She'd always expected things to go wrong eventually, like everything was a lull before the storm.
But October passed without much fanfare, save for the closing of the Olympics, where Northern Rhodesia emerged from the games as independent Zambia. That was the highlight of it. Jerry was devastated to learn that the Yankees lost to the Cardinals in the Series. She gave him a Coke on the house as a consolation gift.
And then, November arrived. Back home, people would celebrate Thanksgiving with turkeys, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pies. She had neither the time nor the means to arrange one, but she remembered to give everyone an extra hour off, and Jerry treated her to sweet potatoes in place of candied yams.
In December, things began to look drab. Tokyo winter was mild, but the clouds still hung grey and heavy.
No festivity whatsoever. No Christmas trees anywhere. Ginza's department stores did try to spruce up their own storefronts and interiors with typical Christmas accoutrements, and there were even callers dressed as Santa ringing bells outside.
Whether it was due to curiosity or people were indeed keen to celebrate, the strategy paid off. The crowds were thick.
Her place was as steady as it could be. There was always enough to pay the bills and her workers.
Sometimes, she had a bit left to spend, but she didn't know what to do with it. At some point, she started giving her spare change to the homeless who camped near the station, and they volunteered to shovel snow from the stairs when it started snowing
It happened more often than not.
Yamatani finally had her winter break; starting next year, she'd be a senior.
Saejima-san told her that his daughter was coming, but provided no further details, nor did he ask for time off. She let him be. He seemed relieved and hopeful, and that was enough.
Clark had been coming less and less. It wasn't really surprising. Jerry had whispered to her that the situation was getting worse in Indochina.
She knew what it meant, and it hurt more than she'd expected. Yamatani seemed to have accepted that he had his duties, but if the girl knew what was looming for the future, she didn't show it. Her smile stayed the same, her cheerfulness unchanging. But she did stare at the door at odd hours, as if expecting him to come around the corner. He never did.
When it was time for Christmas, there was a quiet celebration. Atago made Grim wear a Santa hat, which he seemed to hate but tolerated. Jerry brought castellas, the boxes slightly squished and rumpled from his driving. They shared it among themselves and wished each other well. The other patrons couldn't care less, especially Kanzaki-san, but didn't say no to a slice of free cake. Then they went back to their drinks and conversations. A potted plant was wrapped in baubles and a bit of tinsel from the embassy party Jerry ditched to stand in for a Christmas tree. A toast with umeshu capped the night.
It was not much, but it was enough. It felt like home. After all, the crew of her ship, halfway across the world, had to celebrate with what little they had, too. It was always sobering to remember that.
And now, a week had passed. She hadn't thought much about what she'd do for the new year. But maybe, this time, she wouldn't spend it alone.
Maybe that was the reason why she had the ingredients for toshikoshi soba prepped. Some of her regulars might appreciate having some during the holiday. It was just a simple dish. Soba. Kamaboko. Scallions. In the States, it would be ham, maybe even a fried turkey, with all the trimmings. An amusing thought. Mikasa would be terrified if she saw something like that on New Year's.
For once, Saejima-san came early. She had expected Yamatani to be with him, but instead, it was someone else. The woman looked to be in her twenties, but there was a hardness in her eyes that made her look older. Saejima-san left for the kitchen after nodding at her, leaving the woman standing there.
"Welcome. We're not open, but have a seat," she said. Suspicion was nothing new to her, but kindness never hurt.
Maybe she was the daughter Saejima-san was talking about, though the way he left her there without saying anything suggested that they weren't exactly close. Maybe even estranged. Still, the fact that he'd brought her here meant that there was effort from his side. Or hers.
She couldn't judge yet. But making sure they had a good start, she figured she could.
The young woman stared at her before sitting down, far from the kitchen. No words of greeting or introduction. The silence hung awkwardly between them until the woman broke it.
"You're not Japanese."
In English. Rough and accented, but understandable.
"No, I'm not."
Her answer was in Japanese. That caught the woman off guard.
"You are...one of them. But not one of ours. Then why are you here?"
Nobody had ever asked her that question directly before.
The woman took out a Golden Bat cigarette and a lighter from her purse, but ended up putting them back down, her lips pressed into a thin line.
"You don't understand, do you?"
