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Picture Credits:
Till Our Lives Burn Out
Chapter 5- Modi Vivendi
(Part 2b)
... … He had sprinkled the lecture with puns on the Japanese language. Bad puns were easy in Japanese, but really good bad puns were quite difficult to bring off. His were very clever, eliciting complimentary groans. He was not just witty, though, but laugh-out-loud funny. Twice he had the audience laughing heartily, and again near the end when he told a “nature is cruel” story about a friend of his on a rafting trip. The man was one of those perpetual spiritual seekers. His religion of the week was animism. Every morning he got up and talked to “his brothers the trees,” his sisters the flowers, and so forth. Then as they were headed down the river and pulled over for lunch, an osprey dropped from the sky and plucked a 20” trout from the river not ten feet in front of them. His animist friend watched the whole thing with horrified fascination. Kuryakin came up behind him and deadpanned in his friend’s ear: “Boy. Ol’ brother osprey just whacked brother trout. Look a’ that.” Setsuna smiled herself, as did Miyuki, who continued to watch Setsuna throughout the proceedings. At more than one point, Setsuna shook her head slightly as if she disagreed rather strongly with what was being said. A couple of times, she looked downright ready to argue with the point being made. The one thing of which Miyuki took note: not once did Setsuna’s eyes leave the podium. She was mesmerized by him.
‘Hmmm,’ she thought, a little plan forming in her mind.
A Q&A period began. Toward the end of the talk, technicians began setting up microphones, and Setsuna observed anxiously that one of them was set up right next to the aisle in which she and Miyuki were sitting. A few of the early questioners complimented Kuryakin on his superb command of Japanese. One asked if he had anything to say on the current bribery scandal.
“A little less ‘they all do it’ fatalism on the part of the general public would be nice,” he replied. “In the US, this might result in demonstrations and Government officials going to jail. Equally interesting to me is how your government has somehow managed to lose the records of some 50 million pensioners. They claimed it was a computer glitch. Really? And yet it’s full steam ahead on your plan to turn over the care of your elderly to robots? I’m sure nothing will go wrong,” he said with a wink.
One young man in the row in front of Setsuna and Miyuki got up, and went to the nearby microphone. Miyuki took note as Setsuna shrank down into her seat a bit. The student began quoting a recent, best-selling nationalist tract as though it were holy writ, and then asked Kuryakin, rather heatedly, whether the acceptance of a certain amount of corruption was tolerable if it preserved Japanese Culture.
“I’m very fond of Japanese Culture,” Kuryakin responded amicably. He was expecting this kind of reaction from at least a few people, and in fact, handled correctly, the young hothead was likely to help him make some of his points. He zeroed in on the major assertions of that tract, which he had read when it came out. “I think that the special affinity of your people for the fleeting beauty of nature is one of mankind’s most poignant protests against mortality. Problem is there is nothing in nature to keep those who wake up in the morning appreciating her beauty from imitating her cruelty by sundown. Hiding corruption behind vacuous slogans like “a beautiful nation?” Maybe you should ask those on the receiving end of the corruption what they think.”
“I have,” the student barked. “Most of the people I know would put up with a lot before they’d let outsider thinking influence them.”
“I don’t doubt that’s the case. More’s the pity,” he replied. “You’ve asked for my opinion, so I’ll tell you. My motto on the scandal is rather exacting: fiat justitia ruat caelum. Let justice be done though it brings down the very heavens. But don’t worry about my little opinion. I’m just a ‘gaijin’ after all.”
“Damn right,” the student muttered under his breath, within the hearing of Miyuki and Setsuna, as he sat down. “I don’t know what the guiding lights of this university were thinking having this Hairy Big Nose here.”
