No More Heroes

No More Heroes

Henry Biernacki

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2010 Henry Biernacki. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/9/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8977-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8976-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-8975-1 (sc)

Library of Congress Conrol Number: 2010916176

Printed in the United States of America

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Cover art and sketches by Rex Jeng Huan Liu and Janet Chen-Yi Chang

Contents

PART I

BOOK I

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

BOOK II

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

BOOK III

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

BOOK IV

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

BOOK V

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

PART II

BOOK VI

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

BOOK VII

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

About the Author

To my Mother and Father

PART I

Stand tall, very tall in all yhee do—humble-quiet-confident only to find yheeself free—oh so free so thy shal’t catch thy dream of thy ‘morrows!

BOOK I

The Best Sushi Bar

CHAPTER I

Summer Shower

Their lives changed in July. He thought back to the time he spent with her and the night they took their first drink together.

She wore dull silver earrings. They matched her dull silver watch and everything matched the duller ring on her right hand. Then it came to him as he saw her jewelry, the same color as the outer fringes of the clouds which glided, low, along and past San Francisco Bay where a person lost the ability to see where the city began and ended. Finally behind the silver of the clouds and the lining Bay Bridge it felt like a drive off the end of the world.

When he saw her jewelry, he thought of the Bay Bridge. Now, Niklas was not sure which reminded him of the end of the world.

Her clothes were as dull as her jewelry. Her smile made up for her lack of wardrobe attire. She did not need a thing to prove she was a woman. Her muumuu dress was old but she wore it as elegantly as any ballroom gown.

They set up a time to meet at Miyake’s, the best sushi bar in Cupertino, CA, the middle of Silicon Valley. As Niklas waited in the parking lot he crashed through a memory as he looked up to see the clouds clatter against the heavens. As she approached him she asked, Are you Niklas? He could tell she was a real type after she asked him, What’s your racket?

A sea of clouds rolled in hard. The humid air foretold of a pleasant summer shower. The sky darkened.

CHAPTER II

Attention to Detail

Better get there early. No matter what day it was, Miyake’s had a line. Waiters came outside to ask, Sushi bar or table? People waited to grab a seat at the sushi bar. Niklas looked inside as the door closed and he could hear the sushi chefs yell in Japanese, "Irasshaimase," as the sting of knives whizzed through the air and sliced soft pieces of the freshest sushi.

She quickly told him her name, Suria. Then quickly corrected herself and said, But most people call me Foxybird. Foxy’s protruding green veins and bony hands told Niklas she was older than he thought. She explained why she used the name Foxybird. This is, of course, my email name. Do you think young men with green eyes would take to me if they knew my age? Actually, I love birds. She glowed and went on, I have to have an interesting email name. If you have to, she said with a half laugh, you may call me by my first name. After a pause she repeated, Suria.

Later, Niklas started calling her Foxy. There was only one other time he called her Suria. The name Foxy was a better image for the radiant bouquet of stories she told with diligently chosen words.

He smiled on her behalf as he said, I do not care how old anyone is, as long as they are interesting. That is my racket!

She immediately realized he did not use contractions when he spoke.

He rarely used them because the more he traveled and the more he spoke to people around the world he realized they never understood him when he said something like, I can’t do that.

As they waited outside the restaurant, Foxy’s eyes focused on an ancient-looking Chinese man. He was no more than five feet from them. The old man had two long strands of hair hanging from the dark mole on the side of his cheek. Niklas stood next to the sidewalk away from the large glass windows looking out onto the parking lot and DeAnza Boulevard. Niklas saw the vein in Foxy’s neck pulse with excitement. Out of the twelve people waiting to be seated the old Chinese man caught Foxybird’s attention.

Niklas was next to this eighty-year-old woman, Foxybird, who five minutes before he had never met. In the Bay area, anything is acceptable. Niklas watched her closely as she leaned on her fist the way air leans on mountains. Light! She focused intently on this Chinese man. It was as if she were a child in her first day of school and was amazed at her teacher.

Conversations surrounded Niklas and Foxy but she watched the old man. Usually Niklas never paid attention to anything when he had a good conversation, but Foxy watched the old man, and he observed Foxy. Niklas had never seen a person look at another with such an interested eye. Most people have a judging eye rather than an interested one. Niklas looked back at the old man and wondered what Foxy fancied about him. Niklas had not seen the details Foxy saw.

