1.01 Cuckoo

Cuckoo, cuckoo. Cuckoo, cuckoo.

"What the . . . "

A chirpy little Tyrolean ditty comes through the squawk box, punctuated now and again by . . . Cuckoo, cuckoo.

What could be more gratingly inappropriate for a morning like today than this music? Forgive me if I don’t jump to my feet and start slapping my knees and heels like a dummkopf in Lederhosen.

Cuckoo, cuckoo . . . My back creaks as I push myself up off the tatami floor . . . Cuckoo, cuckoo.

Neighbors stir to life. Some of them groan. Others yawn. There is a fart or two. Make that three. Toilets are flushed, water is splashed, and footsteps clomp in the corridor.

Cuckoo, cuckoo . . . I stand up slowly, my body stiff from the thin, lumpy futon, and lumber two and a half listless steps over to the washbasin . . . Cuckoo, cuckoo . . .

Sticking my head under the faucet, I let the cold water run.

Talk about being punch drunk: Christ, I’ve never had such a severe pummeling as I have over the past seven days. And not a single punch was thrown; just an unbelievable course of events, like falling down a long flight of steps, that have put me behind Japanese bars, held incommunicado.

Cuckoo, cuckoo . . . If only I could wake up, snap out of this very, very bad dream . . . Cuckoo, cuckoo.

© Aonghas Crowe, 2010. All rights reserved. No unauthorized duplication of any kind.

注意：この作品はフィクションです。登場人物、団体等、実在のモノとは一切関係ありません。

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No. 6 is now available on Kindle.