Chapter Ten

Haruki blinked awake.

Consciousness returned and he flipped over and stared at the ceiling. I’m in a hotel in New York City. The brass lamp hanging from the ceiling had a modern art design. The events of the past day crashed into his mind. As he lay there, the adrenaline rush of focus shifting fast as a bullet from a gun played in vivid memories. He pushed them aside for a moment to latch onto the slippery fragments of dreams.

The fiery planet and the Hadean people kept him company while he slept. Now awake, they slid out of his mental grasp like sand through a fist. The realization still sat uneasily in him. How could he have grown up a human and still been so inhuman? Why hadn’t his spirit retained such a vivid memory until very recently?

The phone rang. He reached over by the bedside and grabbed it. “Hello?” His English might be accented, but he got it in one try.

“I’m down in the lobby,” The Lieutenant Colonel said. “Get showered and ready and be down in about a half hour.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

He showered and changed clothes. In the lobby, she picked him up and they drove to the airport. The Lieutenant Colonel waved goodbye to him at the TSA entrance. After passing through TSA, he boarded a flight to Los Angeles, watching anime on his tablet until he landed. At LAX, he headed for the baggage claim, where a woman in flared jeans and a flower pattern shirt held up a sign with his name.

“Hi,” she greeted in American-accented Japanese, “I’m Rachel Danneson.”

He shook her extended hand. “Haruki Kawakatsu.”

They picked up his baggage and headed to her car. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I’ve only had a sandwich on the plane.”

They got in her green sports car and left the lot. “What do you want to eat?”

“I heard America was famous for its diners,” he said.

She smiled and turned on a progressive rock playlist. “I know just the place.”

As they drove, he marveled at the Los Angeles city skyline. Up close, it never got old to see it. As the city gave way to the suburbs and strip malls, the sheer variety of the city made itself clear. The multiculturalism was apparent in the sea of faces carrying more variety than he’d seen anywhere in Japan. There were so many conversations going on in complete contrast to the self-censoring of the Japanese pedestrian. Outside the bustle of the city, deep in the suburbs, the car pulled into a diner that looked straight out of the American seventies.

“What would you like?” the waitress asked as they sat at a booth.

“Coke,” Haruki replied. No point in complicating things.

“Iced tea,” Rachel said.

The waitress left to fill drinks and the two looked over the menu. Haruki could read most of the food names, but the pictures were a godsend. He smiled at the mediocre photography; it added a touch of homeness to the place.

“You decided what you want?” the waitress said, putting their drinks in front of them.

Haruki simply pointed to the biggest chicken sandwich platter he saw. Rachel ordered some Tex-Mex item. Fifteen minutes later, a platter consisting of a double-stacked chicken sandwich with lettuce, tomato and Swiss cheese along with seasoned fries. He chewed. “Oh, so good.”

“So,” Rachel asked, “what’s your superhero plans?”

“Hmm?” he replied.

“Are you going to sign a renewal contract with Japan when you turn eighteen?”

He washed down his bite. “I don’t know. I mean, I want to keep helping people, but I’m wary about legal arrangements.”

“I get you,” she replied. “Working for the military is sometimes annoying because I want to do more than the small assignments I’m given.

“So,” he replied, “you are in the military. I thought so.”

“Sergeant First Class,” she said. “Working my way through college.”

He took another sip. “What’s your plan, then?”

“I want to be a biologist,” she said. “Fact is, I think that’s our key to solving a lot of mankind’s problems.”

“Huh,” he replied. “Biology. Yeah, I can see that.”

“So,” she said, “if you don’t mind me asking, Japan considers you their top hero. Is your goal to be the top superhero?”

He shook his head. “No, unless it’s art or music, or something like that, being the best at something is kind of dumb.” He finished his last bite. “Honestly, I just want to do the best job I can.”

She smiled. “You know, you’re more open than a lot of guys I’ve talked to.”

The question amused him. “A lot of Japanese are quiet and reserved. I’m always open for conversation.”

When they finished, she paid. After eating, they drove to the hotel. Since he’d stay for a few more days before being sent home, the military put him up for free. They unloaded his baggage, and she checked him in. The cavernous lobby with its sparkling chandeliers and modern art light fixtures presented the image of luxury. They took the elevator up to the sixth floor and to his room, a multi-bedroom suite. It took a few minutes to plug in his USB charger and electric toothbrush.

“Where did you want to go now?” she asked.

He turned to her. “You’re going to take me around?”

She nodded. “I figured you’ve got at least a few days before you have to go back, why not have some fun?”

“I want to see the scenery,” he said, “the ocean.”

“I know just the place,” she replied.

They drove up the highway to a higher elevation about an hour from the city. The desert and foliage mixture struck a chord with him. Even just riding up the state was like visiting another planet. Tokyo was a concrete jungle. He’d gone to the rural areas to visit distant relatives and seen forests and agricultural land. None of them could compare to the sheer variety of the United States. Despite every flaw and criticism of the world’s richest nation, it had the most gorgeous scenery.

The car pulled into a parking lot after ascending a winding uphill road. When they stepped out of the car, he walked out onto the grassy area of the hill and stared out at the ocean. “Wow.” The salty tinge in the air perfectly melded with the distant waves crashing against the sand. The metropolis of millions of people spread out beneath and around him gave him a spiritual twinge. This is what I fight for. Even if he didn’t know these people, he fought for their safety.

