Translation: v1 The Rolling Bootlegs ch 1 pt 1
Merry Christmas everyone! Delurking to post here for the first time :)
The prior colour pages have been translated on Guns and Roses. I didn't intend to er, overlap with those translators' work, but since I had already translated the whole chapter as an exercise... >.>
This translation is based off the Chinese translation, and while I've referred to the Japanese text my Japanese is worse than that of a kindergarten kid, so... please, please correct me if you know Japanese =_=
Last but not least, please don't spread this translation outside this community. Well, that's a bit of a futile request, really. If your desire to spread the Baccano! love is strong, then please at least credit me. Pretty please? :)
Final chapter … … 1
Year 2002 Summer New York- Manhattan Island
How did I get into this sticky situation?
“Face to wall!”
“Face” means face… wall more or less means the wall… ah ah, that “to”, what does it mean again? But these guys don’t really seem to care whether I understand English or not. Why do I say that? Well… because before they made their warning (or at least I think it’s a warning), my head was already pressed against the stone wall without explanation.
This all began with a lucky draw on a commercial street in Japan.
“Con-grat-tu---la--tions! The grand prize, a 5-day, 3-night trip to New Yo--------rk!”
After the shopkeeper shouted his congratulations, the bell at the side started ringing “garan garan”.
Garan garan garan garan garan…………
With the clamouring of the bell still sounding in my ear, I was already on the streets of America.
Actually, what I really wanted was just the second prize of the game.
I thread through the forest of skyscrapers towards the direction of Manhattan Bridge. I decided I wanted to go to China Town to have a meal. If I didn’t know what to eat, then I’ll just have ramen- this is common knowledge to Japanese travellers.
Even if it’s a grand prize, they offered the minimal amount of travel funds, and thus the trip was not as luxuriant as I’d imagined. Originally this was a trip of two, but because I have no girl friend, I sold one of the tickets at an exchange company, so at the very least I scraped together some spending money.
The fact that even New York has Japan’s beef donburi [1] chain stores touches me (in terms of saving money), but the shop name is still in romaji. No matter how I look at the store, it still doesn’t seem quite right. Although I hadn’t been in New York for longer than 24 hours, I was already missing the days spent in the country full of kana.
[1] donburi: Japanese "rice bowl dish" consisting of fish, meat, vegetables or other ingredients simmered together and served over rice (source: Wikipedia)
As I pondered, I ambled around aimlessly. Suddenly, I heard something that sounds like fighting.
On a small alleyway off the main street, five or six youngsters were gathered stirring up a racket. They were squatting together around something. Curious, I edged closer, wanting to see what this hoo-ha was all about. At this moment, the one who appeared to be the smallest grabbed my arm, laughing as he called out,
“Look, look.”
What was it?
My curiosity piqued, I turned my gaze to the centre of the crowd.
----What, there ain't anything there.
Just as I was about to say so, I was given a shock. With a shout, those youngsters stood up and swarmed towards me.
After that was, well, the opening of this chapter.
In the past I was full of myself, believing that even if I got involved in similar trouble I could still rely on my judgement and reflexes……… but in a real situation? I didn’t even have time to react!
I have no clue what happened to me after that. When I regain consciousness I’m already lying on the sun-baked asphalt road. Needless to say, those youngsters had escaped around the bend of the alley long before I thought about getting back up.
Good, I haven’t been killed. I first venture this happy thought, then realise everything in my luggage was stolen… looks like not everything’s all right after all. In theory one should be thankful for keeping one’s life, but ultimately humans forget pain when they heal. Now that I think about it, there was plenty of opportunity for retaliation. Of course, this is all in hindsight, but I still can’t let go of that thought.
As an animal photographer, I purposefully brought along high-end photographic equipment on this vacation. In the end, everything was stolen.
Damn it, how many tens of thousands did that camera cost? Just thinking of that makes me want to punch something.
<--->
The only option left is to report to the police through the guesthouse, leaving me filled with anger and no way of venting it. In the typical movie or TV drama fashion, I am forced to play the role of the "typical Japanese victim", which in a way is more boring than the actual robbery itself.
