After sitting, Markus realized that he would need to exchange his money for the local currency. He rushed back into the airport and found an exchange service. He traded nearly a thousand dollars for yen, receiving nearly 140 thousand yen, in bills and coins. Thanking the trader, he rushed back outside to wait for his bus.
As he was waiting, he spied a taxi nearby and wondered if it would be better. He walked over and knocked on the window.
“I’m sorry, excuse me? How much to get to Rikyuan Kyoto Nishikyogoku?”
The driver blinked twice and looked at this rude American. “Nine thousand. No less.”
Markus slid into the back seat and fished out ten thousand yen, and handed it to the driver.
“Thank you, sir. Today is my first day in your country, and I would just like to get to my room and sleep. I have an important meeting tomorrow, and I’d like to be as refreshed as possible,” While Markus’ Japanese wasn’t great, it was passable, and better than most Americans.
The driver grunted an acknowledgement, and off they sped into the night. Along the way, Markus watched the lit streets for anything recognizable. Finding little beyond 7-11 gas stations and some obvious convenience stores, he quizzed the driver.
“Excuse me? Where can I find a stylist? I’d like to look my best for my meeting.”
“A stylist? For hair? You’re as bald as a baby. Or do you mean that mop on your face?”
Markus looked sharply at the rearview mirror, only to see the smiling, mirthful eyes of the driver. He laughed softly. “Yes, friend. I’d like to get this unruly mop tamed. Do you have any suggestions?”
The driver was quiet for a moment, apparently thinking. “One moment, please. I have to call him,” he said as he pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.
“Yes? Gen-kun? You want to make some money? Got an American here. Needs his beard taken care of professionally. Says he has an important business meeting tomorrow. Where? I dunno. Let me ask.” The driver spoke up to Markus. “Hey, man. Where did you say this meeting was?”
“Uh…A place called Kitcho Arashiyama, I think. Why?”
The driver let out a low whistle. “Kitcho, huh? They must have some money. Hey! This offer will be amazing, man! You better take it. Not everyone can afford to eat there.”
“Really? I think we are just meeting for tea, though. I don’t even know this man. Just got a letter out of the blue, and here I am. A lonely gaijin here in your amazingly beautiful country for the first, and probably last, time. I hope I’ve not been tricked. The gods have been merciless toward me lately,” Markus replied.
“Gen-kun? You hear all that? He’s going to Kitcho. Do him up right, and we might be taken care of, too! Okay. Okay. I’ll tell him. Bye, bro.”
Markus laughed softly. “I’ll tell you what. If I land this job, or whatever it’s going to be, and it’s lucrative enough, I’ll call on you and your brother to drive me around and make sure I am as presentable as possible, and I’ll make sure you two are taken care of. How does that sound?”
The driver looked up in the mirror, awe evident on his face. “You would do that? A lowly cab driver like me and a hair stylist like my brother?” he asked quietly.
“Absolutely. I reward kindness with kindness my friend. I don’t have much right now, but if this goes well enough, I will take care of you and your brother.”
“You have a deal, American. What is your name?”
“Your English is pretty good. I am Markus Barton. And you are?”
“I am glad to meet you, Barton-san. I am Kimura Atsuki.”
“Thank you, Kimura-san.”
Atsuki grunted an acknowledgement and refocused on the road. In a few more minutes, they arrived at the small inn.
Markus got out, retrieving his bag from the back seat. Atsuki exited as well, taking a good look at this surprisingly kind, yet rude, American.
He saw a man, heavily built, with a bushy black beard that reached down to the middle of his chest. Broad shoulders that wouldn’t be out of place for a farmhand, but decidedly odd for a salaryman. A slightly too small t-shirt clung to his body, showing a bit of a beer belly, and most interesting of all, he seemed to be wearing a black skirt.
“Barton-san? Why do you wear a woman’s skirt?”
“Hmm? Oh this? This isn’t a woman’s skirt. It’s called a kilt. It comes from the people of the British Isles. My family comes from that area, and once I tried it on, I was hooked. No pants for me ever again.”
“Huh. You learn something new every day.”
“Here is my contact information, Kimura-san. I will call on you should I take the offer. By the way, do you know of any decent restaurants or noodle shops in the area? I’m hungry.”
Atsuki laughed loudly. “You were my last fare. I will wait, and then take my new friend out for dinner at a good place. Go. Check in, and I’ll see you back here.”
Markus smiled and nodded. He rushed inside and took care of business, being shown to a room on the ground floor. He deposited his bag inside, just past the genkan, locked the door, and returned to his new friend, hopping back in the taxi, to explore what Kyoto had to offer.
Atsuki took an appraising look at Markus. Nodding his head with a finality, he said, “I am taking you to a good ramen-ya. You say you are hungry, and I say you will eat. Let’s go!” He smiled and slapped the dashboard of his taxi, taking off into the night.
