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The first time Jabber saw Zanka he was arguing with a registrar outside the main entrance at Tokyo Medical and Dental University Hospital. Jabber was 29 and an intern surgeon .
They started fighting before they started talking everything was a debate consent forms , on call rosters or whether coffee was better black or ruined with milk.
Zanka won most of the fights because he liked winning Jabber not minding stayed because losing to Zanka didn’t feel like losing.
They built their marriage the way they built everything else and that was by challenging each other into better shapes. Zanka made Jabber take leave and sit in Yoyogi Park without his phone while Jabber made Zanka run loops around the Imperial Palace he complained about for three days after. At night on their small balcony in a 2DK apartment in Kichijoji they traded the worst parts of their days. Hospital.
For a long time that was enough.
Until that night.
The page came in like they always did sudden and impersonal but urgent. 'Pediatric gunshot trauma bay now.'
Jabber was ten minutes out when a delivery truck ran the light on Koshu Kaido. The impact threw him into the wheel , his right hand took the force and for a second his fingers felt like they belonged to someone else. He sat in the car flexed them one by one under the streetlight and told himself the swelling was nothing that the ache was nothing and that the patient was everything.
He scrubbed in anyway.
In theater the child’s blood wouldn’t behave it pooled where it shouldn’t and ran where it couldn’t be caught. Jabber’s hand moved but the feedback was wrong and dulled like operating through a glove that was half a size too big. When the monitor flatlined the sound didn’t echo. Malpractice didn’t come with handcuffs but with months dragging out by lawyers for the family. Lawyers for the hospital including the “experts” on the stand saying “compromised dexterity” and “impaired clinical judgment.” The press didn’t use his name at first until later on in the fight.
He lost the room and the pager that used to vibrate against his hip like a second heartbeat. followed by his healthy weight that made him look like a man who lived in his body his shoulders rounded. The warm caramel brown of his skin went dull like someone had turned the light down in him. the hobbies came nextt he stopped runnin and stopped cooking.
Whiskey came first because it was legal and fast then pills because a friend of a friend said they took the edge off. Then something heavier because when the edge was gone the quiet underneath was worse.Zanka didn’t pack a bag or say “I’m done.” He said “Fix this” and then he started staying at the firm in Marunouchi until midnight billing hours like armor, he moved to the guest room because Jabber smelled like liquor and because the silence between them at dinner had started to cut.
Tenth year of their marriage….
It was supposed to be one drink the partners had won the kind of case that gets your name on the firm’s website so the wine kept coming and the room got louder.Follo was the forensic accountant the firm kept on retainer he had the kind of suit that looked expensive without trying and jokes that made him laugh without trying that night he walked Zanka to Shinjuku Station.
The love hotel was three blocks away tucked off Yasukuni dori….
One night became a pattern. Hotels in Shibuya then hotels s in Roppongi. Keycards in Zanka’s wallet that he never threw away. They made rules to pretend it was contained no texts during court hours no names in their own beds and no talk of the future.
Follo broke the last rule with his shirt on the floor and his forehead against Zanka’s, “I can’t do this if it’s only guilt when you’re done pretending, I'll be here.”For a year Zanka told himself it was contingency it would be a door left open in case Jabber fell again.
Eleventh year of their marriage……
Jabber wasn’t supposed to be on that street. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t be thats when he saw them Follo’s hand in Zanka’s .The kiss under the awning of a hotel in Dogenzaka was quick like people who didn’t have to hide from themselves.
He didn’t throw a brick or make a scene. He took the train back to Kichijoji and sat on the bathroom floor until his knees hurt and then he started clawing his way back.Withdrawal was not cinematic it came was sweat that soaked through three shirts a night it was his ribs showing under skin that didn’t fit him and it was lying awake and hearing that hotel door every time he closed his eyes.
He started eating because the mirror was an accusation. He started lifting again because he wanted to recognize his own arms again also putting in effort to cook as it reminded him of his past efforts and Zankas love for his peri peri chicken and miso soups.
He started asking Zanka to dinner again while inviting him to join him in the gym. he tried to make the balcony their chat zone again.
Zanka said yes sometimes. Two months later he moved his toothbrush back to their bathroom but also kept a folded love hotel keycard in his wallet like a coin for a toll he might have to pay.
The private investigator….
Shoto was ex police. He didn’t moralize because morals didnt pay his rent he just delivered envelopes…..
Photograph after photograph ,”Zanka and Follo in a lobby in Akasaka in an elevator or in a car park with Tokyo Tower blurred behind them. There was one at a coffee shop in Omotesando Follo’s thumb resting on Zanka’s knuckles in a way that looked like habit.
Jabber paid every invoice. He filed the photos in a drawer he never opened in front of Zanka and never mentioned them.
At home he learned how to act like a husband again. He made Zanka’s favorite meal and set two plates and didn’t complain when Zanka moved food around instead of eating it he asked about cases.One night they ended up in the same bed not because they’d negotiated it but because the distance had gotten tired. It was skin on skin with Jabbers hand in Zankas hair and for ten minutes it felt like before.
In the dark after he started talking "Follo…” Zanka started like a word he’d forgotten he was holding.
Jabber poured more wine and didn’t ask he also didn’t flinch.
