FAREWELL TO THE FUGITIVE

“So, why did they call you Lapper?”

“Call me what?”

“Lap-per.”

“Who said that?”

“That’s what the office ladies call you.”

“No, it can’t be. Not Lapper. Maybe Rapper?”

“No. I’m sure. Rapper, not Lapper.”

“Must be the L and R thing. What gave the good ladies the idea I could rap, I don’t know, but if they called me anything, I'm sure it was Rapper.”

“No, they called you “Lapper,” with an L, that’s L, as in love.”

“Lap as in what?”

“You tell me. Isn’t Collin your name? Isn’t ‘love’ your game?”

It finally dawned on him what they were talking about. They had a laugh and moved on, talking around things until they were too tired to talk and resigned to spend what little was left of the night in their individual cocoons. Any kind of consummation, intellectual or otherwise, was out of the question.

They were awake by cock's crow. After a hasty cup of tea, and a seemingly interminable delay to get the abbot's blessing to take temporary leave, Collin led his gal-pal down the hill-straddling stairway of stone steps. 

Birdsong was in the air, the forest moist and brimming with life. Being with her in the here and now was all he had, and while it wasn’t everything it could be, it was enough to make him wish he could slow the hand of time because time was rapidly running out on the opportunity to be together.

“Sure you can’t you stay longer?” he asked, when they paused for a breather at the bottom of the long, steep staircase.

“Oh, Collin. I wish so, but, but I can’t change it.”

"It? What it?"

"Things. Thing are the way they are..."

“All things are subject to change…past, present, and future.”

“Oh, you are starting to sound like one of those holy monks now,” she complained.

“That’s not good?”

“It’s good, but I’m not sure it's you.”

The resumed their trek through the woods, following a well-marked path straddled by tall trees, though the air was dark and moist, not yet warmed by the sun.

“You don’t miss it?” she probed.

“It? What it? Miss what?”

“You know…it starts with T.”

“Tokyo?”

“Close, but not quite.”

“Tea? As in tea caddies?”

“Close, but not right.”

“I give up.”

“Trum….”

“What?”

“Tram?”

“Trum? Tram?” he put his tongue to his teeth, testing each word, out loud, trying to unlock her meaning. “Oh. Ah, I get it.  Are you trying to say...trim?

“It’s your word, not mine.”

“Trim ci-ty, To-kee-yoo,” he intoned, sounding like his old office self. Suddenly he was transported out of the woods, back in the middle of the world's busiest city. He assumed the conceited demeanor of a rock star, revisiting one of his greatest hits.

"Trim, yeah, it was all about trim, wasn't it?

“Doesn’t it mean… pus-sy?”

“Not exactly, it’s something, it’s more like, I don’t know. The ineffable sexy essence of things?”

“What bullshit! You know what I mean, and I know you miss it, admit it!”

“Yeah, okay, I admit it. I was drowning in pussy, I mean, it was everywhere. And riding the waves of it, surfing trim, well, it definitely has its charms."

"You're a dog."

"No, but really. The more I reflect on it, it was the chase, the chase was key to the charm." 

"That's all?" Her eyebrows are raised in disbelief.

"Anyway, I haven’t been getting any, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“You got too much already, isn’t that enough?”

"Yes and no."

"You haven't changed."

"No, really. It was all fine and good, you know, after you got what you wanted, after you went the distance, after you got there, but somehow, well, there's a kind of emptiness at the end. Not so much a letdown--it was diverting and amusing enough--but at heart, after all was said and done, a kind of delusion.”

“Wow. What a monk!”

“Yeah.” He laughed. “Notice I'm talking in the past tense?"

"You are intense."

They exchange lingering glances.

“Being here in the hills,” he continued abstractedly. “Well, it's not been easy. But I guess it’s good for clearing one’s mind, guarding against desire.”

 “Like last night?” She thought of how he stealthily tried prying open the door, and failing that, was audacious enough to go outside and try a side window. It took a reprimand from the night watchman to put an end to his comical exertions.

“Last night? That was ah, a special case…”

“Are you sure?”

They continue to press forward, pattering along the pine needle paved path under the moist canopy of the early morning forest. She was back in heels again, and not very sure of foot, so carried her bag and offered a hand when the path, strewn with fallen logs, got rough. At last they reached a break in the trees, revealing the naked pavement of a mountain road. There was no traffic, so they walked in the middle of the road to get out of the shadow and into the light. There was still a chill in the air, but the sun, when not playing cat and mouse with the fleecy clouds above, radiated pure warmth.

“Ah. Look at the sky! A sign of good things to come."

"You! Always dreamer."

"But we can learn from the elements, we can harvest ideas from the sky. When I meditate in the open air, I like to think of myself as a sky farmer.”

“That’s so lazy!” she exclaimed. “Always in a cloud! Look at the ground, and put your feet upon it; that should be your action plan.”

“Sometimes action achieves less than inaction. Do you think spinning around and around the revolving door of work really gets you closer to where you want go?”

