The Many Tongues Challenge
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rhiko and harukami for the read-through. At 1341 words...
Grasshopper
“There’s something really wrong with this world when someone whacks Mr. Miyagi,” Ray says, looking mournfully at the corpse at his feet. “Man. Poor Sensei.”
“His name appears to be Masahito Kawabata,” I correct, after finding a government-issued identification card in the man’s wallet. “Whether or not he was a teacher remains to be seen.”
“No, Fraser, look at him,” Ray says earnestly. “Bet he trained karate champions how to kick ass and drink tea, maybe both at the same time. And now because of some nutjob, he won’t do it anymore.”
I kneel down again and inspect the man’s left hand, where it lays palm-up on the ground. “Actually, Ray, although he is quite advanced in years, I would expect that he was a practitioner of kendo or perhaps aikido. The calluses on his hands are consistent with those attained from wielding a bokken or – "
“The window,” Ray interrupts sharply. I look up, and see the shattered remains of the pane. “In broad daylight,” Ray said, clearly disgusted. “Mr. Miyagi here – "
“Kawabata,” I correct, mostly out of habit.
Ray continues as though he hasn’t heard me, although the frown directed at me suggests that he had. “Poor Mr. Miyagi, probably eating his Wheaties before going out to rumble with some bad guys, when somebody takes aim and – bam! – right through the window, right through the heart. This is a sad, sad world.”
Ray seems to be taking this more to heart than usual.
I walk carefully toward the window. “The forensics team is on the way?” I ask, and he nods. A cursory examination of the window yields no visible clues, until I looked through to the outside. “You know, Ray, even without an estimated time of death from Mort, I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Kawabata died midmorning.”
“So?”
“So I think we should have a look outside.”
Outside Mr. Kawabata’s apartment, Ray snatches up my train of logic and runs with it. “I get you, Fraser. Window opens out to a courtyard, with apartments five high. Manger’s office is across the way, blinds open, secretary facing out. No way did someone just walk outside at ten o’clock in the a.m. and take aim without someone in the office seeing.”
“I agree. I think they were upstairs and inside.” I examine the window again. “The shattering of the window makes it impossible to really determine an angle of entry, and what with it being midday – well, I imagine most of the residents are at their places of employment, which may make interviewing difficult.”
Ray’s reflection in the remainder of the window frowns. “Somebody had to have seen something.” He sighs and looks heavenward, then abruptly squawks. “Jesus.”
I look up, but Christ is nowhere to be found – instead, there is an elderly Japanese woman sticking her head outside her window and waving at us.
“Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY!”
He stops on the stair and turns. “What?”
I push down a feeling of embarrassment, completely illogical under the circumstances. “I know you’ve grown used to my certain facility with languages, but I feel it necessary to warn you that it is likely that she doesn’t speak English, and I must confess I know precious little Japanese.”
“Confess, huh?” he says, cocking an eyebrow. “Say three Hail Marys and two Hello Dollys. I’ve got it covered.”
I am several steps behind before deciding that it isn’t worth the effort to puzzle that out.
Ray knocks on the apartment door, and we hear the scuffling of slippers on the floor before the door opens.
“Keiji-san,” the old woman says, her voice creaking with age and perhaps disuse.
Ray actually inclines his head. “Sumimasen. Shitsumon ga arun desu ga…”
I stare helplessly at Ray, but he makes it clear in a glance that now is not the time to ask him questions about his hitherto unknown language skills. He takes a deep breath and appears to concentrate rather fiercely for a moment, one knuckle resting between his brows. “Kesa wa…kesa ni, nanika mimashita ka?” His words are faltering, but strangely beautiful.
“Henna koto?” she asks. It sounds like a clarification, even to my untutored ears.
“Hai,” Ray affirms.
She thinks it over, and writes something on a slip of paper. “Douzo,” she says, handing it to him. “Odaiji ni, Keiji-san.”
“Arigatou gozaimashita,” Ray says, his manner changing from hesitant to confident. “Shitsurei shimasu.”
I am staring at him again when his hand finds the nape of my neck and presses me into a belated bow.
He starts down the hall, leaving me to catch up. “Ray, when did you learn Japanese?” I ask, trying to keep the astonishment out of my voice.
He snorts. “Learning implies books or at least hanging out in Tokyo, or which I have done neither. Well. I did buy a book once, but I think Japanese is one of those languages best learned through the kick-in-the-pants approach.”
I frown, utterly confused. “How..”
