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****Kate Thornton’s Ai Witness is
#127 in the never-ending series called INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION
where the Chris Rice Cooper Blog (CRC)
focuses on one specific excerpt from a fiction genre and how that fiction
writer wrote that specific excerpt. All INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links are at the end of this
piece.
Has this been published? And it is totally fine if the answer is no. If yes, what publisher and what publication date? Yes, first publication was in A Deadly Dozen, Uglytown Press, May 2000.
What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I wrote it in only 5 days, including editing and polishing. It was sometime in 1999.
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. Back then, I had a large desk in my living room in an upstairs apartment in an old house in Pasadena, CA. I don’t have any photos, but the room was huge, with a fireplace at one end and a row of tree-shaded windows overlooking a side street.
What were your writing habits while
writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write
in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? In those days, I used to write for an hour every morning
before going to work. When I was between jobs, I would write in the mornings
for several hours.
What is the summary of your fiction
work? A woman overhears a conversation in a sushi
bar and concludes that a murder has taken place.
Please
include excerpt and include page numbers as reference. The excerpt can be as
short or as long as you prefer. Whole
story attached…
Ai
Witness
The precision with which the
blade sliced through the pink flesh, neatly separating it into six equally
beautiful and symmetrical pieces sent a chill down my spine. Or maybe it was
the air-conditioning. They always kept it too cold in the Ai, but it was my
favorite sushi bar.
The graying hostess in the
baggy blue-and-white apron had shown me to the bar, one seat from the corner,
with all the other high, backless chairs occupied by the usual weeknight crowd.
I spotted a few strangers from nearly a dozen faces, and I got a friendly nod
from the rest as I slid into a seat. This wasn't my usual night, but I'd had a
hard day at work, and it wasn't over yet. The chef grinned across the flayed maguro and set a rectangular china plate
in front of me.
I sipped my hot tea and waited
patiently. The young chef would get to me sooner or later, and half the fun of
the place was that it could take you all night to eat a couple of pieces of
expensive raw fish. The little glass front refrigerator case that ran the
length of the counter held only the freshest fish and shellfish, colorful and
with interesting textures. But I knew all of it would be gone by closing time.
The sushi had to be absolutely fresh, and even a few hours could make a
difference.
I leaned back and listened in
to the conversation of the ladies to my left as the chef sliced up a few
freebie snacks for them.
The bar provided an illusion of
companionship and camaraderie as well as dinner, and I settled in for an
evening of pleasant dining and overheard conversation.
I waved and indicated that I
would have an order of maguro
sashimi, sliced tuna over threads of raw daikon. A beginner's dish, the raw
tuna was easy to eat. It was also one of my favorites. Some of the dishes were
more exotic and expensive because of the rarity of their ingredients, but I
chose plain tuna.
"Kevin's just so
demanding," one of the ladies to my left was saying. She looked about
thirty, with wispy blond hair and a little too much makeup over one eye.
"You know, if he even thought I was out here tonight, he would be
furious!"
"Well, what I don't know
is why you stay with him," the other one replied. She was smaller,
dark-haired and intense. "Face it, Irene. He treats you like dog meat, and
you just put up with it. I would have left him years ago."
"Oh, Patty, I've looked at
my choices. Divorce is just so expensive," Irene said in her defense.
"I would be left penniless. I have no skills, no education, no job. Where
would I go, what would I do?"
"Well, it's a good thing
you don't have any children," Patty said angrily. Then her features
softened. "Aw, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Let's look on the
bright side. At least he works late, and you can meet me here every Tuesday
evening for dinner."
She held up her bottle of Kirin
and Irene clinked her own against it.
"And we have this to look forward to!"
"But it's true. If he even
thought I was out of the house, he would never let me forget it," Irene
said. "And the very idea of sushi turns his stomach. Why he would no
sooner eat raw fish than he would chew gum from the bottom of a movie theater
seat!"
They both dissolved into
giggles at the thought of this. "But he sure does love other kinds of food,"
Patty noted. "I've seen him eat three large pizzas with everything on them
– and I mean everything – and not even burp."
"You're lucky, then,"
Irene replied. "I get to see him burp, too!"
They started laughing again.
