The Cornwall Connection
Heathrow looked grubby. That was the great English word that Gabriel remembered best from his short stay at Westminster Cathedral’s seminary program for Spanish priests. He remembered how full of hope and expectancy he had been 35 years previously knowing he would be attending mass at England’s chief Catholic church. What had gone wrong he wondered. The answer was simple. The Yakuza had entered his life. Specifically, that yakuza boss who was so drop dead beautiful. The rest was sex hormones, torrid nights and large, expensive limousines in Osaka. The Lord had fled in dread..
“Does anybody clean this airport regularly?”
Gabriel was waiting for the car rental assistant at the desk to print out his contract and was making small talk. The scruffy looking but polite Englishman sighed,
“Nobody cares here any more sir. Most of the workers are immigrants who do the minimum for the maximum if you know what I mean. Pride in one’s work is a thing of the past.”
“Obviously” replied Gabriel.
“Ikimasho!”
Gabriel turned to the two Japanese men and Mayumi, signaling that they were about to get in the car and head for Cornwall. Nijitora was unhappy about the no smoking signs and brazenly puffed on his cigar in front of one until two security guards strode up to him. He squarely faced them and then let them have it in his inimitably guttural Japanese:
“Bakayarou!”
“Fucking idiots. No wonder the place looks like a diseased shit hole for ass poor immigrants. They have more security cameras here than anywhere in the world and what are they gawking at? Me, smoking a cigar? I could buy this crappy airport with three of my pachinko owner friends. Go stick your balding heads up your hemorrhoid infested assholes!”
Amanoyama, smiling as usual, tried to unruffle Nijitora’s very ruffled feathers.
“This is England Nijitora san. Please be patient with them. We are leaving now for the country.”
Throwing the security guards a look of utmost malevolence that was clearly disturbing to them, Nijitora stepped in the back of the white limousine Gabriel had hired. Mayumi obediently hopped in next to give comfort. She had a look of pained disdain on her powdered face. It was one that she wore at least half of every day. Nijitora was not to be toyed with. Maybe like Gabriel he had been bullied at school for being small, for being different. Gabriel knew how it felt since he had not sprouted up until 15 years of age.
The hefty body of Amanoyama was next in. Gabriel had chosen a small limousine but it had to have the drinks bar and the leather seats. It had to have the TV and video set up with gangster rap and black chicks wiggling their fannies. And of course it had to have ashtrays. Gabriel had paid 200 pounds extra for the cigar smoking. Only a limo company would let them do this. He would be the driver. He had done the trip on that first Westminster visit thirty five years previously and the M25 was still the same. After navigating the now horrendous mess around Heathrow, the twisted network of access roads and signs out of the airport, he was soon on the three lane motorway.
“So why did you both think it so important to join me on this trip?”
Gabriel was not counting Mayumi as she was an appendage of Nijtora-joined mainly at the groin.
“We are practical men Gaburieru san. Nakaima has told us that you can help us make this base idea work in 2012. We have seen the aliens. We have seen all the base spheres. We have also seen what the USK groups are doing to prepare. To be quite honest we are still not quite sure where to place our final allegiances. We are funding FT base because it is a Japanese project. But the concept of telluric energy and galactic superwaves is a bit much for us. Nakaima said that this trip would enlighten us. I hope so.”
Gabriel saw the sign for Exeter and moved into the right lane. British drivers were fast. The average speed on this free highway was about 130 KPH. Their limo was very comfortable keeping up that speed. Mayumi and Nijitora snuggled in the back over his favourite Hennesey.
Amanoyama had moved in next to Gabriel after one of their pit stops. He smoked pensively as he continued with his train of thought.
“Gaburieru san do you know about our past problems?”
Glancing over to his right Gabriel detected a different expression on Amanoyama’s face for the first time.
“I was told you mended your ways by Nakaima. He said you had been the second in command of the Yamabushi gumi. He mentioned that you had killed a few guys before leaving the yakuza and started Buddhist training in the mountains. Is this true?”
Amanoyama slowly exhaled as he grasped the full measure of how much Nakaima had told the Spaniard. He was now wondering how to explain the intervening years.
“You must know that the dragon is a symbol of good luck and power in the Orient Gaburieru san. For us it is like cosmic energy, like a thunderbolt of power. But the most important thing about them is that all our emperors are thought to be descendants of dragons, starting with the first Emperor Jinmu. The emperors are also Sun Gods as you know. So you see the imperial mythology becomes quite complex and has many variations. My story does too. Nijitora’s also. As a young man all I wanted was power. So the three clawed dragon was the symbol I chose.”
