by Carrie Asai
“Take one.” A skinny boy with straggly blond hair that hung in chunks held out a piece of paper from the stack in his hand.
I hesitated. “What is it?” He waved the paper at me again, so I took it and tried to read the words in the dim light from the storefronts and streetlamps.
“A place to go, yo. Somewhere you can get a good night’s sleep.” The boy’s accent was strange, his words almost slurred.
“Where is it?” I asked.
“Read up. Just take a left at the corner and you’re there. You’ll see plenty of peeps out front.” He was already moving down the street, handing out the rest of the flyers as he went. I felt proud of myself for knowing what “peeps” were. That was one bit of slang I had mastered.
“Thank you!” I called, but he didn’t turn around. The flyer had a picture of a bunch of teenagers standing in front of a graffiti-covered building with their arms around each other. They all looked a bit dirty and punked out, but they were smiling for the camera and didn’t seem like drug addicts or anything. On the bottom it said SAFE PASSAGES and had a phone number. I decided to check it out. Maybe the friendly taco gods had sent the boy to me.
When I turned the corner, I immediately saw a ton of kids milling in front of the building pictured on the flyer. Some of them looked at me when I came over, but most of them ignored me. I sat down on some steps next to a girl who looked about twelve. She had long stringy hair brown hair that she kept twisting around one finger.
“Hi,” I said, taking a chance. “I’m Heaven.”
“That’s not your real name,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes at me.
I smiled a little to myself. No one in Japan would have said that to me. “Actually, it is.”
“Sure.” She snorted and moved away from me slightly. “And I’m Paradise.” She rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a cigarette. “Want one?” she asked sarcastically, as if she could tell I would say no.
“Aren’t you a little young to smoke?”
“Aren’t you a little young to be acting like my mother?” she shot back.
Not very friendly. After a few minutes it became clear that she wasn’t planning on saying another word to me. Clearly I’d been judged unworthy. I left the girl on the step and found another seat closer to the front doors. Something about the scene was making me nervous, and it wasn’t just that a lot of the teenagers seemed sort of angry and ready to pick fights. My sixth sense was flashing me messages that it wasn’t safe here.
But it wasn’t like I had anyplace else to go. I tried to clear my head and think realistically about my next move. Beside me, a girl with a shaved head was having a whispered conversation with a dirty-looking boy in a plaid flannel shirt. I eavesdropped.
“I don’t want to stay here,” Bald Girl said.
“Why not? It’s nice. The people here seem chill,” Flannel Boy answered.
“It’s not them I’m worried about.”
I listened harder. What was she worried about? Was she getting the same bad vibes I was?
“Then what?” Flannel Boy asked.
“Don’t be so dumb. This is, like, the very first place they’re going to look for us. We’ve only been out here two days—I can’t go back yet.” Bald Girl’s voice trembled.
“They said they don’t call parents here—besides, how would they know who your parents are? You didn’t give them your name.” Flannel Boy scooted closer to Bald Girl and took her hand.
“I just want to go, okay?” Bald Girl tugged Flannel Boy to his feet. “Everyone knows this is a place for runaways. Even geniuses like my parents.”
They moved away and I stood up. The bald girl was right. My father would have people scouring the city for me—he thought I was penniless, and he didn’t know that I knew anyone in L.A. He’d never think of Hiro. Of course, Hiro hadn’t turned out to be much help. So my father’s people would probably be looking for me in places like this one. And if they found me—I shivered.
I had to get away from here.
I crept around the Safe Passage building to a small courtyard filled with weeds. The back wall had only a couple of industrial windows, and those had thick panes and heavy bars. Maybe I could sleep back here tonight. If anyone came looking for me, they’d check inside. But where could I lie down? On the ground? I spotted an old mattress propped against a Dumpster by the back door. No way. I’d already seen enough cockroaches in a day to last me a lifetime.
