He knew if he showed up in a store at this time of night, the clerk was bound to remember his face. And even if not, he’d be there on camera.
Forget those two, he thought. They’ll figure things out.
Atsuya stopped out front. There was no one inside except for one guy working the night shift.
He sighed. “You damned softy.”
He hid his bag behind the trash can and swung open the glass door.
Atsuya was in and out; all he did was buy some rice balls, a few pastries, and bottled drinks. The clerk was young, but he didn’t so much as look up at Atsuya. Maybe they got his face on camera, but shopping at this hour wasn’t enough to pique the interest of the police. What criminal would risk it? No one. Of course not. At least, that was what he tried to tell himself.
He snatched his bag from its hiding spot and went back up the road he’d just come down. His plan was just to give the guys the food and split. He wasn’t trying to stick around that spooky house.
He was back in no time. As luck would have it, he didn’t pass anyone on the way.
Atsuya gave the house a once-over, then examined the mail slot in the welded shutter. If he slipped a letter through the slot right now, what year would it be when it landed inside?
Ducking down the narrow alley between the house and the garage, he went around back. The door had been left open. Peering inside, he stepped over the threshold.
“Ah, Atsuya!” Kohei cried cheerfully. “You’re back. After an hour, we started worrying you really left us.”
“An hour?” Atsuya checked his phone. “It’s only been like fifteen minutes. And I’m not back. I brought you provisions.” He dropped the plastic bag on the table. “I don’t know how long you’re planning to stick around.”
“Whoa!” Kohei’s face lit up. He eagerly snatched a rice ball.
“If you guys stay here,” Atsuya warned Shota, “you’ll never see the morning.”
“Yeah, we figured out a work-around.”
“A work-around?”
“The back door was wide-open, right?”
“Yeah…”
“If you leave it open, time passes at the same rate, outside and inside. Kohei and I tried all kinds of stuff and figured out this works. That’s why we’re only off by an hour.”
“The back door, huh…?” Atsuya stared out through it. “What the hell makes it work that way? What’s up with this house?”
“I’m not sure, but now there’s no reason for you not to stick around. We can stay here right through till morning.”
“He’s right,” agreed Kohei. “Would be better to stick together.”
“I bet you guys just want to keep writing to your weirdo pen pal.”
“So what? If it bothers you, stay out of it. But we do want your advice on one small thing.”
Atsuya peered suspiciously at Shota. “My advice?”
“After you left, we wrote our third letter. Then we got another back. Anyway, have a look.”
Atsuya looked at Shota and Kohei, who were both giving him puppy-dog eyes.
“Fine, I’ll read it, but nothing more,” he cautioned. “What’d you guys say to her anyway?”
“Here’s a draft of what we sent.” Shota handed him a sheet of paper, a draft of the third letter they’d sent to Moon Rabbit.
This time Shota had written it out. The handwriting was easy to read and properly capitalized.
Don’t worry about the cell phone thing. It doesn’t matter.
Please tell me a little more about you and your boyfriend. What are you good at? Do you share any interests? Have you been on any trips lately? Seen any movies? If you’re into music, what songs have you been listening to?
If you could tell me these things, I can tailor my advice. Thanks. (Please excuse the difference in handwriting. There’s nothing to worry about.)
—Namiya General Store
“What gives? Why’d you ask all that?”
“Look, first things first—we need to pinpoint when Ms. Rabbit’s writing from. As long as we’re not sure, we’re not gonna be on the same page with her.”
“Why not just ask her, then? Like, ‘Hey, yo, what year is it?’”
Shota seemed annoyed by Atsuya’s question.
“Put yourself in her shoes. She has no idea what’s really going on. If we ask that out of the blue, she’s gonna think we’re crazy.”
Atsuya pouted his lower lip and scratched his cheek. He couldn’t disagree. “All right, so what’d she say?”
Shota picked an envelope up off the table. “See for yourself.”
Wondering what was such a big deal, Atsuya pulled out the letter and unfolded the pages.
Thank you for your ongoing advice. I have been looking into cell phones and asking friends, but I still haven’t been able to figure it out. I’m really curious, but I’ll take your word for it that it doesn’t concern me and try to put it out of my mind. I’d be grateful if you’d tell me in the future.
Of course. I’d be happy to tell you a little bit about the two of us.
As I mentioned in my first letter, I’m an athlete. My boyfriend used to compete in the same sport. That’s how we met. He was nominated for the Olympics once, too, but beyond that, we’re just two normal people. We both like going to the movies. This year, we saw Superman, oh, and Rocky II. We also saw Alien. He said he enjoyed it, but it really wasn’t my cup of tea.
We both listen to a lot of music, too. Let’s see—lately, I’ve been listening to Godiego and Southern All Stars. Isn’t “Ellie, My Love [Itoshi no Ellie]” just great?
It lifts my spirits to write this all out and remember the good old days, you know, before he got sick. Maybe that was your intention. Either way, I can say for sure that this exchange of notes (if you’ll excuse the expression) is giving me strength. Please write again tomorrow if you can.