Atsuki and Markus chatted in a mish-mash of English and Japanese, getting to know each other as well as they could in the fifteen minute drive to the ramen-ya.
It turned out that Atsuki was recently divorced from his wife of four years and had no children. He and his brother, Gen, lived in a modest apartment not terribly far from the Rikyuan that Markus was staying at. He was an avid gamer, something of a shut-in, and had a collection of U.S coins.
“I am only missing the Arkansas (he pronounced the final ‘S’), and the Marysland state quarters for 2022. I have the other years already. They are in mint condition and sealed in special bags so that they do not tarnish. Pretty neat, huh?”
Markus gave him a lopsided grin. “Have you ever met another American, Kimura-san?” When Atsuki gave him a negative answer, Markus nodded. “Very well. I shall help you some. I’m not really into coin collecting, but I think it’s pretty neat that you are. You’re the only person I know who is, if I’m honest. The state names are pronounced like this: Arr-can-saw and Maryland. There isn’t an ‘s’ in Maryland. I know it seems like there should be, but there isn’t. I can’t really tell you why Arkansas is said the way that it is, though. I don’t think I have either of those two quarters on me, though. Let me look.”
Markus dug around in his left pocket, pulling out the change there. He shuffled through the coins, not expecting to find anything larger than a dime, but came across a quarter. He unlocked his phone, using the screen to illuminate his findings. It was a 2022 quarter, but it was Hawai’i, not either of the ones Atsuki needed.
“Nope. Just Hawai’i. Sorry, man.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Bah. Thank you for looking, though. You’re a good man. I appreciate it very much. Ah. We are here. It may be just a little hole in the wall, but it happens to be one of my favorites. I apologize for the traffic. We would be here in half the time, had it not been bad,” Atsuki said.
Markus smiled. “Fifteen minutes is a short drive where I’m from. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just enjoy some ramen, yeah?” he asked.
Atsuki nodded with a smile, and the pair walked in. Markus noticed that the shop was sparsely populated with people, and the gentleman behind the counter was relaxing with a book. Decidedly odd.
“Yo, Komamura-san! Two bowls of tonkatsu with lots of chashu for me and my new friend, Barton-san! Firm, please. Thank you.”
Komamura grunted a reply and set about making the requested ramen, and the pair sat at the counter. Atsuki ordered a beer for both of them, and the two chatted and ate for quite some time.
At least until the shop began to get busy. When Atsuki noticed the line beginning to form outside, he paid the bill and thanked the chef.
Komamura glared at Markus for a moment, his face devoid of expression. “Why did you bring a gaijin to my shop, punk?”
“This gaijin, my friend, has an interview tomorrow at Kitcho. He has promised to take care of my brother and I if he gets the job. Right, Barton-san?” Atsuki shot back.
“He is right, Komamura-san. If I do well, I will do what I can for the brothers. Kimura-san has been very helpful to me, and if his brother can tame this mop on my face, I’ll help him, too,” Markus said, gazing softly at the older man.
Komamura grunted a reply and returned to his customers. As the pair were leaving, he shouted “Good luck, Barton-san! You’re still a punk, Kimura-kun!” and laughed loudly.
“What was that about, Kimura-san?” Markus asked as they got back in the car.
“Ahhh… I might have stolen a few bowls in my younger days from old man Komamura. He never called the cops or anything. Just made me and my brother clean his shop when I did. He’s a good man, and I try to pay him back every time I come, but he never takes it. So, in return, I try to drive as much business to him that I can,” Atsuki replied, somewhat embarrassed.
“I see. Well, it is good that you are trying to correct your past wrongs. I’d say the old man has a fondness for you. You’re a good man, Kimura-san,” Markus stated with finality.
“Bah. I’m still a punk kid. I’m just lucky it was Komamura-san that I stole from. Other ramen-ya are said to be tied with our local gangs. I don’t ever want to step out of line again, so I stick with Komamura-san. He’s safe. The last time a gang tried to tangle with him, he sent them all running. He may not look like it now, but the old man used to be quite the fighter back in his younger days,” Atsuki explained.
Markus nodded and yawned. He checked his phone. Good grief, it was already two in the morning. “Kimura-san. It’s late, and I’ve been on a long flight. Plus I’ve my meeting tomorrow. I’m sorry to ask, but could you please take me back to my room?” he asked, his face a mask of apology.
“What? How late?” Atsuki checked his watch, and saw the time. “Oh shit. I should get home, too. My shift starts in four hours,” Atsuki explained, heading back to Markus’ room.
The pair rode in relative silence for the remarkably shorter trip back. Markus exited the vehicle and turned to Atsuki. “Thank you, Kimura-san. If tonight and tomorrow are all I have in Japan, You’ve made it all the richer. Be safe getting home,” he said with a smile and a polite bow.
“Let me know how it goes, yeah? I’ll send you a message so you have my number. Good luck, my friend!” he called back, and drove off into the night.
