The Yakuza Path: Blood Stained Tea

by Amy Tasukada

  Sakai frowned, but he was irrelevant with Father in the room. All Nao needed to do was gain Father’s favor, and he’d forget Sakai was even there. Father waved Nao to have the seat opposite Sakai.

  Nao set the bag of confectionaries onto Father’s desk. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get to the historic district for these.”

  “Oh no, it’s fine.” Father smiled as he opened the bag and took out the container with the sweet buns. “There are two if you want one, Sakai.”

  “It won’t be necessary. It’s almost lunchtime. We should be able to finish our meeting before then.”

  “Dessert before lunch never hurt anyone.” Father tore off a piece of the bun and ate it, completely ignoring Sakai’s subtle hint to continue the meeting. “Nao was always a good son, bringing me sweets when he visited. How little that is now.”

  Nao bowed. “I’m sorry I haven’t visited more.”

  “These aren’t too bad.” Father popped the rest of the bun into his mouth.

  “I promise to bring better ones next time.”

  “Always so formal and polite.” Father nodded his approval. “You had the right idea, looking to the past and keeping the old traditions alive. The world has changed since you left. I don’t even know if the new recruits would agree with me when I call the passing crow white.”

  Nao blinked. “They would question you?”

  “We had to cut the apprenticeship from two years to less than one.” The wrinkles around his eyes smoothed. “The new recruits don’t understand tradition.”

  “Even in Kyoto?”

  “It’s sad. Even in the heart of Japan people are undisciplined. It’s all these foreigners, I tell you.”

  “We were in a meeting, Nao,” Sakai said, annoyed. “Someone like you so in tune with traditions would know better than to come unannounced.”

  Nao reached into his sleeve. “I found a card—”

  “You’re not still going on about that card, are you? You need to forget about it.”

  Nao ignored Sakai and placed the card on Father’s desk. He looked up at Father, who was cleaning his fingers with a handkerchief. His nostrils flared at the sight of the card. It did mean something.

  “Nao brought the card to you?”

  Sakai laughed. “Yeah, this morning. Then he asked about Oyama, and I can only guess that he told him to come here.”

  Father raised a brow. “Is that true?”

  Nao nodded, knowing better than to lie to Father.

  “You’re a merchant.” Sakai folded his arms across his chest. “If we need to refill our supply of tea, we know where to find you. I told you the card was worthless and that you should forget about it.”

  “Why didn’t you listen to your older brother?” Father pressed.

  “I-I…”

  Nao wanted to speak, but his chest tightened and he couldn’t produce sound. Failing to follow the order of someone higher up was exactly what Father was disappointed about in the new recruits, and Sakai was growing more frustrated with him by the second, tapping his pen against his files.

  Nao glanced at Sakai. For him, time was money, and Nao was not only a waste of both but also a waste of space. To him, the teahouse was nothing more than a storefront, where the Matsukawa could plan deals in the back. What was he thinking in trying to return to his past? He’d caused so much shame to not only himself but the whole Matsukawa. He was stupid for coming back to headquarters for a card belonging to the first sexual encounter since his lover left.

  “Sakai, go downstairs and check how much longer until lunch is finished,” Father said. “Then get them to bring us some oolong tea. That’s still your favorite, Nao?”

  Nao nodded.

  “See? I do remember things. I’ll call you when we’re ready for your return.”

  Sakai’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Nao, who could stand it only for a second before he looked away. He focused on the blue threads of his yukata until he heard the door shut behind Sakai. Still he couldn’t look up. Even with Father’s kind remarks, Nao knew the disgrace his actions had caused the Matsukawa weighed on every member.

  “I’m sorry.” Nao could only apologize.

  “I know you wouldn’t go against one of your older brothers’ requests without a good reason.” Father pushed the card away from him. “Now tell me how you came to possess this card.”

  “I found an injured man in the canal and brought him home. He carried the card, and the symbol was tattooed onto his chest. It looked like something—”

  “You brought him into your home?”

  “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

  Father looked away, shaking his head. He grabbed the last sweet bun and ate it in two silent bites. Nao’s insides started to shred as the two sat in silence. He only meant to do what was right.

  “Why didn’t you get a haircut and settle down without becoming mixed up in the underworld to begin with? You could’ve had a family by now.”

  Nao had heard that speech before and knew it was best not to speak out. There was no reason to explain his life.

  “Unlike all of my other sons, you are the only one I do not need to drink sake with each year. You might not be part of the Matsukawa family anymore, but you are my only son, a Murata. As your father, I’m telling you to move.”

  “Move?”

  “You don’t understand how things have changed since you were gone.”

  Nao’s knuckles ached from clutching his sleeve. “I’ve been at that place since I became an adult.”

  “It’s not safe there anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Are you questioning me?” his father asked.

  “I want to understand—”

  “These cards are held by members of the Double Moon.”

  “Double Moon?”

  “They’re a new branch of the Korean mafia, broken off from their main branch in Osaka. They’ve tried setting up roots here for the past month. Now that they know where my son lives, they’ll come after you.”

