The room wasn’t the one decked out for the ceremony, but the space where the coffin had been set up for the funeral. Incense burned before the altar. At the front of the neat grid of chairs sat Takeo.
What was his father doing? Takeo stood up and went over to a bag by the far wall. He pulled out something slender wrapped in a white cloth.
He started to unravel it as he approached the casket, and the object beneath glinted in the light. In that instant, Katsuro knew what he was holding.
A knife. A knife with history. Katsuro had heard its story more times than he cared to count.
His grandfather had used this blade from the day he opened Uomatsu. It had been handed down to Takeo when the decision was made for him to take over the business. This was the knife Takeo had used when he learned and trained how to cut a fish.
Takeo draped the cloth over the casket and placed the knife there. He glanced at the photo of his mother and clasped his hands in prayer. It ate away at Katsuro’s heart to watch this happening. He had a feeling he knew what Takeo was saying to his mother.
He was apologizing. For closing down the business his father had bequeathed to him. For failing to pass down the family blade.
Katsuro stepped away from the window. Without ever going through the main entrance, he left the community center behind.
5
Katsuro felt awful about his father’s state. Never had he felt guilt from the bottom of his heart. He had to thank his father for setting him free.
Still, could he live with the way things were going?
His uncle was right. His father’s health was getting pretty bad. Who knows how long we would be able to keep the shop alive? Even if Kanako took over, she’d need to take care of her husband, too. They might close any day now, with zero notice.
What then?
Emiko was starting work next spring as a teller at a local bank, which meant she could still live at home. But her salary would be nowhere near enough to look after both their parents.
What was Katsuro supposed to do? Give up on music and take over Uomatsu?
That was the most realistic option. But what would come of the dream he’d nurtured all these years? After all, Kanako had said Takeo didn’t want to be the reason why Katsuro gave up his dreams.
Katsuro sighed. He looked around and stopped walking for a second.
He had no clue where he was. The new houses had messed with his sense of direction.
He jogged around, up one street, down another, and finally made it to an area he recognized. When he was little, there used to be an empty lot around here where he loved to play.
The road had a gradual uphill slope, and Katsuro took his time walking along. A little ways up, on the right side of the road, he saw a building he remembered from when he was a kid. A little store where he bought stuff like pencils and paper. He was sure this was it. The grubby sign said NAMIYA GENERAL STORE.
His memories of the store went beyond his purchases. The old man who ran it used to hear him out when things were bothering him and offer him advice. Looking back, none of the things he asked for help about were serious. How can I win first place in the race at field day? How can I get more money on New Year’s? Nevertheless, Old Man Namiya took him seriously. For the New Year’s question, he suggested, Make a law where all the envelopes for New Year’s money from your relatives have to be transparent. His reasoning? They’ll need to put more in, to keep up appearances.
He wondered how the old man was. Gazing at the shop, Katsuro felt as if he were looking back in time. The rusty shutter was pulled down, and no light bled from the windows of the rooms upstairs. He went around the side of the house to look at the garage. They used to do graffiti on the wall here. But the old man never scolded them. The most he said was “If you’re going to draw on the walls, at least draw something good.”
He was sorry to find no trace of what they’d drawn. It had been at least ten years by now. The marks had weathered away and disappeared.
Then it happened. Bicycle brakes screeched to a halt out front. Katsuro poked his head out from the alley to find a young woman getting off her bike.
She pulled something from the bag slung over her shoulder and slipped it into the mail slot in the shutter. As he watched her, he found himself breaking the silence with a quiet “What?”
Although he hadn’t spoken very loudly, the silent night gave his words ample clearance to reverberate. The woman looked frightened and straddled her bike. She probably thought he was a pervert.
“Wait, hold on; it’s not what you think! I wasn’t doing anything.” Katsuro stepped out into the street, waving his hands wildly. “I wasn’t hiding; I was just having a look at this wall. I used to play here, as a kid.”
The woman sat astride her bike, one foot on the pedals, ready to push off at any second. She stared at Katsuro, her eyes glazed with suspicion. Her long hair was tied up at her neck. She wore little makeup, but her features were well-defined. She was Katsuro’s age, or maybe a little younger. Her muscular arms peeking out from the sleeves of her T-shirt suggested she was some kind of athlete.
“You saw me, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice a bit husky.
Unsure of what she meant, Katsuro didn’t speak.
She elaborated. “Didn’t you see what I was doing, just a second ago?” Her tone was accusatory.
“It looked like you put something in the mail slot…”
The woman scowled and bit her lower lip, averting her gaze. But then she looked at Katsuro. “Please forget you saw any of this. Me included.”
“But…”
The woman bid him good-bye and made to pedal off.
“Wait. Just one question.” Katsuro dashed ahead and stopped in front of her. “The letter in that envelope… Were you asking for advice?”
The woman drew back and eyed Katsuro cautiously. “Who’s asking?”
“A friend of the store. I used to get advice from the old man when I was little…”
“What’s your name?”