Some people around them squirmed a bit though whether it was at the naked racism or merely the bad manners was up for grabs. Miyuki frowned, wishing she could take back that little moment of levity about Kuryakin’s sideburns. Setsuna didn’t react visibly, but her revulsion at this was all the more violent for its silence, though she was a little surprised at how vehemently she found herself mentally defending tonight’s speaker. She knew he was a kind man; whether she agreed with his lecture or not, he certainly didn’t deserve such a craven and vicious comment. However, as a person who saw the big picture, she had also noticed how he used the young student to demonstrate a few of his points, and found herself impressed by this. His use of the Latin aphorism was also quite pointed for many still considered Japan’s Royal Family to made up of the tenno or Sons of Heaven. Royal bashing was quite a new sport to the Japanese, but the press had found the voice to do so in the last decade, and thus people found it necessary to “choose sides.” None of the royals had been implicated in the scandal, and that would have been unusual, for the royalty had no real power. However, it was clear if one of them had what both the opinions of Kuryakin and his angry interlocutor would be.
(NOTE: please see the comments section for some additional material that I have since inserted at this point...)
Several more people asked questions that moved the discussion toward ancient history, dissipating the tension that had accrued during the last exchange. Kuryakin was as deft and witty with them as he had been during his talk. Then with a mischievous gleam in her eye, Miyuki decided to put her little plan into action and watch what happened. Setsuna nearly exclaimed “no!” aloud as Miyuki rose, stepped past her and to the nearby microphone.
“I have a question.”
“Yes, miss? Ah, konban wa, Mi-chan,” he said, recognizing her. “I’m rather surprised to see you here, but thank you for com …”
Kuryakin froze. He had just seen Setsuna. She intended to catch Setsuna’s reaction, but his was even more interesting. He looked as though he’d been shot. ‘Oho, what is this now? The plot thickens,’ thought Miyuki.
“Uhm,” he said after an awkward pause, “*ahem* what is your question, Miss Mayamura?”
‘Actually, you’ve just answered several,’ she thought, smiling, but then said, “You mentioned what you thought would happen if the bribery scandal had occurred in America. On the news tonight, it was reported that a member of the House of Councilors committed suicide after giving his testimony before the investigative committee. If this had happened in America, would a member of the Senate commit suicide?”
“It’s possible, though not likely. There is more than one way to commit suicide. But it’s a funny thing about Americans. They forgive easily, too easily, perhaps, but they do it because they believe so deeply in second chances and in rebirth. Do you consider the councilor’s action ‘honorable?’”
“Myself?” asked Miyuki. “No, the honorable thing would have been to blow the whistle on the whole scam, instead letting yourself get hung out to dry by the bigger crooks, which is what I think happened.”
Kuryakin smiled a little.
“But,” she continued, “I think some would feel that way.”
“Assuming you are right, it wasn’t honorable. It was tragic, and in the very Greek sense of the word. The inevitable manifestation of inherent flaws. It was also predictable, and understandable given the circumstances. It’s possible the poor fellow probably saw he had no way out. And that’s sort of my point in this lecture. Human history is tragic. Time and again, people are driven inevitably to certain actions, by fear of death, or loss of face, or a hundred other very human things. Life, by definition, is a failure. For me, the question of Tragedy vs. Transformation is nothing less than the question of determinism and freewill: the issue is freedom: the freedom to go right, as well as wrong, and the freedom to break out of the cycles of tragedy. Some crimes are more heinous than others, yes, and occasionally deserving of death in my never humble opinion, but if everyone got what they deserved, I doubt there’d be very many people left.”
“You haven’t changed at all, Kuryakin-san,” Miyuki replied. “I’m glad I came tonight.”
“Arigatou,” he smiled at her. With that, the lecture ended and he again took note of Setsuna, looking pleasantly bewildered at her presence here. The Vice President thanked the audience for coming. Polite applause broke out, and lasted a sufficient amount of time to suggest general sincerity. Kuryakin left the stage chatting with the university higher ups that came out with him, looking back over his shoulder in Setsuna’s direction one last time as he disappeared offstage. Setsuna was not angry with Miyuki for drawing attention to her. That she wasn’t upset surprised her, and made her wonder about the real reason she had come tonight. Whatever the reason, she had noticed one significant thing. Throughout the entire lecture, he referred to Americans –whenever they came up- as “they,” not “we.” It may have been Kuryakin just playing the objective and dispassionate observer, but somehow she got the feeling it wasn’t. Someone asked him about that and he said, “Yes, I do mean ‘we’ of course,” but with such a wink and a nod that the mystery of the man deepened yet again in the mind of Setsuna Meioh.