  “I’m a merchant, like you said. I don’t think they’ll come after me.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past those Korean bastards.”

  Nao closed his eyes, wishing he could somehow control his fate. He could never disobey Father again, but to uproot his life? He dragged his palms over his yukata, his throat aching.

  “The guy looked like a total idiot. We don’t have to worry. He doesn’t know my name, so I’m a total stranger to him.”

  “You can never be sure. He might’ve snooped around when you were asleep. They might’ve known our sense of doing what’s right for every citizen of Kyoto and planned the whole thing.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You’re moving.” Father slammed his fist onto the table.

  Nao opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “I’ll have some of the family help get your things packed, and you can stay here until we find a safe place for you.”

  “Father…” Nao whispered.

  “We’ll clear out your old bedroom.”

  “Please, I’ve grown attached to the memories in that apartment. Don’t make me leave.”

  Nao would never forgive himself for his past, and the apartment reminded him of the never-ending penance he’d spent the past four years serving. He wouldn’t be able to cling to his memories if he moved.

  “Memories?” Father’s intense stare told Nao to obey.

  “Please, I would never speak against your wishes if it wasn’t important.”

  Nao closed his eyes, tears spilling from the corners. He wiped them away, hoping his father didn’t see. Father didn’t need to know how sentimental Nao was about the apartment. How each centimeter could make him smile as he recalled those happy memories with his lover. He could never explain to Father how preci
ous those were.

  “Forgive me, I can never leave it. I can do anything else you wish, but don’t make me leave.”

  Nao tried to read the expression on his father’s face, but the wrinkles didn’t move. Two minutes of silence passed before a flicker showed in sheened-over eyes.

  “Only if Yori watches you.”

  Yori? He was one of the eleven ward leaders of Kyoto.

  “I’ve already disturbed the Matsukawa enough. Don’t trouble yourself by providing me a bodyguard. Especially someone as important as Yori.”

  Father’s eyes narrowed. “Do you want to move?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re getting a bodyguard—and listen to this one.”

  A knock on the door ended the conversation, and Father beckoned the family member in. The young recruit carried their tea on a tray along with the stack of mail. Each of their teacups was placed down, turned so any design would face Nao or Father, then the tea was carefully poured. In the past Nao watched the new recruits work at everything from cleaning to small tasks like pouring tea. It would take months to earn the honor of pouring tea for Father.

  Father grabbed one of the letters beside the delivered tea and sliced it open. “Go call Yori. Tell him I have a job for him.”

  The underling bowed. “I’m sorry, Father. There was a minor issue in his ward last night, and we haven’t been able to contact him since.”

  “Call him again, and if he doesn’t respond, get Takeo. He was my next appointment, so you shouldn’t have to find him.”

  Nao took the cup and let the tea warm his hands. The astringent oolong filled his nose with an undertone of plum from that particular blend. Tea always calmed him, and he was more thankful than ever that Father had called for it. Nao pressed the cup to his lips and drank. Bitter, probably from too many leaves stuffed into a tiny infuser. He put the cup back down onto the table, no longer wanting it. He would make his own tea once he got to his shop.

  “What’s your number again?” Father asked, opening the first letter on the stack.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

  “Still? Nao, it’s been four years.”

  “People call if you have a phone.”

  “Those lingering memories are nothing but phantoms keeping you from moving on.”

  “I’ll get a phone as soon as I leave here.”

  “Don’t bother.” Father pulled out a phone from his desk and wrote down the number.

  Nao realized how much he’d pushed his luck already and took the phone. It was heavier than he imagined and weighed his sleeve down as he stuck it inside. Another knock came at the door, and the same formal system of apologizing for interrupting. Nao recognized the voice.

  “I thought Yori was going to watch me.”

  “Unfortunately, he couldn’t be reached,” Takeo said.

  Nao didn’t look at Takeo, but his gaze caught Takeo’s four-fingered hand. He’d chopped off his pinkie four years ago for a transgression, and sacrificing it had allowed him to stay in the Matsukawa. It was old-fashioned, but it was Kyoto, and shaving his head wouldn’t satisfy Father. Nao looked away in shame.

  “Take care of Nao until further notice. I’m worried the Double Moon knows where he lives, and I don’t want anything to happen. You’re armed?”

  “Yes. I’ll protect him with my life.”

  Father opened one of the letters. “Don’t screw up this time. Nao will stay for lunch, and we’ll discuss plans for who will look after your ward in your absence.”

  Takeo took the seat beside Nao. He looked up only a moment to see Takeo’s large forehead and pointed jaw before Nao’s gaze fell to the man’s polished shoes. Nao couldn’t have felt more like a disobedient child if he’d tried.

  Maybe by the end of the day, they’d find Yori, and he wouldn’t have to deal with Takeo. Father picked up another envelope, one with a bulge down its length. He ripped it open and tapped out the object inside. Out rolled an index finger with two inverted arrows tattooed on the knuckle.

  Nao’s eyes widened. “Who?”

  “That’s Yori’s finger,” Takeo said.

  Father crumpled the envelope. “Don’t let Nao out of your sight.”