Katsuro scrunched his eyebrows together. “Shouldn’t you give your name before asking someone else’s?”
Still straddling the bike, the woman sighed. “I’m afraid I can’t. And the letter wasn’t asking for advice. It was a thank-you.”
“A thank-you?”
“About six months ago, I asked him for advice and got exactly what I needed. I wrote to say thanks for helping me figure things out.”
“You asked him? You mean someone at this store? Don’t tell me that old man still lives here.” Katsuro looked at the woman and back at the decrepit house.
The girl shook her head. “I’m not sure he does, but when I left a letter last year, I came back the next day, went around back, and there it was in the milk crate.”
An answer. That’s right. Come by at night and drop a letter in the mail slot, and the next day, you’ll find an answer in there.
“I wonder if he’s still accepting letters.”
“Yeah, who knows. It’s been a while since I got my advice. I’m not even sure he’ll get this. But I wrote it with that possibility in mind.”
It seemed as though whatever Mr. Namiya had told her had been extremely influential.
“Um, is that all?” the woman asked. “If I’m not home soon, my family’s going to wonder where I went.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
Katsuro stepped aside. The woman stepped down on the pedals with impressive force, and the bicycle glided away with growing speed. Before Katsuro could count to ten, she was gone.
He turned to look again at the old storefront. It seemed deserted. If letters were being answered from an abandoned house, the only explanation was that the place was haunted.
Katsuro huffed through his nose. What a load of crap. There was no way that was what was happening. He shook his head and walked away.
Back at home, he found Emiko in the living room alone. She said she couldn’t sleep, so she was having a nightcap. On the tea table before he
r was a whiskey bottle and a glass. She’d really grown up overnight. Their mother was already in bed.
“Did you talk to Dad?”
“No, I wound up not going back. I just went for a walk.”
“Where’d you go this time of night?”
“Around. Oh yeah. Do you remember that old store, the Namiya General Store?”
“Namiya? Yeah, I remember that place. It’s kind of in a weird spot, right?”
“Think somebody still lives there?”
“What?” Emiko’s voice had the curl of a question mark. “I highly doubt it. They closed down a while ago. I’m pretty sure the place is empty.”
“Ha. I knew it.”
“Knew what? What’s going on?”
“No, never mind.”
Emiko scowled at her brother.
“Hey, Katsuro. What’s the plan? You going to abandon the family business?”
“Abandon? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Well, that’s what it is. If you don’t take over the store, we’ll have to close. That on its own wouldn’t bother me, but what’s going to happen to Mom and Dad? Don’t tell me you’re just going to abandon them, too.”
“Shut up. I’ve got a plan.”
“What kind of plan? I’d love to hear it.”
“I said shut up.”
Katsuro marched upstairs and threw himself in bed in his borrowed suit. A swarm of thoughts spun through his head, but the alcohol prevented him from stringing them together.
After a while, he slowly peeled himself out of bed and sat down at his childhood desk. In the drawer, he found a composition notebook and a ballpoint pen.
He opened up the notebook and began to write.
To the Namiya General Store…
6
The next day, the funeral went along without a hitch. Since the night before, little had changed in the expressions of those in attendance. Katsuro’s relatives showed up early, but everyone acted a little restless around him. His uncle kept his distance.
Interspersed with his extended family were people from businesses on the same street as Uomatsu and people from the neighborhood association who caught his eye. Faces he had known for as long as he could remember.
He spotted a classmate. It took Katsuro a minute to place him, thanks to the suit he’d worn to the service, but when it clicked, he was certain. They were in the same class in middle school. His parents had a store near Uomatsu where they sold handmade seals.
Katsuro started to remember this guy’s story. His father died when he was little, and his grandfather taught him how to carve. After graduating high school, he went straight to helping at the shop. He was at the funeral to represent the family business.
The classmate burned a stick of incense for the departed and came before Katsuro and his family. He bowed his head as a sign of respect. The gesture made him appear years older than Katsuro.
Following the funeral service, they took the body to the crematorium. After that, the family went back to the community center for the requisite seventh-day memorial rites. Finally, Takeo gave a brief address to all his relatives, bringing an end to the proceedings.
Katsuro and his family saw the others off and started packing up. There was a lot to carry. They opened the rear hatch of the shop’s delivery van and loaded in the ceremonial altar and all the flowers. The rear seats were crowded with luggage.
Takeo slid into the driver’s seat.
“Katsuro, you ride up front,” said Kanako.
Katsuro shook his head.
“Nah. Ma, you should ride back with him. I’ll walk.”
Kanako gave him a look of disappointment. She seemed to think he didn’t want to ride beside his father.
“I want to make a stop on my way home. I won’t be long.”
“Huh…”
Katsuro turned his back on his puzzled family and walked off. He didn’t want to deal with any questions about where he was going.
He checked his watch. It was nearly six.
The night before, he’d sneaked out in the middle of the night and walked over to the Namiya General Store with a brown envelope in the pocket of his blue jeans. The lines of that white paper were packed with a detailed explanation of what was bothering him. Of course, he had written all of it himself.
