[APH] The Six Degrees of Separation (1st° Part 1)
Title: The Six Degrees of Separation
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters: Greece, Egypt, Japan, Turkey, France, England, America, Canada, Finland, Sweden, Sealand, North and South Italy, Russia, Germany, Prussia, Spain, Belarus, Ukraine, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Poland, China, South Korea
Pairings: France/England, Spain/South Italy, Germany/North Italy, Lithuania/Poland, Turkey/Japan, Finland/Sweden
Genre/Rating/Warnings: friendship, romance, drama, family/PG/AU, human names, shifting POVs, language shifts (which I really hope people won’t get confused by)
Summary/Excerpt: The Six Degrees of Separation is the idea that everyone in this world is connected by at most six people. It’s an empowering, intimidating thought to know that the world can be shrunk within just one city and that lives begin to affect one another as people converge and intersect. Our story begins with a pair of brothers who manage a fruit shake stand in Dotombori, Osaka and bear witness to different fates being drawn together from all over the globe.
Prologue | 1st° Part 1 | 1st° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 1 | 2nd° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 3
3rd° | 4th° | 5th° | 6th° | Epilogue
In this installment: We meet a family in a foreign land, a lonely baker, a teacher with painful buried memories and a man who's a candidate for digging them up.
The Six Degrees of Separation
First Degree (Part 1)
♠ the sun begins to shine on your horizon
7:00am
The neon of Fruit Blends lit up and Herakles smoothed out the creases of his apron. Hassan finished sweeping the front of the stand and went inside to join him. He watched as his brother stashed the broom and dustpan under the stairs and took a seat beside the sink to continue reading the book he started on last night. With a shrug, Herakles leaned on the counter and resumed staring outside.
The street was relatively quiet.
There were shouts of welcome from the generic cosmetics store by the far right. They must be having some sort of sale, he thought. No, scratch that. They always have a sale. A smudge of yellow caught his eye and he turned left to look.
Children in two neat lines rounded the corner and entered the empty shopping street. Herakles counted fifteen of them, all dressed in yellow uniforms with matching hats and bags that made them look like mushrooms. Their teacher brought up the rear, also dressed in a smart, yellow collared shirt, jeans and sneakers. Perhaps they were on some sort of field trip.
Herakles had never been good with kids (they tend to tire of him easily despite his patience) so he was impressed to see this lone teacher supervising the lot. He was a short man, the epitome of a Japanese, with clean-cut hair and smallish hands. Herakles wondered how old he was. The man had a kindly yet disciplined feel to him. He must be good with kids because none of them were particularly misbehaving. That or it was their first time to have an activity outside of school. Inquisitive looks graced the children’s faces.
They looked headed toward the fruit shake stand and Herakles straightened up. He called out his usual welcome which made Hassan look up from his book and nod a greeting. The teacher approached the counter and gave a brilliant smile. Herakles’ heart warmed.
“I’d like to order several fruit shakes,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice.
“Of course,” Herakles replied. Hassan stood up to wash the blenders. “What would your orders be?”
“Teacher! I want strawberry!” called a little boy.
“I want melon peach!” squealed a little girl and all at once, the class crowded about and shouted their orders.
Herakles nodded as the teacher apologetically mouthed ‘one moment’ before turning to the kids. Squatting to meet them at eye level, he announced. “Everyone, let’s do this properly! So line up!”
The children followed without a fuss.
“Okay, everyone raise your hand!” he demonstrated and the class did the same. “One by one, you’ll come up to me and tell me your order. When you’re done, put down your hand and wait patiently, is that okay?”
A resounding chorus of ‘Yes teacher!’ echoed in the still morning air. Herakles looked at Hassan and saw him smiling in amusement.
Indeed, one by one, the children came up to their teacher and gave their order-others even whispering as if they were divulging some secret of the earth or wishing to Santa Claus-and he relayed them to Herakles. His brother, in turn, worked on each drink and they handed them around to tiny outstretched hands.
“Alfred, Matthew, you are next,” the teacher called in English.
Herakles blinked in surprise and looked at what was left of the class’ orderly line. Two children-small, round and clearly foreign-still had their hands raised. Both of them were blond. One was a blue-eyed boy who looked chubby and energetic. His brother (Herakles presumed) had soft lavender eyes, looked terribly shy and clutched a bear backpack to his chest like a lifeline.
“I want chocolate!” declared the blue-eyed boy and waved his hat about.
“I-I want maple, please,” his brother added.
Their teacher smiled and petted them. “This is a fruit shake stand. You are not able to order chocolate or maple here.”
The blue-eyed boy pouted, clearly disappointed. “But I want chocolate!” He sounded close to tears.
“Sssh,” appeased his teacher. “There are a lot of other fruits you can choose from. Hora, I will carry you so you see the menu-“
“I can’t read,” was the small, immediate reply.
The teacher momentarily faltered and Herakles saw a look in his eyes that yearned for proper communication with these kids. Their gazes met and he gave the teacher an encouraging smile before also speaking in English. “The ones on the left are strawberry, peach, melon, mixed berries, watermelon and banana shakes. The menu on the right allows you to mix any two fruits and have jellies or crispies added. Would you like that?”
The blue-eyed boy’s smile was like sunshine. “I’ll have the berries!” He squirmed in his teacher’s grip to call his brother. “Mattie! What’ll you have?”
“B-bananas then,” Mattie answered while clinging to his teacher’s leg.
With an audible sigh of relief, the teacher returned the energetic boy to the ground and restored order to his class. He then straightened up and ran a hand through his hair.
“Thank you very much,” he told Herakles in Japanese. “Rarely are there people here who know English very well. I never know how to deal with those two…”
“Are they foreign?” Herakles replied conversationally as he added up the bill.
The teacher nodded. “Alfred, the boy who wanted chocolate, is American. His brother Matthew is Canadian.”
“They’re not siblings?” he asked, raising his voice over the roar of Hassan’s blenders. Herakles knew he was listening too.
