*

Falling in Love again

*

(Warning for language, a slashy foreplay and expression of controversial
political opinions.)

*

Chapter 4: Suspicious Mind

 

Tokyo, years 36/37 of Meiji (1904/5)

*

You have decided to go in that war for the sake of Japan. For the
preservation of our warrior?s pride and honor you believe it is
necessary. Perhaps, you are right. It is difficult to say what the truth
is. But, one thing is sure, this war will only be the beginning of a new
circle of warfare and bloodshed.
I really believed that the war I had fought in would be the end of all
wars. I really believed that the new era would bring peace for the
helpless. That no one would have to do things I had done. That no one
would shed the blood of innocent people again.
I believed it, and I was wrong.

*

New York, May 11, 1965

*

Human conditions. Human weaknesses.

Henry Shatner studied the documents sent from Los Angeles. He felt that
he became too attached to the Farrel affairs again. After all, observing
him was not an affair of priority, but Shatner couldn?t help it. The
knowledge of his failure kept him thinking. And there were so many
questions left. In the center of all this was a young undercover agent
who had killed himself with his car. The investigations had been closed
after this, because the man left a full confession, exonerating Farrel
from a couple of crimes he had been accused of. Shatner, however, was
still skeptical, and he reflected on the weakness of the human mind. The
reasons why a serious and conscientious agent could fail in his duties,
could forget them for something volatile like attraction. Shatner gazed
at the photos of a crushed car. Then he looked at another photo. It
showed a young man with serious, regular features. This serene face
betrayed nothing of the inner emotional volcano.

"Boss," Shatner rose his eyes at the sudden intrusion of one of his
subordinates. "I beg your pardon, Sir, but we have received the telegram
from Germany we have been waiting for."

Shatner nodded and the man handed him the paper. After twenty hours,
they had finally found out that one of the supposed names, Marco
Sevarelli, appeared on the list of a flight from Frankfurt, but the
airport staff couldn?t give details about that man. He seemed to be just
an ordinary American-Italian business man, working at the Frankfurt
trading floor. After that, Shatner had asked one of his CIA contacts in
Germany to collect some information. But he hadn?t expect such a prompt
reaction.

The telegram informed him that Sevarelli had not worked in Frankfurt,
but made a cure in southern Germany and that he had travelled in company
of a young Asian woman. They hadn?t found any Asian name at the
passengers list, what meant that the woman had taken another flight.
Shatner remembered that Jasper Cagney mentioned a woman as a part of the
inner circle of this organization. He would speak with him tomorrow
about new strategies.

"What else?" He asked his subordinate who was still waiting with another
paper in his hands.

"I took the liberty to verify the passenger list of that flight again,
because I had discovered something irritating. First, I though it was
just a joke, but later I concluded that it must be a hint." The young
man laid the paper on the desk and indicated a name. It was an English
name. "This could be an alias too."

"Why do you think so?"

The man blushed a bit.

"It?s the name of a movie hero, of movies about spies." Shatner
recognized that this young man felt somewhat ashamed to confess his
predilection. He knew that his men feared his dry comments, but now, he
was far away from wanting to intimidate his subordinate. It was exactly
for connecting ideas as absurdly as they may appear, that he had
selected his men.

A movie?

***

I wake up some minutes before the alarm-clock is ringing, covered with
sweat and struggling for breath. Paranoia, I think, standing under the
cold shower. It?s only paranoia, caused by the shock about my discovery
in the "Velvet". Don?t bother with useless speculations! It?s only
paranoia to believe that I had seen a very old acquaintance, speaking
with that blond private detective. It must be paranoia that I feel as if
someone was watching me since that day. It?s only paranoia to believe
that the apparition of the young barkeeper from the "Velvet" in Karen?s
club could have any meaning. It?s only paranoia to believe ... My mantra
doesn?t work. I know it better. Some years ago, a man who knew a bit too
much about me, said that I was a magnet for trouble. If someone would
lay shit on the street, I would be the one to step into it. In the last
years, that instinct ? wasn?t it paranoia, some minutes before, idiot? ?
whatever, it saved my life more than one time. And now, there is much
shit on the streets, and I have already stepped into it. So deep, that,
immediately, I regretted returning to New York.

Oh no! I should concentrate myself on nearer problems, instead torturing
myself like this. First, after getting dressed, I could make breakfast
with sandwich, and coffee. Coffee is most important. Coffee is a very
good idea.

That?s what I do. I put some cheese, ham and cucumber on my peanut
sandwiches and carry them to the table. Then I pour coffee into my cup
and put it on the table too. The "Village Voice" is still laying where I
left it last night. The red encircled job offer remembers me why I had
to get up so early, after four hours of sleep. I take the phone from the
hall in the kitchen and sit down.

One ... two ... three ... "Gelbstein?s bookstore. What can I do for
you?" It?s the old man himself who answers my call. He still has that
strange accent of his, even after more than thirty years in this country.

"Good morning, Mister Gelbstein! My name is Kenneth Farrel, and I ?"

"Farrel? Kenneth?" Interrupting me, he repeats the name slowly. Oh, no!
"I believe I know the name." What a remarkable memory! "Wasn?t it the
little Kenneth who loved the candies I put in the big glass on the
counter? He always tried to get some behind my back, for him and for his
other friends. Am I right?" He speaks more with himself than with me,
but I?m blushing. Deeply. The stealing of candies was supposed to be one
of my many tests of courage for the other kids.

"Yes, Mister Gelbstein, you are right. I?m sorry for it, Mister
Gelbstein!" I remember having excused myself already, because Kumiko
dragged me in the store when she found out my stealing. Humiliating me
without mercy, damaging my reputation one more time.

The old man laughed quietly. "What can I do for you, Kenneth Farrel?"

"I call for the job offer: /We are looking for a courageous salesperson
for our bookstore/. Is it still available?"

For some minutes, he doesn?t say anything. Maybe, the job is already
taken, or he doesn?t trust someone who stole candies from him. In this
silence, the doorbell is ringing, almost scaring me off. Who could it
be? Did something happen ...?

"Why don?t you come visit me, Kenneth Farrel? And we will speak calmly
about it."

"I would like it, Mister Gelbstein. I will be there as soon as
possible." The doorbell is ringing again, more insistently this time. I
cover the receiver with my hand and yell: "I?m coming, please wait!"

"Don?t rush, Kenneth Farrel! I wouldn?t like you to have an accident."

"Don?t worry! See you later, Mister Gelbstein!"