Eleventh year of their marriage…June.
Zanka didn’t expect to be home on a Thursday.
Court had been adjourned at 10am because the judge’s daughter was in hospital. He’d texted the office dumped his files in the car and drove back to Kichijoji he hadn't made it far before he smelled it.
Coffee.....real coffee not the instant Zanka had started making ,no this was ground beans the kind Jabber used to buy from that little roastery in Kiyosumi-Shirakawa before everything went wrong. Garlic,onion….something frying.
He stepped into the kitchen and stopped.
Jabber was at the stove back to him wearing one of Zanka’s old grey tshirts that hung loose on him two months ago and didn’t anymore. His shoulders filled it now his locs were in a half up half down style and had gotten them retwisted . On the counter were two mugsmand a plate with toast another with eggs that weren’t burnt at the edges.
He looked… well.
Not “trying" or “performing". The sallow was gone from his skin and the hollows under his eyes had filled in much more color in him again the warm caramel brown Zanka used to trace with his thumb.
Jabber turned when he heard the door.
For a second neither of them moved.
Zanka’s first thought wasn’t he’s clean or that he’s back It was more…Who is this man in my kitchen?
Because the last year had trained him to read Jabber like a warning sign , the slur or the shake in the hand holding a mug. This version of him didn’t match the file Zanka had been keeping in his head.
Jabber didn’t smile big or make it a moment he just lifted a mug and said, “You like it black I remember.”
He slid the mug across the counter no sloshing just a steady hand .Zanka took it because not taking it would have been louder than taking it the ceramic was hot against his palm.
“I thought you had theater consults,” Zanka said. His voice came out thin.
“Cancelled” Jabber said. “I wanted to be here when you got in.”
He said it like it was normal as if it wasn’t the first time in a year he’d said here and meant with him on purpose.
Zanka drank his coffee…it was good too good. It tasted like grief for something he didn’t know he missed Jabber plated eggs and slid one over he didn’t watch Zanka eat. He just leaned against the counter with his arms crossed looking at him the way he used to before the incident.
Zanka should have asked about his recovery and the tests or maybe the results Jabber never shared.
Instead he said, “You’re up early.”
“So are you,” Jabber said.
And that was it no speech or questions just coffee, egg and the unbearable weight of a man who looked like the husband Zanka had lost. Later in his car outside the office Zanka sat with both hands on the wheel and couldn’t remember driving there pulled out his phone ,Follo hadn’t texted he typed something anyway.
Then deleted it.
That morning sat under his ribs for weeks it was the reason he moved his toothbrush as well as products back to their bathroom two months later it was also the reason he kept the love hotel keycard. Because believing in ghosts was dangerous.
Eleventh year of their marriage….October.
“It’s just a conference” Follo said voice tinny over the phone. “I’ll only be gone for two weeks.”
Two weeks became three his messages stayed unread. Calls went to voicemail Zanka told himself it was timing forcing himself to feel relief but he checked his phone every hour thumb hovering .At home he and Jabber were careful with each other but careful is a quieter kind of cruelty it just means you’re measuring every sentence before you say it.
Zanka noticed the changes and hated that he did Jabber’s frame filling out under his shirts again as well as the healthy hue in his face. The way he said “If you want we can go get me tested..” And meant it he wanted to believe it he was furious that he doubted him.
8. 5:42pm .The Anniversary…
Tokyo at late afternoon is heat and dust and traffic that doesn’t move so much , Zanka’s office in Marunouchi smelled like paper printer ink and coffee that had been sitting too long.His phone buzzed on the desk.
Jabber: “Hey babe.”
Zanka’s jaw tightened before he could stop it a reflex , he was listening for the slur for the drag at the end of words or the tell he’d learned to hear it wasn’t there. Jabber’s voice came through clear level and unhurried.
“Don’t be late tonight ok,” he said. “I made your favorite can you believe we’re eleven years today Zan?”
No accusation or performance. Just the sentence they used to say every year when the marriage was still a thing they celebrated instead of survived Zanka looked down Follo’s draft sat open on his laptop ',We need to talk' he typed the keycard was still in his wallet.
“I’ll be home on time” he said.
“Good” Jabber said.
Click.
Zanka sat there with the phone in his hand a second too long then he locked his office took the elevator down and walked into the Chuo-dori traffic.
Zanka arrived to find Jabber had gone all out for their anniversary dinner , their lights dimmed to a low lightfl owers on the table a few dishes set out tonkastu, gyoza,and some curry Jabber put a bowl of ramen infront of Zanka.
“Did you change your recipe?” Zanka asks pushing the ramen away to bite into a piece of tonkatsu. “Nope same recipes try the gyoza.” Jabber says while placing it on the frowning Zankas plate.
“Maybe I’m coming down with something i am not enjoying any of this Jabber.” Zanka finishes and puts his chopsticks down.
Jabber looks up leans back in his chair arms folded“I made dinner for you Zan but you say it’s awful which is strange because you seemed to love Follo”…
Zanka’s stomach lurched as Follo’s name sank in. The tender meat the rich broth and every bite he’d just taken the bites digesting inside him Jabber’s calm smile across the anniversary table confirmed his horro he had just eaten the man he’d betrayed him with the same man Zanka was waiting to hear from.