JOHNNY JOHATSU
JOHNNY JOHATSU
By John Tuft
James wanted to disappear. He was bankrupt, his wife left him, his boss called him lazy and the stuff he posted online drew angry criticism or was ignored altogether. The church he belonged to became too woke, crypto currency was ethereal, communion tasted like crackers and grape juice, and his house had sat for sale for going on eight months now. The final indignity was when Rover, the Scottish terrier, ran away to greener pastures. James had had it. He just wanted to disappear, get away from all of his troubles, and start over somewhere else where nobody knew him, nobody knew his problems or failures. A clean slate. A new life. Where nobody knew his name.
One day James was sitting on his front stoop, smoking a cigarette, staring at the useless For Sale sign in the lawn, muttering under his breath about how he never really wanted a dog anyway. A woodpecker started drilling on the dead branch overhanging the roof and James tried to scare it away. When he turned back to the yard, there in front of him stood a wisp of an old Japanese man. The man had on a black bowler hat and was dressed in clothes from the 1940s. The man bowed, “I am Shadow.” James scratched his head. “The old television show?” Shadow allowed a small smile and bowed again. “No, I am a shadow. I am all that was left of someone when the bomb in Hiroshima exploded. So hot and so fast, that some shadows were left, unclaimed on the concrete. Life without light.” James shook his head. “What do you want?” Shadow bowed. “You are now Johnny Johatsu.” At that, he turned and disappeared in the sunlight.
James sat there, stunned. An old wandering shadow named him Johnny Johatsu? He cursed at the noisy woodpecker and walked to the end of the sidewalk to get his mail. He pulled out a single legal size envelope. The address stopped him cold. “Mr. Johnny Johatsu” it read. He opened it and pulled out a single sheet of paper. “Dear Johnny, Your request is granted. Your old life is gone and your new life begins now. The Johatsu Department wishes you well. PS. Do not under any circumstances open the third door.” That was all the letter said. Johnny turned it over and over and over. The woodpecker kept up its racket, the sun still shone, the sky still blued, the earth still turned.
Johnny went into the house and decided to have lunch. He got out the lunch meat, cheese, pickles, mayo and bread to make a sandwich. He cut it diagonally and took a big bite. No flavor. The meat and cheese and pickles and bread had no texture. It looked delicious. It tasted like a shadow. Perturbed, Johnny started to look around the house. Everything looked the same. The living room, the dining room, the bedroom. He started to leave the bedroom when something caught his eye. On the wall above the bureau a little door was cut into the surface. It was nicely finished, stained with brass fittings. Except it had never been there before. Johnny leaned up and opened the door. It simply revealed a second door. Johnny cautiously felt around it, knocked on it, pulled on the small knob. It swung open. To reveal a third door.
Johnny quickly closed the two doors and backed away. What was this magic? When evening fell, Johnny made his way to the back patio and lit a fire in the fire pit. It flared up nicely, danced and sparked and threw orange light. Johnny sat close, wondering what felt so strange. Then he realized. The fire gave off no heat. The flames had no feeling. Bewildered, Johnny went to bed. The next morning he followed his routine and went to work. Before long, he noticed something odd. Not only did his coffee have no flavor, but everyone in the office completely ignored him. They walked past without acknowledging his presence, as though he wasn’t in fact there. Growing ever more frustrated, Johnny stormed out of the building and went home. As he walked up the sidewalk, he spotted the wood pecker going at the old limb with complete abandon. Except there was no sound, no ratatatatat. Terrified, Johnny fled into the house.
Inside, Johnny paced and paced. What was this new life? He ended up in the bedroom, eyeing the door in the wall above the bureau. Should he? What was the warning about? “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered as he reached up. He opened the first door. He reached further inside and opened the second door. He didn’t remember it being this deep. But now he had to know. He scooched toward the third door. He opened it. Pushed his head through. “Ouch. Damnit!” Johnny exclaimed. He’d bonked against hard glass. He blinked and looked. It was the bathroom. He was behind the mirror in the bathroom. “What?”
Johnny pushed on the glass. Nothing happened. He started to wriggle backwards, but he couldn’t. There was no longer a passage behind him. The bathroom light came on and someone moved in front of the mirror. It was the little Japanese man in the black bowler hat. The shadow. “Help!” yelled Johnny. The shadow looked at his reflection in the mirror. “I did,” he said. “But you opened the third door. Now you are in the mirror, Johnny.” Johnny screamed, “But I don’t want to be in the mirror.” The shadow smiled. “When we decide to not add any substance to life, we can only watch. Forever and ever, to learn that we are what we do. Good or bad; boring or exciting; helpful or hurtful. The world knows us by what we do.” He turned to go. “Words are magic, but we are known by what we do, my friend.” And he was gone.
Words are magic and writers are wizards.
