HOW TO KILL THE SPIRIT OF AN OLD JAPANESE WOMAN, OR HOW TO RECOGNIZE THAT IT WAS ALREADY DEAD WEIGHT

 

 

 

            The Japanese and I mistrusted each other instantly. From my end, it seemed to stem from stereotypes, terror, hallucinations, and warehouses full of perfectly stacked square watermelons. Mentally, I made this flowchart:

 

 

 

Whenever I had a private moment with the Internet, I ran gibberish through Google translator to visualize what they were thinking:

        

This boy does not trust us. Let's fucking poison his food and smoke his marijuana.

この少年は私たちの信頼はありません。彼の毒食品のFuckingてみようと彼の大麻の煙。

 

godzilla! = ゴジラ!

sushi? = すし?

stereotypes = 固定観念

square watermelons = 四角いスイカ

 

Our mutual fears aside, we had shit to do. I had received this letter:

 

Dear Asshole,

My Grandmother is coming to Pittsburgh. She will obviously hate it and you but I still hold you responsible for hosting her. She does not speak English. You will not speak Japanese to her. Suck it up.

Love, Kenzie

 

            Mackenzie's Grandmother turned out to be three revoltingly old Japanese women. It didn't matter which one was her blood: each pushed the same assertive babble that reminded me of my girlfriend. During the night I listened to them unpack through the door to my bedroom. I decided that every bag was filled with condoms and arsenic and chopsticks. In the morning they greeted me with the kind of grim smile you'd give a cold breakfast buffet.

            I began to craft my perception of them into a hostile collective consciousness. From its tone of voice I understood that the parasite would enjoy itself at my expense, and that it would tattle to Mackenzie about any shit I pulled.

 

Input: "Suck a fat dick, cradle robber"

English to Japanese output: 脂肪がうざい、ディック、クレードル強盗

Japanese to English (re-translation): Suck fat, Dick, cradle robber

 

I calmly chalked it up to something cultural. We went to Eat'n'Park and I composed a return message to Mackenzie on the placemat:

 

Whore,

This is the only phrase in Japanese I have picked up from abusing these abhorrent vultures:

 

ストップは、私の乳首が痛い

Stop, I have sore nipples

 

Fuck You, Michael

        

         Mackenzie had learned this phrase from her ex-boyfriend Aki. She taught it to me on our first date. Our second date was when Mackenzie showed up, uninvited, to my sister's high-school graduation party. I relished my grandparentsÕ cringing at her ethnic ambiguity. That night she gave me a hickey the size of a sapling, I wore it to the commencement with misguided distinction. Aki was currently busy leading his heavy metal band through the sexually charged glory of pan-Asian tour. Mackenzie dumped me over the phone as she boarded the plane to follow him.

            The crones sucked at EatÕnÕPark Pancake Smilesª. Well-known and well-hated by the wait staff, I routinely requested everything as a Smileª—that morning I had ordered a coffee Smileª, with extra creamer Smilesª, two sides of sausage Smilesª and a milkshake Smileª. I was so happy I decided to take my guests shopping.

 

Would you like to purchase a wig? Your head is empty.

ウィッグを購入したいとお考えですか？あなたの頭は空です。

        

         それは私の陰嚢の喜びを削除している。私たちの孫娘はあまりにもきれいです。

It's my pleasure to remove the scrotum. Our granddaughter is too beautiful.

 

Killing them would be no problem. Mackenzie had left her hatchback and our landlord kept a menagerie of tools in the basement. All three rode comfortably in the backseat and I kept lookout for a good dumping place on our way Downtown. Each bridge seemed increasingly promising except I doubted IÕd be able to lift the weight of all three bodies at once. I wondered how much lye cost at Home Depot—I had splurged on the breakfast Smilesª and was already past budget for the day if I counted gas.

            We stopped off in the Strip so they could explore the Korean Grocery. They directed me to buy a 20-lb bag of rice.

 

            I have enough rice at home.

            私は自宅で十分なコメです。

           

            今日、私たちはお金を無駄にしています。

            Today, we have to waste your money.

 

I shouldered it with some thoroughly rotting vegetables, and carried a bag of dubious seafood between my teeth. On the back of the receipt I suppressed my desire to murder:

 

 

 

None of these seemed to be the path of least resistance, except the potential failure-leads-to-death. I hadnÕt been Downtown in a while so I tried to take it in. My charges had fallen silent: perhaps they were busy receiving instructions from the hive mind.

 

            シートベルトを取ってシートベルトと正面衝突の原因となる。

            Unbuckle his seat belt and cause a head-on collision.

 

I turned around in the car and smiled. They smiled. We had come to a practical accord—sometimes itÕs just a matter of time. According to my calculations, I had just about purchased their cooperation and approval in foodstuffs. Mackenzie would not understand.

            Mackenzie was toxic waste and thatÕs why I loved her. Appeasement was never on the table, only a combination of humoring and brawling. Her mother was a quiet Japanese woman whose past I construct as an xxxtreme porn actor from Nagasaki. Her father was a flabby Irishman from New Jersey, where we met. I imagine this visit as a continuation of the old womenÕs disapproval of MackenzieÕs tainted line. I think they intuitively realize the central difference, which is that I hold no intention of marrying Mackenzie. She can rot in Hell before I give her a child. She will rot, and so will I, but our paths will diverge with whoeverÕs madness fills out first.

 

         Input: We all fuck, at least he doesnÕt make a big deal out of his small dick.

English to Japanese output: 私たちは皆、ファック、少なくとも彼は大したことがないので、彼の小さなディックアウト。

Japanese to English (re-translation): We all fuck, at least he is not so much his DIKKUAUTO small.

 

            If itÕs mine, pistols at dawn. I will whistle the theme from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly and suggest the presence of a dry heat and tumbleweed, the pervasive scent of horseshit with an interpretative dance. She will think both guns are water-pistols, perhaps suspecting that mine is loaded with semen but when we draw her bullet will fly true through my impotent stream and I will let my suicide note flutter up as I fall. It will, of course, be the last fucking flowchart:

 

And, on the back, just to add insult to true injury, IÕll have taped a counterfeit five-dollar bill. This will be scrawled across LincolnÕs honest mug:

 

笑顔ª