Fiction stories

Note: This is a short story by Tago So, originally in Japanese and translated to English by the author. This work appeared in the shortlist of the Full of Books Award in 2020.

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Flying squirrels have their heaven and hell. Depending on what they did before they died, some flying squirrels go to heaven, and some go to hell. No one doubts this.Oliver is a hell-bound flying squirrel. He is a feathertail glider known as a flying mouse, the world’s smallest gliding mammal. He is 7.5 centimeters long and weighs only 11 grams. It’s smaller than average, but he is four years old and a full-grown adult. From his head to tail, he is grayish-brown color. When viewed from below, only the area around his belly is white. His soft fur swayed softly in the wind.Oliver doesn’t know how long he’s been gliding because he’s a flying mammal. As a matter of fact, it was seven months ago that Oliver was thrown down by the gatekeeper at the entrance to hell. Since then, he’s been gliding. That’s what this hell is all about — an infinite gliding hell for flying and getting nowhere.
Oliver’s eyes are dry. They would have been crispy long ago, but since this is hell, they would never be completely dehydrated. Same for the skin membrane used for gliding, which was stretched tightly over his open arms, and it never got stretched or torn.The endless darkness, which Oliver could not perceive, is slowly passing by.Suddenly he saw a flying mammal, much lighter in color than Oliver. It could have appeared out of nowhere, or it could have been gliding in the same direction for a long time, just a short distance away. Finding his companion, Oliver leaned his center of gravity toward the other flying mammal. The distance between the two animals is slowly closing.Perhaps Oliver came too close, and the other flying squirrel moved away. Then, the other one comes closer to Oliver. The two animals move closer and further apart until they can find the perfect distance. Still, they can’t talk. They are flying squirrels so that they can’t use words.The two of them keep gliding through infinite time once again. It is infinite for flying squirrels, but in reality, it is only thirty minutes since they met. Oliver sees a eucalyptus tree, rich in long, thin leaves. The tree, floating in the darkness, is standing right on his flight path.They continue to glide steadily closer and closer to the tree. The eucalyptus stood still in a strange position as if it has grown roots in the darkness. Finally, the eucalyptus is right in front of Oliver, and he prepares to land. The tree trunk is already crowded with a large number of flying squirrels. There was no room for the two of them to land. The mass of flying squirrels are moving, and a tiny crack appears. Oliver sees the pale, smooth skin that was characteristic of eucalyptus. It is a color he missed so much. Oliver’s little head swam dizzily from side to side and managed to turn in a wide arc. He evaded the myriad of mammals that covers the eucalyptus and once goes into the darkness. He can’t look back, but it seemed that the other light-colored squirrel managed to land safely on the tree trunk.Oliver is alone again. Soon after, he finally loses consciousness in the deepening darkness. His small, wing-folded body spins around, curls up like a ball of cotton dust, and falls.He finally opens his eyes. He sees white shells between the blue sea and the sky. Oliver doesn’t know the name of the Opera House. Falling at a slow speed, Oliver is already free from gravity. He landed on his buttocks on the endless green grass. It is Garrigal National Park in Sydney, where Oliver was born and raised. But now, not a single tree grows here. There are no more enemies roaming the earth. There is no need to climb tall trees or glide from branch to branch.Oliver flips his small body over and starts running across the short grass.

Note: this short story was an assignment of Creative Writing for Beginners: Bringing Your Story to Life, a course by Shaun Levin.