And the police’s reaction was outside of my expectations.
They only handed me the minimal documents necessary for applying for insurance. The hotel attendant who accompanied me to the police station tells me the police wouldn’t bother with these kinds of cases. Of course, if I was heavily injured or threatened with a gun that’s a completely different matter.
However, after saving and scrimping to buy that expensive camera, I’m going to give up so easily! Moreover, since I had no money left when buying the camera, I couldn’t even get insurance for it.
To end matters this way would really make me pissed off, so I can’t guarantee I won’t burn the shopkeeper and his family who sell this kind of trip as a product to a crisp.
Even as I imagine using ‘Shining Wizard’ [2] to knock down those thieving bastards, I beg desperately asking if there is any chance of recovering the camera. The police at the scene are sympathetic, but since it’s not a crime on the same level as killing, they can’t help me at all.
[2] Shining Wizard: the killer technique of Mutoh Keiji, Japan’s professional wrestler (Source: Wikipedia)
At this moment, the police officer who looks the same age as me looks through the report again, then gazes at the crime scene, muttering something.
I asked the translator who came along to translate what he said, and it went something along the lines of,
“… Actually, there’s a chance of getting your camera back … But it’s certainly not an advisable method (pg 17).”
<=>
“Iya iya… What a terrible disaster..”
The person appearing at the meeting point is a very classy, bon ton young man.
With a head of chestnut-coloured hair and round glasses, this person looks like the stereotypical banker. His Japanese is fluent enough to trick me into thinking he was Japanese at first… but on closer inspection his features are completely different from Japanese.
Previously, the police officer around the same age as me called some place then gave me the directions. After saying “Ask to see that man. Oh, yes, you don’t need to bring the translator”, he left. The complicated expression on his face as he said this left the deepest impression of all.
“Your luck’s not bad… That head of the investigative department who introduced you, Paul Noah, we’ve met quite a few times… If not for him, you’ll be crying yourself to sleep[3].”
[3] crying yourself to sleep (泣寝入り): being compelled to accept a situation.
To be able to use a colloquial phrase such as “crying yourself to sleep”, his grasp of Japanese must be extraordinary. And his pronunciation is not in the slightest bit out of place… No, it should be said his speech has a more ancient flavour to it than modern Japanese.
“I’ve heard about your problem. Unfortunately, it seems your belongings have been taken by them… But pranksters have been common in this area recently.”
…… He views this kind of situation as just a prank?
No matter what, this man just gives off a suspicious aura. He’s probably some kind of detective, but the feeling I got from him just wasn’t right for a proper, honest man.
… But screw that, at least I found someone I can communicate with. It makes me much more at ease too.
“So how about this? Your stolen belongings… if you reward us with a tenth of its value, I will have a little ‘negotiation’ with them. I guarantee I’ll return the camera to its true owner.”
…… I see. Looks like he’s the head of the robbers’ group. Not only can he get a tenth of the profit, he can avoid unnecessary fuss as well as eliminating the need to exchange the stolen items for money.
Still, cutting down the loss to a tenth of the value is better than not being able to retrieve the camera at all. By thinking like this, I can agree even if it doesn’t sit well with me.
そう考えた私は、男に気を許さないよえにしながら承諾した。
“Okay. Deal.”
The man stops talking and guides me to some place without another word.
男はそう言つて、私をどこかに案里しようとした。
They can’t be thinking of cutting out my organs to sell them, can they? Extremely discomforted, I decided to escape screaming for help when the situation turns bad.
Then again, if I was really killed to harvest my organs, this should be called “selling my body”.
While considering these possibilities, I don’t notice where the man is leading me until we stop to stand before a bar at the corner of a larger street.
On the sign above the bar is a beehive with English letters written in the cells of the honey comb. Since I don’t know how to read English, I’ll just call it the ‘Beehive Store’.
I smell the sweet scent of honey on stepping through the shop door. The interior of the store looks much larger than it did from the outside. Even though I say it’s a small bar, it could also be a high-class restaurant.
