Bullet Train

Agnes Beaulieu looked out her window as the bullet train pulled out of Tokyo station. Harsh late-morning sunlight alternated with shadows from buildings and tunnels: light-dark, light-dark-dark, light-dark-light, with increasing frequency as the train picked up speed. She gave a heavy sigh. For four years she had been accompanying young Katriona on trips from her father’s place in Seattle to her mother’s place in Kumamoto. It was not unlike bronco busting, with Katriona bucking and pitching the whole ride while she, Agnes, simply tried to keep a grip on the sweaty pommel.

“Yes, I recommend The Stranger by Camus,” Katriona was saying to a pleasant-faced American sharing their compartment. “That’s spelled c-a-m-u-s but it sounds like the noise a cow makes.”

“I see,” said the man, his eyes glittering in the alternating sunlight. Across from him she sat in a plaid miniskirt, her hot pink tights with deliberate horizontal gashes, and her unbuttoned school-uniform shirt revealing a lace-trimmed bustier. She could have stepped right out of a Harajuku fashion girl squad.

“And then, Lolita,” Katriona said, nodding emphatically. “I highly recommend it.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that one,” said the man, glancing at Agnes, who frowned a warning at him. “Are you allowed to read stuff like that?”

“Get serious,” Katriona said, gazing levelly at him. “I turned sixteen last month.”

She cut her eyes to Agnes, who was now inspecting the ragged cuticles of her fingers, splayed out on her broad khaki-clad legs.

“Sixteen?” said the man.

“What, did you think I was jail-bait?”

“Of course not,” said the man. “Thanks for the recommendations, but I’m after something newsy.” He left the compartment.

Katriona tossed her hair, as she always did when the guy got the last word.

The train reached top speed in the wide-open areas. To one side lay Mount Fuji, and they gazed at its cone blue-white and soft-looking in the distant haze.

“I do wish,” Agnes said, “that you would stop lying about your age.”

“I’m just having a bit of fun.” Katriona slid a finger into a gash in her tights and wiggled it like a worm on a fishhook.

Agnes remembered a quip about young women lying to make themselves older, and old women lying to make themselves younger. Never mind, she thought: the girl will just twist whatever I say. “You know, in a court of law the guy would say that you had told him you were legal age…” Her voice trailed off.

“But this is Japan! No concept of legal age. Besides, he would have no witness to say I misled him, would he?”

“Except me,” Agnes said. “I heard you. Plain as day. And I’d have to tell the truth in court.”

“Honest Agnes,” Katriona said. “I could see that on a sign above a lot that sells used cars.”

Agnes ignored this. After a disastrous first trip to the southern island, which had ended in tears and recriminations all round, she had resolved never to let the girl get under her skin that way again. “Wow… would you look at Mount Fuji?” she said. She took a deep, calming breath.

“Yep.” Katriona widened her eyes. “The sky is a lovely junkie-vein blue…”

Agnes stiffened.

“Hey, was he your type?” whispered Katriona. “Broad-shouldered, rugged-looking, thirty-something American?”

“I’m sure he’s taken,” Agnes said with finality.

“Huh. Well, I can’t stand him,” said Katriona, pursing her lips in disdain. “Trimmed beard. Careful clothes. Ee-ew. Jesus Christ wearing Eddie Bauer.” She laughed harshly. “What are the chances we will see him again?”

“One hundred percent,” said Agnes, surprising the girl with her confident answer. “Look what he forgot.” She pointed to a small black object between the cushions of the seat he had vacated.

“Mimashōka,” said Katriona: let’s take a look. She lunged at the wallet.

Just then the man entered the compartment. “Ah, found it! Thank God!”

“Travel documents—a bitch to lose, aren’t they,” said Katriona, snapping the wallet open. “Let me check it first. For all we know it’s the wallet of my dear friend and traveling companion, Miss Agnes Pussy-mimkins de Beaulieu.”

“Look—I need the cash—I have a tab to settle in the bar car,” said the man.

Katriona peered at the wallet. “Let’s confirm your name…” She paused and read out, “Elmer P. Fudd… Nope. It’s not your wallet.” She tucked the wallet inside her bustier.

 “That’s quite enough,” Agnes said, “give the guy his wallet.”