“Their father is recently divorced,” said the teacher, looking embarrassed but at the same time relieved he could talk about it. “If I remember right, Matthew is the son of the wife from a previous marriage. When they separated, the father took custody for both sons. They came to Japan only a few months ago.”
Herakles could empathize with that. He and Hassan had their own share of family complications. It was precisely why they were living a continent away from their homeland. “It must be hard on them,” he answered and looked at the two boys waiting for their drink.
“Oh no,” the teacher brightened and also glanced at them fondly. “Their father is a most wonderful parent.”
Hassan handed out the last two orders to Alfred and Matthew, who gleefully grabbed them and started drinking. Their classmates flocked around them, asking what they had gotten. At first, Alfred didn’t understand and kept his shake out of reach. Only when one of their classmates offered a sip of theirs did he ‘oh’ and do the same. Matthew followed, having been equally pestered and confused by it.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Herakles said. “Any order for you, sir?”
At this, the teacher blushed an honest blush, as if he hadn’t considered getting a drink of his own. “Ah…yes, I’ll have…” He surveyed the menu and Herakles stared at his neck. “I’ll have watermelon with green tea jelly.”
His drink was promptly made and he paid the bill. Gathering his things, the teacher took a sip of his drink and paused, looking impressed. “This…this is really good!”
Hassan nodded a bit in acknowledgment and Herakles smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Honda.”
He laughed a bit. “Like the car?”
The teacher smiled and gave his business card. “Indeed, like the car.” Honda Kiku, said the kanji, kindergarten teacher of S-preschool and the contact details. The place was only two stations away from Shinsaibashi. Herakles knew the area of the school was a residential place. The location wasn’t bad at all.
“Have a nice day, Honda-san,” he said and waved goodbye to the class.
The teacher turned to them, looking expectant. “What do you say?” he prompted.
A resounding chorus of ‘Thank you!’ rang throughout the street. Herakles watched as the children lined up once more, sipping their drinks, and walked away. They turned a left and disappeared before he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“You like him…” Hassan said with a playful smile.
“Of course,” Herakles answered and absently wiped the counter with a rag. “He seems nice.”
♠ mushrooms of a different color
Kiku glanced at the flowery clock. 9:18am it said.
The class had just arrived from their very first field trip and they must be tired. Or no, Kiku shook his head. He was the one feeling tired, these children had boundless energy. He smiled as he watched them chat among themselves about what they had seen, smelled, felt and heard.
“Remember the department store we passed by?” asked one kid to another. “My parents take me there on weekends!”
The friends were awed. “You ride the train?”
“That’s so cool!”
…et cetera. At any rate, they had some forty minutes for a synthesizing exercise before recess (he ticked off that box in his mental lesson plan). Kiku clapped his hand to get the class’ attention.
“Everyone! We’ll do one more activity before you can go and eat, okay?”
The children scrambled to keep their hats and bags before rushing to their seats. Kiku waited until every toddler was seated in his or her tiny orange chair. He then held up a piece of paper for everyone to see.
“Remember I asked you to bring art paper and crayons? You’re going to use them today…” He drew a crude plastic cup and colored it red as best he could with a palm for a surface. “…to draw your most memorable part of our field trip.” He held up his drawing once more. “After break time, everyone comes up here at front and tells the class about their drawing, understood?”
Everyone enthusiastically yelled their affirmative. The children retrieved crayons and pencils from their things and began drawing. Some of them left their tables to work on the floor. Others went over to where their friends were to show off preliminary sketches.
Kiku surveyed the room, feeling satisfied until he caught the expectant looks of Alfred and Matthew, having seen and heard everything but not comprehending. He felt a tug in his chest and he went over to their lonely little table and sat on one of the small chairs.
“Did you bring paper and crayons?” he asked in English.
Matthew nodded, pulling out a pack of jumbo crayons from his bear backpack. Alfred took out sheets of colored construction paper from his Captain America folder along with scissors and glue.
“Okay,” Kiku said and spread out their materials. “You are going to draw…um…” He thought of the appropriate words. “What you enjoy best during this morning trip.”
Matthew brightened, grabbed and crayon and began drawing a bear. Kiku blinked before remembering they had indeed passed by a toy store but it had yet to open. Alfred looked puzzled.
“What, y’mean like our favorite part?”
There was that elusive word. “Yes!” Kiku said. “Your favorite part.”
“I had a lot of favorite parts,” the boy said, in deep thought. “I can’t pick…” He turned to Kiku and said. “Sensei, what did you draw?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the drawing in Kiku’s hand and stared at it.
“I think that’s the fruit shake stand, Al,” Matthew said, looking to see why his brother hadn’t started yet.
Alfred glanced at Matthew’s work, who tried to cover it. “You’re drawing the bear store? That’s cute too, but I also like the fruit shake stand. I’m going to draw the fruit shake stand too!” he declared and grabbed a pair of scissors and a sheet of paper that resembled the color of his drink earlier.
Kiku opened his mouth, about to say it was alright to pick something other than what teacher drew, because it seemed the fruit shake stand was far from what the children would pick, but it was hard to find the right words. Besides, Alfred was already cutting out cups. Sighing, Kiku took a crayon from Matthew’s box and tried to make his own fruit shake a little more appealing.
After a few minutes, the children approached their teacher, waving their masterpieces about. Some drew stores, others drew people whom they had seen shopping or jogging. One of them drew the train line above the main road. Most of them drew the park they had gone to first and filled it with an assortment of flowers that weren’t really there.
Kiku praised each and every one of them, before sending them off for recess. Soon, the only ones left in the bright, colorful classroom were him, Alfred and Matthew.
The latter looked finished with drawing his toy store but seemed to be taking his sweet time adding the final touches. Kiku wondered if the brothers weren’t hungry.
“Mattie, are you done?” Alfred asked, still concentrated on sticking parts of his pop-up paper fruit stand. It looked quite impressive, like something straight out a children’s book. Then again, Kiku thought, this child had a prodigy-like talent for crafts.
“Almost…” answered Matthew. “Why?”
“Did dad pack us snacks?”
