Chapter 3

In the winter, the default menu for the makeshift soup kitchen was a hearty miso-based soup with root vegetables, called kenchinjiru, which was served along with a salted rice ball.

Winters had become especially harsh for the homeless after convenience stores had begun locking their waste bins. Fortunately, there were many support organizations in the capital of Tokyo which the homeless could turn to. Therefore it was no surprise that many chose to head into the big city.

Global warming was also good news for these people; although the breeze was still biting cold, some degree of comfort graced their faces as they loitered in the sun on a warm winter day.

While NPO members doled out food in disposable paper dishes, Kuji sorted blankets and underwear a distance away. Song was also seen in the organization's tent, talking to an elderly homeless person and rubbing his back. It was Song's job to examine the homeless' physical conditions and provide them with medicine if necessary. There was also an older female nurse who took their blood pressure when it was needed.

Kuji discreetly but firmly kept his eyes locked on Song as he sorted through clothing. He watched for who would approach him, who would talk to him. He had to report all of this information to Nango - that was why he was situated here, with a clear view of the man. At least that was what he told himself.

No, it's not. He knew it wasn't. The fact left a bitter taste in his mouth. The dark-haired woman who had been sitting in the driver's seat was leaning in towards Song. Her large stature balanced out well with Song's own towering height. You could say they looked like a good couple.

Although Song was in a religious occupation, Kuji found it hard to believe that he wouldn't be interested in women. Song only refused to have relations with Kuji because he wasn't interested in men. If that was the case, the man could vow celibacy all he wanted, but there was no doubt that he probably felt sexual desire for women. Song would probably never actually engage in the act with a woman, but just the idea of him feeling desire for one was hard for Kuji to bear.

He could still let it pass if a woman approached Song in church. But outside of the church, all of Kuji's restraint went out the window. The hatred he felt for all the women who approached Song inevitably showed in his face.

That was his biggest reason for distancing himself from Song in these situations.

Just then, Kuji spotted an unfamiliar man approaching the tent. He was wearing a half-length coat and jeans, with brown hair and an ear piercing. He was rather plump, with small eyes and full lips. He looked no older than thirty.

The man was bowing to Song and the members of the NPO and speaking to them. Kuji nonchalantly edged closer.

"...Yes, I was a homeless person myself once. Even before they coined the term 'Internet cafe refugees'."

The man pulled out his business cards from his inside pocket and began handing them out.

Doesn't seem like anyone suspicious, Kuji thought. No spy would go around handing out business cards. He read the card that was handed to him. It was printed with the words, "Kiyoshi Morimoto, Asylum Net."

"Asylum, as in a place of refuge," explained Morimoto. "My job is to help young people who go from Internet cafe to Internet cafe with no permanent place to stay. In other words, I run a youth shelter, you might say."

Morimoto spoke with fervor.

　　　"Cycling through short-term stays at Internet cafes is a very inefficient way of living, and there's no escape from that vicious cycle. Outpost village* aren't available all-year round, either."

Nosaka, the NPO representative, looked at Morimoto suspiciously.

"You're not in the welfare business, are you?" he asked.

There had been an increase of businesses which provided living spaces to the homeless and applied for welfare payments on their behalf. This was because one could not receive welfare unless he had a resident's card at a registered address.

"Of course not," Morimoto said. "I only want to help young people who are willing to work. Just having a fixed address goes a long way toward finding a job. If only they would choose to stay at our facility, for an amount less than a month's stay at an Internet cafe..."

Song interrupted Morimoto quietly.

"Mr. Morimoto, I understand your aspiration. And I presume you've come here today to help with our volunteer work?"

Morimoto flashed an amiable smile in Song's direction.

"Of course I've come to help. But I'd also like to ask for permission to give my business card to those here who are willing to work. I'm sure you folks in the NPO mean good in what you do. But you must admit your help doesn't get to the root of the problem, does it?"

Nosaka looked offended.