“Oh look, Agnes, you’re right,” said Katriona, pointing to his wedding band. “He is married. Bad news for you.” Her eyes were bright under her arched eyebrows. “But just a speed bump for me.”

The man dropped his outstretched hand.

“Tell me, Mr. Fudd, do you keep photos of your widdle kiddies in your wallet?”

The man sat down facing Katriona, clearly intending to humor her. “As a matter of fact, I do. Second insert. Do you see them? One boy, one girl.”

“Agnes here adores kids,” said Katriona. “Don’t you, Agnes.”

“Yes, I guess…”

“Agnes had hopes of being a mother some day,” said Katriona. “And then, tragedy struck.”

“Katriona, really, please, I’d rather not.”

The man looked warily at Agnes. Blushing, she rubbed the side of her nose, and compressed her lips.

Katriona handed him the wallet. “Please, settle your tab in the bar car. My sincere apologies for having a little fun at your expense. You looked interesting. And—poor Agnes, you know…”

“That’s okay. Traveling can be arduous.” The man nodded thank-you and left.

“Arduous,” said Katriona. “Arduous. Traveling can be arduous. Interactions with the hyperactive lepers can be arduous…” She murmured variations to the window.

“I’m so glad he didn’t get upset.”

Katriona turned to her. “You’re so brave. Just look at you there, elbow on the armrest, drinking in the… the arduous view of Fuji-san. No one could guess sensei’s heart is breaking yet again.”

“Katriona, please.”

“Life’s a bitch, isn’t it? No, I mean: life is arduous, isn’t it? There he was, right across from us, begging to hear your tale of woe. He saw those flirty little feminine flowers adorning your blouse. He gazed upon your womanly form, and artfully he was moved—”

“Katri-O-na.”

“Maybe it even gave you an idea for your next novella. Beauty on the Bullet Train, perhaps. A sequel to Love from Afar, about a woman in the prime of life who falls in love with the divorced father of her riotously clever young charge—”

Agnes sighed in exasperation.

“Seriously! You can’t possibly have a crush on Daddy, can you? I mean, the guy has hair curling out of his nostrils. He farts like a freaking trumpet.”

“Don’t be so mean. Your father loves—”

“He loves the great outdoors, that’s what he loves. Hiking, skiing, rock climbing, ohh! No wonder he goes through young women like—”

“Stop! Your father deserves some respect!”

“Ah yes. My hourly verbal slap-down.” Katriona smiled wistfully. “I sure hope our friend Elmer Fudd returns. Mmm, stud-muffin city…”

“Enough! Leave him out of this.”

“You are a love-squirrel, Agnes. Just like Mommy. As soon as you find you love something, you bury it away. Out of sight.”

“Time for a book.” Agnes rummaged in her knapsack.

“Don’t worry,” whispered Katriona. “He’ll be back. His name’s Peter, and he’s got a Masters of Social Work. A people man, Agnes. He’s enthralled by cases, the wackier the better. He’d like to get naked and have me clip my Hello Kitty barrette onto his hairy beard —”

“Stop it!” hissed Agnes.

Katriona widened her eyes and puckered her mouth until her lips looked like an umeboshi plum. She waited to hear more reaction from Agnes, but got none. “Oh-ho, he’s just like my school psychologist … I’ll bet you a pack of Pocky treats he’ll be back.”

“Why don’t you pick up one of your highly recommended books and read it?”

“I prefer to read men. Let me see… our Peter-Jesus is a social worker, really deep into his work, so deep that it’s costing him his marriage. Let’s say he works with junkies… junkies about my age. He keeps feeling guilty about how good he’s got it by comparison. Before long, he can’t stand to have it so good—”

“What a load of B.S.!” said Agnes.

“But he adores his children. Visits as often as he can. He’s playing the field, looking for someone not so resentful as the current Mrs. Peter-Jesus. Someone who can provide a nurturing home for his children—”

“Shh! Stop it! Get out your book!”

A sullen silence descended. The train stopped at Nagoya where several people, bristling with shopping bags and umbrellas, got on. Agnes brought Katriona to a small food stand in the station to select her lunch.

