Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Falling in Love Again ❯ Suspicious Mind ( Chapter 4 )

Falling in Love Again

A Rurouni Kenshin Pop-Art Remake

By Oryo

(Warning for language, a kind of foreplay and expression of controversial political opinions.)

Chapter 4: Suspicious Mind

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

You have decided to take part in that war for the sake of Japan. For the preservation of our warrior's pride and honor you believe it is necessary. Perhaps, you are right. It is difficult to say what the truth is. But, one thing is sure, this war will only be the beginning of a new circle of warfare and bloodshed.
I really believed that the war I had fought in would be the end of all wars. I really believed that the new era would bring peace for the helpless. That no one would have to do things I had done. That no one would shed the blood of innocent people again.
I believed it, and I was wrong.

New York, May 11, 1965

Human condition. Human weaknesses. Henry Shatner studied the documents sent from Los Angeles. He felt that he had become too attached to the Farrel affair again. After all, observing him was not a top priority, but Shatner couldn't help it. The knowledge of his failure kept him thinking. And there were so many questions left.

In the center of all this was a young undercover agent who had killed himself with his car. The investigations had been closed after this, because the man left a full confession, exonerating Farrel from a couple of crimes he had been accused of. Shatner, however, was still skeptical, and he reflected on the weakness of the human mind. The reasons why a serious and conscientious agent could fail in his duties, could forget them for something volatile like attraction. Shatner gazed at the photos of a crushed car. Then he looked at another photo. It showed a young man with serious, regular features. This serene face betrayed nothing of the inner emotional volcano.

"Boss," Shatner raised his eyes at the sudden intrusion of one of his subordinates. "I beg your pardon, Sir, but we have received the telegram from Germany we have been waiting for."

Shatner nodded and the man handed him the paper. After twenty hours, they had finally found out that one of the supposed names, Marco Sevarelli, appeared on the list of a flight from Frankfurt, but the airport staff couldn't give any details about the man. He seemed to be just an ordinary American-Italian business man, working at the Frankfurt trading floor. After that, Shatner had asked one of his CIA contacts in Germany to collect some information. But he hadn't expected such a prompt reaction.

The telegram informed him that Sevarelli had not worked in Frankfurt, but had traveled for his health to southern Germany and that he had travelled in company of a young Asian woman. They hadn't found any Asian name on the passengers list, which meant that the woman had taken another flight. Shatner remembered that Jasper Cagney mentioned a woman as a part of the inner circle of this organization. He would speak with him tomorrow about new strategies.

"What else?" He asked his subordinate who was still waiting with another paper in his hands.

"I took the liberty of verifying the passenger list of that flight again, because I had discovered something irritating. First, I though it was just a joke, but later I concluded that it must be a hint." The young man laid the paper on the desk and indicated a name. It was an English name. "This could be an alias too."

"Why do you think so?"

The man blushed a bit.

"It's the name of a movie hero, of movies about spies." Shatner recognized that this young man felt somewhat ashamed to confess his predilection. He knew that his men feared his dry comments, but now, he was far from wanting to intimidate his subordinate. It was exactly for connecting ideas as absurdly as they may appear, that he had selected his men.

A movie?

***

I wake up some minutes before the alarm-clock is ringing, covered with sweat and struggling for breath. Paranoia, I think, standing under the cold shower. It's only paranoia, caused by the shock about my discovery in the "Velvet". Don't bother with useless speculations! It's only paranoia to believe that I had seen a very old acquaintance, speaking with that blonde private detective. It must be paranoia that I feel as if someone was watching me since that day. It's only paranoia to believe that the apparition of the young barkeeper from the "Velvet" in Karen's club could have any meaning. It's only paranoia to believe ... My mantra doesn't work. I know it better. Some years ago, a man who knew a bit too much about me, said that I was a magnet for trouble. If someone would put shit on the street, I would be the one to step into it. In the last few years, that instinct - wasn't it paranoia, some minutes before, idiot? - whatever, it saved my life more than one time. And now, there is much shit on the streets, and I have already stepped into it. So deep, that, immediately, I regretted returning to New York.

Oh no! I should concentrate on more pressing problems, instead of torturing myself like this. First, after getting dressed, I could make a breakfast of a sandwich, and coffee. Coffee is most important. Coffee is a very good idea.

That's what I do. I put some cheese, ham and cucumber on my peanut sandwiches and carry them to the table. Then I pour coffee into my cup and put it on the table too. The "Village Voice" is still lying where I left it last night. The red circled job offer reminds me why I had to get up so early, after four hours of sleep. I take the phone from the hall in the kitchen and sit down.

One ... two ... three ... "Gelbstein's bookstore. What can I do for you?" It's the old man himself who answers my call. He still has that strange accent of his, even after more than thirty years in this country.

"Good morning, Mister Gelbstein! My name is Kenneth Farrel, and I -"

"Farrel? Kenneth?" Interrupting me, he repeats the name slowly. Oh, no! "I believe I know the name." What a remarkable memory! "Wasn't it the little Kenneth who loved the candies I put in the big glass on the counter? He always tried to get some behind my back, for him and for his other friends. Am I right?" He speaks more with himself than with me, but I'm blushing. Deeply. The stealing of candies was supposed to be one of my many tests of courage for the other kids.

"Yes, Mister Gelbstein, you are right. I am sorry for it, Mister Gelbstein!" I remember having excused myself already, because Kumiko dragged me in the store when she found out about my stealing. Humiliating me without mercy, damaging my reputation one more time.

The old man laughed quietly. "What can I do for you, Kenneth Farrel?"

"I am calling about the job offer: We are looking for a courageous salesperson for our bookstore. Is it still available?"

For some minutes, he doesn't say anything. Maybe, the job is already taken, or he doesn't trust someone who stole candies from him. In this silence, the doorbell is ringing, almost scaring me off. Who could it be? Did something happen ...?

"Why don't you come visit me, Kenneth Farrel? And we will speak calmly about it."

"I would like it, Mister Gelbstein. I will be there as soon as possible." The doorbell is ringing again, more insistently this time. I cover the receiver with my hand and yell: "I am coming, please wait!"

"Don't rush, Kenneth Farrel! I wouldn't like you to have an accident."

"Don't worry! See you later, Mister Gelbstein!"

