Salmonella men on Planet Porno: stories

  “Yes, I can. Shall we then?” Saita agreed with a giggle of his own.

  Still giggling, he turned the dial very slightly, then pressed a button and gave me a nod. “Right. Let’s get out.”

  “All right.”

  We got out of the time machine, lay flat on the floor, and peered down into the shop below through cracks between the floorboards. I hadn’t arrived yet. Saita was on his own, pacing up and down nervously inside the shop.

  “Someone’s pacing up and down.”

  “It’s me,” said Saita.

  We were both about to laugh, but hurriedly covered each other’s mouths with our hands. Our eyes widened. Only our bodies continued to laugh.

  We peered through the cracks again.

  I arrived.

  “Oh, hi,” said Saita.

  Saita and I sat facing each other in the reception area at the back of the shop.

  “What’s up, then? What’s happened?” I asked, taking out a cigarette.

  “Well…” Saita drew circles on the table top. “Well, it’s not such a big deal, really…”

  “But you said I should come right away!”

  “Yes, that’s right. Well, actually,” he said, and started to giggle.

  “What? What’s it all about? Tell me, quick!”

  “All right. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you. But please. Don’t laugh.”

  “You’re laughing, aren’t you?!”

  “Am I? Oh. Well, anyway…”

  “What, then?”

  “Well, I’ve invented a time machine.”

  “…………………”

  “D-d-don’t laugh. Don’t.”

  “…………………”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “…………………”

  “Sorry. Tell me again. What have you done?”

  “Er, invented a t-t-time machine.”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “Have you invented a time machine?”

  “I’ve invented a time machine.”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’ve gone and invented a time machine.”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  “Wahahahahaha!”

  We wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. So we covered our mouths with our hands and writhed around in contortions on the floor of the upstairs room.

  Farmer Airlines

  A typhoon started to blow soon after we left the capital. All trains and boats were delayed, forcing us to make unscheduled stops. It was the morning of the third day – the last morning of a three-day trip – when we finally set eyes on our destination: Tit Island.

  “Ah. That explains the name.” My photographer Hatayama pointed a finger out across the sea. The island had a single, round mountain in its centre. To be more exact, the mountain was the island.

  We were being ferried across in a fisherman’s boat, lurching in all directions with the movement of the waves.

  “Is there some legend attached to the island?” I asked as the fisherman rowed on.

  “What if there is,” he replied with a surly expression. “Look at the shape of it. There’s bound to be a story or two. Just like any other island. But we keep them to ourselves. If word got round about our legends, tourists would come pouring in. The place would be wrecked.”

  So that was one thing less for me to write about. How disappointing.

  “What an excellent policy!” said Hatayama with more than a hint of sarcasm. The fisherman grimaced and sniffed loudly. He’d been very reluctant to bring his boat out at all, saying another typhoon was on the way. But we’d managed to persuade him with bribery and a certain amount of grovelling. He was stubborn all the same, as he’d taken an instant dislike to us city types.

  “Look! Terraced fields!” cried Hatayama in amazement. He was staring wide-eyed at the foot of the mountain. “I thought it was supposed to be uninhabited!”

  “Oh yes! So there are!”

  I had every reason to be dismayed. Our magazine had started its ‘Uninhabited Islands’ series in the previous month’s issue. If there were people living on the island, I’d have nothing to write about.

  “Daah! No one lives there,” said the fisherman. “People from Shiokawa just go across in boats to farm beans and potatoes.”

  Well, that was a relief.

  Shiokawa was a small farming-fishing village on the mainland. We’d stayed there the night before, in the village’s single, shabby little inn.

  That morning, I’d made a long-distance call from the inn to our Editor-in-Chief in Tokyo. I’d told him we’d be late in reaching the island because of the typhoon, and that our return would also be delayed by a couple of days. For no good reason he’d flown into a rage, accused me of taking it easy when everyone else was working hard, reminded me that ‘Uninhabited Islands’ was originally my idea, and said that I’d only submitted it because I wanted to skive off work. He’d ordered me to be back in the office by the following morning at the latest. If I wasn’t, I’d have my wages docked and the series would be pulled. That had brought me right down. I wondered if we really could return by the following morning. If another typhoon started up, there was no way we’d get back in time. I let out a gloomy sigh when I realized what a disastrous idea it had been.