Till Our Lives Burn Out
Chapter 5- Modi Vivendi
(Part 3)
“Let me see,” said Kuryakin as he and Hotaru took their lunch into the music room the next day. “I think I can remember all the songs I played that night. Did I say anything about it?”
“You said something about the arrangement being very nice, I think.”
“Oh, that one?”
He sat down at the piano bench and began playing.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Well, here, let’s listen to it.” He grabbed a remote control, and after hitting a few buttons, waiting, and then hitting some more, a melancholy introduction in the strings began, until it finally settled into the key of D-flat major.
When I fall in love
It will be forever…
“Now, you see what I mean,” Kuryakin said, “the strings on that are just sublime. Simple, ethereal, sublime.”
Or I'll never fall in love ...
“I don’t exactly understand these words right here,” said Hotaru.
In a restless world like this is…
Love is ended before it's begun
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun.
“Okay, I’ll translate it for you,” he said, and proceeded.
When I give my heart
It will be completely.
Or I'll never give my heart.
And the moment I can feel that
you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love with you.
“The singer is Nat King Cole,” said Kuryakin, during the instrumental bridge. “He was well known in Japan during his heyday. He actually did a few songs in Japanese. Autumn Leaves was one, if I remember right.”
“It’s a beautiful song. I like the words,” Hotaru said, a bit dreamily.
And the moment I can feel that
you feel that way too
Is when I fall in love ... with ... you.
“Yeah, it is pleasant sounding song,” he said, after it ended. “I love the arrangement. The words are nice. Although, I don’t think that line about ‘seem to cool in the warmth of the sun’ really works. I would have said something like ‘seem to die in the glare of the sun’, or something like that.”
“Kuryakin-sensei,” she said, smiling and almost giggling, “you could just say it’s a nice song and leave it at that.”
He began laughing – ‘cheeky little charmer’ - and then she joined him.
“So, Hotaru-chan, why did you want to know about this song?”
She wanted to know exactly what it meant, and why Setsuna-momma was listening to it over and over again last Tuesday night. It was puzzling because the song spoke of finding that one special person and giving your heart completely to him. If it meant her tutor, then why the strange ambivalence about him? ‘Very puzzling, my Setsuna-momma,’ thought Hotaru. She could tell him nothing of this, so she answered his question with a question.
“Kuryakin-sensei?” she asked, her voice distant and plaintive. “Are you going to teach me next year?”
“I don’t think so, Hotaru-chan,” he said. “We’re accomplishing what we set out to accomplish, I think, and truthfully, it would be best for you to be in a setting with people your own age. You don’t need much more in the way of learning. You need friends.”
Hotaru looked very distant and grave. She remembered the way Haruka and Michiru slyly –so they thought- asked her what she thought of Funabashi Academy; after enough of it, it was pretty obvious why.
“Not that I wouldn’t jump at the chance to keep teaching you,” he said conciliatorily. “I wouldn’t even charge for it.”
“You mean that?” she said, perking up.
“Absolutely. I’d …” he stopped, looking as if he was puzzled at the words forming in his mouth. “I’d … do anything for you, kiddo.”
She smiled, but sadly.
“So,” he said, trying to change the subject. “Did Miss Meioh say anything about my lecture?”
“Yes, she did, Kuryakin-sensei,” she said, sounding happy to talk about it. “She said you were very opinionated.”
“Really?” he smiled.
“She was also very upset.”
“Oh?” he asked, looking troubled. “Why?”
“Oh, not at you!” she responded quickly. “Someone made a very mean comment about you.”
“Oh, yes, I can imagine. I was invited to be provocative. It’s okay, Hotaru-chan. I’m a big boy. I can take it.”
A quiet moment ensued.
“Hotaru-chan,” he ventured gently. “There’s one thing that puzzles me. She came, but it seemed like she didn’t want me to know she was there. I wonder why?”
“I don’t know, Kuryakin-sensei,” she said, noticing this was the first time he’d ever asked anything personal about Setsuna. “I do know she wanted to argue some of your points with you.”
