[Jinta] & [Tashigi]
by umarekawareru and lundi
A Series of Less-than-fortunate Events
“Oh my god,” Shindou says, fingers digging into your arm hard enough to crack into the bone probably, you think. “Oh my god,” Shindou continues, “Touya, we’re not in Korea.”
“Shindou, that is ridiculous,” you snap, try to shake his hand off your arm, stare hard at the airport signboards. “Oh,” is all you say, then, and Shindou’s laughter beside you is hollow and hysterical and wild. All you want to do is sink to the floor and maybe look helpless for a bit, but whatever dignity you have left keeps you upright, rigid and pale and suddenly so very, very tired.
***
“Look, Waya,” Shindou is shouting into his cell phone, “it’s not like we were trying to-no! Fuck off, this is serious! Stop laughing! I need you to-I don’t know! Of course I don’t have the money to buy plane tickets, my luggage is in Korea! How much do you think I carry on me? Look, can you just-I already told you, Taiwan, we’re in Tai-What-no! Shut up I am not selling my body for cash, did you miss the part where this is serious-of course I called my mother! No, she didn’t answer the phone-no, they’re, I don’t know, somewhere in China. Waya! Come on, there has to be something-”
You smile and nod at all the passerby in the airport lobby who are staring openly at Shindou and Shindou’s hysterics, try as hard as you possibly can to look as if you have nothing to do with the strange and obviously deranged man screaming into the phone behind you. You don’t think it’s working particularly.
“I swear to god when I get back to Japan you are a dead man! I-” There is a long, long silence, then Shindou pulls his phone away from his ear, peers quizzically at it, says, “fuck. The battery’s dead.”
But of course it is, you think. In fact, you can practically hear the sound of crows mocking you both in the background.
"Well," you say as calmly as you can manage under the circumstances. You’re probably the more adult one of the two of you, or at least you hope you are, so you think you should probably at least pretend to be in control of the situation. You’re probably deluding yourself, but whatever. "I don't imagine the Taiwanese accent is too different from standard Mandarin."
***
There is a lot of hysteria packed into the next half hour, but Shindou’s doing a good enough job of expressing it loudly and dramatically enough for both of you, you think, so you take on the task of reading the airport signs and pretending you know exactly what you’re doing. You walk far ahead enough of Shindou that hopefully nobody will think you're together, but not so far that you run the risk of being separated. It doesn't really help you avoid the weird stares, (“AND THEN WE’LL END UP DEAD IN SOME ALLEY!” Shindou is screaming, practically, from behind you) but you’re so relieved that you’ve managed to locate the information booth that you can't really bring yourself to worry about that on top of everything else.
"Excuse me," you say, enunciating your words slowly and carefully, just in case. "Are there bus going to city? Where can take one?"
The lady behind the counter gives you a confused glance and puts aside her magazine: New Female. The characters sparkle in the artificial lightning, making the picture on the front cover all the more disturbing. You feel Shindou staring intently at it, and you elbow him without looking away from the clerk.
"Bus to Taipei," you repeat. You think you must have messed up somewhere before, but pretending that you have correct Chinese grammar has dropped dramatically in your list of priorities in light of recent events. "Any departing from the airport?"
"Yes, there are," she replies then, producing a timetable out of thin air. "These are the times. You can take one just outside the terminal. If you exit through that gate at the end of the corridor, it should be on your right. You can pay the fare once you've boarded the bus."
You bow, feeling like there might be a beacon of hope after all (“I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME IN A BODY BAG, TOUYA!” Shindou shriek-whispers from behind you. At this point you’re fairly sure he’s doing it to annoy you, probably. You ignore him). "Thank you very much for your help," you say, and then in Japanese, "Okay, Shindou, let's go."
"Right," Shindou nods, suddenly (mostly) composed. He's still fidgeting with his iPod, tossing the headphones from hand to hand. "Let's-HEY, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" he shouts in Japanese as a random passerby slams into you both, almost hard enough to knock you over.
The man keeps walking, doesn't even look back, but everyone who wasn’t before is staring at the two of you now. "Let's go," you repeat, and grab Shindou's sleeve to pull him along.
***
By the time you get to the currency exchange Shindou is almost done fuming about the injustice of it all, so you don’t feel quite so strongly obligated to remind him that it was, in fact, all his fault that the two of you had ended up on the wrong plane. “I mean!” he’s saying, now, still tossing his iPod from hand to hand and looking ridiculously distraught, “how does that even happen? Don’t they check the tickets? How-?”