At this, Matthew sighed in a very resigned, adult way that Kiku found intriguing, somewhat pitiful yet amusing at the same time.
“He forgot again.”
Alfred looked crestfallen. “…really?”
Right on cue, the door that led to the playground outside burst open to reveal a panting, foreign, middle-aged man with ridiculously thick eyebrows, messy blond hair and honest, fierce green eyes. His business suit looked disheveled as if he had run straight from his office to the preschool. In his hand was a cream white paper bag with ‘Rose Bakery, patisserie’ printed on the front.
“Daaaaad!” Alfred exclaimed, dropped everything and leapt off his seat to hug him. Matthew ran after him and squealed with delight as the man scooped both his sons and kissed them. Alfred smeared glue all over his face.
Kiku smiled warmly at the sight. “Arthur-san, it is still class hours.”
Arthur Kirkland, proud father of Alfred and Matthew, smiled apologetically. “Terribly sorry, Kiku, but I forgot to pack the boys food.” He help up the paper bag and Alfred yelled ‘YAY!’ before taking it and hopping back to the ground. Matthew looked on curiously, still latched to his father’s neck.
“Are these from Francis?” Alfred asked.
Unnoticed by anyone but Kiku, a vein popped up on Arthur’s forehead, but he still remained smiling. “Yes, from Francis. Now share.” He wondered what relationship this clumsy, forgetful, doting dad had with the owner of Rose Bakery.
“Seriously, thank you, Kiku,” Arthur said, turning to him and bowing unnecessarily. “I should have brought you something too but I was in a hurry. I’ll come pick the boys up after work.”
Kiku nodded. “It’s okay, Arthur-san. Perhaps you will come not very late?”
Arthur scratched his head and groaned in frustration. “I swear, I won’t be late!” It was like a college student telling himself over and over to do better in his classes. The man gave Matthew a kiss on the cheek and a fond poke in the stomach before setting him down.
“Alfred,” Kiku called gently. “Say bye to your papa.”
The boy had already stuffed his face with custard bun and sugar before he turned and gave his father a very messy kiss. Arthur hugged Alfred tightly and said, “I’ll see you boys later,” with such tenderness Kiku knew not even the closest lovers could exchange. He looked much more reluctant to leave than his children did.
Kiku stood to escort Arthur to the preschool’s gate. His students were beginning to return to the classroom.
“I’m so sorry to be a bother,” Arthur apologized once more, gripping Kiku’s hand in firm thanks. “There’s just so much going on at work and at home and adjusting-“ His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered something and Kiku blinked innocently. “How are the boys doing? Are they getting along with the other kids? They don’t know much of the language yet, do they?”
Kiku smiled again to calm him. “Arthur-san, don’t worry very much. Your children are getting along with the other children. They are making friends.”
Arthur sighed as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders. “Man, I’m thankful for this, Kiku. I really am.”
“Please, it’s not a problem,” Kiku replied. “I am wishing the other parents are as…ah, what’s the word…attentive as you are.”
Arthur blushed right to his ears and looked close to tears like was the last person on earth to deserve such praise. Kiku panicked slightly at the thought of Arthur actually crying, which wouldn’t really surprise him if he did.
“My boys, y’know?” the father said, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I want them to be happy.”
“I’m sorry,” Kiku bowed. “I said too much.”
“No!” Arthur answered, flustered. “It’s… it’s fine.”
An awkward silence swelled between them before the bell rang and Kiku spoke. “You might be late for work.”
Arthur yelped and bid a hasty goodbye before taking off at a run. Kiku watched as he met up with a colleague (he presumed) waiting beside a vending machine, having just finished a smoke. When Arthur turned to wave, his companion did too, flashing a huge grin, open and confident…
…and for a moment, time stopped as Kiku’s heart skipped a beat.
Something primal and ancient rose up inside him, passions he had suppressed after his college days, when reality forced him to straighten himself out and relinquish the pleasures of the foreign country and return to Japan. Memories of those four years overseas came back to him, the whirlwind romances, the many faces, the many lips and only one pair of shouldering eyes (so similar to the ones he just saw!) that bore machine-gun holes in his soul.
That man had died in a car crash and Kiku only saw the ghost of him in Arthur’s colleague. Perhaps they were of the same nationality? It wasn’t out of the ordinary seeing foreigners in southern Osaka. The marvel was, really, that Kiku never thought his heart would beat for someone like him again.
♠ a fishcake at the bottom of the noodle bowl
Lunch at ZY-International Bank began at noon.
Arthur Kirkland sat on a tiny plastic table in one corner of the company canteen, half heartedly swirling the buckwheat noodles of his gyoza ramen with a specially requested plastic fork.
His colleague and fellow gajin he could easily talk to, Sadiq Anan, pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. He was having donburi for lunch, with matching natto and miso soup. He broke his chopsticks with a flourish and began eating with practiced ease. It was amusing to see this undeniably Turkish man feast like the natives.
“So, ya didn’ tell me y’meet with such a cutie every after work,” he said gruffly.
Arthur frowned. “Come off it, Sadiq. He’s the teacher of my kids. We have a strictly business relationship.”
Sadiq winked. “Seems awfully nice, though. Special treatment an’ everything. Then again, I ain’t seeing other parents buying food for their kids in the middle of the day. Mind if I take ‘im out some time?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re an insatiable ass. Kiku might think badly of me if he found out I worked with people like you.”
Sadiq laughed, rough and rich. “Y’flatter me, Arthur. Y’really do.”
“Besides, I don’t have time to cook at home.” Arthur bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything about his family’s financial status. His pride wouldn’t let him. Sadiq, of course, knew and understood, but voicing it out would be like repeatedly poking an open wound. “Francis has done a lot of us already.”
“So the guy doesn’t charge ya for bread. I keep tellin’ ya,” Sadiq said, taking a bite out of his lunch. “Get a loan. Your transfer benefits aren’t just there to look pretty. Use ‘em while you’re here. Get your boys a scholarship in a decent international school ‘r somethin’. There’s bound to be one!”