“Oh, yeah? I wish she had,” he said softly. “That would have been … fun.”
“In fact, after she got home, she did … to Haruka and Michiru, until I suggested it would be better if you were actually present for the argument.”
“Cheeky girl,” he laughed. “I’m sure we could find a lot to argue about. I get the feeling Miss Meioh is the sort of person who can’t quite see the trees for the forest. Myself, I have the opposite problem. I used to anyway.”
‘Maybe you two could balance each other out,’ Hotaru thought, a little determination crinkling the corners of her violet eyes.
“Well, that’s enough of that,” he smiled. “I had my moment in the academic spotlight, and now we need to get back to your lessons. This is not over till you pass your finals with flying colors. Let’s go, Hotaru-chan. Ganbare yo!”
“Ha-yee!”
5e. Meioh PI
After the turmoil of the last few weeks, Setsuna’s life seemed to be settling back into the quiet routine she preferred. Not one to waste time, she had met with Miyuki Thursday night to take a look at the dress she was going alter for the wedding. It wasn’t going to take much effort. Miyuki was, apparently, the splitting image of her mother at that age, and the dress would require just a tuck here and a bit of letting out there, and, they both agreed, the replacing of some lace fringes that had somehow been damaged. It was a beautiful dress, and Setsuna studied it with an eye toward gleaning ideas for her own creations. That Friday she had classes, and there were no further incidents to report. Setsuna met that afternoon with another physics professor, Dr. Genda, a married man, in his early fifties, to see if he would consent to be her new mentor. Dr. Genda was curious as to why, and though Setsuna asked that she be allowed to keep that private, he said he would consider it, and let her know before the Christmas break. It was early afternoon, and she was about to head home, when she noticed there was a message on her cell phone. It was from Rei Hino. She called her, and Rei said she wanted to talk about the photo Setsuna had given her. They met in a nearby park an hour later.
“You have news, Hino-san?” said Setsuna, sounding almost excited at the prospect.
Rei was as ambivalent to speak as Setsuna was anxious to hear what she had to say. After a bit more hesitancy, she said, “I want you to understand: I don’t think there’s anything … bad about … well, no, I’m not saying this right. I don’t think he’s bad, but …”
“Yes?” asked Setsuna.
“I hope you realize how dimly I have seen what I am about to tell you. It may be nothing at all. The first few times I took a look at the picture, there didn’t seem to be anything. But I wanted to be thorough for you. So I’ve been checking it, periodically. A week ago, I began sensing something. I spent extra time taking a look last night, and … I thought I saw something.”
Setsuna was silent, her eyes fiercely expectant. She had long appreciated the foretelling abilities of Sailor Mars, and in fact, thought that, at times, due to her miko status and her strong-willed, clear-headed personality, she could see further and sooner than Michiru.
“It seemed like a kind of shadow that moved with him,” Rei said. “It wasn’t of him, but it watched him …”
“I see. Have you any idea what it might be, or what this might mean?”
“I think something, maybe bad, maybe not, is coming, and it has to do with him,” Rei replied.
“You are convinced that he, himself, is not … bad?”
“Yes.”
“Completely?”
“No,” she replied, after a pause. “I can’t say I’m completely sure. I’m sorry this all so vague. Perhaps you should consult with Michiru-san.”
“I shall. But thank you, very much, Hino-san,” Setsuna said with a motherly smile. “I have great faith in your abilities, and I appreciate that you have been so persistent and so thorough. Please let me know immediately should you see anything further.”
“I will.”
Setsuna headed home at once, and arrived an hour later, just a few minutes ahead of Hotaru, who had spent the Friday off from lessons with Haruka and Michiru.
“Hotaru, come here. I need to speak with you about something.”
“Yes, Setsuna-momma?”