I cut the connection. Then I sprint to the apartment door and fling it
open, almost stumbling against the person standing before. "Ha!" I gasp.
To say that I?m surprised would be the greatest understatement of the
year. I?m stunned. Black leather pants, black leather jacket, dark red
shirt, spiky hair, skin like caramel, eyes like chocolate. Sam Sherman.
He grins down on me like the cat who caught the bird, although he is
looking somewhat tired. To tell the truth, he looks as if he had past
the night on the road again. He smells like that either. And finally, my
stun is replaced by slight anger, not by joy. "What do you want?"

"Are you not happy to see me? I thought you wanted to see me again."

Sam?s voice is a bit unsteady, and his smile loses a little of its
confidence. His breath smells beer and whatever. When he leans himself
against the doorframe, I step back one meter. He should rather take a
shower, or go washed, than trying to seduce me, or whatever he intents.

"I haven?t so much time, because I have to go to Manhattan for a job."

Now, he laughs and leans nearer to me. "Obviously, you have always a job
to do. Last night, when I was here, you had been on the road for a job
too." He had been here last night. What for? "I wanted to tell someone
my wonderful adventure, but the love birds didn?t want to talk with me.
Maggie told me that, perhaps, you would like to hear it, but you weren?t
there."

An adventure? I don?t feel in the least like hearing something about his
night chases. And Maggie? Since Friday, she tries more and more to push
me around. As if her knowledge about me would give her some rights. Like
her manner to speak with Karen. It really annoyed me off. However, it is
not Sam?s fault, that Maggie desires to manage my life for me.

"And since you left them, you are on the road?" I ask him. "Why you
didn?t go home?"

He snorts. "Why should I? Can you imagine how boring it is, living with
Arthur? Can anyone imagine how much this fucking guy annoys me?" Oh yes,
I can. I take a deep breath, trying to chase away that image of Arthur
laying in technical room of the "Velvet". "No, I tried to find someone
other to chat, but I had no luck. All my buddies were somewhere else.
So, I fell on you again."

He speaks with his straightforward attitude, as if joking. But I think
that he might feel somewhat lonely, if he couldn?t find people to speak
with beside me. And he has something, what touches me. Perhaps it is the
question why he needs such a strong vital barrier, covering insecurity
with bluntness and aggressive sexuality. It appears that he is not even
conscious of this but I can sense it. Maybe, it is good like that,
because he could turn my major weakness against me ? my incapacity to
reject someone who is asking for whatever help.

"As I said, I haven?t so much time, but you can come in and fresh up a
bit. Maybe, you want breakfast too." I propose, managing a smile, and he
accepts all my offers.

First, the offer for a bathroom. Meanwhile I make some more sandwiches
and another coffee.

I?m surprised that he has come to visit me. I hadn?t thought so much
about him. I had not even told Maggie more than some hints, letting her
much room for speculations. Refusing her offer to accompany her to the
"Underground", how she called the place where the band was playing
usually on Saturday nights. Why should I have gone? No, I know myself.
I?m a genius for putting myself in trouble. Friday night has proved it
one more time.

However, I was strangely touched, when Maggie told me that Sam had/
/annoyed her with questions about me. I didn?t expect it. New night ?
new target. That?s what I thought about him, although I had so much fun
with him that night. And kissing him! Good grieve! How could I forgot
how sweet kissing was? It was as if I had been a living dead. The
sensation had been so overwhelming that I almost forgot myself. My body
was simply craving for sex, my hands and lips for heated skin. It was a
joke to say that I would consider it, because I wanted it so badly that
moment. I wanted to make love to him. Then I realized how scared he was.
I didn?t really understand why, but I knew that I had to be careful with
him. More careful than I thought, after all his stupid joking, showing
off. I sensed that he was more at ease when I just flirted with him.

"You should wear it down." Sam?s voice interrupts my reflections,
startling me. He continues in the same, thoughtful mode of speaking.
"Your hair. You should wear it down. With a ponytail like that, it looks
already fine, but I think you should wear it down."

"Do you always give fashion counsels?"

"No," He returns grinning, leaves the door and sits down at the table.
"it?s just what I?m thinking in that moment. Why having such hair if you
hide it?"

It was a psychological necessity for my mental balance to change my
appearance. Letting grow my hair was the easiest and cheapest
possibility. But I don?t search trouble with the police, that?s the
reason why I wear it hidden under my cap. For the same reason I ceased
to use make-up. Besides, I feel free to have chosen the appearance I
want, and not to play a defined role. I had really enough to play
defined roles with other men.

However, I don?t express any of this thoughts.

"What?s the adventure you wanted to tell?" I query Sam, setting cup and
sandwiches before him and sitting down too.

First, he looks at me very peculiarly, but he doesn?t insist. I liked
this already when we were on the road together. He accepted every limit
I set, maybe understanding that I did the same for him. Finally, his
face melts in a large pleasured smile.

"I got a part in a movie. Last evening, I had a prize fight, and there
was a guy looking out for people to figure in that movie. As extras."

A movie! Now, I understand why Maggie believed I would like to hear
about it. But she is wrong.

"What?s the movie about?" I ask nevertheless.

"It?s a kind of science-fiction movie. You know, a crazy professor tries
to take over the world. We have to play his full-automatic replicants.
It?s a German professor." He explains enthusiastically, and it is the
first time that I see him speak about something with passion, with
brilliant eyes, without faked emotions. Beside sex, I mean. That?s why I
swallow my dry comment, that it is always a German professor who tries
to take over the world. In movies, or comic books.

"Why do they make the movie in New York? Why they don?t make it in a
studio in Hollywood?"

"No idea. But, it suits me, because I can figure in it. And they use
even a shack in my corner as a sort of studio." Sam shrugs and drinks.
Then his eyes widen in surprise. "This is a real coffee. Maybe, not a
perfect one, but it?s definitively not only brown colored water." I hide
my smile behind my sandwich, asking myself what meaning it has for him
that someone could make a so-called real coffee. "Maggie told me that
you have been in Hollywood. Were you in the movies?"

Good grieve! I never thought about this. Out of nothing, disgust is
crawling over my skin and though my body, a bad chill. If someone had
made a movie of me, I wouldn?t even have noticed it. I know about the
photos, only because I saw them later.

"No," I answer, faking a calm I don?t feel. "I just worked for a
restaurant, doing catering services for the crews."

"I think it must have been great, to see how they make movies." Sam has
leaned back on the chair and grins more for himself than for me. He is
right. The operations of the crew, as far as I could observe them, have
been really the only interesting thing for me. "So, how was it?"

"What?"

"Hollywood. What do you think I?m speaking about?"

