Fragments from the Veil — Chapter 2

The walk was short, but long enough. When we arrived at the restaurant, I thought it was plain and unimpressive — just one more locale in the plaza, with tinted windows that concealed the inside. Did I ignore the words that struck like lightning — their urgency — for this? I wondered. I glanced at Kristen, my unaware date — not for this, but for her.

Behind the tinted windows, we found a sign that said "Please, have a seat," and a second door behind it — a shoji door. We went in — the cool air inside relieved us from the summer weather outside. "I'll follow you," I told Kristen, letting her lead. From here on, I’ll follow her anywhere, I thought to myself.

Inside, it smelled of wood, shrimp, steamed rice, and soy sauce. The walls resembled shoji, and electric lights mimicked diffused sunlight. Bonsai trees and pink orchids on plant shelves added color to the walls.

I let Kristen choose our table — there were light wooden tables and cushioned chairs — and she chose one close to the sushi counter and the handful of guests in the restaurant, just in case I bit. The chef at the sushi counter worked with such focus and precision, he reminded me of Mr. Miyagi.

I heard Kristen’s cell phone vibrate inside her pocket. “Excuse me,” she said, taking it out.

“Go ahead,” I said.

“Hey, what's up?” answered Kristen. “I’m having dinner ... close to work ... yes, with a friend.”

I sat scanning the restaurant, my hands tearing a paper napkin into tiny shreds. A byōbu stood at the far end of the restaurant, depicting noblemen in kimonos having steaming tea under a tree in the company of geishas.

"I’m good ...," said Kristen. "I will ... of course."

There was also a lonely samurai among them, wearing a mask. What is he doing there? The others are in formation at the hill — ready for battle — it seems. A geisha was looking away from the table, upset. I wondered why she was upset — maybe she was waiting for him to take his mask off.

“It’s a nice place,” said Kristen, still on the phone. “We’ll have to come here for lunch — it's cozy and nice.” Finally, she added, “Don’t worry ... I got it.” And afterwards, “Thanks ... I’ll call you when I'm done.”

“Everything alright?” I asked after she put her phone away. I wasn’t concerned — I was just trying to read the moment.

“Yes,” she said, dismissing the matter with her hand — it was her mask — “a coworker — he wants me to take care of something.”

"You don't have to go back to the office, do you?" I wanted us to spend time after dinner — hopefully, she would be available.

"No ... not the office," she said with a nonchalant smile, but then she stared away at her thoughts. "It's fine," she said, but it sounded like she was talking to herself rather than to me.

The silence — it felt like she was back at work already. I had to bring her back. I had made little balls with the shreds from the paper napkin, so I flicked one at her. I didn't hit her, but still she startled. I smiled mischievously, and she laughed. "Welcome back," I teased — she grinned, amused.

“What’s that!” she exclaimed, laughing at the stash of tiny paper balls I had made. “You have an ammunition factory going on there —”

I laughed — "I'm just building up my defenses, my own Golden Dome."

“Defenses? I think you’re starting a war, mister.”

“It wouldn’t be much of a war," I teased. "Three days is all my armies need," I said with a fake Russian accent.

“I see! So, you think I’m an easy target?” She probably didn’t get my reference to the current political landscape — but if she gave me the weekend, I was determined to conquer her heart ... and her territory.

"Ha, ha!" I said, pretending to laugh. "No, of course not," I corrected myself. "It's nice in here," I misdirected. I'm a military genius by my own right.

“Yes,” she said — her eyes scanning the restaurant. “I like the style — it's relaxing.”

I echoed her sentiment — "Yes, very relaxing indeed." The soft music playing in the background was traditional Japanese. The plucking of the strings reminded me of raindrops falling on a pond — and the flute, of a river flowing through the woods.

“Yes, it is,” she said. “I’ll have to come here again ... with my colleagues from work." I noticed she added her colleagues as an afterthought. Did she mean she didn't want me to come here with her again, or did she mean something else? Surely, I reasoned after, she meant something else — after all, we just got here.

Just then, our waitress approached. She was wearing a red and white kimono, white tabis and geta sandals — a hair bun, a wooden hair stick, and kanzashi.

“Kon’nichiwa,” I greeted our waitress, trying to amuse Kristen with my limited knowledge of Japanese.

“¡Hola, mi Amor!” she said with a big smile.

Spanish! “Ha, ha!” I laughed aloud — I hadn’t expected that.

“Welcome to Manpuku Sushi," she greeted us cordially. "My name is María, and I’ll be your server tonight. Have you been here before?”

"No," replied Kristen.

“Wait,” I said. “I thought you were Japanese.”

“I get that all the time," she said, with a sympathetic smile. “It’s the outfit — I’m actually from El Salvador.”

“El Salvador!” I exclaimed. "You mean where they have that big prison for the Venezuelan gangs?"