The ancient man pulled out tobacco and Rizla paper, squatted on the curb to roll a thick cigarette while his family impatiently waited to have their name called by one of the waiters. The Chinese man couldn’t be bothered with such meaningless problems and Niklas could see that the man told himself that his family was being too loud by the way he turned his head away when they tried to talk to him. The man desperately wanted to listen to the crackling of the ashes. He smiled at the little girl next to him dressed in a pink Hello Kitty dress. As the man sucked on the cigarette he looked at her, trying to tell her to be patient with life.

It should be lived slower. When Niklas looked at the old man with his gray hair and fair skin, his small squinted eyes told him life, so delicate, should not slip past people without realizing how special it really is.

Some people gain inner peace in a difficult manner while others seem to know it innately.

Foxybird saw this in the old Chinese man’s eyes. Niklas saw her smile as the man looked at her. They understood one another.

As he nodded to her she looked at him and said, ‘how are you,’ in Chinese, "Ni hao ma?"

The man immediately responded, "Wo hen hao, xiexie."

After she said, I’m fine thank you. Niklas liked the fact that she was a Caucasian lady who learned Mandarin since she lived in the predominately Taiwanese community of Cupertino. Also, to Niklas he was not surprised since Caucasians were the minority in California. The majority were Asians, Mexicans. The man lit the tip of his paper-art filled with a thick roll of tobacco. He pulled the cigarette away from his mouth and blew on it the way a person blows on a campfire to get it started. He wanted the ashes to start burning. As he pulled the cigarette away from his mouth he jerked the object back to his lips and started sucking it down like a chimney burning dry wood. Niklas could see the dimples in his cheeks now and the old man was finding so much pleasure in his cigarette Niklas could have taken up smoking at that particular moment.

The Chinese man’s family was trying to get his attention, although he didn’t pay any attention to them. He wanted to be alone with his cigarette the way a Priest wants to be alone to pray. The Chinese man paid no attention to anyone or anything. The little girl in the pink dress pulled at the old man’s light blue tank top turned inside out. The rest of the family was dressed neatly while his chest was damp with sweat.

Cupertino was unusually hot that July. Niklas was not sure if the old man began to sweat before he lit the cigarette or afterward. Maybe it was because of his excitement with the smoke. The Chinese man found happiness in his simple action and he wouldn’t move once he lit his treasure and watched it burn to ash. The old man looked down at his burning art and realized it was becoming smaller. Then his face saddened because he realized it was over.

The man finally looked up and saw his family waiting for him. His eyes told Niklas that he was sad because his once long cigarette was now a bud on the ground and he had to deal with people again. He was going to eat which made him happy because he would enjoy another simple pleasure, food. As he walked in the restaurant, he glanced back at Foxy. Niklas’ attention went back to Foxy and he watched her the way a boy watches his mother put on make-up. Detailed!

Foxy and Niklas went in right after the family and sat down. Niklas could immediately smell the finely sliced ginger, the green hot wasabi mustard, which always was placed next to the dark soy sauce, the one with the red top. Green tea steamed off the tops of the small porcelain cups like steam from hot springs.

CHAPTER III

Guada What?

He saw her calmly sipping her drink. She was serene.

It’s the same-- even when you meet someone who is sixty years older you should still get a drink.

They ate sushi and drank beer at Miyake’s. Niklas was not normally a fan of sushi since it lacked taste yet they merely presented it artistically. He would have rather taken Indian food. That was far better in terms of taste. They took it smoothly, the drink that is. Foxy said she normally ordered a gin and tonic but they did not have tonic here for some reason.

The woman next to Niklas bit into an amaebi, crispy prawn heads. Foxy said she liked the salad that went along side the amaebi. As they sat down one of the chefs looked at Foxy and said, Hello Suria. How have you been? Plastic plates clicked behind the chef as the dishwasher stacked and washed. Another waiter yelled, "One spider roll, to the chef as Foxy answered him by saying in a quiet tone, Calm."

Foxy asked the chef if they could have one order of the amaebi crispy shrimphead. The amaebi were not on the boats and had to be made behind the bar. Foxy looked at the waiter and asked for one Asahi beer, one Kirin Lager and two cups of green tea.

Suria did whisper to Niklas, "Those are not really amaebi though. I just do not have the heart to tell him he does not know what he is talking about!"

I like lining the sushi dishes up the best, she said as she finished one dish and placed it beside the first she had just eaten. I finish everything I take from the bar.

