Our Feature Presentation:
Philip Williams writes:
KILL PHIL
A rip-roaring tale of blood, death and fanfiction.
Chapter four:
"That Man From Okimawa"
It was mid-day in Okinawa. Tcutla had fought her way through some of the busy districts - literally in some cases (that girl really likes killing stuff) – and had found the ideal place to begin her search for the ultimate weapon.
She has just entered a tiny, run-down sushi bar.
"The City of
OKINAWA, Japan"
She pushed her way past the flimsy fabric piece that functioned as a second doorway. The little fish and sake bar was, in Tcutla's opinion, the definition of the word cozy. The floor and walls appeared to be made from the same wood, which looked half-rotten. The place smelt, funnily enough, of fish.
The only other person present in the bar is the sushi chef. Tcutla's sharp ears also heard a chop chopping coming from what was probably the kitchen. Besides the chef at the counter and the person in the kitchen, there was no-one else present in the tiny bar.
The Japanese man at the bar looked up and smiled when he saw that he finally had a customer at least. He bade Tcutla to come over and sit. When she got closer, Tcutla saw that the man was not Japanese, but of some Western origin. He looked about middle-aged. He was also dressed far too slickly for a proper sushi chef, with his white polyester suit that looked like it had been taken straight out of the 1980s.
"A customer" said the man.
"Are you the owner?" asked Tcutla.
"Why yes, yes I am!" said the man proudly.
"You look too well-dressed to be the owner."
"I'll have you know that working with sushi is a highly skilled and respected business" replied the man.
"Don't real sushi chefs work in front of their customers, doing tricks?"
"Sort of, sort of," the man smiled. "I know what your really thinking. This sushi bar is nothing but a cramped sitting area and a dirty kitchen.. And you're right. It is most unfortunate, but this place has not been doing too well recently."
Tcutla looked around. The only window was broken and half of it was boarded up.
"I can see…"
"English?"
"What?"
"Are you English?" asked the man.
"Almost. Try, American," replied Tcutla.
"Ah, you are an American," said the man. "Do you know New York? New York is very nice…"
"Certainly. For America," mumbled Tcutla.
"Well welcome, welcome to my humble establishment!" said the man, sounding extremely haughty.
"Domo," said Tcutla.
The man laughed, humouring the seemingly ditzy 'tourist'.
"'Domo', very good! You speak Japanese then?"
"Oh no," lied Tcutla. "I'm just a learner."
"You're very good!" repeated the man once more. "Excuse me for a second…"
He turned around and, leaning towards the kitchen door, shouted several harsh sounding words to the person working in the kitchen. Using her knowledge of Eastern languages Tcutla translated it as: "I can hear you! Get back to work you damn untranslatable word slacker!". When he was finished, he turned back to pleasantly talk to Tcutla as though nothing had happened.
"Now… what other words do you know?"
"Oh… well…" started Tcutla, keeping in-character with her 'ditzy blonde' identity, "Let's see… 'r-ig-a-toe'."
The man clapped. When an experience linguist hears about someone learning a new language it really is like humouring a small child.
"'Arigato'. Very good."
He pushed a plate of complementary mouldy nuts to her, since he didn't have any
sticky gold stars to give out.
"'Ah-so'" said Tcutla, trying and succeeding to appear terrible at Japanese.
"Ah-so!" said the man, feigning being impressed. "So you know what 'Ah-so' means?"
"I see."
"That's right" said the man, clapping slowly. "Very good."
"And I already said 'domo' right?" asked the outwardly ditzy Tcutla.
"Yes you did," said the man.
"Then how about, 'kon-eti-wa'?" said Tcutla, this time faking timidity as well.
Hearing Tcutla's poorly pronounced attempt at saying hello, the smoothly dressed man running the bar made an 'Oooh' face; it looked as though a great secret of the macrocosm had finally been revealed to him.
"Very good, though you must work on your pronunciation," said the man. "Repeat after me, 'kon-nichi-wa'"
Tcutla smiled. "'kon-nichi-wa'?"
The man smiled back at her. "Very good," he said with genuine admiration. "You say Japanese words like a real Japanese person."
Tcutla giggled. It wasn't completely fake. She hadn't been complemented in a long time. Never, actually. Most people died before they could get to know her.
"You're just teasing me!" she said.
"No, no, I'm very serious!"
Tcutla, continuing with the ditzy act, smiled at the man again. She took a big risk, and dared to eat one of the mouldy bar-nuts.
"Well thank you," she said. "I mean… 'arigato'"
The man laughed. His laugh was very exaggerated and over-top. Tcutla had no doubt that this was the man she'd come to Okinawa to meet. Tcutla saw that underneath the inviting exterior was a heart of pure evil. He was rather like her.
"Excellent," said the man. "You should learn Japanese. It's very easy."
"No way!" said Tcutla, laughing. "I heard it was very hard!"
"Perhaps for some people, but you have a real Japanese tongue."
"Maybe."
"Sure you have."
"Is that how you learnt Japanese? Do you have a Japanese tongue?"
"Of course I do!" said the man, boastfully. "I have one in a jar on my mantle!"
Tcutla snorted. The man reached under the bar and set out a colourful raw fish in front of her…
"How did you know tuna's my favourite?" asked Tcutla.
A voice from the kitchen, a surprisingly respectable, mournful sounding voice, shouted out:
"What does she require to drink?"
"I'll take some warm sake," Tcutla said to the man at the bar.
The man turned to face the kitchen door, and like before a few more Japanese expletives were yelled. Tcutla translated it as: "She wants some warm sake. And enough of your shitty attitude, goddamn trainee!"
"I'll bring out the sake soon," said the man. He got up and walked to the other side of the bar, where another colourful fish and a heavy knife waited. "I'll cut some more fish. Tell me a little bit about yourself."
Slice. He removed the fish's head. Tcutla had another piece of tuna-fish.
"This your first time in Japan?"
"Yes," lied Tcutla.
"And what brings you to this part of Okinawa?"
"I came to see a man."
"Oh. He a friend?"
"I've never met him."
The smartly dressed sushi-chef continued his slicing…
"Then who is this man, may I ask?"
"Not this man. I'm looking for… " she leant over the bar, drawing herself closer to the man. "I need to find That Man."
The man gasped and stopped slicing upon hearing this. A small amount of blood trickled from a cut in his finger.
He spoke to Tcutla, speaking in perfect Japanese:
"And what do you want with That Man?"
"I need ACROSS steel," said Tcutla, in flawlessly fluent in Japanese.
"Why do you need ACROSS steel?"
"I have vermin to kill."
"It must be big vermin if you require ACROSS steel."
Tcutla drew herself up to full height, all ditzy-quirks completely gone and replaced by pure, undiluted evil:
"Huge."
