Gaijin by Sarah Z Sleeper

Author:Sarah Z Sleeper [Sleeper, Sarah Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Running Wild Press

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The next two interviews were smoother. The director of the American Chamber of Commerce was an older agreeable man, who previously worked at the Naval hospital. He gave me stock answers, partly in Japanese and partly in English. He said learning English had been “invaluable” to his career advancement. The other interview was with a slender middle-aged woman who worked as a cashier at the Kadena Air Base commissary. She also gave pleasant, uninteresting answers, all in Japanese. When I asked her what she liked about her job she said, “All the people are very nice to work with.” When I asked why she was taking English classes she said, “To be a better employee.”

The interviews had gobbled up the afternoon and now the sun melted orange into the East China Sea. Being with Hisashi for the whole day comforted me some. We’d seen protestors off in the distance on parts of the drive, but the simmering battle on the island became background noise, at least for a day, and I hadn’t dwelled on the uncomfortable upskirt incident.

Hisashi turned the car in to Sushi Ota, the restaurant he’d pointed out earlier. I was flattered he assumed I’d want to have dinner with him and didn’t feel the need to ask me. It was comfortable, familiar somehow, to be with Hisashi. I had no idea why it was so easy to be with a relative stranger, a man like no one I’d ever known and certainly not like Owen. His energy was warm, like a favorite oversize blanket. As we walked into the restaurant, diners took in his bulk. He was imposing, towering over everyone, as magnetic because of his size and open-faced friendliness as Owen had been because of his cool confidence.

I was eager to talk about Owen, to dig for answers. But I thought better of it. For these few moments I would let go, try to unwind during a nice meal and a quiet evening under a full moon that illuminated the island with a phosphorous glow. With an illogical twinge of guilt that by quashing my Owen obsession for a few moments, I was disappointing him. I let Hisashi wrap his powerful arm around my back and guide me to a table. He waved hello to the two chefs who smiled and brandished knifes.

The ornately carved knife handles shone and spun as the men skillfully assembled beautiful pieces of fish, rice and seaweed one at a time. Hisashi ordered cuttlefish, mahi-mahi and ahi, all fresh and delicious. Dinner at Owen’s in Evanston popped into my head. I took a swig of saké and refocused on my surroundings. The restaurant was dim with twinkle lights adorning the sushi bar and candles flickering on the tables.

Hisashi and I sat across from each other and talked about the day. I told him I felt doused in antagonism from all directions, from the angry interview with Takayuki-san, the upskirt incident, the protests and profane sign at the office. He was attentive and listened without saying much.

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