"On the other hand," Morimoto continued, "I can help those people who want a way out of these horrendous conditions. Only people who have the will, of course. Without a will to work, there's no going anywhere."

Song smiled serenely.

"You're absolutely right, Mr. Morimoto. How wonderful it would be if you could help these young people stand on their own feet. We will help those who either don't have the will to work or cannot work even if they want to - like the elderly or the sick."

"Hey," Nosaka butted in, but Song pulled him back by the arm.

"Song..."

Song nodded to Morimoto in assent.

"I'm glad to have someone on the same wavelength," said Morimoto. "Take care, then."

Kuji watched as Morimoto turned his back and walked away. Meanwhile, Nosaka was busy attacking Song.

"These days, long-term care and welfare are all about business. I'll bet anything that a shady-looking guy like him is in it for the money."

"You can't survive in this country if you're going to shut business out, Mr. Nosaka. You have to give permission to people like Morimoto in order to see what he's truly like. If he was really 'shady', as you say, he would do it regardless of whether he had permission or not. We're better off letting him do what he wants under our watch."

"I guess that's one way to look at it," Nosaka mumbled in a disgruntled way as he caved in. He noticed Kuji, who had edged closer to listen.

"Perfect," he said. "Why don't you tail that guy and keep an eye on what he's doing?"

"Why me?" Kuji protested.

"You're closer to him in age - you'd probably get along. Try chatting him up and see what he's trying to get up to."

You kidding me? Are you telling me that I have to be Nosaka's spy, too?

"No," said Kuji flatly.

"What did you say?" Nosaka said sharply. Song stepped in again to intervene.

"Masatake, Mr. Nosaka is right. Do you think you can keep an eye on Mr. Morimoto, just for today? If something happens, we at the camp will have to take responsibility."

Kuji lowered his eyes slightly as he looked at Song, and nodded.

"I'll do it if you say so."

Nosaka gave an exaggerated shrug and walked back toward the cooking pots.

"I'm sorry, Masatake," Song said as he looked down at him. The man peered into his eyes. Kuji squirmed. He felt uncomfortable having Song in such close proximity outside of the church.

"It's nothing. I just have to talk to him, right?"

Kuji set off immediately after Morimoto and caught him conversing with a young backpacker. The weary young man had seated himself on the stainless-steel fencing around the hedges and was eating his bowl of soup. His clothing looked as worn as his face, but he wasn't as dirty as a homeless person.

Kuji reckoned that the man must be what they called an "Internet cafe refugee".

Morimoto apparently thought so, as well, as he began trying to convince the man to come to his shelter.

"You'll get unlimited use of a VoIP phone. What kind of phone do you use, anyway? Prepaid? You must pay quite a bit per month, huh? Disposable, like your button-down shirt and underwear?"

"Well, I can't enter a contract if I don't have a fixed address, so..."

"If you keep on wasting money like that, you'll never be able to accumulate any savings, and you'll never be able to afford a room to rent. You want to keep going down that spiral and become homeless? You might be managing now, while you still have the energy, but would you be able to continue that for fifteen years down the road?"

"I don't plan on doing this for that long, anyway."

"You know what they call that? Unfounded confidence."

Morimoto then handed a business card to the young man.

"You can blame looser regulations, or maybe it's the new global standard. But either way, disparity between the rich and the poor is only going to get wider in Japan. You have to protect yourself."

The young man nodded and took out his cell phone from his bag. The two of them exchanged phone numbers.

Morimoto eventually parted ways from the young man and set off into a walk. He noticed Kuji and raised his hand in greeting.

"Hey, there," he said. "What's up?"

"Um, I was wondering... can I go to see your place sometime?"

"Sure. But I thought you were friends with that group over there?"

Kuji caught up to Morimoto and stepped in line with him. "No. I'm more like... what would you call it... a NEET? I help out when I can, but mostly I just hang around."

"Uh-huh," said Morimoto as he stopped and looked at him. "You've never done any work before?"

