The Man in The Bullet Train

The train pulled into Fukuoka at silly o'clock and we camped in a station cafe to treat ourselves to more coffee (essential in my case) and more pastries (considerably less essential), whilst we waited for the 8h37 Express, the next train to Beppu. A local one of three hours, seemingly stopping at every cluster of more than three buildings it could. The 'express' label was clearly a triumph of optimism over reality! But once the caffeine had revived the Walking Dead (gaijin-model), l used that journey time profitably. To fret. Mostly about what Wataru's reaction was going to be to me rocking up. But also to the Japanese Laurel and Hardy l'd brought with. Then there was Katsumi and Keiko as a further set of unknowns. And Kei, who'd comfortably slotted into the role of surrogate overgrown teenager. All in all, no shortage of potential spanners to drop themselves into the works.

Beppu itself was small and reminded me of an English seaside town at the tail end of the shoulder season. And maybe a good fifteen to twenty years past its heyday! But, the odd thing was, it straight away felt good. Like a favourite jumper that you'd never wear to go out because it's a bit out of shape but one that still makes you feel comfortable nonetheless. At home. Beppu station even has a foot-spa right outside to welcome its residents and weary tourists alike. Though what you use to dry your tootsies before you stuff them back into your Nikes is anyone's guess. Or your Jimmy Choos in the case of Katsu-curry as we teased her. Her response was that she would wipe hers on Ben-San!!

Katsumi had booked us into the best hotel in Beppu. Naturally. This time it was Western-style rather than traditional Japanese. Kei abandoned his comedy routine rapidly. At first I thought it was because he felt ill at ease in what must have a new role as guest rather than a member of hotel staff looking after tourists. But my opinion changed when I twigged the real reason for his asking rather more questions than strictly necessary of the good-looking Nepalese receptionist. A quick eye-flash from Katsumi when we at long last headed for the lifts indicated her thoughts were on the same track as mine.

'That was a nice little bit of flirting from Kei ... to get the guy to let us check in early.'

Katsumi giggled 'lt was a done deal as soon as Kei said the first thing he was going to do was use the onsen.'

'How come?'

'The receptionist said it was not usually busy between now and about 5 o'clock as guests were out visiting.'

'Makes sense!'

'And that that was when staff could use it! Like him!'

'Ha ha! Makes yet more sense!'

Sure enough, within five mins flat of getting into the room, Kei was wrapped in a yukata and repeating 'Onsen-e ikimasu, yo.' at me, worried l did not understand.

'Nepalese sashimi, eh?'

His hand shot up to cover his mouth in mock outrage before he giggled 'Tabun, ne!' I made a mental note to ask Katsumi for the translation ... the best I could come up with was 'Too fucking right!'

Kei gone, I stripped naked and walked around the room, masturbating. Enjoying the freedom of not being with someone 24/7? Marking it as my territory maybe? Or, perhaps more likely, as a way of calming my anxiety about Wataru's reaction. Because l was anxious. It would be so easy for him to have seen those few days in Kyoto as nothing other than a welcome but short diversion from the seemingly inevitable return to his father's thumb. I looked at myself in the mirror. At the beginnings of moobs and a belly. At the grey hair and beard, now joined by greying chest hair and, still more demoralising, greying pubes. What was I thinking? Wataru was twenty years younger ... and stunning with it ... l had no chance ... yes, who was l kidding? I would just have to put it behind me, walk away and just lick my wounds, however deep.

Almost as soon as l had convinced myself to leave, the phone crashed my self-indulgent party. It was Katsumi.

'Ben. I need to talk. I'm in the bar. Come down.'

I sighed and looked down at my already wilting dick.

'Gimme 10.'

***

There were no Japanese niceties from Katsumi when I arrived in the bar. Shirl was halfway down a glass of white. I hoped it was her first.

'Am l making a total ass of myself, Ben? It's been so long?'

'I don't know. It is a risk.'

'Ugh! That's not what I want to hear!'

'Look, Katsumi, it's a 'Hi, l was wondering how you've been doing?' not 'l'm carting you back to Kyoto with me, pack!'

'I probably would, you know!'

'What? Take off with her?'

'Yeah.'

'Oh, jeez, ... you probably would too! But don't let her know that in the first 5 minutes, ok? Her life here might be shite and she might be packed faster than you but I think it's more likely she'll have adapted and have a life here. Hopefully a happy, successful one. Don't threaten that or you risk no contact at all for the next twenty years too!'

She stared at her glass.

'Yeah. For a gaijin, you do talk a bit of sense.' '

Her face once again resumed the impassive mask-like state of the waiting room on the platform at Kyoto station. But, this time, her eyes were not smiling and her shoulders, normally regal, were slumped down, defeated.

'Listen, Katsu-curry, ...'

'Don't call me that!', she said. But smilingly.

'You played the long-game with your husband and won. I'm not saying it'll take that long, just not to rush in, that's all ... slowly, slowly, catchee monkey ... remember!?'

'I don't want another but I think I know how to approach her, just need to go shopping ... for stationery.'

'Ok. I'm gonna go see what Kei's up to!'

'Ha ha. Yeah, sure! Want to see how big the Himalayas are, more like!'

'That too!' I laughed. 'And what does 'tabun' mean?'

'Perhaps.'