I cut the connection. Then I sprint to the apartment door and fling it open, almost stumbling against the person standing before. "Ha!" I gasp. To say that I'm surprised would be the greatest understatement of the year. I'm stunned. Black leather pants, black leather jacket, dark red shirt, spiky hair, skin like caramel, eyes like chocolate. Sam Sherman. He grins down on me like the cat who caught the canary, although he is looking somewhat tired. To tell the truth, he looks as if he had passed the night on the road again. He smells like that, too. And finally, my stunned reaction is replaced by slight anger, not by joy. "What do you want?"

"Aren't you happy to see me? I thought you wanted to see me again."

Sam's voice is a bit unsteady, and his smile loses a little of its confidence. His breath smells of beer and whatever. When he leans himself against the doorframe, I step back a couple of feet. He should take a shower, or wash rather, than trying to seduce me, or whatever he intends.

"I have not very much time, because I have to go to Manhattan for a job interview."

Now, he laughs and leans nearer to me. "Obviously, you always have a job to do. Last night, when I was here, you had been on the road for a job too." He had been here last night. What for? "I wanted to tell someone about my wonderful adventure, but the love birds didn't want to talk with me. Maggie told me that, perhaps, you would like to hear it, but you weren't there."

An adventure? I don't feel in the least like hearing something about his late night carousing. And Maggie? Since Friday, she has tried more and more to push me around. As if her knowledge about me would give her some rights. Like her manner of speaking with Karen. It really pissed me off. However, it is not Sam's fault, that Maggie desires to manage my life for me.

"And since you left them, you were on the road?" I ask him. "Why did you not go home?"

He snorts. "Why should I? Can you imagine how boring it is, living with Arthur? Can anyone imagine how much this fucking guy annoys me?" Oh yes, I can. I take a deep breath, trying to chase away that image of Arthur lying in the technical room of the "Velvet". "No, I tried to find someone else to talk to, but I had no luck. All my buddies were somewhere else. So I'm back here again."

He speaks with his straightforward attitude, as if joking. But I think that he might feel somewhat lonely, if he couldn't find people to speak with beside me. And he has something, that touches me. Why does he need such a strong vital barrier, covering insecurity with bluntness and aggressive sexuality? It appears that he is not even conscious of this but I can sense it. Maybe it's better that way, because he could turn my major weakness against me - my incapacity to reject someone who is asking for whatever help.

"As I said, I have not very much time, but you can come in and freshen up a bit. Maybe, you want breakfast too." I propose, managing a smile, and he accepts all my offers.

First, the offer for a bathroom. Meanwhile I make some more sandwiches and another coffee.

I'm surprised that he has come to visit me. I had not thought so much about him. I had not even told Maggie more than some hints, leaving her lots of room for speculation. Refusing her offer to accompany her to the "Underground", how she referred to the place where the band was playing usually on Saturday nights. Why should I have gone? No, I know myself. I'm a genius for getting myself into trouble. Friday night has proved it one more time.

However, I was strangely touched, when Maggie told me that Sam had annoyed her with questions about me. I didn't expect it. New night - new target. That's what I thought about him, although I had so much fun with him that night. And kissing him! Good grief! How could I forgot how sweet the kissing was? It was as if I had been one of the living dead. The sensation had been so overwhelming that I almost forgot myself. My body was simply craving for sex, my hands and lips for heated skin. It was a joke to say that I would consider it, because I wanted it so badly at that moment. Then I realized how scared he was. I didn't really understand why, but I knew that I had to be careful with him. More careful than I thought, after all his stupid joking, showing off. I sensed that he was more at ease when I just flirted with him.

"You should wear it down." Sam's voice interrupts my reflections, startling me. He continues in the same, thoughtful mode of speaking. "Your hair. You should wear it down. With a ponytail like that, it looks really fine, but I think you should wear it down."

"Do you always give fashion advice?"

"No," He returns grinning, leaving the door and sitting down at the table. "it's just what I'm thinking in that moment. Why would you hide your hair?"

It was a psychological necessity for my mental balance to change my appearance. Letting my hair grow was the easiest and cheapest possibility. But I don't look for trouble with the police, that's the reason why I wear it hidden under my beret. For the same reason I quit using make-up. Besides, I feel free to choose the appearance I want, and not to play a defined role. I had already had enough of playing defined roles with other men.

However, I don't express any of these thoughts.

"What's the adventure you wanted to tell me about?" I ask Sam, setting a cup of coffee and sandwiches before him and sitting down too.

First, he looks at me very peculiarly, but he doesn't insist. I liked this when we were on the road together. He accepted every limit I set, maybe understanding that I did the same for him. Finally, his face melts in a large pleased smile.

"I got a part in a movie. Last evening, I had a prize fight, and there was a guy looking out for people to play in that movie. As extras."

A movie! Now, I understand why Maggie believed I would like to hear about it. But she is wrong.

"What's the movie about?" I ask nevertheless.

"It's a kind of science-fiction movie. You know, a crazy professor tries to take over the world. We have to play his full-automatic robot clones. It's a German professor." He explains enthusiastically, and it is the first time that I see him speak about something with passion, with brilliant eyes, without faked emotions. Except for sex, I mean. That's why I swallow my dry comment, that it is always a German professor who tries to take over the world. In movies, or comic books.

"Why are they making the movie in New York? Why they don't make it in a studio in Hollywood?"

"No idea. But, it suits me, because I can play in it. And they even use a shack in my neighborhood as a sort of studio." Sam shrugs and drinks. Then his eyes widen in surprise. "This is a real coffee. Maybe, not perfect, but it's definitively not just brown colored water." I hide my smile behind my sandwich, asking myself what meaning it has for him that someone could make so-called real coffee. "Maggie told me that you have been in Hollywood. Were you in the movies?"

Good grief! I never thought about this. Out of nowhere, my skin is crawling with disgust, the idea is chilling. If someone had made a movie of me, I wouldn't even have noticed it. I know about the photos, only because I saw them later.

"No," I answer, faking a calm I don't feel. "I just worked for a restaurant, doing catering services for the crews."

"I think it must have been great, to see how they make movies." Sam has leaned back on the chair and grins more for himself than for me. He is right. The operations of the crew, as far as I could observe them, have been really the only interesting thing for me. "So, how was it?"

"What?"

"Hollywood. What do you think I'm talking about?"