Run if things turn bad. With this thought, I take a closer look at the bar. While the suspicious man is inside, there are also some old people and couples, and even parents who have brought their children. Seeing this, I relax.
That man walks further into the store and says something to another man. The other man nods silently and leaves the bar without taking anything with him.
“Ah, I told him the situation… he’ll take back the item. Oh yes, don’t be mistaken, it’s just that these pranksters always operate in this area… so I think we’ll be able to find them very soon.”
Although he and the robbers were clearly in on this together, he puts on a façade of innocence. But of course I don’t have the courage to say it out loud.
“Yes, since we’re waiting anything, why don’t we chat a little.”
Even if he says so, I still don’t know what I should chat about. Whatever, I’ll just ask why his Japanese is so good.
“Oh… that’s because there’s a Japanese person at the higher levels of the organisation… That’s Yaguroma-san, he taught me a lot of things. But I learnt the modern speech and tone from Japanese movies and manga.”
Organisation? Looks like it’s some mafia-type organisation after all? But it doesn’t matter if they’re mafia, just give me back my camera. So I ask him directly about it.
“No… we’re not mafia. Although generally we’re regarded as the same type of organisation… we’re actually ‘Camorra’. Do you know what it is?”
I have never heard of this word before.
“Organisations originating from Sicily in Italy are ‘mafia’… originally they were the armed police forces of rural villages… but you can say they used to be the self-defence troops. But although we ‘Camorra’ also originate from Italy, we’re an offshoot of the police forces from Naples. But I’m not very clear on the details.”
They originated from police forces? Just this fact gives off a feeling that this ‘Camorra’ is worse than ‘mafia’! Whatever, I better keep these kinds of thoughts to myself.
“My role in our group is the ‘booker’[4]. A bit like those who control the group’s finances… In the mafia it’s the accountants who are in charge.”
[4] booker: by this I don’t mean a booking agent, but rather someone who manages the books
From my point of view, both sides are almost the same.
“Haha… nowadays people always call us ‘mafia’. Like those drug dealers, Chinese triads, Russian mobs, smugglers… but in Naples, the ‘Camorra’ is powerful. But we were born in America, so you can say we’re ‘orphans’ with no direct connection to Naples.”
Even if this man told me a lot about the inner workings of many organisations, I don’t understand what he’s talking about. I never had any dealings with any violent organisations in Japan. These ‘Camorra’ and ‘mafia’… These people who live in the dark side of society don’t seem real to me.
“That’s very normal. Even amongst people living in New York, those who come into contact with gangs make up less than 1% of the population. Don’t even talk about those who are hurt by gangs. I’m quite a nosy person myself, so there’re those with problems like yours who want to see me. However, the number of people who are even able to meet me is but a fraction of that 1%.”
… On hearing that, I want to cry about just how bad my luck was.
But I’m already hooked by that man’s conversational skills. How should I put it, it’s like chatting to a friend I’ve known for many years, even though in reality we don’t even know each other’s names.
“But actually, there should be many more people who have seen gangs. It’s just it’s rare for gangsters to tell the truth when gangs interact with people……”
That’s the kind of stuff you see on TV. It’s because people observe the 'Omerta' [5], or rather they stay silent because they’re afraid of revenge from the other side.
[5] Omerta: code of silence
But…… if this is really true, then how do you explain this person who told me about all this stuff about these organisations?
“Haha! I don’t know about other organisations, but we’re not so strict with rules and neither will we do things such as revenge… Among the mafia, members are forbidden to offer information about their organisation, even the organisation’s name. As for us Camorra…… its former incarnation as the American gang also had these rules…… but now, we members will all come out straight and say our own organisation’s name…… and even the boss himself will accept media interviews.”
So you guys love to show off? On hearing my question, that man falls silent for a moment, then explodes with peals of laughter.
After laughing for a while, he gazes at me with interest and opens his mouth to say,
“… You actually said that. To actually say that in front of a member of the Camorra…… Aren’t you scared?”
Not in the slightest.