  “The Chief lacks ambition,” said Hatayama, intuiting the reason for my sigh. “If he can’t see you in front of his nose, he thinks you must be up to no good.”

  “Yes, but that’s understandable for such a small company,” I argued.

  This Hatayama was even more irresponsible than I am. He used to go around announcing his own grievances as if he’d heard them from someone else. As it happens, the Editor-in-Chief is quite sensitive to people bad-mouthing him. And he disliked me enough already as it was.

  I did my best to stand up for him. “The Chief doesn’t have it easy, you know. If all five of the staff were away, he’d have to man the phones and receive visitors all by himself.”

  Hatayama looked back towards the stern. “You’re sure to come for us after midday, aren’t you?” he said with some trepidation.

  The old fisherman looked up at the ominously overcast sky. “Well, they say another typhoon’s coming.”

  I had a rush of blood. “Come on! What are we going to do on an uninhabited island in the middle of a typhoon?! You’ve got to come back for us. We’d be in real trouble otherwise. Say you’ll come back, for pity’s sake!”

  “Aah, you’ll be all right. There’s a hut where you can shelter from the rain. Besides, why else have you brought two lunch boxes each?”

  “That’s just in case!”

  Hatayama and I were on the verge of tears. We threw ourselves before him, our foreheads scraping the bottom of the heaving boat. “Please! Please!!” we begged.

  “You like putting your lives at risk, don’t you,” he said grudgingly. He looked down at us with an expression of astonishment mixed with loathing. “All right, I’ll come. Unless something happens, that is.”

  And that was about the best we could get out of him.

  The fisherman headed for the beach opposite Shiokawa, and dropped us there. Then off he rowed briskly, back across the sea, where the waves were starting to swell. I stood with Hatayama at the shore’s edge, gazing forlornly at the boat as it receded into the distance.

  “Right. Let’s give the place a quick once over,” I said at length. “We should be able to cover the island in two hours tops.”

  It took three hours to cover the island. Contrary to our initial impression, it wasn’t completely surrounded by sandy beaches. On the far side facing out to sea, the shoreline mostly consisted of sheer precipices. To make matters worse, the wind picked up on our way round and it was starting to rain.

  “I can’t take any more pictures in this,” announced Hatayama as he packed his camera back into its waterproof case.

  We
returned to the beach soon after midday, the appointed time. Just as we’d feared, there was no sign either of the fisherman or of his boat. The waves were even higher now. On the far shore, the white surf crashing on the rocks seemed to reach up into the ashen grey sky. Judging by the foul weather and the fisherman’s tone of voice earlier, there seemed little chance he would come. No, there was no way he would come. He must have heard the weather forecast, saying the typhoon would be severe. When things are going bad, they’re just bound to get worse. Or so we decided, as we weighed up our situation with pitiful faces.

  “We’ll catch cold here,” I said, looking up at the terraced fields. “He said there was a hut up there, didn’t he. Let’s go and find it.”

  “I’ve already caught a cold, mate,” said Hatayama. He let out an enormous sneeze, hurling nasal matter onto the ground as he did so.

  We climbed for a while through fields planted with beans. Then, in the middle of the island’s mountainous terrain, we came across a long, thin strip of land that had been levelled over a length of several hundred yards. What was it for? At one end of it stood a tiny shack. Approaching the shack like bedraggled rats, we prised open the door, which was fashioned from logs tied together vertically. Then in we rushed.

  There, on a raised platform at the back, we saw two farmers sitting face to face and drinking. One of them, a man in his forties, had horribly sticky eyes. The other was about thirty. The end of his nose was red – probably from an excess of alcohol.

  “Sorry to intrude,” I said by way of apology. “Does this hut belong to you?”