“It’s really something,” she said, “isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he replied. It was easy to get caught up in nationalism, to think of everyone in terms of ‘our people’ and ‘those people,’ but if gods and monsters wanted to destroy and conquer, they wouldn’t think in those terms. Bad guys often had only one person they were loyal to, and that was themselves. People like Kensuke had to think in those terms, their jobs required it. Maybe it would even save lives to think in those terms. Haruki couldn’t, because the whole world depended on him. Standing on a hill, staring out at the Los Angeles cityscape and the ocean in the distance, it became clear how meaningless barriers of nationality were.

“Would you like to hang out with my friends?” she asked.

The question threw a bucket of ice water on his reverie. “With your friends?” She nodded in response. “Sounds like a plan!”

They got in the car, and they drove past strip malls, businesses, and farms, and headed for the suburbs while vibing to Rush’s A Farewell to Kings album. The car pulled into a suburb of expensive-looking houses and after several winding turns, came to a three-story monstrosity with entirely too many fake pillars. “We’re here,” she said.

No way in hell someone bought this on a military salary, he thought.

A multi-ethnic group came out to greet them. The group appeared to be young adult, possibly as young as nineteen. A young woman shook his hand and said, in English, “you must be Haruki! I’m Louise Bellman.” At his curiosity, she pointed her thumb at the house. “It’s my parents’ place. They own a local newspaper.”

“How are you liking things here?” a black man asked.

“Good,” Haruki replied. He hoped his accent wasn’t too strong.

“Eric Vickerson,” the black man introduced.

A medium-dark skinned woman shook his hand. “Jamie Richards.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Haruki said, bowing.

Inside, the entryway and living room, while spacious, was smaller than Kenshi’s place. It was definitely more colorful, with less conservative decorations and brighter designs. In the living room, a gaming PC and several video game consoles were hooked up to a surround sound system and a massive OLED television. Louise loaded the latest Street Fighter.

Haruki played first against Rachel. His Chun-Li fared well against her Sakura, as she proved not quite up to his level of skill. She handed the controller off to Eric, who made short work of him with Zangief. He handed the controller off to Jamie, who destroyed Zangief with her Ryu. The whole time, as they chatted back and forth, he smiled at the camaraderie, even if he only caught most of the English words.

After several more rounds of Street Fighter, Eric raised his hand and asked, “Who wants to watch anime?”

Everyone cheerfully agreed, and after a bit of haggling, they started watching Demon Slayer. A joy washed over him as he took it in. Watching anime with foreigners, and young people legally adults at that, proved a wondrous experience. He intellectually knew adults could and did watch anime, but to see young Americans watching it made it better. A lot of Japanese parents still dismissed such things as childish and seeing others not giving it up made him realize he’d never give it up.

“Jujutsu Kaisen next!” Jamie cried as another episode ended.

“No problem,” Eric said.

“I love this one!” Haruki said.

“I figured you would,” Rachel said.

They watched a few more episodes. What a nice break from work, Haruki thought.

As the episode ended, someone’s stomach growled. “Who wants to get food?” Jamie asked.

Rachel put up a finger. “Hold on.” She turned to Haruki. “You’re the guest. Was there any food you wanted to try?”

He spent a full fifteen seconds thinking about it. There was something he’d always intended to try. “Indian food.”

“I know just the place!” Rachel said. They piled into two vehicles and drove out of the suburb, through traffic, and arrived at an Indian restaurant.

No sooner had Haruki stepped inside when a cavalcade of scents totally new caressed his nose. Flavors he didn’t know he wanted announced their presence and his mouth watered. They sat at a large table and the waitress took their drink order. When she returned, he pointed to the two things he wanted.

“Chicken Tikka Masala,” the waitress said, “and Tandoori Chicken?”

He looked at Rachel, who nodded. “Yes.”

Twenty minutes later, everyone’s order came. An enormous pile of white rice sat at the center of the table in a huge bowl. In front of him was placed a bowl of chicken pieces in an orangish creamy sauce. Next to it sat a hot plate with pieces of chicken, the color of red clay, on a bed of steaming onions.

My god, he thought, such a good smell. He’d never seen chicken such a deep shade of red before. He scooped a helping of white rice onto his plate and flattened it into a bed before spooning several helpings of the Tikka Masala on top. With a hearty stir, he had a gorgeous mixture. He took a bite. “Oh, wow.”

“Good, right?” Rachel said. He turned and nodded, wide-eyed while chewing.

It baffled him trying to recall the last time he tasted something this good. Its flavor palate proved to elude description. It proved a totally unique mixture of spices. It easily gave Japanese curry a run for its money. As he ate, the group talked in English. Despite his decent conversational skills, the fast-paced conversation moved ahead of his ability to pick it up. Unable to keep the pace, he focused on enjoying one of the finest dishes he’d ever tasted. A tandoori drumstick greeted his tongue with a manifesto of flavor. He’d been thrust into a new universe of taste.

“So,” Eric asked, “what do you guys want to do next?”

Haruki raised his hand. “Hey, if you don’t mind.”

“Yeah?” Rachel asked.

“I’d like to go back to the hotel when we’re done,” he told her.

“No problem,” she told him. “I’ll drive you back.”

As Haruki downed the last piece of tandoori chicken, Louise paid, and the group finished their meal. He took a selfie with the group and got in Rachel’s car. As much as he enjoyed these people’s company, he found himself missing Kenshi and would want to show him several photos he took of the scenery.

She dropped him off at the hotel and gave him a kiss. “Bye, hope to see you again soon.”

“Bye,” he said.

Ascending the elevator to his room, he sprawled out on the bed and smiled. “I love America.”

He wanted to hang out with her again sometime.