It always feels better to get your mouth wet before you really start talking, especially when you meet someone for the first time. The drink wet Niklas and Foxy’s tongues so their words didn’t stick and make them stutter.

When two people exchange words, making them work in an order of exciting topics it is the exact moment spirits talk to humans. They are funny, words, and how they fit to make a piece of work. They can make you think about life in such a different way, almost as if you are talking to someone as you write. They tickle the mind of a reader the way your stomach tickles as a plane descends.

That drink was the start of something stupidly crazy that changed their lives.

During the drink, he told himself to go and have fun with it. He was hoping she didn’t tell jokes. His grandmother liked to tell jokes to forget about reality. Maybe that was why people drank. Any conversation fits well, about something other than age, history or the other banal topics like work or religion.

Later Foxy once said, Work, it’s to measure up to another person rather than be yourself.

That bloody topic is the worst. He was sure the only reason people talk about work is so they do not need to think about thinking. It’s safe to talk about work because it’s something people know and they do not look silly.

He watched the wooden sushi boats pass. Niklas could feel his stomach grow hungry and he was starved. When his mind works at being conscious his stomach wants to taste food. Japanese women slurped Miso soup. American men sloppily jiggled chopsticks from hand to hand trying to eat. Children used their fingers and finally hungry Chinese clicked their plastic chopsticks together the way car keys jingle when you take them out of your pocket.

Pink lights reflected off the mirrored ceilings. The lights shined directly on the tables. It made the people sitting look like shadows. He liked that about Japanese restaurants: the lights shined more on the food than the people. Signs of four, five and six piece Canadian sushi Rolls, Cupertino Rolls, San Francisco Rolls, HP Rolls and the San Mateo Rolls were stuck to the mirror on the front wall.

Foxy stopped to take a bite of the amaebi crispy shrimphead. A tamago floated by on one of the boats. Foxy looked at the dish and shook her head. She said as she pointed to the tamago, "Kids food. All little kids love those tamagos. It’s egg wrapped in seaweed. Foxy exclaimed, Boring!" What she meant to say was that she wouldn’t fill herself up on such silly food.

The boats of sushi floated. Niklas reached and took one saba and one unagi, which was his favorite. He ate those as if they were M&M’s, slowly and one at a time. He wanted to enjoy each one and its smooth texture. He liked the Ikura salmon roll but as he took the saba roll he could feel the slimy skin and taste the salty water. Across the counter sushi chefs sliced fine cuts of fish with stainless steel blades on plastic cutting boards. Foxy looked at the chef with the ponytail and winked.

Foxy picked up the cup of green tea. She sipped slowly at the clean tasting leaf tea.

Foxy set down the tea and told Niklas, My daughter told me how you travel and the way, she paused and gathered more force, took a breath, then went on, "you live. But I have one question for you. How do you afford to travel?"

Oh, that is a long artistic story. I would not want to bore you with those details of how I basically go to Vegas, throw my money on red, and if I hit I travel and if I miss I work until I get enough money to go off and explore. The story may take a train to Tijuana, border country, to tell.

True, if you explained to me how you got the money to travel it may not be as fun to listen to your experiences, so I will never ask you how you do get your money to travel. Deal? She exclaimed with an honest smile.

She then broke out coughing and turned her head away from the bar. The cough had more force than a gust of air blowing in the front door of a house. Niklas could hear the moisture loosening in her throat. She paused and looked at him. Then she turned her attention to her food. Foxy picked up the saba and dipped it in the wasabi mustard. Her thin fingers handled chopsticks with ease and told Niklas, as her eyes started to water, she put too much wasabi on her saba. "Do not use too much because that would take away from the taste of the sushi. She cleared her eyes. I have to say your way to adventure does get my heart beating the way it did when I used to go to my parents’ chalet. My grandparents gave the chalet to my parents. I felt life there."

She looked at Niklas closely and he asked her, "Why your parents’ chalet?"

Have you ever stood, she exclaimed as she clinched her jaws with intense concentration, anywhere, that you felt completely isolated from everything?

He always enjoyed the way people spoke and how he interpreted their words. He imagined that the only things watching her at her parent’s chalet were the trees and air surrounding her. At that moment he could feel what she was beginning to say. She said the air made her feel like a new person.

She went on to say, "I stayed in my parents chalet for the weekends. It was in a small village three hours away from life. It was a world apart from everything."

She stopped to brush her neatly done hair to