Dead Roots (The Analyst) (5 page)

Tom groaned. “Is this about get philosophical?”

“Mildly. It comes down, basically, to the difference in each country's dominant religion.”

“This IS gonna get philosophical. I need some coffee.”

“America is, first and foremost, a country heavily dominated by Christianity. Christianity is built upon very specific dogma, and history shows its practitioners to be highly intolerant of the beliefs of others. They are especially hostile towards supernatural interference in the mortal world, or at least that which does not come directly from their singular deity, or God. That the faith has come to hold such dominance over America's government, in spite of its origins as a secular colony, is a testament to this.”

“Right. You're talking about witch burnings, exorcisms, half of our pop culture. Vampires, demons...”

“Or, at least, the mainstream culture's perception of such things. Good versus evil. Precisely correct.”

“Yeah. So you're saying in America, it's all about
us
versus
them,
whether it's in religion or politics.”

“Or working for the DPSD,” Keda added.

“I think you've lost me?”

“Mr. Bell, you've seen the movie
The Exorcist,
or maybe
Men in Black?
”

“Of course?”

“
Put the two of those together, and that more or less describes our line of work. Demons and otherworldly creatures pervade mainstream society, you and I both know this. But for the average American citizen to learn of this has the potential to mentally destroy them. For them to even entertain the notion that a house is haunted takes a great deal of spiritual flexibility, up here,” Keda tapped his temple, “That not everyone has. To actually come face to face with something like Aki...”

“Could scar a person for life,” Tom quickly shut that line of conversation down, hoping Keda wouldn't notice. “So what's different in Japan?”

“Japan, like most Eastern countries, has never taken well to America's monotheistic and, quite frankly, authoritarian outlook. In Japan, we practice Shinto or Buddhism-- or both,” Keda said, leaning forward some now.

“Can I get anything for you two?” a female voice cut in.

“Just some coffee, please,” Tom said as a smiling flight attendant trundled up to him with a cart.

“Oh, nonsense. Eat something,” Keda insisted.

“Not hungry...”

“You must. Coffee and breakfast for both of us,” Keda said to the stewardess.

“Breakfast is scrambled eggs and sausages.” Two foil-covered trays of viscous looking eggs appeared before the pair. Tom gulped and frowned, while Keda smiled and bowed his head.

“Thank you, miss.”

“Eat something,” the stewardess said to Tom as she pushed her cart past, smiling warmly. Tom grinned back. She was cute enough.

“So get me up to speed on that,” Tom continued.

“I assume you're not terribly familiar with Shinto,” Keda said as he peeled the foil off of his breakfast. He dug into it happily.

“I get the gist of Buddhism, Shinto's new to me.”

“I won't bore you with our long-winded creation myths, or anything of the sort. Suffice to say, Shinto is not a religion so much as a collective of rituals and folklore. It rests on the belief that spirits and gods, or
kami,
live everywhere.
Kami
rule over the forests, the seas... the stones, the grass, and the wind. Money. Sex.”

“Everything,” Tom affirmed, resting his elbow on his tray. Despite himself, he was enjoying this conversation.

“Correct. But go back to Christianity, and the world is very binary. There is life and there is the afterlife-- you are either from one or the other. The two do not mix, and should they mix, it is very bad for all involved.”

Tom sipped his bitter coffee, glancing out the window again. They would be landing in another hour.

“In Shinto however,” Keda continued, “We recognize that spirits and people are not separate. We share the same world,
this
world, and all its interrelated complexity.”

“I think I'm starting to see what you're getting at. So you're saying all Japanese people believe in ghosts, by default?”

Keda gave a genuine laugh. “Not quite to that extreme. Today's man is rational no matter what part of the developed world he's from. Ghosts and demons-- bread and butter for you and me, mind you-- are the stuff of fairy tales. But a child in America might be deathly afraid of the Boogeyman, or the Devil, and their entire worldview could hinge on whether or not these things are 'real'-- or at least real enough to
get them.
And that concept, that perception of spirituality, and of fear, sticks with you well into adulthood.”