"I didn?t like it." I hated it. Los Angeles, the city of angels, had
been hell for me. Just thinking about it, and nausea rises up in my
throat. "It?s all a fake, and it?s like a beast devouring other people?s
lives and dreams.", I say sharply, standing up to put away the dishes.
Then I take tobacco and leaves out of the pocket of my pants and begin
to make a cigarette. Shit! I look at my hands. Wonderful! I could be the
perfect object for a psychological study?. Get off!, I think, sending
the cigarette in a perfect arc in the open trashcan. "Anyway, I have to
go now, and you should go home to sleep."

I turn around to face him, meeting a quite inquisitive gaze from his
eyes. After a moment of irritation, he shrugs and says: "Hey, I have a
car. Why don?t you let me reward you your favor from the other night?"

"I would be quicker, taking the subway."

"But, imagine the fun you could have in my company. I?m a guarantee for
fun. As I said, I?m witty and sexy. What better reason you might have to
accompany me?"

His self-confident remark makes me smile again. It is so easy to smile
with him. Not the smile of faked politesse I?m used to, just something
issuing from my heart.

"Okay, but don?t think I?m foolish." I say, coming nearer to him. The
excitement he radiates is almost visible. Does he really believe I would
make him sexual offers in this apartment? I can smell that he had used
the bathroom to get washed, but there is no chance for it. However, I
intent to use his expectations for my own fun. "I know that this isn?t
your car, but Arthur?s. And I know that you have crushed his previous
car." As I?m almost touching him, feeling his arms lifting to grip me, I
sneak my hand in the pocket of his jacket and fish out the car key,
stepping out of his reach before he realizes what I have done. I had
perceived in which pocket the key was. "What means, that I will drive
the car. You don?t know the way anyway."

He protests, but he is no match for me. After the ten minutes I need to
make my hair, we go on the road.

*

I should have taken the subway, letting Sam driving home alone. The
traffic is horrible, just stop and go. We will need more than two hours
to Mister Gelbstein?s bookstore.

But, by the time, I start to feel good in Sam?s company again. I allow
him the little triumph to hear about my childhood foolishness. Like the
stealing of candies and other similar occupations, including my only
participation in a real break-in as another prove of courage. Its
circumstances had not been so amusing, but with the distance of the
years it becomes easier to joke about such things.

"In the end, your life has been quite animated." He comments, grinning
at the stories I tell him. He has not the slightest idea how many truth
is laying in his words, but it doesn?t disturb me now. He doesn?t speak
so much about his childhood occupations, beside movies.

"What?s with the prize fight you have spoken about? Do you things like
that very often?"

I don?t like that idea, but not for altruistic, or pacifist reasons.
It?s just the regret, that his beautiful features might be damaged by
blows. Besides, I can?t see any sense in passing the life with fighting.
It?s quite useful to know self-defense, especially because nobody
expects it from a gay man, but I would not solely rely on it.

"Well, when I came to New York, my first intention was to become a box
champion. I had already gained a bit money with prize boxing. And, now,
I haven?t decided yet, if I still want to be a famous boxer, or a famous
musician."

"I would prefer you choosing music. It would be a shame to have your
beauty damaged." I tease him, and suddenly, it?s as if a haze of
confusion and fury is laid over his face. Before, Sam says something, I
continue. "I can understand, that you like fighting, because people
think that you are sexy. But when you sing you can have this feeling
even more intensely."

The strange expression fades and his lips curl in a mischievous smile.
He has gotten the picture. Then he slaps his forehead. "I almost
forgot." Sam is pulling my ultimate self-defense weapon out of his
pocket and swings it before my eyes. "You dropped it, and I thought you
might miss it."

I supposed, I had lost it, when we fought off these assholes who
aggressed Karen and Mimi. However, I didn?t remember clearly when I lost
it. Could it be that Sam had kept it with him the last days? In the
simple hope that I would miss it? After all, chains were cheap, even
faked silver chains.

"Thank you for keeping it! But there was no need to bother you with this."

"You didn?t miss it?"

I bite my lips, because he looks like a sad puppy.

"No," I say and feel very crude. "Why should I? It?s just a chain."

"Can I confess you something stupid?"

"Go on!" I return chuckling, parking the car, because we have reached
the place.

"I thought that you would come Saturday night, knowing that I had this
thing. To conclude what we have begun." What a logic! We change a
glance, grinning. "It?s really a silly idea, isn?t it? I even can?t
explain it."

I reach over, running my hand through the thick, spiky hair like I would
do with a child. But it feels different, sending prickles down my spine,
not enough for me to become aroused, but enough to accelerate my
heart-beat. The best word to name this feeling is infatuation. It?s such
a wonderful sensation, that I want it to continue.

"You can still keep it, maybe I will miss it later." He answers with a
grin, trying vainly to catch my hand. "However, I will go now, to see
Mister Gelbstein."

*

Half an hour later I leave the store very satisfied. I?m engaged by
Mister Gelbstein and would begin my job in two days, even if Karen
should not have recovered. It would not be the first time that I had two
jobs at the same time. Now, I would have a little income to live on my
own until I would find a dance engagement. Having a real job always
lifts my mind, because I hate it to depend on others and to abuse their
generosity.

I don?t know if it is the result of my good humor, or just a temporarily
lack of prudence, but I?m so delighted by what I see, before I reach the
car. I stop to preserve this picture. Sam has bought a portion of potato
chips and is eating it, leaning his arms on the car roof. He is grinning
to nothing special, moving his hips as if he was listening to music.
Music in his head. His back is yelling "BAD" to the whole world, but he
looks just sweet. I want to touch his face, the appetizing skin, his
inviting lips and this spiky hair that felt so nice in my hand. Yes, he
looks sweet, and fucking sexy too, moving his hips like that.

"What are you looking at?"

He turns his face to me, his smirk almost going from ear to ear. For I
don?t know how many times my gaze has wandered between the firm line of
his shoulders and his delectable ass. In pure and simple admiration.

"Nothing special." I answer, smiling back to him. "What do you think
about another coffee, when you have finished your meal."

"Sounds good to me." He returns, chewing.

*

"Paying protection money for a bookstore?" Sam is asking when we are
sitting at an outdoor table of a little café near Washington Square,
basking in the sweet sun of May, smelling springtime even in the middle
of the city. I was just telling him why Mister Gelbstein was looking for
a courageous employee.

"Yes, that?s what he said." I answer Sam?s startled question. "His
problem was that most of his former employees didn?t want to keep that
job. It seems to be the Italians, and they have a reputation of being
very dangerous."

"I can understand it, but ? who would ask a bookstore for protection
money? I know that most of the bars pay it, but a bookstore?"

Suddenly, I think of the barkeeper of the "Velvet" who appeared in
Karen?s club, every night, some minutes before it closed. One moment, I
struggle against the impulse to speak with Sam about it. But, then I
keep my mouth shut again. After all, I don?t know very much about him.
Not enough to trust him.