"Part-time work at a convenience store, but that's about it."

"And do you have the will to do anything?"

"I dunno."

Morimoto burst into loud laughter. "I guess you wouldn't. You're a NEET." He appeared to have let his guard down completely as he gave Kuji a good-natured clap on the shoulder.

"All right," he said. "Come on over. You're free to take a look if you want."

Kuji finally knew why Nango had called him an ideal S.

The soup kitchen finished its distribution past three o'clock in the afternoon. The group then took up a table at a family restaurant for what they called a "wrap-up meeting", which was, in other words, just a coffee break. The dark-haired woman who had been driving the truck had planted herself firmly in a seat beside Song. Kuji chose a seat where he would see the least of them.

The members each got their drinks from the self-serve drink bar and quenched their thirst as they exchanged casual opinions. By the time everyone had finished their first drink, a look of ease had finally crossed their faces.

Nosaka brought his second cup of coffee back to the table and began rehashing the rude attitude that Morimoto had shown them earlier.

　　　" Sou**-san, you need to put your foot down," he said to Song. "Young people these days don't know how to properly show respect."

The female nurse chuckled. "It's a sign that you've gotten old, Mr. Nosaka," she pointed out. Nosaka's face relaxed a little, but he continued to criticize Song.

"You trust people too easily. You don't know what young people could do. They lose their temper easily, they're not grateful for anything, and they'll kill people for the smallest of reasons."

Kuji got the impression that Nosaka was talking about him, and proceeded to fix the man with a glare. Just then, the large woman sitting beside Song interrupted.

"Mr. Nosaka, that's no way to put it when we've got young people in this group. If you ask me, I think you can replace 'young people' with 'men in general' and it would make just as much sense."

"Let's all take a step back," Song said mildly as he intervened. "You're right that there are still many things that the government ought to be doing to help the unemployed and homeless. But our job is to reach out to the people who have fallen through the cracks of every single net and are floundering. It's just a matter of all of us doing what we can in our respective positions."

Song went on.

"You know Reverend Pierre, who founded Emmaus? He is a great man, but he was very political and very radical in his beliefs. So to each his own way of thinking," Song said, quietly bringing the debate to a close. The members also appeared to have no complaints, and thus their meeting wrapped up.

The group parted ways once they exited the family restaurant. Kuji and Song climbed into Nosaka's compact truck just as they had that morning. Kuji was relieved to find that the woman was not there.

That evening, an unusual feast filled the kitchen of the church. Thinly-sliced grilled meat was piled high on a large platter, with a side of boiled potatoes and stewed beans. It was typical churrasco fare. The man who had asked for the late-night marriage ceremony had brought the food in from his workplace.

"I come with Mika later. But a little late," he had said in halting Japanese before rushing out.

"Let's be thankful and tuck in, Masatake," Song said.

The two of them sat across from each other at the small table and for a while focused on their food. The grilled meat was crispy and flavorful, and Song showed such an appetite that even Kuji was surprised.

Grilled meat is popular in his country, Kuji remembered. The Japanese were like herbivores in comparison, he thought. Although the meat was good, three slices of it was enough to make Kuji begin to feel bloated. He brought a spoonful of stewed beans to his lips instead.

"Yeah, I like this better. It's spicy and tastes good."

"Eat as much as you like, Masatake. Don't feel like you need to be modest. You're young; you need to eat meat more than I do."

"What, you want to enhance my libido, or something?" Kuji teased. "I'll end up coming to your bed at night, you know."

Song laughed good-naturedly. "Wouldn't want that," he said.

Even raunchy topics like these could be brushed off as jokes at mealtime. Kuji pretended to sulk, while at the same time feeling a bittersweet knot in his heart. "What?" he said. "I thought that's what you wanted."

"I'll make sure to lock my door tonight."

"Even though you keep the rest of your church wide open?"

