Boneca [Doll]

Chapter 4: I Hate Countless Things In Life

Luuk chuckled. "So that's what they're calling me in the Forestry department? My students prefer 'pompous alien' or 'scuzzbag.'"

"Alien? If all aliens looked like you, I'd be up for a planetary hop to find some alien chicks." He scratched his five o'clock shadow, grinning. "But how are you holding up? This expedition wasn't what you signed up for, was it? Norman associating with a Brazilian drug cartel—unthinkable. He seemed so... urbane."

"I once knew a seventy-five-year-old lady in a mothball-scented sweater who used to traffic children to Russia. Don't set your expectations too high."

He nodded, a small grin quirking his lips. "That's one way to see the world."

"That's the only way to see it."

His phone interrupted them. "Excuse me." He fumbled his black cargo pants pocket for his phone, craning his neck towards the entrance. He took the call, conversing in smooth Spanish—a Peruvian dialect. "¿Dónde estás? Estoy en la terminal A." [Where are you? I'm at terminal A.]

Luuk seized the chance to escape.

"Oi! Estou aqui," [I'm here,] a petite man shouted in Portuguese a few yards away from him.

Luuk couldn't see his face, obscured by a plastic cup he was drinking from. Yet, the voice sounded familiar.

The man walked past him, then abruptly stopped and stared at him. His glasses magnified his bulging eyes as he choked on his drink, spewing strawberry milkshake in Luuk's direction. The remainder of the drink sprayed out like a fountain, triggering a coughing fit in him as he spat out the rest of the beverage into his tissues.

"Jona. Dios mío, ¿qué pasa?" Chaves asked what's wrong in Spanish, concerned.

Luuk immediately understood the dynamic. Portuguese and Spanish shared substantial lexical similarities, making it reasonable for them to converse in their own languages, much like an American talking to a Brit or Aussie.

Luuk peeled off his wet mask, wiping his strawberry-scented forehead. It felt as if the gates of Hell had opened, searing his face. Swallowing the fiery sensation in his chest along with a gulp of air, he tasted the strawberry on his tongue, fanning the flames of his anger.

"How... Oh, sir, I'm so so sorry!" Jona thrust his cup into Chaves's hand and attempted to blot Luuk's milkshake-soaked shirt with his grubby tissue.

Lord, forgive our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us... as we forgive those who trespass against us... Screw it!

Luuk pushed his hand away with an abrupt force. "Enough, kid." He sensed the roughness in his own voice.

Jona bowed over ninety degrees and apologized ad infinitum. His ears were redder than his bright shirt. His voice had faded into a whisper that resonated with urgency.

Observing the small crowd by the check-in counter, Luuk felt a distressing premonition. A young boy was pointing at them, his round face oozing skepticism. A sinking feeling took root in Luuk's throat. He grasped Jona's arm. "Pode parar? Vá lá, estás a fazer-me fazer figura de ursa." [Can you stop? Come on, you're making me look like a fool.]

Jona's eyes widened as he sprang up, seemingly unprepared for Luuk's Portuguese.

"Come here, querida," Chaves said, wiping Jona's chin with his sleeve.

Querida? Wasn't that a term for a girl?

"Never mind, Aarón," the sensei said, glancing at Luuk's shirt. "Today, it's my turn to cause the mess. I'm truly sorry." His eloquence returned.

"Have you two met before?" Chaves inquired.

Jona nodded, handing Luuk a clean tissue.

"Small towns, right? You end up knowing everyone," Luuk quipped, using the tissue like a makeshift blotting paper.

"El mundo es un pañuelo," [The world is as small as a handkerchief,] Chaves added, attempting to sound profound.

Being unfamiliar with the idiom, Luuk still managed to grasp its context. "Yep, the world's a handkerchief, but next time, bring an actual handkerchief instead of this pathetic excuse for a paper towel. Jesus."

"Sir... Professor Smit, wait. I... Let me buy you a shirt. Please." Before Luuk could retort, Jona sneakily tagged on a "See you in a while" to Chaves and pulled Luuk towards a souvenir kiosk.

Taking note of Jona's slender fingers cinching around his arm, Luuk couldn't help but jab, "Is this how martial arts instructors roll? None of my jiu-jitsu senseis were ever this touchy-feely."

Jona dropped his grip as though Luuk's words were sparking live wires. Although silent, a flush crept up Jona's neck.

Surveying the kiosk Jona had dragged him to, Luuk remarked, "My mom would disown me if she caught me buying threads from this bargain shop." He clicked his tongue, chucking his soggy mask into a nearby wastebasket. Selecting the first shirt he saw in his size—a ludicrous black shirt featuring "SAN FRANCISCO" slapped over a palm tree and beach (thankfully not "I Love San Francisco")—he whipped out his wallet to pay.

Jona's hand nearly shoved Luuk's aside. As he tried to extract a card from his wallet, three platinum cards cascaded onto his yellow sneakers. "Kuso," he muttered in Japanese, jamming another credit card into the store assistant's hand, who barely stifled a chuckle.

Luuk shot her a look that could freeze flames and retrieved the cards.

"Oh, sir, don't pick them up!" Jona grabbed the cards with both hands, adding a slight bow for dramatic effect.

Tsk. Very Japanese.

"You don't have to cover me," Luuk argued, his conscience unburdened. After all, Jona wielded the same credit cards as him.

He'd stumbled upon the sensei in an alumni magazine once. At only twenty-four, Jona owned three combat gyms in Santa Clara County, a martial arts whiz racking up wins left and right. Yet, Luuk had never heard of him, even back when he dabbled in jiu-jitsu. Age difference, he decided lazily.

"I insist."

Luuk shrugged. "Alright then. I suppose you're rolling in enough dough to front the bill."

"No problem. It's just a cheap shirt, right?" Jona handed Luuk the paper bag, a grin stretching across his face.

The audacity of this guy, Luuk thought, the audacious guy.

He was starting to suspect that the Japanese kid might not be as polite as those Japanese etiquette books made him out to be.