"So, what you do all day?" she asks skeptically as they walk slow circles in the sun, orbiting one another but never quite touching. "Sit still, do nothing? Why be lonely in a lone old temple?”

“Well, it’s a path, not a place. A way station. I'm on the way to the new, improved me. One needs to reduce the noise and clutter of the material world to take better notice of the rise and fall of all things, you know, sounds, cycles, big and small. It goes all the way from a single living, breathing breath all the way to, the ah, the cosmic echoes of the Big Bang. The chirping of birds and buzzing of bees and the silences in between are, like, central to unlocking the secrets of the universe.”  

“Wow!” she smiled.

“But then I get distracted by things and start thinking about things.”

“Like what?”

“Like you.”

“So, mister fake monk,” she cornered him. “Is that why your eyes light on fire when you look at my body?”

“Yep. Spontaneous combustion, I guess.”

“But how can you empty your mind of desirables? Do you repeat that mantra when you meditate?”

“Sometimes. But I secretly find myself thinking of you.”

“Oh,” she moaned quietly. “I don’t know. I don't know if I will be able to see you again.” A bittersweet smile crossed her lips. Her voice was hesitant and tender but there was  an air of finality to her whispers.

"It's only for a year."

"A year is forever."

“I wish I was getting on that bus with you.”

“No can do."

“I know, I know.” He sighed, trying to keep the rising frustration from showing in his voice. “But like, what do you mean, about not seeing me again?” he asked. Try as he might, he couldn't mask the plaintive vulnerability in his voice.

“Oh, please. Don’t make it hard for me.”

“But I don’t understand…”

“Oh. Did I tell you? I’m going back to China."

"You are?"

"Only for Golden Week. Can you believe it? I hope my parents recognize me. They think I’m Japanese now…”

“You know, sometimes I think of going back to my country, too.”

“You do? I always wondered about that.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t miss it before, but I miss it now.”

“I thought you liked Japan.”

“I do, I really do. What I don’t like is being in limbo, neither here nor there.”

“But that's what you are--a gaijin.”

“Illegal alien is more like it. A gaijin in trouble with the law. It's a double whammy, and I have no choice but to sit it out until the statute expires.”

“You are still under the Statue of Liber-tation?

“The what? Oh, yeah, yeah. Yes. The statute of li-mi-ta-tions,” he gently corrected. “And according to that, I have to wait a year, and then, if I’m lucky, with a little help from Kamiuma, and ah, Miki’s legal staff, I’ll be able to get papers and be legal, and at liberty again.”

“If you weren’t a funga-tive, what would you do now?

“If I wasn’t a what?”

“The one who runs away…”

“I’m not running, I’m sitting on a rock. And I'm just lost between the cracks, not a criminal. Hey, Jian-jian, your English is slipping.”

“It is?”

“I guess your new boyfriend is not a native speaker like me.”

“Who said I had a new boyfriend?” Her response is quick and sharp, a little too quick and sharp.

“Do you?”

“Do you think I do?”

“I’m not sure what to think.”

“Then don’t think about it.”

“Okay, okay. I get it, I mean, I think I do." He sighed, then looked up at the sky. The sun was hiding behind the clouds again. "Life’s a lark, isn’t it?”

“What is your meaning?”

“Well. Let's just let it be.”

“Let what be?”

“Let it be, be the way it should be,” he said, quietly, valiantly trying to piece together his shattered pride.

“One year, it's a long time to be in a temple. ”

“Only ten more months.”

“When you come back to Tokyo, we can meet.”

“Meet? Great.”

“I can take you out for dinner,”

“Okay...”

“In Ginza.”

“Sounds good.”

“A nice fancy French place.”

“Well, merci beaucoup, in advance.”

“And we won’t just look at the menu, complain that it’s overpriced and leave, like you did to me on our first date. This time we will go in and really eat.”

“Okay, and I’ll try not to complain about the rip-off prices.”

“Okay, and I’ll make sure they have real milk for your coffee.”

The sound of an automotive engine groaning in the distance broke the bucolic calm. The sturdy bus that plied the hill twice daily rounded the bend in the road and showed itself, slowing to a crawl before the bus stop, gears grinding to a halt when it was apparent there were people waiting. The door of the bus popped open like a jack-in-the-box, and a gruff voiced but amiable driver asked if it was just the two of them, holding two fingers in the air.

“Just one,” Jianhong answered in English before correcting herself. “Hitori.”

“Bye-bye big boy,” she said, reaching for her bag.

“Bye-bye happiness,” he answered, forcing a smile.

She boarded the empty bus, paid her fare and took a seat in the back. As the bus driver put the vehicle in gear, she pried opened the sliding window.

“Con-ling?” she called out sweetly.

“Yes?”

“Oh, nothing.”

The bus jerked forward, poised to move.

“Con-ling?” She repeated, her eyes pleading for an understanding that was more implicit and tender than she had words for.

“What?”

“You’re okay for a man. 

Vrooommm!  The bus roared off before he had a chance to think, let alone thank her for the compliment of a lifetime.