—Moon Rabbit
Atsuya finished reading and mumbled, “Huh. Okay. Alien? ‘Ellie, My Love’? That pretty much nails down the era. Right around when our parents were our age.”
Shota nodded. “I just looked it up on my phone. Well, not just now. There’s no service in here. You gotta go outside to use it. Anyway, all three movies were released in Japan in 1979. Same goes for ‘Ellie, My Love.’”
Atsuya shrugged. “That settles it. It’s 1979.”
“Right. Which means the Olympic games Ms. Rabbit is trying to attend would be in 1980.”
“Yeah. So what?”
Shota gave Atsuya a look, as if peering into the hidden reaches of his soul.
“What’s up?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”
“You really don’t know? I mean, I figured Kohei wouldn’t, but not you, too.”
“What is it? Just tell me.”
Shota took a deep breath and told him. “In 1980, the Olympics were in Moscow. Those were the games Japan decided to boycott.”
5
Of course, Atsuya knew about the boycott. He may not have known it was in 1980, but that didn’t matter.
That would have been during the height of the Cold War. Things came to a head when the Soviet Union invaded Afghanistan, and the United States responded by announcing its withdrawal from the Olympic games, urging the rest of the Western world to follow suit. Japan held off until the last minute but finally caved to join them in protest.
At least, that’s what Shota had said, after he’d consulted his phone. Atsuya had never heard the events outlined in such detail.
“Doesn’t this solve Moon Rabbit’s problem, then? If Japan isn’t going to the Olympics next year, she may as well forget about the competition and spend all her time caring for her lover. Why not say that?”
Atsuya’s proposal rang wrong to Shota.
“Even if we told her, there’s no way she’d believe us. I mean, I read that the Olympic athletes in Japan all thought they were going to compete up until the boycott was officially announced to the public.”
“If we tell her we’re from
the future…” Atsuya trailed off. His face went sour. “Never mind.”
“She’s gonna think this whole thing’s a joke.”
Atsuya clicked his tongue and banged the table with his fist.
“Um, guys?” Kohei ventured to speak for the first time in a while. “Do we have to say why?”
Atsuya and Shota both looked at him.
“Um, I mean,” he said, scratching his head. “Why give the actual reason? Can’t we just say we think she should quit training so hard so she can take care of her boyfriend? Or is this just some dumb idea?”
Atsuya met Shota’s eyes. It was hard to tell who nodded first.
“No, that’s good,” Shota assured him.
“Not dumb at all. That’s the answer. She’s asking for advice because she’s unsure of what to do. She’s clutching at straws. There’s no reason to go into the reasons behind it. Tell her straight up that if she loves him, she has to stay beside him till the very end. I’m sure that’s what he really wants deep down.”
Shota picked up the pen and scribbled down a few lines. “How’s this?”
He’d basically written down what Atsuya had just said.
“Looks good to me.”
“Great.”
Shota took the letter out through the back door. It closed behind him. They could hear him lift open the lid of the milk bin and let it fall shut with a thud.
A moment later, something flapped into the box.
Atsuya went out front to look. In the box against the shutter, he found another letter.
Thanks so much for writing.
To be perfectly honest, I was not expecting to receive such a cut-and-dried response. Not that I expected your advice to be vague, exactly, but I thought it would be more open-ended, you know, and force me to make the final call. But I suppose you don’t leave things half-done. That’s why everyone comes to you with their worries and trusts you with their deepest secrets.
“If you love him, stay beside him to the end.”
This sentence truly struck home with me. I know this is right. There’s nothing to debate.
But I’m afraid the “That’s what he really wants deep down” part isn’t totally accurate.
When I called him today, I was planning, as you advised me, to say I wanted to pull out of the running. But as if he knew my next move, he spoke first and told me that if I had the time to call him, I should spend it training, period. He said it was good to hear my voice, but it pained him knowing that as we speak, my rivals were getting ahead of me.
I’m conflicted. I’m scared that if I give up the Olympics, he’ll be so devastated that his condition will worsen. As long as I can’t guarantee that won’t happen, I can’t let myself go through with it.
Maybe I’m just pathetic for feeling this way.
—Moon Rabbit
Atsuya finished the letter and looked up at the cobwebbed ceiling.
“I don’t get it. What’s wrong with her? If she’s not going to follow our advice, why’d she ask for it in the first place?”
Shota sighed. “There’s only so much we can do. She has no way of knowing her advice is coming from the future.”
“If she called him, that means she isn’t close enough to go and see him,” Kohei surmised, focusing on the letter. “I feel bad for her.”
“I’m pissed at this guy,” Atsuya said. “I mean, try to understand what she’s going through! The Olympics are like a field day blown out of proportion. It’s only a game, right? How can he expect her to focus when her boyfriend is suffering? I don’t care how sick he is. It’s selfish of him to pressure her into this.”
“The guy has it rough himself, though. He knows it’s her dream to make it to the Olympics. I’m sure he’d feel real guilty if he forced her to back out. He’s fighting his feelings back and putting up a tough-guy front for her, or maybe just taking his good intentions too far.”
“That’s the part that gets me. He’s in love with the idea of fighting that battle against his own weakness.”
“You think?”