With a resigned sigh, I started toward a patch of dirt as far away from the Dumpster as possible. Perfect, I thought. Just not as perfect as my futon back home, the one that had exactly the right firmness and fresh sheets scented with jasmine twice a week. And my favorite pillow. And under the pillow a clean cotton nightgown, one of the ones my father always brought back from his business trips to France because he knew I’d loved them since I was a little girl.
The hair on my neck stood up and I froze in midstep. Something was wrong. The crickets were singing. Somewhere in the distance sirens screamed. The helicopters were back again. But I heard something else. My eyes strained to search the dark corners of the lot. I heard a little crunch and then—
“Well, this feels like a little slice of Heaven to me.”
A blast of hot breath hit my ear as a hairy arm clamped itself around my throat, squeezing so hard that all I could do was open and close my mouth like a fish as I gasped for breath. Two shadowy figures emerged from the walkway.
“That’s her,” said one of the shadow men in a flat, gravelly voice. “Let’s do this thing.”
In that instant I knew for sure that these were the men, or worked for the men, who had killed Ohiko. They knew who I was. I did the only thing I could think to do—I bit the arm holding me, gagging on the taste of sour sweat. It worked. The arm loosened just a fraction. I gathered my breath and let out the loudest shriek I knew how.
I’d seen what happened to my brother, and I wouldn’t let them do it to me. I’d promised Ohiko I would be strong. It was a promise I wasn’t going to break. Kicking off my flip-flops, I thrashed as wildly as I could, trying desperately to free myself from the thug’s grasp. His arm tightened viciously around my neck again. I couldn’t squeeze even a molecule of oxygen into my lungs. The other shadow men moved toward me—one grabbed my foot and the other clung to my leg.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. I’m sorry, Ohiko, I thought. I tried to be strong, but they’re stronger. A small bud of pain opened in my chest and flowered into agony as I tried and tried to draw a breath. I was dying.
And then suddenly I was ripped from the thug’s grasp and thrown to the ground.
I gulped air into my tortured body. The thug lay a few feet away, moaning in pain. What had happened? I looked up. The other two shadow men were fighting with a third. Even in the darkness I recognized him. Hiro.
I aimed at the thug’s kidney and kicked him with my heel as hard as I could. Then I dragged myself a safe distance away. Hiro didn’t need my help. His fighting style was amazing—better than anyone’s I’d ever seen before, except Ohiko’s. And, I guess, the ninja that killed Ohiko. Hiro was as strong and ruthless as a dark avenging angel. It was clear that he could incapacitate the men in seconds if he chose to, but he took his time, punishing them. When the men could barely stand, he finished one with a sharp punch to the throat that sent him over on his back. Hiro attacked the other one with a series of short, intense kicks that left him bleeding and immobilized.
Watching Hiro, I felt something click in my brain. Hiro’s power made him free. He could walk the streets without fear, confident in the knowledge that he could protect himself and that no one could force him to do something against his will. That was the kind of power I wanted, the kind of power I needed. I wasn’t totally sure I had such strength in me, but I had a sneaking suspicion, just a feeling in my stomach, that it was there, waiting to be unleashed.
That’s why Ohiko sent me to Hiro! I realized. Sure, he knew that Hiro would protect me, but he also
knew that Hiro could train me to protect myself. If I learned to be a samurai in the truest, most traditional sense of the word, I’d have nothing to fear from whatever forces were conspiring to have me killed. I’d be strong, and I’d be free—free from fear. Free from weakness. I knew in that instant that Hiro had to teach me the way of the samurai.
It was my path.
7
“Hiro, I want you to train me to be a samurai.”
Hiro choked on his cheeseburger as I popped another french fry in my mouth. We were squeezed into a cozy booth at ’Round the Clock, an all-night diner Hiro had suggested. The waitresses wore little pink dresses with zippers up the front, and each table had its very own miniature jukebox. I was in the American diner I’d dreamed of—except our waitress didn’t have quite enough ’tude.
“Why would you want to do that?” Hiro asked, still struggling to get the bite of cheeseburger all the way down. Even choking he managed to look cool.