She asked Hotaru what, if anything, she knew about her tutor’s activities when he wasn’t teaching her. Hotaru, who had settled into the belief that anytime Setsuna-momma was thinking about her teacher it was a positive, no matter what the actual content of her thoughts, volunteered a few of the things she had gleaned from their casual conversations. Setsuna had begun making up her mind about what to do now, and when she talked to Michiru and found out that she knew he had been in “the military” and had possibly “seen action” she decided it was time to put on her private investigator’s hat, and do some old fashioned sleuthing and other private detective work not dissimilar to what she and the other Outer Senshi had done during the Infinity Academy Crisis. After Hotaru went to bed, she explained what she had in mind to Haruka and Michiru. “Knock yourself out,” was Haruka’s attitude.
“You should lay off a little, Haruka,” said Michiru after Setsuna left. “There is something strange about him, though I believe him to be completely trustworthy.”
“And why is that, exactly, Michiru dearest?”
“Let’s just say he had an impeccable reference.”
“Okay, if you say so, then it’s good enough for me,” Haruka said. She was increasingly curious about what Michiru had seen in her mirror, but trust was never deeper between them and she could wait for Michiru to tell her more of this in her own good time. “I do think things are coming to a head though. I wonder if he feels anything for her.”
“I don’t know. He certainly accommodates her, whenever he calls about Hotaru and she keeps plying him with questions to keep him talking. She would say that she was just trying to figure him out, of course. That’s probably what she’ll say about tailing him tomorrow.”
“We know someone who does know how he feels, I’ll bet,” said Haruka with a knowing smirk.
“Yes, I’d bet Hotaru does. It wouldn’t be surprising. Setsuna is very appealing.”
“Oh, more than appealing …”
“Let’s not start that again, Haruka. In any case, she is really obsessed with him. Do you think it’s love?”
“Maybe it is, but the way she thinks, and who she is, it may not matter. At all. So hard to tell with her. What does ‘Setsuna Meioh in love’ look like?”
“There was that one night, remember?”
“Yes. And he was right there in the room with her too.”
“Yes, but he isn’t exactly who he is going to become.”
“I dunno,” Haruka mused, as they both rose to head upstairs. “I see a lot of the king in him already. So maybe she was admitting the possibility of ‘someone else’. How did she say it?”
“I can’t remember exactly.”
“Neither can I, Michiru dear, because you were coming on to me.”
“Haruka?” said Michiru, wistfully. She had wondered if Haruka remembered such things.
“Yes?”
“Do you think it was inevitable that we would find each other?”
“No.”
“Really?”
“Lately, I find that I enjoy thinking I’ve been singularly fortunate.”
Michiru smiled at her.
“You say such sweet things lately.”
Setsuna got up before daybreak the next morning, borrowed one of Haruka’s cars, her Aqua-line pass, and a pair of compact, but very high powered, wide field binoculars. According to Hotaru, her quarry was usually up by 5:00 am, and took a morning run of some length. His weekend meanderings were unknown to Hotaru and so Setsuna would have to move fast and early to pick him up. Setsuna crossed the Aqua-line into the City of Kawasaki and headed north at 4:45 am. She began attuning her mind to pursuit and to extending a concealment aura, a power all the Senshi possessed in varying degrees of usefulness. Hers was one of the most subtle, yet strongest, and it needed to be. In any crowd, by her looks and classy dress, not to mention a train of emerald hair that without a bun extended below her knees, she stood out like a peacock in a barnyard. However, when attempting something clandestine, the concealment aura that their Senshi powers projected could fog the vision and memory of the clearest heads, leaving just a suggestion of an alluring feminine presence passing by: a shadow of sweetness that one could only slightly recall by not trying to think of it: a remembrance of “a something” forgotten, and the sense that one’s heart ought to be aching to remember it.