Kristen laughed and covered her eyes with her hand, in shame.

"Yes," said María, "that's the one — that's what we’re known for these days."

“You don’t look it,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “Most people think of Salvadorans as having brown skin, but I'm white."

"So, your parents are from Asia?" She did look Japanese in that outfit.

"No," she said, "I'm just Salvadoran — maybe some of my ancestors — who knows!"

I thought she looked beautiful with her round face, dark hair, and dark brown eyes. "I see," I said. "Well, you are a very beautiful woman — it's nice to meet you. I'm Nathaniel, and she's Kristen."

María smiled tenderly when I called her beautiful, and Kristen let out an “aww” of admiration for my sweetness. "Thank you," María replied, gentle and sincere. "Nice to meet you too." I could tell she was a very sweet person.

"This is the menu," she said, handing each of us a copy. "If you have any questions, please let me know — do you know what you would like to drink?"

"Do you have Sapporo?"

"Yes," she said.

"I'll have a Sapporo."

“I'll have a cold green tea,” said Kristen, smiling wide, from ear to ear.

“Not a problem,” said María. “I'll be back with your drinks to take your order.”

“Oh!" I said to hold her back. "Is the food here any good?” I asked.

“Yes, it is! Itamae Takumi is very good. He’ll be making your food tonight. I’ll tell him it’s your first time here.”

“Tell him,” I said, “that if we like the food, she’ll be coming here for lunch often with her colleagues from work.”

“Is that true, Corazón?” she asked Kristen.

Kristen smiled bashfully, showing her teeth and with her face blushed. “Yes,” she said.

“She’s a dental hygienist at the dental clinic across the parking lot,” I clarified.

“Oh, great!” said María. “I’ll tell Itamae Takumi all about it.”

María walked away to get our drinks. I saw her talking with Itamae Takumi first, at the sushi counter.

"Are you always this social?” Kristen asked me, her eyes wide and her smile expecting me to answer affirmatively.

“Social? Me?” I asked with exaggeration, pretending to be surprised.

“You're like, 'Are you Japanese?'"

"Well, it's not my fault — she's wearing a kimono — and she looks Asian!"

"No, she doesn't," said Kristen, laughing with denial.

"Well, where did you think she was from?"

"I don't know," she said, giggling like a little girl. She looked away — obviously trying to regain her composure. I thought she was having a good time.

"Manpuku Sushi," I read on the menu. "I wonder what it means."

"Why don't you ask her?" said Kristen, still tickled. "Maybe she speaks Japanese."

"Oh, stop it," I teased.

She laughed again but pretended not to until she regained her composure.

“So, how are things at your new workplace? Do you like it?” I asked Kristen.

“Yes, I do ... it’s going great,” she said, unconsciously unwrapping her wooden chopsticks.

“How long have you been there now?”

“Going on nine months.”

“Nine months! You’re probably used to it by now.”

“Oh yes,” she said. “It wasn’t difficult to get used to it — it’s pretty much the same thing, except that the other clinic has more of the newer stuff — but it’s all good.”

“Newer stuff?” I asked.

“Yes — newer computers, newer tools — they definitely keep up to date over there.”

“Would you ever go back?”

“No, I think this new clinic will be good for me — they're very good at what they do, the pay is better, and it's closer to home."

"Your new home," I observed.

"Yes," she said, her smile showing she was pleased — "my new home."

I usually avoid small talk because it bores me out of my mind, and I’m terrible at pretending I enjoy it when I really don't — but everything sounded more interesting in Kristen’s voice. Her voice was clear, young, distinctly feminine. And, not only was her voice music to my ears, but every expression was a revelation; every gesture, a message to be decoded — like when she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear while she scanned the menu. Why did she do that? Was it out of habit? Did it really bother her, or did she do it only because she knew I was looking at her … contemplating her?

Just then, we were interrupted by Itamae Takumi. “Good evening,” he said. “I am Itamae Takumi — pleased to meet you.” He made a small bow to us. He was a short, elderly gentleman — just picture Mr. Miyagi in a chef’s uniform, and you'll get the picture.

“Good evening,” I replied — Kristen echoed me.

“María tells me it’s your first time here."

“Oh, yes,” I said.

"And yours too?" he asked Kristen.

"Yes," she said timidly.

“Welcome, then. I hope you have a good time. We’re going to take very good care of you." His smile was kind and reassuring.

“Thank you very much, this is a beautiful place,” I said.

"Thank you — I'm glad you like it."

He turned to Kristen — “María tells me that you work at the dental clinic over here,” he said, pointing outside.

“Yes — I do,” said Kristen.

“Excellent,” he said, “keeping teeth clean and healthy — very important. If you bring your friends from work, we will give you a special discount. Just let María or me know whenever you come.”

“Thank you very much,” said Kristen, with a grateful smile. “It's lovely here — I'll be sure to mention it. I’m sure the food is exquisite.”