“… You don’t suspect that I’m not a gang member?”
Absolutely not. Even if you were to lie, there is no need to especially choose the stuff about the Camorra to trick me.
“…… You’re a really strange person… When that guy, Paul, mentioned about you, I thought you were good business.”
I must really thank him for thinking so highly of me. Then I say what had been on my mind for a while: “With your fluent Japanese, you should be aware that one should address one’s elders by “-san”, right? --I’m talking about Paul. Even if in America elders aren’t viewed so reverently, you should at least show some respect?”...... Although my knowledge of this came from the travel guide.
This time that man’s silence drags on much longer, then he smirked, muttering,
“So that so-called coincidence… is like this… Interesting…”
What on earth is he talking about? While I am confused, he reveals an impish grin, like he’s a child who’s found a new plaything… or as though he’s about to pull a prank.
He smiles at me in this manner, then pretends to look as though he were hiding something, whispering conspiratorially,
“Paul… is younger than me.”
Ah… huh? Wait a minute, what did he just say? That cop just now, no matter how you look at him, is already past his prime… Can it be that the cop’s face happens to look that old?
“Never mind… Let’s go back to what we were talking about… Over these 60 years, I’ve have met around one hundred people as a Camorra. Of course this excludes the people who already know me and the police… That was how it was originally. Without a fateful meeting like today, I wouldn’t be able to meet to meet such a proper tourist like you, haha!
For a moment, I think I heard wrongly. 60 years? This young man in front of me……? While I know that it can be difficult to judge a white person’s age by his features, this young man before my eyes simply can’t be even halfway to 60 years old!
Seeing my unbelieving expression, he adjusts his glasses and, pretending to be embarrassed, opens his mouth to say,
“Well… Actually, I’m an immortal, like those found in legends. In other words, I can’t die.”
Hoooo, this guy even knows how to crack American-style jokes?
“Oh, you don’t believe me? But it’s true, whether I’m cut or burned. I won’t die.”
These so-called American jokes are the kind of cold jokes that waste people’s brainpower.
Hearing my polite answer, he smiles and-
takes out a small knife and stabs his hand.
The prior colour pages have been translated on Guns and Roses. I didn't intend to er, overlap with those translators' work, but since I had already translated the whole chapter as an exercise... >.>
This translation is based off the Chinese translation, and while I've referred to the Japanese text my Japanese is worse than that of a kindergarten kid, so... please, please correct me if you know Japanese =_=
Last but not least, please don't spread this translation outside this community. Well, that's a bit of a futile request, really. If your desire to spread the Baccano! love is strong, then please at least credit me. Pretty please? :)
Final chapter … … 1
Year 2002 Summer New York- Manhattan Island
How did I get into this sticky situation?
“Face to wall!”
“Face” means face… wall more or less means the wall… ah ah, that “to”, what does it mean again? But these guys don’t really seem to care whether I understand English or not. Why do I say that? Well… because before they made their warning (or at least I think it’s a warning), my head was already pressed against the stone wall without explanation.
This all began with a lucky draw on a commercial street in Japan.
“Con-grat-tu---la--tions! The grand prize, a 5-day, 3-night trip to New Yo--------rk!”
After the shopkeeper shouted his congratulations, the bell at the side started ringing “garan garan”.
Garan garan garan garan garan…………
With the clamouring of the bell still sounding in my ear, I was already on the streets of America.
Actually, what I really wanted was just the second prize of the game.
I thread through the forest of skyscrapers towards the direction of Manhattan Bridge. I decided I wanted to go to China Town to have a meal. If I didn’t know what to eat, then I’ll just have ramen- this is common knowledge to Japanese travellers.
Even if it’s a grand prize, they offered the minimal amount of travel funds, and thus the trip was not as luxuriant as I’d imagined. Originally this was a trip of two, but because I have no girl friend, I sold one of the tickets at an exchange company, so at the very least I scraped together some spending money.
The fact that even New York has Japan’s beef donburi [1] chain stores touches me (in terms of saving money), but the shop name is still in romaji. No matter how I look at the store, it still doesn’t seem quite right. Although I hadn’t been in New York for longer than 24 hours, I was already missing the days spent in the country full of kana.
