Aaron Ellis

Twenty minutes remained before he wanted to be there and perhaps three kilometers of narrow dirt alleys and dimly lit road lay between him and his destination. He walked straight, with a light quick gait. His face looked forward, but his eyes darted about. A small parcel nodded gently as he walked, hanging from his left index finger.

Evening had come and gone and a still night slipped into the town. Strays barked and howled, devouring leftovers of supper which had been thrown on the streets. Echoes of inaudible high pitched words, cast in an oriental tongue broke the still night on occasion, ping-ponging down empty alley walls. He once passed a local, out for an evening stroll, who looked at him for only a moment - it seemed like a quick look of curiosity - before he returned his thoughts and glance to the silence of the night. Aaron, as he was called where once he lived, continued to walk; the route programmed into his step. He took no detour and never once changed his pace, pausing once, and only once, to kneel and fix the bow on the lace of his right shoe, a worn in (and almost out) pair of off-white cloth Vans.

Two rights and a left after tying his shoe, Aaron found himself at a heavy metal door, a few steps below the alleyway. A dirty sign with scribbled Japanese characters hung quietly above. He knocked. Four succinct taps rapped against the door and Aaron tapped his foot and moved his eyes from place to place, seeing everything but watching nothing. Footsteps from a man inside approached and the shutter slid open, revealing two squint eyes of a staunch Asian man. The eyes hid any surprise that may have arisen from seeing a character like Aaron at such a doorstep, knocking at such a time. A few words of serious Japanese were exchanged and Aaron then thrust his hand deep into the pockets of his narrow plaid pants, retrieving a crumpled piece of paper. His eyes drifted to the man at the door only for a second when the parchment left his hands. The shutter closed abruptly and after the sounds of chains moving and bolts retreating, the door swung open. The Japanese man led Aaron through a series of dark concrete hallways and down a flight of steps. A wooden door was thrust open before him and Aaron walked into a large basement room filled with noise and middle-aged Asian men exchanging notes of money. Each man in the room seemed to have a cigarette fastened securely to the corner of his mouth, the smell and smoke was thick in the air and Aaron coughed just a little bit when he walked towards a counter in the back of the room.

The rhythm of the room did not change with his appearance, but it was as if the atmosphere shifted to recognize the presence of an outsider. Thin and pale, youth still living within him, a loose purple shirt draped from Aaron’s shoulders and a black nylon sling held snug to his back; he carried himself like a vagabond cloud. When he walked his arms would swing loosely at his sides and when he stood they hung two or three inches too low. He stopped again in the middle of the room to kneel and fix the bow on his left shoe before he arrived at the counter in the back of the room.

The man at the counter looked up from his book and bills and asked a question to which Aaron responded by pulling out a wad of money and stringing together words of slow but sure Japanese. He kept rolling his balance from his toes to heels, rocking back and forth; with one hand he ruffled his brown hair and scratched his head. Two short braids, dyed red hung from above his right sideburns; the man at the counter glanced at these while handing Aaron his receipt, which he immediately thrust deep into his pocket. He turned and walked to another side of the room.

There was a small raised stage, a two foot square surface, in the center of the floor, surrounded by a large space in which most men stood, talked seriously, and smoked. People slowly started to gather around the stage, but Aaron knew he had five minutes at least before the match began, so he went to a far corner of the room to where a table sat accompanied by two chairs, one of which was occupied. The man in the chair was noticeably older than most of the others in the room, but still not too old. He may have been sixty, with a short gray beard and sunken eyes. Aaron came and sat across from him, placing the parcel upon the table, facing away from the man and digging into his backpack to retrieve a small notebook from his sling. Opening it he jotted a few things down, turning briefly to the older Japanese man to see if he had spelled something correctly. The man grunted with approval and looked at him with a dry stare.

The sound of a bell resounded from the center of the room and the stage was now surrounded by a thick crowd. Energy dissolved its way into the air, filling the room, resonating from the stage itself. Aaron thrust his things back into his sling and took out a pear which he began to smack away at. He stood, taking a few more bites, then throwing his pack over his shoulders and picking up his parcel he made his way to the center of the room. Slipping in and between the uncomfortable smell of smoke and sweat he arrived at one side of the stage, upon which he placed his parcel. Another harsh Asian man stood boastfully with his own parcel resting upon the stage directly across from Aaron, his eyes laughing at the stranger, feeling renewed confidence as he finished studying his feeble opponent. Both Aaron and the Asian, who stood across, unwrapped their parcels, revealing two wooden boxes, each with a small door. Aaron’s eye caught the sight of a moth fluttering its wings near a light which hung from the ceiling. The noise level raised a single notch and the crowd waited with palpable anticipation.

A bell rang and the crowd began to roar. The two men on the two sides of the stage pulled down the doors on each of their respective parcels and a cricket emerged from each, shuffling into the small stage, the scene weighing down on their chitinous shells. They advanced towards each other. Aaron glanced up at his opponent who felt his gaze, and if someone was looking very closely at the stranger, seemingly lost amidst the sea of Japanese, one might have caught the quickest of smiles.

Five minutes later a single cricket lay lifeless upon the stage while a ragingly insulted Japanese man fell to his knees and pounded his fists against the floor. Aaron was walking down the alley from which he came, parcel in hand, a sling full of money and a half eaten pear hung surprisingly lightly on his back. Aaron had not yet decided where he wanted to go as he turned left on to a street which he did not yet know; his eyes darted about and a thin smile came and left his face, lingering, perhaps, a bit longer than he had intended

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