How indeed, you think, reach into your back pocket for your wallet-which isn’t there. Check again. Check coat pockets, front pockets, back pockets again. Nothing. “Fuck,” you curse, watch Shindou’s eyes widen in surprise, realisation. “My wallet’s gone,” you say, “check your pockets.”
It’s a long and arduous process, apparently, but that’s what Shindou gets for wearing those ridiculous cargo pants. “Gone!” he wails, after checking everywhere twice and searching the air around himself wildly for a few moments. “And my phone! My phone!” A middle-aged man dragging a gaggle of children has stopped on his way past to stare at the pair of you oddly. You smile at him stiffly, turn back to Shindou, grit out, “I’d be more concerned about how we’re going to pay the bus fare to get out of here when we have no money, Shindou.” You can feel the biggest headache of your life coming on. “We have to get in touch with the Institute, we have to get in touch with the Koreans, they’ll still be expecting us-”
“Excuse me,” says the man you had noticed earlier, tapping you on the shoulder, string of children still trailing behind him. “Did you say you were from the Japanese Go Institute? I thought I’d recognised your faces! Those two famous young go players, right?” His Japanese is a bit stilted but intelligible, and the whole situation might be, might be worth it if only for the look of shock on Shindou’s face.
It’s too ludicrous and it’s too neatly easy but this whole day has been one ridiculous impossibility after another, so you just smile, don’t gape, say politely, “we’re from the Go Institute, yes,” and the man practically beams at you.
“I knew it!” he says, children crowding up behind him to stare at you. Shindou is still gaping and looking absurd, so you ignore him. “I didn’t mean to be rude but I overheard you talking-you’re trying to get into the city?”
“Ah-yes,” you answer, “but I don’t know-it looks like our wallets were lifted-it’s kind of an odd sit-”
“I can give you a lift!” he says, talking over your explanation, and the children behind him start laughing and shoving each other. “It’d be worth it if I could get a few games out of you two. I’m a go player myself, you see,” he grins.
“Ah,” you say, and well, at least he doesn’t look like an axe murderer. “Well. We would certainly appreciate it,” you say, elbow Shindou sharply in the ribs. “Right, Shindou?”
“Uh. Yeah!” he says. “Thanks!”
Really, you wonder, how much worse can today get, after all?
***
You've only been sitting in the back of the station wagon for a total of two minutes at most, and you're already wondering at the wisdom of asking Murphy-esque rhetorical questions to yourself. Things can always get worse, apparently; all that's left for you to do is to be thankful for the way they are at the moment and pray to anyone listening that the little kid next to you puts her chewing gum back in her mouth and not onto your new suit.
As for Shindou, once he recovers from this latest shock in what’s becoming a long series of shocks, he totally hits it off with your benefactor. The man (Mao, he says) is congenial and talkative from the very beginning, and Hikaru seems inordinately pleased to have met someone in Taiwan who won't give him a weird look for speaking in Japanese. Before long he’s rambling on about anything that comes to mind, from the latest tournament results to popular Japanese idols, and Mao-san listens intently and laughs at his enthusiasm. The kids seem besotted with him, too. You've always found that admirable and a bit mystifying, how he can mingle and make merry anywhere and without any visible effort.
"You should come to lunch with me after the game," Mao-san is saying. "Real noodles are 100% Chinese, no arguments. You don't know what you're missing, sensei."
"I'd like to know, though!" Shindou laughs. "I could do with a bowl of ramen right now. Ramen is good for everything, don't you think? Touya, you should come too!" he adds, looking at you in the rearview.
"Sure," you say, smiling. “Though really, Shindou, I’m not just going to let you go wandering off on your own.” You expect some kind of protest, but he only laughs and turns back to his conversation with Mao. You don't care much for noodles, truth be told, but right now you've got other things on your mind. Like the fact that you've suddenly become some sort of unusual Messiah, the way these children keep staring at you devoutly (or is it deviously? It’s hard to tell. Maybe they’re going to attack you?) and speaking far too fast for your level of comprehension.
“So why were you at the airport anyway, Mao-san?” Shindou is asking, from the front seat. “Were you on a vacation?”
“Nah,” the man says, smiling. “With all these kids? No way, they’re too wild. My wife’s on a business trip, I had to drop her off.” He glances back in the mirror at you and grins. “What about you two? What brings you to Taipei?”
Shindou chokes. “We weren’t supposed to be in Taipei, actually,” you say, smiling perhaps a little maniacally. “When we boarded the airplane we were under the apparently misguided impression that it was a flight to Seoul.” You glare at the back of Shindou’s head. Mao barks a laugh.
