Redemption (2 page)

So after a time, he got what he wanted. Since his wife was Canadian, they offered him a post as a foreign representative for the US government. He would be a liaison officer for the American consulate. He would work as the link between the already well-bonded Canadian and American government. He would be a sort of diplomat, shaking foreign hands and eating at Society’s table, carted around by his own private chauffeur. They bought a small, pretty house in the suburbs of Montreal, and with the birth of Andy began a life that was agreeable, calm, stable, and above all, happy. A little united family, a simple life – a dream come true.

CHAPTER 2

Summer 1970, Montreal, Canada.

Andy had been up the tree for over an hour. He forced himself to be still and to hold his breath so the mother swallow wouldn’t notice him. Her eggs would hatch within days, and she was standing sentry over her little ones. The nest, that little mass of mud, straw and twigs, was fused to the branch; and she who had built it was scrutinizing the horizon for potential dangers. He wondered if he, with his human hands, could build something as sturdy and sophisticated as this nest, and concluded that he couldn’t, not like she’d done with her beak and two feet. He followed her gaze and realized the sun was slipping below the horizon, sending him down the tree and begrudgingly inside so his own mother wouldn’t worry.
Maman
didn’t like him to stay out after dark, even though, as he’d argued so many times, he was already six, but she was strict, so he obeyed. Andy wasn’t a rebellious kid – he had character, but he wasn’t unruly.

He climbed down carefully, still trying not to spook the sparrow, and ran toward his house, backpack bouncing behind him. He stepped through the doorway into the aromatic embrace of the family dinner and felt as though he would die of starvation, despite having no idea what was on the table. After the family had seated themselves, Caroline turned to her son with a serious air.

“Andy, we have big news for you. Your father got an offer to work in Japan. If he accepts, it means we’ll all be moving to Japan.”

Andy was busy with his mother’s pie. His stomach might well have been about to explode, but we wouldn’t let that stop him. Caroline’s pie, right now, was all that was important. The wildberry garnish, the hot
coulis
, the golden crust…
yum
. Scott gazed at Andy’s gooey purple face and said,

  “Andy, think about it. Would you like to live in Japan?”

He responded through a full mouth, “I dunno, maybe. Is there pie there?”

Scott and Caroline smiled gently.

“Of course, yes, you’ll always have pies,” said Caroline.

Andy grinned, his teeth coated with enough sugary fruit to terrify a diabetic.

*     *     *

Actually, Scott was returning to the ground. He was to join a squadron focused on a particularly tricky problem, as his superior had explained: “Japanese organized crime is gaining more and more of a foothold in North America. It’s everywhere, and their illegal activities go from extortion, drugs, fraud, prostitution, sexual slavery, hits. On top of that, the authorities are facing an impasse, and it’s called ‘Loyalty’. Traitors
don’t exist
, meaning intelligence
doesn’t exist
. The criminals have sworn oaths and will follow them at all cost. American and Canadian authorities can’t penetrate the structures or take them down without credible information, nor informers who would sell information in exchange for clemency. Nothing at all. At least, nothing tangible that could lead to arrests. It’s a difference in culture and mentality, and that’s why North American investigations have such a high rate of failure. There’s political pressure to regulate this situation because we’re facing a storm of questions with no answers, which is embarrassing. The American authorities have therefore decided to create a force joined with the Japanese Secret Service to find alternatives and solutions to the present expanding problem.”

The Japanese government also wanted to their expertise, because obviously the problem is more prevalent in the Land of the Rising Sun. They wanted Scott to supervise a squad based in Tokyo. Their goal: learn the Yakuza. Investigate, approach, understand, predict their every move. Know the enemy and know their weaknesses – this was what awaited them in Tokyo. Scott knew the difficulties: a language barrier, defensiveness from the Japanese authorities, the most intrinsic cultural differences, and a million problems that would hit them at every turn. Moreover, the Yakuza loyalty was a double-edged sword, a dangerous game that Scott would have to learn very quickly. There was no such thing as half-assessing or failure with these criminals. They didn’t joke around and they had moles at every level of government. Corruption of power was a highly prized technique, and their methods of retaliation and the regulation of assets was radical, violent and merciless.