"I did not like it." I hated it. Los Angeles, the city of angels, had been hell for me. Just thinking about it, and makes nausea rise up in my throat. "It is all a fake, and it is like a beast devouring other people's lives and dreams." I say sharply, standing up to put away the dishes. Then I take tobacco and leaves out of the pocket of my pants and begin to roll a cigarette. Shit! I look at my hands. Wonderful! I could be the perfect subject for a psychological study…. Get off!, I think, sending the cigarette in a perfect arc in the open trashcan. "Anyway, I have to go now, and you should go home to sleep."

I turn around to face him, meeting a quite inquisitive gaze from his eyes. After a moment of irritation, he shrugs and says: "Hey, I have a car. Why don't you let me repay your favor from the other night?"

"It would be quicker to take the subway."

"But, imagine the fun you could have in my company. I'm guaranteed fun. As I said, I'm witty and sexy. What better reason could you have to come with me?"

His self-confident remark makes me smile again. It is so easy to smile with him. Not the smile of gentle politeness I'm used to, just something issuing from my heart.

"Okay, but do not think I am foolish." I say, coming nearer to him. The excitement he radiates is almost visible. Does he really believe I would make him sexual offers in this apartment? Of course, I can smell that he had used the bathroom to get washed, but there is no chance for it. However, I intent to use his expectations for my own fun. "I know that this is not your car, but Arthur's. And I know that you have ruined his previous car." As I am almost touching him, feeling his arms lifting to grip me, I sneak my hand in the pocket of his jacket where I have perceived the car key and fish it out, stepping out of his reach before he realizes what I have done. "That means, that I will drive the car. You do not know the way anyway."

He protests, but he is no match for me. After the ten minutes I need to do my hair, we get on the road.

*

I should have taken the subway, letting Sam driving home alone. The traffic is horrible, just stop and go. We will need more than two hours to get to Mister Gelbstein's bookstore.

But, by that time, I start to feel good in Sam's company again. I allow him the little triumph of hearing about my childhood foolishness. Like the stealing of candies and other similar occupations, including my only participation in a real break-in as another proof of courage. Its circumstances had not been so amusing, but with the passing of the years it becomes easier to joke about such things.

"In the end, your life has been quite exciting." He comments, grinning at the stories I tell him. He has not the slightest idea of how much truth resides in his words, but it does not disturb me now. He doesn't speak so much about his childhood activities, except for movies.

"What about the prize fight you mentioned? Do you do things like that very often?"

I do not like that idea, but not for altruistic, or pacifist reasons. I just feel regret, that his beautiful features might be damaged by blows. Besides, I cannot see any sense in spending your life fighting. It's quite useful to know self-defense, especially because nobody expects it from a gay man, but I would not solely rely on it.

"Well, when I came to New York, my first intention was to become a boxing champion. I had already won a bit money in boxing matches. And, now, I haven't decided yet, if I still want to be a famous boxer, or a famous musician."

"I would prefer you choosing music. It would be a shame to have your looks damaged." I tease him, and suddenly, it is as if a haze of confusion and fury is laid over his face. Before, Sam says something, I continue. "I can understand, that you like fighting, because people think that you are sexy. But when you sing you can have this feeling even more intensely."

The strange expression fades and his lips curl in a mischievous smile. He has gotten the point. Then he slaps his forehead. "I almost forgot." Sam is pulling my ultimate self-defense weapon out of his pocket and swings it before my eyes. "You dropped it, and I thought you might miss it."

I supposed, I had lost it, when we fought off those assholes who attacked Karen and Mimi. However, I didn't remember clearly when I lost it. Could it be that Sam had kept it with him the last few days? In the simple hope that I would miss it? After all, chains were cheap, even fake silver chains.

"Thank you for keeping it! But there was no need to bother you with this."

"You didn't miss it?"

I bite my lips, because he looks like a sad puppy.

"No," I say and feel very crude. "Why should I? It is just a chain."

"Can I confess something stupid to you?"

"Go on!" I return chuckling, parking the car, because we have reached the place.

"I thought that you would come Saturday night, knowing that I had this thing. To finish what we have started." What logic! We exchange a glance, grinning. "It's really a silly idea, isn't it? I even can't even explain it."

I reach over, running my hand through the thick, spiky hair like I would do with a child. But it feels different, sending prickles down my spine, not enough for me to become aroused, but enough to accelerate my heart-beat. The best word to call this feeling is infatuation. It's such a wonderful sensation, that I want it to continue.

"You can still keep it, maybe I will miss it later." He answers with a grin, trying vainly to catch my hand. "However, I will go now, to see Mister Gelbstein."

*

Half an hour later I leave the store very satisfied. I'm engaged by Mister Gelbstein and would begin my job in two days, even if Karen should not have recovered. It would not be the first time that I had two jobs at the same time. Now, I would have a little income to live on my own until I could find a dance engagement. Having a real job always lifts my mind, because I hate to depend on others and to abuse their generosity.

I don't know if it is the result of my good humor, or just a temporary lack of prudence, but I'm so delighted by what I see, before I reach the car. I stop to preserve this picture. Sam has bought a bag of potato chips and is eating it, leaning his arms on the car roof. He is grinning at nothing special, moving his hips as if he was listening to music. Music in his head. His back is yelling "BAD" to the whole world, but he looks just sweet. I want to touch his face, the appetizing skin, his inviting lips and that spiky hair that felt so nice in my hand. Yes, he looks sweet, and damned sexy too, moving his hips like that.

"What are you looking at?"

He turns his face to me, his smirk almost going from ear to ear. For I do not know how many times my gaze has wandered between the firm line of his shoulders and his delectable ass. In pure and simple admiration. Feeling a slightly growing pressure in my pants.

"Nothing special." I answer, smiling back to him. "What do you think about another coffee, when you have finished your snack."

"Sounds good to me." He returns, chewing.

*

"Paying protection money for a bookstore?" Sam is asking when we are sitting at an outdoor table of a little café near Washington Square, basking in the sweet sun of May, smelling springtime even in the middle of the city. I was just telling him why Mister Gelbstein was looking for a courageous employee.

"Yes, that is what he said." I answer Sam's startled question. "His problem was that most of his former employees did not want to keep that job. It seems to be the Italians, and they have a reputation of being very dangerous."

"I can understand it, but - who would ask a bookstore for protection money? I know that most of the bars pay it, but a bookstore?"