Hiro turned his black spotlight gaze on me, waiting for an answer. “I need to protect myself,” I said slowly. “Look, even if you didn’t believe me before, you have to believe me now. Hiro, someone is after me. I don’t know who. I don’t know why. But I’m in very real danger, and you can teach me to defend myself.” Hiro looked doubtful. “I’m sure that’s why Ohiko sent me to you,” I finished.
“I don’t think you fully grasp what it means to be a samurai,” Hiro said slowly.
“It means that I’ll be prepared to deal with whoever’s after me. It means I’ll be prepared to deal with Ohiko’s murderer,” I answered. I reached out and touched Hiro’s hand, almost without thinking about it, trying to make him understand. He had nice hands—long, tapered fingers, nice fingernails. And he was warm. I wished he would touch me. “I don’t want to be a victim who relies on the protection of strangers.”
“I’m a stranger?” Hiro raised his eyebrows. “You slept in my bed last night, remember? You redecorated my kitchen with miso this morning.”
For some reason, at the word bed my face began to burn. “You’re right. You’re not a stranger.” I took a long, long swallow of my Coke, letting the ice cubes hit my teeth. “But Hiro, it’s my place to avenge my brother’s death.”
“Bushido, the way of the samurai, is not about revenge. It’s not about living in some Chow Yun-Fat movie where you find the bad guys and get to run around kicking butt. It’s a way of life—a complete way of life,” Hiro explained. “Besides—I’m not a samurai master. I have no right to train you.”
“Why not? You know more than I do.” I heard my voice getting whiny. I wasn’t used to having to fight for myself or argue. And this was one argument I needed to win.
Hiro looked up at me and sighed. “Heaven,” he said gently, but as if he wasn’t sure what to say. His black eyes searched mine. What was he looking for? “Why do you want this so badly?” he asked. “You’re the daughter of Konishi Kogo. You’ve never had to—”
“I’m pampered,” I finished for him. “I should be waited on by a personal shopper at the Burberry’s store on Rodeo Drive and taking flower-arranging courses, not training to actually hurt someone. Is that what you were going to say?”
Hiro looked surprised. “Well, no. I mean…” He let out a little “you-got-me” kind of laugh. God, he had a nice smile. “Not in so many words. But it’s a valid concern, Heaven. I don’t know whether you truly understand what a different lifestyle this is.” Hiro’s expression turned serious. “Look, as soon as you left the apartment, I realized that I had made a mistake. Destiny is an important part of bushido. When destiny puts something in your path, you can’t ignore it or avoid it. You came to me for help, and I sent you away. But then I saw that you coming to me is all part of a greater pattern and that I can’t ignore it. I can’t deny that both of our destinies have led us to this place for a reason.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a gesture I already felt familiar with in the short time we’d spent together. “Believe me, I want to help you, but I’m not sure how. It’s going to take some time.”
“But what makes you so sure that destiny didn’t put me here to be trained by you?” I asked, watching his mouth.
“Do you understand what bushido really is, Heaven?” Hiro pushed his plate to the side.
“Bushido: The way of the warrior. Developed in the ninth through twelfth centuries,” I recited. Konishi had been determined that both Ohiko and I would be well versed in samurai history. Ohiko was the one who got to do the martial arts training. As a woman, I was supposed to focus on gaining familiarity with the finer points of samurai culture, like art and literature. The other stuff was unreal to me, just a bunch of facts that were disconnected from modern life—even from the limited modern life that I had led.
“You obviously know your history.”
“You forget who my father is.”
Hiro raised one eyebrow. “Hardly.” Even I had to smile at that. “But the key fact of bushido,” he continued, “the thing that most people don’t understand, is that it dictates absolutely every aspect of your life—the way you live, the way you die, the spirit with which you brush your teeth in the morning.”
“I’m good at that. See?” I gave him a big grin and pointed to my clean white teeth. Hiro didn’t even crack a smile. He clearly took bushido very seriously.
