“Alright, whenever you’re ready,” he told his subject.
“Thank you,” she replied.
The woman held a cigarette in her mouth and lit it with a small, gold-colored lighter. She took a long drag and exhaled.
“I guess we start at how I came to this city?” she said.
“Wherever you’d like,” Joe told her.
“Well, you’re the writer,” she said. “I figured you’d know how best to tell a story.”
“For my own story,” he clarified. “This is yours. I can change some things around later, but I want you to tell your story how you think it should be told.”
He looked over the woman before him. She wore a clean, wrinkle-free white collared shirt with a short scarf tied under her collar. She had dark sunglasses on that rested just under her short bangs. Her hair reached her chin and stuck out a bit to the sides, making her ears look a bit larger than they wer.
“Well, I guess I should explain how a woman from the Republic ended up in Rome,” she explained, taking another quick drag of her cigarette. "I assume your readers would like to hear about that first."
Joe pulled a cigarette out of his own pocket. The woman offered her own lighter and lit his.
“Yes, that would be a good start, Miss Otori,” he said, exhaling the first bit of smoke.
The woman leaned back in her seat.
“Anya. You can call me Anya.”
“Alright. How did you come to Rome, Anya?”
Anya held her cigarette to the side.
“To begin, I should tell you that my escape to Rome began to percolate since I was five years old.”
“Really? Five years old?”
Anya smiled a bit.
“Yes, I should explain. I was born as the only daughter of a wealthy family in my town. Ever since I could remember, my mother and father only spoke to me in commands. In my language, we have a term, yamato nadeshiko. Roughly, it means an ideal lady. My mother was one, and her mother, and my father’s mother, and her mother, and so on.
“Ever since I was a girl, it was lessons and lectures. Playing the koto, calligraphy, traditional dance, flower arranging, playing with the right kids, avoiding the wrong ones, straight-A’s in school, always home before dark. Even if you think growing up in a home with access to such wealth and privilege would be ideal, you'd be wrong once you were actually living it and had to worry about whether even bringing home some cheap candy from the corner stone would get you slapped. It was a nightmare, one in which I probably would have ended up in a bathtub with my wrists slashed.”
“Jesus, that’s quite dark, Miss Anya,” Joe exclaimed.
“Yes," she shrugged. “But that was how it felt when I was a girl. Fortunately, I was able to drive away those thoughts when I was young. You see, when I was five, my first act and youthful rebellion was to steal a VHS tape from my grandfather’s house. Like many wealthy men, even he could get western media through the right connections and no one would say anything. He kept tapes of old movies in his office and would show them to clients and friends.
“So I stole this movie one time I went over, and they never noticed. They really didn't think I'd be capable of something like that, so I had my treasure. I had held onto it for weeks until I could find at least two hours to watch it without being caught. Finally, a day came when my parents were out for a while and I could be left alone by the housekeeper so I could finally watch it.”
“And what was the movie?”
Anya took a drag from her cigarette.
“Roman Holiday.”
Joe chuckled to himself and looked down.
“What?” Anya asked.
“Seriously? Roman Holiday?”
“Of course,” Anya remarked. “It was widely popular in the Republic back in the 1950s. One of the last few western properties to have any influence on the Japanese public.”
“Well, now you being in Rome makes sense,” Joe exclaimed.
“It explains a lot about this moment, Mr. Bradley” Anya said, looking him up and down, “but that’s not important.”
“So, you as a little girl watched Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn riding Vespas and sticking their hands in the Mouth of Truth, and that’s what brought you here?”
“It was everything to me,” she said. “How could a girl like me not love the movie? A beautiful, sheltered young girl who flees the people who want to control her, spends the day in one of the greatest cities in the world with a handsome reporter, having a once-in-a-lifetime romance. The idea of having a single day where I did everything I wanted, no questions asked, was something I could only dream of with parents like mine.”
“Yes, I guess I can see that,” Joe said.
Joe tapped his cigarette over the ashtray.
“Except in the movie,” Joe interrupted, “Audrey goes back to being a princess after her day off. You’re still here almost a decade after you told me you arrived."
Anya smiled at him.
“If I was going to live my dream,” Anya said, “I knew I wouldn’t go back. Audrey went back because she had no choice but to. Because her country needed her and because she knew she could handle it. I had a choice to not go back. My parents would only want me back so they could use me to brag to their friends of marry me off to someone they needed a business deal with.”
“I see.”
Anya took another drag of her cigarette.
“So, wanting to be like Audrey Hepburn, I decided I would do whatever I could to get to Rome,” Anya continued. “I put up with the lectures, the yelling, the punishments, even though there were times I was screaming into a pillow on a daily basis.
“When I was a teenager, I knew money would be the most important thing. I could offhandedly sell old jewelry and clothes my parents got me, but they would never let me get a job to make some real money. A girl of my station didn't work in fast food.”