Kuji tried to remember the last time he had enjoyed such an exchange of casual banter like this. It wasn't his first time. He had experienced this enjoyable moment before.

Kuji continued to stare at the well-proportioned face in front of him.

After a while, he realized what he was feeling. Family time. He had been in elementary school then - yes, while his father still had his wits about him. It was before he had turned to drink and become violent toward his mother, younger sister, and brother.

"I'm telling you it has to be this."

"No fair, big brother!"

"Masatake, you're a big boy now. At least let her use it tomorrow. In exchange..."

"In exchange, what, Dad?"

He felt something lukewarm roll down his cheek.

"Oh..." Kuji sniffled. "Hot food gives me a runny nose," he said as he rubbed his eyes.

"Masatake..." Song said hesitantly, then smiled. He stood up, and put his arms around Kuji's head over the table.

"Hey, what are you..."

"Just be quiet."

The spoon slid out of his hand and clattered loudly as it hit the floor. Kuji hastily shoved Song's chest away. He rose from his chair and got down on the floor, pretending to look for his spoon. He stared hard at the floor and tightened the muscles in his throat. He was narrowly able to avoid sobbing out loud.

He took a deep breath before standing up.

"I think I'm getting sleepy from eating so much," he mumbled, his face turned aside.

"Is that so? Then, you can sleep in your room until they come. We need you, organ player."

Kuji left the man with the gentle voice behind him as he exited the kitchen.

Once he entered his small room on the second floor, he lay down on the bed in the darkness and stared up at the ceiling.

Why had he cried?

He had long stopped feeling sorry for himself; it was meaningless. No amount of self-pity would solve his past problems. Besides, people only felt sorry for themselves because they wanted other people to feel sorry for them, too.

Not a chance. Pity is the last thing I want. That's why I won't feel sorry for myself, either.

He wasn't so naive as to reminisce and cry over the happy times he had once spent with his family.

It's his fault.

It was all Song's fault.

It's his fault for making that kind of conversation.

Although priests did not marry, Kuji was sure that Song would sit across from a woman, just as they had done, and engage in conversation like they did. He had cried because he was angry over that idea, Kuji thought to himself.

He wished Song was impotent. If only the man couldn't get it up no matter how hard he pumped his penis. Then, Kuji would even feel relieved.

If not....

How nice it would be if he could cut the man's penis off. Hadn't there been a story like that? Of some woman who had cut off her boyfriend's member and kept it with her?

It had appeared briefly in a novel that had caused a stir. It was a novel about a love affair, and it had been published some time ago. One of the girlfriends of a gang member had been carrying it with her. All of the guys who [m3]were literate had read it. Only the sex scenes, though - the rest they had skipped over.

The part about cutting the penis had come in at the end. Kuji had laughed it off, saying it was stupid and sounded painful. Now, looking back, he felt like he understood how the girl in the novel felt.

Without a penis, Song wouldn't be able to have sex with anyone anymore.

But Song would probably never sleep with anyone. Yes, even Buddhist monks took wives, and it was hard to believe that Catholic priests would remain celibate for their whole life. But if Kuji could say one thing about Song with certainty, it was this: Song would never sleep with anyone. That was the kind of man he was.

But he was still a man, which meant that he would still get an erection by nature - by looking at women. Unless he was impotent. Song looking at women and getting erect - just the thought of it made the blood rise to his head. No way. I won't have any of it.

Kuji imagined Song getting erect underneath his robes. What would his penis look like? It probably wasn't much different from the many he had let inside him. Would it be a thick, rugged one to match his muscular physique?

He would draw Song's rearing penis inside his mouth, deep into his throat until his lips were around its base. And he would bite down and tear it off. That way, it would be his forever.

Kuji abruptly realized that he had been fondling his crotch absentmindedly, and hastily half-rose from the bed.

He wasn't in the mood right now. Pleasuring himself in this mood would only make him feel pitiful. More than pitiful - absurd, even. Masturbating while wishing the man that he loved was impotent.

