Short Story Attempt: "Looking for single Tajik woman"

"Looking for single Tajik woman"


“Tajik lady sought for a serious relationship leading to marriage. I'm 40, a permanent resident, single, and live near Tokyo. I can speak your language. Serious replies only.”

He looked the ad over twice and made sure it got across what he hoped it would. It felt a bit silly, putting in a personal ad into a foreign magazine, but he wasn't sure he had much of a choice about the matter anymore. For a second his cursor hovered over the send button before he sighed and hit it anyway. No turning back now.

For a moment he stared at the monitor, running a hand through his hair. His hand hit the bald spot at the back of his head several times and he began contemplating possibly getting a hair piece or some sort of tonic to grow it back; ladies aren't into balding older men, or so he'd gathered from the celebrity magazines, and if he was supposed to find a potential wife, he certainly didn't want them to know about his balding problem just yet. He sat a moment longer before his cellphone, still set in manner mode, went off in his pocket and forced him back to reality.

Drawing the slim white phone from his pocket, he checked the caller id and groaned to himself. Mother, it read, and he let it ring just a moment longer before he decided to answer. Swallowing hard, he prepared himself for what would probably be an irritating conversation.

“Hello?”

“Akio, it's your mother,” her voice was much too loud and he had to pull the speaker away from his ear.

“Yes, I know. How are you?”

“Oh, fine, fine. Father is at Dr. Morioka's getting his prostate checked again. I'm getting worried, you know, he hasn't been eating his vegetables like he should and I think that's contributing to this cancer business. If you ask me...”

Akio rolled his eyes as his mother carried on with her ideas about cancer and cancer treatments. Honestly, he wasn't worried about his father's condition, considering that the man had been in remission for many months now. Only his mother seemed concerned about it, which he supposed was a good thing because someone ought to care for the old man and it might as well be her. It was, after all, her job since she didn't work and didn't hold a degree.

“Have you found a wife yet?”

Akio blinked at the far wall, unaware how she had gone from talking about cancer to his lack of a love life, but he indulged her anyway. “No, mother, not yet.”

“When are you going to find someone? You know, all your classmates have already got wives, kids, and good paying jobs so they can take care of their families. Why haven't you gotten that yet?”

“I've already told you, mother, I'm just looking for the right girl.”

“There's plenty of nice Japanese girls in Osaka, maybe you should come home, get out of Tokyo. You know, Sachiko, that nice little girl in your year is still single, who knows why. You could always meet up with her...”

“Mother, I don't want to marry a Japanese girl.”

“Oh,” she tutted and he could mentally see her wagging a finger at him, “when are you going to stop that nonsense? Those Pakistani girls are no good for you. We never should have let you do that culture exchange when you were younger, but you were so persistent, only thinking about yourself. The things Father and I suffered for you...”

It was another tirade about how inconsiderate he was and how foolish he was being now; Akio knew the speech by heart and really didn't care to hear it again. Putting the phone down on the table, he got up and walked to the small kitchen where a pot of coffee sat waiting for him. He poured the last cup and stared down at it for a moment; he would have to get more imported.

Taking the first sip, Akio closed his eyes and leaned against the fridge behind him. Just the smell of the fresh roasted grounds reminded him of her. Reminded him of the beautiful mosaic tiled floor with the din of a thousand voices speaking in a language he didn't know, or hadn't known at the time. The smell of the coffee was overwhelming and so was her beauty.

The day had been hot, unbearably so, and he had left his sweat towel in the hotel by mistake. He was young, in college and was studying architecture, and all of his classmates had decided to go on this trip to see some of the famous fortresses they had been studying about that term. For two months he had begged his parents to help endorse the trip; between them and the money he had saved from his part-time job, he found himself in Pakistan with a small group of classmates on a guided tour of the area, drinking coffee in the late afternoon during their few hours of free time for lunch.

Between sips of the hot coffee Akio swiped at his forehead and wiped the sweat from his hands onto his jeans. That was when he saw her. She was clad in a bright yellow sari, adorned with gems and little trinkets that jingled when she walked. In her hands was a handkerchief, plain white with a small flower embroidered on it, and she confidently walked over to him and handed it to him. She murmured something in Urdu at him but he couldn't follow it and just smiled at her. She had smiled back, her face so close to his for a fraction of a second, before she walked away and back inside the small cafe.

A sudden noise from his cellphone brought him out of his dream and he rushed to pick up the receiver, “No, mother, I'm still here. Just bad reception. Sorry.”

“Oh, alright. I thought so. Well, Father is home so I need to go. Think about what I said about Sachiko and come back home and visit. Tokyo isn't good for you, I can hear it in the way you speak. I'll cook you a big traditional dinner and I'll invite Sachiko and her family over and we'll have a big reunion.”

“That sounds wonderful, mother,” he said hurriedly. “I'll call you later. Bye.”

“Bye bye. Take care.”