Akirame 2 - 愛想笑い(formal smile)
short sketch
アイソワライ - かいりきベア
Aisowarai(formal smile)
- a tentative biography of Nicha Rapheephat (draft 0)
{BEGINNING}
Preface
My other uncle from a neighboring province came to visit us. He had the cheerful face of a man who hasn’t yet seen hell.
Ah, how ignorant of me. Every breathing human has definitely been in some sort of hell.
Anyway, his face is of someone who’s not currently in hell or perhaps had escaped hell.
And put us in there instead.
This face of mine, however, is an image that transcends all languages——a universal symbol of mediocre suffering.
I yearn for that place, the only place I ever truly called home. But it’s not yet time to go back. Yes, I haven’t suffered nearly enough.
A friend has hired me to write her a short biography based on all the personal anecdotes she’s shared with me over the years and to fill in any gaps with my own imagination, a sort of twisted portrait if you will. As for what purpose the biography will have, I know not, and neither is it my place to ask.
But if we’re going to talk about Nicha, we simply must address the focus of this biography and, consequently, what it has been named after: the formal smile glued to her face.
It, too, is a universal symbol.
and there was Nicha
I
As the world around her began to make sense, Nicha came to the understanding that her father was a scum. Her mother was more annoyed than saddened when he disappeared after trying to burn their house down. The only thing he left them with was debt and constant visits by loan sharks.
A few months later, a distant relative showed up at the dilapidated box Nicha called home. The stranger’s lips were terrifyingly red, like melting candles at Chinese temples. Her face was white with makeup, a stark contrast to Nicha’s mother’s dark, sunburned face.
Mrs. Rapheephat wouldn’t sit on their chairs. She stood in the doorway with her arms folded, glaring at Nicha all the while. With a tired smile, Nicha’s mother told her to go play in the kitchen while the adults talked.
II
A month later, Nicha and her mother moved to a nicer apartment near a private bilingual elementary school where she was immediately enrolled. The classrooms were clean and had air conditioning, unlike those in the temple school she had been attending. The Children were also different. Though at the time, Nicha didn’t understand why that was so.
At that private school, the teachers taught manners among other subjects, but it was all lost on Nicha. She was a wicked little runt who choked out a kid for making fun of her face. By some magic (probably the Rapheephats'), she didn’t get expelled. Needless to say, no one dared to mess with her after that. No one even talked to her.
One pleasant memory from this period of her life, of which there were few, involves Mr. Henrik, a bearded Norwegian who taught social studies. He taught her how the first monkey resembling humans beat a tiger to death with a stick, thereby gaining popularity with the female monkeys and passing down its genes. He revealed to her young mind the developments of religions of the world along with the infinite horrors of mankind. All these fascinating subjects he taught with a humorous wit that never failed to fascinate her.
She could speak a bit of English by then, and god knows why, she asked Mr. Henrik this question:
“What’s the meaning of life?”
“Forty-two,” Mr. Henrik gave the answer along with a smile.
III
As soon as the school year ended, Mrs. Rapheephat came to take Nicha away for the summer.
Nicha’s first time on the plane was filled with both excitement and fear. Mrs. Rapheephat, however, wouldn’t allow her the luxury of processing either of these emotions.
As soon as she was done buckling Nicha’s seat belt, Mrs. Rapheephat started,
“Here are the rules, Nicha. When you’re with me, you’re my daughter. You will call me Mother, and you will call Mr. Rapheephat Father.”
“Who is that?” Nicha asked.
“My husband and your father. Do remember that Mr. Rapheephat is a very important person. He has a job that requires him to talk to very important people. You, being his daughter, are an extension of him, and to not sully his name, you need to do exactly as I say.”
“Like drama class at school,” Nicha said.
“Yes, exactly. Now, why don’t you try smiling for me?”
Nicha smiled.
“Perhaps a more sullen smile would do. Smile like you’re a little sad. Show your teeth as well.”
Nicha imitated her mother's tired smile.
“That’ll do.”
Author’s Note
It seems that I’ve made a habit of writing these little fictional life summaries in my recent stories, like a diorama kinda thing. IDK. Maybe I’m just a lazy writer.
I wonder what sort of tomfoolery little Nicha will be involved in in the next part. Truth be told, I haven’t plan out this story at all lol. I’m just writing it as it comes, and that’s exactly why you shouldn’t expect a new part any time soon.
Anyway, click like, subscribe, share, and stay tune for the next part.