Graveyard of Memories (John Rain Thrillers) by Eisler Barry

Author:Eisler, Barry [Eisler, Barry]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2014-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

chapter

twenty-two

We drove the short distance southwest, parked, and got out. Setagaya was an upscale suburban part of Tokyo, outside the Yamanote, where people with money might move if they wanted a little less urban density and a little more green. It was quiet most of the time, and at night could be remarkably serene. And Kitazawa-gawa, a kind of nature walk to the extent such a thing could be said to exist in Tokyo, was particularly charming in the evening, with a little creek burbling along beside it, lots of grass and trees, and evocative shadows cast by tall iron streetlights. I pushed Sayaka along, enjoying her company, liking that she trusted me enough to take her somewhere new. I was beginning to appreciate how difficult it must have been for her to get around. The world was nowhere near as handicapped-accessible then as it’s since become, and every grassy or other soft surface, every narrow space, every curb represented an obstacle. And that’s with someone there to help. Alone, just a few short stairs would have been for her what a twenty-foot wall would be to me.

“It’s another universe out here,” she said, looking around us and up at the trees.

“I know. Tokyo’s like the blind men and the elephant. Every part you touch fools you into thinking you know the whole thing. But I don’t think anyone can really know Tokyo. It’s too big, and too…I don’t know. Mysterious.”

She glanced back at me. “You really like it, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer right away. The wheels of her chair crunched softly along the pavement. Somewhere, a dog barked. Other than that, the city was silent and still.

“It’s kind of a love-hate relationship, I guess.”

“Why? Because you’re half?”

Haafu is a neutral Japanese word for people of mixed parentage, words borrowed from abroad carrying less emotional content.

“Yeah, you know. I never really felt accepted here. I loved it, but it didn’t love me. I guess it’s kind of pathetic that I’m back. Like showing up on the doorstep of a girl who kicked me out. But…shit, it’s a long story.”

“You have someplace to go?”

Apparently, I did not. I told her a little about my childhood in Tokyo. The taunts, the bullies, my father’s conflicted shame. “It’s not a great place to grow up if you’re not really Japanese,” I said. “I mean, if you’re a hundred percent something else, they don’t care. They might even admire you. But if you’re half…if you look Japanese but you’re really not…they hate that.”

She laughed. “You think I don’t know?”

“You mean the wheelchair? Do you get discriminated against? I’m sorry, I admit I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Not the wheelchair. Being Korean.”

I stopped pushing and looked at her from the side. “You’re Korean?”

“Second-generation zainichi. And it’s just like you said. Japanese hate us because they can’t tell us apart. I mean, all prejudice is crazy, but it’s even crazier when you have to hire a private detective to track down a person’s lineage so you can know whether to discriminate against him!”

We both laughed.

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