His face takes on the pinched, pained look that heralds the advent of Stella in a conversation. “Winter after I got divorced, I watched a bunch of Kurosawa movies all the time. Didn’t really know what to do with myself all alone in the apartment, you know? Guy down at the rental place, he had a stash of movies in Japanese, all with subtitles, so that’s what I did – watched a lot of weirdo movies. Well, that and got drunk. Sometimes both at the same time – although I should warn you never to watch 'Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence' when you’re wasted. You spend the whole time thinking you must be one step away from alcohol poisoning because that can’t be David Bowie on the screen, but it is.”
I nod obediently, still mystified. “So you learned Japanese by watching movies?”
Ray flushes a bit pink. “Mostly. One of my jobs before - " here he makes a hand motion that I presume indicates an undercover operation - "...there wasn’t a whole lot to do. The community center down the street was offering beginner lessons, so…” he shrugs gracelessly.
“Ray,” I say, stopping him with a hand to his elbow. “Ray, language study is an accomplishment to be proud of. We wouldn’t have that apartment number if it weren’t for your skill,” I tell him, smiling sincerely.
He ducks his head. “Guess so. It’s not like I know that much – it’s nothing special.”
If I should ever come across whomever instilled this attitude in him, I will be forced to think long and hard about kicking them in the head. “Ray, I think it’s wonderful,” I tell him, willing him to believe me.
He gives me a small smile. “If you want…if you want, you could start learning the way I did. I bought a few of the movies I really liked…you could come over and watch 'Vengeance is Mine' tonight, if you want. That’s where I learned all my police vocab.”
“I would love to.” We smile at each other rather fatuously for a few moments before breaking eye contact.
A quick visit to the office reveals that Apartment 402, the number the Japanese woman had written down for Ray, has been empty for several months. Upon entering, we discover that our murderer is unlikely to have been a professional.
“What a maroon. Tracks in dirt all over the carpet…”
“Size 11 men’s shoe,” I report.
“Leaves two bullets on the windowsill, and handprints all over the window from when he opened it to shoot Mr. Miyagi.”
We stare at the window for a moment, contemplating the foolishness of some criminals. “I think he missed a very basic lesson in evading arrest,” I say.
“Such as?”
I hold my hands up in front of the window, my palms facing the glass. “Wax on, wax off.”
Ray explodes into surprised laughter and hits me in the arm. “I knew you’d seen that movie. Just you wait, grasshopper – some truly fine Japanese cinema awaits us tonight.”
I smile at him. “I can hardly wait.”
rhiko and harukami for the read-through. At 1341 words...Grasshopper
“There’s something really wrong with this world when someone whacks Mr. Miyagi,” Ray says, looking mournfully at the corpse at his feet. “Man. Poor Sensei.”
“His name appears to be Masahito Kawabata,” I correct, after finding a government-issued identification card in the man’s wallet. “Whether or not he was a teacher remains to be seen.”
“No, Fraser, look at him,” Ray says earnestly. “Bet he trained karate champions how to kick ass and drink tea, maybe both at the same time. And now because of some nutjob, he won’t do it anymore.”
I kneel down again and inspect the man’s left hand, where it lays palm-up on the ground. “Actually, Ray, although he is quite advanced in years, I would expect that he was a practitioner of kendo or perhaps aikido. The calluses on his hands are consistent with those attained from wielding a bokken or – "
“The window,” Ray interrupts sharply. I look up, and see the shattered remains of the pane. “In broad daylight,” Ray said, clearly disgusted. “Mr. Miyagi here – "
“Kawabata,” I correct, mostly out of habit.
Ray continues as though he hasn’t heard me, although the frown directed at me suggests that he had. “Poor Mr. Miyagi, probably eating his Wheaties before going out to rumble with some bad guys, when somebody takes aim and – bam! – right through the window, right through the heart. This is a sad, sad world.”
Ray seems to be taking this more to heart than usual.
I walk carefully toward the window. “The forensics team is on the way?” I ask, and he nods. A cursory examination of the window yields no visible clues, until I looked through to the outside. “You know, Ray, even without an estimated time of death from Mort, I think it’s safe to say that Mr. Kawabata died midmorning.”
“So?”
“So I think we should have a look outside.”
Outside Mr. Kawabata’s apartment, Ray snatches up my train of logic and runs with it. “I get you, Fraser. Window opens out to a courtyard, with apartments five high. Manger’s office is across the way, blinds open, secretary facing out. No way did someone just walk outside at ten o’clock in the a.m. and take aim without someone in the office seeing.”
“I agree. I think they were upstairs and inside.” I examine the window again. “The shattering of the window makes it impossible to really determine an angle of entry, and what with it being midday – well, I imagine most of the residents are at their places of employment, which may make interviewing difficult.”
Ray’s reflection in the remainder of the window frowns. “Somebody had to have seen something.” He sighs and looks heavenward, then abruptly squawks. “Jesus.”
