Espresso Love (A Dystopian Japan Novel) #Wattys2014

Intellectual Property

-Intellectual Property-

"Is this Maeda-san?"

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps is better than a no."

Shizuka is deathly still, looking at me with an unreadable expression. Her gaze doesn't shift and stares deep into my eyes, like she's trying to scrape off layers of old paint from the side of a run-down house. I've since learned to not look away in spite of her intensity. There's much comfort in it. I have the suspicion that without her gaze, there would be severe imbalance in the world. Without it now, I know I wouldn't be able to keep my voice steady, my mind sharp.

I inhale the scent of the green tea one more time. I've reached the point of no return by picking up the call. Shizuka had given no comment, but I could tell that she is deeply troubled. Things are out of her hands now. She knows this is something to do with me personally. So naturally, there is no way I could ignore such an unusual call either.

The man's voice is nothing like the one from "Yamato Yuubin." It is light and airy, full of practiced charm and agreeable nuances, intended to make the listener feel at ease. A convincing genuine personality. The kind of man that might put an arm around our shoulders and steer us towards a grand office overlooking the city, offer biscuits and place contracts with small print in front of us, cheat us of our signatures, smiling all the while. Much like a campaigning politician, promoting noble agendas, lowering taxes, increasing social security and support, benefiting the people, persecuting corruption and balancing the economy. But tucking it all in the back pocket once on stage. It puts me on edge all the more.

She leans forward. I lean closer so she could hear the call without the speakerphone on. Our cheeks are nearly pressed together.

"There's no need to worry," he begins, sounding too educated in rhetoric, "it's a clear evening outside, the sky has no traces of cloud cover and the moon is out in her full beauty. It's a little chilly but if you take a look outside, you can see that this is the perfect Christmas Eve. Don't you hear the Christmas music? Wonderful isn't it?" he pauses, as if he's listening intently, but I hear no music. No other sounds from the receiver. It seems like he exists in a vacuum so silent, it becomes inhibiting, something terrible, the longer I concentrate. We don't move or look outside.

As if he realized our disregard for his words, he clears his throat. "Well, regardless, I'd like to wish you a very merry Christmas and I hope you're enjoying yourself."

I'm not certain if hiding in an apartment is considered an enjoyable way to celebrate Christmas. "Merry Christmas to you too," I say nonetheless.

"Thank you, I am having quite a good evening myself as well." A good evening in what would likely be a dark formless room on his end. At least we have green tea and each other. He continues, "I understand you have already received my little 'present'."

"You're the one who gave us this cell phone."

"Not entirely. Not out of my own pocket money, I assure. I would love to be able to afford such a thing but I am, unfortunately, not very well off. Just a little man, doing a job. I'm middle aged, have a leased car and a mortgage in a suburban neighbourhood, two kids in primary school and a work-at-home wife. My hair is thinning. It's not easy these days." He laughs lightheartedly, but ends up coughing instead. "Of course, it seems like I have much more than you might, but you're still young; at this age, I'm just getting by." A little space to breathe. "Get by, don't we all?"

I don't reply.

He doesn't expect one. "I'm sure you have your difficulties, Maeda-san," he pauses, "it's not easy to make dramatic," he emphasizes the word, "substantial changes to your life."