“So what did you do?”
“I began to go on dates for money. I bought a secret cellphone, and I hid a bag with makeup and adult clothes in a locker at a train station. I would get calls from men looking for dates, I’d make myself look older than I was, and I’d go out with them.”
“That sounds a bit like-"
“It was, and I’m not ashamed,” Anya explained. “I wouldn’t think Italians would stigmatize it so much.”
“In a Catholic country?” Joe asked. “Of course they would, even while they participated in it. Also, I’m American, not Italian.”
“Right,” she said. “Your Italian is pretty good, by the way.”
“Thank you. Yours as well.”
Anya brushed some hair back.
“Anyways, I had a plan. I’d save up money from my dates, then apply to the colleges my parents wanted me to go to. Secretly, I’d apply to the one I wanted to go to. Then, when I finished high school and my parents’ guard was down, I’d flee with my money, my documents, everything else that was important. I’d go to my dream college, study Italian, then move to Rome to live out the rest of my days.”
“You were prepared to cut ties with your parents?”
“Of course. They may have birthed me, but they weren’t good people. They’d force me into studies and a career I didn’t want, then would force me to marry some man I didn’t love, just to birth children they’d expect me to treat exactly as they did. They had my entire life planned, and I wasn’t going to do that.”
“So your plan was a success?” Joe asked. “You’re here in Rome, so you managed to do it?”
Anya paused. She stamped her cigarette out in the ashtray and removed her glasses.
“Mr. Bradley,” Anya said, revealing her dark eyes to him. “I couldn’t very well tell my story to you today if I wasn’t sure it was safe to.”
“Why? Are you afraid of your parents finding you?”
Anya shook her head.
“No,” she said. “They wouldn’t have the ability. And I know I can tell you my story without giving you specifics about where in Japan I'm from, and I know this story will most likely never make it back to Japan anyways.”
Anya leaned forward a bit, her elbows resting on the table.
“Mr. Bradley, you’re aware of the document recently released by the United Nations about the Republic’s secret program they had uncreatively dubbed ‘The Program’?”
“Yes,” Joe explained. “My paper was the first to receive the news in the city. It was a game where teenagers would be forced to fight to the death and-oh…”
Anya nodded. “Before I could enact my plan, my class was chosen to participate.”
Joe stared at her. “You’re a Program winner?”
Anya nodded again.
“So…you kil-"
“No,” Anya interrupted. “I didn’t kill anyone. The goal of the game is to be the last person alive, not the person who kills the most. At the end, I was alive, and 41 of my classmates weren’t.”
“Alright, I understand. So, you were put into this death game, and then what?”
“If you win, you receive a lifelong pension that set me for life when I was still in high school. Of course, I had to get it. I wouldn’t have to go on dates anymore, and I could be independent of my parents.
“So, I played the game trying to survive. I drove away my peers, even spent time with one boy. Yuichiro, that was his name. Poor Yuichiro. Spell his name correctly in the story. Y-U-I-C-H-I-R-O.”
“I’ll be sure to.”
“Point is, people I knew through high school, friends of mine, they saw no option but to kill, and it led to their own demises. God, even a decade later, I can still remember them all on the bus before we were gassed. That would have been the last time I saw some of my friends.”
“Miss Anya, if you-"
“No, I want to continue,” she said, wiping the corners of her eyes.
“So I was alive, and I was on the boat heading home. The man in charge, his name was Sakamochi. He was talking about my game and how proud he was of me, in between lewd comments. But I realized this was my chance to be free. To disappear and live the life I wanted.
“I asked Sakamochi to make me disappear. It was known the winner of each Program would spend time in a hospital before being returned home. I asked him if he could pull some strings to ensure I could start a new life. He did, with a request for his cooperation.”
“I won’t ask what that was.”
“Good. Don't include that detail in the story. Anyways, so my old self officially died in the hospital from injuries sustained in the Program, and my ‘ashes’ were sent back to my parents. But I was alive, now set up in a new apartment in Tokyo, where I could finish off my high school studies and start college.”
“Do you feel bad about that?” Joe asked. “Your parents thought you died, and this was after they were told you were the survivor.”
Anya shook her head.
“I wanted them to feel bad. For them to feel sadness and regret for once in their miserable, narcissistic lives. To wish they had been better parents, to wish they hadn’t pushed me to attend that school. Their only daughter was dead, and they’d never see her again.”
“That’s quite cold.”
