Kappa Quartet

by Daryl Qilin Yam

  Akiko gave me a smile. She then took out her phone, and appeared to be sending a message to someone. Her phone then buzzed, a few seconds later, to indicate that she’d received a reply.

  “Your agent Mr Shimao would like to ask if you’d be willing to meet Nobuo,” Akiko said. “Two days from now, to hear his side of the story.” Akiko then tilted her head to the side. “What do you say, Ms Chiba?”

  I leant back in my chair. “Sure,” I said. “Tell him I’d like to.”

  Akiko typed into her phone once more. Another buzz came as quick as the last one. Akiko then put her phone away, and rose from her chair. “He says he couldn’t be happier.”

  II

  It was a minute to two when Takahata Nobuo showed up. He stepped through the door and found where I was, and sat facing me across the table. He was a tall man, and cut a rather trim figure; there was something about his build that suggested he ran quite regularly, was constantly on the move. He had the sort of figure that made me conscious of the weight I was putting on. Nobuo asked if I had waited long, and I told him that I hadn’t.

  “I was fifteen minutes early,” I said to him. “I should have timed myself better. But I ended up feeling a little nervous and impatient, just waiting around at home.”

  “You were nervous?” Nobuo asked.

  “I was, admittedly.”

  Nobuo smiled. It was disarming, his smile; it was the kind that caused his eyes to disappear. “You know, I was a bit shocked when I was told to meet you here. I didn’t know this café was so well known.”

  I crossed my legs. “Were you shocked as well when Akiko told you to meet her at the café?”

  “Not at first,” he said. “But eventually. When I found the address I realised it was right next to where she and my uncle lived. And then Akiko told me that she had moved into Kawako’s apartment. I was a bit surprised at first—everything’s happened so quickly—and then it all just, I don’t know. It made sense.”

  I nodded. I asked him what he made of that: of Akiko living with Kawako. Nobuo looked blank for a few seconds, before he said it was fitting, actually. I asked him how so.

  “Well, the two of them have been best friends since freshman year. It’s only natural that they both ended up living together. Especially since neither of them seems to be the marrying type.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  He pouted slightly as he thought. “Well, neither of them has had a boyfriend since college. That’s how I know so.” He then smiled again. “Shall we order?” he asked, before motioning for the waitress. Lisa wasn’t on shift that day, so it was a different girl this time. After a quick look at the menu, Nobuo ordered a plain black coffee for himself, as well as a slice of lemon tart for the both of us. I ordered a pot of barley tea again, just like the time before. After the waitress walked away, Nobuo leant over the table.

  “You should really try the lemon tart,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

  I fixed him with a level gaze. “You’re a pretty confident man, aren’t you?”

  He thought about it for a second. “You could say that,” he said. “There’s no point in being a reporter if you’re not confident.”

  “That’s true,” I replied. “How has the job been treating you so far?”

  “Well, I just got a promotion,” Nobuo said. “I got it the day before I learnt my uncle had passed away, which is strange. Anyway. Now, instead of constantly being assigned jobs by the editor, I get to chase after my own stories and use my own contacts. It also means I get to manage my own time, and do whatever I want with it, as long as I submit a certain number of articles per week.”

  “That’s nice, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he replied. “I guess you could say this transition suits my personality better.”

  I nodded. “It does seem that way, Mr Takahata. Congratulations are in order, then. I know we’ve just met, but I feel happy for you.”

  He smiled again. “Thank you, Ms Chiba.” After the waitress came back, placing our ordered items on the table, he asked if the current demands of his work bore any similarities to my own. “Like, do you often find yourself with a lot of free time in your hands? Does it scare you, almost, how you can spend a whole day without doing anything?”

  I felt amused, and poured myself a cup of tea. “Has that happened to you before?”

  “Well, once. That was a horrible day. I sat around in the Supreme Court hoping to find a good story, but nothing exciting happened. There were no murders, no fraud, no tax evasion stories. Nothing. My editor told me that just happens sometimes.”

  “In that case, I operate very differently from you, Mr Takahata.” I took a sip of my tea. “First of all, I always keep to a strict work schedule. Every evening, without fail, I sit down at my desk at eight o’ clock and write till eleven thirty. The next morning, I spend my time between breakfast and lunch editing whatever I wrote the night before. It’s a very exact schedule.”

  “You do this every day?” Nobuo asked.

  “When I’m committed to a novel, yes.”

  “So, hmm, how do you find inspiration for a novel? How do you know when it’s time to commit to one?”

  “That’s the second thing,” I said to him. “I’m not the kind of writer who goes out and talks to strangers and travels to a remote part of the country to get inspired. I’ve found that whenever I write, I find sources of inspiration within myself. My previous four novels have come from some part of myself that already existed within me.”

  “Oh, really?” said Nobuo. “I couldn’t tell. And I’ve read three of them.”

  “You have?” I said. “Thank you. And it’s true—the point is, I take what begins as a memory, or an aspect of my own life, and constantly mould and refine it until it has taken that step into fiction. It always starts from within, this process.”

  Nobuo nodded. He cut a portion of the lemon tart with his fork, and appeared to dwell on a thought as he chewed. “Have you ever feared that you would run out of memories or personal experiences to use?”