Suddenly, I think of the barkeeper of the "Velvet" who appeared in Karen's club, every night, some minutes before it closed. For a moment, I struggle against the impulse to speak with Sam about it. But, then I keep my mouth shut again. After all, I don't know very much about him. Not enough to trust him.

" Mister Gelbstein said that all the storekeepers he knows pay it," I answer instead. "but he wouldn't. He said, that he had not fled one oppression to give up to another."

"Amazing that such a frail old man is this courageous." Sam says thoughtfully.

Smiling, I remember how surprised Mister Gelbstein was to see me. Or rather, he didn't really see me at first because he had his glasses pushed to his forehead to read the paper. And he must be even more shortsighted than before. Though, when he saw me finally, he was surprised, but then he smiled in his usual friendly manner and called me "the little Kenneth". Although, at the beginning, he was not so inclined to the idea that I might work for him. I think he believed that he could have even more problems, employing a man who looks as if he used to stray in Washington Square Park. But, in the end, I could convince him, that contrary to my appearance I had no fear at all of dealing with his problem.

"Oh, courage is not a question of strength." I explain, thinking of Kumiko.

"Like your aunt," Sam returns, and my jaw drops. "I don't know her very well, but Kay is highly amazed by her. Did she really study Law on her own, just with books and written lectures? I don't understand how someone could have patience for a thing like studies."

"She is a hard worker. She did it, even if she wasn't sure if she would find a job, as a woman and as an Asian. She just wanted to do it, because she was amazed by the idea of a real and democratic legal system. She always said that all the injustice was not a problem of the Law but of its interpretation. And that she wanted to fight until the first phrase in the Constitution becomes a reality for all people." While I am speaking, I see Kumiko before my eyes. How she was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by books and papers while I was lying on the mattress in the bedroom, observing her through the half closed door. I always fell asleep before she went to bed, even if I very often tried to stay awake. "I never knew a person with so much energy and discipline."

"You are very fond to her, aren't you?" Sam is looking at me. The tone of his voice has changed. I don't answer, lowering my gaze. "Maggie told me that you have lived with her all your life."

"Indeed, she managed to flee with me from Japan. After my parents had been killed, and because she had to fear arrest too."

"What for?"

I hesitate, but then I shrug and tell him what I know. "For treason. Well, my father was suspected to be a spy for the Americans. That's what they said to explain his death to the American authorities in Japan. He worked in Yokohama for an American Trade Company. I don't know, neither does Kumiko, if the suspicion was true. Perhaps, it was just his connection with people like my mother and Kumiko that made him suspicious in the eyes of the Tokko." Sam opens his mouth again, and I realize that I speak about things he couldn't know. "The Tokko were the secret police and suppressed subversive ideas. They observed the foreigners as well as so-called subversive Japanese. My mother was part of a pacifist group, and she secretly distributed leaflets for them. Kumiko helped her when she came to visit her. That's it. The Tokko found it out, my parents were arrested, and sentenced to death. That's what Kumiko told me, and later I found out that it was true."

I feel very odd, speaking about them, about their death. As if it is just a story of interesting, but completely unknown persons. In the end, my parents are strangers to me, persons I know from photos, a few letters and other people's accounts. I owe them my physical appearance. Besides that? Who knows?

"Sounds like a fucking movie." Sam comments somewhat impressed. "And she escaped with you. On a ship, or what?"

"On a ship." She never ever told me about the escape. It must have been horrible, and she was just lucky that I survived it. "I was one year old, she was fifteen years old. At first we lived in San Francisco, without papers, but later we left the city and went to the Midwest where the family of my father lived. It was a poor region, peopled by farmers. That's why my father left it, but it was a good place to stay during the war. They knew about the war, of course, but they let us stay nevertheless. It was a kind of underground. Better than a relocation camp, I think. After this -"

"What relocation camp?" Sam interrupts me.

"The camps where they put people with Japanese origins. During the war."

Now, it's him who is startled. "Really?"

"Yes, and one of them wasn't too far away from the place where Kumiko and I stayed." How could so many people ignore what had been cruel reality for their own compatriots? "When we lived here in the Village, there was an American-Japanese family. The elder children, Sozaru and Yumi, were my best friends. Their father had fought and died in the war, while the rest of the family was interned in a relocation camp on Ellis Island. Contrary to them, I was very lucky." It's out faster than I thought. Very strange. I hadn't thought of Soza for years, because it made me too sad. And it still causes the same melancholy. Thinking what kind of person he could have been, or what could have been between us, if he had not died in this stupid incident. "That's enough chatting about me. What's about you? How did you know Kumiko?"

"Wow!" Sam exclaims. Then he remains silent for a few minutes. "As I said I don't know her too much. It's Kay who knows her better. She helped him in a problematic situation. If you want to know details, you have to ask him. He simply told me, that it was one of his luckiest days when he went to this agency. Even before he started to explain his situation, she helped him to get his wits together, inviting him for a tea. But what a tea - it was a real ceremony." I get the picture. One of the rare things Kumiko kept of her Japanese education was the tea ceremony. She had explained to me that it created harmony and left the time to think about the words before pronouncing them. It was a good recipe, but the tea ceremony doesn't resolve all problems. I shake my head, to push away my sad thoughts, while Sam is continuing: "After this, Kay went to her whenever he needed advice, especially about legal problems. There he met Arthur who came for some advice, too. I was very surprised to discover that they knew each other, when I came to New York." After the last words, he, suddenly, stops, looking down on his dishes.

"Where did you come from?"

"From New Orleans, but my - parents live in Charleston."

No doubt, he doesn't like to speak about his parents. I don't insist. After all, coming out is always a painful process, and very often, the wounds don't heal easily.

"And the others?"

"Kay is a very old acquaintance." Almost unconsciously, his lips curl in a smirk. "I know him from the orphanage where I spent my first seven years, before I was adopted. It was in Oklahoma City. And Arthur comes from Philadelphia, from a Quaker family. That's what all the Shermans are."

His short comment only confirms my impression. His coming out has been painful enough that he still feels hurt.

"And the band, how long have you played together?"

This might be an easier topic, I think.

"Almost since my arrival in New York. Three years. First, I only knew how to play the saxophone, but Arthur taught me to play the guitar." He stops, an odd expression showing up in his eyes. Though, it doesn't take much time, before his familiar mischief returns. "Hey, do you want to see our place? You will be impressed."