  Saehyun Park spat in the middle of the street. The historic district was a few blocks away, but even in the outskirts of that neighborhood, the buildings maintained some of the traditional notes. Latticework doors and blue-tiled roofs showed their blind, nationalist pride wherever he looked. His stomach grumbled. It had already been a long day. The doctor visit took forever, and Saehyun got only a half dozen stitches and the glue cleaned up from that stupid Japanese man’s temporary fix. Then he had to pay double to keep the doctor’s silence and a handful of antibiotics. Then off to buy clothes and a new phone. Saehyun needed dinner.

  After lighting up a cigarette, he let out a large puff as he glared at the restaurants lining the streets. Their neon signs glowed in the night, but one shop caught his eye. Its yellow-plastered walls with dark-painted latticework stood out against the flashier signs.

  “Nao’s Tea,” Saehyun said, reading the white sign.

  He had an ex-girlfriend named Nao. They hadn’t gotten along well, but she could cook. The smell of dumplings floated from behind the door, and Saehyun’s stomach decided he was at the right place. As he entered, a bell tinkled, and the standard greeting was shouted by the employees. Saehyun’s mouth dropped before turning into a grin. The Japanese guy from earlier that morning was stuck behind the bar, wearing the same grandpa getup of a blue yukata.

  He swaggered past the half dozen tables to the far end of the restaurant. Three stools rested at the bar, and before them stood a wall of large silver tins with labels in illegible Japanese calligraphy. To one side was another door with a window to the kitchen. The sounds of shuffling mahjong tiles could be heard over the traditional music.

  Saehyun turned his attention back to the Japanese man behind the bar, the robe he wore only emphasized his small frame, and his large eyes made his thin nose appear smaller. He looked cuter than Saehyun remembered. Though the Japanese man also had one hell of a cock, so perhaps he was thinking about that.

  “I thought we weren’t going to see each other ever again….” The Japanese man raised an eyebrow.

  “Fate decided something else.” Saehyun shrugged. “Give me a beer.”

  “We’re not that kind of place, but we serve tea.”

  “Only tea? No food?”

  “We don’t serve a full tea-restaurant kisaki, but people enjoy our steamed dumplings.”

  “Tea what? I can’t understand a single word you said.”

  “We serve tea and dumplings.” His tone grew louder, which made Saehyun grin even more.

  “Oh, I see. You Japanese have such a way with words. Saying it louder helps us idiot foreigners understand. Give me some pork dumplings and tea.”

  “Please look over the tea menu.”

  The Japanese man pulled out the menu from below the bar and placed it before Saehyun. It was written by hand and with such a flare of each brush stroke that Saehyun couldn’t recognize even the simplest characters. He stopped trying to read it and watched the Japanese man move to pour water in a teapot before checking on the other tables. The way his yukata restricted his steps was so intriguing that Saehyun couldn’t look away. The man stopped and talked to another Japanese man with a large forehead. He looked like an acorn in a suit. Saehyun wondered if they knew each other but shook his head. Maybe the man was the “Shinya” Nao called out for when Saehyun had gone down on him, but why should he care?

  “What would you like to drink?” the Japanese asked on his return.

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “We specialize in oolong but also serve green, both Chinese and Japanese styles of loose-leaf tea.”

  “I asked what your favorite was, not
what you have to offer.”

  “I like oolong best.”

  “Then give me the Chinese green.”

  Japanese were nothing but a bunch of bastards. Bugging one of them was entertaining, though.

  The Japanese man gave a nod and took down one of the large tea containers from the shelf. He opened the double lid and held it in front of Saehyun, wafting the lid to his nose. What was he expecting him to do? Admire the grassy aroma? He wasn’t a cow.

  “Looks fine.”

  The Japanese shook his head and poured out the water from the teapot he’d filled minutes before.

  “Why did you fill the pot just to dump out the water?”

  “It’s to heat the pot,” he answered, continuing to prepare the tea with precise movements.

  Saehyun fought the urge to shatter the skilled action by pushing the teacup out from the stream of water. Saehyun still couldn’t forget the image of him biting back his moans. Saehyun licked his lips. He wouldn’t mind doing that again.

  Once finished preparing the tea, the Japanese man pushed the handleless cup to Saehyun, who took a sip and leaned back on the stool.

  “Is it to your liking?”

  “Yeah, it’s all right.” It was probably the best tea Saehyun had ever drunk, but why inflate the Japanese’s ego by telling him? “So where’s the owner? Is she the grandma in the back making the dumplings?”

  “I’m the owner.”

  “So the name on the outside?”

  “Is mine.”

  Saehyun laughed. “But Nao is a girl’s name.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Totally a girl’s name.”

  “So are you visiting for the summer festivals?” Nao returned behind the bar.

  “Something like that.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  “It’s all right.” Saehyun shrugged. “I still think Osaka is the best city in all of Japan.”

  “But all of Japan admires Kyoto. We are the only ones keeping the old traditions alive.”

  “Only a crazy Japanese would say that. Is that why you wear those bathrobes all the time? You keep telling yourself that you’re keeping old traditions alive. It’s stupid.”