(2005) In the Miso Soup Read Online Free Page B

desu, Doko demo dotei dakara desou desu. . . .
”
    Frank was noting which phrases got the biggest reaction from Reika and Rie, and these he’d repeat over and over, combining some of them and throwing in other Japanese words he knew. The hostesses sitting unoccupied near the entrance had now stood up to try and hear what Frank was saying, the karaoke singers had put down the mike and were chuckling along with us, and even the two thuggish-looking waiters were enjoying the show. Me, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. It literally brought tears to my eyes.
    “
Sawaranai
(I won’t touch),
Sawaritai
(I want to touch),
Seibyo
(Venereal disease),
Seiko
(Intercourse),
Seiyoku
(Sexual desire),
Senzuri
(Jerking off),
Shakuhachi
(Bamboo flute; Blow job),
Shasei
(Ejaculation),
Shigoku
(To stroke),
Shigoite kudasai
(Please stroke it),
Shigoite kudasai . . . Shigoite kudasai. . . . Sukebe
(Horny bastard),
Sukebe jijii
(Horny old bastard),
Suki desu ka
(Do you like?),
Suki desu
(I like),
Sukebe jijii suki desu ka?
(Do you like horny old bastards?),
Sukebe jijii suki desu
(I like horny old bastards)
. . . Sukebe jijii suki desu
. . . .”
    The harder we laughed, the more serious Frank looked. He just spoke even louder in order to be heard. Beads of sweat were appearing on Reika and Rie’s foreheads and noses and chests, and tears were rolling down their cheeks as they cackled and hiccupped and sputtered. The crooners from the countryside had forgotten all about singing now, and the karaoke track was nearly drowned out by our laughter. Frank, however, continued to observe the ironclad rule of comedians: never laugh at your own stuff. He went on to do almost an hour of this, going back and forth through the entire glossary.
    Eventually another pair of customers came in, and the two from the sticks began singing again. The new pair apparently asked for Rie, who moved to their table after shaking Frank’s hand and making me tell him she hadn’t laughed like that in ages. Reika told Frank: “You are great comedian, I very enjoy!” and slipped away to the restroom to towel off. I was sweating, too, so much that my shirt stuck unpleasantly to my skin. That’s what happens when you laugh your ass off in a place where the heat’s turned up to accommodate ladies in their underwear. I asked one of the waiters, a guy I knew, for the tab, and he flashed me a smile and said: “That’s one fun gaijin!” I won’t say you’ll only find depressive types working in Kabuki-cho, but everyone there has a past of some kind, not to mention a present that’s less than ideal. The employees in this pub probably didn’t often get the opportunity to laugh like that, and I was glad they’d enjoyed themselves.
    Frank pulled out his wallet and said: “Kenji, what’s this Niketown business? Why is it so popular with the Japanese?”
    He wasn’t sweating at all. I wondered what had made him come out with this question now, so long after the conversation, but I didn’t ask. The Japanese like anything that’s popular in America, I said.
    “I never heard of Niketown,” said Frank. “Never knew there was such a place.”
    “I believe you. It’s only here, in this country, that everybody goes crazy over the same things at once.”
    When the check came, Frank extracted two ¥10,000 notes from his wallet. On one of them was a dark stain, about the size of a large coin, that bothered me a little. It looked like dried blood.
    “Frank, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.”
    “Really? The girls got a kick out of it too, didn’t they?”
    “Do you always do things like that?”
    “Like what?”
    “Make people laugh. I mean, by telling jokes and so on.”
    “I wasn’t trying to be funny. I was just having a Japanese lesson, and then before I knew it it turned into this thing. I still don’t really understand what was so hilarious.”
    We had left the lingerie pub and were walking along the street behind the Koma