“May he then remember his beloved.
May he hear her sweet song like a dove.
To his last breath may he guard his homeland.
Like Katyusha guards their tender love.” –
Katyusha (translated English lyrics)
Previous Chapter
Chapter Seventeen (Hanako): Cossacks and Cocktails
Wherever Misha was leading us, it was in a less built up part of the city. The kind of place where you have lots of plazas filled with cafes, liquor stores, memorabilia merch shops, and tabletop wargaming stores (one of which distracted Hisao with an Imperial Guard display.)
I was surprised such a part of the city was so deep within it. The area’s sparseness and under-built atmosphere made me nervous, but it was well lit and maintained, and not very crowded. Men and women in casual business-ware were meandering around, mixed in with small groups of people in their mid-twenties. A few looked like they had come from the concert, but most seemed to be going about their normal business. The lack of major crowding and the cover of night helped keep me calm, even if the area itself looked a little creepy.
“We’re here~!” Misha declared with a flourish, not long after leaving the stadium’s grounds and entering this older part of town.
“Here” turned out to be an old brick building that looked like it belonged in a small Eastern European town, and not the middle of Tokyo. A large sign above the dark wooden door declared the place to be “Bar and Grill”, with some Cyrillic letters before the kanji that I didn’t recognize, but earned an amused smirk from Kenji.
“Clever,” he remarked.
Misha nodded, “He thinks so, at least~.”
Emi, tilting her head at the sign in confusion, blinked and stated, “I don’t get it.”
“The word before Bar is the Russian word for bar,” Kenji explained, “so it basically says ‘Bar Bar and Grill.”
“Yup, yup~!” Misha declared.
Smiling lightly at the word play, if you could call it that, I continued to examine the building. Two large rectangular tinted windows flanked the door, one of which bore a glowing neon sign declaring “open” in kanji hanging from the inside. Lilly, who I was guiding again because Kwan and Hisao were playing pack mule for our purchases, titled her head quizzically at me. I leaned closer and gave her a brief description of our surroundings, which earned me an appreciative nod.
“So,” Hisao asked, “where exactly is here?”
“You’ll see~,” Misha replied, opening the door and gesturing for us to enter with a wide smirk.
I glanced at everyone to gauge their responses. Kwan nodded and wandered in. After a glance and shrug at me, Emi quickly followed. Hisao caught my eye and I nodded, and he followed after them. Lilly gave me a reassuring nod, and I led her into the bar, Kenji close behind.
The inside was rather Western, with round and square tables scattered to the door’s right, and a long bar counter to the left, parallel to the wall. The opposite wall had several framed images I couldn’t identify, under which two weary men in their early twenties appeared to be playing five finger filet. A few tables were occupied with middle aged and older men, who eyed us warily as we entered. Their intense gaze caused me to shuffle behind Lilly a bit, my right hand momentarily wanting to cover my face, despite that arm being locked with Lilly’s.
Misha, who had moved to the front of the group after closing the door behind us, gave a cheery wave to the seated patrons. The men nodded and waved back, smirking lightly. The bar itself was empty, and the bartender himself seemed to be an older man with grizzled white hair and wiry frame. He was currently hunched down under the counter, facing towards us but unable to see us.
“Uncle Grigori~!” Misha shouted, making the rest of us flinch, “I’m baaack~!”
The bar tender perked his left ear towards her voice and slowly looked up from his stooped position. When he saw Misha he grinned widely and returned the shout with an equal one of his own, “Misha! When did you come back from the States?”
At that point Misha pelted forward, vaulting over and behind the bar counter and grabbing the older man in a fierce hug, which he returned eagerly. The two held each other for a moment before breaking out into a frenzied conversation in Russian.
I glanced at Kenji at the same time Hisao did; Kenji was a bit of a savant with languages, and back then was already dabbling in Russian, French, and of course, English.
Kenji listened for a moment before saying, “They’re just saying hi and catching up and stuff. I think.”
I nodded and turned to look at Misha. She had broken off the hug and leapt back over the counter. With a sweeping gesture and a wide grin, she motioned to us and stated, “Uncle Grigori, these are some friends of mine- Kwan, Emi, Hisao, Lilly, Hanako, and Kenji.”
“Pleased to meet you,” we all said with a light bow.
“The pleasure is mine!” Grigori declared, his voice loud and cheerful, “Come, sit, I’ll get the cook’s off their asses and to work on some food for you.”
Grigori turned around and barked in Russian at the two young men as they played their psychotic knife game. The two men responded and heaved themselves up, meandering to a back door built into the far wall I hadn’t noticed before.
“Come on, come on~!” Misha stated, “Sit, sit~!”
Feeling both underdressed, out of place, and mildly confused, we all slowly took our seats. Kenji, Hisao, and Kwan took the left-most seats with Emi, Lilly, myself, and Misha taking the next four. It felt good to rest my feet, which was probably one reason I wasn’t more nervous. Though Grigori’s genial nature no doubt helped with that as well.
“You’re probably wondering how Misha knows me,” Grigori said with a smirk.
“The thought did cross my mind,” Kenji stated.
“He’s my uncle from another grandmother~!” Misha declared.