“Oh yes,” said Itamae Takumi. “If there’s anything you don’t like at all, just let María know, and we'll take care of you.”

"Thank you," she said, obviously delighted by his hospitality.

"So, is this restaurant yours?" I asked.

"Only part of it," he said. "There's another owner, a friend of mine."

"I see — it must be great to have your own restaurant."

"Great? Yes — but lots of hard work," he said. "Anyway, thank you for coming — we're glad to have you here — enjoy your meal."

"Thank you," I said.

"Thank you," said Kristen.

“They’re very nice here,” she said after the Itamae returned to his counter.

“They seem to like you," I tried to flatter her.

“They seem to like you,” she said back, her glance gesturing toward me.

I was overtaken by her compliment — "Thanks," I said, with a bashful smile.

"Mmm hmm," she said softly, in agreement.

María brought our drinks — Kristen’s cold green tea with ice, and my Sapporo. "Aquí tienes, mi Amor ... para ti, Corazón." Then she asked politely, “Are you ready to order?"

“Are you ready to order, Corazón?” I asked Kristen with mischief — I was Mi Amor, and Kristen was Corazón.

Kristen giggled to herself, trying to be discreet. "Not yet," she replied, "I need a couple more minutes.”

“No hay problema," replied María. "Take your time — I'll be back when you’re ready."

I took a sip of my Japanese beer — it was crisp, cold, refreshing. I looked in the menu for my usual favorites since there's no point to trying something new when you already know what you like.

Kristen was still checking the menu when she asked me, “What are you going to have?”

"I'm having a salmon roll, a tuna roll, a yellowtail roll, and a cucumber-avocado roll."

“Are those raw?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” I said mischievously — “I like it raw."

She tried not to laugh when I said it, but I could see she was holding back.

“It tastes better that way,” I added.

She snorted a short, loud laugh. Then, she breathed in to control herself — "I'll have the shrimp tempura roll and the crab roll."

I knew those were fried, battered, and drizzled with sauces having enough sugar to make an elephant jittery — but to each his own. “How about you add a cucumber-avocado roll too? It’ll balance the crab and shrimp rolls nicely,” I suggested.

“Hmmm … that sounds good — good idea, thanks."

“Great,” I said. “How many of each do you want?”

“Oh, just one of each — that’s plenty for me, thanks.”

“Okay — the tempura, the crab, and a cucumber-avocado roll. How about a side miso soup and a salad?”

“That would be nice,” she said.

I lifted my hand and beckoned María — she immediately came to take our order.

“Have you decided what you want to have?” she asked us both.

“Yes,” I said. “She’ll have a crab roll, a shrimp tempura roll, and a cucumber-avocado roll. I’ll have a salmon roll, a yellowtail roll, a tuna roll, and a cucumber-avocado roll.”

“Will that be all?”

“Extra wasabi for me, a side salad with the peanut and ginger dressing for each of us, and a side miso soup for each of us too — and we’ll have more drinks when the food comes out.”

“More cold green tea, and another Sapporo?”

“Yes, please.”

“Veamos ... vamos a ver,” said María to herself. “One crab roll, one shrimp tempura roll, and one cucumber-avocado roll for Corazón — and for mi Amor, one salmon roll, one yellowtail roll, one tuna roll, and one cucumber-avocado roll. Two side salads with the peanut and ginger dressing, two side miso soups, extra wasabi — more cold green tea and another Sapporo when the food comes out. Is that all?”

“Muy bueno,” I said, showing her an OK sign with my fingers.

She smiled, amused — “Enseguida,” she said. “Right away.” She returned to the sushi counter to deliver our order to the Itamae.

While I ordered, Kristen had been typing something on her phone. She wasn't done, so I checked my own phone — "Hey, buddy!" read a message from Marcellus. "How's it going? Looking forward to meeting you for coffee." I had forgotten to check in with him. He's a nice man — I wasn't avoiding him ... at least I wasn't trying to. I typed a message back to him: "Sounds good! I'll see you then."

When she finished what she was doing — texting, for sure — she put her phone on the table, with its face down.

“I hope you don’t mind I ordered for us.”

“No, not at all — thank you.” Her smile — now soft, friendly, and unguarded — reassured me everything was well.

“How about you?” she asked. “How is work going for you?” She sipped her cold green tea, with a straw; and then she leaned forward, resting her head on her right hand, showing interest in my response.

I sipped my Sapporo beer directly from the glass — I love how that shit tastes! "Work is good," I said. "It keeps me busy." I was trying to avoid talking about it — people usually respond well at first, but then they end up thinking I'm crazy.

“I know you’ve mentioned before — and correct me if I’m wrong — that you do something with writing.” She sipped again, looking at me — her greyish-blue eyes inviting me to respond.

