We The Chopsticks Do Not Bite, But Sometimes They Do Not Believe Us

The panicked young man was looking around for a moment and trying to find a good way out of the situation.

“It's a joke,” he said, and laughed awkwardly. “It's not normally in shape. My friend is the king of the restaurant, not the king, but…” The concentration on his face suggested he was searching for the right word in his head.

“The owner?”

Hortensja suggested, remembering the feeling when stress suddenly mixed everything up in her head or completely blocked access to knowledge. It had been her nightmare when she was still at school. When she worked in the store, many foreign students would come, and she was often the only one who knew basic English or helped older coworkers who had no contact with the language at all to communicate with them. It filled her with pride, which she couldn't share, because she knew she would have to look for another job. He would force her, and as always, she wouldn't dare to oppose him. She sighed heavily and realized that she had thought too far back in time, when she had an interesting conversationalist and the riddle of how to eat the dish that was in front of her.

“Yes, the owner!” Hikaru sighed with relief, almost falling into the trap of assuming too easily that they understood each other without words. “His dad, he cooks and likes jokes.” He knew it was a poor excuse, so with each word he spoke more quietly.

“So, can I feel special?” She asked, staring suspiciously at the chopsticks and the spoon, of an unusual shape for her. “Do you come here with all your girlfriends, and they get hearts like that too?”

Hikaru almost choked on his water and began to deny it feverishly. He was speaking in Japanese, so Hortensja didn't understand him, but she felt that his assurances were sincere. Besides, she didn't need it, and her stomach reminded itself even louder, and she still hadn't even worked out in theory how to approach the chopsticks.

The man caught her bewildered gaze, thanked her for the meal, and picked up his chopsticks. He watched as the young woman with him looked at him uncertainly, then clasped her hands together for a few seconds and whispered something that was in no way like what he had said earlier. He felt her gaze flicker over his hands, trying to grasp the secrets behind the skillful handling of two pieces of wood. Hikaru tried to let her imitate without her noticing she was doing it. He smiled as he watched her clumsy attempts to grab something, the concentration on her face turning into frustration. Uncertain glances at the spoon, and finally a heavy sigh.

“Horteni, I'd ask for another spoon,” Hikaru said, standing up. “You're hungry. Please don't bother.”

“I'm sorry,” she replied with sincere regret. “I've never used.” She held up her chopsticks. “These things. And the hotel always had regular cutlery.”

She thanked him for the other tools and promised herself that she would work hard on this skill. She wanted to ask Hikaru to at least teach her the basics, but as he noticed, her hunger demanded to be satisfied first and foremost, and she no longer had the patience to deal with a bowl of soup.

Hortensja tried new things with a certain amount of distrust and kept spying on her companion so as not to make any faux pas. She didn't like all the additions, but she would consider the dish as a whole to be something really tasty. After dealing with hunger, she asked Hikaru to thank his friend and his father for the delicious meal.

“Where are you from?” he finally asked, now that they could talk calmly. “What are you doing here?” He added a second question to satisfy his curiosity, and he himself didn't know why he actually needed such knowledge.

“Poland.” There was a certain longing in her voice, and her eyes glazed over.

“Chopin?” Hikaru got a bit excited that he remembered a random fact about her country, hoping to gain her favor.

“Chopin?” She seemed surprised. “I didn't know he was known here.”

“Very much.” The Japanese nodded and regretted asking this supposedly innocent question. He wondered why memories of home filled her with such negative feelings. He assumed she had only come here for a short while, but she looked as if she would never return.

There was a silence between them. It wasn't awkward, more like walking on a frozen lake, not sure if the temperature was low enough to be safe. Every word that was spoken in their conversations was like testing the ground for the next step, and taking the one seemed like a difficult task.

An additional obstacle was the language barrier, made all the more difficult by the fact that they didn't know a language that they both spoke with relative fluency. Even with a basic knowledge of English, expressing thoughts precisely seemed unattainable, and using translators disrupted the natural rhythm of the conversation if it got some flow. Nothing stood in the way of people who cared to communicate, if they had a real reason for it. Hortensja and Hikaru couldn't name it yet, but they felt it existed every time their eyes met.

“Sorry.” The girl reached back and tossed some of her hair over her shoulder. Hikaru's attention was drawn to the small marks on her arms. He didn't have time to look closely, although he could have sworn that they were bruises. She quickly covered them with her sleeve and smiled to dissuade him from asking.

“I still miss my home a lot, and I don't know if I'll find another one anywhere.”

“Maybe here?” He held his breath, as if the answer to this question would affect his life.

“I don't know. I don't know… what to do.”

Matsuo and his father weren't eavesdropping, but they were watching the two of them whenever they weren't too busy with their duties. The old man nudged his son and told him to intervene.

“Look, she'll start crying soon. I didn't know Hikaru was capable of that, but go do something before she bursts into tears.” His voice was full of disappointment with the behavior of the young man, whom he treated almost like a second son. However, the firstborn hesitated and decided not to interfere, which he firmly informed his father about.

When they were discussing in hushed tones whether any action should be taken, Hikaru suggested to the Pole that he would take her to the hotel, and he would go on one of the last trains. Hortensja blamed herself for spoiling the atmosphere of the meeting, but she couldn't keep her emotions in check. The unfortunate questions brought up the wrong things. When it was time to say goodbye, they both started talking at the same time, and the girl gave way to the first word.

“Ramen, lots of different kinds. Do you want to try another one?” he asked, to which she laughed. For a moment, he felt like a schoolboy who had been rejected by the most popular girl in school. Only after a moment did he realize that her laughter was full of warmth.

“I wanted to ask you to teach me how to eat…” She made a gesture as if she were trying to catch something with chopsticks. “This would be a great opportunity. Can I wait for you after you finish work? Tomorrow?”

Hikaru nodded and waved goodbye to her just before entering the hotel. He couldn't believe the whole way home that he had even arranged a date.