“Chose for what Amanoyama san?”
Nijitora suddenly piped up very loudly from the back seat.
“EENGUREESH BEERU CHODAI!”
“Let’s have some English beer!”
Gabriel knew that jet lag must be setting in and he had already had half a bottle of cognac during the first half of their journey. Now moving through the quaint, rolling Devon landscape he could not have failed to notice the amount of pubs flashing by the window. He obviously needed an injection of a different kind of booze. Gabriel pulled in to the first one off the road.
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The fight
It had all gone well until the three yobs walked in. Dirty looking youths dressed in a totally haphazard mix of whatever the Oxfam charity shop was selling that week they were obviously stoned and looking to augment the high with booze. The sedate atmosphere of a Devon pub is something to experience thought Gabriel when he brought his guests in. Several sets of male eyes had swiveled in Mayumi’s direction as her slim form had slunk past their table. She had a look of tiredness about her that somehow suggested to them it was time for oriental bedtime. One of them had whispered to his mates,
“Did you know that their pussies are slanted too?”
Racism had never left the proud shores of England and Gabriel knew this even as a young Spaniard. They had called him a dago. If you were black or brown it was of course worse but at least they had gone beyond Pakkies and Wogs for people from the India and Pakistan immigrant rush of the 60’s. Being a class stratified country, the lower you went towards working class the more chance there was of somebody saying the wrong thing. It was about to happen in the bar where Nijitora was, of course.
Nijitora had ordered several beers and was quite happily enjoying his fourth. Amanoyama was on a lesser quota, sipping the bitter much more slowly. Mayumi was on gin and tonics and proudly demonstrating her English skills every time she ordered for the group. Naturally Gabriel was on non-alcoholic cider.
The three yobs were walking past the Japanese on their way to the billiard table, beer in hand, when one of them had shot a look at Nijitora that suggested the Japanese girl needed a bigger guy to keep her company. Or three. He might have let it go, but the three started laughing immediately after they passed Nijitora.
“Kora! Temera no kuso yarou!”
Gabriel was on instant alarm status. This was what he had most feared. Here outside of the clear rules and obligations of Japan’s hierarchical structure all bets were off. They were not in the village anymore and one of them had been insulted. Nijitora had basically just called these three assholes from hell. It was what was said before weapons were drawn, previous to faces being forever altered, an antecedent to permanent injury or even death to those involved. The three turned at this outburst and the biggest of them stared down at Nijitora and barked,
“You fuckin talkin to us Nip boy?”
Nijitora quietly stood up and placed his beer on the table. He adjusted his shirt and removed his gold Rolex, passing it to Mayumi. Gabriel knew there was nothing to be done. Honour had been seriously challenged in this quiet Devon bar. Nijitora then said to the three in perfectly good English.
“All of you, outside. Now!”
Cackling like the fools they were they moved ahead of his outstretched arm pointing to the lawn outside the front bar. Everybody in the pub had stopped drinking and the barman was whispering something to his assistant about calling the police. Amanoyama simply smoked and said to Gabriel and Mayumi.
“Nothing to be done.” Shoganai yo!
There would be no time for any police. As Nijitora followed the last of the louts, all half his age, from the door to the lawn he grabbed his hair with his right hand, twisted his left wrist backwards so violently that the snapping sound caused two women to vomit on the spot, then rammed his face into the brick wall breaking his nose, teeth and jaw. The outburst of power immediately communicated itself to the other two who started to instinctively run but Nijitora was nimble. Though jetlagged and drunk he was no stranger to multiple opponents and these youths were barely opponents. They were walking trash, inside and out. Spinning the first one round, the other desperately looked for an escape. He could not make it since Nijitora’s left boot had just crushed both testicles. He opened his right hand in a V shape and slammed it into his friend’s unprotected larynx. This weakest point on the whole body was instantly pulverized leaving the yob gasping for air as he writhed out of control on the lawn. Clutching his groin the other vomited in spasms of pain.
“Ikou! I am driving now” Shouted Nijitora.
Gabriel and Amanoyama followed the very composed looking Mayumi to the limo. She turned to the assembled crowd on the lawn and bowing deeply said,
“I am very sorry for the trouble. Please forgive us.”
Five seconds later they were headed back to the motorway. The next major direction sign would be Bodmin and after that the turnoff to Truro. Nijitora poured another cognac.
“Is that what they call men in this country?”
