By Marie-Louise McGuinness
I was mesmerized by his hair, the way it moved with each nod and bow of his head, silvered strands catching on the creases of his face as his toothless mouth gratefully sipped the salty broth of my mother’s *nikujaga*, bald gums swinging gaily on the fat and sinew of the cheap meat. Afterwards, he would pat his thin lips with a silk handkerchief in a rich hue of red or green. My father would admonish me for staring and shoo me back behind the beaded curtain where there would be pots, glass, and bowls to be scrubbed until my fingertips would crack and bleed.
[Read more…] about Mr. Tanaka’s Cane