Life was simple in Momo’s kitchen and I soon settled into the daily rhythm as the weeks passed by. It was good to forget of all the misery and pain left behind me, even if it was only for a brief but beautiful moment. Word had gotten around through one of Momo’s contacts that while the Yakuza were still looking for me, the intensity of their search had died down. They presumed I either fled Japan for the mainland or that the Bratva took care of me, burying my corpse somewhere out in the country side. Either way, I was just a strange footnote in their history now, a weird tale told over shots of Sake by the tattooed members of the Yakuza to each other.
At first, Momo would not let me near front of house, saying that I would be more lethal with a knife in hand than any gangster out there. He then jokingly banishing me to the kitchen but I didn’t mind, the peace and quiet in the back had become my sanctuary from the world and everything in it. It was my little slice of heaven and I kept it spotless while the jovial block out front entertained his guests, laughing and joking with them till they left.
When the restaurant closed for the evening and everything became quiet again, we would often sit out in the courtyard, smoking cheap western cigarettes and talking about the day’s happening and life in general. I often told Momo about my home in Germania and my adventures in the Caribbean and how I finally ended up in Japan. At first I was hesitant, scared that the big man would make fun of me but he never did, always carefully listening to my fantastic tales. He would laugh softly to himself when I told him about Larousse but it was difficult to hide the sadness in my voice. The truth was that I missed the little demon and I wished I didn’t chase him away back then. He kept me grounded and knew I was completely lost without him. Once or twice, I would ask Momo about his past but he always held back on me. He would often look up at the sky and close his eyes, like he was thinking back the events of the past, of glories long gone by. I could see it was a sensitive subject for him so I let it go and didn’t speak of it again. So there we sat, two damaged and lost souls under the Tokyo heavens, trying to heal each other every night but never quite reaching it. But it didn’t matter in the end, it just didn’t.
I was content.
But as usual, things always change and not always for the better. I was sorting out supplies for the evening rush in the back when I heard them come in. Brash and loud, the two Yakuza members entered the restaurant, banging their fists on the counter for service as they took their seats. Carefully, I spied them around the corner and then suddenly everything came flooding back to me. All the hatred, all the pain and all the anger, it clenched itself around my heart and squeezed with all its might. I wanted to hurt them, make them feel every ounce of the pain inside me till they screamed for mercy. With narrowing eyes, I watched as they pointed and laughed at Momo, making fun of him while the demanded bottles of Sake. It was remarkable how he kept his steely resolve in the face of their insults, calmly cutting the Salmon and preparing the sushi rice as he called for me.
“Gakuse, please bring me another bottle of Sake for our guests.” Hesitating for a second, a placed the clear glass bottle on a tray and brought it forward, waiting to see if the Yakuza members would recognize me. Luckily I had nothing to fear, time and the growing out of my natural long blonde hair eased any suspicions they might have had. The stench of cheap beer hung on their breath as they downed shots of the Japanese rice wine. One drunken lout grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down on his lap, trying to kiss me in my neck.
“Hey you Kuso-Debu, I didn’t know you had white whores here hahaha!” They laughed their heads off as I Calmly but firmly freed myself from his grasp and headed for the back. Passing the prep counter, one of Momo’s razor sharp chef’s knives was laying tantalizing within reach. He was rolling some California rolls and Maki as my fingers glided over the wooden hilt of the knife. I would be so easy, so very each to pick up the weapon and destroy the bastards mere meters away from me, to watch the blood gush from their veins as the flopped pathetically on the ground. Momo raised an eyebrow in my direction and with a barely perceptible shake of the head waved me off. He could see in my eyes what I wanted to do but as usual he calmed the storm in me. Grabbing the tray tighter, I marched through the kitchen and collapsed against the court yard wall. The tears streamed down my face as my body shook with emotion. No matter how far or how long I ran, the horror of my existence would always find and catch up to me somewhere, somehow. For a good twenty minutes, I sat hunched over in the court yard, feeling sick to my very core.
