Day 2: Part II

“Sailors of the sky / squawking songs of foreign stars-- / city dock’s sunrise.”

We were waiting for our meals at a gyudon restaurant that was on the second floor of a building down the street. After three hours at the cafe, I had come close to unleashing my restrained discontent at the Westerness of the trip when, by chance, Sean had noticed an advert for A5 Wagyu Beef and my irritation sedated. It was frightening how much one’s personality was a matter of chemical imbalance as opposed to some dignified idea of a soul. Then again, that may have been a deflection from the horrors that lay deep within my own. Sean, with a stomach as empty as mine, had opened up his soul so earnestly the moment we sat down with praise for the cafe and unabashedly mentioned it had inspired a haiku. A haikyuu? What’s more Japanese than a haikyuu! I begged him to tell me and so he had recited it with an ethereal and tender voice that was too befitting for him.

“What do you think?” he asked with puppy eyes that were hard to look at. I glanced out the window. I could see the entrance to the Lion Cafe and the street that led down to Shibuya proper.

“Well,” I began, hesitantly, “It’s cool you can write haikyuus.”

“Did you like it?”

“I don’t know much about haikyuus, or poetry in general. We did go over them a little in AP Lit. My teacher explained it using the analogy of volleyball. He said the first line serves, the second line receives, and the third line lands. The poet’s job is determining where, like, emotionally. I don’t get where yours is landing or what it has to do with the cafe.”

His demeanor softened into politeness, his smiling carrying a hint of sadness. “Guess you didn’t like it then.” He said. I hadn’t meant what I said as a criticism but it seemed he took it that way.

“Like I said, I don’t get it. It’s not that it’s a bad poem. I don’t know what to feel. Maybe if it was something about the moon maybe I’d get it better. I like things about the moon. You know like that song,” I said and then began to sing as best I could as quietly as I could. “Fly me to the moon.” I forgot the next words and began to lose the tune. “'Cause once I get you up there, the air is so rare…ified. Starry skies. Earth’s in sight…” I don’t pretend to have a good singing voice but that even the non-conspicuous customers sitting in the corner reacted was a little disheartening. I shut up quickly. “Well, you get the idea. Maybe if you explained it to me I would have more to say.”

“I can’t explain it to you,” he said like there were tears in his eyes though there weren’t. “I--it’s--that would defeat the point. It’s okay. You didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I didn’t get it. It’s different.”

“Oh yeah? I bet you didn’t ‘get’ the cafe either.”

“Wha--”

“Sorry,” he said sternly, looking down at the table. “I’m annoying you going on and on about it. I’ve been looking forward to showing you. I thought that you would like it as much as I did. I didn’t even think about what you wanted to do. I was being selfish, ordering you around like a dictator. I’m a bad host. I’m ruining--”

“No,” I said genuinely. Hearing my hunger-induced gripes out of his mouth had made them lose their weight, as though the sick pleasure from thinking them lasted when they remained unspoken. “Sure, there are some things I want to do but I’m also here to visit you. I may not be as enthusiastic about some of your hobbies, but that’s what friends do: we hang out and share our interests and stuff. To be honest, there are a few things I want to try, but I don’t know what to do beyond that. I’m just happy to be here. I’m thankful, really. So, I’ll write a haikyuu or two if that’s what you want to do, dude.”

The waiter brought Sean a plate of gyoza. “Wow, that looks good,” I said, taking advantage of the good timing and trying to shift the conversation toward something that would rejuvenate our carefree mood.

He opened his chopsticks. “Did you want to try one?” He asked as though he nulled over every word.

“Sure.” He set it in the palm of my hand. It was still hot. I blew on it a few times before taking the corner between my fingers and raising it to my mouth. “Itadakmasu! Wow, this is so good!” I made sure to smile as he took another one and handed it to me.

The waiter brought our food and set a silver canteen on our table. The bowls were more mouth-watering in person than the pictures in the ad or on the menu. The slices of beef were bright pink and laid over unseen rice, garnished with scallions, roe, and mustard with shallow ponds of soy sauce around the rim. Sean rolled a slice of beef around the rice beneath then dipped it lightly in the mustard. I did the same.

“This is so freaking good,” I said.

“I know. It melts in your mouth.” He said, rolling another slice.

For Sean an empty stomach bred sadness rather than anger. The more of the bowl he ate, the happier he became. Both of us would occasionally let out short groans of satisfaction after a bite. Then those two men in the corner would look over. Every time I turned their way, they’d stare at the wall.

“I’d like my brother to treat me to a meal every once in a while,” I said to Sean after one of the glances. I presumed they wouldn’t understand English. “I only see him on Sundays for dinner.”

“Is he still in college?” Sean said, his bowl devoid of meat.

“No, he graduated a couple of years ago. He’s got a job now.” I took another bite. “I only mention it ‘cause that guy’s brother took him out. Jealous.”

“Those guys over there?” Sean asked as he took the canteen and poured some liquid into his bowl. “I don’t think they’re siblings. They don’t look alike.”

“Coworkers?”

“They could be on a date.”

“You think so? They’re not acting all love-dovey. They should be feeding each other or reciting love poetry or something like that, ya know. Well, I’ve never been on a date so I guess I don’t know.” I said, then noticed Sean stirring his rice with a soup spoon. “What’re you doing?”

“This?” He said, pointing to his bowl with his spoon. “It’s a broth. He said to mix it into the rice and make a porridge.”

“Well, here, pour me some,” I said, scooching my bowl across the table. “Thanks.” It was better than a pallet cleanser, the salty and warm broth after the fresh and savory strips of beef. “This is so freaking good.”

Sean nodded along as he continued scooping porridge in his mouth.

After we ate, Sean suggested we see the statute of Hachiko. I wasn’t familiar with the name, but when he explained the story of a dog that died waiting for his dead master, a random memory of a second-grade story time came to mind. It wasn’t much of a detour on the way to the station and we still had the whole afternoon to do what I had suggested, yet still not made explicit, that morning.

We did Shibuya Crossing. It was right before twelve on a Monday, but even then it lived up to its notoriety. It was like playing a rhythm game if the space between the people approaching at high speeds were the notes you had to tap and swipe.

Hachiko was surrounded by other tourists, foreign and native, taking selfies while adjusting to the passersby. One would think that a monument of a story so famous it had penetrated my elementary education would be the spot of inspiration for a haiku. And yet for Sean, it was the cafe. I took a photo and we walked away.

It was a forty-minute ride to our next stop. Sean opted to sit down beside me and we rode in perfect silence. Guess he’s awake now. Good. He’s got no idea what I’ve got in store for him.