" Mister Gelbstein said that all the storekeepers he knows pay it," I
answer instead. "but he wouldn?t. He said, that he hadn?t fled one
oppression to give up to another."

"Amazing that such a frail old man is this courageous." Sam says thoughtful.

Smiling, I remember how surprised Mister Gelbstein was to see me. Or
better, first, he didn?t really see me, because he had pushed backwards
his glasses, for reading a notice. And he must be even more shortsighted
than before. Though, when he saw me finally, he was surprised, but then
he smiled in his friendly familiar habitude and called me "the little
Kenneth". Although, at the beginning, he was not so inclined to the idea
that I might work for him. I think he believed that he could have even
more problems, employing a man who looks as if be used to stray in the
Washington Square Park. But, in the end, I could convince him, that
contrary to my appearance I had no fear at all to deal with his problem.

"Oh, courage is not a question of strength." I explain, thinking of Kumiko.

"Like your aunt," Sam returns, and my jaw drops. "I don?t know her very
good, but Kay is highly amazed by her. Did she really study Law on her
own, just with books and written lectures? I don?t understand how
someone could have patience for a thing like studies."

I can imagine. Maybe, it?s unfair, but I think he has never spend more
than a minimum of time and effort in something he wanted.

"She is a hard worker. She did it, even if she wasn?t sure if she would
find a job, as a woman and as an Asian. She just wanted to do it,
because she was amazed by the idea of a real and democratic legal
system. She always said that all the injustice was not a problem of the
Law but of its interpretation. And that she wanted to fight for that the
First Amendement becomes a reality for all people." While I?m speaking,
I see Kumiko before my eyes. How she was sitting at the kitchen table
surrounded by books and notices while I was laying on the mattress in
the bedroom, observing her through the only half closed door. I always
felt asleep before she went to bed, even if I tried very often to stay
awake. "I never knew a person owning so much energy and discipline."

"You are very fond to her, aren?t you?" Sam is looking at me. The tone
of his voice has changed. I don?t answer, lowering my eyes. "Maggie told
me that you have lived with her all your life."

"Indeed, she managed to flee with me from Japan. After my parents had
been killed, and because she had to fear arrest too."

"What for?"

I hesitate, but then I shrug and tell him what I know. "For treason.
Well, my father was suspected to be a spy for the Americans. That?s what
they said to explain his death to the American authorities in Japan. He
worked in Yokohama for an American Trade Company. I don?t know, neither
does Kumiko, if the suspicion was true. Perhaps, it was just his
connection with people like my mother and Kumiko that made him
suspicious in the eyes of the Tokko." Sam opens his mouth again, and I
realize that I speak about things he couldn?t know. "The Tokko was the
secret police and suppressed subversive ideas. They observed the
foreigners as well as so-called subversive Japanese. My mother was part
of a pacifist group, and she secretly distributed leaflets for them.
Kumiko helped her when she came to visit her. That?s it. The Tokko found
it out, my parents were arrested, and sentenced to death. That?s what
Kumiko told me, and later I found out that it was true."

I feel very odd, speaking about them, about their death. As if it is
just a story of interesting, but completely strange persons. In the end,
my parents are strangers for me, persons I know of photos, a few letters
and other people?s accounts. I owe them my physical appearance. Besides
that? Who knows?

"Sounds like a fucking movie." Sam comments somewhat impressed. "And she
did flee with you. With a ship, or what?"

"With a ship." She never ever told me about the fleeing. It must have
been horrible, and she was just lucky that I survived it. "I was one
year old, she was fifteen years old. The first years we lived in San
Francisco, without papers, but later we left the city and went to the
Middle West where the family of my father lived. It was a poor region,
peopled by farmers. That?s why my father fled it, but it was a good
place to stay during the war. They knew about the war, of course, but
they let us stay nevertheless. It was a kind of underground. Better than
a relocation camp, I think. After this ?"

"What relocation camp?" Sam interrupts me.

"The camp where they put in people with Japanese origins. During the war."

Now, it?s him who is startled. "Really?"

"Yes, and one of them hadn?t been so far away from the place where
Kumiko and I stayed." How could so many people ignore what has been
cruel reality for their own compatriots? "When we lived here in the
Village, there was an American-Japanese family. The elder children,
Sozaru and Yumi, were my best friends. Their father had fought and felt
in the war, while the rest of the family was interned in a relocation
camp. Contrary to them, I was very lucky." It?s out faster than I
thought. Very strange. I hadn?t thought of Soza for years, because it
made me too sad. And it causes still the same dolor. Thinking what
person he could have been, or what could have been between us, if he
hadn?t died in this stupid incident. "That?s enough chatting about me.
What?s about you? How did you know Kumiko?"

"Wow!" Sam exclaims. Then he remains silent for a few minutes. "As I
said I don?t know her too much. It?s Kay who knows her better. She
helped him in a problematic situation. If you want to know details, you
have to ask him. He simply told me, that it was one of his luckiest days
when he went to this agency. Even before he started to illustrate his
situation, she helped him to get his wits together, inviting him for a
tea. But what a tea ? it was a real ceremony." I see the picture. One of
the rare things Kumiko kept of her Japanese education was the tea
ceremony. She had explained to me that it created harmony and let the
time to think about the words before pronouncing them. It was a good
recipe, but the tea ceremony doesn?t resolve all problems. I shake my
head, to push away my regretting thoughts, while Sam is continuing:
"After this, Kay went to her whenever he needed counsels, especially
about legal problems. There he met Arthur who came for some advises too.
I was very surprised to discover that they knew each other, when I came
to New York." After the last words, he, suddenly, stops, looking down on
his dishes.

"Where have you come from?"

"From New Orleans, but my ? parents live in Charleston."

No doubt, he doesn?t like to speak about his parents. I don?t insist.
After all, coming out is always a painful process, and very often, the
wounds don?t heal easily.

"And the others?"

"Kay is a very old acquaintance." Almost unconsciously, his lips curl in
a smirk. "I know him from the orphanage where I passed my first seven
years, before I was adopted. It was in Oklahoma City. And Arthur comes
from Boston, from a very convinced Christian family. That?s what all the
Shermans are."

His short comment only confirms my impression. His coming out has been
painful enough that he still feels hurt.

"And the band, how long do you play together?"

This might be an innocent matter, I think.

"Almost since my arrival in New York. Three years. First, I only knew to
play the saxophone, but Arthur taught me to play the guitar." He stops,
an odd expression showing up in his eyes. Though, it doesn?t take much
time, before his familiar mischief returns. "Hey, do you want to see our
place? You will be impressed."

"Yes." I answer, faking naiveté.