"Yes." I answer, faking naiveté.

His eyes widen, the smile growing more wicked. Does he think I would not know what he intends? After all. Why not?

*

It's an old warehouse, where the ground floor is occupied by stores. The windows of all the other floors, as far as they are visible from the street, are barred with wooden planks, or painted in gaudy colors. We have to go to the backside of the house to find the entry. A dusty stairway behind the stores and a wooden elevator leads to the other floors. We take the elevator. The first thing surprising me, is the large banner at the entry to the fourth floor, announcing in flashily colored letters "Underground". The second thing surprising me, is the truth of it. The whole thing is a kind of cave. The barred and painted windows dim the light. Only in the part of the room where the instruments are standing, a sort of stage, the windows allow the daylight to enter. Armchairs and couches and low tables are displayed in free arrangements, creating compartments, little caves in the grand cave. Six iron girders supporting the ceiling intensify this impression. The walls are decorated with different posters, reminding me of my joke about avant-garde artists.

"What do you think about it? It's quite cool."

"Looks like the entrance of a brothel." I comment dryly.

Sam grins. "You should see it at night. Then it looks like a fucking love paradise." He shows me the bar, occupying a corner beside the music rostrum. "If you want something, serve yourself. I would invite you to come upstairs to see the other rooms, but it's not decent at all." I bite my lips, for not laughing at his comment about decency. "I'll be back in ten or twenty minutes."

"No problem!"

I risk a look into the bar shelves and fridge, offering a very great diversity of more or less alcoholic liquids. I wonder if they have a liquor license, or if they had found a way to circumvent the legal requirements. I look at the collection for a few minutes and, finally, I find orange juice. After having filled a glass, I drink a bit, walk through the cavernous room, until I feel a certain physical need and look for the lavatories.

*

I should not have looked in that corner. A half hidden and half open cardboard box in other peoples lavatory is not my business. Curiosity killed the cat. Someday, I may learn that, but not now, because there it is ... Shit! In a very real sense of meaning. Crouching down, I pull the cardboard box completely out of its hiding place. It contains three packets filled with white powder. Whatever it might be, it is definitively hard stuff. I settle myself on the closed toilet seat, because I feel the sudden need to sit down.

I have never seen this much, not before the night in the "Velvet". On that night, nothing offered me a real distraction from my thoughts about the drug deal in that lavatory. And, this had been the real reason for me to stay, not just favors for Sam, or Maggie. Trying to find out the secrets of the theatre was the least I could do. Of course, the others didn't leave me the key when they closed. I was a stranger to them, and one of them, or both had a lot of things to hide. I picked up the key, in a moment when none of them were watching, and returned when they had were gone.

I found Arthur there, in the technical room, and I think I saved his life. He was in a kind of shock, shaking and struggling for breath as if he was drowning. Although I was horrified, I did not panic in that moment. Even as he talked with me. Like the living dead in a gothic novel who suddenly starts to speak. He called me his guardian angel, a creature of heaven and more things which only gave me a bad chill. First, I thought about calling an ambulance, but I didn't do it. I was almost sure that they would inform the police, and the police would find a reason to put me in jail. A fag in the company of a junkie would have been a perfect target for deliberate mistreatment and a perfect suspect.

No, I did not call the ambulance, but looked for a medicine cabinet. And there I found enough uppers to wake up the dead. It helped to stop the shock before it became too dangerous, and after a while he fell asleep, his pulse regaining a normal rhythm. Only then, sure that his condition was stable, I examined what he had taken. It has been a mix of LSD and Cocaine, and I wasn't really surprised to find a large amount and variety of drugs in an adjacent room. I was not surprised, but furious. There are not many people I hate, but I really, really despise drug dealers.

It's good to remember my fury, better than feeling shitty, sitting on the toilet seat and looking at the three packets. I stand up, open the toilet and do the same thing I did with the shit I found in the "Velvet", taking my knife out of my pocket, slashing open the packets and throwing their contents down in the water. Splash! Flush! It's gone, before I can change my mind. Then I lay the empty packs back in the cardboard box and put it back in its hiding place. I'm still shaking when I wash my hands, avoiding looking in the mirror.

I think that I should really talk with Sam about this now. In the "Velvet", I wasn't sure at all if I could trust him, him being a stranger to me. Though it was nice to have him as a distraction with his behavior and his sex-appeal. After the time we have spent together, I don't believe that he is addicted to any drugs, besides alcohol. But, I'm not certain of what he knows about the different packets. Since the cardboard box hadn't been exceptionally hidden, and he lives in this house.

I return to my glass of orange juice, looking vainly in the pockets of my jacket and my jeans. You will not find any tobacco, you left it home, forget about it! Finally, I take off my jacket and lay it over a chair. Lifting my mood with the question if taking off my jacket is a sign of my mental condition, anticipating taking off more.

"Got you!"

Before I notice anything, I'm hugged from behind, teasing teeth tugging my earlobe. I open my mouth to protest, to say what needs to be said, but the only sound escaping my throat is a breathless gasp when the tongue between these teasing teeth follows the line of my ear. Later, I think, when it wanders lower to my jaw, hands clutching my shirt above my stomach and running eagerly over my legs. Later, I think, when a hungry mouth is devouring my neck, tongue playing with my chain, pressing it against my skin. Later, I think, every reasonable thought flying away, when I feel the needy pressure against my back and shaking fingers opening the lower buttons of my shirt. I dig my own fingers in his arms, hissing when his warm hand slides beneath the fabric, touching my feverish skin. Hunger like I haven't felt it for so many years, far greedier than the other night, is washing over me. I spin around, grip his neck and push against him. Our lips meet halfway, meshing wildly.

Some minutes later, we stumble blindly over one of the couches. Sam toppling me, continuing the kiss, almost ripping off my shirt, when he needs too much effort to open the buttons. Then he stops, breaking the kiss and lifting his head to look at what he has touched.

"Not now!" I let out, my voice husky and impatient. I push the ring and the dragon hanging on the chain away from his questioning eyes, reaching out for his neck and drawing him back into the kiss. Not now! I don't want the past phantoms to interfere, not when I need so much to be touched by a real human being. Covering his mouth, his chin and his neck with hungry kisses - the taste is so overwhelming, intoxicating, real and physical - I shred his shirt over his back. I'm almost crying out when his mouth returns to my neck. Holding him tight with my arms, relishing the sensation of his taut muscles under my fingers, I shift my position until we are sitting, myself settled in his lap, my legs straddling his sides.

