Twilight Express, Chapter Three: The Salon Car

Revised Nov. 30, 2006

Melina felt the tall man’s eyes upon her from the next table and wondered why he didn’t pursue a newspaper or manga like any other salaryman. She stared at her newspaper, stymied by the sudden attention but not wanting to return to her tiny sleeper.

He finally spoke. “I’m sorry to stare, but I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”

He explained that he had seen her at a cocktail party in Osaka several weeks ago, but had not been introduced to her. She relaxed, thankful he was not some well-dressed madman. He offered to buy her a drink. She paused and finally suggested he order for them. He ordered two single malts. She invited him to join her at her table.

Melina studied him carefully as they drank. He was about 5'10" tall, tanned, probably from the north island. He was wearing an expensive suit, not one of the cheap and shiny suits she saw so often. His name was Shinichi Sakakura. She guessed him to be in his mid to late 50s. His scrubbed, rough hands and wide shoulders suggested he had spent a portion of his life doing manual work: something in his favor. Having been raised by working-class parents, Melina did not care for pampered young executives with baby-soft hands.

During the next hour and a half, she learned that he was an architect with an office in Osaka. He was no stranger to the sleeper train, as he often took it to his country home, preferring the traditional luxury of the Twilight Express to the bullet train service. He had spent 18 months studying architecture in England. He had friendly eyes that crinkled slightly when he smiled. His English was remarkably good, although they switched from Japanese to English or vice-versa, depending on the topic of conversation.

They eventually moved to the restaurant car. Shinichi learned that Melina was from Boston, an only child of Irish working-class parents. One of her teachers had identified her facility for foreign language after hearing the eight-year old Melina chatting to a new student from Hong Kong in near-perfect Cantonese. Later, she had been awarded a full scholarship to study Asian languages.

After their dinner plates were taken away, Melina asked if he would like to play cards. Shinichi was surprised and impressed when she quickly produced a pack of cards from her Prada handbag and began shuffling like a casino dealer. He found himself losing a near-embarrassing amount of money to the canny gaijin during the first 20 minutes they played. He began to worry that he might be forced to write her a check if his luck didn't change.

Shinichi kept watching her as she dealt the cards and studied her hands. He was no less intrigued by Melina than when he'd first seen her. She was intelligent and polite, with a dry sense of humor that reminded him of his time in England. She didn't rattle on about herself for hours on end. And her physical presence encouraged his month-long fantasy of seduction. He kept sneaking glances at her delicate mouth and white skin. Gradually he realized that he was literally aching to touch her.

He began thinking of possible ways to invite her to his home instead of continuing to Sapporo, where she would probably disappear once again, this time for good. He would offer her the use of his spare bedroom and a tour of the countryside the next day. But how could he make such a suggestion when he was sure his desire would be transparent to her? While she had been increasingly friendly to him during the card game, she had not flirted with him at all.

The train passed a small clearing and he realized his stop was only 20 minutes away. He fell silent, played his next hand badly, began shuffling the deck mindlessly. Finally Melina asked if she had somehow offended him.

Suddenly he was compelled to tell the truth. “When I first saw you, I couldn’t stop looking at you,” he said. He explained his wish to be introduced to her, his disappointment when she suddenly departed the cocktail party. He was quiet again for a minute. She looked at him unafraid, curious, waiting for him to speak again, her head slightly tilted to one side.

“I know this is a great risk, and I beg you not be offended, but I would like to ask you to be my guest at my house tonight,” he said. He stumbled on, mentioning the spare room, offering to take her sightseeing in his car, promising to take her straight to Sapporo any time of the day or night if she wished.

Suddenly she stopped him.

“I accept your invitation. Thank you very much. It’s very generous.”