Kuji reached underneath his bed and pulled out a bottle of vodka he had hidden there. He put his lips directly to the bottle and took a long swig. The hot liquid filled his belly. The heat in his groin subsided.

Before he knew it, he had emptied the bottle. The floor seemed to ripple, and Kuji fell face-forward on the bed. He buried his face in his pillow and inhaled his own alcoholic breath.

This is bad.

Kuji lifted his head, thinking he needed to get some of the alcohol out of his system. There was still time until that couple would come to the church, but he decided to stand up right away. He used the wall to guide him along as he carefully descended to the first floor. He planned to take a cold shower in hopes that it would help.

Kuji's eyes were half-closed as he stuck his arms out in front of him, feeling his way to open the door to the bathroom.

What greeted his eyes was Song, standing there naked. The man had just finished taking a shower, and his hair and body were dripping with water. Water droplets slid down his broad, muscular back. To Kuji's surprise, there were several band-like scars across it. They looked similar to what he had seen on a certain young gang leader in the detention center. But more than that, Kuji found his eyes glued on the man's toned and firm-looking butt.

"Masatake, you can come in. I'll be out in a second." Song spoke to him in the same tone as always. He turned so that he was facing Kuji directly. His toned body came into clear view. There was a line of dark hair growing from his belly button to his nether regions. From his groin reared the symbol of his manhood, pointed toward the heavens.

Kuji staggered into the bathroom.

"I guess you're not impotent, after all," he muttered, reaching out toward the man's penis. But just then, he tripped.

"Masatake!"

When Kuji came to, he was sitting on top of Song's belly on the floor. The man's hard member was pushed against his waist. As Kuji shifted his weight from the man's belly to on top of his thighs, he reached for Song's crotch.

"It's not fair. Why aren't you impotent?"

The man's penis was erect to the point of almost sticking to his belly.

"Look at you, getting it up like this. Were you thinking naughty thoughts while you were in the shower, huh? Do you always?"

Song looked up at Kuji and gave a wry smile.

"Maybe I ate too much meat. It was rubbed with garlic, too. I was trying to get the smell out, but..."

Damnit, damnit, growled Kuji as he pumped Song's penis with both hands. The stiff member grew even harder and began to throb.

"Masatake, that's enough," Song said gently. "Don't make this difficult for me by going further than that."

"Difficult? How? I'm not asking you to fuck me. Well, I'd want to, but you don't sleep with men or women, do you? Letting me do this is the least you can do."

"That's not what I mean."

"Then I wish you'd just become impotent! You're cruel, you know that?"

Kuji's face was a mess of tears and snot as he continued to stimulate Song's hardened penis. He brought his face close to its glistening tip. When he opened his mouth to let it in, Song sat up. The man's muscular arms circled around him.

"Masatake, you're a good boy. Now, stop."

"No," Kuji shot back. "I want you! Let me touch you!" Kuji twisted his body and tried to pry the man's arms off of him to no avail. His head was pressed against Song's dripping, broad chest. He could feel the man's rapid heartbeat. Song's warm hands rubbed his back. Kuji broke into loud sobs.

"It's okay. You can cry, Masatake. There's no need for you to hold back." The man's low whisper was soothing to the ear.

Eventually, the storm of tumultuous emotions brewing inside him settled into a peaceful calm. His eyelids drooped. Kuji closed his eyes. A warm darkness came over him.

He felt himself float as his body was lifted. When he fidgeted, a comforting hand rubbed his back again.

"Masatake, you can stay asleep. I'll carry you to your room," said the gentle voice. His body swayed gently as if he were being rocked in a cradle.

Kuji returned to the same house - the one in which he had spent his boyhood.

　Outpost village*　　An outpost village, or hakenmura, is a makeshift shelter for the homeless set up temporarily from the end of the year to the beginning of the following year.

　Sou**　 　"Sou" is the Japanese pronunciation for the Chinese character of Song's name.