“How did that happen?” he asks, obviously amused.
“For some reason, certain people might have been under the impression that we were supposed to be at gate 6, rather than gate 16.” Shindou’s ears are pink.
“Well, you know what they say,” Mao chuckles, lightly. “‘The unexpected is today’s greatest gift.’ Or something like that.”
“Bullshit,” Shindou says, “does anybody really say that?”
“I doubt it,” Mao laughs. “But I guess they could if they wanted to.”
***
Four hours, five games of go, and god knows how many bowls of noodle soup (on Shindou’s pert, at least) and you’re still wondering why anyone would ever quote such a ridiculous proverb. Not that anything had in particular about your situation had gotten worse, but then it hadn’t gotten any better, either.
The go, at least, had been simple. They’d eventually arrived at a tiny hole-in-the-wall go parlour where Mao’s numerous offspring had been hailed and whisked somewhere out of sight by the counter girl (“We’re here a lot,” Mao had said. “Ru will take care of them.”) Mao had been skilled but obviously lacked any great talent for the game-but there was an ease of the familiar in that, as well.
Things had rapidly gone downhill from there, however.
The place Shindou had allowed Mao to drag them for lunch has been loud and hot and noisy; Shindou had been embarrassing and loud and rude, and Mao’s brood had just been loud.
(Once, surreptitiously, you had tried to count them-but it had proven impossible; they were always moving and kicking and shoving and all appeared to be under ten. Theoretically, you knew, there couldn’t be more than five, unless Mao’d stuffed some of them in the trunk of the station wagon, but still-)
Mao himself just seemed to find everything amusing.
“Shindou, you are being obnoxious,” you had snapped at one point, and then, when he’d pointed his chopsticks at you, about to retort, “oh, please try to pin any of this on me.”
Mao had laughed and said something like “boys, boys,” while pulling one of the smaller children out from beneath the table. “So how exactly are you planning on getting home?”
***
An hour after that you find yourself inside of an anonymous net-café, with at least enough cash to pay for a few hours of web time to send out desperate SOSes to everyone you both know and a bus back to the airport.
“Are you sure your friend Waya will have told the Institute about your phonecall earlier?” you ask, doubtful.
“Well, maybe if it were just you stuck in Taiwan, probably no,” Hikaru says, looking not at all apologetic. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll’ve told someone-and I’ve just sent him a desperate plea for help, so I think we’re covered. Also I still owe him dinner.”
“What does owing him dinner have to do with anything, Shindou?” you demand, watching Shindou copy-paste his plea for rescue into message boxes, carefully editing the contents of the message he sends a few recipients-his parents, you assume, for one; another for Morishita-sensei perhaps.
“Because,” Shindou explains, rolling his eyes, “he can’t let me die while I owe him, can he?”
“You’re being far too fatalistic about all this,” you say. “I really doubt we’re going to die here, Shindou.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes and waving a hand at you. “You just keep on thinking that, Touya.”
***
> E-mail from Waya Yoshitaka to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: RE: LOST IN TAIWAN. SEND MONEY.
Shindou,
I talked to the Institute; they said they'll send you new tickets by e-mail as soon as possible. How come you didn't think of buying them with Touya's money, though? Well, if I were you I wouldn't want to owe him anything, but you know, priorities.
How are you enjoying Taiwan so far? I think you should reconsider selling your body, did you know Japanese men are really popular in China? And I mean, REALLY POPULAR. All the evidence is in the attached file.
-- Waya
PS: We had to tell the Koreans what happened to you two. Sorry.
FILE ATTACHED: newfem_chinacentraltape.jpg
> E-mail from Ko Yeong-ha to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: You continue to stun me with your astonishing level of intelligence.
Boarded the wrong plane? Really? I'm impressed.
So, how are you finding the weather?
> E-mail from Shindou Hikaru to Waya Yoshitaka, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: WHY MUST YOU RUIN MY LIFE
Where the hell did you find that? Wait, don't answer that. No, but seriously, Waya! I'll never be able to eat at a Japanese restaurant again without remembering that!
Touya's pocket was picked at the airport. Okay, you can stop laughing now.
Also, why does the Korean bastard have my e-mail address?
-- Shindou H.
PS: You're an awful friend, you know that?
> E-mail from Waya Yoshitaka to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: RE: WHY MUST YOU RUIN MY LIFE
I told you, we had to tell them. Someone called up the Institute all mad panicked.
