Hiroshima Bugi: Atomu 57

7. Ronin of the Origami Cranes

| 91 | RONIN OF THE ORIGAMI CRANES | 7 Ronin of the Origami Cranes Margarito Real and two other men were seated at a table near the window of the restaurant at the Ana Hotel Hiroshima. Real, a feral storier, waved and turned his hands, an oral punctuation and diversion , and with each gesture he bounced in his penny loafers. He leaped out of his seat to shake my hand, and then with his head cocked to the side, he examined my face, ears, and clothes. His hand was moist, sticky, and withered by contact. Real must be a hafu terrier in disguise. No goggles? Mission over. Where? Peace museum. Big news. What? Dead letters. Real abruptly introduced me to the others at the table, and then he asked me about the rubber gloves. I was distracted by his sudden query, but anticipated his fascination and pulled the yellow gloves out of my shirt. He puckered his lips and slowly, in total concentration , slithered his hands into the gloves. I told him that rubber gloves make the man, and he was taken by the gift. Real admired each floppy finger, and then raised his gloved hands and waved to the hotel manager, the same man who had evicted Virga. My leprosy gloves. No, really? Yes, yes almost. You order now? Derek Decisis said he was a retired justice on vacation from California . Stare, his legal nickname, has dark eyes, white hair, a great smile, and from time to time he recites poetic lines from country and western popular music. He ordered the pork medallion platter with fresh asparagus. No vegetables. Why not? | RONIN OF THE ORIGAMI CRANES | 92 | Touch of poison. Real ordered a whole fish, any fish, and a bottle of red wine, any wine, and then expounded on the vintage and year. His showy toast was a seductive but evasive invitation to visit his wine cellar in a secret place that he promised to reveal later. Petros Komuso, the other man at the table, was a culture and language teacher at the university. Later he told me in a secretive tone of voice that he was a covert secret agent. What sort of agent? Corporate spy. Covert? Yes, furtive. For what? Fiscal policy. Why? The future. Petros wore a huge straw hat that covered most of his face. His smile was furtive, hidden in the shadow of the wide straw brim. He ordered a tofu sampler, a wide selection of sushi, and taruzake, a golden sake that has been aged in cypress casks. Later, he ordered nigori, a sweet, cloudy dessert sake. Mine was salmon, rice, and seaweed. Real devoured the fish, most of the wine, and turned every nonce, notice, and conversation into irony. He gestured with those yellow rubber gloves over a second bottle of wine. The synthetic rubber fingers squeaked on the glass. Stare carefully severed the heads of asparagus and pushed the tender tips aside on his plate. He ate each cut of stalk with tiny medallions of pork. Hiroshima women, he boldly announced, as he sliced the asparagus, have very thin waists. Petros sipped sake, smiled under his hat, and slithered lower and lower into his chair. Miko on my mind. Look, atomu waists. Wispy genes. Mutant generations. Real told the others about our meeting at the museum earlier that day, and they surely heard the news about the dead letters. One by one they offered me peculiar and indirect advice. Stare borrowed words, lines, diction, and reason from several blues and country | 93 | RONIN OF THE ORIGAMI CRANES | western songs to construct his stories of native resistance and survivance . Johnny Cash, for instance, created a boy named Sue. The line was lost on me at first, but then he described the scene. This is a nasty, rough world, and you must be tough or die, and so the sentiment of a father who named his boy a girl. Stare was indirect, to say the least, but he probably meant to say that a hafu is a rough name, and to survive you must fight. Likewise, rough peace might be the allegory. The world of peacemongers is severe, and one must resist the fakery. Finally he pushed his plate of asparagus heads aside and recited variations of a song about an egg sucking dog. I counted seven severed heads and asked him why? Slight and fleshy. No the heads. Loose ends. Puny favorites...