“I haven’t saved enough money for things like that,” Arthur replied tiredly. “We’re barely getting by with the rent and food. You know I’m still settling accounts back home. The preschool is the best I can do for now.”
Sadiq hummed pensively. Indeed, their boss had briefed him about Arthur’s case when the man transferred from the London branch to Osaka. His wife had been a cruel woman, and they were under debt when the couple filed for divorce. Despite that, Arthur fought for the custody of Alfred and Matthew. The wife seemed all too thankful to hand them over. It had only been a couple of months yet the fool was still tied down with paying dues and feeling depressed over their separation, as if any sort of spark had existed in the first place. The Turk clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Anyway,” he said. “How’re y’gettin’ along? Workplace good?”
Arthur looked at him in surprise. Sadiq didn’t want this man to think he was all alone in this world as he had a tendency to do so. “I’m…I’m getting along well, actually. The work hours are hell, but this job is…it’s fulfilling.”
“I can imagine,” Sadiq said, grinning. “Were y’there when Richmond had been our department manager? Hot damn, that bastard raked a ton of money.”
Arthur nodded, watching his life back in London over the rim of his tea cup. His wife had been complaining about the fact they were living in some foreign land-”This is my hometown, Cecile, stop saying such things!”-and her husband didn’t land himself in some high paying job. ZY-International had been in the middle of uncovering a huge scandal involving embezzlement by the Finance Department chief and a pyramid-scheme type scam. Numerous employees and clients withdrew their accounts or asked for transfers. The affair was efficiently straightened out with a change of management (and the sacking of involved parties) that resulted in minimal damage to the Bank’s reputation. By that time, however, the work ethic had grown so corrupt and oppressive; it wasn’t a surprise that working at an overseas branch sounded more appealing.
“It was crazy back then,” Arthur said and put down his tea cup.
“Hey, hey,” Sadiq began, clapping his companion hard on the back. “Y’got a fresh start here. For your family an’ everything. It’s only been a few months, your only getting’ started!”
Arthur finished the soup in his ramen bowl like a groom-to-be downing a shot of whiskey before a wedding and slammed the ceramic down with a satisfied sigh. “You’re right. Come on, I don’t want to do overtime.”
Sadiq raised his eyebrow as the two of them went to the bussing station to drop off their used plates. “Y’don’t want to? Have y’heard about your new project? It’s encoding. Plus proposal planning. O’ course you’re up for overtime! But don’ worry, I’ll help.”
Arthur’s face fell. “…I promised the boys I’d pick them up on time!” Reality slammed down his optimistic burst of resolve along with lunch that suddenly felt like returning to his throat.
Sadiq regarded the open look of hopelessness on his friend’s face and spoke casually while they exited the canteen, “Would this Francis of yours be willing to pick them up again?”
“I…what? Francis? Oh no, I can’t bother him like that again. He’d already done a lot of us and he’s got a business to run. We…we hardly know each other-“ The Turk began to wonder if he’d ever see Arthur not flustered.
“Well, y’talk about ‘im an awful lot, how was I supposed to know he really is just a guy who bakes you free bread?”
Arthur blushed. He didn’t speak while they were jostled a bit in the elevator on the way back to their department. Francis was…Francis had helped him immensely during a nerve-wracking incident in their first few weeks in Osaka. After that, Arthur felt he owed the man his life.
Sadiq followed as he ‘tsk’-ed, rushed to his desk, pulled out an old second hand Nokia and punched in a number.
♠ one good turn deserves another
Francis Bonnefoy’s cell phone rang. The blinking screen flashed 2:13pm and a name he was becoming increasingly fond of, though he can’t determine why.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Kirkland.”
“Francis?” Arthur sounded hectic. Well, when did he ever not except around his sons? “Francis are…are you busy?”
“I’m working,” Francis answered simply, not to admonish him, but to remind him he was currently at his job like any other income generating citizen. He paused in decorating a wedding cake to properly hold his mobile. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t make time for the man, depending on what the situation was. He wondered when he had become this accommodating. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m really sorry for bothering you,” Arthur said. There were shuffles of paper in the background and other office-y noises. Francis couldn’t fathom what kind of job must keep him so busy. “But I’m doing overtime tonight. I’d pick up Alfred and Matthew if I could but that’d mean late in the evening.”
Ah, of course. Always the doting father.
“Look,” Arthur continued. “I really shouldn’t be asking this since you’ve done a lot for us but…but I don’t know anyone else I could trust the boys with…so I-“
“Arthur,” Francis cut in, smiling to himself. “You want me to pick up Alfred and Matthew after school.”
There was an embarrassed pause from the other line. “If…if it’s not too much trouble. I’m mean, I know you’re busy…”
He laughed at the endless tide of words. “It’s perfectly alright, cher. I’ll pick them up at four.”
“B-but your bakery…?”
“I’ll leave it to Aline.” Francis transferred his mobile to his other hand so he could continue decorating the cake with his good one. “I suppose they’d be hungry after school,” he said in mock exasperation. He could practically feel Arthur’s embarrassment radiating from the receiver and grinned. He truly loved teasing this guy. “Then I’d have to make cinnamon rolls for Alfred and blueberry pancakes for Matthew even if it isn’t breakfast…”
“I swear, Francis, I won’t ask for favors anymore,” Arthur sounded irritated (at himself, Francis would like to think). He could imagine the man beet red in the face.
“Oh, why not? I enjoy doing favors for you,” Francis laughed again at the incoherent garble coming from the other line.
“Damn it, you. If I didn’t have overtime, I’d-“
“So I’ll pick the kids up at four?”
A frustrated sigh. “Yes, please.”
He liked the thought of seeing Alfred and Matthew again. It had been a while and those two were absolute darlings. Strangely enough, Arthur was hard to refuse, or perhaps it was intriguing to see the man battle gratitude and mild annoyance whenever Francis was the one helping him out. “Alright, then.”
“Oh, and Francis?”
“Oui?”