The woman didn't sound like one of those few who were resentful of her kind. Her voice was soft, not accusatory, yet the question still felt like a test.
A test that she was not willing to fail.
Maybe she hadn't fully understood. But nobody, not even her, could say she wasn't getting there.
"I...may not fully understand. But lately I've been learning things. About others. About myself. Then I realized...maybe I could stop being a ghost. That's why I am here."
A hum, a flicker of recognition, but not quite approval. The woman looked away, toward the street, as if expecting someone to come around the corner. She finally lit the cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled. The smoke hung thickly in the air, and she wondered if it was supposed to be an ominous sign.
"I've been learning things too."
Their gazes met again. There was a certain intensity in those eyes, a kind that was forged through fire. It was a little like looking in the mirror, but there was a different edge to it.
"You are not the only ghost of war, um..."
Name. She wanted her name.
And that was a fair request.
"Enterprise."
"Right, Enterprise-san. My hometown is full of ghosts. Burned, sick, ignored. Reminders of a shameful past that don't fit the present. I've seen it myself. Faces that seemed to have melted off. Burns that seemed to remain fresh despite the healing. Feared for the rest of their lives, even as they were slowly dying. And for many years, I've been standing up to them. Helping them. I want people to understand, just like I want to understand myself. I want to live up to my name and be a light. Ironic, isn't it, considering that...thing was followed by a blinding light. But no, I don't have to be one. Even just a flicker against the darkness will do. And maybe...now I want to understand the other side of it. Maybe that's why I'm here, too. I want to understand him. Why did he never return after his discharge? Why did he stay here, working at a place run by a foreigner? I want to understand. Only then could I truly help."
She let the woman's words sink in. Now it all made sense. She'd known people who served in the Pacific War. There were always stories. There was always grief. There was always loss, no matter how they tried to look on the brighter side. Saejima-san was one of them. What he felt was shame, perhaps, for being a cog in the machine that destroyed so many lives. The desire to atone. To make amends. But it wasn't for her to know.
The woman's gaze shifted toward the kitchen. Her father was busying himself with preparing ingredients, but she knew he was listening.
"For what it's worth..." she began, and the woman's eyes met hers again. "I'm sorry. For all those who suffered. I, too, was part of the war. I had a role to play. So...I'm sorry."
The woman took another drag, and her expression softened.
"It's not up to me to forgive, but I've understood you a little more...Enterprise-san. May I ask for a small favor?"
"What is it?"
The woman smiled a little. It wasn't entirely genuine, but it was a start.
"Please call the old man over."
"Would you like some toshikoshi soba on the house, too?"
A pause. A smile. A nod.
"Only if the drinks aren't."
She returned the smile, went to the kitchen, and called Saejima-san over.
He went to her table, his steps heavy as if he'd just been called into the principal's office. He sat like a stiff statue, his eyes downcast. His daughter offered him a cigarette, and he stared at it before taking it with a chuckle.
By her own admission, she wasn't good at reading the air, but she knew that was her cue to leave them be. Not before placing two glasses of umeshu on their table, though.
Now, hopefully, she still remembered what Hiei taught her about preparing the soba. Maybe the broth wouldn't be too thin this time.
***
Whatever they talked about, it ended with an amicable parting. No hugs, no tears, but there was a certain softness in both of their faces. A relief, perhaps, from the long burden of a cold war. It certainly wouldn't be their last encounter. After all, Saejima-san's daughter made him promise to see her again at a certain shrine for hatsumōde, and he agreed.
Her parting words to him were gratitude, in a way, for the silence that made her speak louder. She then left for the station, but not before thanking her for the soba and wishing her well for the new year.
"I'm sorry if she made you uncomfortable, boss," Saejima-san said. "Never thought she'd ask to...talk. I've always thought she'd hate me, the father who ran away in shame."
She'd come to understand him a little more, too. Maybe she was running away, too, albeit in a different way. But they were both only trying to find some kind of peace.
In his case, even if it meant never facing the family he'd left behind, but continued to provide for, behind the scenes.
They didn't discuss it further, and he soon returned to the kitchen to continue preparing. She didn't say anything else but hoped it would be the first of many.
The AFN was still airing holiday tunes even if Christmas had ended, and she kept it on at a low volume, just enough to make the place feel less empty. "Little Saint Nick" was playing. Jerry seemed to like it a lot for its novelty, as if one traded a sleigh for a surfboard. Maybe that was how folks on the West Coast celebrate.
