So you get to go to heaven for giving an American a taiyaki because America and Japan were once enemies? Is that right?
Suddenly he took a fish straight out of the hot molded griddle, wrapped it in a brown paper bag, and extended it towards Janie, “Here!”
The smell of sweet bean paste and grilled batter wafted on the air as Janie Matsushita rounded the corner.
There was a mist in the air, and the sunlight reflected in the mist felt like anticipation. That smell, the smell of taiyaki, should not be happening at this hour. Weekend afternoons were the time for that smell, when taiyaki were sold in the parking lot of the grocery store.
Janie was still deep in the shadow of the apartment building she lived in with her husband, three kids, two cats, and Chopper. They lived on the top floor of the six-storey building with a view of the river bed, dry or raging with water depending on the season, and the sprawling city of Shizuoka beyond.
At six-thirty that morning, Janie hooked the leash to Chopper’s collar. She didn’t know why her h…