“…thank you,” and his heart skipped a beat.
to the First Degree Part 2
Category: Axis Powers Hetalia / Hetalia World Series
Characters: Greece, Egypt, Japan, Turkey, France, England, America, Canada, Finland, Sweden, Sealand, North and South Italy, Russia, Germany, Prussia, Spain, Belarus, Ukraine, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Poland, China, South Korea
Pairings: France/England, Spain/South Italy, Germany/North Italy, Lithuania/Poland, Turkey/Japan, Finland/Sweden
Genre/Rating/Warnings: friendship, romance, drama, family/PG/AU, human names, shifting POVs, language shifts (which I really hope people won’t get confused by)
Summary/Excerpt: The Six Degrees of Separation is the idea that everyone in this world is connected by at most six people. It’s an empowering, intimidating thought to know that the world can be shrunk within just one city and that lives begin to affect one another as people converge and intersect. Our story begins with a pair of brothers who manage a fruit shake stand in Dotombori, Osaka and bear witness to different fates being drawn together from all over the globe.
Prologue | 1st° Part 1 | 1st° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 1 | 2nd° Part 2 | 2nd° Part 3
3rd° | 4th° | 5th° | 6th° | Epilogue
In this installment: We meet a family in a foreign land, a lonely baker, a teacher with painful buried memories and a man who's a candidate for digging them up.
The Six Degrees of Separation
First Degree (Part 1)
♠ the sun begins to shine on your horizon
7:00am
The neon of Fruit Blends lit up and Herakles smoothed out the creases of his apron. Hassan finished sweeping the front of the stand and went inside to join him. He watched as his brother stashed the broom and dustpan under the stairs and took a seat beside the sink to continue reading the book he started on last night. With a shrug, Herakles leaned on the counter and resumed staring outside.
The street was relatively quiet.
There were shouts of welcome from the generic cosmetics store by the far right. They must be having some sort of sale, he thought. No, scratch that. They always have a sale. A smudge of yellow caught his eye and he turned left to look.
Children in two neat lines rounded the corner and entered the empty shopping street. Herakles counted fifteen of them, all dressed in yellow uniforms with matching hats and bags that made them look like mushrooms. Their teacher brought up the rear, also dressed in a smart, yellow collared shirt, jeans and sneakers. Perhaps they were on some sort of field trip.
Herakles had never been good with kids (they tend to tire of him easily despite his patience) so he was impressed to see this lone teacher supervising the lot. He was a short man, the epitome of a Japanese, with clean-cut hair and smallish hands. Herakles wondered how old he was. The man had a kindly yet disciplined feel to him. He must be good with kids because none of them were particularly misbehaving. That or it was their first time to have an activity outside of school. Inquisitive looks graced the children’s faces.
They looked headed toward the fruit shake stand and Herakles straightened up. He called out his usual welcome which made Hassan look up from his book and nod a greeting. The teacher approached the counter and gave a brilliant smile. Herakles’ heart warmed.
“I’d like to order several fruit shakes,” he said in a surprisingly deep voice.
“Of course,” Herakles replied. Hassan stood up to wash the blenders. “What would your orders be?”
“Teacher! I want strawberry!” called a little boy.
“I want melon peach!” squealed a little girl and all at once, the class crowded about and shouted their orders.
Herakles nodded as the teacher apologetically mouthed ‘one moment’ before turning to the kids. Squatting to meet them at eye level, he announced. “Everyone, let’s do this properly! So line up!”
The children followed without a fuss.
“Okay, everyone raise your hand!” he demonstrated and the class did the same. “One by one, you’ll come up to me and tell me your order. When you’re done, put down your hand and wait patiently, is that okay?”
A resounding chorus of ‘Yes teacher!’ echoed in the still morning air. Herakles looked at Hassan and saw him smiling in amusement.
Indeed, one by one, the children came up to their teacher and gave their order-others even whispering as if they were divulging some secret of the earth or wishing to Santa Claus-and he relayed them to Herakles. His brother, in turn, worked on each drink and they handed them around to tiny outstretched hands.
“Alfred, Matthew, you are next,” the teacher called in English.
Herakles blinked in surprise and looked at what was left of the class’ orderly line. Two children-small, round and clearly foreign-still had their hands raised. Both of them were blond. One was a blue-eyed boy who looked chubby and energetic. His brother (Herakles presumed) had soft lavender eyes, looked terribly shy and clutched a bear backpack to his chest like a lifeline.
“I want chocolate!” declared the blue-eyed boy and waved his hat about.
“I-I want maple, please,” his brother added.
Their teacher smiled and petted them. “This is a fruit shake stand. You are not able to order chocolate or maple here.”
The blue-eyed boy pouted, clearly disappointed. “But I want chocolate!” He sounded close to tears.
“Sssh,” appeased his teacher. “There are a lot of other fruits you can choose from. Hora, I will carry you so you see the menu-“
“I can’t read,” was the small, immediate reply.
The teacher momentarily faltered and Herakles saw a look in his eyes that yearned for proper communication with these kids. Their gazes met and he gave the teacher an encouraging smile before also speaking in English. “The ones on the left are strawberry, peach, melon, mixed berries, watermelon and banana shakes. The menu on the right allows you to mix any two fruits and have jellies or crispies added. Would you like that?”
The blue-eyed boy’s smile was like sunshine. “I’ll have the berries!” He squirmed in his teacher’s grip to call his brother. “Mattie! What’ll you have?”
“B-bananas then,” Mattie answered while clinging to his teacher’s leg.
With an audible sigh of relief, the teacher returned the energetic boy to the ground and restored order to his class. He then straightened up and ran a hand through his hair.
“Thank you very much,” he told Herakles in Japanese. “Rarely are there people here who know English very well. I never know how to deal with those two…”
“Are they foreign?” Herakles replied conversationally as he added up the bill.
The teacher nodded. “Alfred, the boy who wanted chocolate, is American. His brother Matthew is Canadian.”
“They’re not siblings?” he asked, raising his voice over the roar of Hassan’s blenders. Herakles knew he was listening too.
“Their father is recently divorced,” said the teacher, looking embarrassed but at the same time relieved he could talk about it. “If I remember right, Matthew is the son of the wife from a previous marriage. When they separated, the father took custody for both sons. They came to Japan only a few months ago.”