  “Ha! It don’t belong to no one,” answered the man with sticky eyes. “It’s for us folk from Shiokawa who farm the fields on the island. We use it to sleep in, or shelter from the rain.” He looked us up and down. “Have you got yourselves wet? Well, there’s some firewood over there. Why not light a fire and dry yourselves out.”

  “Where are you from?” asked the red-nosed man as we made up a fire.

  Hatayama and I took turns to tell our tale – that we were a writer and a photographer from an unfashionable monthly magazine for men, that we’d come to the island for a story but had orders to return to our office the next day, that we’d been held up by the typhoon and didn’t know what to do, and so on and so forth. Meanwhile, we dried our sodden clothes by the fire.

  “It looks as if another typhoon’s coming soon. How will you get back to Shiokawa?” I asked. “There’s not much chance of a boat coming out for you.”

  “Ah. You came in Jimbei’s boat too, did you?” said the sticky-eyed man. “That’s how we usually get across. But sometimes, when the sea’s rough like today, the boat don’t come and we can’t get back. We came over yesterday afternoon, once the typhoon had died down. We’re picking beans, see, and stayed the night here. We saw you coming over, when we was in the fields. We’ve only just finished working, in fact.” With his chin, he indicated four big baskets full of beans in a corner of the earthen floor. “And while we wait, we have a drop of this liquor we brought over with us.”

  So he wouldn’t answer my question. That irritated me. “But surely, you don’t mean to wait until the typhoon’s passed over, do you? Who knows when that’ll be?”

  “True. Jimbei won’t bring his boat out if there’s any height to the waves, for safety’s sake,” mumbled Sticky Eye.

  “Are there any other boats?” Hatayama asked expectantly.

  Sticky Eye lifted his face and looked at us both in turn. “Do you really want to get back so soon? Are you really in that much trouble?”

  “Yes. Of course!” I replied firmly.

  Red Nose pulled a face as if to stop him. But he didn’t notice and just carried on. “Well, there is the aeroplane.”

  “Aeroplane?!” In his surprise, Hatayama projected a missile of nasal matter onto the earthen floor. “An aeroplane from here to the mainland?”

  Sticky Eye gazed at Hatayama’s nasal missile with intense interest. “Sheesh!” he cried. “What a trick! This one can blow his nose without using his hands.” He turned to Hatayama and laughed. “How do you do that?”

  “I don’t remember seeing anything about an aeroplane on the timetable,” I said. “What airline is it?”

  “The company’s called Air Shiokawa,” answered Red Nose, looking over at me. “They’re not on the timetable because they don’t do regular flights. They only fly when the weather’s bad and boats can’t get across, or when people are stuck on the island and want to get back to Shiokawa.”

  “What? You mean there’s a flight just from here to Shiokawa?” exclaimed Hatayama. He bowed his head low. “Thank you very much! When and where will it arrive?”

  Red Nose looked at his watch. “Well, if it’s coming at all, it’ll be any time now. You must have seen the runway outside. That’s where it lands.”

  A bit short for a runway, I thought.

  “Yes, but we can’t be sure it’ll come today,” said Sticky Eye. He shook his head with a smile, as if to tease us. “I hear Gorohachi was bitten by a viper yesterday.”

  “Is Gorohachi the pilot, then?” I asked, overcome by a sense of foreboding. “Doesn’t he have a co-pilot?”

  Red Nose and Sticky Eye looked at each other.

  “Well, I suppose that would be Yoné.”

  “No, she can’t be the co-pilot. You only ever see Goro flying the plane.”

  “How much does it cost?” asked Hatayama guardedly. He was nothing if not stingy.

  “Well, now,” answered Sticky Eye, thinking hard. “Us folk from Shiokawa have season tickets, so it’s cheaper for us. But when tourists absolutely insist on flying, I think they charge about three thousand yen for the round trip, yes.”

  “Fifteen hundred yen each way? That’s a bit steep.” Hatayama wasn’t happy. “It must only take about ten minutes from here to Shiokawa.”