Then, so quickly and unobtrusively that I would have missed it if I hadn't
looked up just then to flag down the busboy and get a beer, Irene slipped
something into her purse.
I bent over my plate of hamachi sashimi. Sometimes the things I
heard were private, and I tuned them out. But other times, I listened eagerly.
I felt like I knew these women, at least Irene of the swollen face and
demanding husband. I had seen other women like her, women whose husbands kept
them locked up and disciplined. I wanted to learn more about her, so I cocked an
ear toward them, but I didn't make eye contact. I wanted to hear more about
their lives, and I knew if I made conversation, it would just be the polite
exchange of acquaintances at a sushi bar. Like I said, the feeling of intimacy
and camaraderie was mostly an illusion. We didn't know each other, not really.
The two women talked more about
Patty's job at the insurance office, and Irene said wistfully that she wished
she could have a job or something. "But," she laughed, "Kevin
say he's my job, my one and only full-time job." She laughed again, then
frowned. "And it's true. He is a full-time job. One I wish I could
quit."
I shifted on my high barstool a
bit and waved to the chef for another order. I watched out of the corner of my
eye to see if Irene put anything else in her purse.
My order of unagi – broiled eel brushed with a sweet teriyaki sauce – arrived,
and I delicately picked up one of the two pieces with my chopsticks. It was my
idea of dessert, sweet and savory and – unlike most things at the sushi bar –
cooked. But I noticed that Patty and Irene had the big sampler tray of
delicacies like thinly sliced raw fish, rice-wrapped bits of raw squid and
things I didn't recognize. They were either fond of sushi or very adventurous,
I thought. But there was something about Irene that looked beaten down and not
very adventurous at all.
I saw a tiny movement out of
the edge of my vision and watched as Irene put another piece of something into
her purse. This made no sense to me. Nothing spoils faster – or would make more
of a mess in someone's purse – than raw fish. Not even my cat, Bertie, would
touch leftover sushi.
I watched and listened and
toyed with my final cup of hot barley tea. Patty and Irene talked about
fashions and sales and then about beauty treatments and magazines they had
read. They laughed and giggled and looked more like schoolgirls than grown
women. When Patty tipped the chef and got up to leave, I asked for my check,
too. I watched Patty and Irene hug each other and go their separate ways: Patty
to a big sedan in the back parking lot and Irene to a waiting taxi.
I sighed and started walking.
It was a beautiful evening, and my work was finished. I walked back to my
office to type up my report, but I didn't mention anything about the sushi in
Irene's purse.
Later that week when I read the
newspaper article buried on page ten of the daily edition, there was nothing to
connect the Ai with the death of Kevin Foster. In fact, his death was blamed on
a virulent infection from a couple of spoiled pizzas.
But I knew better. I knew
better even as I watched Irene Foster put the pieces of fresh raw fish into her
purse. I knew better the morning after my visit to the Ai when I handed Kevin
Foster the private investigation report I had just done on his wife.
I don't always like my clients,
especially when they are domineering wife-beaters, but I usually ignore it and
give them what they pay for – in this case a report of Irene's Tuesday evening
dates.
Kevin wasn't too happy with
what I found out. He had been certain she had been cheating on him, not bust
escaping out to dinner with a girlfriend once a week. Just the thought of Irene
doing something without his permission enraged him. I guess the real turning
point was when he accused me of lying to him and being involved with her. That
did it. I handed him the report, took his check, and showed him out the door
without another word.
But looking back, I guess I
should have said one more word. I should have at least whispered a warning –
one he could take to heart the next time he had a pizza.
I should have whispered,
"anchovies."
Why is
this excerpt so emotional for you? And can you describe your own emotional
experience of writing this specific excerpt? I wrote Ai Witness at a time when I was
feeling particularly angry and needed to somehow right a very serious wrong,
which I had observed. I was powerless to help in the real world, but in my
story, I got the ending that I so fervently wished for in real life.
Kate
Thornton spent over 22
years in the US Army where she worked as a Counterintelligence Agent and
Instructor. As a writer with more than 100 short stories in print, Kate has
been writing multi-genre short stories for decades. One of the editors for
Sisters in Crime Los Angeles' recent anthology, LADIES NIGHT, she now
lives in Tucson, AZ where she is working on a series of romantic crime novels.
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“Ai Witness”