And speaking of Jerry, the moment she flipped the sign at seven, he was already by the door, wearing a seersucker jacket over a chambray shirt, all that under a heavy coat. It had been a long time since she last saw the well-kept Stetson, but there it was, perched atop his head. Grim was eyeing the hat like he was judging his fashion taste.
Was he planning to go to a party, only stopping for a quick drink first?
"Howdy, Skipper," he greeted; the smile, as usual, uncomplicated.
"Dressing up? Are you going somewhere?"
"No, just want to be here, but I figured I'd surprise you a bit."
And he did, actually. Even if she wouldn't tell him, the stunt did leave her smiling. A little flustered, but warm, too.
"Well, you succeeded, so...here you go. The usual."
"Thanks. How're things on your end?"
A pause.
"You know...okay, I guess? The new year is coming soon, and it's going to be the first one I spend here."
"And let that be a good one," he said. "You deserve it. We all do."
She scrubbed the glass again, despite knowing she'd already cleaned it, and tried not to dwell on the implications.
The arrival of Atago and her companions helped take her mind off things. They were in civilian clothes, and Atago looked especially radiant in her dress. Takao and Shoukaku were more modest, but not less striking, and Zuikaku couldn't care less about presentation, opting for trousers and a long-sleeved shirt, a combination that typically left a few brows raised.
Not all her regulars were there, but they had their own celebrations, so she didn't feel concerned over the lower turnout. She told Yamatani to go home so she could spend the last day of the year with her family, but let her know that she'd be welcomed if she decided to drop by. Saejima-san made it clear he would stay until closing, though she had to remind him of his meeting with his daughter.
Kōhaku Uta Gassen was on television, live from the Takarazuka Theater, because the patrons asked for it. Nobody would want to miss the tradition. Some of them were singing along, and Grim squawked to the tune—maybe more because their tone-deaf voices were grating on his ears.
Yamatani returned sometime later with her entire family in tow, and despite her siblings being underage, she let them in.
The girl told her that the set at their home broke down, and all of them wanted to see the show. When she declared she would go back to the izakaya to see it, everyone decided to tag along.
Her father ordered a whole bottle of umeshu. He didn't seem like a salaryman—more like someone who worked with his hands. Her mother, who ordered a glass of nihonshu, had a smile that seemed to be perpetually on her lips, though there were lines of weariness on her face. The woman thanked her for taking care of her "Kaede-chan" all this time.
Her youngest sister couldn't care less about the singing or her father's relief over not missing Saburo Kitajima, and was more fascinated with Grim, who surprisingly didn't mind the kid petting his head, while her studious-looking brother observed him quietly.
Yamatani was singing along to the Japanese rendition of the Eurovision hit "Non ho l'età" when the door opened again, and her voice trailed off.
Clark slipped in. Only the girl paid him any mind, and her face lit up. She made sure her parents and siblings weren't looking before waving at him. He smiled and nodded. Her restraint was commendable.
He took a seat at the counter, near the TV. Jerry gave him a pat on the back.
His shoulders were still heavy, but at least his eyes were clear.
"Hey, Skipper."
She nodded. "Welcome back."
He didn't say anything else as he stared at the TV, at Hamako Watanabe performing her ever-popular "San Francisco's Chinatown," though she did catch him tapping his fingers along the beat. Maybe thinking of the city he had never been to.
Yamatani soon slipped away from her parents, who were distracted by the show, and Jerry, though he said nothing, stood up and moved to a table just near the counter, joining the Kure veteran who raised his glass at him. Yamatani took the opportunity and sat down beside Clark.
Zuikaku was on her third bowl of toshikoshi soba, slurping loudly, earning her a look from Shoukaku, though she eventually simply smiled and shook her head, and then turned her attention back to Hachiro Kasuga on the screen. Maybe she liked the singer, because her eyes seemed to sparkle. Atago was entertaining small talk made by the other patrons, while Takao, calm as the waters, sipped her nihonshu without saying much.
Saejima-san had finally left the kitchen, sensing the lull in the hour, and she, too, allowed herself to lean back against the wall. Grim nuzzling against her leg was welcome.