It was a cold morning, in spite of which, Setsuna wore a plum mid-thigh skirt, with a matching woolen blouse, and a khaki half coat that didn’t quite reach the hem of her skirt. Her gray boots had thick fur cuffs that did not quite reach mid-calf, but were comfortable for walking or, if necessary running. She reached a street near Kuryakin’s studio at 4:58 (and 14 seconds), parked the car, and got out. She circled a wide perimeter making sure she hadn’t been too late to catch him. Then she saw the single light come on in the second story room. About three minutes later, he emerged from around back with a cup of coffee in one hand and a bagel in the other. He was not the pleasantly smiling man she was used to seeing in the daylight. He looked very haggard and even dispirited. He didn’t appear to have slept well at all. After he finished his bagel, he sat his coffee down, and buried his face in his hands for a bit. Then he looked up, and determination swept his face. He downed the rest of his drink, rose and began to stretch out. After several minutes of this, he trotted back inside to put the cup away, and emerged again, with a hydration pouch around his waste, and a drinking tube that ran up over his shoulder and dangled within easy reach. Hotaru had said it must be a run of some length because he was into endurance training. She had not mentioned, because she did not know, that he took it at considerable speed. Even without her Senshi powers, she was pretty athletic herself and very well breathed. With her powers, she thought she’d have no trouble keeping up with him. When he shot off like a lighting bolt through the nearby park, she found herself quickly scurrying back to the car, and was afraid she was going to lose him. Fortunately, he was headed in the direction of Tokyo Bay, and if it came to that, she was pretty sure she could pick him up there.
She nearly missed him anyway. She had to scan the shoreline with her binoculars for several minutes before she spotted his head and torso bobbing up and down just past a fishing pier. He was doing a few push ups. More than a few. She counted eighty and she had picked him up in the middle of them. Then he bounded up and as he did, he looked over his shoulder for just a second as if searching for some thing. She was mildly startled when he seemed to look right at her, though it was impossible he could have seen her at this distance. She was in the shadows, and her mind was projecting the concealment aura as well. Must’ve been a fluke.
He continued his routine, which also involved a great deal of obstacle course work. He would fling himself over walls, and though he slipped a couple of times on the other side of them, he rolled beautifully to take the fall, and righted himself almost with out breaking stride. He would also hurdle over trash cans and other obstacles, and take stairs several at a time. It was during this that she finally noticed he ran barefooted. Whenever he stopped for a drink from his hydration pouch, his face would sink into an expression so desolated she found herself touched. It was always swallowed up by a renewed determination a few minutes later. Civil twilight began around 6:02 that morning, and he made it back to the studio about ten minutes before the sun came up at 6:30. Setsuna yawned and felt rather silly at that point, because, of course, he would come back there, and if she’d lost him, it wouldn’t have mattered much. The only thing she learned by coming here this early was that he could run like a cheetah, though with far better endurance, and was fond of push ups.
Two hours later, he emerged, casually dressed and headed toward the Azabu Juuban district. Setsuna followed with the car for a bit, finally found a safe parking area for Haruka’s blue Ferrari, and proceeded on foot. Apparently, he would spend this Saturday morning making calls on people he knew. That was rather old-fashioned, and she rather liked it. In between the times he stopped to chat with people, he looked very thoughtful, sometimes deeply troubled, and a couple of times, his expression went back to that look of abject misery. She surmised that something was weighing heavily upon him. She poked her head around the corner. He was talking with a dumpy old woman, and when she got close enough to hear, the conversation seemed to be about her health, how her family was doing, and other very prosaic matters. Then the woman handed him something. He took his leave, and walked a few blocks to a local grocery store. ‘Well, this is incredibly ordinary,’ she mused. After purchasing two bags worth of stuff, he paused at the store entrance and seemed to be looking for something. Then he headed back to the same house, and handed the groceries to the woman. ‘Wonderful. I am tailing Mother Theresa. I ought to return home.’ Setsuna Meioh was not a snob, or at least she was as little of one as a person who believes in aristocracy can be. She did not look down on people, much. She had her likes and dislikes as much as anyone else. She had a serious duty and she took it seriously. This was not snobbery. But she did believe that ‘everything finds it own level’ and this man just didn’t make any sense. What in the world was a man with world class talents doing spending his Saturday like this? It was touching, and charming, and even wonderful, but it didn’t make sense to her. And now he was talking to three men, sitting around a chessboard, drinking … something. He was abstaining. What on earth could they be talking about, to interest such a person? He did it so naturally, there was no affectation in it, almost like Moliere’s Bourgeois Gentleman, the silly social climber who discovered in the end he had spoken in perfect prose all his life and never realized it. In the last three hours of careful, stealthy following, it seemed that of his time, talents, and whatever money he possessed, Kuryakin poured it out with the fearless, unconcerned prodigality that only someone with a great wealth of something could manage. ‘I should just go home now. This was foolish of me,’ Setsuna said to herself. For reasons unknown, she did not. He took his leave of the three gentlemen, and was standing at a crosswalk, waiting for the lights, when, for the third time this morning, he glanced around as though something was wrong, looking a bit like a hound catching a scent. She was watching him from two blocks away, around a corner, in an alleyway, between two buildings. When she poked her head around it, she zoomed in on his face with her binoculars. His eyes were doing some thing strange. He would blink, and look at something, then blink again, and look just a little farther along. Then it hit her. The alley dead ended here, as a building took up the whole of the block across the way. He was looking at each window of the building across from her. ‘Is he aware of me?’ That was impossible. Her concealment aura was in full force, and besides she wasn’t watching him from any of those windows. Still, perhaps she ought to head home.