I look up, but Christ is nowhere to be found – instead, there is an elderly Japanese woman sticking her head outside her window and waving at us.
“Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray. RAY!”
He stops on the stair and turns. “What?”
I push down a feeling of embarrassment, completely illogical under the circumstances. “I know you’ve grown used to my certain facility with languages, but I feel it necessary to warn you that it is likely that she doesn’t speak English, and I must confess I know precious little Japanese.”
“Confess, huh?” he says, cocking an eyebrow. “Say three Hail Marys and two Hello Dollys. I’ve got it covered.”
I am several steps behind before deciding that it isn’t worth the effort to puzzle that out.
Ray knocks on the apartment door, and we hear the scuffling of slippers on the floor before the door opens.
“Keiji-san,” the old woman says, her voice creaking with age and perhaps disuse.
Ray actually inclines his head. “Sumimasen. Shitsumon ga arun desu ga…”
I stare helplessly at Ray, but he makes it clear in a glance that now is not the time to ask him questions about his hitherto unknown language skills. He takes a deep breath and appears to concentrate rather fiercely for a moment, one knuckle resting between his brows. “Kesa wa…kesa ni, nanika mimashita ka?” His words are faltering, but strangely beautiful.
“Henna koto?” she asks. It sounds like a clarification, even to my untutored ears.
“Hai,” Ray affirms.
She thinks it over, and writes something on a slip of paper. “Douzo,” she says, handing it to him. “Odaiji ni, Keiji-san.”
“Arigatou gozaimashita,” Ray says, his manner changing from hesitant to confident. “Shitsurei shimasu.”
I am staring at him again when his hand finds the nape of my neck and presses me into a belated bow.
He starts down the hall, leaving me to catch up. “Ray, when did you learn Japanese?” I ask, trying to keep the astonishment out of my voice.
He snorts. “Learning implies books or at least hanging out in Tokyo, or which I have done neither. Well. I did buy a book once, but I think Japanese is one of those languages best learned through the kick-in-the-pants approach.”
I frown, utterly confused. “How..”
His face takes on the pinched, pained look that heralds the advent of Stella in a conversation. “Winter after I got divorced, I watched a bunch of Kurosawa movies all the time. Didn’t really know what to do with myself all alone in the apartment, you know? Guy down at the rental place, he had a stash of movies in Japanese, all with subtitles, so that’s what I did – watched a lot of weirdo movies. Well, that and got drunk. Sometimes both at the same time – although I should warn you never to watch 'Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence' when you’re wasted. You spend the whole time thinking you must be one step away from alcohol poisoning because that can’t be David Bowie on the screen, but it is.”
I nod obediently, still mystified. “So you learned Japanese by watching movies?”
Ray flushes a bit pink. “Mostly. One of my jobs before - " here he makes a hand motion that I presume indicates an undercover operation - "...there wasn’t a whole lot to do. The community center down the street was offering beginner lessons, so…” he shrugs gracelessly.
“Ray,” I say, stopping him with a hand to his elbow. “Ray, language study is an accomplishment to be proud of. We wouldn’t have that apartment number if it weren’t for your skill,” I tell him, smiling sincerely.
He ducks his head. “Guess so. It’s not like I know that much – it’s nothing special.”
If I should ever come across whomever instilled this attitude in him, I will be forced to think long and hard about kicking them in the head. “Ray, I think it’s wonderful,” I tell him, willing him to believe me.
He gives me a small smile. “If you want…if you want, you could start learning the way I did. I bought a few of the movies I really liked…you could come over and watch 'Vengeance is Mine' tonight, if you want. That’s where I learned all my police vocab.”
“I would love to.” We smile at each other rather fatuously for a few moments before breaking eye contact.
A quick visit to the office reveals that Apartment 402, the number the Japanese woman had written down for Ray, has been empty for several months. Upon entering, we discover that our murderer is unlikely to have been a professional.
“What a maroon. Tracks in dirt all over the carpet…”
“Size 11 men’s shoe,” I report.
“Leaves two bullets on the windowsill, and handprints all over the window from when he opened it to shoot Mr. Miyagi.”
We stare at the window for a moment, contemplating the foolishness of some criminals. “I think he missed a very basic lesson in evading arrest,” I say.
“Such as?”
I hold my hands up in front of the window, my palms facing the glass. “Wax on, wax off.”
Ray explodes into surprised laughter and hits me in the arm. “I knew you’d seen that movie. Just you wait, grasshopper – some truly fine Japanese cinema awaits us tonight.”
I smile at him. “I can hardly wait.”
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Date: 2004-03-13 05:43 pm (UTC)Take all the time you need - there's no time limit in staring blankly off into space over Fraser and Ray (just as well, considering my work habits). Glad you liked it!