1943. Shanghai. A soldier of the Japanese Army happens by a club one night purely out of boredom. What he expects to find are uncouth drunks. He actually meets a beautiful African-American performer by the name of Beatrice. Throughout the next three...
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yon
four
It had been weeks since I'd gone to the Oriental Pearl club. Try as I might to forget the woman and her song, it had me in a chokehold and I'd simply had enough. Never let a woman have power over you, Ichiro. It's unnatural. The words of my father ran like a broken record over and over again until I found myself standing outside of the club that night.
***
"They don't open for another ten minutes." Stiff, he turned to see the nuisance that had disturbed his concentration. Blinking in disbelief, he couldn't will his mouth to open. There she was standing in front of him, her gaze bold as she looked at him. At his lack of response, she crossed her arms.
"Do you understand English?"
"Do you understand Japanese?" He retorted, jaw tight. Her eyebrows lifted and she cleared her throat.
"I haven't seen you before. You're new." He felt his throat grow tight. Her voice was purely musical and it baffled him how she sounded like she was singing just from talking. There next to her was a man who shared a deeper shade of her color and his eyes weren't as friendly or curious.
"Don't talk to him Bea. Entertaining them is one thing. Talking to them is another thing. We don't want no trouble while we here." Head down and face hidden underneath his uniform hat, his eyes found the tops of her black heels. The delicate swish of a startling emerald green dress that he was sure contrasted aesthetically against her skin tone.
She didn't speak anymore and he was glad of it, both soon joined by a line of eager clubgoers ready to drink and dance. When the door finally opened, the mass exodus of people flooded in, soldiers and civilians alike. Some he recognized from his own platoon and others he didn't. It was so peculiar to see varying shades, colors, and stations gathering in this one place of booze and illicit behavior.
"You're here." A heavy hand slapped him on the back and he snarled up his mouth at the recognizable laughter that crept up his spine like a snake. Takahashi.
"I thought you'd like this place."
"Get your hand off of me."
"Geez, take a chill pill. We're both here for the same thing right?"
"I'm going back to the barracks." As he turned around, he was stopped by a yank on his uniform jacket.
"That Negro girl. You like her don't you?" He shoved his hand away from him and he finally withdrew, lifting his hands in surrender.
"Calm the hell down, Matsuda. I'm just asking a question."
"As you remind me all the time, liking and fucking are two different things, right?" There, that grin was back, and careful not to touch him this time, he sighed happily as the two of them headed towards the bar.