“I know I’m cold. Yamato nadeshiko’s aren’t supposed to show much behind their smiles, after all. They're all secretly bitter and sad people anyways. I know I was cruel and selfish to do what I did, but I had no future in my town. Not with the government trying to kill me, not with my family trying to control me. Besides, those monsters were probably more saddened about how my death ended their family line or prevented them from making business deals in the future. They'd probably be furious that all their 'wonderful' parenting couldn't raise a child who could survive the Program, and they'd be furious at me even though they never actually did anything to teach me to survive. I mean, I had asked to take a self defense class once I started middle school, and they thought it was more important for me to paint the same stupid kanji on paper over and over again.
"My parents likely mourned the girl I represented, not the girl I was. So all in all, even if I did hurt them with this act, they probably wouldn't be affected in the way I'd want them to. It's hollow, I won't lie. But I think letting them suffer in their own way is probably the best hell I can give them.”
“Okay,” Joe said, taking in Anya's rant. “I won’t judge you. Frankly, I consider myself blessed with the parents I have, so I couldn't imagine having such terrible ones like you."
"So you got to Tokyo," he continued. "Then what?”
“I got into Tokyo University under my new name-"
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Joe interrupted. “It is odd that a Japanese woman would be named ‘Anya.’”
Anya smirked. “That was the fake name Audrey Hepburn gave herself in Roman Holiday. Don’t worry, it can be a Japanese name if you write it with the right characters. Others just assumed I was a half.”
“And 'Otori'?”
“That is a real Japanese surname,” she said, “but it kind of sounded like ‘Audrey,’ so I picked it as my new last name.”
“Cute,” Joe said.
“So, I studied Italian in college, and did everything I could to be at the top of my program so I could get a recommendation to come do graduate studies in Italy. The war was bad for east-west relations, but at least the Republic never hated Italy.
“So, with my professors help, I was able to petition to study here in Rome on a student visa. Once I flew out here, I declared asylum and was able to build a new life.”
“That must have been a bit difficult.”
“Like I said, that pension I got for winning set me for life,” she explained, “and I was able to move the money around in case the Republic cut me off. So I came here as quite a wealthy graduate student, and the Republic couldn't do anything about it.”
“Brilliant,” Joe said. “And you’ve been here ever since?”
“Yes. Now that the Republic has fallen and its media is being introduced to the west, I’m able to do well for myself as a Japanese-to-Italian translator. I actually quite enjoy it. It’s steady work and it’s quite peaceful to get into a rhythm.”
“I see,” Joe said.
Anya leaned back in her seat.
“So why have you told me all of this?” Joe asked. “I was a bit surprised when you contacted me.”
Anya smiled.
“I read your articles every morning with my first espresso of the day. I knew you were a good writer, and now I don’t have to hide my story.”
“Were you worried about people knowing?”
Anya nodded.
“I never told anyone about my life. Not in Tokyo, not in Rome. I had to always assume the Republic was watching, even here. Declaring asylum was a big risk, and I had to live carefully in case it would expose me.”
“But now you feel safe to tell?”
“Yes. I’m almost 30, and I’m about to enter the next stage of my life.”
Anya held her left hand out, revealing the diamond ring on her left ring finger.
“Oh, congratulations,” Joe said.
“Thank you. I won’t ever return to Japan, and I won’t ever have anything to do with my parents or my hometown. But I’m ready to put it all down on paper so that I can leave it for good and truly move on.”
“I understand,” Joe said. “I’m presuming this is about more than an article.”
“Have you considered becoming a memoirist, Mr. Bradley? You have a real talent for writing about the lives of others.”
“I have at times,” he said. "So you're scouting me for a job?
“If you want,” Anya explained. “My fiancé encouraged it as well. He thinks it could be therapeutic.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But, I guess it depends on the article you're writing now and how it’s received,” Anya joked.
“Don’t worry,” Joe said. “I’m beginning to be convinced to do it.”
Anya smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”
The rest of their conversation was filled with small talk and plans to work on the memoir. When the time came to leave, Joe and Anya paid for their drinks and left the cafe, walking down the street.
“That’s mine,” Anya said, pointing to a Vespa on the corner.
Joe chuckled. “Of course you’d get a Vespa once you were in Rome.”
“Why not?” Anya said. “It wasn’t hard to get a license. I'm quite skilled on it.”
“No, that’s quite Roman of you.”
Anya nodded and held out a hand.
“Well thank you for everything, Mr. Bradley. You have my phone number in case you have any more questions.”
“Of course," he said, shaking her hand. "It was great speaking with you today, Miss Anya.”
Anya nodded and made her way to the Vespa. She was about to reach for the helmet when Joe spoke.
“Wait, one last question,” he said.
“Yes?”
Joe looked over Anya.
“If ‘Anya Otori’ is your new name, what was your original name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Joe shrugged.
“I guess I just want to know. I won't include it in the story. I'm just curious.”
Anya smiled, and she began to speak.
"My name? It's..."
GO14 MAYUMI TENDOU: DECEASED