-Rendezvous-

The police had restrained the crowds - but not with as much effort as they might have during a street rally or a comic convention. It was intended only to be a brief showcase of attendance and nothing more. Just to demonstrate that they had heard the call, preventing any more from coming in, and to grasp an opportunity to accumulate work hours. They do their job. They get their pay. They wave their batons and hats. Prescribed reciprocation and ceremonious exchange.

The crowds did let up with their microphones and loudspeakers however, and resorted to a passive protest of signs. And an uneasy silence descended on the building like a car underwater, filling up first with despair and then water.

There's a knock on our door three or four in the morning when the police have finally evicted the crowds from our property. Instead, the members gathered at the base of the house next door. They are likely armed with binoculars and cameras, all positioned to watch the entrances and exits. We would need our suits and our prayers for a successful escape.

"Maeda-san," comes a hesitant voice. I peer out the hole and to my surprise, find Mr. Choi at the door. Even from the warp of lens I can make out the dark bags under his eyes. "Sorry to bother you so late, but I know you likely haven't fallen asleep with the racket. Do you mind if I come in to talk?"

I look over at Shizuka but she shrugs as to say it's my business, not hers. I tell Mr. Choi to wait for a minute and we close the bedroom door to conceal our luggage.

"This is Shizuka Kaneko." I begin with introductions.

Mr. Choi tips his head formally, but without much enthusiasm. I can't tell if it's fatigue or impatience. He has something to say no doubt.

"Would you like some tea?"

He insists it is alright and that it would be quick. But I offer him a seat at the kitchen table anyway. Shizuka excuses herself into the bedroom, sensing he wanted to speak to me alone. He would be unaware she could hear his every thought.

As soon as I've taken my place across from him, with the same cold kitchen lamp hanging from a thread above our heads, he squares his shoulders and speaks low and steadily.

"Maeda-san," he begins, then he clamps his mouth shut again for a second. "I know this will be a little rude of me to say so, but I'd like to ask you to hear me out."

I nod, quite aware of where he is going. Shizuka likely knows what he's going to say before he does so. "Maeda-san, we have lived in the same building for a few years now. You understand that I live with my wife and our two toddlers."

"Yes, very lovely family. Are you sure you don't want tea?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

He glances around my flat for a moment, like taking in his surroundings for the first time. Mr. Choi has a heavyset sturdy build but his facial features are, on the contrary, small, young and smooth, as if he is barely out of high school. His eyes are thin and narrow, nose high and arched with well bearing. He wears hair dyed firmly black in a side sweep across his forehead. Where he might normally wear spectacles, there are two red marks on the bridge of his nose. The conclusive image is incompatible, everything slightly distinct so that his appearance looked like pieces of a puzzle that don't quite fit together. Each contrasts the other pieces, like a Picasso.

He finally turns back and stares resolute, into my eyes. I try to remain composed and relaxed, but my neck stiffens. "Listen, I'm going to put it simply," he pauses, "my kids are still young. It's hard to get up at five a.m. in the morning to prepare food and get ready for work, while my wife rouses the kids and dresses them for school. Kids these days have lessons in various subjects for extra-curricular activities and I work until late at night. I usually get home at seven or eight. My wife has night classes at eight thirty. This is no easy life. We might get a good five, six hours of sleep on a good night. I'm sure you must have your own concerns and your own busy schedule, but at least you don't have children to take care of, Maeda-san. What I'm saying is," he pauses again and swallows. "if what happened tonight, is going to continue, or will occur again at all, it will cause us much grief and trouble."

I tell him I completely understand and it won't happen again.

He nods but is not entirely satisfied. His voice is increasingly softer, quieter, fading left and right, fragments of it seeming to dissipate into the glare of the lamp overhead and the tick of the clock. "Listen," he says again, "if it's a matter of money, I can loan a portion of my savings; money for us isn't much of a concern, we live a comfortable life right now, with such a small place. We would be fine even if you can't pay us back. But please understand, that this can't happen again. I can help contribute if you wish to find a new place."

I tell him it won't be necessary. "We will be leaving for a while, starting tomorrow."

I see the relief slipping over his face. "I see."

"Would you like some tea?"

He insist it's alright and gets up to leave. "I wish you luck on your excursion." I thank him. He continues, "and I sincerely sympathize with your situation. They don't seem very friendly."

"No worse than loan sharks."

"Do you owe them money?"

"No, Mr. Choi, it's just a little complicated situation." He doesn't seem aware of the photograph and the propagandist messages that had been circulating hand in hand. Either he isn't a fan of social networking or the news, or our apartment building exists on its own separate dimension. Until the Cause came and riled up its foundations. Suddenly, there is a small fissure, almost unseen, but yet still inevitable and momentous. One single crack is all it takes; a breach that begins to feed doubt and lies, like some sort of poisonous gas gradually seeping into a chamber.