People came and went. Some remained. That was enough. The Kure veteran excused himself just as Hideo Murata began his performance. The cheer had yet to die. Jerry had gone out for a bit and returned with more castella. Zuikaku somehow still had room for dessert after the toshikoshi soba. Takao's soft laughter at her sister's antics was a nice touch. Yamatani's sister laughed and clapped when The Peanuts finally appeared on stage, and her mother seemed to perk up, too.
She overheard Yamatani telling Clark the song's name. "Una Sera di Tokyo." Yamatani didn't tell him what it was about. Maybe he'd understand, maybe he wouldn't. But she hoped it wouldn't be a foreshadowing of what would come.
Right after that was Kyu Sakamoto's turn. They were really saving the best ones for the end. But Clark didn't seem to enjoy the song much. Even Yamatani, who usually would sing along to Sakamoto's songs, didn't. She furtively reached out, then drew her hand back, then reached out again and finally touched Clark's hand. He didn't return the gesture, but she didn't look disappointed. She knew.
The penultimate act was the icon herself, Hibari Misora. Her presence on the small TV screen elicited the biggest cheers, including from the Yamatani family.
"Yawara." An anthem to quiet, gentle perseverance, and even those who didn't feel like singing along couldn't help but smile. Yamatani whispered something to Clark's ear, apparently no longer concerned about what her parents would think. His lips formed words that perhaps only the girl could hear, but his blooming smile would tell anyone who was paying attention that they weren't bitter words.
She caught Jerry looking at the pair, too, and raised his glass in silence.
Haruo Minami, taking the stage in his usual kimono-clad look, was the last performer of the Kōhaku, with a rapid-fire delivery of his rōkyoku hit "Tawaraboshi Genba." It didn't attract the same cheer, but it did prompt laughs. Long, hard laughs. Even Takao chuckled.
In a time-honored tradition, the performers gathered for one last time after the white team was announced the winner. The song was, of course, "Hotaru no Hikari." There wasn't a dry eye there, and she was no exception.
Everyone was singing along, except one particularly sloshed auntie who drunkenly asked if the place was closing.
No, but that would be the last drink she'd ever get tonight.
It was a prelude to the countdown. Jerry was looking at her. What was on his mind?
Zuikaku was clinging to Shoukaku, hopping up and down while chanting the countdown. Atago was hugging Takao from behind. Saejima-san had a different glimmer in his eyes. Yamatani joined her family after Clark nudged her gently toward them.
And as the clock struck midnight, she could only stare into space as the place erupted with hollering, whistling, and shouting, drowning out the fireworks outside.
But not for long. She was soon pulled to the side by the arm, followed by something warm pressed to her cheek. Of course, it had to be Atago. And she wasn't even drunk.
"For good luck, Enty-chan," she cooed. With a wink, no less.
She was too stunned to react accordingly—then again, what was the appropriate reaction?—so she ended up rubbing the spot as a giggling Atago walked away to do the same to Takao, who accepted it with grace.
Zuikaku, seemingly inspired by the gesture, gave her sister a light peck on the cheek, too, earning her an amused smile. Jerry and a patron shook hands. Yamatani hugged her parents and siblings—her only brother reluctantly returning the gesture. Clark watched on, and his smile was still there. Jerry struck up a conversation with Yamatani's parents, easily disarming their initial wariness toward him, allowing their daughter to go up to Clark and, after some hesitation, hug him. It was as awkward as it was endearing, but Clark, to her surprise, returned it. The hug only lasted for a moment. They let go of each other, let the mutual gaze linger, then laughed quietly.
"Thank you for the year, boss," Saejima-san whispered. "Here's to another one."
"I'll be relying on you again, Saejima-san. If I recall, though, weren't you supposed to meet someone?"
He looked sheepish for a moment, but the smile returned.
"Yeah, I'm late. I...permission to go, boss?"
"Just go, soldier. And don't forget, we're closed on New Year's Day. Spend it with those who matter."
"Aye aye. Goodnight."
"Happy New Year, okami-san," Yamatani bowed deeply at her. "Thanks for letting me work here. I'll work harder and..."
"I appreciate that. But...remember, study comes first."
"Yes, yes, of course!"