In other words, Scott’s margin of error was nil, and he knew it. But the opportunity was once-in-a-lifetime, and to pass it up was unthinkable.

CHAPTER 3

In Tokyo, Andy walked to and from school. One humid day, he trudged home after a long day of classes to the tune of a light breeze playing through the tree branches. It felt nice, which, for Andy, was new. He was having a hard time getting integrated, and it had been a year. By now, the little rented house had begun to feel like home, despite its tininess compared to Canadian houses (though it was still big for Tokyo). Everything seemed in miniature. The quiet suburban street was overhung with big, fruitful cherry trees. Sunlight filtered through the white, red and pink blossoms onto the tucked-away houses. Sounds of traffic and urban life were softened in the foliage until a silence reigned that was strange, ethereal, but compellingly peaceful.

Also alien to Andy was their live-in maid who, according to Caroline, had been hired by Scott’s employers. Andy liked Fumi the maid a lot. She was smiley, although reserved. Her exemplary diligence ensured that all was constantly in order. He’d grown used to her kindly, quiet presence – it was she who kept him company until his parents got home most days. Her English and French was limited, and his Japanese was flat-out terrible, so they never had grand conversations, but signs and smiles gave meaning to their garbled sentences. It wasn’t an intense love by any means, but he liked her, and was fairly certain she liked him.

So Andy was walking toward his house and Fumi, watching the cherry blossoms in the waving trees. A few thrillingly detached and drifted into the road. He was relishing his walk, because in these past months he was usually running, sporting a swollen face or a dirty torn sweater. Andy’s classmates had turned on him rather quickly. His parents had hired him a private Japanese tutor, but his level was beginner, his confidence nil. He understood some things, was bamboozled by most, and could very rarely express himself adequately. Hard as it was for him to believe, however, he was doing quite well – Japanese is a hard language for a Westerner to learn, and integration, he’d been told, was the best way to learn it. His teachers received him with patience, but children will be children, and a few of those children had decided that he had no place in their country. Andy’s race and language made him a stranger. In Montreal, he, the little bilingual Caucasian boy, had had no notion of discrimination. The concept hadn’t existed, and now he was learning about it the hard way. A gang of schoolchildren made sport of tormenting him – their little chief had declared him an “albino demon”, and, like good little soldiers, they joined the crusade and were rewarded with acceptance by their peers.

It went back to the very beginning of school. At recess, the little ringleader that called himself “Jin” had zeroed in on Andy, flanked by four men-at-arms. Andy was withdrawn from the play yard, observing the fun from a bench. Jin greeted him with a smile and addressed him in Japanese. Andy returned the greeting and the smile. A future friend, perhaps? He was delighted. Jin looked him up and down, sniggering, and began to talk at him, challenging Andy’s limited Japanese. Andy persevered, wanting to do well, taking his time like his tutor had taught him. He felt all that he’d learned slipping away – he was visibly shy, searching for words, pausing for long stretches to try to express himself. The harder he tried, the louder Jin laughed. The others followed suit, laughing in unison without really knowing what was so funny.

Jin engaged him for several more minutes and Andy kept trying. After a while, Jin pointed to the baptismal bracelet on Andy’s wrist. He motioned for Andy to show it to him, and Andy obligingly and naively removed it and passed it to his new “friend”. Jin fastened it around his wrist and looked at his friends triumphantly. They continued to snigger and go on in Japanese. Andy held out his hand from the bracelet. Jin looked at him, pointed to the bracelet, and then pointed to himself – the bracelet, as far as he was concerned was his from now on. Andy finally clued in and began to shake his head, but Jin acted as though Andy didn’t exist. Andy darted forward to try to take the bracelet back, but Jin kicked him in the stomach. Andy crumpled to the ground, winded, clutching his throbbing midsection.

His ears were ringing with pain mixed with laughs, yells and incomprehensible Japanese howls. Jin knelt next to Andy and bent low to whisper in his ear:

“You think you can fight me, albino? This is the beginning for you!”

