V1C5

Parsed with an automated reader. The content accuracy is not guranteed.

“Are you there, Old Man Japan?” I call while sliding open the door to the small house.

“Oh, is that your voice I hear, Marron? Have you finished work already? Are you stopping by to hear more of this old man’s stories?” From the dimness surrounding the bedroom, Old Man Japan’s voice echoes.

This is his – my neighbor’s – house. Sliding the door all the way open, I invite myself in. The house consists of an expansive dirt floor, an oven, and a raised wooden platform in the center, which serves as the bedroom. Oh, and, of course, there’s a toilet tucked away in the corner. And that’s all there is to it. There are a lot of houses just like this around here, small, single-story and with the same layout.

Maybe it’s too much to even say it has a bedroom. It’s not like there’s a divider or anything.

In the darkness, I can make out Old Man Japan, still lying on his bed. He sits up as I explain why I’m here.

“I brought a guest today. It seems like he’s from the same place you are.”

As soon as I do, there’s a clatter and a thud. As far as I can make out, Old Man Japan lost his balance and fell out of bed. He should know better than to flail around like that, being so frail!

After a few moments, there’s the sound of hurried feet approaching. It’s a little house, so it doesn’t take much time at all for him to appear out of the darkness.

“Marron, is that true?!”, the wrinkled, old man asks, a shine in his one eye. His white hair is ruffled and unkempt, and his hustle comes to a stop with his one arm resting against the nearby wall to steady himself.

Because of his injuries, he has a hard time suddenly getting up. I don’t know why exactly, but he apparently can’t balance very well. He must have been through a war or something to have injuries like those, but he doesn’t act like that at all. He’s always nice to us kids, which makes him very popular.

“Yeah. I’ve got him waiting outside. Osshan, you can come in now!”

“Pardon me,” Osshan responds as he too steps inside.

A smile tugs at Old Man Japan’s lips. “Are those sweats? It’s been so many years since I’ve seen sweats! I think it must have been fifty by now. Oh, how I miss them.” He nods, before continuing, “Yes, it certainly looks like you’ve come over from earth as well.”

His voice quivers, and, for just a second, he looks like he may cry. Seems like it’s pretty emotional for him to see his homeland’s dress. I thought Osshan’s clothes were weird in the first place, so it makes sense that they’re actually some kind of traditional costume from Old Man Japan’s homeland.

This settles it. Osshan and Old Man Japan are definitely from the same place. And since that’s settled – please forgive me for ruining the moment, Mr. Japan – but I’m here for one thing.

I stretch out my right hand, palm up. I know this will kill the mood.

Old Man Japan looks down at me, confused. “Hm? What are you doing, Marron?”

“Huh? Don’t tell me you forgot, Old Man Japan! Didn’t you always say that you’d reward anyone who brought a Japanese person to you? That you’d give them one silver?”

For a brief second, he gives me a disapproving look, then pauses and takes a drawstring bag from his pocket.

“Oh, that’s right, now isn’t it. Forgive me, Marron. Yes, here you go, the promised silver. Thank you for keeping this boy safe.” He says and places the silver coin in my palm, with the same friendly smile he always wears.

*****************

Well, I have what I came here for. Probably about time to be heading out. I’m sure they’ve got a lot to talk about, being from the same place and all. I’ll only be in the way if I stay. Plus, I still need to sell the Shooting Beans I gathered.

So, I say goodbye to Old Man Japan and begin to take my leave.

He raises his hand to stop me. “Hold your horses, Marron. Won’t you stay a while and listen to what I have to say to this young man? I may request a neighborly favor from you regarding him, and it would be best for you, I think, to know the whole of it first.”

Honestly, I don’t want to be involved with Osshan. He says all sorts of crazy and dangerous things, and, what’s worse, he’s rude: he just calls me ‘you’ or ‘brat’, even though I have a name.

I stop in my tracks. “But, I don’t wanna. I need to sell my Shooting Beans at the market anyways. If I don’t hurry, it’ll be too late.”

As much as I want to, I can’t actually say out loud that I don’t want anything to do with this boy, so I use my beans as a reason to respectfully decline.

Old Man Japan reaches into his bag. “In that case, let me buy them from you. I’ll even give you a bit better than what you’d get at the market. And then we can snack on edamame while we talk about Japan.”

A bit better? That’s a silver coin, Mr. Japan. That’s twice the market rate.

I immediately hand over the beans.