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I once saw a video of a Japanese man who became a world champion shoeshiner after years of effort. When I saw the video, I thought, “What an arrogant thing to have someone else shine your shoes.”The shoeshine man was cool. He had short hair, and he was wearing an expensive-looking suit. He looked like a model for men’s cosmetics. And most of all, I was impressed with his shoe polishing skills. His attitude to shoe-polishing was like a craftsman and an artist at the same time.However, the customers who sent in their shoes may have seemed rich and arrogant. Maybe I was just in bad condition and had a stomach or headache as I watched the video. After all, an impression is just an impression.I’ve only had my shoes shined once in my life, many years after watching that video.I lived in Thailand, and since I’m Japanese, I needed permission from the government to live in Thailand. It’s sad that I needed permission to just get up in the morning, have a meal, sleep, and read a book.Some people might want to move from place to place and live a life of rootlessness, but I didn’t (and still don’t). I was (and still am) someone who wants to live a stable life in a place where I can stay forever without having to ask for anyone’s permission.On a hot summer day (it’s like summer all year round in Thailand, I have no idea when it happened), I had to go to Vietnam. Long story short, I was about to lose the permission to stay in Thailand. It was a good idea to stay for two nights in Vietnam and come back to Thailand. I bought a ticket to Ho Chi Minh City, which was cheaper than Hanoi’s capital city, and booked a local hotel. The hotel room was not cheap. Since I couldn’t sleep in the same room as others, I chose a good room with a double bed in a private hotel in the city center.In Ho Chi Minh City, I had no plans. My original motive was not tourism but visa-extension. I was there just to stay in Thailand a little longer. An empty trip. I took a bus from the airport and got off at the bus stop near the hotel. There was no shortage of lines of motorcycles to cross the road, café-au-lait colored puddles here and there that smelled sour. It was hot. I wanted to get back to Thailand.As I walked through the map on my phone, I spotted my hotel’s nameplate in an alleyway that stretched from the side of a convenience store with a sign in Korean. The alley, surrounded by tenement-like apartments on both sides, was narrow and winding to the right and left, making it difficult to pass each person. On the way there, a boy was practicing his bicycle. An old man standing in front of what seemed to be the front doorway was staring at the boy. I awkwardly avoided them and passed by. As I wondered if I could ride a bicycle in such a small space, a large bike came from in front of me. Both handlebars are almost scraped against the wall, but it looks like a road he is used to riding every day, and he showed no signs of slowing down. I quickly jumped away from them and found myself at the destination hotel, COZY Life. It seemed to be Chinese style, with red lanterns hanging. There is a simple lobby, and on a bright red sofa, there are several photos of the hotel’s owner and guests with big backpacks on their backs. The owner in the picture was a bald-headed man in his fifties or so, always with a big smile on his face. He had a good-natured, business-like appearance. The tall man at the reception desk seemed to be the owner’s son, and he had a similar smile on his face.I was lead into the room. I took a quick shower and laid down on the bed. I fell asleep while reading Anna Karenina on my phone. I bought supper at the convenience store near the alley entrance. Peanuts and pringles.The next morning, I woke up in the darkroom and found that I felt better than I had expected. I opened the curtains to see the sunshine. An apartment on the other side of the alley within easy reach, and closed it as a young female student with short hair was changing clothes through the window.Last night, I thought the springs were a little too hard, and the sheets were a strange beige color and crispy to the touch, but for some reason, after a night’s sleep, I fell in love with it. Maybe it’s because I took a shower again before going to bed, then it kept the room from getting dry and kept the humidity just right. I’m a man who is very particular about the humidity level when I sleep.I felt like going out. I checked the map and found out that the War Remnants Museum was about a 20-minute walk away. I didn’t know how to pronounce it in Japanese kanji, so I looked it up and found out that the kanji for “Remnants” is read as “Shoseki.” I’ve heard of the Vietnam War before, but just the name. When I searched Wikipedia for information on the Vietnam War, I found an article that would take me a whole day to finish reading. I threw away my phone. I decided to go there anyway rather than read such a long article.The streets of Ho Chi Minh City were hotter than Bangkok. Probably because of the gas from the countless motorcycles running around the city. By the time I arrived at the museum, I was drenched in sweat. After buying a ticket at the entrance, there was a large garden in front of the museum building, lined with life-size fighter planes. There was also a U.S. Air Force fighter jet, and a woman, who seemed to be a tourist, put her hand on the plane and was taking a picture. She was wearing a cap with an American star-spangled flag on it. It was kind of strange. I thought the Vietnam War was a war where many Vietnamese people were killed by the United States soldiers.The inside of the building was crammed with tourists. The space on the first floor was semi-outdoor, and I was continually sweating. Japan’s Bring Peace to Vietnam! Movement, anti-war movement was on display. I was proud of the fact that Japan has firmly spoken out against the war. This is a strange feeling; sometimes, I feel happy when Japan is praised abroad, even though I have done nothing personally. I usually don’t talk about Japan. When people ask me about Japan, I tend to go around saying negative