Herakles could empathize with that. He and Hassan had their own share of family complications. It was precisely why they were living a continent away from their homeland. “It must be hard on them,” he answered and looked at the two boys waiting for their drink.
“Oh no,” the teacher brightened and also glanced at them fondly. “Their father is a most wonderful parent.”
Hassan handed out the last two orders to Alfred and Matthew, who gleefully grabbed them and started drinking. Their classmates flocked around them, asking what they had gotten. At first, Alfred didn’t understand and kept his shake out of reach. Only when one of their classmates offered a sip of theirs did he ‘oh’ and do the same. Matthew followed, having been equally pestered and confused by it.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Herakles said. “Any order for you, sir?”
At this, the teacher blushed an honest blush, as if he hadn’t considered getting a drink of his own. “Ah…yes, I’ll have…” He surveyed the menu and Herakles stared at his neck. “I’ll have watermelon with green tea jelly.”
His drink was promptly made and he paid the bill. Gathering his things, the teacher took a sip of his drink and paused, looking impressed. “This…this is really good!”
Hassan nodded a bit in acknowledgment and Herakles smiled. “Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Honda.”
He laughed a bit. “Like the car?”
The teacher smiled and gave his business card. “Indeed, like the car.” Honda Kiku, said the kanji, kindergarten teacher of S-preschool and the contact details. The place was only two stations away from Shinsaibashi. Herakles knew the area of the school was a residential place. The location wasn’t bad at all.
“Have a nice day, Honda-san,” he said and waved goodbye to the class.
The teacher turned to them, looking expectant. “What do you say?” he prompted.
A resounding chorus of ‘Thank you!’ rang throughout the street. Herakles watched as the children lined up once more, sipping their drinks, and walked away. They turned a left and disappeared before he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“You like him…” Hassan said with a playful smile.
“Of course,” Herakles answered and absently wiped the counter with a rag. “He seems nice.”
♠ mushrooms of a different color
Kiku glanced at the flowery clock. 9:18am it said.
The class had just arrived from their very first field trip and they must be tired. Or no, Kiku shook his head. He was the one feeling tired, these children had boundless energy. He smiled as he watched them chat among themselves about what they had seen, smelled, felt and heard.
“Remember the department store we passed by?” asked one kid to another. “My parents take me there on weekends!”
The friends were awed. “You ride the train?”
“That’s so cool!”
…et cetera. At any rate, they had some forty minutes for a synthesizing exercise before recess (he ticked off that box in his mental lesson plan). Kiku clapped his hand to get the class’ attention.
“Everyone! We’ll do one more activity before you can go and eat, okay?”
The children scrambled to keep their hats and bags before rushing to their seats. Kiku waited until every toddler was seated in his or her tiny orange chair. He then held up a piece of paper for everyone to see.
“Remember I asked you to bring art paper and crayons? You’re going to use them today…” He drew a crude plastic cup and colored it red as best he could with a palm for a surface. “…to draw your most memorable part of our field trip.” He held up his drawing once more. “After break time, everyone comes up here at front and tells the class about their drawing, understood?”
Everyone enthusiastically yelled their affirmative. The children retrieved crayons and pencils from their things and began drawing. Some of them left their tables to work on the floor. Others went over to where their friends were to show off preliminary sketches.
Kiku surveyed the room, feeling satisfied until he caught the expectant looks of Alfred and Matthew, having seen and heard everything but not comprehending. He felt a tug in his chest and he went over to their lonely little table and sat on one of the small chairs.
“Did you bring paper and crayons?” he asked in English.
Matthew nodded, pulling out a pack of jumbo crayons from his bear backpack. Alfred took out sheets of colored construction paper from his Captain America folder along with scissors and glue.
“Okay,” Kiku said and spread out their materials. “You are going to draw…um…” He thought of the appropriate words. “What you enjoy best during this morning trip.”
Matthew brightened, grabbed and crayon and began drawing a bear. Kiku blinked before remembering they had indeed passed by a toy store but it had yet to open. Alfred looked puzzled.
“What, y’mean like our favorite part?”
There was that elusive word. “Yes!” Kiku said. “Your favorite part.”
“I had a lot of favorite parts,” the boy said, in deep thought. “I can’t pick…” He turned to Kiku and said. “Sensei, what did you draw?” Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed the drawing in Kiku’s hand and stared at it.
“I think that’s the fruit shake stand, Al,” Matthew said, looking to see why his brother hadn’t started yet.
Alfred glanced at Matthew’s work, who tried to cover it. “You’re drawing the bear store? That’s cute too, but I also like the fruit shake stand. I’m going to draw the fruit shake stand too!” he declared and grabbed a pair of scissors and a sheet of paper that resembled the color of his drink earlier.
Kiku opened his mouth, about to say it was alright to pick something other than what teacher drew, because it seemed the fruit shake stand was far from what the children would pick, but it was hard to find the right words. Besides, Alfred was already cutting out cups. Sighing, Kiku took a crayon from Matthew’s box and tried to make his own fruit shake a little more appealing.
After a few minutes, the children approached their teacher, waving their masterpieces about. Some drew stores, others drew people whom they had seen shopping or jogging. One of them drew the train line above the main road. Most of them drew the park they had gone to first and filled it with an assortment of flowers that weren’t really there.
Kiku praised each and every one of them, before sending them off for recess. Soon, the only ones left in the bright, colorful classroom were him, Alfred and Matthew.
The latter looked finished with drawing his toy store but seemed to be taking his sweet time adding the final touches. Kiku wondered if the brothers weren’t hungry.
“Mattie, are you done?” Alfred asked, still concentrated on sticking parts of his pop-up paper fruit stand. It looked quite impressive, like something straight out a children’s book. Then again, Kiku thought, this child had a prodigy-like talent for crafts.
“Almost…” answered Matthew. “Why?”
“Did dad pack us snacks?”
At this, Matthew sighed in a very resigned, adult way that Kiku found intriguing, somewhat pitiful yet amusing at the same time.
