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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niijuunana
twenty-seven
Her mother was right when she said I had considered more than just dating. A part of me had been tugging with the reality of marriage as early as '45. Of course, then it was inconceivable and only a fool's dream. Even then, I knew that the connection I had formed with her was one I wouldn't replicate with anyone else. I'd poured far too much of my time and energy into one woman and if by chance, she rejected me and turned me down, I reasoned that I'd stay by myself.
After all, what use did it serve to marry for the sake of tradition? If I couldn't have marriage the way I wanted then I didn't want it. If I could not have Beatrice at all then I didn't want a relationship. Simple as that.
***
Green leaves, trees, beige sidewalk, and black gravel streets. Signs of laundry mats, grocers and clothing shops. Mundane ordinary life.
"Where are we going?" The ride had been silent and she'd glanced out of the window at all the passing houses and establishments.
"Some place I think you'll like." Is all he said, his body relaxed back against the backseat. Turning his head, he found her gaze on the scenes outside, her hands clutched tightly in her lap. With a small purse of his lips, he reached over and pulled her hands apart, entwining their fingers.
"Nervous?" He observed quietly watching as she turned her head to look at him.
"A little bit."
"Don't be."
"Easy for you to say."
"Let me surprise you for fuck's sake." There, she grinned and sighed, moving to press her body against his. Head against his shoulder, she closed her eyes, eyes down on their hands in his lap.
"Fine, daddy. Surprise me." He didn't reply with words, only a smirk and the ride resumed as quiet as it began.
***
Though I'd never before been in Chicago, I had come in contact with a few prominent and up-and-coming Negro musicians. I'd met them in a bar of some night club and we'd become friends thanks to the booze and music. They'd been touring in LA and were surprised that someone like me enjoyed their music. All thanks to a pretty brown thing a million miles away. Where they asked and I told them. Chicago. How funny one or two of them were native to the city and with more booze and cigarettes invited me to one of their shows. Of course, if I brought my 'pretty brown thing' with me, entry was free and the bar tab would be paid. I took them up on it with the hopes that she'd like this unusual and spontaneous effort.