If Setsuna could have seen into the mind of Peter Kuryakin at that point, she would have seen him taking quick glances at the reflections in each window of the building across from her, zeroing in on the three in which she was reflected. Then, isolating the tan and plum purple parts of those reflections, he distorted, stretched and reworked them, assembling in the end a clear image of her.
She took one last look around the corner, and … he was gone. Where? She poked her head out of her hiding place a little further. Where was he? She moved, walking briskly but carefully, to the last place she’d seen him. When she passed by an entryway, she gasped at the sudden feeling of someone behind her. In the time it took her to think ‘Impossible!’ a heavy hand fell onto her shoulder.
“Konnichi wa, Miss Meioh.” He didn’t look angry at all. In fact, he looked almost too happy to see her. “I hope you won’t consider this prying but, what on earth are you doing in this part of town on a Saturday morning?”
“I am out shopping for fabrics,” she said, quite calmly and seriously, despite the fact he was … touching her. “As you know, I make most of my own clothes.”
“Miss Meioh, the only ‘fabric store’ around here is the textile warehouse eight blocks down.”
“I prefer to buy in bulk.”
They both stood there silently and then he chuckled and she, having been so thoroughly caught, laughed, as well.
“And the field glasses in your left jacket pocket?”
“I am an avid bird watcher.”
“O-kay. Miss Meioh, may I buy you a cup of tea?”
“I am really not thir …”
“Sure you are,” he smiled, with his arm around her and a firm grip on her shoulder. Unless she was willing to fight him …
“Tea would be nice, thank you …”
“Who are you? Really?” asked Setsuna, as she stirred a cup of mint green tea, a few minutes later.
“Peter Kuryakin.”
“That is your real name?”
“If I had another name, don’t you think I’d be using it, instead my rather silly real one? My full name is Peter Theodore, or in Russian, Pyotr Fyodor, Alexandrovich –that means ‘son of Alexander’- Kuryakin.”
“Your father’s name is Alexander?”
“Yes,” he said, producing a pen, and pushing a napkin toward her, “write this down so you don’t have to get caught tailing me again to find out. My mother’s name is Nadia. I am the eldest of eight boys, and I have six sisters.”
Setsuna’s eyes widened considerably, and he began ticking off names.
“My brothers, after me, in order are Alex jr., Vanya, Ivan, Fyetka, Anton, Andrei, and Nicolai … get all that?”
“Why are you not Alex jr.?”
“I was named for Peter the Great of whom we are, supposedly, descendants. I’m checking into that whenever the subject piques my interest, which is never.”
She smiled, flicking her hair out of her face, and feeling a bit silly.
“And your sisters?”
“Sasha- diminutive of Alexandra, Katerina, Talia –short for Natalia, Anya, Sushan and Sabrina. All quite ordinary names. Miss Meioh, you’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to have one very prosaic conversation with me. You could have just called. Your voice is pleasant to me, though I enjoy your company even more.”
“Thank you,” she replied quite formally. “Are any of your family famous?
“Famous?”
“People one would hear about.”
“No one is famous where I come from.”
“Where do you come from?”
(Word Limit Reached)
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