Lingering Haze

Sensitive content: Organized crime

“The cured water from the Fukushima Daiichi Nuclear Power Plant radioactive reactors meets the safety standards and has been released…”

I turn off the TV immediately. I actually hate the colorful Japanese TV shows and sometimes watch them to practice my Japanese. I apply a thick layer of sunscreen on my face. I put the long SPF protection pants on and look for my favorite protection sleeves for like 10 minutes. Where are they? I pick up another pair, because by now I have about five. It is over 45 degrees Celsius outside on this wonderful August day. Fortunately, I rarely go out during the day. But today I need to do some banking and grocery shopping, then practice some of tonight’s songs on my guitar.

The moment I step out of the house, the heat of the asphalt makes me feel like I am in an oven. The hot air is burning the hairs in my nose. I have a little fan in the neck that is just mixing the scorching air. I have a huge thermos with ice water in my heavy bag. I drag my sweaty body towards the train station, craving for the AC inside. By the time I take a seat in the train, all my clothes are soaked, and now I feel clammy-cold. I take my hat off and fan myself with it. As I make my way towards the bank, I am again immersed in the radiant heat and can barely breathe. I take a sip of the ice-cold water, and it gives me chills as it flows down my throat. I for sure need to take another shower once I get home. I have a hard time at the bank, but in the end, I succeed and already dream of ice-cold noodles for dinner. I do some grocery shopping and get all the ingredients.

When I arrive home, I pop the air conditioner to the max and eat some cold almond jelly. After a shower, I feel reborn. I eat dinner, then practice some pieces on my guitar before heading to work.

My workplace is a jazz club downtown called Deep Blue Sea. I wear the usual simple black dress that I use for performances. It is a hustle to be in the art world. You never know whether you get booked, but I am lucky and have at least two shows at this club each week. The rest of the time, I teach some music and do other odd jobs. The usual customers are the Japanese salarymen who drop by on the way home, some couples, sometimes lonely guys, and other times tourists. There is always a lot of chatting between sets and after, but to be honest, I am so exhausted today from the errands under the punishing sun that I want to go home as soon as possible.

I arrive on time, which in Japan means 30 minutes early, so I can get everything set up. Some of the customers are already there, sipping on our signature blue martini. I see some of the regulars. Sometimes I wonder if they come for the music, alcohol, or to see me. I am always nice and kind to them and try to keep the magical aura to make them come back. Most people are there before the set starts, but today, I am already singing, and a rough-looking guy shows up mid-show. My boss rushes over and takes his order. Usually a chill person, he loves jazz and is always swinging along to the music, but this time, he looks almost frightened. I look at the guy he is serving. He wears a black shirt and black pants. I observe him between sets, and I notice an irezumi tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve. Now I understand…I set my guitar aside, and as I head to the back room, my boss approaches me, almost foaming at the mouth:

“Lilly, you need to talk to that customer. His name is Takeda. Please be as polite as possible.”

“But boss, I am not a hostess; we have discussed this before. I hate these situations…” I say whiningly. He gives me a begging look and no reply. I roll my eyes at him and head to Takeda’s table. I am really freaked out. I really don’t want to have anything to do with these people…But I know I might lose my job if I don’t help my boss out.

“Takeda-sama, welcome! May I have a seat?”

He is sitting spread out in the chair, looking me up and down, and makes a sign with his hand to sit down.

“Did you enjoy the first set, sir?”

He looks at me and huffs, seemingly amused, but no reply. Quite annoying, but I guess part of today’s customer service. He orders another drink for himself and for me, then keeps staring at me without saying anything. I give up making small talk and am counting the minutes until the next set begins. I take a few glances at my boss; he is nodding affirmatively. I notice that Takeda’s face is a bit more serene compared to when he arrived, stern. Good, I’ve got this. The pianist shows up from the back room, so I excuse myself and head back to the stage.

“Takeda-sama, I am so sorry, but I have to head back. I wish you a wonderful rest of the evening.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me, so I head back, hoping this was it for today’s private entertainment section. I go on with my set, my shoulders stiff and my fingers aching. I am dreaming of my fluffy bed. Takeda leaves before the set is over. I still have some overtime work to do. Some of the regulars approach me to chat; they are always hoping for an afterparty…But I don’t really like any of them…not interested.

“Lilly, thank you so much today! Otsukaresama. He was…” my boss makes a sign with his index finger on the cheek.