His eyes widen, the smile growing more wicked. Does he think I would not
know what he intents? After all. Why not?

*

It?s an old warehouse, whose ground floor is occupied by stores. The
windows of all the other floors, as far as they are visible from the
street, are barred with wooden planks, or painted in gaudy colors. We
have to go to the backside of the house to find the entry. A dusty
stairway behind the stores and a wooden elevator are leading in the
other floors. We take the elevator. The first thing surprising me is the
large banner at the entry to the fourth floor, announcing in flashily
colored letters "Underground". The second thing surprising me is the
truth of it. The whole thing is a kind of cave. The barred and painted
windows dim the light. Only in the part of the room where the
instruments are standing, a sort of rostrum, the windows, allow the
daylight to enter. Armchairs and couches and low tables are displayed in
free arrangements, creating compartments, little caves in the grand
cave. Six iron bars supporting the ceiling intensify this impression.
The walls are decorated with different pictures, reminding me of my joke
about avant-garde artists.

"What do you think about it? It?s quite cool."

"Looks like the entrance of a brothel." I comment dryly.

Sam grins. "You should see it in the night. Then it looks like a fucking
love paradise." He shows me the bar, occupying a corner beside the music
rostrum. "If you want something, serve yourself. I would invite you to
come upstairs to see the other rooms, but it?s not decent at all." I
bite my lips, for not laughing at his comment about decency. "I?ll be
back in ten or twenty minutes."

"No problem!"

I risk a look into the bar shelves and fridge, offering a real great
diversity of more or less alcoholic liquids. I wonder if they got a
liquor license, or if they had found a way to circumvent legal
requirements. I look at the collection for some minutes and, finally, I
find orange juice. After having filled a glass, I drink a bit, walk
through the cavernous room, until I feel a certain physical need and
look for the lavatories.

*

I should not have looked in that corner. A half hidden and half open
cardboard box in other peoples lavatory is not my business. Curiosity
kills the cat. Someday, I may learn that, but not now, because there it
is, a smelling dead rat ... Shit! In a very figured sense of meaning,
but nevertheless true. Crouching down, I pull the cardboard box
completely out of its hiding place. It contains three packets filled
with white powder. Whatever it might be, it is far beyond any medical
dosage. I settle myself on the closed toilet seat, because I feel the
sudden need to sit down.

I have never seen this much, not before the night in the "Velvet". In
that night, nothing offered me a real distraction from my thoughts about
the drug deal in that lavatory. And, this had been the real reason for
me to stay, not only favors for Sam, or Maggie. Trying to find out the
secrets of the theatre was the least thing I could do. Of course, the
others didn?t leave me the key when they closed. I was a stranger for
them, and one of them, or both had a lot of things to hide. I picked the
key, in a moment when none of them had taken care, and returned when
they had been gone.

I found Arthur there, in the technical room, and I think I saved his
life. He had a kind of shock, shaking and struggling for breath as if he
was drowning. Although I was horrified, I didn?t panic in that moment.
Even as he talked with me. Like the living dead in a gothic novel who
suddenly starts to speak. He called me his guarding angel, a creature of
heaven and more things which only gave me a bad chill. First, I thought
about calling an ambulance, but I didn?t it. I was almost sure that they
would inform the police, and the police would find a reason to put me in
jail. A fag in company of a junkie would have been a perfect target for
deliberate mistreats and a perfect suspect.

No, I didn?t call the ambulance, but looked for a medicine cabinet. And
there I found enough circulatory preparation to wake up a half dead. It
helped to stop the shock before it became dangerous, and after a while
he fell asleep, his pulse regaining a normal rhythm. Only then, sure
that his condition was stable, I examined what he had taken. It has been
a mix of LSD and Cocaine, and I wasn?t really surprised anymore to find
in an adjacent room a real stock of different drugs. I was not
surprised, but furious. There are not so many people I hate, but I
really, really despise drug dealers.

It?s good to remember my fury, better than feeling shitty, sitting on
the toilet seat and looking at the three packets. I stand up, open the
toilet and do the same what I have done with the shit I found in the
"Velvet", taking my knife out of my pocket, slashing open the packets
and throwing their contains down in the water. Splash! Slurp! It?s gone,
before I can change my mind. Then I lay the empty packs back in the
cardboard box and put it back in its hiding place. I?m still shaking
when I wash my hands, avoiding to look in the mirror.

I think that I should really talk with Sam about this now. In the
"Velvet", I wasn?t sure at all if I could trust him, him being a
stranger to me. Though, it was nice to let me distract deliberately by
his behavior and his sex-appeal. After the time we have passed together,
I don?t believe that he is addicted to any drugs, besides alcohol. But,
I?m not certain of what he knows about the different stocks. At last,
the cardboard box hadn?t been exceptionally hidden, and he lives in this
house.

I return to my glass of orange juice, beating vainly the pockets of my
jacket and my jeans. You will not find any tobacco, you left it home,
forget about it! Finally, I strip my jacket and lay it over a chair.
Lifting my mood with the question if stripping my jacket is a sign of my
mental condition, anticipating the expected action.

"Got you!"

I did?t notice anything, before I?m hugged from behind, teasing teeth
tugging my earlobe. I open my mouth to protest, to say what needs to be
said, but the only sound escaping my throat is a breathless gasp when
the tongue between these teasing teeth follows the line of my ear.
Later, I think, when it wanders lower to my jaw, hands clutching my
shirt above my stomach and running eagerly over my legs. Later, I think,
when a hungry mouth is devouring my neck, tongue playing with my chain,
pressing it against my skin. Later, I think, every reasonable thought
flying away, when I feel the needy pressure against my back and shaking
fingers opening the lower buttons of my shirt. I dig my own fingers in
his arms, hissing when his warm hand slides beneath the fabric, touching
my feverish skin. Hunger like I hadn?t felt it for so many years, far
greedier than the other night, is washing over me. I spin around, grip
his neck and push against him. Our lips meet halfway, meshing roughly.

Some minutes later, we stumble blindly over one of the couches. Sam
toppling me, continuing the kiss, almost ripping off my shirt, when he
needs too much effort to open the buttons. Then he stops, breaking the
kiss and lifting his head to look at what he has touched.

"Not now!" I let out, my voice husky and impatient. I push the ring and
the dragon hanging at the chain away from his questioning eyes, reaching
out for his neck and drawing him back in the kiss. Not now! I don?t want
the past phantoms to interfere, not when I need it so much to be touched
by a real human being. Covering his mouth, his chin and his neck with
hungry kisses ? the taste is so overwhelming, intoxicating, real and
physical ? I shred his shirt over his back. I?m almost crying out when
his mouth returns at my neck. Holding him tight with my arms, relishing
the sensation of his taut muscles under my fingers, I shift my position
until we are sitting, myself settled in his lap, my legs straddling his
sides.