We all blinked in confusion, except Lilly, who settled for an expression of mild befuddlement.
Grigori smiled and chuckled. Tapping a faded black and white photo along the wall across from us that showed two middle-aged men –one Japanese, one not, though he did look to have some steppe-like features- standing behind two young boys –again, one Japanese, one not- he said, “Our families have known each other for a long time. My grandfather fled Russia during the Civil War, stopped in Japan, and never left.”
“That must’ve got rough during the war years,” Kenji remarked.
Grigori shrugged, “It was what it was. Getting here was the tricky part, according to my grandfather. It is truly a wondrous tale, too! One that I would be delighted to share with you all, but, stories are for later; what would you like to drink and eat?”
After placing our drink and food orders, Grigori went to work, easily chatting as he did so, even when he paused to go bark at the kitchen staff. Once the drinks were served and the food on its way, he proceeded to regale us with his stories, no doubt excited at having a new audience. It was really one long epic, involving his grandfather and most of his family –a few urbanite cousins had joined up with the Reds- as they struggled east to Vladivostok.
With the Trans-Siberian Railway under constant attack, they had to go on foot for the bulk of the journey. On the way to linking up with the 31st Infantry Regiment of the American Expeditionary Force Siberia, and the part of the railway they protected, the band of refugees apparently had to fend off bitter weather, raiding Cossacks, rioting peasants, and roving bands of Soviet soldiers, along with Tsarist loyalists who were apparently too poorly disciplined or too pissed off to care who they shot at.
The guys were completely enthralled, listening with rapt attention. Emi half-listened as she sipped her strawberry daiquiri, Grigori’s animated method of storytelling managing to keep her mildly interested, it seemed. It also helped explain why Misha was so loud; Grigori was evidently deaf in his right ear, and spoke nearly as loudly as his adopted niece. Lilly was half-listening out of politeness, though she seemed to be enjoying the story; perhaps all the drama and tension fit into her mystery genre preferences. Or she just didn’t have anything else to do, as I was presently focusing on Misha, who seemed to be drinking her dinner.
The food arrived quickly, consisting mostly of sample platters, though Kenji had ordered a pizza, and Lilly had ordered some scotch eggs and a draft stout, to everyone’s surprise. Her defense was that such a combination was traditional, so we let it go. The food’s arrival barely broke Grigori’s stride, and his tale continued as we ate. Most of us, at least.
Misha, probably having heard the same stories a million times over, continued to work her way through a liquid meal, her golden eyes unfocused as she stared blankly at the wall. Occasionally she picked at some food, but she didn’t appear to be hungry as she worked her way through a myriad of brightly colored cocktails. Neither behavior struck me as normal for Misha, or particularly healthy for anyone. Since I was sitting next to her, I decided to say something; she was clearly upset about something, and I was starting to get an idea of what that something might be.
“A-are you okay?” I asked her.
Misha smiled goofily at me and nodded, “Sure, sure~. Why wouldn’t I be?”
I wrung my hands, unsure if I should mention my earlier speculation about her and Shizune. If she was going to try and drink her problems away, though, I felt like I had to say something.
“W-well…” I started, “I was just th-thinking, things between you and Sh-Shizune might be a bit rough, with you being in America.”
Misha waved her hand airily, nearly knocking over an empty glass in the process, “WAHAHAHA~! We’re fine~. Fine~!”
Shaking my head slightly to stop the ringing her laugh had caused, I asked, ““Have you talked to her since you were back in Japan?”
Misha blinked and stared at me, her goofy smile replaced with a thoughtful expression. Putting down her emptied drink, she slowly signed out, [How’s your sign language?]
I blinked and slowly responded, [Poor.] Raising an eyebrow, I asked, “Why do you ask?”
Misha shrugged and waved for another drink, “Just curious if you’ve been keeping at it~.”
I frowned as Grigori appeared to place a drink on the counter. Collecting the empty ones, he caught my eye and jerked his head at Misha. Hoping I understood correctly, I nodded stiffly. Grigori smiled and retreated.
I moved to grab a mozzarella stick from a nearby platter. When Misha moved to grab her new drink, I used my free hand to snatch it before she could.
Misha blinked slowly at me, her eyes blearily eyeing me, the drink, and then me again, “What are you doing, Hana…cchan~?”
“I think you’ve had enough,” I declared, pulling the drink towards me.
Misha eyed the drink again, then sighed and reached for some sesame balls on a nearby plate, “Probably~… you can have it…”
I nodded and took a sip of the drink, which turned out to be a double pomegranate martini. Eyeing Misha as she fiddled with the ball in her hands, I said, “So, something is wrong between you and Shizune?”
Misha sighed and nodded, apparently giving in to my pestering in lieu of drinking her problems away, “We had a fight.”
“About anything specific?” I asked while I munched on the stick.
Misha nodded, eyeing my new drink sadly before popping the sesame ball into her mouth, “Yep~.”
“Wanna talk about it?” I asked, getting an idea of what it was like talking to me when I was depressed.
Misha shakily straitened herself up a bit, turning to face me completely. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot, the warmth of their dark amber bleached away. Slowly, she nodded.
“Take your time,” I stated, sipping my drink.
.
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