“He forgot again.”
Alfred looked crestfallen. “…really?”
Right on cue, the door that led to the playground outside burst open to reveal a panting, foreign, middle-aged man with ridiculously thick eyebrows, messy blond hair and honest, fierce green eyes. His business suit looked disheveled as if he had run straight from his office to the preschool. In his hand was a cream white paper bag with ‘Rose Bakery, patisserie’ printed on the front.
“Daaaaad!” Alfred exclaimed, dropped everything and leapt off his seat to hug him. Matthew ran after him and squealed with delight as the man scooped both his sons and kissed them. Alfred smeared glue all over his face.
Kiku smiled warmly at the sight. “Arthur-san, it is still class hours.”
Arthur Kirkland, proud father of Alfred and Matthew, smiled apologetically. “Terribly sorry, Kiku, but I forgot to pack the boys food.” He help up the paper bag and Alfred yelled ‘YAY!’ before taking it and hopping back to the ground. Matthew looked on curiously, still latched to his father’s neck.
“Are these from Francis?” Alfred asked.
Unnoticed by anyone but Kiku, a vein popped up on Arthur’s forehead, but he still remained smiling. “Yes, from Francis. Now share.” He wondered what relationship this clumsy, forgetful, doting dad had with the owner of Rose Bakery.
“Seriously, thank you, Kiku,” Arthur said, turning to him and bowing unnecessarily. “I should have brought you something too but I was in a hurry. I’ll come pick the boys up after work.”
Kiku nodded. “It’s okay, Arthur-san. Perhaps you will come not very late?”
Arthur scratched his head and groaned in frustration. “I swear, I won’t be late!” It was like a college student telling himself over and over to do better in his classes. The man gave Matthew a kiss on the cheek and a fond poke in the stomach before setting him down.
“Alfred,” Kiku called gently. “Say bye to your papa.”
The boy had already stuffed his face with custard bun and sugar before he turned and gave his father a very messy kiss. Arthur hugged Alfred tightly and said, “I’ll see you boys later,” with such tenderness Kiku knew not even the closest lovers could exchange. He looked much more reluctant to leave than his children did.
Kiku stood to escort Arthur to the preschool’s gate. His students were beginning to return to the classroom.
“I’m so sorry to be a bother,” Arthur apologized once more, gripping Kiku’s hand in firm thanks. “There’s just so much going on at work and at home and adjusting-“ His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered something and Kiku blinked innocently. “How are the boys doing? Are they getting along with the other kids? They don’t know much of the language yet, do they?”
Kiku smiled again to calm him. “Arthur-san, don’t worry very much. Your children are getting along with the other children. They are making friends.”
Arthur sighed as if a heavy burden had been lifted off his shoulders. “Man, I’m thankful for this, Kiku. I really am.”
“Please, it’s not a problem,” Kiku replied. “I am wishing the other parents are as…ah, what’s the word…attentive as you are.”
Arthur blushed right to his ears and looked close to tears like was the last person on earth to deserve such praise. Kiku panicked slightly at the thought of Arthur actually crying, which wouldn’t really surprise him if he did.
“My boys, y’know?” the father said, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping the sweat from his brow. “I want them to be happy.”
“I’m sorry,” Kiku bowed. “I said too much.”
“No!” Arthur answered, flustered. “It’s… it’s fine.”
An awkward silence swelled between them before the bell rang and Kiku spoke. “You might be late for work.”
Arthur yelped and bid a hasty goodbye before taking off at a run. Kiku watched as he met up with a colleague (he presumed) waiting beside a vending machine, having just finished a smoke. When Arthur turned to wave, his companion did too, flashing a huge grin, open and confident…
…and for a moment, time stopped as Kiku’s heart skipped a beat.
Something primal and ancient rose up inside him, passions he had suppressed after his college days, when reality forced him to straighten himself out and relinquish the pleasures of the foreign country and return to Japan. Memories of those four years overseas came back to him, the whirlwind romances, the many faces, the many lips and only one pair of shouldering eyes (so similar to the ones he just saw!) that bore machine-gun holes in his soul.
That man had died in a car crash and Kiku only saw the ghost of him in Arthur’s colleague. Perhaps they were of the same nationality? It wasn’t out of the ordinary seeing foreigners in southern Osaka. The marvel was, really, that Kiku never thought his heart would beat for someone like him again.
♠ a fishcake at the bottom of the noodle bowl
Lunch at ZY-International Bank began at noon.
Arthur Kirkland sat on a tiny plastic table in one corner of the company canteen, half heartedly swirling the buckwheat noodles of his gyoza ramen with a specially requested plastic fork.
His colleague and fellow gajin he could easily talk to, Sadiq Anan, pulled out a chair and sat down beside him. He was having donburi for lunch, with matching natto and miso soup. He broke his chopsticks with a flourish and began eating with practiced ease. It was amusing to see this undeniably Turkish man feast like the natives.
“So, ya didn’ tell me y’meet with such a cutie every after work,” he said gruffly.
Arthur frowned. “Come off it, Sadiq. He’s the teacher of my kids. We have a strictly business relationship.”
Sadiq winked. “Seems awfully nice, though. Special treatment an’ everything. Then again, I ain’t seeing other parents buying food for their kids in the middle of the day. Mind if I take ‘im out some time?”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re an insatiable ass. Kiku might think badly of me if he found out I worked with people like you.”
Sadiq laughed, rough and rich. “Y’flatter me, Arthur. Y’really do.”
“Besides, I don’t have time to cook at home.” Arthur bit his lip to stop himself from saying anything about his family’s financial status. His pride wouldn’t let him. Sadiq, of course, knew and understood, but voicing it out would be like repeatedly poking an open wound. “Francis has done a lot of us already.”
“So the guy doesn’t charge ya for bread. I keep tellin’ ya,” Sadiq said, taking a bite out of his lunch. “Get a loan. Your transfer benefits aren’t just there to look pretty. Use ‘em while you’re here. Get your boys a scholarship in a decent international school ‘r somethin’. There’s bound to be one!”