Even if he might be somewhat irritated with my sudden action, he
realizes very fast the advantages of this position, stripping my shirt
completely, running his hands over my back, up to bury them in my hair
and down to squeeze my buttocks as hardly as he had done it the other
night. My head falls back while I?m feeling him pressed against me. When
I augment this torturous delight with slow moves of my hips, I provoke a
violent gasp from him, his touches growing needier. The muscles in my
legs quiver, as I?m pressing my feet in the upholstery, searching for
support. His right hand sneaks between our tightly pressed bodies,
caressing me, where I feel this madly throbbing, and I cry out. I don?t
remember having been so sensitive, reacting on soft touches with such
passion. ... My skin is like a sponge for his kisses and the insistent
touches of his hands, absorbing their heat and converting it in more
feverish need and aching excitement. Please! I want this to continue
endlessly; I?m yearning for release. And he is so talented with his
mouth, tongue and teeth, finds highly sensitive places, that he inspires
my lust-hazed mind the breathtaking vision of ?

"No!" I shout desperately, when I feel a long missed sensation running
down my spine. My fingers dig into his back savagely, as if searching
for help. "Oh my god!" Screaming again, I fight it down.

"That?s it," Sam tries to laugh, but he is breathing hardly, and he is
trembling. "finally you know how to address me properly."

I taste the salt on his skin when I manage to kiss his neck, biting him
for mocking me. After this, he is struggling for control too. Finally,
he reaches for my belt and opens it. Then he continues with my pants,
the hand in my back creeping lower, sliding beneath the fabric. My whole
body shakes in anticipation, sweat dripping over my skin. This, oh yes,
I want this so badly. Then ?

It?s a very present phantom who interferes, using the piano. Whoever
once heart a piano screeching like a hurt animal can imagine the
dreadful sounds interrupting our heated battle. The music has the same
effect as a cold shower, of both of us, but incites different reactions.

"Fuck!" Sam yells hoarsely, and he pushes me away roughly. I cover my
face with my hands. I?m not sure if I should laugh about this moment
fitting for a screwball comedy, or if I should wish for a hole to
disappear completely. My cheeks are still burning, but its the shame
now. "Fuck! Fucking bastard!"

Spilling out more obscenities ? some of them make me even blush ? Sam
rises up. The piano grows just noisier and more dissonant, slowly
getting on my nerves. I close my pants and put on my shirt, standing up
too. When I see what happens, I decide that laughing is the only
solution to preserve my face. Without success, Sam is trying to drag
Arthur away from the piano, constantly yelling at him.

When I laugh, they stop their strange fight and look at me. I don?t know
what I had expected from Arthur when he sees me but I find just an
expression of utter serenity on his face. Not a smile, but a sort of
preliminary state of a smile. And the music changes in something
completely different. It must be easier, without Sam trying to trap his
hands in the piano-top.

"What are you laughing at?" Sam is asking angrily, his face is bright red.

"Don?t be so ridiculous!" I say, pulling him away from Arthur. "Will you
drive me home, or have I to take the subway? You have two minutes to
decide you and to get changed."

Sam decides quickly and leaves. Arthur continues playing his new tune,
two different motives in twisted, choppy melodies. All these last days,
I was so troubled by the idea to meet him. But now, I feel colder than I
thought I would. He gazes at me with widened eyes, pure adoration mixed
with indulgence. If I hadn?t seen almost the same expression when I
found him in this little room, maybe I would have been happy to see a
man looking at me like this. Maybe, he could seduce me with his music.
Maybe, I wouldn?t give Sam a second thought. But now, I know the truth
about him, and I have found the drugs in the toilet. He might be a
victim of his own misery, but this is not a real excuse.

"Do you know?" He starts to speak. "He wants just sex from you, a quick
moment of heat."

"What?s the problem with this?", I return. All my experiences told me
that it always amounts to this quick moment of heat. Sam is only
extremely straightforward in this matter.

"In the moment he got it, he will not look at you a second time."

"Why do you care about it?"

I see my cap laying on the floor and pick it up. I clap the dust off and
put it on my hair. Of course, my hair must be a mess, but I can arrange
it when I?m home.

"You deserve better. He would never know how to treat you properly."

"But you think you know."

"Yes," He is very near to a smile now, nodding. "I know that you are one
of these precious beings who are like lights for the people around them.
An angel."

An angel? Oh no! Being an object of adoration might appear more
agreeable than being an object of pure sexual desire, but in the end,
it?s just the same, and I dislike it both. For a very simple reason. The
object part. And being the object of adoration of a drug-hazed mind is
the least wish I have.

"Do you not think that you grow a bit pathetic?" I return coldly, and I
don?t even have to fake it.

"No, it?s just the truth. I can see it when I look at you, this light."

"You should stop to take things which influence your perception."

It?s a stupid discussion. Caustic remarks are just a waste. He is so
high on LSD at this moment, that he doesn?t really understand one of my
words. His answer: "You should use it too, because it shows you how
things really are. It gave me back music when I thought I had lost it."
just proves my thoughts. I stop caring about him, it?s useless now. In a
drug-filled mind is no place for reasonable thoughts.

I take my jacket and leave the room, running down the stairway. It?s
only when I?m standing by the car that I realize that I haven?t been
calm at all. Self-deception is one of my greatest abilities, but now,
leaning against the car, I?m shaking like a leave. My control is only
strong enough, that I don?t vomit on the streets. So many years, and I
still wish I would never ever have to deal with my special knowledge in
such situations. I wish I could hate this man, but instead I feel sorrow.

*

"Fucking bastard!" Sam is still cursing, when we are on the road again,
and slowly, it starts to annoy me. After all, it?s not the end of the
world. "This incredible ?"

"What?s your problem, Sam?"

"How can you ask? It was humiliating, but not only that. I was so close,
for fuck?s sake, for three weeks I hadn?t had any sex."

"It?s really tragic, Sam."

We live in two different worlds. This poor boy almost dies on excess
pressure after only three weeks of sexual abstinence. After my words, he
glances suspiciously at me.

"Do you mock me?"

"I would never do this."

"You mock me. I thought you liked it, you have been really hot. But
maybe you prefer someone more sophisticated and more artistic than me,
who sweet talks before screwing you."

"Don?t dare to speak with me like this!" I return sharply. "Drive on the
side!"

"Okay, I?m sorry." His voice expresses the truth of it even better than
the words themselves.

I bite my bottom lip, suddenly amused that I can intimidate him so easily.

"I accept your excuse, but you can drive at the side anyway. We have to
talk about something, and I don?t want to do it in the middle of the New
York rush hour."