“Ah…I see, boss, are we in trouble?” I ask quite worried.

“No, we are fine, but he might be coming back…” he says, looking left and right as if to check if someone can hear him.

On the way home, I am spiraling. There are some shady businesses downtown, but I didn’t know our bar was also involved with the yakuza… I guess all bars are… they are everywhere. Keeping the dark side of the underworld under control.

“Chinese scientists managed to create a mutation of crops that can grow in salt water.” I turn off the news once again; this will spoil my appetite. I woke up at noon today because I have music lessons. The school I teach at has classes only in the evening, so I can chill at home until then. After the sun sets, I make my way towards the school, but I notice a black Mercedes stopping and a guy waving his hand at me to go there. I look closer. It is Takeda.

“Hey, get in,” he says, looking at me over his sunglasses.

I look back at him with a questioning face.

“Oh, thank you for your kindness, but I have classes today at school. Would you excuse me…” I am trembling in my Airism pants.

He opens the door next to him and looks at me with a blank face. What am I getting myself into? The whole car ride, we listened to some chill jazz piano and didn’t talk at all.

To my great surprise, he takes me to my workplace. I bow and thank him, as he leaves promptly, but chills are running down my spine.

“An unexpected sand storm is sweeping over western Japan today.” Maybe if I don’t listen to this, I can pretend this is not happening. Just like with Takeda-san…Wait, sand storm? Can I actually go to work today? I message my boss, and he says we are closed today because of the sand storm. I pick up my guitar and practice, but the image of Takeda-san keeps coming up in my mind.

“Authorities are warning of brown fog today. Residents are advised to wear a face mask at all times and limit non-essential travel. Mud rains are expected, so people are encouraged to stay indoors.” And my paycheck? How will I make money this way? I am sure we are closed today also. After checking with my boss, it turns out we are closed today, again. I asked for my shift for next week, but no reply. I look outside the window and can see fine yellow sand swirling outside. The sunlight is orange and dim. I guess I will binge-watch my favorite show…

“After yesterday’s mud rain, the air has cleared. Outdoor activity is permitted with caution.” There we go! No reply from my boss, so I decide to go to the bar and see what is going on. I put on my six-layered filter mask and head out in the impossible heat. The air is still, no wind, just a stifling air even after sunset. The buildings are radiating heat, but I make my way through the narrow streets downtown. There are barely any people in sight. I arrive at the bar and see a big sign saying: Permanently Closed. Then I feel someone grabbing my wrist, and it startles me.

“This way!” It is Takeda. He lets go of my wrist and tells me to walk towards his parked car. I sit, and as he starts the engine, he turns towards me:

“He had debt, so we sent him to Fukushima.” He says matter-of-factly. I freeze and stare at him without a reply.

“I know you are in trouble now. We will help you.”

He takes me to some sort of headquarters. It is a mid-sized concrete building on a quiet street, completely unremarkable. No colorful signs, just all curtains half down. He pushes a heavy door, and we walk into a quiet but unsettling place.

“This is our bar; your room will be upstairs. You are free to leave any time if you have better options.” He doesn’t wait for my reply, but hands me the keys to my room. I stand there undecided as he keeps looking at me.

“Weather conditions are getting worse. Our operations will be done from this building, so there will always be customers, and you will be paid better than before.”

I wonder if this was his recruiter's pitch, but it is true. I either pack my bags and go home to my parents or take this opportunity and see where it goes. Although I already know it might go really wrong. I nod and go upstairs. I look around in the traditional tatami mat room. It is empty and very toned down with just a calligraphy on the wall. I hear a knock at the door.

“I will take you to get your stuff now.”

I follow him as if through a haze. It all seems like a weird dream. He takes me home and follows me to my room. He sits down on a chair, waiting for me to pack, and turns the TV on.

“Following today’s still conditions, intermittent black rain is expected for the evening. Residents are advised to avoid direct contact.”

My hands stop packing, and I look at him. He looks back at me, rolling up his sleeve.

“Need any help?”

I can notice a half-koi, half dragon curling on his forearm with some peony flowers blooming behind it.

“What does that mean?” I ask him, pointing at the tattoo. He has a faint smile for the first time.

“It is called ryuugyo. I will tell you another time, now let’s pack quickly.”

I packed my stuff in two big suitcases and then my guitar, of course. He carries them for me as we head towards this unexpected new life.