[1] donburi: Japanese "rice bowl dish" consisting of fish, meat, vegetables or other ingredients simmered together and served over rice (source: Wikipedia)
As I pondered, I ambled around aimlessly. Suddenly, I heard something that sounds like fighting.
On a small alleyway off the main street, five or six youngsters were gathered stirring up a racket. They were squatting together around something. Curious, I edged closer, wanting to see what this hoo-ha was all about. At this moment, the one who appeared to be the smallest grabbed my arm, laughing as he called out,
“Look, look.”
What was it?
My curiosity piqued, I turned my gaze to the centre of the crowd.
----What, there ain't anything there.
Just as I was about to say so, I was given a shock. With a shout, those youngsters stood up and swarmed towards me.
After that was, well, the opening of this chapter.
In the past I was full of myself, believing that even if I got involved in similar trouble I could still rely on my judgement and reflexes……… but in a real situation? I didn’t even have time to react!
I have no clue what happened to me after that. When I regain consciousness I’m already lying on the sun-baked asphalt road. Needless to say, those youngsters had escaped around the bend of the alley long before I thought about getting back up.
Good, I haven’t been killed. I first venture this happy thought, then realise everything in my luggage was stolen… looks like not everything’s all right after all. In theory one should be thankful for keeping one’s life, but ultimately humans forget pain when they heal. Now that I think about it, there was plenty of opportunity for retaliation. Of course, this is all in hindsight, but I still can’t let go of that thought.
As an animal photographer, I purposefully brought along high-end photographic equipment on this vacation. In the end, everything was stolen.
Damn it, how many tens of thousands did that camera cost? Just thinking of that makes me want to punch something.
<--->
The only option left is to report to the police through the guesthouse, leaving me filled with anger and no way of venting it. In the typical movie or TV drama fashion, I am forced to play the role of the "typical Japanese victim", which in a way is more boring than the actual robbery itself.
And the police’s reaction was outside of my expectations.
They only handed me the minimal documents necessary for applying for insurance. The hotel attendant who accompanied me to the police station tells me the police wouldn’t bother with these kinds of cases. Of course, if I was heavily injured or threatened with a gun that’s a completely different matter.
However, after saving and scrimping to buy that expensive camera, I’m going to give up so easily! Moreover, since I had no money left when buying the camera, I couldn’t even get insurance for it.
To end matters this way would really make me pissed off, so I can’t guarantee I won’t burn the shopkeeper and his family who sell this kind of trip as a product to a crisp.
Even as I imagine using ‘Shining Wizard’ [2] to knock down those thieving bastards, I beg desperately asking if there is any chance of recovering the camera. The police at the scene are sympathetic, but since it’s not a crime on the same level as killing, they can’t help me at all.
[2] Shining Wizard: the killer technique of Mutoh Keiji, Japan’s professional wrestler (Source: Wikipedia)
At this moment, the police officer who looks the same age as me looks through the report again, then gazes at the crime scene, muttering something.
I asked the translator who came along to translate what he said, and it went something along the lines of,
“… Actually, there’s a chance of getting your camera back … But it’s certainly not an advisable method (pg 17).”
<=>
“Iya iya… What a terrible disaster..”
The person appearing at the meeting point is a very classy, bon ton young man.
With a head of chestnut-coloured hair and round glasses, this person looks like the stereotypical banker. His Japanese is fluent enough to trick me into thinking he was Japanese at first… but on closer inspection his features are completely different from Japanese.
Previously, the police officer around the same age as me called some place then gave me the directions. After saying “Ask to see that man. Oh, yes, you don’t need to bring the translator”, he left. The complicated expression on his face as he said this left the deepest impression of all.
“Your luck’s not bad… That head of the investigative department who introduced you, Paul Noah, we’ve met quite a few times… If not for him, you’ll be crying yourself to sleep[3].”
[3] crying yourself to sleep (泣寝入り): being compelled to accept a situation.