"Do you want to ask me about Arthur? If I have realized that he was
high?" Sam queries, but he searches to find a place to stop. "Of course,
I know it. I must be blind not to know it. What do you think is the
problem I have with him? Every time, before and after a concert, during
the days and in the nights, he blows his head away with this things. You
can?t even really fight with him when he is like this. You have seen it."

"It?s that what you meant with his search for inspiration?" He glances
at me, as if I have said something stupid. "You said it, when we were in
the theatre, explaining what Arthur does after his shift."

He stops the car, turning his face to me, shrugging.

"That?s what he says. That taking it helps him to find new music. In the
beginning, I believed it, because I noticed that he was more candid,
looked happier when he was high. It was some times after my arrival ? I
have taken a bit too, just to try out ? we talked about our ?
predilections. And he confessed me that he could understand that I liked
queens, and we realized that sometimes, we have the same taste.
Concerning men. I was very amused about it, because normally, he is
always so serious and collected." The hint is very clear, although I?m
not a queen. "After a while, I realized that his drug use was just a
substitute for a real life, not only concerning sex, but concerning all
feelings and sensations. And now, he just pisses me off, but I can?t do
anything. When he isn?t high, he?s just gloomy and quiet, reading books,
disdaining everything I do."

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. Shit! Why do I have to feel this
sorrow? Finally, I find my voice. "Why don?t you try to help him? To get
clean?"

"I?m not fucking Jesus Christ, who saves the poor sheep."

"That?s not what I was asking you. I asked you why you don?t help him to
get clean."

"Why?" I open my eyes at the coldness in his voice. "Why should I help
him? He doesn?t want to be saved, he told me with his own voice not to
spy after him and not to annoy him. Why should I make myself suffer for
him? After all he is just a stupid bastard who has afraid to live, or to
have fun."

"But he is your cousin."

"So what? He doesn?t want my help, or anyone?s. If not he would be with
this girl now, because she loves him. And she is a real person. If he
wanted anyone?s help, he would accept this love. No matter if the girl
is black or white." They must have discussed about Mimi, one of these
days. "But I don?t love him this much. Why should I suffer for someone
who doesn?t want to be saved."

"And what will you think the day he kills himself with this?"

"It would just be the dead he chooses. So many people who have died
would deserve life more than him. People who loved life enough for not
being afraid all time."

We have started to shout, but suddenly, I see this expression in his
eyes. His own sorrow he has hidden so deeply, and I think about the
people I have known. People who died, but deserved life so much.

"I?m sorry." I say, and his widening eyes betray his amazement. "It?s
unfair to demand things from you who might hurt you. Besides, you should
know that someone ? maybe Arthur, maybe another person ? has hidden
drugs ? I don?t know what kind in your men?s room?"

He shrugs. "Yes, I know."

"What?" The moment of sympathy is gone. I?m at the edge of fury.

"I told you that he doesn?t want to be saved. But this isn?t my affair.
This is Arthur?s business. I don?t give a fuck for it. He told me that
dealing LSD isn?t illegal, and that anyway, I should keep my mouth shut
with moral. If I informed the police about it, he would inform the
police about the places where I go sometimes. Do you understand why I
don?t wish to save him?" I?m choking, my fury flying away quickly.
That?s it, he is right. Arthur is already so deeply involved in this
shitty affairs, that helping him becomes really painful. "He gets this
stuff from a guy called Thomas Kane, who sometimes shows up on Saturday.
I avoid this man. He is gay, or bi ? I don?t know, but I don?t like the
looks he gives me."

"Then you should know that I have flushed a considerable part of his
money in the toilet." I say dryly.

Sam?s eyes widen even more, then he starts to laugh. "Why did I never
have this idea?"

"You have said it. You don?t care about it. I do." My voice is somewhat
sharp, but I?m not in the mood to be polite. "You know about the
?Velvet? too?"

His laughter is trapped in his throat. "What is with the ?Velvet??"

I look at him a very long time, before I decide that he really doesn?t
know about the stock in the "Velvet". Then I tell him all what happened,
from the deal I heard in the lavatory to Arthur?s shock, and finally,
I?m glad to do it.

"The ?Velvet? is partially owned by an organization, called the
?Family?. It?s a bit like the Mafia, but its members are not limited on
Italians." Sam explains, when I have finished. "Simon has made the
contacts. That?s all what I know. I can?t imagine that someone could do
anything without their knowledge. Kane is a freelancer, as far as I
know." Then, he grins catlike, while I?m thinking, Shit, I could have
provoked a gang war with my action. "I don?t know why you do such risky
things, but I have to admit that I?m highly amazed by your recklessness.
Do you want to fight off all drug dealers in this city? If so, please,
let me know, because I?m sure it guarantees lots of fun."

Sighing and laughing at the same moment, I cover my face with my hands.
A magnet for trouble, that?s what I am, falling on a man who considers
trouble as an amusing entertainment. There is no need to continue this
discussion. "Let?s go on!"

Sam slaps my shoulder, before he tries to filter back into the flow of
traffic.

"Let?s go out again tomorrow!" He says after a while. "Your job starts
on Thursday. We could even go in a movie, in the evening. I go to the
movie theatre every Wednesday."

My first idea is to accept his invitation, but then I remember that I
have to visit Karen. I promised her, before I left them on Sunday.
Thinking of Karen, I remember the job and another thing.

"You said, the barkeeper of the ?Velvet? has made the contacts. I saw
him at Karen?s Jazz Club, the last days. Do you mean -?"

"Yes, as I said most of the bars pay protection money. This organization
is like a net. Their chef is called the ?spider?, but nobody I know has
ever seen him." Sam is shrugging. I would love to have his indifference,
but my thoughts have already started to hunt each other like mad rats.
"You haven?t answered my suggestion."

I take another deep breath. "I would like to go out again, but tomorrow
I have to visit Karen Kaszowiz."

"This noisy girl."

"Don?t talk like this. She is very fine and courageous."

"If you say so. When shall I come to take you?"

This time, I?m really sighing. "Do you really want to pass another day
on the road?"

He laughs. "Don?t forget the fun, and the surprises!" Yes, it is
something to get used. "Besides, we still have things to conclude."

Sam?s hand is sliding from the clutch to my tight, but I catch it and
lay it back on the steering-wheel before its creeping becomes too
dangerous. I haven?t forgotten what Arthur said about the quick moment
of heat.

"Don?t lets rush into things!"

I?m feeling a bit ridiculous, saying this. Just on hour before, I had
been really hot, but now, I think that Arthur might have done me a
favor. Sam considers my words definitively as ridiculous, bursting out
in mocking laughter, while he is parking the car face to the house.

