Gene Mapper by Taiyo Fujii

kettle and more of those mysterious chrome cylinders on a canvas tablecloth. A sweet milky aroma, like melted butter, wafted from the stand. Kurokawa nudged me.
    “That’s Vietnamese coffee. Let’s have some later.”
    “Sure, if there’s time.”
    “We should make time to relax on this trip. We still don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here.” He adjusted his tie, though it already looked adjusted.
    Nguyen waved cheerily to the woman running the stand and went behind it to a stairway that ran up one side of the building. I looked up and saw a broad terrace on the second floor, ablaze with red and purple flowers.



5    Yagodo
    When we reached the terrace, Nguyen was pushing open the big sun-drenched door to the office. The door was a single heavy slab of timber with a complicated grain that might well have been real wood.
    “Welcome to Yagodo-san’s office.”
    There was a whisper of air and the scent of fresh-cut blossoms. The room with its cream stucco walls was pleasantly cool, though I couldn’t hear an air conditioner. The floor was dark and glossy. A pair of sofas with hill tribe motifs faced each other across a table that was a smaller version of the door. At the far end of the room were two plain desks with chairs. The afternoon sun from the terrace lit the spacious, airy office with a soft brightness.
    A man was writing at one of the desks. He wore an open-neck short-sleeve shirt the color of the walls. He stood and came toward us, a large man with an intelligent face, strong nose, high forehead, and long white hair combed straight back. His eyes were light brown. I could see he was enjoying our fascination with his exotic office. He spread his arms in welcome and smiled.
    “Welcome to Ho Chi Minh City. I am Isamu Yagodo.” No mistake, it was the voice of the dog.
    “It’s good to meet you, Isamu. Thanks for inviting us.” I extended my hand. His grip was surprisingly strong. The bunched sinews of his forearm looked like the cables we’d seen outside.
    “No, I should thank you. For taking the trouble to come here.”
    “I never dreamed we’d be conferencing one day and meeting the next.” The warmth from his hand penetrated my palm.
    “And your companion … ?”
    “My name is Takashi Kurokawa. It gives me great pleasure to meet you.” With the same sleight of hand he used at the airport, Kurokawa produced a business card. Yagodo received it with a practiced gesture, using both hands. To my astonishment, he had a card of his own ready.
    “I haven’t exchanged business cards with anyone for a long time,” he said.
    “Well, this is the first time I’ve ever gotten one in return, to tell the truth. Ah, this is handwritten.”
    I peered at the card in Kurokawa’s hand. “Isamu Yagodo” was written with a flourish, followed by his telephone number. And that was all.
    “I didn’t know a salaryman would be visiting, otherwise I’d have had some printed up. Handmade will have to do this time. I’ll give you my full resume once we’re there .” Yagodo lifted invisible glasses with a fingertip. “You’ll want to know who you’re dealing with. But first, I’m sure you’re tired. With that flight from Narita you must’ve hit the afternoon traffic.” He pointed to the sofas. “Have a seat. Let’s enjoy some of that famous Vietnamese coffee.” Then he switched to English. “Nguyen, order coffee for our guests and for yourself.”
    She called the order in Vietnamese to the coffee stand below. Yagodo settled onto the sofa with his back to the door. I sat facing him. Kurokawa half climbed onto the sofa next to me and fidgeted a bit, searching for the best position.
    Yagodo waited until Kurokawa was comfortable. He leaned forward with elbows on his knees, supporting his chin with clasped hands.
    “I saw the aerial shots of Mother Mekong. You’ve got a problem, don’t you? You can see it in the night photos. Is that GFP you’re using? It’s the new SR06 color, I