This time, Andy understood perfectly, but he was paralyzed. Jin motioned to the others to disperse and they jogged back to the playground…
with the bracelet
. Andy remained on the ground, trying to collect his thoughts, hearing the sniggers fade away.

Finally, he stumbled to his feet, clutching his stomach. The kids were returning to class, including the ones who’d beaten him up. He sat himself on the bench where he’d been before Jin had approached him and tried to calm himself down. He stayed there for a long time, holding his stomach, surprising himself by not crying. He decided that class was done for him, for the day, and left the school grounds to wander the neighbourhood. He couldn’t return home until the usual time – there would be too many questions that he didn’t want to answer, an experience he had no interest in reliving.

Things only got worse from there. Jin and his friends targeted him day after day. He had no idea how to fight back, so he chose fear, and cowered before them. Once, he’d tried to settle it all by talking to Jin and attempting to form a truce – thirty seconds later his pocket money was gone and he’d been punched in the face. Of course, he wasn’t beaten up every single day – he could go days unbothered and then suddenly, as soon as he’d stopped watching over his shoulder, they were there, waiting behind a tree or sneaking up from behind him. Sometimes they pursued him by chasing him all the way home. To Jin, it was a game.

It wasn’t only Andy’s pain that amused him; it was his fear as well. He cultivated it, the fear, because it made him powerful, and all he wanted was power. Andy couldn’t know this, but he was the outlet for Jin’s own pent-up fear and rage. Crushing Andy in front of his cronies gave him strength. What had begun with a single kick from a single boy had blossomed into a catalogue of aggressions from anybody who wanted “in”. What Andy didn’t have was martial arts, an entrenched component of Asian culture. Most boys of his age practiced diligently, particularly karate. In Japan, martial arts was a part of life, increasingly a negative part for some.

The problem was that Andy hadn’t grown up in this culture. He had no martial arts skills and no means of reacting efficiently against the aggressions of the little louts. Moreover, he wasn’t an aggressive kid to begin with, whereas his attackers spent their free time in their neighbourhood dojos. So Jin’s plan was definitively successful: Andy was terrorized, and help was out of the question, because talking would only bring about repercussions. The students saw what Andy was living through, but their pity was outweigh by relief that it was
someone else
. They simply turned the other cheek. They stole from him, tore his clothes, threatened and attacked. It was all so irregular that he could never relax when he was out of his house. He lost all motivation at school and his academic performance suffered. He paid no attention in class, because nothing else mattered. His own survival demanded every speck of attention. Jin’s words had come true – his life was hell. It was a game of cat and mouse.
He
was the mouse.

Yogi was on his way home, backpack slung over his shoulder, when the little white kid ran by once again, a gang of kids on his heel, led by Jin. It made Yogi laugh, to see these idiots who played so tough, creating gangs and fancying themselves dangerous, showing off their simple karate techniques. Yogi knew they were all completely ignorant. None of them had any real skills. Their technique itself was limited, not to mention their nonexistent speed and coordination. All they’d “mastered” was a few superficial techniques. As for the internal aspect – that escaped them completely, and this made them weak in his eyes. Yogi knew he could knock them over like a chopstick in a bowl of rice. For Yogi was the son of Sensei Mick Tanaka, the reputed and respected grand master of the region. He’d run a dojo for years and his name was synonymous with truth and efficiency. His advanced students were solid characters that trained in the most traditional way. Sensei Tanaka’s methods sought to build the whole individual, to impart values like respect, introspection, compassion, humility. His pupils were uniformly good people, but they were most famous for being formidable and merciless warriors in combat. They were solid as rocks and feared by students of other dojos.

Yogi had trained from a young age under his father’s benevolent but strict tutelage. Karate was a part of his upbringing, as were all its values. His father had trained him to be fierce, but also to be aware of his power, and to realize that great power was dangerous. Yogi had been pushed as hard as any other pupils and pushed himself harder to win the respect of the older, bigger, more experienced kids. At as young as seven years old, Yogi Tanaka had been a formidable warrior, winning several karate championships in his age group, but he was always calm, kind and compassionate. He often went unnoticed in a group, but his reputation was widely known. He was the pride of his neighbourhood and everybody loved him. He inspired many people in the district.