You still owe me dinner, by the way.
> E-mail from The Japan Go Institute to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
TICKETS FOR FLIGHT FROM TAOYUAN INT’L AIRPORT AUGUST 5, 4:25 AM
Shindou Hikaru-sensei,
You will find your and Touya-sensei's return tickets attached. They only need to be printed out.
We would like to apologize for any inconvenience this slight delay may have caused you. Thank you for your patience and we wish you a safe trip back.
Yours sincerely,
Yamada Kintaro
Human Resources
Japan Go Institute
FILE ATTACHED: ticket_confirmation_order#187597-87-754.doc
> E-mail from Ko Yeong-ha to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: RE: FUCK OFF, YOU INSANE BASTARD
Just writing to wish you a safe trip back home. (Additionally, just in case you ever need to come to Korea again, you will find that "Seoul" and "Taiwan" are spelled differently. I've attached a link to a very good online kanji dictionary, just in case you need to make any further consults.)
Hong says hi.
> E-mail from Shindou Hikaru to Ko Yeong-ha, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: WHAT PART OF “FUCK OFF” DONT YOU UNDERSTAND
Please die in a ditch.
***
By the time you leave the net-café it’s nearly nine o’clock that night, and pouring a hot rain that steams up on the pavement and makes it nearly impossible to breathe. The bus back to the airport is late (of course) and so by the time you stumble back into the terminal it’s nearly eleven, your hair is dripping water all over your now-ruined new suit, your shoes are squelching, and Shindou has set up a constant low-level mutter about all the injustices the world has heaped upon him. Touya’s name hasn’t come up yet, but he’s sure it will, sooner or later.
“I was wondering why that fruitcake bastard kept sending me emails about the fucking weather,” he spits at last. “’s probably sitting at his computer laughing his ass off. Actually, I know he was laughing his ass off. Bastard.”
Shindou continues tossing around imprecations about Ko’s parentage while you hunt for the right gate, but by the time you’ve blearily slumped into the plastic lobby seats he’s moved on to another target; the Institution, from the sound of it. You’re not paying a huge amount of attention to him, but the words “redeye” and “cheapskates” have been repeated more than once, so you’re fairly sure you’re correct.
“God, Shindou, give it a rest!” you snap after another half an hour of scowling and resentful sighing. The lobby seating is awkwardly-shaped and hard and you can still feel the damp in your hair, your shoes, your shirt-collar. It’s uncomfortable, a nagging irritation, and it’s making you edgy. “Tooooouya!” He whines, after a moment of silence, throwing his shoulder against yours, a heavy, languid weight against your arm. “I don’t see how you can be so...not upset about this. It’s not like it would’ve killed them to have gotten us a hotel or something if they were going to buy us tickets for the cheapass four-in-the-morning flight.”
“I think we gave up the right to demand a hotel room when we got on the wrong plane, Shindou,” you sigh, nudge his side with your elbow. “Get off of me. You’re acting ridiculous. And you’re heavy.”
“But you’re comfortable. Er. More comfortable than lying on the seats would be. And I’m ti-ired,” his last word stretched out by a yawn. “So that was a ‘no’, anyway.”
“For once it’d be nice if you listened to me when I talked to you,” you snap, but Shindou’s either ignoring you or falls asleep faster than anyone you’ve met in your entire life. You sigh and close your eyes, because the day has been just so bizarre and frustrating and you’re exhausted, exhausted, exhausted.
The next time you open them it’s just long enough to grab the tickets and Shindou and pull him onto the plane, stumbling and half-asleep, and you’ve barely sat down again before you’re asleep, lulled by the sound of the engines and Shindou’s warm weight on your side, reassuring and still.
The time you wake up after that you really wish you’d just stayed asleep.
***
“Oh my god, Touya,” Shindou says, and you’re fairly sure he has embedded his fingers in your shoulder. “Oh my god where are we. This is not Japan.”
“Oh my god I am never travelling with you ever again,” you scream, and if you had anything to use as a weapon you’re pretty sure Shindou would be going home in a body bag. “Can you please explain to me why we are in Beijing..”
“If I knew why would we be here?” Shindou shrieks back, then seems to have a sudden realisation.
“Ah!” he says, after a moment’s though. “But isn’t your dad here? He’ll front us some cash, right?”
You close your eyes, let your head hit the nearest vertical surface (fortunately a wall).
“Hey? Touya?” Hikaru is sounding increasingly hysterical. “That’s right, isn’t it? Am I right-?”