Markus stumbled to his door, and went in. Shucking his shoes at the genkan, he stripped and fell into the surprisingly soft bed. He was asleep in moments.
**********
Waking to his alarm always sucked. Markus reached out blindly and grabbed his phone. Shit, it was already noon. He checked his messages and saw a few from an unknown number. It was Atsuki. Apparently, he and his brother would be over in roughly forty-five minutes.
That gave Markus just enough time to shower and get dressed for his meeting. Hopefully. He scrambled for the shower, and got himself clean and dressed in thirty minutes. He was sitting there on the bed when he heard a knock at the door.
Opening the door, he saw the smiling face of Atsuki and a younger, much more shy man behind him.
“Barton-san! I have brought my brother, Gen-kun and he will tame that mop on your face! Ha!” Atsuki said jovially as he and his brother bowed respectfully and entered the small room.
“I am so sorry, Barton-san. I speak no English. Forgive me,” Gen said sorrowfully.
“Think nothing of it, my friend. I understand you well enough. I only hope my Japanese is good enough for you,” Markus replied with a soft smile on his face.
Gen nodded with a smile and set his bags down. He certainly carried a lot of product with him. Markus watched with interest as he set various amber-colored glass vials down, along with a bottle of yellowish oil. He also set out several tins with screw-on tops. Most interestingly, he had what looked like a spice shaker filled with coffee beans.
“So, what do you have here?” Markus asked the younger man.
“I have various scented oils that I will blend for you to bring out your manly scent. It will be tailored specifically to you, Barton-san. No other may wear it and smell quite so nice,” Gen explained.
“Neat. So what is in the metal boxes?”
“Different lightly scented balms to help moisturize your “mop” of a beard. How do you want it styled?” he asked.
“I was thinking of a pair of braids, honestly. Or a single, thicker one if you think that would look better. I also brought some jewelry to put in it,” Markus explained.
“Show me.”
Markus fished in his bag and pulled out a small bag with a few metal beads in it. They all had different designs. Gen gently took it and selected a few after some moments of thought.
“These are what you will wear. Now be quiet. I need you still, calm and quiet for the next few minutes,” Gen said to Markus.
Markus nodded, closing his eyes as Gen closed his own, centering himself.
“I will drive you, Barton-san. You need not worry with me around!”
“Quiet, brother. I am concentrating.”
“Sorry.”
Gen sat still for several more minutes, then opened his eyes. He leaned in, sniffing Markus by his neck, behind his ears and even the top of his head. He lifted his arms and smelled his armpits, his back and his chest. Markus was certain he’d just been violated, but was too intrigued to say anything.
Wordlessly, Gen turned to his vials and opened three of them. Inhaling the aroma of the coffee first, he sniffed each vial in turn. Shaking his head, he closed one, and selected another. This pattern went on with periodic sniffs from the coffee until Gen had three vials in front of him. Taking an empty vial from another bag, he opened it. Wordlessly he dripped several droplets of the various scented oils into the empty vial, then filled it from the bottle of yellowish oil. He shook this concoction up, thoroughly mixing the blend.
Next, he opened each of the tins in turn, sniffing them and rejecting a few. In the end, he had two left, and proffered them to Markus.
“Choose.”
Markus, confused, took first one, and then the other, smelling each. “What does the oil smell like? Am I to pick one that compliments it?” he asked.
“No. They both do that. Which do you prefer?” was the answer he received.
“This one, then,” Markus said, handing one to Gen.
Gen took the small tin and set it aside, and then concentrated on Markus’ beard. It was freshly cleaned and slightly damp. Gen took a towel and gently dried Markus’ face. Afterwards, he generously applied the oil to his hands and massaged it into Markus’ face. Markus recoiled slightly from the unusual scent, then gave a nod of approval.
Gen grinned. His gift had yet to let him down. He oiled his clients face, then massaged the balm into his hair. Such a lovely beard. Long, thick and curly. Just as it should be. Once his beard was tamed, he put a pair of braids in it, each hanging down from roughly the corners of his mouth. Once he was satisfied with their length and evenness, he slipped a barrel bead over each braid. They had a curious symbol on them, but his favorite were the pair of oni skulls the man had, that he slipped on under the barrel beads. These were surely the secret to his amazing looks and presence. To have a pair of oni looking after you was especially noteworthy. In his mind, at least.
Finishing his work, he handed Markus a mirror. Markus examined himself and smiled. “This is perfect, my friend. Let’s get the final ties on them, and we can head out!” Markus exclaimed as he looked at his phone. It was nearing three-thirty. How had two hours elapsed already?
Gen finished the work in front of him and nodded. “I can do no more. I would surely be treading upon God’s territory if I tried. Get him to his meeting, Brother. I have a good feeling!” Gen exclaimed.
Markus thanked the younger man and pressed a few bills into his hand. He rose, slipping on his new boots, and together with Atsuki, walked out to the car.