fucking pissing me off, Kunihiko.

Good. That’s a good thing. You should be pissed. You should fucking care.

Kunihiko, I said, and I grabbed at his collar.

It happened pretty quickly. More like a dance than anything else. There wasn’t any space for him to go anywhere, so there we were, groin to groin, and when Kunihiko tried to shift, I set my feet on either side of him.

Okay? I said. Okay?

Fine, said Kunihiko. Let me go.

No.

Listen to me, I said. I’m going to tell you a secret.

My father is going to die, I said. He’s on his way out. And when he goes, who do you think’s gonna decide what happens with this fucking place? And how do you think I’ll feel about this particular conversation, after it happens? You think that’ll help your situation?

Is that a threat?

This is a promise, Kunihiko.

So you think you’re my fucking boss now, said Kunihiko.

No, I said. I know you work for me. Until I say otherwise.

Kunihiko’s eyes bulged. But he’d stopped shifting around. It was the most upset I’d seen him.

And then the door opened behind us.

Sana stood in sweatpants and a coat, with a young woman beside him. He smiled by the door, but it slid from his face as he looked from Kunihiko to me, and the woman only blinked.

And then I saw the babies in their arms.

I could tell when Kunihiko saw them, too, because that’s when he exhaled.

We both threw our hands behind our backs, stepped away from each other.

Hope we’re not interrupting anything, said Sana.

No way, I said.

Your kids! said Kunihiko.

Yeah, said Sana. And this is my wife, Erka. We were just passing through.

Maybe we’re too early, said Erka.

No, I said. You’re totally fine. Kunihiko was just pouring your drinks.

I wasn’t doing shit, said Kunihiko.

Of course you were.

No, said Kunihiko, blinking, standing straight.

You’re right, he said. If I stay here, I’d work for you. I get that. But I don’t have to stay.

And just like that, Kunihiko slipped from behind the counter. He stumbled on his way out, catching himself. When Sana moved to help him, Kunihiko stopped for a moment, and then he shrugged him away, before he slipped past Erka and out the door.

That left the five of us in the bar.

Both of the twins yawned.

So, said Erka, is it like this every night?

Sana looked at me. I waved them to the stools. They both took a seat, juggling the kids, and I turned on the radio.

I asked if they were hungry. I hadn’t prepped much just yet, but I could make that happen.

Eiju never cooks this early, said Sana.

I know, I said, turning on the faucet, washing my hands.



* * *




? ? ?

Slowly, slowly, and then all at once.



* * *





Eiju reduced his actions to a tidy formula: he woke up, walked slowly down the road to the station. Rode the local line to a bakery he liked in the next neighborhood over. Took a coffee, bought some pastries, and, some days, he’d bring them back. Other days, he’d eat them there. But after he finished, he’d leave, find a bench, and have a smoke by the park. When he made it to the apartment, he’d lay back down again. He’d watch television, clicking through the channels. He’d cook lunch for himself, and then me, after I’d woken up. Just before I left for the bar, he’d have a final cigarette, and he’d set his head down to sleep.