“Good. So you understand when I say that the attitude you would need to approach a life lived under the samurai code would be very different than the way you approach life right now.”
I looked at him in surprise. “How can you say that?” I burst out. “You don’t even know me!”
“You’re right. I don’t know you,” Hiro answered. “I can only assume from what I know about myself. We had similar upbringings, after all.”
“Please, Hiro. I know I can do it. I’m not just the spoiled rich girl you think I am. I enjoy having nice things, it’s true, but there’s more to me than that,” I said in a rush, my words tumbling over each other. “I know how to study. I know how to be serious.”
Hiro looked up again—those eyes, those black spotlights. “You seem like someone who’s used to getting what you want,” he said.
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew my father.”
A smile teased at the edges of his mouth. “All right,” he agreed, eating another french fry. “Point taken.”
“Hiro, I trust you,” I told him, struggling to keep my voice calm and low. “I think there is a clear reason Ohiko sent me here. I know it’s not the traditional way of doing things, but after today I’m happy to give you my loyalty and to do my duty by being trained. I can’t just do nothing after what happened to Ohiko. I can’t.” My voice quivered. Hiro reached across the table and squeezed my arm. The waitress came over to take our plates, and Hiro quickly withdrew his hand. Put it back, I thought before I could stop myself.
“All set?” she asked.
“We’re fine,” answered Hiro. “No, wait. Can you bring us a hot fudge sundae?”
“Nuts?”
He looked at me. I nodded so vigorously, my ponytail almost came loose. “Yes, please,” Hiro told the waitress.
I smiled to myself. We were going to share an ice cream. It was like a first date.
Hiro looked at me so hard, I felt like he was trying to see into every corner of my heart. I held my breath. Finally he spoke. “I need to meditate on this. You’ve made some good points, Heaven, and I sense that you’re stronger than I’ve given you credit for. Still, this is a difficult situation. I’ll let you know my decision soon.”
“Really? You’re not just saying that so I’ll shut up and leave you alone?”
“I’d never lie to you, Heaven.” I looked into Hiro’s deep black eyes, and I knew it was true. I had found the person I could trust. Maybe by this time tomorrow I would be on my path, no more wandering around directionless.
The waitress came and set a gigantic sundae on the table between us. She pulled two long spoons from her apron and gave one to each of us.
“Eat up,” said Hiro, diving in. “And let’s talk about something else, okay?”
“Agreed,” I said. “Um, thank you for giving me your bed last night. I’m sorry I didn’t say something before.” Suddenly I blushed. Why did the word bed, when applied to Hiro, seem to mean something embarrassing?
Hiro didn’t seem to notice. “Please—you needed it. And the sofa bed’s not bad.”
“I’ve never slept on one of those before.”
“You can have it from now on,” he told me.
“I’m staying with you?” Yes, yes, yes!
“It’s the only way I’ll get any sleep. I can’t follow you around every night.” Hiro fished out the cherry with his spoon and held it toward me. “You want?”
“Mmmm.” The cherry burst into sweetness on my tongue. “That’s good.”
“One of the best things about America.” We finished the sundae, battling with our spoons for the last bit of fudge sauce, then Hiro motioned for the check. “Ready to go home?” he asked, smiling.
Damn this traffic. What is wrong with this city? We’ve been on the highway for an hour already, inching toward downtown L.A., where I’ve set up my command center. I can’t bear to look at Mieko, who sits across from me like a specter of death. That sad face. I mix myself another drink from the limousine’s bar. Whiskey. Good for the nerves.
Still no sign of Heaven. If she was able to survive the burning plane, the long fall into the ocean, then she can survive this. If she understood what has happened, what dangers lurk, she would come back to me. But she is confused. Her world is different now.
Perhaps we kept too much from her.
As soon as I read about JAL 999, I knew that my life would change. And it did. Heaven was on the cusp of becoming everything I had hoped—beautiful, composed, with a razor-sharp intelligence and the ability to commit herself fully to any task. She would have been a credit to the Kogo family.