"Rush? I don?t see us rushing into anything."

It?s really a world between us, but it doesn?t change my opinion. I know
for sure, that if I had sex with someone, it should be making love, not
just a fuck. If not, it might be a great moment, but later I would feel
like shit. I know it, I had enough fucks of this kind. Enough to feel
unclean and dirty ? until now. I leave the car without reacting to Sam?s
laughter. When I have reached his side of the car, he looks somewhat
irritated, lowering the window. He might consider himself as the coolest
kickass of the world, but I?m convinced now, that he needs this mask to
preserve himself. After all, he is only twenty-two years old.

It?s pure foolishness and more than imprudence, but I cup his face with
my hands, lean forward through the open window and kiss him to say
good-bye. Not a hungry kiss in function of a foreplay, but a sweet one,
to taste his lips. When I break the kiss, we breathe a bit quicker,
nevertheless.

"There?ll be another possibility." I say smiling, steadying my voice a
bit, raising my upper body. "See you tomorrow!"

"See you tomorrow!"

Then he departs, and I go to the house. I become aware what I have done,
when I notice a shocked face in one of the windows of the first floor.
There had been people on the street, I see them now, still looking at me
in mere disgust. Luckily, they are mostly women, they would not try to
beat me, and they are too distant to spit at me. In stubborn ignorance,
I smile at them brightly. But, when I have entered the house, I?m
worried if one of them might have called the police to inform them about
my open exhibition of immorality.

A letter addressed to me I find in the letter-box interrupts my
reflection. It has been posted in New York, and inside I find a postcard
of the Liberty Statue. While I?m mounting in the second floor, I read
the message. It?s written in German, saying: /Greetings from Berlin,
Princess! Saw you at the airport, but you have gotten quite blind. Still
owe you a favor, and don?t like to have any debts. If you need some
help, call under this number, or find me in the "Waldorf Astoria"./

Of course! Only the best is good enough for him. I don?t even need to
see the initials /H. v. S./ to know the writer of this letter. There is
only one man who always called me "princess", no matter what I said or
if I complained. If he is in New York, something must be up, something
big, something in what I don?t want to be involved. My first impulse is
to throw the letter to the garbage, but then ? No, for annoying me
endlessly, for all his homophobic attacks, I should keep him as my
debtor. Just for my own satisfaction!

I hide the letter under the false bottom of one of my suitcases. Then I
go into the bathroom to arrange my hair, blushing when I see my
reflection. My neck is covered with love bites, quickly I search a shawl
to cover them and change my shirt, before I start to make dinner.

*

I wish I could cry. I wish I hadn?t shed all my tears for other people.
Every new pain only creates this strange knot in my throat, strangling
me, making my eyes burn, but offering no release. I blow the smoke in
the evening air, leaning against the railing by the river. The Hudson is
converted into flowing flames, and golden fingers reach out for the
familiar skyline. The view from the Brooklyn Heights is definitively
better than any view from a building in the middle of that chaotic
Island. But I never felt at home in Brooklyn. At the moment we moved
over to Brooklyn, my life started to disintegrate.

There had only been one other day in my life when Kumiko had been this
cold. The day when she knew that I hadn?t gone to school for two months,
and that the school relegated me for trouble making. The day when being
homosexual became, in her eyes, the same signification as lying.

Today, she had been informed by the neighbors about my behavior, even
before she came in the apartment. The neighbors who swayed between pure
horror and pity that she was punished with someone sick and disgusting
like me, in the short time, one of them had written a letter and
collected signatures, begging her to take care that such immorality
would not been displayed again. After all, they were good Christians,
and good Americans.

I said I was sorry, but she only replied that I should not lie to her.
If I was really sorry I would stop to do things who might hurt my family.

"Is it not enough that Maggie has suffered for your behavior at school?
Even if she wants me to believe that she was always fine, I know what
hard time she has had. Is it not enough? Do you have to destroy all our
lives?"

I was sorry, sorry to cause them pain, but she didn?t believe me.

"I will not kick you out in the streets now, but you will leave
tomorrow. I will give you some money, if you need it, but after this I
demand you to stay away from us. And if you put yourself in misery one
more time, don?t come crawling again, asking me for help."

That had been the last words she said to me.

I wish I could cry, but I can?t. I finish my cigarette and go to the
subway station. The best remedy against suffering is hard work. That?s
what I?m used to.

 

**

*Author?s notes: *Are you shocked? I hope not too much.
1. The most shocking matter: First, even if drug use is part of this
story, I don?t promote it. Writing about things doesn?t mean
automatically to promote them. Second, it?s correct that the traffic
with LSD was still legal in 1965. Like other drugs it was used for
medical treatments. Third, the relation between music and drugs is not
invented by me, and what Arthur does, is a kind of preliminary state of
psychedelic music. But: *If you find someone having a cocaine-shock,
please, call an ambulance! After all, we don?t live in the Sixties
anymore, and it?s very rare that someone has to fear mistreats from the
police.*

2. Why do I do so terrible things to Aoshi? (He glances at me with icy
disdain.) First, I have to admit that I have my problems with Aoshi, for
that reason he might be a bit more negative than usually. Second, this
is not a story about invincible warriors, so I had to change his
motivations. What remains of his character beside the search for "being
the strongest"? A rather serious, reflecting man with a tendency to
obsessions and the ability to think twisted, a man who has inspired the
love and the loyalty of other people, a man who got lost somewhere on
his way. That?s what I try to keep for Arthur, but in contrary to other
characters in this story, he is /not/ a spy. Besides, the image will
only be completed at the end of the story.

3. Let?s speak about the characters (II)! Mister Gelbstein is Doctor
Genzai of course, and I liked that idea that my AU-Kenshin has to
protect a bookstore. I think it?s karma for destroying a complete
library during a fight. Although is name Sozaru is an original
character, and I will write more about him in the next chapter. Yumi is
Yumi. Marco Sevarelli, Thomas Kane and the mysterious H. v. S. ? well,
figure it out!

4. Japanese History. I have found the information about the Tokko in a
fascinating book about secret services. I hadn?t time to study the
Japanese History of the Thirties and Forties in detail. That?s the
reason why sometimes I take the liberty to apply things I know from the
German History to Japan. I would not really compare the
national-socialist regime in Germany with the Japanese regime of that
time, but both countries had totalitarian systems, suppressing critical
opinions. This permits already some conclusions. I will give more
information about the pacifist and socialist groups in Japan later.

5. American-Japanese History. Yes, it is true, that, during the Second
World War, most of the people with Japanese origins were interned in
relocation camps, displayed all over the country.

Revision: 18-10-2002

------------------------------------------------------------------------