Love From Hell

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we never had moved to Japan, though my father is Japanese my mother is of mixed European blood. English, Welsh, and Italian – Venetian Italian she insisted. She was born and raised in Venice, Italy and moved to England to go to college that’s where she met my father, they went to school together she was studying linguistics and elementary education, quite the combination right? My father on the other hand studied archaeology and anthropology and dabbled a bit in history. My mother often referred to him as a Japanese Indiana Jones. And in a way I suppose that is true without all the whips and giant boulders and power hungry Nazis and the strange Indian villagers.



Many of the items he recovered were sent directly to the museum for their experts to clean, analyze and display properly for the benefit of learning. He loves what he does and my mother loved hearing about his adventures and I think he got a kick out of retelling them to her just to see her face light up and her eyes widen. He still laughs about that now, her face was always so animated she really seemed to be enthralled with what he was telling her and I believe he may have smudged a little on a few things just so he would sound cooler to her.



But I’ve shied away from my original thought; what would it be like if we had never moved to Japan. I suppose I don’t really know what it would be like or even where we’d be. I can only assume that we’d stay in England or moved to Italy however, my mother probably wanted to get out of Europe, as much as she loved it, she enjoyed seeing new countries. So I have it on good judgment to believe that she would have wanted to come back to Japan with my father, see the Land of the Rising Sun, meet his family and travel across the country.



Many times, my father told me, they went all over Japan to Kyoto and Tokyo, Osaka and Kofu, Fuji, Hokkaido...they went everywhere! My mother even took my father to Venice to show him the place where she was born and where she went to mass and of course you can’t go to Italy without going to Rome and Vatican City. He said it was the time of his life. And when I was born, they took me along too. I don’t remember any of it though we have tons and tons of photos all of which my mother organized herself and put into photo albums.



I wish she was here now so we could be together as a family again. I miss her voice and her smile and the way her nose would scrunch when she giggled or how her eyes would light up when we’d surprise her. She was always so lively we never expected her to fall ill so suddenly nor leave us as soon as she did.



“Ryou, are you all right?”



Lifting my head from the glass of the window I looked over at my father. “Huh?” He titled his head. “I asked if you were all right.”



“Oh yes.” I chuckled, realizing that we had arrived and removed my seatbelt. “I was just thinking about mother.” He smiled at me and leaned over kissing my head gently. “All good things I imagine.” Replied my father as he too unbuckled and opened the door of the car. I shook my head, exiting as well, shutting the door once I was out. “Of course, I would never think anything bad about mother.” I teased, I knew he knew that I would never do such a thing even though I had been angry when I was younger that she left us however I had counselors at the school to help me understand that it was her time to go and that I will be able to see her once again.



Until I heard the “Irasshaimase!” did I recognize where we were, our favorite restaurant in all of Domino City, Sakura. It was a small family owned business and named after the owner, Nagisa-san’s, daughter Sakura. She was a very talented, intelligent and beautiful young woman who was enrolled in the University of Tokyo double majoring in art and elementary education, she wanted to teach art at the elementary school here in Domino and it helped that she absolutely adores children and they love her. Sakura will be a junior this year I believe.



The waitress promptly seated us, once our shoes were removed, at the best table when Nagisa-san noticed that I had come in with my father and not just by myself, normally I would sit at the sushi bar if I was alone. The service here was the best, everyone was quite efficient, polite and we never had to ask them for anything for they had already given whatever we wanted to us before we even thought of requesting it. I removed my coat and folded it neatly, placing it on the cushion beside the one that I seated myself on, my father did the same, waving and smiling at Nagisa-san who was behind the sushi bar working himself like crazy to make sushi for the customers.



I always loved the homey and traditional feel at Sakura; it was always a pleasant change to the fast food and the westernized of most restaurants these days. Traditional tatami mats lay on the floor and we sat at the low tables with the most comfortable cushions you could ever rest your rump on and I have to admit though there was a television near the sushi bar there was also beautiful enka music playing. Enka music was popular music before WWII.



Nowadays, enka is most popular among older generations. Many enka songs deal with topics such as unlucky love and nostalgia. Enka singers, especially the women, usually perform wearing a kimono, it is quite a sight to see and hear. I personally love how enka sounds but then my music styles had always varied from time to time. Nagisa-san especially likes enka music and so does his wife, for their anniversary their eldest daughter, Sakura, performed their favorite enka music for them at the restaurant. Everyone was pleasantly surprised and enjoyed the performance, even the younger ones.



Of course other music would be played as well, not exclusively enka though usually more traditional music such as Nogaku which is usually played during Noh performances, basically it consists of a chorus, the Hayashi flute, Tsuzumi drum, and other instruments it’s rather wonderful music, usually goes better with the Noh performances than it does with dinner but that’s just my opinion.



Minyo, Japanese folk songs are also played every now and then, it’s rare that they are played but if you pay attention sometimes you can hear it being slipped into the mix of music. I think my personal favorite style of music that is played here is the ancient court music from China and Korea called Gagaku, it is the oldest type of Japanese traditional music and oh is it beautiful.