“Whereas in Japan it's... like they just sort of know these things are around? And there's nothing they can do about it?”

“On some fundamental level, yes, exactly. I think you're getting, as you might put it, the gist of it. People debate often about where these aberrations come from exactly. But whereas in America you treat them as foreign invaders, whose existence you tolerate and then excise when they become inconvenient, in Japan we... redirect them, gently, to where they're supposed to be, because they belong in this world as much as we do. Just, perhaps, not in the same parts of it.”

“What, so you
cater
to them?” Tom screwed up his mouth, looking perturbed.

“I wouldn't put it that way. We
respect
them, insofar as they respect us. Once that respect has been breached, we are quite prepared to fight back as brutally as any American. But we've gotten
sorely
off-topic,” Keda said with a smile, finishing his eggs and moving onto his sausages.

“Yeah,” Tom said, slurping his coffee. “What were we talking about again?”

“When we land, you'll have several hours to rest from the flight. The exorcism will take place in the evening, after I've had time to meditate and prepare myself. We'll meet with Harold Saldana, the director of all sanctioned Medium activity in Tokyo. Knowing him, we'll probably then go out for dinner in a four-star restaurant, and he'll treat us to an evening's entertainment.”

“Classy. Is it like this for all Mediums here?”

“Not always, but when Harold is in season, he is a particularly generous host.”

“Huh,” Tom said, as he took his last slurp of coffee. He finally pulled back the foil on his airline meal, and looked down at the block of scrambled eggs and pale sausages. He poked at them with his fork, daring himself to take a mouthful, if only to have something in his stomach. “Maybe this won't be so bad.”

“It won't. As usual, you'll have a day of observation with the Medium. If you like we can take a day trip to the village where I grew up out in the countryside.”

“What are we, dating?”

Keda laughed. “I am just offering. I visit home at least once a year. I will be back. If there are some sights you'd particularly like to see, let me know.”

In spite of himself, Tom offered a small smile. “That's nice of you, really.”

“You seem like a man who needs a vacation. I'm happy to oblige.”

“Don't worry too much about me.” Tom sighed. “You're being awfully gracious about all this.”

Keda offered his usual strange, vacant smile. “I understand stress, Mr. Bell. Do try to enjoy yourself.”

“Yeah...”

The seatbelt sign above them lit up. Tom buckled himself back in and set his chair upright. He might make it through this after all.

********

The very first stop was the smoking lounge.

Tom breathed a huge, cloudy sigh of relief after the smoke entered his lungs. He sunk into the hard leather seat, and caught eyes with a middle-aged Japanese man in a suit sitting across from him. The man nodded gently in recognition, sucking in a lungful from his own cigarette. Tom smiled at him.

“Twelve hours in that cabin. I thought I'd kill myself.”

“
Sumimasen.
No English,” the man replied with a warm smile. Tom brought two fingers up to his head, miming shooting himself. He took another long drag off his smoke and sighed, emphatically placing a hand on his chest for effect. The man gave a polite laugh and relaxed into his own seat. It struck Tom that he knew absolutely no Japanese. He wasn't sure how well he was going to get along without it. At least he'd have Keda to help.

Tom took his cellphone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Navigating to his inbox, he saw a brief communique from Margaret.

Let me know when you get in
, it said simply. He knew the drill, it was protocol, but it was still nice that she put in the effort.

On ground. Getting cancer. Off to hotel with Keda in a few minutes
, he punched in and hit the reply button.

He looked around the room. Other passengers were finishing up their smoke breaks and filing out of the lounge, almost as if called by some silent siren.
When in Rome,
he figured. He took down the last of his smoke as quickly as he could, but was still left by himself for a long moment. With a sigh, he drew his phone again, and resigned his dignity for long enough to punch in another reply to Margaret.

How are you?

He chided himself gently for making himself so available, before standing up. He stepped out into the arrival gate. There wasn't much in this part of the terminal. Passengers filing down a long hallway, both sides grey-and-white, and broken up with windows that offered a view out onto the tarmac. There were some drinking fountains, entrances to bathrooms, and several moving walkways between him and baggage claim. He had nothing to claim, so he'd be out of here reasonably fast.