"If you're in any trouble, I wish you the best. If you need any money, let me know how I can help."

"There's really no need, Mr. Choi. I appreciate your consideration and your offer."

He nods. I open the door for him. He steps out but turns back to say something as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Just remember, be careful with who you meet out there."

*

Within a few hours, the sun began to rise and palpitate like a heartbeat through the blinds. We originally contemplated heading out when it was still dark, but salarymen don't typically head out in the middle of the night when public transportation was not yet available. It would've appeared more suspicious than anything.

I decide to take the Emoto man's words more seriously. We could fall into rhythm, with the current of society, with the unceasing coercion of the System, in order to leave the residential complex, find our way between the side streets and walk down Meiji Boulevard for a few blocks; avoid the express bus, cut through a few parking lots and private gardens on foot, before boarding the local bus at a quiet suburban stop, doubling back towards our destination. I am still unsure where we would end up – Shizuka would not say, but she assures me that I would know.

There is no time left, so we hurry to change into our business suits. She undresses and changes in front of me without batting an eye, and pulls the Konaka suit and skirt taut over her body. It is a tight fit and an exact fit. There is nothing out of line. Nothing out of shape. Nothing that alters the precise contours of her body. No wrinkles, no sign of being even slightly asymmetrical. Everything is in immaculate order, as if the suit had been custom tailored for her specifically since birth as a second skin, or she had been born to wear this particular suit. On the other hand, my suit ceases to function well at all, having not worn it in such a long time, there are crooked edges and frayed corners. It barely buttons over my body correctly, as I seem to have grown bigger than its dimensions. It isn't too tight on me - I'm still slim and lanky - but the sleeves feel short and the tails too long, as if my body had rearranged its proportions. Shizuka steps in and attempts to straighten me out, adjust my tie and brush off the shoulders. All the while, I am intrigued with watching her eyelashes.

She catches my eye and gives me a little smile. Behind it is a trace of sadness, like seeing someone off for the last time. Perhaps it's because we're finally leaving the safe comforts of our demilitarized borders straight into hostile territory. But I can't tell whether I'm concerned or thrilled about the peril and the risk. It might be the first and last time we could put on a black suit, together at dawn, feel her delicate fingers setting me straight and leave behind an apartment that we had eventually called our own.

According to plan, I would step out of the back door to unlock my bicycle and pedal south down towards the train station four blocks away. If all is well, Shizuka would leave the building exactly twelve minutes after, and head north in the direction of the bus stop. Once we are at a safe distance away and if no one is following, we would exchange a text to confirm. I would then cut through another street to rendezvous with her at a Family Mart convenient store. I would pick up a magazine and flip pages until she arrives, buy one and a bottle of water when we are ready to leave.

If all goes well.

I have a sinking feeling it won't be as straightforward as it seems. But whether there would be difficulties as immediate as our leaving the building or at some point later during our long hike, I'm unable to say. Neither does Shizuka seem to know.

"It's never helpful when I wish for it.," she says, referring to her abilities as an espre. "But it should be alright."

It's okay, I say.

I shrug on my backpack at six o'clock sharp with dark shadows under my eyes and a lightheadedness in my temples, and proceed to head out the door. She closes it after me, without offering any last sign of emotion or mutual concern. All of a sudden, when the door clanks shut, a sense of emptiness descends on me. My body is hollowed out by a dry wind, and there is no content inside to fill me. For a moment, I almost have no idea what I should be doing or how I had gotten there. All that's left is an awkward hint of despair. My muscles grow tense. My brow becomes moist with dampness. My chest seems tighter than usual, as if I had escalated to a high elevation above sea level, looking down from the peak of a mountain range. I secretly think about how nice it would be to see her again when we return to the base of the mountain. Regardless whether she could hear me or not, I figure they are words I must articulate.

The hall is empty. No indication of the neighbours rousing for their daily activities. Either they have already left or are considerably late. There are no sounds. Vacant units line the way out to the bottom floor. A frail dawn brushes over each floor with a wash of flaxen gold, like watercolour with a generous proportion of water to paint. Normally, I might make out the sounds of families shuffling about morning routines and the loud voices of the Choi kids. But today there's nothing but the light. I begin to wonder whether they're all in it together and everyone else in the world is in on the ruse. Maybe they've coordinated it all for a hidden camera somewhere. Or we're mere characters etched into a manuscript, fed through impediment after impediment, pushing through narrow gates and between rough couloirs, for no real purpose.

I reach the first floor and look but see no one. No one inside, and no one seems to be outside either. I put on large, black sunglasses.