Kanji Oshiara jogged to work at The Schwupps, one of the busiest gay bars in Dresden. The city was geared up to welcome Pride month, the month of love and splendor, a month when all the inhibitions are shed in support of love in all its varied hues.
Karl, the grumpy old day shift janitor greeted him with a smile, which was unusual. He pointed to the clock and said “So, you finally made this toy work! Gut! Sehr gut!” as he walked out.
The dimly lit hallway of the restroom was quiet, except for the ticking of the clock he had assembled with his bare hands. The clock represented to Kanji the millions of seconds stolen from him in his wretched life. No member of the tainted family of Yukio Kanji, his great-grandfather, the kamikaze pilot who defied orders and returned, was entitled to a respectable life ever after. The echoes of betrayal sounded incessantly all the way down to young Kanji’s generation.
He fled Japan as a teenager like many of his kin and ended up with his maternal uncle, who ran a fireworks business in the suburbs of Hamburg with a few Japanese workers.
He felt reborn into a world that would accept him, or so he assumed until that night when his fragile body was first abused.
Doors of a different hell greeted Kanji in every lap of life.
A few nights later, he fled to Dresden, but only after he ensured that his uncle was one among the few Japs killed in an illegal explosive-making shed.
Kanji found this job at The Schwupps at Dresden through a tout .
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door opening from a stall. Two men came out chuckling. The shorter man with a nose ring held his partner’s rump as they walked past, ignoring Kanji as if he never existed.
Kanji was revolted by such acts that became quite common in his workplace.
He remembered the night he was first molested, with utmost disgust. He had initially mistaken kindness for care and affection. It wasn’t long before the compassion sublimated into a dominant incestuous gluttony that summited into nights of debauchery and depravity.
Kanji pushed the janitor’s trolley to the recently used stall. The stall reeked of burnt weed, urine, and semen. Kanji tightened the mask over his nose and drew up the water hose.
The music grew louder. The male strippers were gyrating obscenely on the dance poles, egged on by the revelers.
Kanji had waited exactly for this day.
For Kamikaze.
He thought about his victory in death and the fear he would instill amongst the queers of the world.
He focused on the remaining seconds in the clock, ticking away.
The countdown for the strippers had started.
The DJ bellowed…. Funf, Vier, Drei, Zwei……
The explosion hit him instantly strewing his homophobic body into tiny fragments. Only the String of Pride flags on the doorway of The Schwupps survived the blast.
***********
Kamikaze, the Japanese borrowed word signifies suicidal acts.
Examples:
- Driving on Indian roads is sometimes literally a Kamikaze act.
- The couple taking selfies on the steep cliff is nothing short of Kamikaze.
This word was a part of the Japanese special military forces in World War II who flew suicide attacks for the Empire of Japan against Allied Ships. Pilots who returned were deemed traitors, as the primary values of Samurai life were loyalty and honour until death.
Translations: German to English
- Gut, Sehr gut- Good, very Good
- Funf, Vier, Drei, Zwei- Five, Four, Three, Two
Pic Credits:
Delia Giandeini & Peter Herrman-Unsplash.com
