Fishing for Freedom and Catching Hell

“Black and white shot of crooked jetty in lake water with mist” by Hoach Le Dinh on Unsplash

I can feel the sun baking my skin. They call this the “white city” because of all the industrial gray buildings and white concrete, but there is enough asphalt cutting through Nagoya to fry a million eggs this summer.

If I were a hawk, I’d catch a thermal and ride it north all the way to the cool mountains. But I’m just a middle-aged loser living in a broken tent in the middle of this city park until the cops show up.

I’ve moved twice already to escape the scorching sunlight. I hear Ando before I see him coming up the dirt path between the cedar and bamboo trees. His old bike creaks through its rusty chain and the huge garbage bag of cans rattle and crash each time he hits a rut.

“Following the river trail to the smelter?” I ask as he pulls up.

“Thought I could beat the sun today, but this damn hangover is slowing me down.”

“You’ll be cooked by the time you get there.”

“Probably. Got a cigarette?”

“Sure.”

I dig out one of the longer butts I saved from the night before and hand it to him. He lights it with a neon green plastic lighter. We sit smoking quietly for a while. I can feel the sunlight driving the shade away again and I start looking for a new seat.

“Kimura-san, when do you have to go in?”

I don’t want to answer him, but I say, “Three days from now.”

He’s talking about my blown suspended sentence. I got busted three years ago for breaking into abandoned houses and stealing things I could sell at the antique and flea market at the open air market near the temple. I was six months away from just doing probation, but I got busted three months ago for catching and eating carp from the castle moat in the park. I’ll get five years for sure this time.

“Well, Kimura-san, good luck to you,” he says before peddling off.

I slap a mosquito on my arm and move to a bench under some tall thick trees. It will stay shady here for a couple of hours.

No way I’m doing five years in prison for a few stinking carp I caught to keep from starving to death. My backpack is already to go. I’ll night flight it south tonight to Kyushu on a slow train to save money. I can get a scab job on a Korean freighter out of Japan in Nagasaki or Fukuoka. My Korean is good enough for that. Live on the ocean until I get a stake big enough to buy a new identity in Thailand or Laos. I’ll cheap among the whores and drunks. I’m not going back to prison for a damn fish.

Fishing for Freedom and Catching Hell was originally published in Lit Up on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.