Yamatani's family soon excused themselves, too. She'd never heard gratitude that profuse, even if it was just for TV time. She even thought she was the one who should be thanking them for their patronage. Yamatani was the last to leave, having one last look at Clark, reminding him of the shrine visit and where to find her, if he ever wanted to come along.
"Oh, look at the time," Atago quipped. "Come on, girls. We need our beauty sleep, or we won't look fabulous when we visit the shrine."
"Are you sure you even need that? Seems like no matter what, you always look stunning. I'm kinda jealous, actually," Zuikaku said. "Oy, Grey Ghost, you'll come to that shrine too, right?"
Eager eyes locked onto her. Zuikaku grinned knowingly. Atago winked. Shoukaku smiled politely.
"That...that's not my—"
"But you can be, can't you?" Jerry cut her off, and she could hear Grim's screech in agreement.
"Don't worry, Enty-chan." Atago's voice took a...dangerous edge, or so she thought. "We can help you dress up. Nothing against your usual clothes, of course, but we need to show our best face to the gods."
"I...Uh, I guess...I'll see."
"I don't mean to put you on the spot," Takao added with an apologetic smile. "You can always say no, Enterprise. No pressure."
"N-no, it's fine. I think...I may. Probably. It's just...hard for me. I don't know how to...do this..."
"Just say yes, and we'll take care of the rest."
She didn't want to look at Jerry, so she focused on the door.
"Yeah. I will. I will go with you."
"Wonderful!" Atago beamed. "We'll come by to get you in the morning, okay?"
"Sure. Just...let me know when."
"At nine. We'll come to pick you up, and you will look beautiful. Bet this gentleman here will agree."
"Why, I'd be honored," Jerry laughed and tipped his hat.
"Charming as ever, aren't you, Halsey-san? Enty-chan, you're lucky to have him as your friend. Well, we'll be leaving first. Goodnight!"
Atago skipped out the door, with Zuikaku in tow, chattering about something or another. Shoukaku nodded at her and gave Jerry a small smile before following her sister and Atago. Takao left with a bow as the others filed out of the izakaya.
"And uh, I guess I'll be leaving too, Skipper, Mr. Halsey. I...uh, thank you for everything."
"No problem, kid. You be safe out there, all right?"
Clark nodded and flashed them a salute before walking away. She saw him standing across the street for a while, looking up at the stars. He stood there for a while before finally moving on.
Soon, it was only her, Jerry, and Grim.
"Well, I'm going too, Skipper. Quite a party, huh? Better than the one we had on our ship. And better than the one I could have had at the embassy, too. I'll be in your care again this year, all right? Happy New Year."
He raised his hat at her, held it in front of his chest as a final greeting, and dipped his head.
Don't go just yet
Those words came to her mind but never left her throat.
But she had always been a woman of action. Perhaps that was the reason why her legs moved quicker than her tongue, and she found herself reaching out and catching the sleeve of his coat, just as he had stepped outside.
He turned, rightfully surprised, his gaze questioning.
She was avoiding his eyes for a while, instead focusing on the empty glasses and the pile of bowls Zuikaku left and the potted plant with the tinsel, and Grim, who looked like he was asleep already. Anything else inside the izakaya.
"Skipper...?"
If it wasn't for the situation, she would appreciate the heat creeping up to her cheeks, useful against the cold of the dead of the night.
"Just want you to know...I'll be in your care again too, this year."
It took a moment for the words to register in his head, maybe.
But when they did, his expression shifted from bewilderment to surprise to happiness to something else.
She could feel his fingers brushing hers. They were warm.
A pause, as if he was considering whether he should say it or not. He eventually did.
"No problem. Just glad to be here."
And those words sounded a lot like what she had said before, but at a different time, to a different person, though there was no denying the connection.
It was a quiet moment.
And a quiet parting.
Grim let out a screech. A goodnight one.
The door clicked shut behind her. She went back to her spot behind the counter, with Grim nestled comfortably beside her, and she watched the TV screen for a while longer until she turned the thing off.
There was a lot that still needed doing. She hadn't even taken off the apron.
But she stayed there for a while, taking in the silence, letting it wrap around her like a blanket.
There was a lot of work to do. A lot of things to think about.
But now, she didn't feel afraid to face it.
"Happy New Year, Grim," she whispered.
Another start. And this time, she wouldn't be alone.