“Right,” I said, wondering how to explain what I do — she’s a dental hygienist, I’m just a blogger, a journalist by my own right. "I have a blog, and I write articles here and there." I took another drink of beer.

“So, you have a personal blog?”

“I have a blog,” I said, “but it’s not personal.”

“That sounds interesting,” she said. “So, what is it about — sports?”

“Ha, ha!" Why do people always assume I write about sports? "I would have more followers if I wrote about sports!"

“So, not too many people read your blog?” she asked, sizing me.

“Ho, ho — enough of them do,” I said. “I make a living from it.”

"Wow! Okay! You must be very popular, then."

"Well, not just from my blog ... In reality, I supplement my income with other writing projects, for websites and magazines." In reality, I also supplement my income with other jobs — let’s just say I could probably launch my own Taxicab Confessions — Lyft edition.

“Right ... so, what’s your blog about?”

Shit! I thought to myself. I took a long drink. “It's about fringe science.”

“Fringe science?" It makes sense she was pursuing the topic — whom was I kidding? She had to know why we were here.

“Yes ...”

“What’s that?” she asked with a playful tone, taking a long sip through the straw, and looking at me with her mythic eyes.

“Well ... I write about paranormal events, AI, singularities, and UAPs — among other things.”

“UAPs?”

I could tell this was new to her — “UFOs ... flying saucers ... little green men.”

“Like sci-fi?”

“Ha, ha! No, not like sci-fi.” I finished my beer this time. “People's claims of real experiences with that.”

“Umm hmm?" She said. Umm hmm is a lot better than aha, oh no, or oh fuck.

"So, what I do is I interview people who've had some kind of experience, and I write about that experience."

"That sounds interesting." She was right — it is interesting, and I'm seldom bored.

"People reach out to me, I interview them, and then I write about it." I tried taking another sip, but my beer was gone, done. Where the hell is María when I need her? I wanted to lick the beer at bottom of the glass.

"I see ... so, how do you know if they're telling the truth?"

"Ah! Yes ... well, it depends on their credentials, their reputation, and whether there's witnesses — but I'm really writing about their claims, not mine. I may give my own opinion based on my research, but that's different."

"Do you believe them?"

"Only if they convince me," I began to explain. "I pay attention to their tone of voice, their eye contact, their body language — I check on their background, their reputation, their credentials. I look for inconsistencies in their stories — and I look for witnesses. Sometimes I believe them — sometimes I don't. Sometimes, I wonder."

"That's fascinating..." She said it, but she didn't sound it.

"And how long have you been doing this for?" I wondered if she was asking questions just to be polite.

"For about five years."

"What did you do before that?"

"Before that, I used to write video game reviews."

"For real?"

"Yes," I said.

"Is that like your hobby?"

"Yes — but I only play once in a while — I keep busy with my work." Here's the thing ... women like Kristen — beautiful and successful women — want their men’s attention. She was probably interested in my writing not because of the topics I wrote about, but because of the prestige — my talking to people, my getting to say that I write for a living. After all, that sounds interesting. The video games part — well, I have to admit that's not interesting to women, and I hear women don't want their men to be into that stuff. "Most of the time I read ... emails ... articles," I said, trying to make a better impression.

"Well, it sounds like you have a very cool job," she said, again with the fake smile — and her eyes looking into mine. She was making me uncomfortable.

"Yes," I said. Then, I added, "You wouldn't happen to have seen any UFOs flying around lately?"

"No," she said, with a small, fake laugh.

Still, I think she was interested in some way — I could tell she at least had an opinion about it.

"So, what do you think about stuff like that?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm Catholic, so we don't talk much about stuff like that." I find it interesting that she said Catholics don't talk much about it — it seems to me that women process better by talking about things, but men prefer to think about them. I think it’s true in general.

"But the Catholic Church does seem to allow for extraterrestrial life and all that — they're not fundamentalists or creationists."

"Really? Catholics believe that?"

"Not the average Catholic," I said, "but the Vatican’s astronomers are surprisingly open-minded."

"I've never heard of that," she said.

"I'll send you an article about it some day."

"Please do — it would be interesting to read about it."

"And there's even UFOs in the Bible.”

"Nah-ah!" she said with disbelief.

"Yes! I'll show you ... before we start reading that other book together."

"I'd like to see that!"

"You'll be surprised," I said to her.

I suspect that Moses, Daniel, Jesus, and Paul — they all were talking to beings whose words thunder like lightning thunders in the clouds.

Author’s Note

This story continues Fragments from the Veil, a mythic cycle of desire, rupture, and strange illumination. The table remains, but the silence deepens. Longing begins to press against the edges of restraint.

If you’re new to this world, you may wish to begin with Chapter 1, or let this fragment speak for itself.

Related Chapters

Fragments from the Veil — Chapter 1

Fragments from the Veil — Chapter 3