things. Still, maybe that’s because I have a selfish assumption that Japan is a great country.When I went up the stairs, it was cooler than on the first floor because the air conditioning was working in contrast to the first floor. No one was flapping their faces up with pamphlets. Tourists with their sunglasses off, Asians, black and white, all were strangely calm. There were many photos in the small room, and I could see why everyone looked like that. The walls of the room were covered with pictures of bombed-out villages and killed civilians. The lady, wearing the American cap and smiling as she took pictures, had taken off her sunglasses and was crying. She wasn’t crying like a child, but her eyelashes were soaked, and she was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief several times. I came to think that maybe her son or brother, or someone important to her anyway, had died in the Vietnam War. Now I started to think there had to be a reason for her to travel all the way from the United States to Vietnam. It is said that 58,220 American soldiers died in the Vietnam War. Half of the visitors to the museum were foreigners, apparently from the United States.Due to the U.S. military’s defoliant spray, many deformed babies were born in Vietnam after the war. Their photos were displayed in the museum. Westerners and Asians were all passing through the area at a fast pace.At a souvenir shop on the first floor, I bought a mug that looked good for drinking Vietnamese coffee. The design of the handle of the hotel’s cup was curved too much, and I remembered how hot and annoying it was last night when I made coffee. I could use this new mug this evening, wash it and take it back to Thailand with me.Outside, the sun was shining so brightly. It was hard to open my eyes, and the air was so dry. On top of that, it felt like the air was dry. I walked in the hotel’s direction and planned to eat something if there was a clean restaurant on the way. I took a couple of wrong turns and found myself walking next to a large park. There was a gate decorated with gold statues. I found information on the opening hours of the park. Looking at the map, a large part was peeled off. It seemed I could get through the gate on the other side, so I decided to go through the park.The paved stone paths spread out like a web, and the trees and grass in the park seemed to be well maintained. At either end of the way, cheerful-looking trees were planted at evenly spaced intervals and stretched high into the sky. There were lots of large leaves, which provided protection from the sun. The lawn had sprinklers installed in places, and the spattered water had made a large round stain on the asphalt.We passed a couple of artificial ponds with fountains, and then we were out in the plaza. In the evening, a group of elderly women would have aerobics. The park was nice and chilling. I sat down on a bench in the shade, trying to find a place to have lunch. A man approached me.“Shoes, brushing.”The man had a toolbox like a schoolboy would keep paintbrushes in and a green bucket. Both were small, like miniatures. I saw a stiff little brush in the toolbox, some thin tins of wax, and a plain white towel.
“No, thank you,” I said. The man smiled and said, “Where are you from?” ignoring my words with a friendly smile. I’m not in a position to judge other people’s English pronunciation, but it was clean, with little accent.“Thailand,” I had to answer. I couldn’t ignore him.He said, “I accept Thai Baht. Only thirty Baht is Okay,” and started soaking the brush. I was wearing a pair of Under Armour sneakers with a thin mesh fabric that was supposed to be breathable. I didn’t want to get wet, so I said, “No water. I don’t want them to get wet,” but he just repeated, “Okay” several times. He took my shoes away and washed them with a brush dipped in brush-washing water. A replacement pair of rubber slippers was immediately laid out in front of me.I was embarrassed to see him crouched on the hot ground polishing my shoes. A Japanese tourist sitting on a bench, letting a Vietnamese man polish his shoes. I felt that the sight of a Japanese tourist sitting on a bench and letting the Vietnamese man polish his shoes was somehow improper. The number “1984” was tattooed on his arm. The skin around his tattoo was obviously lighter in color than the rest of his arm, as if he had tried to erase it. I had no idea why.Now I checked my diary to make sure it was 1984, and it was definitely 1984. The date of the log I met him is “December 13, 2018”.He made a tiny amount of white foam as he deftly polished my right shoe. Then he held it side by side with the dirty left shoe and showed them to me. He was obviously proud of it. I was amazed. The right shoe looked like a new shoe. I remembered that the sneakers, which I had thought were gray, were almost white at the beginning. He smiled at me. I couldn’t help but say, “Wow.”He lowered his gaze, washed the towel he’d wiped the cream off with brush-washing water, then switched to the brush again and began to brush his left foot. His hand movements were perfect. He untied the shoelaces, which even I couldn’t handle, with ease and used the bristles of the brush with the right amount of force.“Are you from Ho Chi Minh City?”I asked him. He loosened his cheeks, but without looking up.“Hanoi. I come to Ho Chi Minh City to earn money,” he said.“Do you have family in Hanoi?”“I have a wife and three children. Yes, I’m done.”When I put my feet in my spotless sneakers, the insoles, top and sides were not wet at all. Usually, I just step on a small puddle of water and the toes get wet before I know it.“This is amazing. Thank you.”I took a hundred baht bill out of my wallet and handed it to the man. He smiled, said thank you, packed his bags quickly, and left in the direction of the museum. I got up and started walking toward the city center, where my hotel is located. I didn’t know where I would have lunch after all, but I could probably find a McDonald’s or something. When I turned around after a short walk, the man was no longer there. A few splashes in front of the bench had already dried up.