A Series of Less-than-fortunate Events
“Oh my god,” Shindou says, fingers digging into your arm hard enough to crack into the bone probably, you think. “Oh my god,” Shindou continues, “Touya, we’re not in Korea.”
“Shindou, that is ridiculous,” you snap, try to shake his hand off your arm, stare hard at the airport signboards. “Oh,” is all you say, then, and Shindou’s laughter beside you is hollow and hysterical and wild. All you want to do is sink to the floor and maybe look helpless for a bit, but whatever dignity you have left keeps you upright, rigid and pale and suddenly so very, very tired.
***
“Look, Waya,” Shindou is shouting into his cell phone, “it’s not like we were trying to-no! Fuck off, this is serious! Stop laughing! I need you to-I don’t know! Of course I don’t have the money to buy plane tickets, my luggage is in Korea! How much do you think I carry on me? Look, can you just-I already told you, Taiwan, we’re in Tai-What-no! Shut up I am not selling my body for cash, did you miss the part where this is serious-of course I called my mother! No, she didn’t answer the phone-no, they’re, I don’t know, somewhere in China. Waya! Come on, there has to be something-”
You smile and nod at all the passerby in the airport lobby who are staring openly at Shindou and Shindou’s hysterics, try as hard as you possibly can to look as if you have nothing to do with the strange and obviously deranged man screaming into the phone behind you. You don’t think it’s working particularly.
“I swear to god when I get back to Japan you are a dead man! I-” There is a long, long silence, then Shindou pulls his phone away from his ear, peers quizzically at it, says, “fuck. The battery’s dead.”
But of course it is, you think. In fact, you can practically hear the sound of crows mocking you both in the background.
"Well," you say as calmly as you can manage under the circumstances. You’re probably the more adult one of the two of you, or at least you hope you are, so you think you should probably at least pretend to be in control of the situation. You’re probably deluding yourself, but whatever. "I don't imagine the Taiwanese accent is too different from standard Mandarin."
***
There is a lot of hysteria packed into the next half hour, but Shindou’s doing a good enough job of expressing it loudly and dramatically enough for both of you, you think, so you take on the task of reading the airport signs and pretending you know exactly what you’re doing. You walk far ahead enough of Shindou that hopefully nobody will think you're together, but not so far that you run the risk of being separated. It doesn't really help you avoid the weird stares, (“AND THEN WE’LL END UP DEAD IN SOME ALLEY!” Shindou is screaming, practically, from behind you) but you’re so relieved that you’ve managed to locate the information booth that you can't really bring yourself to worry about that on top of everything else.
"Excuse me," you say, enunciating your words slowly and carefully, just in case. "Are there bus going to city? Where can take one?"
The lady behind the counter gives you a confused glance and puts aside her magazine: New Female. The characters sparkle in the artificial lightning, making the picture on the front cover all the more disturbing. You feel Shindou staring intently at it, and you elbow him without looking away from the clerk.
"Bus to Taipei," you repeat. You think you must have messed up somewhere before, but pretending that you have correct Chinese grammar has dropped dramatically in your list of priorities in light of recent events. "Any departing from the airport?"
"Yes, there are," she replies then, producing a timetable out of thin air. "These are the times. You can take one just outside the terminal. If you exit through that gate at the end of the corridor, it should be on your right. You can pay the fare once you've boarded the bus."
You bow, feeling like there might be a beacon of hope after all (“I DON’T WANT TO GO HOME IN A BODY BAG, TOUYA!” Shindou shriek-whispers from behind you. At this point you’re fairly sure he’s doing it to annoy you, probably. You ignore him). "Thank you very much for your help," you say, and then in Japanese, "Okay, Shindou, let's go."
"Right," Shindou nods, suddenly (mostly) composed. He's still fidgeting with his iPod, tossing the headphones from hand to hand. "Let's-HEY, WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!" he shouts in Japanese as a random passerby slams into you both, almost hard enough to knock you over.
The man keeps walking, doesn't even look back, but everyone who wasn’t before is staring at the two of you now. "Let's go," you repeat, and grab Shindou's sleeve to pull him along.
***
By the time you get to the currency exchange Shindou is almost done fuming about the injustice of it all, so you don’t feel quite so strongly obligated to remind him that it was, in fact, all his fault that the two of you had ended up on the wrong plane. “I mean!” he’s saying, now, still tossing his iPod from hand to hand and looking ridiculously distraught, “how does that even happen? Don’t they check the tickets? How-?”