When they returned, their compartment was occupied by four salarymen eating pungent food. In the next car, they ran into Peter. He was stowing a knapsack under his seat and an all-weather jacket overhead. The three dug into their bento boxes.

“How luvverly to see you again.” Katriona grinned. “Your children look very kawa-eee in those pictures,” she said, playfully drawing out the word for ‘cute.’ “How old are they?”

Peter chuckled and said the boy, Pete, was nine and the girl, Jasmine, was seven. He was a welfare caseworker, visiting Japan to attend a friend’s wedding.

“Aha. And us?” said Katriona. “Do you wonder about us?”

Peter shrugged. “Are you travel-buddies?”

“I guess you could say that.” Katriona switched to a confidential tone. “Hey Peter, in your line of work do you come across sad cases? You know, sad cases, very sad … like, where an older sister turns out to be the biological mother of her younger sister? You know, where the family hushes up a teenage pregnancy by adopting the baby?”

“Ye-es?” Peter glanced wonderingly at Agnes.

“Well,” said Katriona. “You could say we are just good friends.”

“Fairytale,” Agnes declared.

“How about...” Katriona smiled.  “Have you heard of cases of lesbian abduction, Peter? Where the old dyke initiates the young one to the ways of Sappho?”

“Katriona! That’s enough!” said Agnes.

“See how she tries to hide it?” Katriona forced a giggle. “Ah, no… it’s a much shabbier reality. She’s just my chaperone. Terrifically old-fashioned. ‘Chaperone.’ Daddy pays her to protect me from all the things that men like him do to girls like me.”

“There she goes again,” Agnes said. “Her dad is actually quite a nice guy.”

“Quite a nice guy,” Katriona mimicked. “Good old Agnes, sticking up for him even when he’s not here. Her dad works for my dad. Or did. Until her dad botched one too many plumbing jobs. But I shouldn’t mention it, should I, Agnes, that your dad drank himself to—”

Peter interrupted by clearing his throat. “And you’re a high school student, Katrina?”

She corrected his pronunciation. “Remember the ‘O’ in my name. ‘O’ like in ‘orgasm.’ I’m a student, yeah. I attend a private school that specializes in drama and dance. Very small, very select. Agnes is an excellent chaperone. Excellent. There, that brought out a smile.”

They finished their bento boxes and Agnes tied them in a single garbage bag.

“Agnes here is extremely kind-hearted. People constantly take advantage of her. Like Daddy, who pays an absolute pittance to her because he knows she has this massive crush on him—”

“I do not!” said Agnes.

Peter nodded uncertainly.

“Yeah, but she’s not his type at all, Peter. He wants eye-candy—c’mon, what guy doesn’t? And Daddy is rich enough to get it. He has women swarming around him like… like… sharks around a seal-pup. Daddy is Mr. Fitness. He’s always out, dashing around. I don’t know how he finds time to run a big ski resort, do you, Agnes?”

Peter said blandly that some of the most successful executives were those who stayed out of the office.

“Not that Agnes here would go skiing, though,” Katriona said. “She can barely walk—”

“Nonsense,” shrilled Agnes. “I got on and off this train, didn’t I?”

“What I mean is, she can’t be on her feet for extended periods of time.” Katriona said. “She was in a terrible car crash. Smashed her pelvis. She’s literally held together by stainless steel and rubber bands. Unable to have babies—”

“Shut up!”

“Sorry, Agnes, but it’s the truth.”

Peter murmured he was sorry to hear it. He stood up and said, “Folks, could you keep an eye on my things for a minute?” before heading off to the toilet.

“Away he goes,” Katriona said. “So trusting.”

“Society’s built on trust,” Agnes said.

“Sure…” Katriona leapt over to his seat, pulled Peter’s knapsack from underneath, and opened a magazine at random to a photo showing girls in school uniforms hugging. “Aha… Helloooo Kitty.”

“It’s totally innocent,” Agnes said.

“This guy should be careful about the magazines he’s caught with. Might look bad for a social worker who sees minors.”

“Put it back.” Agnes grabbed the magazine. “That’s none of your business! Doesn’t your mother—”

“Doesn’t Mommy what?” Katriona laughed. “Remember, my mother is very busy these days with husband number three. Our last dinner, do you know what we talked about? Get this: the pattern of rocks for the new fountain they are putting in.”