A pot of fresh steaming hot green tea was brought to our table not long after we had been seated, our waitress knelt down and set two cups onto the table then proceeded to pour our drinks for us, usually I didn’t have them do that there was something about someone else pouring my drink for me that made me feel like an invalid but my father was the honored guest tonight so I let it slide and enjoyed his company. She set the tea pot back onto the middle of the table and offered us our drinks which we graciously accepted with a kind thank you before we proceeded to order our dinner. And I have to say, the food never tasted better than when I was in the company of my father, I enjoyed it more because I knew that he was back, though just for a little while, he was here and that made me happy.



Between the sushi and the miso soup, the tempura dinner, the nabeyaki udon and the okonomiyaki and the numerous other dishes which my father insisted that we order, I couldn’t decide which one I thought tasted the best. Our meal was finished off but a wonderful bowl of green tea ice cream, well I had the green tea ice cream, father had mochi ice cream; which is sweet rice with an ice cream center it is very, very delicious. Then again, I usually have our kitchen stocked with ice cream and sweets I have quite the sweet tooth.



Admittedly, I didn’t want the night to end; midnight seemed to come so quickly between dinner and the absolutely hilarious movie we watched at the theater, where had time gone? I wanted to cry when we finally stepped through the front door and removed our shoes from our feet, stepping onto the wooden floors which I had spent hours earlier that day cleaning but my sadness was fleeting for my father noticed my sudden bout of inner sorrow and took my head in his hands to shower me with his kisses. I found myself leaning into his affection eagerly though I wanted to push him away and be angry with him until he gave into my tantrums, but I couldn’t be angry when he so lovingly poured his affection onto me.



“Get some sleep Ryou, in the morning I will take you out for breakfast so that we can spend more time together before I leave.” He told me, trying to cheer me up.



So, in an attempt to please him I put on a smile so fake it could fool the gods and nodded, kissing his cheek softly. “I will.” I said.



I removed myself from the embrace he had pulled me into and started up the steps to the sanctuary of my bedroom, where, once I entered and shut and locked the door, I removed my coat dropping it to the floor and flung myself onto my bed and screamed into my pillows digging my nails into the mixture of silk and satin linens on my bed.



My screaming turned into uncontrollable sobs, I hated that my father was so loyal to job and those he worked for but he couldn’t seem to take some time away from work and spend it with me! Was that really such a horrible thing, was I really so selfish as to want love from my father, to want to spend time with him to actually want to see him more than a few times a year? I sat up, punching my pillow angrily.



“It’s not fair…” I growled my chocolate brown eyes narrowed as I stared at my pillows as if they were the ones to wrong me. Pushing my pillows away and standing to my feet I approached my desk where two of my presents were sitting, awaiting to be showcased. For a moment I admired the painting of Isis and the majesty of her position as Mother Goddess was perfectly portrayed by the artist and then I picked up the box which protected my golden ring, taking it back to my bed. I have so many reminders of my father as well as my mother around my room, the books and the artifacts all have stories behind them that sometimes go so deep into history that they belong in a museum rather than in my room collecting dust.



This ring seemed different. My father may have purchased it and brought it back as a gift for me but there was something almost… sinister, if I may be so bold, about the object. Sinister yet it drew you to it like a moth to flame, the mystery and myth behind the Sennen Ring was simply fascinating, chilling, yet fascinating.



Opening the box I ran my finger along the edge of the ring watching it shimmer and shine from my light beating down on it. A shudder ran down my spine, a queer feeling that was and I retracted my finger quickly like a child would from the flame.



I smiled, after staring at it for some time, and shook my head. All these tails of evil and revenge were starting to get to my head, it was mere myth; a tale made up and told around the campfire to scare children. It was all absurd. However, I’d of course delve into it deeper through research as I do all strange things that come into my possession.



I placed the ring on my nightstand and set my alarm. I needed to get some rest if I wanted to be there when father leaves in the morning. My pants came off and my shirt did as well, leaving me in a pair of boxer shorts and a white undershirt to sleep out the rest of the night. Burrowing underneath my covers I curled up into a little ball and forced myself to relax knowing that sleep would follow soon after, fingering the crucifix around my neck the family heirloom from my mother.



What was to come while I slumbered was completely unexpected, a dream I thought it was but later I would learn that it was hardly a dream, hardly anything that my mind could conjure up on its own.



In the blackness of my darkened room the Sennen Ring began to glow its eerie gold which, in such blackness, was so very bright it was blinding. I winced in my sleep and opened my eyes slowly in curiosity as to just what was arousing me from my sleep, surely it wasn’t the sun that was beckoning me to rise so soon; I had just fallen asleep. My window was still black from the night and the image I saw, a mirror image of myself, a more sinister mirror image. I gasped sharply and sat up quickly. The smirk he bared was frightening and, before I knew it, his hand flew out and grasped my head, the palm of his hand flush against my forehead and into darkness I plunged.



There was something terribly wrong.


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