The Chopsticks

[Alan Sondheim]

The Chopsticks

My name is Harry. On a good day, you'll find me at a local watering hole.
I do business left table rear. I know the place. But this time the job was
different. I'd been sent to south Japan to look for a necklace. Not an
ordinary neckless, mind you, but one worn by the Kami of Peru. It's a long
story. I was in Fuokoka or however they spell it and I was being followed.
I was sure of it. I can sense stalking a mile away. He walked like a ghost
and I thought he must talk like one too. Dressed all in black, slipping
from one doorway to another. I read about characters like him. They're
unemployed, always on the lookout, easy hires. I walked into a yatai, one
of those restaurant stalls they have. Not like Tokio. Everyone stared.
There were four customers in the place. I ordered rice and that eel they
put on top, used my hashi like a native. My friend came in and sat at the
other end of the counter. The rest of the place left. Everyone knows when
trouble comes knocking. I took my chopsticks and placed them upright in
the rice. That's the Buddhist sign of death for these folks. Call me Harry
I said. The stranger looked at me then at the sticks. He backed away in
terror and fled. I have to say I never saw him again. The eel was good and
I went on with my mission. Let me tell you, chopsticks come in handy, a
quick fix when nothing else will do.


__