“Definitely. A tragic heroine. Well, hero. He just wants to play the part.”
“All right. How should we write back?” Shota pushed the pages aside to clear the table.
“Tell her she’s gotta open this man’s eyes. That’s the first step. She’s gotta tell him straight. It’s only a game, and definitely no excuse to put your lover in a bind. The Olympics are just a fancier version of a field day. Not worth getting worked up over.”
Shota, pen in hand, squinted back at Atsuya. “There’s no way we can tell her to say that.”
“Whatever. It’s what she has to say.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If it was that easy, her letter wouldn’t sound so upset.”
Atsuya scratched his head with both hands. “What a pain in the ass.”
“What if she got someone else to say it?” Kohei jumped in again.
“Someone to say it for her?” asked Shota. “Who? She hasn’t told anyone but us about his condition.”
“About that,” added Kohei. “What’s with not telling their parents? If she told them, I’m sure they’d take her side.”
Atsuya snapped his fingers. “You’re right. Her parents, his parents, doesn’t matter. She’s gotta get it out there. If they knew what was going on, no one would ever tell her to stick with the Olympics. Throw that in there, Shota.”
“Got it.” He started writing.
I understand why you’re conflicted. But please trust me on this one. Consider it a done deal and just follow my advice.
Simply put, your boyfriend is wrong.
You have to remember that this whole thing is only a game. At the end of the day, the Olympics are just a bigger version of a field day. To be honest, it’s stupid to waste your precious time together on it. You need to get him to understand this.
If I could, I’d gladly tell him on your behalf. But unfortunately, I can’t do that.
What you need to do is tell your parents—or his. Once you break the news to them about his condition, they’re sure to take your side.
That’s the only way. You’ve got to accept it. Drop out of the Olympics. No one will blame you for it. Just do it. You’ll be glad you did.
—Namiya General Store
Shota went out to drop the letter in the milk bin, then came back in through the back door. “We really put the screws on this time. That oughtta settle things.”
“Kohei,” Atsuya yelled out into the store. “Anything come yet?”
“Not yet!” he shouted back.
“No? Hmm. That’s odd.” Shota frowned. “All the other ones came right away. Maybe the back door wasn’t closed enough.” He got up to check.
“Wait, got it!” Kohei hollered from the shadows of the storefront and came back into the kitchen with the letter.
It’s Moon Rabbit. Remember me? I’m so sorry for taking a month to reply.
I meant to write back right away, but I just started boot camp. I guess that’s just an excuse. If I’m honest, I was torn about what to write.
I was caught off guard by what you said about my boyfriend being wrong. You dare to call a spade a spade, even if the person in question is suffering from a terminal illness, and your response made me sit up straight. I feel like I can learn a thing or two from you.
Maybe you’re right about it just being a game, just the Olympics… No, I know you’re right. It could be that we’ve gotten ourselves worked up over something that doesn’t even matter.
But I could never say that to him. I understand it doesn’t matter to most people. But we share a history of training for it. We’ve worked as if our lives depended on it.
You do have a point about telling our parents. It’s something we should do. But not quite yet. His younger sister just had a baby, and his parents are still experiencing the newfound joy of being grandparents. He wants us to let them enjoy it a little longer, and I can understand why he would feel that way.
During this b
oot camp, I’ve had the chance to call him a few times. When I tell him how hard I’m training, he gets so happy. There’s no way he’s faking it.
But maybe I should give up on the Olympics after all. Just quit the training and attend full-time to his needs. Maybe he needs that more than anything.
The more I think it over, the more confused I get.
—Moon Rabbit
Atsuya wanted to scream. This one made his blood boil.
“What the hell is she thinking? We tell her to quit, and she ships off to another boot camp. What’s she gonna do if he dies while she’s away?”
“If she skipped camp,” reasoned Kohei, “she would never be able to face him.”
“But what’s the point of even going? What’s this crap about ‘the more I think, the more confused I get’? We’ve spelled it out for her. Why can’t she listen?”
“It’s her way of showing how much she cares,” said Shota. “She doesn’t want to be the one to kill his dreams.”
“Well, they’re not gonna come true. Either way, she’s not going to the Olympics. Shit, man, how are we gonna get this through to her?” Atsuya impatiently bounced his knee up and down.
“What if she got an injury?” Kohei suggested. “If she had to drop out on account of an injury, he’d have to give it up.”
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Atsuya agreed.
“No way,” protested Shota. “That still means she doesn’t make his final wish come true. That’s the thing Ms. Rabbit worries about the most.”
Atsuya wrinkled his nose. “Would you shut up for once about this goddamned dream? That can’t be the only thing he wants in life.”
Shota’s eyes opened wide, as if he had a breakthrough. “That’s it! She’s just gotta tell him that the Olympics isn’t all there is to life. She needs to steer his will to dream toward something else. Like maybe…” He thought it over for a second. “Kids.”
“What kids?”
“Their kids! We’ll tell her to tell him she’s pregnant. With his kid, of course. That way she’d have to back out of the Olympics. He’d lose one dream, but he can redirect his efforts to dreaming about becoming a father. It would give him something to live for.”
The Miracles of the Namiya General Store Page 4