Apart from withholding his real name, he had outlined his present circumstances without hiding anything and asked for advice on what to do. In short, he wanted to know if he should chase his dreams or scrap them and take over the family business.
In all honesty, the next morning when he’d woken up, he’d been embarrassed about what he’d done. He saw it for the stupid fantasy it was. There was no way anyone was living in that house. The girl who came by on the bike was probably crazy. And if she was, he was in a pickle. He didn’t want anyone else reading that letter.
Then again, maybe she was serious, and it was all real, in some fantastical way. Maybe he would find an answer to his problems. Something that would help him steer his life in the right direction.
With uncertainty and anticipation, Katsuro climbed the hill and made it back to the timeworn facade of the store. It had been too dark the night before for him to notice that the shop’s walls, once a creamy color, had lapsed into a filthy gray.
There was a narrow alley between the shop and the garage. That seemed like the only way to get around back.
Taking care not to dirty his clothes against the walls, Katsuro carefully scooted sideways to the end of the alley.
On the back wall was a door, and sure enough, stuck to the wall beside it, he found a wooden milk crate. Katsuro swallowed and pried open the hatch with his fingers. It was pretty tight, but he yanked it open.
Peering inside, he saw a brown envelope and picked it up to get a closer look. They had reused his envelope. The response was addressed, in black ballpoint pen, Dear Floundering Artiste.
His heart did a somersault. Someone must be living here. Katsuro stood in front of the back door and perked up his ears. He heard nothing from inside.
Or maybe they lived someplace else and came by every night to check for letters. It was plausible, but why would someone go to all the trouble?
Katsuro cocked his head and left the question and the shop behind. He didn’t really care at that moment. The Namiya General Store probably had its own reasons. What mattered to him more right now was the contents of the letter.
Envelope in hand, Katsuro walked around the area, hoping to find a quiet place to open it.
He found a tiny park—just a swing set, slide, and sandbox. No one else around. He sat down on a bench by the fence. It took him several deep breaths to open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of stationery. With his heart pounding wildly, he began to read.
Dear Floundering Artiste,
Thank you for sharing this shamelessly privileged complaint with me. That’s what it is, though, isn’t it? It must be nice to be the heir to a family business. You’re set to take over the store with no effort on your part, complete with a long-standing customer base and a reputation you won’t have to sweat over to build.
If you don’t mind my asking, haven’t you noticed there are people in the world who are struggling to find jobs?
If the answer is no, then congratulations. You must live in a wonderful time.
But that’s not how the world is going to be in thirty years. It won’t be all fun and games. Just having a job will be a blessing. There will come a day when simply graduating college will no longer guarantee employment. That day is coming. You can bet on it.
And look at you. You dropped out. Up and quit. You let your parents pay your way through college, which you were lucky enough to get into at all, and you threw it all away.
All in the name of music. You say you want to be a performer so badly that you’re willing to scrap a family business and brave it alone, just you and your guitar. Well, well, look at you. Really, there isn’t much of a point to even giving you advice. You may as well
do whatever you want. People who live with their head in the clouds deserve to hit the ground every once in a while. Eh, but I guess since I’ve advertised that I give free advice, I have to give you some kind of response.
You want my real advice? Put down the guitar and start cutting fish. Your father is in rough shape. This is no time for some carefree soul-searching or whatever. You’re never going to make a living off your music. The only people who can do that are musical geniuses. People with special abilities. Which is not the case for you. Stop daydreaming like a real idiot and wake up.
—Namiya General Store
Katsuro’s hands were shaking. Shaking with rage.
What the hell? he thought. There’s no need to rip me a new one.
Give up music and take over the shop—very original. What else would the letter have said? It was the realistic, safe solution. But why did this person have to be so rude? Frankly, Katsuro was insulted.
He regretted even asking for advice. He balled up the letter and the envelope and shoved them in his pocket. If he could have found a trash can, he would have tossed them.
But there were no trash cans on his walk home, and he arrived with the letter in his pocket. Inside he found his parents and his sister setting up the ceremonial altar in front of the bigger family one.
“Where have you been?” asked Kanako. “You were gone a while.”
“Yeah…,” Katsuro said on his way upstairs.
He changed into fresh clothes and threw the crumpled letter in the trash, but instantly, he reconsidered. He smoothed out the wrinkled paper on his desk and read over it again. It left him just as hopeless as the first time.
He knew he should let it go, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. Whoever wrote this was terribly mistaken. They wrote about the fish shop as if it were some eminent long-running business and treated Katsuro like some pretty boy from a wealthy family.
The letter told him to wake up, but as far as Katsuro was concerned, he was staring into the jaws of reality. That was why he was struggling, but whoever wrote this letter didn’t seem to realize that.
Katsuro sat down to write. He pulled out the notebook and the pen and took his time composing the following reply.
The Miracles of the Namiya General Store Page 8
