Tag: Japanese

  • the assassin

    Somehow, I’ve been asked to participate in a rehabilitation program for dangerous prisoners. The prison is large and gray and nondescript, and you can’t escape the feeling of being trapped once you’re inside.

    The prisoners are terrifying. And these are the ones ready to be rehabilitated.

    My initial assignment does not work out well, since he appears to be more interested in adding me to his list of victims, rather than enjoying the freedoms that await him outside.

    The second charge is a bit more promising, while still more likely to end in tragedy than success.

    He is elderly, Japanese. Very thin and tall. I only know a few phrases, not nearly enough to actually communicate. He is uninterested, and may or the program, and there is a patient menace, fairly perceptible beneath his, silent frailty.

    Leaving the facility takes me through the library, which is a ridiculous assembly of shelves and stairs and books. I’m surprised that the corrupt administration officials, let me wander on my own, even though I have no interest in wandering. I want to leave.

    Finally, above ground, I am close to my goal. Two large concrete buildings sit, flanking the gates to the outside. I walk across the flat open courtyard, pale light sky overhead. A familiar sky.

  • masks and shadows

    Changing the sheet on my daughter’s crib tonight, strange flashes of faces in her room — white and black, bold stripes and contrast, large teeth and bulging eyes framed by wild hair . . . almost like the stark, menacing glee of Japanese oni masks.

    These flashes, somewhere between a mental image and a visualization — not quite registered by the eyes or by the mind, but in a layer between them.

    They’re there, they’re gone.

    Puzzling.

    Later…

    Passing by the kitchen window I catch a glimpse of a dark figure striding across the roof of my neighbor’s house.

    There . . . then gone.