Even if he might be somewhat irritated with my sudden action, he realizes very fast the advantages of this position, stripping my shirt completely, running his hands over my back, up to bury them in my hair and down to squeeze my buttocks as hard as he had done it the other night. My head falls back while I'm feeling him pressed against me. When I augment this torturous delight with slow moves of my hips, I provoke a violent gasp from him, his touches grow needier. The muscles in my legs quiver, as I'm pressing my feet in the upholstery, searching for support. His right hand sneaks between our tightly pressed bodies, caressing me, where I feel this madly throbbing, and I cry out. I don't remember having been so sensitive, reacting to soft touches with such passion. ... My skin is like a sponge for his kisses and the insistent touches of his hands, absorbing their heat and converting it to more feverish need and aching excitement. Please! I want this to continue endlessly; I'm yearning for release. And he is so talented with his mouth, tongue and teeth, finds highly sensitive places, that he inspires my lust-hazed mind the breathtaking vision of -

"No!" I shout desperately, when I feel a long missed sensation running down my spine. My fingers dig into his back savagely, as if searching for help. "Oh my god!" Screaming again, I fight it down.

"That's it," Sam tries to laugh, but he is breathing hard, and he is trembling. "finally you know how to address me properly."

I taste the salt on his skin when I manage to kiss his neck, biting him for mocking me. After this, he is struggling for control too. Finally, he reaches for my belt and opens it. Then he continues with my pants, the hand in my back creeping lower, sliding beneath the fabric. My whole body shakes in anticipation, sweat dripping over my skin. This, oh yes, I want this so badly. Then -

It's a surprise phantom who interferes, using the piano. Whoever once heard a piano screeching like a hurt animal can imagine the dreadful sounds interrupting our heated battle. The music has the same effect as a cold shower, for both of us, but incites different reactions.

"Fuck!" Sam yells hoarsely, and he pushes me away roughly. I cover my face with my hands. I'm not sure if I should laugh about this moment fitting for a screwball comedy, or if I should wish for a hole to disappear completely. My cheeks are still burning, but its the shame now. "Fuck! Fucking bastard!"

Spilling out more obscenities - some of them make me even blush - Sam rises up. The piano grows just noisier and more dissonant, slowly getting on my nerves. I close my pants and put on my shirt, standing up too. When I see what happens, I decide that laughing is the only solution to save face. Without success, Sam is trying to drag Arthur away from the piano, constantly yelling at him.

When I laugh, they stop their strange fight and look at me. I don't know what I had expected from Arthur when he sees me but I find just an expression of utter serenity on his face. Not a smile, but a sort of preliminary start of a smile. And the music changes into something completely different. It must be easier, without Sam trying to trap his hands in the piano-top.

"What are you laughing at?" Sam is asking angrily, his face is bright red.

"Don't be so ridiculous!" I say, pulling him away from Arthur. "Will you drive me home, or do I have to take the subway? You have two minutes to decide and to get changed."

Sam decides quickly and leaves. Arthur continues playing his new tune, two different motives in twisted, choppy melodies. For the last few days, I was so troubled by the idea of meeting him. But now, I feel colder than I thought I would. He gazes at me with widened eyes, pure adoration mixed with indulgence. If I hadn't seen almost the same expression when I found him in that little room, maybe I would have been happy to see a man looking at me like this. Maybe, he could seduce me with his music. Maybe, I wouldn't give Sam a second thought. But now, I know the truth about him, and I have found the drugs in the toilet. He might be a victim of his own misery, but this is no excuse.

"Do you know?" He starts to speak. "That he just wants sex from you, a quick moment of heat."

"What is the problem with that?" I reply. All my experiences told me that it always amounts to this quick moment of heat. Sam is only extremely blunt in this matter.

"And the moment he gets it, he will not look at you a second time."

"Why do you care about it?"

I see my beret lying on the floor and pick it up. I clap the dust off and put it on my hair. Of course, my hair must be a mess, but I can arrange it when I'm home.

"You deserve better. He would never know how to treat you properly."

"But you think you know."

"Yes," He is very near to a smile now, nodding. "I know that you are one of these precious beings who are like lights for the people around them. An angel."

An angel? Oh no! Being an object of adoration might appear more agreeable than being an object of pure sexual desire, but in the end, it's just the same, and I dislike them both. For a very simple reason. The object part. And being the object of adoration of a drug-hazed mind is the last thing I want.

"Don't you think that you grow a bit pathetic?" I return coldly, and I don't even have to fake it.

"No, it's just the truth. I can see it when I look at you, this light."

"You should stop to taking things which influence your perception."

It's a stupid discussion. Caustic remarks are just a waste. He is so high on LSD at this moment, that he doesn't really understand any of my words. His answer: "You should use it too, because it shows you how things really are. It gave me back music when I thought I had lost it." just proves my thoughts. I stop caring about him, it's useless now. A drug-filled mind is no place for reasonable thoughts.

I take my jacket and leave the room, running down the stairway. It's only when I'm standing by the car that I realize that I haven't been calm at all. Self-deception is one of my greatest abilities, but now, leaning against the car, I'm shaking like a leaf. My control is just strong enough, that I don't vomit on the street. So many years, and I still wish I would never ever have to deal with my special knowledge in such situations. I wish I could despise this man, but instead I feel sorrow.

*

"Fucking bastard!" Sam is still cursing, when we are on the road again, and slowly, it starts to annoy me. After all, it's not the end of the world. "This incredible -"

"What's your problem, Sam?"

"How can you ask? It was humiliating, but not only that. I was so close, for fuck's sake, for three weeks I haven't had any sex."

"That's really tragic, Sam."

We live in two different worlds. This poor boy almost dies from excess pressure after only three weeks of sexual abstinence. After my words, he glances suspiciously at me.

"Are you teasing me?"

"I would never do that."

"You are. I thought you liked it, you have been really hot. But maybe you prefer someone more sophisticated and more artistic than me, who sweet talks before screwing you."

"Don't dare speak to me like this!" I return sharply. "Pull over!"

"Okay, I'm sorry." His voice expresses the truth of it even better than the words themselves.