How indeed, you think, reach into your back pocket for your wallet-which isn’t there. Check again. Check coat pockets, front pockets, back pockets again. Nothing. “Fuck,” you curse, watch Shindou’s eyes widen in surprise, realisation. “My wallet’s gone,” you say, “check your pockets.”
It’s a long and arduous process, apparently, but that’s what Shindou gets for wearing those ridiculous cargo pants. “Gone!” he wails, after checking everywhere twice and searching the air around himself wildly for a few moments. “And my phone! My phone!” A middle-aged man dragging a gaggle of children has stopped on his way past to stare at the pair of you oddly. You smile at him stiffly, turn back to Shindou, grit out, “I’d be more concerned about how we’re going to pay the bus fare to get out of here when we have no money, Shindou.” You can feel the biggest headache of your life coming on. “We have to get in touch with the Institute, we have to get in touch with the Koreans, they’ll still be expecting us-”
“Excuse me,” says the man you had noticed earlier, tapping you on the shoulder, string of children still trailing behind him. “Did you say you were from the Japanese Go Institute? I thought I’d recognised your faces! Those two famous young go players, right?” His Japanese is a bit stilted but intelligible, and the whole situation might be, might be worth it if only for the look of shock on Shindou’s face.
It’s too ludicrous and it’s too neatly easy but this whole day has been one ridiculous impossibility after another, so you just smile, don’t gape, say politely, “we’re from the Go Institute, yes,” and the man practically beams at you.
“I knew it!” he says, children crowding up behind him to stare at you. Shindou is still gaping and looking absurd, so you ignore him. “I didn’t mean to be rude but I overheard you talking-you’re trying to get into the city?”
“Ah-yes,” you answer, “but I don’t know-it looks like our wallets were lifted-it’s kind of an odd sit-”
“I can give you a lift!” he says, talking over your explanation, and the children behind him start laughing and shoving each other. “It’d be worth it if I could get a few games out of you two. I’m a go player myself, you see,” he grins.
“Ah,” you say, and well, at least he doesn’t look like an axe murderer. “Well. We would certainly appreciate it,” you say, elbow Shindou sharply in the ribs. “Right, Shindou?”
“Uh. Yeah!” he says. “Thanks!”
Really, you wonder, how much worse can today get, after all?
***
You've only been sitting in the back of the station wagon for a total of two minutes at most, and you're already wondering at the wisdom of asking Murphy-esque rhetorical questions to yourself. Things can always get worse, apparently; all that's left for you to do is to be thankful for the way they are at the moment and pray to anyone listening that the little kid next to you puts her chewing gum back in her mouth and not onto your new suit.
As for Shindou, once he recovers from this latest shock in what’s becoming a long series of shocks, he totally hits it off with your benefactor. The man (Mao, he says) is congenial and talkative from the very beginning, and Hikaru seems inordinately pleased to have met someone in Taiwan who won't give him a weird look for speaking in Japanese. Before long he’s rambling on about anything that comes to mind, from the latest tournament results to popular Japanese idols, and Mao-san listens intently and laughs at his enthusiasm. The kids seem besotted with him, too. You've always found that admirable and a bit mystifying, how he can mingle and make merry anywhere and without any visible effort.
"You should come to lunch with me after the game," Mao-san is saying. "Real noodles are 100% Chinese, no arguments. You don't know what you're missing, sensei."
"I'd like to know, though!" Shindou laughs. "I could do with a bowl of ramen right now. Ramen is good for everything, don't you think? Touya, you should come too!" he adds, looking at you in the rearview.
"Sure," you say, smiling. “Though really, Shindou, I’m not just going to let you go wandering off on your own.” You expect some kind of protest, but he only laughs and turns back to his conversation with Mao. You don't care much for noodles, truth be told, but right now you've got other things on your mind. Like the fact that you've suddenly become some sort of unusual Messiah, the way these children keep staring at you devoutly (or is it deviously? It’s hard to tell. Maybe they’re going to attack you?) and speaking far too fast for your level of comprehension.
“So why were you at the airport anyway, Mao-san?” Shindou is asking, from the front seat. “Were you on a vacation?”
“Nah,” the man says, smiling. “With all these kids? No way, they’re too wild. My wife’s on a business trip, I had to drop her off.” He glances back in the mirror at you and grins. “What about you two? What brings you to Taipei?”
Shindou chokes. “We weren’t supposed to be in Taipei, actually,” you say, smiling perhaps a little maniacally. “When we boarded the airplane we were under the apparently misguided impression that it was a flight to Seoul.” You glare at the back of Shindou’s head. Mao barks a laugh.