“I haven’t saved enough money for things like that,” Arthur replied tiredly. “We’re barely getting by with the rent and food. You know I’m still settling accounts back home. The preschool is the best I can do for now.”
Sadiq hummed pensively. Indeed, their boss had briefed him about Arthur’s case when the man transferred from the London branch to Osaka. His wife had been a cruel woman, and they were under debt when the couple filed for divorce. Despite that, Arthur fought for the custody of Alfred and Matthew. The wife seemed all too thankful to hand them over. It had only been a couple of months yet the fool was still tied down with paying dues and feeling depressed over their separation, as if any sort of spark had existed in the first place. The Turk clicked his tongue in annoyance.
“Anyway,” he said. “How’re y’gettin’ along? Workplace good?”
Arthur looked at him in surprise. Sadiq didn’t want this man to think he was all alone in this world as he had a tendency to do so. “I’m…I’m getting along well, actually. The work hours are hell, but this job is…it’s fulfilling.”
“I can imagine,” Sadiq said, grinning. “Were y’there when Richmond had been our department manager? Hot damn, that bastard raked a ton of money.”
Arthur nodded, watching his life back in London over the rim of his tea cup. His wife had been complaining about the fact they were living in some foreign land-”This is my hometown, Cecile, stop saying such things!”-and her husband didn’t land himself in some high paying job. ZY-International had been in the middle of uncovering a huge scandal involving embezzlement by the Finance Department chief and a pyramid-scheme type scam. Numerous employees and clients withdrew their accounts or asked for transfers. The affair was efficiently straightened out with a change of management (and the sacking of involved parties) that resulted in minimal damage to the Bank’s reputation. By that time, however, the work ethic had grown so corrupt and oppressive; it wasn’t a surprise that working at an overseas branch sounded more appealing.
“It was crazy back then,” Arthur said and put down his tea cup.
“Hey, hey,” Sadiq began, clapping his companion hard on the back. “Y’got a fresh start here. For your family an’ everything. It’s only been a few months, your only getting’ started!”
Arthur finished the soup in his ramen bowl like a groom-to-be downing a shot of whiskey before a wedding and slammed the ceramic down with a satisfied sigh. “You’re right. Come on, I don’t want to do overtime.”
Sadiq raised his eyebrow as the two of them went to the bussing station to drop off their used plates. “Y’don’t want to? Have y’heard about your new project? It’s encoding. Plus proposal planning. O’ course you’re up for overtime! But don’ worry, I’ll help.”
Arthur’s face fell. “…I promised the boys I’d pick them up on time!” Reality slammed down his optimistic burst of resolve along with lunch that suddenly felt like returning to his throat.
Sadiq regarded the open look of hopelessness on his friend’s face and spoke casually while they exited the canteen, “Would this Francis of yours be willing to pick them up again?”
“I…what? Francis? Oh no, I can’t bother him like that again. He’d already done a lot of us and he’s got a business to run. We…we hardly know each other-“ The Turk began to wonder if he’d ever see Arthur not flustered.
“Well, y’talk about ‘im an awful lot, how was I supposed to know he really is just a guy who bakes you free bread?”
Arthur blushed. He didn’t speak while they were jostled a bit in the elevator on the way back to their department. Francis was…Francis had helped him immensely during a nerve-wracking incident in their first few weeks in Osaka. After that, Arthur felt he owed the man his life.
Sadiq followed as he ‘tsk’-ed, rushed to his desk, pulled out an old second hand Nokia and punched in a number.
♠ one good turn deserves another
Francis Bonnefoy’s cell phone rang. The blinking screen flashed 2:13pm and a name he was becoming increasingly fond of, though he can’t determine why.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Kirkland.”
“Francis?” Arthur sounded hectic. Well, when did he ever not except around his sons? “Francis are…are you busy?”
“I’m working,” Francis answered simply, not to admonish him, but to remind him he was currently at his job like any other income generating citizen. He paused in decorating a wedding cake to properly hold his mobile. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t make time for the man, depending on what the situation was. He wondered when he had become this accommodating. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m really sorry for bothering you,” Arthur said. There were shuffles of paper in the background and other office-y noises. Francis couldn’t fathom what kind of job must keep him so busy. “But I’m doing overtime tonight. I’d pick up Alfred and Matthew if I could but that’d mean late in the evening.”
Ah, of course. Always the doting father.
“Look,” Arthur continued. “I really shouldn’t be asking this since you’ve done a lot for us but…but I don’t know anyone else I could trust the boys with…so I-“
“Arthur,” Francis cut in, smiling to himself. “You want me to pick up Alfred and Matthew after school.”
There was an embarrassed pause from the other line. “If…if it’s not too much trouble. I’m mean, I know you’re busy…”
He laughed at the endless tide of words. “It’s perfectly alright, cher. I’ll pick them up at four.”
“B-but your bakery…?”
“I’ll leave it to Aline.” Francis transferred his mobile to his other hand so he could continue decorating the cake with his good one. “I suppose they’d be hungry after school,” he said in mock exasperation. He could practically feel Arthur’s embarrassment radiating from the receiver and grinned. He truly loved teasing this guy. “Then I’d have to make cinnamon rolls for Alfred and blueberry pancakes for Matthew even if it isn’t breakfast…”
“I swear, Francis, I won’t ask for favors anymore,” Arthur sounded irritated (at himself, Francis would like to think). He could imagine the man beet red in the face.
“Oh, why not? I enjoy doing favors for you,” Francis laughed again at the incoherent garble coming from the other line.
“Damn it, you. If I didn’t have overtime, I’d-“
“So I’ll pick the kids up at four?”
A frustrated sigh. “Yes, please.”
He liked the thought of seeing Alfred and Matthew again. It had been a while and those two were absolute darlings. Strangely enough, Arthur was hard to refuse, or perhaps it was intriguing to see the man battle gratitude and mild annoyance whenever Francis was the one helping him out. “Alright, then.”
“Oh, and Francis?”
“Oui?”
“…thank you,” and his heart skipped a beat.
to the First Degree Part 2