Read Online John Rain 08: Graveyard of Memories by Barry Eisler - Free Book Online
Authors: Barry Eisler
Tags: thriller
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ijimekko —school bullies.
“Sometimes.” A monumental understatement.
She held my gaze for a moment, then slid the thousand-yen-note under the glass, followed by a room key. I took both, feeling I was being dismissed, trying to think of something I could use to engage her further, coming up with nothing.
Finally, in a fit of creativity, I said, “I’m Jun.” Jun was my given name, bastardized to John in English.
She nodded as though this was possibly the least interesting thing she’d ever heard.
“What’s your name?” I said, going double or nothing.
She looked at me for a long beat. I imagined I knew what a microbe felt like under a microscope.
“Why would you want to know my name?” she said.
“I don’t know. So I have something to call you, I guess. Wait, now you’re going to ask why I would need to call you something, right?”
She raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly as though impressed by what a quick study I was.
“I don’t know,” I said, flailing but plunging ahead regardless. “In case I’m back here. If I come back, it could be the third time I talk to you. I feel like the third time I talk to someone, I should know her name. I’m not sure why. It just feels…like I should.” I realized I was babbling and couldn’t seem to find the off switch.
“I’m not familiar with that custom.”
Jesus . “Yeah, well, I guess that’s because I just made it up.”
She smiled at that, I thought half out of good humor, half out of pity. “Well, Jun, if you come back again and we talk for a third time, maybe I’ll tell you my name then.”
I tried to think of something witty to say and couldn’t. So I just nodded and took the key, then headed for the elevator. I hoped she would think my wordless exit was confident and cool. But I was pretty sure she knew better.
chapter
eight
I went out early the next morning, the same time as the day before. I wanted to catch the girl again before the shift change.
She watched me wordlessly as I slid the key under the glass. “Don’t you ever get any sleep?” I asked, casting about for something to start a conversation.
She shrugged. “Sometimes I nod off. It’s usually pretty quiet after three or four.”
“Well,” I said, screwing up my courage, “this makes three times.”
She looked at me, saying nothing.
“So…you know, the custom. I thought you’d tell me your name.”
“Doesn’t feel like three times to me. I’ve been up all night.”
“Hmm, I think that’s a technicality.”
“Just trying to respect your custom.”
Was she trying not to smile? I couldn’t tell. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
“How old are you?”
The question caught me off guard. “Why?”
“Are you sensitive about your age?”
“What? No. I’m twenty.” That was true. By about a week.
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you lying to me?”
“No, why would I lie?”
“Because you look like a kid.”
I felt myself blush, doubtless reinforcing the impression. “People have always said that about me. I think it’s because I have small ears.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Small ears make you look younger. Because your ears grow by about one one-hundredth of an inch per year. That’s why old people have big ears. I read it in a magazine.” I turned my head. The crew cut I’d worn in the military had grown out, but my hair was still short enough for her to see.
She took a long look, then laughed. “I think you might be right.”
It was the first time I’d heard her laugh. I liked the fact of it as much as the sound. Before I could think of some way to keep the conversational ball in the air, she said, “Actually, I can’t figure out how old you are. I was thinking pretty young. But with that drunken guy yesterday, you looked…”
She trailed off. I waited, wondering what she thinking. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. Serious, I guess. Even scary. Not like a kid.”
At that point in my life, girls
“Sometimes.” A monumental understatement.
She held my gaze for a moment, then slid the thousand-yen-note under the glass, followed by a room key. I took both, feeling I was being dismissed, trying to think of something I could use to engage her further, coming up with nothing.
Finally, in a fit of creativity, I said, “I’m Jun.” Jun was my given name, bastardized to John in English.
She nodded as though this was possibly the least interesting thing she’d ever heard.
“What’s your name?” I said, going double or nothing.
She looked at me for a long beat. I imagined I knew what a microbe felt like under a microscope.
“Why would you want to know my name?” she said.
“I don’t know. So I have something to call you, I guess. Wait, now you’re going to ask why I would need to call you something, right?”
She raised her eyebrows and nodded slowly as though impressed by what a quick study I was.
“I don’t know,” I said, flailing but plunging ahead regardless. “In case I’m back here. If I come back, it could be the third time I talk to you. I feel like the third time I talk to someone, I should know her name. I’m not sure why. It just feels…like I should.” I realized I was babbling and couldn’t seem to find the off switch.
“I’m not familiar with that custom.”
Jesus . “Yeah, well, I guess that’s because I just made it up.”
She smiled at that, I thought half out of good humor, half out of pity. “Well, Jun, if you come back again and we talk for a third time, maybe I’ll tell you my name then.”
I tried to think of something witty to say and couldn’t. So I just nodded and took the key, then headed for the elevator. I hoped she would think my wordless exit was confident and cool. But I was pretty sure she knew better.
chapter
eight
I went out early the next morning, the same time as the day before. I wanted to catch the girl again before the shift change.
She watched me wordlessly as I slid the key under the glass. “Don’t you ever get any sleep?” I asked, casting about for something to start a conversation.
She shrugged. “Sometimes I nod off. It’s usually pretty quiet after three or four.”
“Well,” I said, screwing up my courage, “this makes three times.”
She looked at me, saying nothing.
“So…you know, the custom. I thought you’d tell me your name.”
“Doesn’t feel like three times to me. I’ve been up all night.”
“Hmm, I think that’s a technicality.”
“Just trying to respect your custom.”
Was she trying not to smile? I couldn’t tell. “You’re really not going to tell me your name?”
“How old are you?”
The question caught me off guard. “Why?”
“Are you sensitive about your age?”
“What? No. I’m twenty.” That was true. By about a week.
She raised her eyebrows. “Are you lying to me?”
“No, why would I lie?”
“Because you look like a kid.”
I felt myself blush, doubtless reinforcing the impression. “People have always said that about me. I think it’s because I have small ears.”
“What?”
“It’s true. Small ears make you look younger. Because your ears grow by about one one-hundredth of an inch per year. That’s why old people have big ears. I read it in a magazine.” I turned my head. The crew cut I’d worn in the military had grown out, but my hair was still short enough for her to see.
She took a long look, then laughed. “I think you might be right.”
It was the first time I’d heard her laugh. I liked the fact of it as much as the sound. Before I could think of some way to keep the conversational ball in the air, she said, “Actually, I can’t figure out how old you are. I was thinking pretty young. But with that drunken guy yesterday, you looked…”
She trailed off. I waited, wondering what she thinking. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. Serious, I guess. Even scary. Not like a kid.”
At that point in my life, girls
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