Which Way Now?

The Australian Writers Centre has a fabulous monthly competition called Furious Fiction.  You get 55 hours to write a 500-word story and each month there are three rules.

This month's criteria were  - that the story's first line had to have exactly three words, the story had to include a first of some kind, and thirdly, the story had to include a candle.

They received over 1000 entries and guess where my entry came?  Give up.  That's a statement, not a question.  Mine came somewhere after they had stopped counting.

But here it is - a short piece of fiction based on an experience that I had in Japan.

Which way now?  It was my first time in Japan and finding my way from Tokyo to Kamakura by train had been easy as the signs and announcements were in English, as well as Japanese, but once I arrived it was more difficult. 

With my suitcase trundling behind me like a reluctant child, I wandered around a labyrinth of laneways.  Coming to a corner, I saw a word I understood written on the footpath.  It said tsunami and had an arrow pointing in which direction to run.    

My guest house was close to the sea and, a little unnerved, I headed in the direction opposite to the arrow.

Eventually I found my home for the night. My room was a shoebox, next to the bar which was filled with bright young Japanese. The room was hot so I went to the bar, taking my travel book with me. I am a Shakespeare nut and was re-reading MacBeth.

When in Japan do as the Japanese do, right?  So I ordered a bottle of sake then noticed that none of the Japanese were drinking it.  They all had beer or drinks like gin and tonic.  However, that didn’t stop me and I ordered a second sake.

There was only one other older person, a man, thin and middle-aged, looking tired.  I assumed he was the owner and spoke to him but he looked at me blankly.

The kid behind the bar told me that the man was waiting for his son who was on a hiking trip with a friend and he didn’t speak a word of English.

Then the door from the laneway opened and two boys sauntered in.  One of them was beautiful, the symmetry of his face enhanced by his hair which was centre parted.  The boys were laughing together but fell silent when the older man said hello. 

The beautiful boy slumped.  He and his friend flopped down a couch.  His father stayed at the bar, drinking beer, talking to them as if nothing was wrong and the boys answered flatly.   Obviously I didn’t understand the exact words but I could see that the boys, while being polite, were discouraging any communication.

Then I heard the man say clearly, “How is your mother?”.  

Of course that was not possible but an alarm had sounded.  The bright young Japanese with their beers and gin and tonics froze for a moment and when they began to talk and drink again it was with caution.   The son said something so low that even if it had been in English I would not have caught it.   

Then the beautiful boy and his friend erupted in anger and berated the older man. He started to sob softly then walked to the door. He looked left and then right. Aware that I was staring, I cast my gaze back onto my book and Macbeth's metaphor for life. "Out, out brief candle!"

Then I peeped up and watched the man turn left towards the sea.