Agnes stared at the cover; it seemed to be Japanese current affairs. She pulled Peter’s knapsack away from Katriona. “You’ve been watching way too many soap operas! Discussing a new fountain is normal… civilized… conversation,” she huffed, as she tried to stuff the magazine back in.

Katriona made a sour face. “No wonder Daddy took off! He was bored out of his freaking skull! She’s a completely domesticated sub-human.”

“Don’t talk about your mom that way. You know she hasn’t had an easy time of it. Anyway, we better put this back—”

Suddenly Peter was standing above them, faintly scowling.

Agnes, who now had the knapsack between her knees, blushed violently. “Oh, I’m sorry, this—this knapsack, uh, slid out from under the seat—” She handed it over.

He checked the zippers. He pushed the knapsack under his seat again. “Yep, these things sure slide around….”

“That’s okay, Peter, you don’t have to pretend,” Katriona said. “We were up to no good. Naughty girls, us two. Hey, maybe you can help us. Agnes here has some terrible pain. Ever since the accident. We just thought maybe you had some Tylenol.”

“Hush, please—” whispered Agnes.

“Agnes, why suffer in silence? Peter here, a tall guy like you with a desk job, I bet you have real trouble with your back, don’t you?”

“Katriona, please, just shut up.”

“Agnes! Really!” Katriona turned to Peter. “It’s the pain speaking. Got anything? Pills? Weed?”

“Nope.”

“She’s blacked it all out. Doesn’t remember a thing about the accident. Saint Agnes here has a body that looks now like a stitch sampler—”

“Stop it. Stop it!”

“Oh, Agnes, you can talk about it. Get it out of your system! Might as well talk about it, it’s all that will ever happen to you. Peter here can talk about Pete Junior and little Jasmine, and I can talk about my desperate attempts to get to Hollywood by dancing my ass off and-or screwing geezer directors but you… you… let’s face it, the accident is the only thing that has ever really happened in your—”

“I ought to slap you!” Agnes jammed her hands under her thighs.

“Come off it,” Peter cajoled. “You’ve tortured Agnes enough.”

“Torture, alright,” said Katriona. “There you were, Aggie, a girl my age, cycling down the lane to your house. It was twilight. A car ran you down. A drunk driver. Your own dad, what a pity. To this day, you love him. … More than I can say about your mom. She never forgave him, did she? Her only child… years of debilitating pain… no grandkids to look forward to. But you’re still Daddy’s girl, aren’t ya?”

Twaap! Thump. Agnes planted a powerful slap on the girl’s left cheek. Katriona was thrown off-balance and landed dully against the window, nose-first.

Agnes gasped and grabbed her own wrist, as if to strangle some monster that had hijacked her body.

Katriona, blinking, tentatively tested the fluid coming down her nose. Red. She bared her teeth and leapt at Agnes. She yanked her blouse. Ping, ping! Two buttons popped off.

Agnes stood up, her blouse ripped, but her breasts still firmly encased in a grayish bra.

“Hey! Hey!” shouted Peter, pushing the women apart. Around them, an array of Japanese faces glanced away in vicarious shame. Katriona moved closer, spattering blood on Peter’s shirt. Peter tried to push her away but dislodged her spandex bustier. Out popped her right nipple.

*       *       *

“Nossir,” the conductor shook his head. “I must to report all thing to authority.” He said the shinkansen was approaching Kyoto. The police would have an English interpreter there.

 “The girl was mouthing off to the lady,” Peter said. “She got fed up and slapped her. I was just trying to break it up!”

The conductor politely wagged his head as if in agreement.

“Do you believe me?” Peter said.

“Daijobu desu,” said the conductor. Everything is all right.

Katriona held a wad of paper towels against her nose. She wept inconsolably in the motherly arms of teary-eyed Agnes, who was patting her.

“I was just trying to break it up!” Peter insisted.

The conductor shrugged. “Tourist-u come, trouble come.”

Patting the girl, Agnes gazed out the window. Poor Peter, she thought. Her job was not unlike bronco busting, and sometimes she simply lost her grip and wiped out in front of a crowd. Where would she be without the rodeo clowns, helping her get out of the arena alive?

THE END