Keda emerged from a nearby bathroom. He stopped to drink at a waist-high fountain. Tom caught up to him, fiddling with his pocket to affirm the continued presence of his pack of cigarettes. He was nearly out.

“There a duty free?” he asked. Keda stood up straight, adjusting the strap of his satchel.

“Of course. Cigarettes?”

“Yeah.”

“Perhaps you should get yourself a change of clothes, as well.”

“Damn. Good idea.”

“I'm in the market for a new cellphone. There is no hurry.”

Great. A shopping trip? We really are dating.
Tom and Keda set off down the hallway. As Tom leaned against the guardrail of a moving walkway, he admired the view outside of the terminal. From here he could see the Tokyo tower and a skyline of gray buildings, with the sun well and truly coming up. It was a clear day, save for a line of thick dark clouds on the horizon. Tom mused about whether there might be rain later. In spite of himself, he was looking forward to getting to do some sightseeing.

 As they approached the shopping area, he caught on that all the signs for bathrooms and directions were emblazoned with Japanese above the English. It was like something out of a hip science fiction novel.

The circular shopping area was not as flashy as he might have expected. The high gray ceiling was devoid of any frills like billboards or neon signs, but the signs for the shops themselves were bright and inviting. Several upscale stores lined the diameter. Clothes, electronics, alcohol, souvenirs.

“Treat yourself,” Keda said suddenly. “Harold will see that we're covered under business expenses.”

“Within reason, though, yeah?”

“You've not met Harold Saldana.”

Tom grunted.

“Go get your phone,” he said. “I'll meet up with you.”

Keda nodded and gravitated towards the electronics store, the front window displaying several large flat-screen TVs. Tom wondered how people even got them out of here.

“Who the fuck shops for a 50 inch LED screen at the airport?” he called after Keda.

“Rich people.”

Can’t argue with that.
Tom set himself towards the closest clothing store, a men's chain. He couldn't read the sign above the door, but the inside was lined with gray and black suits.

Tom refused help from the attendants. He wanted something practical and affordable. Picking out a couple of pairs of blue jeans in his size, his next stop was a plain light blue button-up and a three-pack of undershirts. He was on his way to the counter when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped open the screen. Margaret again.

I’m lovely. Are you going to enjoy yourself?

Ha ha. Tom bit his tongue as he thumbed in a glib response.

Just want to get the job done and go home to relax.

He stepped to the counter and a middle-aged Japanese lady smiled at him.

“Good morning, sir,” she said in clearer English than he was expecting.

“Hey there. Just these, please.”

“Did you enjoy your flight?”

“Not really,” Tom said, smiling. “You just start?”

“Night shift. I finish in an hour,” the woman responded, ringing up his selections. His phone buzzed again.

“That's 1000 yen...”

“Just a moment.”

Tom checked his phone as he pulled his wallet out.

Try to live a little, Bell.

Tom groaned. He handed his credit card over. The text message niggled in the back of his mind as he was getting ready to sign for his purchase.

“Actually. Just a second, I'm getting something else.”

“Of course.”

The counter beeped a cancel as Tom walked away. He looked to the far end of the shop. There was a row of suits, ties; on a mannequin, he saw a sleek black leather jacket. The neck was raised how he liked it, with a zipper, no buttons. Very no-frills, but quite effective in its simplicity. He thumbed the price tag: ¥41,500.

“How much is this in US dollars?” he asked a nearby attendant, a thin man who looked younger than him. The man looked at the tag.

“Five hundred dollars.”

“
Jesus.
”

“It is a Yamamoto. Very high quality leather. Only two left.”

“A what?”

“A designer brand, sir.” The man looked at him with a somewhat condescending smile. Tom didn't like it. So he didn't know about some fruity Japanese fashionista. He didn't know French ones either.

Tom looked the jacket up and down. Live a little, she'd said.