“How did that happen?” he asks, obviously amused.
“For some reason, certain people might have been under the impression that we were supposed to be at gate 6, rather than gate 16.” Shindou’s ears are pink.
“Well, you know what they say,” Mao chuckles, lightly. “‘The unexpected is today’s greatest gift.’ Or something like that.”
“Bullshit,” Shindou says, “does anybody really say that?”
“I doubt it,” Mao laughs. “But I guess they could if they wanted to.”
***
Four hours, five games of go, and god knows how many bowls of noodle soup (on Shindou’s pert, at least) and you’re still wondering why anyone would ever quote such a ridiculous proverb. Not that anything had in particular about your situation had gotten worse, but then it hadn’t gotten any better, either.
The go, at least, had been simple. They’d eventually arrived at a tiny hole-in-the-wall go parlour where Mao’s numerous offspring had been hailed and whisked somewhere out of sight by the counter girl (“We’re here a lot,” Mao had said. “Ru will take care of them.”) Mao had been skilled but obviously lacked any great talent for the game-but there was an ease of the familiar in that, as well.
Things had rapidly gone downhill from there, however.
The place Shindou had allowed Mao to drag them for lunch has been loud and hot and noisy; Shindou had been embarrassing and loud and rude, and Mao’s brood had just been loud.
(Once, surreptitiously, you had tried to count them-but it had proven impossible; they were always moving and kicking and shoving and all appeared to be under ten. Theoretically, you knew, there couldn’t be more than five, unless Mao’d stuffed some of them in the trunk of the station wagon, but still-)
Mao himself just seemed to find everything amusing.
“Shindou, you are being obnoxious,” you had snapped at one point, and then, when he’d pointed his chopsticks at you, about to retort, “oh, please try to pin any of this on me.”
Mao had laughed and said something like “boys, boys,” while pulling one of the smaller children out from beneath the table. “So how exactly are you planning on getting home?”
***
An hour after that you find yourself inside of an anonymous net-café, with at least enough cash to pay for a few hours of web time to send out desperate SOSes to everyone you both know and a bus back to the airport.
“Are you sure your friend Waya will have told the Institute about your phonecall earlier?” you ask, doubtful.
“Well, maybe if it were just you stuck in Taiwan, probably no,” Hikaru says, looking not at all apologetic. “But I’m pretty sure he’ll’ve told someone-and I’ve just sent him a desperate plea for help, so I think we’re covered. Also I still owe him dinner.”
“What does owing him dinner have to do with anything, Shindou?” you demand, watching Shindou copy-paste his plea for rescue into message boxes, carefully editing the contents of the message he sends a few recipients-his parents, you assume, for one; another for Morishita-sensei perhaps.
“Because,” Shindou explains, rolling his eyes, “he can’t let me die while I owe him, can he?”
“You’re being far too fatalistic about all this,” you say. “I really doubt we’re going to die here, Shindou.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, rolling his eyes and waving a hand at you. “You just keep on thinking that, Touya.”
***
> E-mail from Waya Yoshitaka to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: RE: LOST IN TAIWAN. SEND MONEY.
Shindou,
I talked to the Institute; they said they'll send you new tickets by e-mail as soon as possible. How come you didn't think of buying them with Touya's money, though? Well, if I were you I wouldn't want to owe him anything, but you know, priorities.
How are you enjoying Taiwan so far? I think you should reconsider selling your body, did you know Japanese men are really popular in China? And I mean, REALLY POPULAR. All the evidence is in the attached file.
-- Waya
PS: We had to tell the Koreans what happened to you two. Sorry.
FILE ATTACHED: newfem_chinacentraltape.jpg
> E-mail from Ko Yeong-ha to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: You continue to stun me with your astonishing level of intelligence.
Boarded the wrong plane? Really? I'm impressed.
So, how are you finding the weather?
> E-mail from Shindou Hikaru to Waya Yoshitaka, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: WHY MUST YOU RUIN MY LIFE
Where the hell did you find that? Wait, don't answer that. No, but seriously, Waya! I'll never be able to eat at a Japanese restaurant again without remembering that!
Touya's pocket was picked at the airport. Okay, you can stop laughing now.
Also, why does the Korean bastard have my e-mail address?
-- Shindou H.
PS: You're an awful friend, you know that?
> E-mail from Waya Yoshitaka to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: RE: WHY MUST YOU RUIN MY LIFE
I told you, we had to tell them. Someone called up the Institute all mad panicked.
You still owe me dinner, by the way.