I bite my bottom lip, suddenly amused that I can intimidate him so easily.

"I accept your apology, but pull over anyway. We have to talk about something, and I don't want to do it in the middle of the New York rush hour."

"Do you want to ask me about Arthur? If I had realized that he was high?" Sam queries, but he searches to find a place to stop. "Of course, I know it. I'd have to be blind not to know it. What do you think is the problem I have with him? Every time, before and after a concert, during the days and in the nights, he blows his head away with this stuff. You can't even really fight with him when he is like this. You have seen it."

"Is that what you meant with his search for inspiration?" He glances at me, as if I have said something stupid. "You said it, when we were in the theatre, explaining what Arthur does after his shift."

He stops the car, turning his face to me, shrugging.

"That's what he says. That taking it helps him to find new music. In the beginning, I believed it, because I noticed that he was more candid, looked happier when he was high. Though, after a while, I realized that his drug use was just a substitute for a real life, not only concerning sex, but concerning all feelings and sensations. And now, he just pisses me off, but I can't do anything. When he isn't high, he's just gloomy and quiet, reading books, disdaining everything I do."

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Shit! Why do I have to feel this sorrow? Finally, I find my voice. "Why don't you try to help him? To get clean?"

"I'm not fucking Jesus Christ, who saves the poor sheep."

"That's not what I was asking you. I asked you why you don't help him to get clean."

"Why?" I open my eyes at the coldness in his voice. "Why should I help him? He doesn't want to be saved, he told me with his own voice not to spy after him and not to annoy him. Why should I make myself suffer for him? After all he is just a stupid bastard who has afraid to live, or to have fun."

"But he is your cousin."

"So what? He doesn't want my help, or anyone's. If not he would be with this girl now, because she loves him. And she is a real person. If he wanted anyone's help, he would accept this love. No matter if the girl is black or white." They must have discussed about Mimi. "But I don't love him this much. Why should I suffer for someone who doesn't want to be saved."

"And what will you think the day he kills himself with this?"

"It would just be the death he chooses. So many people who have died would deserve life more than him. People who loved life enough for not to be afraid all time."

We have started shouting, but suddenly, I see this expression in his eyes. His own sorrow he has hidden so deeply, and I think about the people I have known. People who died, but deserved life so much.

"I'm sorry." I say, and his wide eyes betray his amazement. "It's unfair to demand things from you that might hurt you. Besides, you should know that someone - maybe Arthur, maybe another person - has hidden drugs - I don't know what kind in your bathroom."

He shrugs. "Yes, I know."

"What?" The moment of sympathy is gone. I'm at the edge of fury.

"I told you that he doesn't want to be saved. But this isn't my business. This is Arthur's business. I don't give a fuck about it. He told me that dealing LSD isn't illegal, and that anyway, I should keep my mouth shut about morals. If I informed the police about it, he would inform the police about the places where I go sometimes. Do you understand why I don't wish to save him?" I'm choking, my fury flying away quickly. That's it, he is right. Arthur must already be so deeply involved in this shitty business, that helping him becomes really painful. I don't even say that the stuff I found was certainly something worse than LSD. "He gets this stuff from a guy called Thomas Kane, who sometimes shows up on Saturday. I avoid this man. He is gay, or bi - I don't know, but I don't like the looks he gives me."

"Then you should appreciate that I have flushed a considerable part of his money down the toilet." I say dryly.

Sam's eyes widen even more, then he starts to laugh. "Why did I never get that idea?"

"You have said it. You don't care about it. I do." My voice is somewhat sharp, but I'm not in the mood to be polite. "You know about the 'Velvet' too?"

His laughter is trapped in his throat. "What's with the 'Velvet'?"

I look at him very long, before I decide that he really doesn't know about the drugs in the "Velvet". Then I tell him everything that happened, from the deal I heard in the lavatory to Arthur's shock, and finally, I'm glad to do it.

"The 'Velvet' is partially owned by an organization, called the 'Family'. It's a bit like the Mafia, but its members are not limited on Italians." Sam explains, when I have finished. "Simon has made the contacts. That's all that I know. I can't imagine that someone could do anything without their knowledge. Kane is a freelancer, as far as I know." Then, he grins catlike, while I'm thinking, Shit, I could have provoked a gang war with my action. "I don't know why you do such risky things, but I have to admit that I'm highly amazed by your recklessness. Do you want to fight off all the drug dealers in this city? If so, please, let me know, because I'm sure it guarantees lots of fun."

Sighing and laughing at the same moment, I cover my face with my hands. A magnet for trouble, that's what I am, falling in a man who considers trouble as an amusing entertainment. There is no need to continue this discussion. "Let's go!"

Sam smacks my shoulder, before he tries to filter back into the flow of traffic.

"Let's go out again tomorrow!" He says after a while. "Your job starts on Thursday. We could even go to a movie, in the evening. I go to the movie theatre every Wednesday."

My first idea is to accept his invitation, but then I remember that I have to visit Karen. I promised her, before I left them on Sunday. Thinking of Karen, I remember the job and another thing.

"You said, the barkeeper of the 'Velvet' has made the contacts. I saw him at Karen's Jazz Club, the last few days. Do you mean -?"

"Yes, as I said most of the bars pay protection money. This organization is like a net. Their chief is called the 'spider', but nobody I know has ever seen him." Sam is shrugging. I would love to have his indifference, but my thoughts have already started to hunt each other like mad rats. "You haven't answered my suggestion."

I take another deep breath. "I would like to go out again, but tomorrow I have to visit Karen Kaszowiz."

"This noisy girl."

"Don't talk like that. She is very fine and courageous."

"If you say so. When shall I come to take you?"

This time, I'm really sighing. "Do you really want to spend another day on the road?"

He laughs. "Don't forget the fun, and the surprises!" Yes, this is something I could get used to. "Besides, we still have unfinished business."

Sam's hand is sliding from the clutch to my thigh, but I catch it and lay it back on the steering wheel before its creeping becomes too dangerous. I haven't forgotten what Arthur said about the quick moment of heat.

"Do not let us rush into things!"

I'm feeling a bit ridiculous, saying this. Just on hour before, I had been really hot, but now, I think that Arthur might have done me a favor. Sam considers my words definitively ridiculous, bursting out in mocking laughter, while he is parking the car in front of the house.