To be able to use a colloquial phrase such as “crying yourself to sleep”, his grasp of Japanese must be extraordinary. And his pronunciation is not in the slightest bit out of place… No, it should be said his speech has a more ancient flavour to it than modern Japanese.
“I’ve heard about your problem. Unfortunately, it seems your belongings have been taken by them… But pranksters have been common in this area recently.”
…… He views this kind of situation as just a prank?
No matter what, this man just gives off a suspicious aura. He’s probably some kind of detective, but the feeling I got from him just wasn’t right for a proper, honest man.
… But screw that, at least I found someone I can communicate with. It makes me much more at ease too.
“So how about this? Your stolen belongings… if you reward us with a tenth of its value, I will have a little ‘negotiation’ with them. I guarantee I’ll return the camera to its true owner.”
…… I see. Looks like he’s the head of the robbers’ group. Not only can he get a tenth of the profit, he can avoid unnecessary fuss as well as eliminating the need to exchange the stolen items for money.
Still, cutting down the loss to a tenth of the value is better than not being able to retrieve the camera at all. By thinking like this, I can agree even if it doesn’t sit well with me.
そう考えた私は、男に気を許さないよえにしながら承諾した。
“Okay. Deal.”
The man stops talking and guides me to some place without another word.
男はそう言つて、私をどこかに案里しようとした。
They can’t be thinking of cutting out my organs to sell them, can they? Extremely discomforted, I decided to escape screaming for help when the situation turns bad.
Then again, if I was really killed to harvest my organs, this should be called “selling my body”.
While considering these possibilities, I don’t notice where the man is leading me until we stop to stand before a bar at the corner of a larger street.
On the sign above the bar is a beehive with English letters written in the cells of the honey comb. Since I don’t know how to read English, I’ll just call it the ‘Beehive Store’.
I smell the sweet scent of honey on stepping through the shop door. The interior of the store looks much larger than it did from the outside. Even though I say it’s a small bar, it could also be a high-class restaurant.
Run if things turn bad. With this thought, I take a closer look at the bar. While the suspicious man is inside, there are also some old people and couples, and even parents who have brought their children. Seeing this, I relax.
That man walks further into the store and says something to another man. The other man nods silently and leaves the bar without taking anything with him.
“Ah, I told him the situation… he’ll take back the item. Oh yes, don’t be mistaken, it’s just that these pranksters always operate in this area… so I think we’ll be able to find them very soon.”
Although he and the robbers were clearly in on this together, he puts on a façade of innocence. But of course I don’t have the courage to say it out loud.
“Yes, since we’re waiting anything, why don’t we chat a little.”
Even if he says so, I still don’t know what I should chat about. Whatever, I’ll just ask why his Japanese is so good.
“Oh… that’s because there’s a Japanese person at the higher levels of the organisation… That’s Yaguroma-san, he taught me a lot of things. But I learnt the modern speech and tone from Japanese movies and manga.”
Organisation? Looks like it’s some mafia-type organisation after all? But it doesn’t matter if they’re mafia, just give me back my camera. So I ask him directly about it.
“No… we’re not mafia. Although generally we’re regarded as the same type of organisation… we’re actually ‘Camorra’. Do you know what it is?”
I have never heard of this word before.
“Organisations originating from Sicily in Italy are ‘mafia’… originally they were the armed police forces of rural villages… but you can say they used to be the self-defence troops. But although we ‘Camorra’ also originate from Italy, we’re an offshoot of the police forces from Naples. But I’m not very clear on the details.”
They originated from police forces? Just this fact gives off a feeling that this ‘Camorra’ is worse than ‘mafia’! Whatever, I better keep these kinds of thoughts to myself.
“My role in our group is the ‘booker’[4]. A bit like those who control the group’s finances… In the mafia it’s the accountants who are in charge.”
[4] booker: by this I don’t mean a booking agent, but rather someone who manages the books
From my point of view, both sides are almost the same.
