Two fugitives and a plate of Fugu

The Puffer fish, also known as a blowfish, attempts to make itself inedible by ingesting enormous amounts of water (or air) and swelling to several times its size, in order to shake off its predators.

But even otherwise, a fish that preys on it is bound to die. Puffer fish contain tetrodoxin, which is lethal to many fish—and to humans. Some Japanese consider it a delicacy. Fugu is the Japanese word for Puffer fish and the dish prepared from it.

The restaurant preparation of Fugu is strictly controlled by law, and only chefs who have qualified after three or more years of rigorous training are allowed to prepare the fish. Lethal amounts of the poison are found in its liver, ovaries, and eyes.

The poison, a sodium channel blocker, paralyzes the muscles while the victim stays fully conscious. the poisoned victim is unable to breathe, and eventually dies from lack of oxygen. Fugu poison is 1200 times stronger than cyanide.

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“You got that bag, right?” Miki asked. He seemed visibly relaxed after landing in Japan.

“Uh-huh”, said Lucky. But he didn’t sound very confident. He looked scared, suspicious and worried, and gave a start whenever someone spoke to him.

“You’re safe now, man”, said Miki, with an easy smile. “Relax!”

So easy for Miki to say, thought Lucky. Miki was back in his homeland, and he had his family and friends to back him up. But what about his own predicament?

Lucky was sure that no one back home in his village in Madhya Pradesh, India, recognized Laxmikant Singh anymore, for that was his real name.

He had slipped away quietly in his teens to the big cities, when his family was deep in debt and starving for a square meal a day.

Everyone in my home must be dead, he thought. Even if they weren’t, it didn’t seem likely that they would welcome him with open arms; he had left them when they needed him the most.

“I have to hide here too”, said Lucky. “How can I relax? I don’t know anyone, I don’t know the language—”
“You know me”, said Miki. “I’ll make sure you’re alright.

I’ll never forget how you helped me out in Chicago.” “But I can’t depend on you all the time”, he protested. “You know we can’t use the money we stole now, we’ll be caught—”

“I’ll get you a job, don’t worry”, Miki cut him short again. “Everything will be fine, and one day, we will be rich!”
Lucky sighed. Stealing and thieving weren’t new to him, but this time he had done something really big.

He had started out by working in small tea-shops and roadside eateries as a waiter, and made enough money to sustain himself. Slowly, he learnt the art of conning people, and cheated people of small amounts of money.

But he had one skill: he could cook. So his employers turned a blind eye when he stole some money now and then. But he wasn’t satisfied. He became obsessed with going abroad.

After begging a number of agents both genuine and fake, he finally landed in US with a fake visa. He himself didn’t know how he had managed it; but he changed his name to Lucky, and started his life as an illegal immigrant.

And that was where he met Miki. Miki was another illegal immigrant like him, and Lucky found him being beaten up by a mugger.

Lucky rescued him, and both became inseparable friends after that, in spite of their communication being limited, and both knowing very little English. But with time, both learnt, and started working as cooks in Indian hotels and restaurants in the US.

Miki got along quite well with Lucky, because he was a cheat himself. A few years passed before Miki proposed a major heist.

Both were working as chefs for a big restaurant then, and Miki knew everything about the cash flow and income, for he had friends everywhere.

It was never clear to the police or the restaurant officials how it happened, but over a period of time, both the crooks managed to siphon off a large amount of money. They escaped overnight, before anyone could know of their crime.

From then onwards, they were on an endless run. Miki was careful until they crossed the US border. They headed straight for Tokyo. But Lucky was worried. He wondered if he would ever be able to use the money he had stolen.

“How will I ever work in this land?” he hissed at Miki. “Everything is so strange!” “I’ll help”, said Miki. “Nothing will go wrong. Everything will be fine.”

The next day, Miki took him to a restaurant and spoke to the Chef there. Lucky didn’t understand a word of their conversation, but nodded vigorously whenever Miki gave him a nudge under the table. At the end of it, Miki congratulated him. “You’ve got the job!” he said.

“But… but…” Lucky stammered. Miki gave him a thumbs-up and a wink. “Go ahead and start!” And thus started Lucky’s next ordeal.

He had to guess each time what instructions the head chef was screaming at him, and somehow, through sign language and gestures, he succeeded in cooking.

Every evening, back at Miki’s home, he discussed the day’s events and learnt a few words of Japanese necessary for survival.

Thankfully, his cooking skills came to his rescue, and he managed to retain his job at the restaurant. Months passed, and things seemed to be settling down. Lucky had started smiling again, and was more confident about his work.

One day, as he was working in the kitchens, there was a sudden flurry of activity. A special order had come in. The guest seemed to be a rich and influential person and the dish he had ordered for seemed unique too.

“Fugu”, the others whispered to each other gravely, and the head chef looked tense and worried. Orders were shouted out to the apprentices to run to the market for the ingredients, but nobody seemed ready to cook it.

Lucky wondered what the fuss was all about. He went about his work until he was summoned by the Head chef. A bit apprehensive, Lucky presented himself in front of his boss.

A huge fish was lying on the table. The head-chef pointed at it. “Fugu”, he said. Lucky heaved a sigh of relief. Had the fuss been all about cooking that fish? He nodded vigorously, and set to work on the dish.

The dish was sent up, and it seemed to be a huge success, because everyone was smiling and the boss thumped him on the back.

That night, as he told Miki about the day’s events, he laughed at how everyone had been scared of cooking the fish. But Miki suddenly stopped him, a hint of fear in his eyes.

“What fish was that?” he asked. “They were calling it Fugu”, said Lucky. Miki was horrified. “And how did you cook it?” Lucky described it, and Miki wasted no more time. “Pack your belongings now”, he ordered. “You have to get away from here as soon as possible.”

“What? Why ?” asked a puzzled Lucky. “The fish you prepared is the puffer fish— a rare delicacy in Japan. But it is a highly poisonous one, and that’s why no one wanted to prepare it.

Nor could they send away their special guest. So they put the onus on you. The liver, which you served as part of the dish, is the most poisonous part.

It is against the law to cook the fish without a license certifying you as a trained fugu chef. If that man is dead, you’ll be in big trouble.”

Miki sent off a nervous Lucky on a fishing boat in the dead of the night, but without his share of the stolen loot. “Let me have it”, begged Lucky. “Why are you bothered?

That’s not important now—you need to escape the law. Your share is safe with me”, reassured Miki. “I’m a fugitive once again”, wailed Lucky as the boat drifted away in the dark.

The next morning’s newspaper carried the headline— “Billionaire dies of poisoning caused by eating Fugu”. Miki scanned the newspaper hurriedly for Lucky’s name.

If Lucky was implicated in the crime, he would never come back for his share of loot, thought a gleeful Miki to himself.

But Lucky wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Miki frowned. He went over the paper more carefully. His face drained of colour and soon, a knock came on the door.

“Open up, it’s the police!” At the bottom of the news item was written, “The fish was prepared by an unlicensed cook, Miki, whose documents were recovered from the employer.”

Lucky had submitted Miki’s papers as proof of identity.