"Rush? I don't see us rushing into anything."

It's really a world between us, but it doesn't change my opinion. I know for sure, that if I had sex with someone, it should be a little bit more than just a casual fuck. Sure, it might be a great moment, but later I would feel like shit. I know it, I've had enough fucks of this kind. Enough to feel unclean and dirty - until now. I leave the car without reacting to Sam's laughter. When I have reached his side of the car, he looks somewhat irritated, lowering the window. He might consider himself as the coolest kickass of the world, but I'm convinced now, that he needs this mask to protect himself. After all, he is only twenty-two years old.

It's pure foolishness and more than imprudent, but I cup his face with my hands, lean forward through the open window and kiss him good-bye. Not a hungry kiss as a function of a foreplay, but a sweet one, to taste his lips. When I break the kiss, we breathe a bit quicker, nevertheless.

"There'll be another time." I say smiling, steadying my voice a bit, raising my upper body. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow!"

Then he departs, and I go to the house. I become aware of what I have done, when I notice a shocked face in one of the windows of the first floor. There had been people on the street, I see them now, still looking at me in disgust. Luckily, they are mostly women, they would not try to beat me, and they are too far away to spit at me. In stubborn ignorance, I smile at them brightly. But, when I have entered the house, I'm worried if one of them might have called the police to inform them about my open exhibition of immorality.

A letter addressed to me that I find in the letter-box interrupts my reflection. It has been posted in New York, and inside I find a postcard of the Liberty Statue. While I'm climbing to the second floor, I read the message. It's written in German, saying: Greetings from Berlin, Venus! Saw you at the airport, but you have gotten quite blind. Still owe you a favor, and don't like to have any debts. If you need some help, call under this number, or find me at the "Waldorf Astoria". Followed by a room number.

Of course! Only the best is good enough for him. I don't even need to see the initials H. v. S. to know the writer of this letter. There is only one man who always called me "Venus", no matter what I said or if I complained. If he is in New York, something must be up, something big, something in which I don't want to be involved. My first impulse is to throw the letter in the garbage, but then - No, for annoying me endlessly, I should keep him as my debtor. Just for my own satisfaction!

I hide the letter under the false bottom of one of my suitcases. Then I go into the bathroom to arrange my hair, blushing when I see my reflection. My neck is covered with love bites, quickly I search for a shawl to cover them and change my shirt, before I start to make dinner.

*

I wish I could cry. I wish I hadn't shed all my tears for other people. Every new pain only creates this strange knot in my throat, strangling me, making my eyes burn, but offering no release. I blow the smoke in the evening air, leaning against the railing by the river. The Hudson is converted into flowing flames, and golden fingers reach out for the familiar skyline. The view from Brooklyn Heights is definitively better than any view from a building in the middle of that chaotic Island. But I never felt at home in Brooklyn. From the moment we moved over to Brooklyn, my life was already disintegrating.

There had only been one other day in my life when Kumiko had been this cold. The day when she knew that I hadn't gone to the new school for two months, and that the school branded me as a trouble maker.

Today, she had been informed by the neighbors about my behavior, even before she came in the apartment. The neighbors who swayed between pure horror and pity that she was punished with someone sick and disgusting like me, in the short time, one of them had written a letter and collected signatures, begging her to take care that such immorality would not be displayed again. After all, they were good Christians, and good Americans.

I said I was sorry, but she only replied that I should not lie to her. If I was really sorry I would stop to doing things who might hurt my family.

"Is it not enough that Maggie has suffered for your behavior at school? Even if she wants me to believe that she was always fine, I know what hard time she has had. Is it not enough? Don't you have done enough to yourself?"

I was sorry, sorry to cause them pain, but she didn't believe me.

"I will not kick you out in the streets now, but you will leave tomorrow. I will give you some money, if you need it, but after this I demand that you stay away from us. And if you get yourself in trouble again, don't come crawling to me for help."

These were the last words she said to me.

I wish I could cry, but I can't. I finish my cigarette and go to the subway station. The best remedy against suffering is hard work. That's what I'm used to.

Author's notes: Are you shocked? I hope not too much.

1. The most shocking matter: First, even if drug use is part of this story, I don't promote it. Writing about things doesn't mean automatically to promote them. Second, it's correct that the traffic with LSD was still legal in 1965. Like other drugs it was used for medical treatments. Third, the relationship between music and drugs was not invented by me, and what Arthur does, is a kind of preliminary state of psychedelic music. But: If you find someone having a cocaine-shock, please, call an ambulance! After all, we don't live in the Sixties anymore, and it's very rare that someone has to fear mistreatment from the police.

2. Why do I do such terrible things to Aoshi? (He glances at me with icy disdain.) First, I have to admit that I have my problems with Aoshi, for that reason he might be a bit more negative than usually. Second, this is not a story about invincible warriors, so I had to change his motivations. What remains of his character beside the search for "being the strongest"? A rather serious, reflecting man with a tendency to obsessions and the ability to think twisted, a man who has inspired the love and the loyalty of other people, a man who got lost somewhere on his way. That's what I try to keep for Arthur, but contrary to other characters in this story, he is not a spy. Besides, the image will only be completed at the end of the story.

3. Let's talk about the characters (II)! Mister Gelbstein is Doctor Genzai of course, and I liked that idea that my AU-Kenshin has to protect a bookstore. I think it's karma for destroying a complete library during a fight. Although the name Sozaru is an original character, and I will write more about him in the next chapter. Yumi is Yumi. Marco Sevarelli, Thomas Kane and the mysterious H. v. S. - well, figure it out!

4. Japanese History. I have found the information about the Tokko in a fascinating book about secret services. I hadn't time to study the Japanese History of the Thirties and Forties in detail. That's the reason why sometimes I take the liberty to apply things I know from the German History to Japan. I would not really compare the national-socialist regime in Germany with the Japanese regime of that time, but both countries had totalitarian systems, suppressing critical opinions. This permits already some conclusions. I will give more information about the pacifist and socialist groups in Japan later.

5. American-Japanese History. Yes, it is true, that, during the Second World War, people with Japanese origins were interned in relocation camps, all over the country.

In addition to the first version of this chapter, I have a link to a research project dedicated to this matter: http:// www. densho. org (You know the problem with the links on ff.net, sigh.).

Revision: 18-10-2002

Revision: 13-03-2003