“Haha… nowadays people always call us ‘mafia’. Like those drug dealers, Chinese triads, Russian mobs, smugglers… but in Naples, the ‘Camorra’ is powerful. But we were born in America, so you can say we’re ‘orphans’ with no direct connection to Naples.”
Even if this man told me a lot about the inner workings of many organisations, I don’t understand what he’s talking about. I never had any dealings with any violent organisations in Japan. These ‘Camorra’ and ‘mafia’… These people who live in the dark side of society don’t seem real to me.
“That’s very normal. Even amongst people living in New York, those who come into contact with gangs make up less than 1% of the population. Don’t even talk about those who are hurt by gangs. I’m quite a nosy person myself, so there’re those with problems like yours who want to see me. However, the number of people who are even able to meet me is but a fraction of that 1%.”
… On hearing that, I want to cry about just how bad my luck was.
But I’m already hooked by that man’s conversational skills. How should I put it, it’s like chatting to a friend I’ve known for many years, even though in reality we don’t even know each other’s names.
“But actually, there should be many more people who have seen gangs. It’s just it’s rare for gangsters to tell the truth when gangs interact with people……”
That’s the kind of stuff you see on TV. It’s because people observe the 'Omerta' [5], or rather they stay silent because they’re afraid of revenge from the other side.
[5] Omerta: code of silence
But…… if this is really true, then how do you explain this person who told me about all this stuff about these organisations?
“Haha! I don’t know about other organisations, but we’re not so strict with rules and neither will we do things such as revenge… Among the mafia, members are forbidden to offer information about their organisation, even the organisation’s name. As for us Camorra…… its former incarnation as the American gang also had these rules…… but now, we members will all come out straight and say our own organisation’s name…… and even the boss himself will accept media interviews.”
So you guys love to show off? On hearing my question, that man falls silent for a moment, then explodes with peals of laughter.
After laughing for a while, he gazes at me with interest and opens his mouth to say,
“… You actually said that. To actually say that in front of a member of the Camorra…… Aren’t you scared?”
Not in the slightest.
“… You don’t suspect that I’m not a gang member?”
Absolutely not. Even if you were to lie, there is no need to especially choose the stuff about the Camorra to trick me.
“…… You’re a really strange person… When that guy, Paul, mentioned about you, I thought you were good business.”
I must really thank him for thinking so highly of me. Then I say what had been on my mind for a while: “With your fluent Japanese, you should be aware that one should address one’s elders by “-san”, right? --I’m talking about Paul. Even if in America elders aren’t viewed so reverently, you should at least show some respect?”...... Although my knowledge of this came from the travel guide.
This time that man’s silence drags on much longer, then he smirked, muttering,
“So that so-called coincidence… is like this… Interesting…”
What on earth is he talking about? While I am confused, he reveals an impish grin, like he’s a child who’s found a new plaything… or as though he’s about to pull a prank.
He smiles at me in this manner, then pretends to look as though he were hiding something, whispering conspiratorially,
“Paul… is younger than me.”
Ah… huh? Wait a minute, what did he just say? That cop just now, no matter how you look at him, is already past his prime… Can it be that the cop’s face happens to look that old?
“Never mind… Let’s go back to what we were talking about… Over these 60 years, I’ve have met around one hundred people as a Camorra. Of course this excludes the people who already know me and the police… That was how it was originally. Without a fateful meeting like today, I wouldn’t be able to meet to meet such a proper tourist like you, haha!
For a moment, I think I heard wrongly. 60 years? This young man in front of me……? While I know that it can be difficult to judge a white person’s age by his features, this young man before my eyes simply can’t be even halfway to 60 years old!
Seeing my unbelieving expression, he adjusts his glasses and, pretending to be embarrassed, opens his mouth to say,
“Well… Actually, I’m an immortal, like those found in legends. In other words, I can’t die.”
Hoooo, this guy even knows how to crack American-style jokes?
“Oh, you don’t believe me? But it’s true, whether I’m cut or burned. I won’t die.”
These so-called American jokes are the kind of cold jokes that waste people’s brainpower.
Hearing my polite answer, he smiles and-
takes out a small knife and stabs his hand.