Milton walked on. Two men passed him going in the opposite direction, toward the restaurant. They were both in their twenties and dressed in tracksuits and training shoes. Milton turned back and watched as the men continued by the restaurant; as they did, Milton saw them slow just a little so that they could look inside. Milton readied himself to retrace his steps, but the men continued on their way without stopping.

Milton continued along the street to the restaurant that he had seen earlier. He bought a bottle of strawberry Ramune and found a spot against a street lamp from where he could watch the restaurant.

75

An hour passed before Milton’s phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and saw that Sakura had sent him a message.

All good. Come and meet my father.

He dropped the empty plastic bottle in the trash and made his way down the street to the restaurant; there was a queue to get inside now, but Milton ignored the annoyed glares from the waiting diners as he slid to the side, bypassed the ticket machine and located Sakura. She was standing at the back of the room, looking out so that she could see him and, as he stepped between two people eating stew from paper plates, she raised her arm and waved. Her father was standing with his back to Milton, but, as his daughter signalled, he turned to look.

Milton examined him. He was older than he had guessed from before, perhaps in his late sixties to early seventies. Milton saw that his clothes, while spotlessly clean, had been repaired many times. They looked as if they might have been expensive once; Milton saw a man who had once been prosperous, but who had fallen onto harder times. The fact that the clothes were well repaired and clean suggested he still had pride in his appearance.

Milton put a smile on his face as he reached the pair.

“Chichi,” Sakura said, using the affectionate term for father, “this is the man I was telling you about.”

The old man looked at him, his eyes narrowed just a little. “You’re John?”

“I am,” Milton said. “And you must be Sakura’s father.”

The man bowed a little.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Milton said.

Milton suddenly felt awkward under the older man’s scrutiny. Too late, he realised he should have asked Sakura more about what the etiquette was when meeting someone. Was he supposed to bow, too? Deciding against it, he reached into his pocket and took out the small orange box that he had purchased from a stall near the restaurant while he had been waiting.

The old man looked quizzically at the box.

“It’s a gift,” Milton explained.

Sakura smiled at her father. “Open it, Chichi.”