> E-mail from The Japan Go Institute to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
TICKETS FOR FLIGHT FROM TAOYUAN INT’L AIRPORT AUGUST 5, 4:25 AM
Shindou Hikaru-sensei,
You will find your and Touya-sensei's return tickets attached. They only need to be printed out.
We would like to apologize for any inconvenience this slight delay may have caused you. Thank you for your patience and we wish you a safe trip back.
Yours sincerely,
Yamada Kintaro
Human Resources
Japan Go Institute
FILE ATTACHED: ticket_confirmation_order#187597-87-754.doc
> E-mail from Ko Yeong-ha to Shindou Hikaru, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: RE: FUCK OFF, YOU INSANE BASTARD
Just writing to wish you a safe trip back home. (Additionally, just in case you ever need to come to Korea again, you will find that "Seoul" and "Taiwan" are spelled differently. I've attached a link to a very good online kanji dictionary, just in case you need to make any further consults.)
Hong says hi.
> E-mail from Shindou Hikaru to Ko Yeong-ha, August 4, 2008:
SUBJECT: WHAT PART OF “FUCK OFF” DONT YOU UNDERSTAND
Please die in a ditch.
***
By the time you leave the net-café it’s nearly nine o’clock that night, and pouring a hot rain that steams up on the pavement and makes it nearly impossible to breathe. The bus back to the airport is late (of course) and so by the time you stumble back into the terminal it’s nearly eleven, your hair is dripping water all over your now-ruined new suit, your shoes are squelching, and Shindou has set up a constant low-level mutter about all the injustices the world has heaped upon him. Touya’s name hasn’t come up yet, but he’s sure it will, sooner or later.
“I was wondering why that fruitcake bastard kept sending me emails about the fucking weather,” he spits at last. “’s probably sitting at his computer laughing his ass off. Actually, I know he was laughing his ass off. Bastard.”
Shindou continues tossing around imprecations about Ko’s parentage while you hunt for the right gate, but by the time you’ve blearily slumped into the plastic lobby seats he’s moved on to another target; the Institution, from the sound of it. You’re not paying a huge amount of attention to him, but the words “redeye” and “cheapskates” have been repeated more than once, so you’re fairly sure you’re correct.
“God, Shindou, give it a rest!” you snap after another half an hour of scowling and resentful sighing. The lobby seating is awkwardly-shaped and hard and you can still feel the damp in your hair, your shoes, your shirt-collar. It’s uncomfortable, a nagging irritation, and it’s making you edgy. “Tooooouya!” He whines, after a moment of silence, throwing his shoulder against yours, a heavy, languid weight against your arm. “I don’t see how you can be so...not upset about this. It’s not like it would’ve killed them to have gotten us a hotel or something if they were going to buy us tickets for the cheapass four-in-the-morning flight.”
“I think we gave up the right to demand a hotel room when we got on the wrong plane, Shindou,” you sigh, nudge his side with your elbow. “Get off of me. You’re acting ridiculous. And you’re heavy.”
“But you’re comfortable. Er. More comfortable than lying on the seats would be. And I’m ti-ired,” his last word stretched out by a yawn. “So that was a ‘no’, anyway.”
“For once it’d be nice if you listened to me when I talked to you,” you snap, but Shindou’s either ignoring you or falls asleep faster than anyone you’ve met in your entire life. You sigh and close your eyes, because the day has been just so bizarre and frustrating and you’re exhausted, exhausted, exhausted.
The next time you open them it’s just long enough to grab the tickets and Shindou and pull him onto the plane, stumbling and half-asleep, and you’ve barely sat down again before you’re asleep, lulled by the sound of the engines and Shindou’s warm weight on your side, reassuring and still.
The time you wake up after that you really wish you’d just stayed asleep.
***
“Oh my god, Touya,” Shindou says, and you’re fairly sure he has embedded his fingers in your shoulder. “Oh my god where are we. This is not Japan.”
“Oh my god I am never travelling with you ever again,” you scream, and if you had anything to use as a weapon you’re pretty sure Shindou would be going home in a body bag. “Can you please explain to me why we are in Beijing..”
“If I knew why would we be here?” Shindou shrieks back, then seems to have a sudden realisation.
“Ah!” he says, after a moment’s though. “But isn’t your dad here? He’ll front us some cash, right?”
You close your eyes, let your head hit the nearest vertical surface (fortunately a wall).
“Hey? Touya?” Hikaru is sounding increasingly hysterical. “That’s right, isn’t it? Am I right-?”