  I poked him in the ribs and intervened quickly. “No, no. If we can get across for fifteen hundred yen it’ll be well worth it. But anyway, are you saying this Air Shiokawa only has one aeroplane, and that people who aren’t from Shiokawa and don’t have season tickets aren’t allowed to use it, unless they really insist?”

  Sticky Eye was again unforthcoming. “Well. Yes. I suppose so.”

  In my anxiety, I inadvertently raised my voice. “And does this airline company have a proper business licence?”

  Red Nose gave me a sharp look. “Oy. If you want to get back to your office quickly, you’d best not ask that sort of question. And don’t go blabbing to others about it. You say you’re a writer, and I didn’t want you to know about the plane, because you might write about it. I only told you because you said you was desperate.”

  “I won’t tell anyone,” I proclaimed loudly, crumbling under the terrifying glare of Red Nose. “I won’t tell anyone, and I won’t write about it in the magazine.” There was no doubt – the aeroplane was privately owned, and operated without a licence.

  “Anyway, don’t worry,” Sticky Eye called over to me with a smile. “Gorohachi’s a fine pilot, and he’s got a proper licence.”

  Could anyone fly without a licence?

  “All right, shall we take the plane back then?” Hatayama whispered to me with some apprehension.

  “Of course we will!” I answered. “We’re the ones in a hurry. Something that convenient, we’d be daft not to take it.”

  I was a bit worried about what sort of plane it would be. But the Chief’s temper was more worrying at the moment. I was in no position to be fussy.

  “But he was bitten by a viper, was he not,” Sticky Eye continued.

  “What? I heard he was treated at Shiokawa General. He’ll be all right,” said Red Nose. “They’ve got blood there, too.”

  Now that our clothes were dry, Hatayama and I ate one of the lunch packs we’d brought. Still the plane didn’t arrive. The rain had eased somewhat, but the wind merely grew in intensity.

  “It won’t come,” said Hatayama. “I bet it won’t.” He looked rather relie
ved at the idea. I could see what he was thinking. Of course he wasn’t looking forward to a tongue-lashing from the Chief. But that would be better than dying in a plane crash.

  At that moment, there was a faint whirring sound in the distance, mixed with the sound of the wind.

  “There he is now.” Red Nose and Sticky Eye got up.

  We rushed out of the hut in front of them. We wouldn’t be happy until we could see this aeroplane with our own eyes.

  A light plane, flying at low altitude from the Shiokawa direction, was making a sweeping circle above the bean fields. I didn’t know what type it was, but it had a stumpy fuselage with a propeller on each wing.

  “Well, it’s more or less a proper aeroplane, isn’t it. We’ll be all right in that. Won’t we. Eh.” Hatayama was trying to convince himself.

  “What else were you expecting, if not a proper aeroplane?” I countered, staring at him. “Don’t talk garbage.”

  Pummelled by the wind, the plane shook violently as it turned and prepared for landing some distance from the runway. Then it came towards us, flapping its wings up and down. The wings weren’t flapping in alternation. They flapped up and down at the same time.

  “Can aeroplanes flap their wings?” asked Hatayama in a frightened little voice.

  “Of course they can’t,” I replied with irritation. “It’s just the wind doing that.”

  “Wait a minute! The runway’s too short!” Hatayama shrieked. He stood transfixed as the aeroplane approached, wheels still retracted. How close would it come? Hatayama prepared to run.

  When the wheels at last touched the ground, the plane bounced on the runway. I closed my eyes.

  “No. It ain’t Gorohachi,” yelled Sticky Eye, standing behind us. “He’s better at it than that.”

  Who was it, if not Gorohachi? I opened my eyes again to find out. The plane made a thunderous noise as it careered towards us on the runway. It was sure to plough straight into us.

  “Nooooo! It’s going to hit the hut!” Hatayama was long gone. I followed him, diving headlong into the bean field beside us.

  The aeroplane reversed the pitch of its propellers, and screeched to a halt just inches from the hut.