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Brave

Sabra Jensen

    Katsu Watanabe lived in a tiny white house near the Kuzuha station in Hirakata, Osaka. He liked his whiskey cold, his salmon and rice topped with extra mayonnaise, and his green tea hot enough to singe an eyebrow. His wife Naoko secretly wished that Katsu would comb his hair in the morning, instead of letting it hang limp and greasy, falling all over his face like a gutted prairie dog. Katsu secretly knew that Naoko felt this way, but he did not really care. Keko, their daughter, felt contempt for both, but neither Katsu nor Naoko let themselves worry too much, since neither one felt that they had done anything wrong throughout the child-rearing process. They didn’t ponder too much whether or not they had done anything right, either.
    Katsu left early in the morning for his job at Panasonic, located approximately in the liver of the city. It was a very unhealthy liver indeed, as indicated by the amount of drinking that was done by nearly every salary man that worked there. Katsu drank almost every night with his co-workers, mostly because they all felt the need to impress their shacho. They would usually go to a smoky hostess bar around the corner from the building, where they would request their $80-$100 bottle of whiskey with their name indicated in masking tape across the front. They would laugh at shacho’s jokes and stumble over themselves to keep his whiskey glass full. If a hostess girl dressed in an intricate kimono wasn’t sitting at the table assisting them in their beverage and smoke habits, they would rush to light his cigarettes as well, and would subconsciously compete to see who could perform this task with the most flourish. After this charade, Katsu would return home on the midnight train, bathed in a whiskey trance. When he arrived home, he would wake up Naoko to get up and make him miso soup and rice.
    That evening on the train, as he sat on a grimy sweat-exposed seat, an idea crossed through the whiskey fog and became an actual, indelible thought. Katsu wanted to eat on the train.
    A most hideous desire, he thought, to eat in public like that. This was considered extremely rude in Japanese culture, possibly as rude as eating while standing up or sticking your chopsticks straight up in a bowl of rice, damning the dead. I will forget it by tomorrow I am sure, he thought to himself. He exited the train, clomped through the street to his house, ate his midnight snack prepared by Naoko, and collapsed onto his futon. He did not see Naoko glance at him with true repulsion and roll her eyes.
    The next day he had to attend a mandatory meeting. The shacho was discussing budget cuts. If Katsu had been paying attention, he would have realized that via this gathering the shacho was sending a message to his coworker Hazu that he no longer had a job. The disgrace-to be told indirectly in a meeting that you were fired! But Katsu had no idea of his friend’s fate. He was absorbed in his thoughts about eating on the train. What would I eat? He contemplated. Dried octopus? No, too stringy. Rice ball? Half the rice might fall out onto the floor.
    “Katsu!” He snapped back to reality. Hazu was yanking on his sleeve. “Katsu! Did you notice that? Shacho fired me here! He didn’t even hold a meeting with me. He didn’t even tell me directly!”
    “Hazu, why do you think shacho will fire you?” he murmured. Green tea ice cream? Takoyaki?
    Yes! Takoyaki! He was no longer listening to Hazu’s account of his imminent departure. A plate of Takoyaki was perfect. Sweetly spiced breading, ginger-tinted cream filling, a juicy piece of octopus in the center, topped with fish flakes and scallions.
    “Oh, let’s go drinking, Katsu. I need a ware-mizu.”
    “Hazu! It’s only two pm. We can’t go yet.”
    “Katsu, I’m being fired anyway. It doesn’t matter if I go drink.”
    “All right, I’ll go down the street with you for one drink. That’s it, though.”
    The two of them walked over to their usual bar. Hazu moaned as they drank their stiff whiskey and water high balls. He let Hazu talk for a while, and then he could no longer contain his excitement.
    “Hazu, I’ve decided something.”
    Hazu looked over at him, still frowning. “Oh yeah? What is it, Katsu?”
    “I’ve decided I am going to eat Takoyaki on the train.”
    Hazu stared at him. He didn’t speak.
    “Well?” Katsu said finally.
    Hazu shook his head. “Katsu, it’s very rude to eat in public. You know that.”
    “I know. But I really want to. I really want to eat on the train.”
    Hazu sighed and shot Katsu a critical look. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Katsu. It’s really very rude.”
    They returned to work. Katsu spent the rest of the day rifling through papers and then reorganizing them. He concentrated on looking as if he were working very hard. They all shuffled to the bar after work, and again sat at a large table and ordered their whiskey bottle. Katsu was sitting next to his friend Tomo. Tomo was skinny, with shaggy black hair and thick, brown-rimmed glasses. He lit a cigarette and looked at Katsu.
    “Have you ever eaten on the train, Tomo?” Katsu asked earnestly.
    “What? Of course not. Are you crazy?” Tomo picked up his glass, grinned, and shoved it toward Katsu’s glass. “Drink up!”
    That night at home, Katsu couldn’t sleep. He had eaten his hot bedtime meal, and he was fairly drunk, but he could not stop thinking. I can do it, he thought to himself, I know I can. I would just stop by the takoyaki stand right outside the Shinsaibashi station. I could buy them there. Six steaming takoyaki balls. Instead of sitting on a stool and eating them at a counter, I would carry them on the train. And there it is. I know I can do it.
    The next day he woke up with fierce determination. Today was going to be the day. He ate sardines with rice and pickles, and set off for the train. He arrived at work, hoping that he could just sit in his cubicle and avoid contact with anyone. He was afraid that any outside force would change his mind, and he would lose his nerve. At the end of the day, everyone was headed towards the bar but he headed to the train station alone instead. He apologized and placated his shacho by saying that he had a doctor’s appointment.
    He walked toward the train station with a grim look on his face. He stared straight ahead, and kept his mind focused on his goal. He stepped into the train station and went directly to the takoyaki stand. The smell of baked breading and fresh scallions drifted toward his nose, and for a moment he did not know if he could go through with it. He stood there for a minute, in a daze. He stared as the fry cook placed each hot ball onto a fresh plate and dusted them with fish flakes and scallions. He stepped forward, and with that small action he knew he could go through with it. He ordered his takoyaki, paid, and walked away, away from the counter with the stools, away from the unspoken rule included in the country’s cultural framework. He had come this far; he had made his purchase and had passed any established seating area. A woman walked by him and seemed to sneer, but he continued. The takoyaki steamed on his plate, and the aroma tickled his nose. He stood on the platform, waiting for the train. A little girl standing with her mother pointed at him, and the mother pushed her hand down and scolded her. He looked away. The smell was starting to make his mouth salivate, but he held steady and did not head back toward the seating area. He glanced down the track and saw the train approaching, and felt his stomach twist upon itself. He heard a loud gurgle and ignored it. The train was close.
    “Katsu!” He heard behind him.
    Who can that be, he thought with irritation. He turned around slowly. It was Akiko, the shacho’s wife. No! She’ll tell him about this!
    “Katsu, why are you about to board with your takoyaki?” she asked, glancing down at his plate.
    “Uh, well, I don’t know,” he stammered. “I guess I forgot I had bought them.”
    “Forgot you had bought them,” she laughed. She had red spots on her teeth from her lipstick. He hated her at that moment. “Wow, work must really be taking a lot out of you,” she said with a grin. “Well, the train’s here, come on and get on with me.”
    Katsu couldn’t move. Do it, Katsu, do it, he chided. Get on the train and eat your takoyaki in front of her! You can do this.
    “I’m coming,” he said. He threw his takoyaki in the trash and boarded after her.



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