Note: This is a short story by Tago So, originally in Japanese and translated to English by the author. This work appeared in the shortlist of the Yachin ga Takai Bungakusho in 2020.

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Makime has been living in Bangkok, Thailand, for four years now. It was 10:30 in the morning, and at this time of day, cars and people on the streets were gone entirely. He put on a yellow t-shirt with the words Ayutthaya Kizuna Marathon, which he had received at a company running event. He wore UNIQLO pants, which he kept wearing since his college days, and he slipped on his sandals and went to the nearby 7-Eleven. He didn’t have any pockets, so he held two keys to the common gate and his room. He grabbed two small folded 100 baht bills in his left hand.He quit his job three months ago and had just gotten a one-year work visa, so he kept living in Thailand. Of course, the truth is, he shouldn’t have done that. He needed to return the visa as soon as possible after his equipment, but he didn’t.He saw the stray dog at the feet of the woman frying chicken at the corner of the street. The dog is always lying down nearby her with a look of relief on its face. On days when she’s not there, the dog is often found in the park behind the police apartment, looking rather grim against the empty bushes. In any case, I feel sorry for the dog because he doesn’t have a phone. I dread the thought of being a dog and not being able to watch YouTube whenever I want.The flames of the gas burner sear the hot oil crackles and splutters. Makime makes a big circle around the corner to stay away from it. He doesn’t like the oil splashing, and he’d hate it even more if the green PTT gas container, absorbing the heat of the August sun and asphalt, explode in front of him.Watching a Japanese couple video that came up as a recommendation on YouTube, he almost stepped on the carcass of a crushed pigeon. There is always a pigeon carcass in front of the 7-Eleven. Fortunately, he has never stepped on a dead body with his flimsy sandals, but anytime he is about to do it. Makime comes to 7-Eleven every day before noon and always finds a fresh carcass in the same place. The reason is simple: this place is a trap for pigeons.The path leading to the station is so narrow that cars can barely pass each other, and in the morning, it is quite crowded with people walking to the station. In addition, street vendors are selling porridge called “joke” in Thai, “pa tong ko” fried twisted dough, pineapple, guava, and dragon fruit cut by a man who always says “Sawadee Kapong,” Thai noodles called Kuittiao with chairs and tables, Kanom Tokyo, which I don’t know why it’s Tokyo, and kanom krok, which looks like Japanese Takoyaki but is sweet with coconut flavor, and cold gapao rice and fried rice that cost 20 baht a pack. They are packed in this narrow street because the bigger road in front of the station is dominated by a Toyota dealer and a mall belonging to the Central Group. Street vending is banned there.Pigeons get hit by cars as they roam around at the foot of office workers, eating breakfast and drop food on the street. The soup splashes everywhere, bean sprouts, minced pork, and dumpling meat called “luk chin.” The pigeons prowl for them, and as they avoid the hustle and bustle of people walking to the station, they get hit by cars. The crushed pigeons are promptly drained of their nutrients by flies, turned into teriyaki by the Bangkok sun, and then washed clean in the evening squall. At night, vast numbers of cockroaches boil up from the sewers, snatching up all the barely visible pigeons and the remains of the luk chin. And so it goes.It was a year ago that Makime moved to Ari in the northwest part of Bangkok. There are many cafes and bars, the headquarters of Thailand’s largest film distribution company, Saha Mongon Film, is just down the street, and the Thai branch of IBM is across from a Toyota dealership. Ari is known as “the city where artists and media people live,” but Makime is neither. He’s just a Japanese guy with no job. His Thai friends are all taking out loans to buy condominiums and houses, taking advantage of Thailand’s strong economic growth. The rent for Makime’s apartment will go up by 1,000 baht next month. He thinks maybe it’s time to go back to Japan.He bought his favorite crab fried rice and soy milk at 7-Eleven, and as he left the store, he saw a large banner on the wall of a house across the street. He walked up to it and slowly read the words in Thai, which said that from next week, September 1st, this street would be completely closed to food stalls. I had heard rumors that food stalls were already being removed one after another in the center of Bangkok since the head of the military regime became prime minister. Still, he didn’t expect that this area would finally be cleaned up. He suddenly felt sorry for the red pigeon that was flattened nearby.