  Yes, I said; I told him it was already happening. “I guess you could say this is my biggest weakness. In order for my work to succeed I have to rely on the life that I have lived so far. I have to constantly draw from within, sometimes to the point of near emptiness, for I believe there is a moment in a writer’s career when they have done more writing than any actual living. And now here I am talking to you.”

  Nobuo looked at me for a long time, as though unsure of what to feel about the situation. “According to Mr Shimao, you’d like to have an account of what was discussed between me and Akiko, when we met here on the fifteenth of June.”

  “If possible, yes.”

  “Well, you must understand, Ms Chiba—I don’t have the kind of memory Akiko has. I can’t recreate entire conversations, unfortunately. I don’t possess that kind of talent, and if I did it would make my job a lot easier.” He then reached into his sling bag and brought out two items: a notebook and a compact voice recorder. “This is what I need in order to do my job.”

  “I see,” I said, as Nobuo put them away. “You don’t have to worry, Mr Takahata. I don’t expect anything anybody says to be one hundred per cent accurate, anyway.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Ms Chiba. For understanding.”

  I leant back in my chair. I held my cup of tea, and told him to give me the gist of it anyway.

  “Well,” said Nobuo. “I do recall Akiko asking if I was still in love with her.”

  I nearly laughed. “You must have been caught off-guard.”

  He nodded again. “I told her I wasn’t sure.”

  “You’re not sure?” I repeated.

  “I have a girlfriend, at the moment. That’s what I said to Akiko. Akiko then asked how many girlfriends I have had before this one. I told her five, which makes the current one my sixth.” Nobuo paused. “At the beginning, I didn’t know how to hand
le a relationship, so the first few ones didn’t last long at all. Whenever I chased after girls, I’d forget to use my head. But as I got older, I got wiser too. My current girlfriend and I have been together for nearly ten months now.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “Congratulations, once again.”

  He smiled. He almost seemed relieved. “Thank you, Ms Chiba.”

  For a while, neither of us spoke. He finished the rest of his lemon tart and drank his coffee, while I continued to sip on my tea. There were people outside, taking advantage of the sunny weather; they walked down the river in droves. Nobuo leant over the table once more.

  “Can I ask you something, Ms Chiba?”

  I nodded, slowly. “Ask away.”

  “You’re a novelist, right? You must be looking at the three of us like characters in a story.”

  I smiled. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Mr Takahata.” He smiled back.

  “I’m wondering if you think we’re broken,” said Nobuo. “The three of us. And I’m wondering who you thought has done the breaking.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “I don’t profess to know the answer, Mr Takahata. But I believe you know it already.”

  This is the part he remembers best.

  After Nobuo and Akiko were done with their food that day, they left the café, and walked up the river towards Nakameguro station. He was going to take the Hibiya Line, followed by the Marunouchi Line, back to his office in Otemachi that afternoon. It had been raining rather heavily that afternoon; even though they both had their own umbrellas, they elected to walk under Akiko’s, with Nobuo holding it up over their heads. How close they had been, walking together like that.

  Nobuo told Akiko about a tropical storm that might be headed towards Japan. It was reported two days ago, in fact. The Japan Meteorological Agency has yet to call it a typhoon, but we’ll have to see. It’s too far to tell at the moment.

  Akiko said she knew, of course. It’s called Guchol, isn’t it? Apparently he’d mentioned it earlier.

  That’s right, said Nobuo; I’d forgotten.

  They had met again two days later, on the seventeenth of June. It was Nobuo’s idea. It had been a particularly warm Sunday, hot and humid, although the sun was nowhere to be seen, and the sky remained overcast.

  Nobuo and Akiko sat at a different table, that afternoon; the one by the window had already been taken. Nobuo ordered a cup of coffee, while Akiko had a glass of iced tea. It was a busy afternoon in the café, and they were aware of the people around them, chatting away, seemingly happy. It was strange, thought Nobuo, that he should feel so unhappy in contrast. He hadn’t properly realised how unhappy he’d been, and for how long a time. It hadn’t occurred to him till then how damaged he was.

  Akiko was the first to speak. I had lunch with Kawako today. Before I came to see you.

  How is she? Nobuo asked.

  She’s fine, said Akiko, although she did appear a little troubled; a little too quiet.

  By what? asked Nobuo.

  By us, I believe. The fact of us reconnecting, after all these years, said Akiko.

  Nobuo looked at his coffee. What makes you say that? he asked. Akiko replied: She asked about our time together, right before I left the apartment.

  Ah. And what did you say?

  I told her you had a girlfriend. I told her you’d been seeing her for ten months. I had a feeling Kawako wouldn’t know.

  Nobuo nodded. Of course Kawako wouldn’t know. They were still cousins, sure—but they weren’t friends anymore. He asked how Kawako had reacted to that, and Akiko said: Kawako told me she hasn’t seen your family since the funeral. Is that true?

  Nobuo nodded again.

  She said she hasn’t spoken to or seen any of her extended family since that day, said Akiko. Every time she thinks she should make the journey to your house, she just loses all of her motivation. She then said it was a lot like her dream at the pool.

  You mean, the naked man? asked Nobuo.

  Yes, said Akiko. To Kawako, the man is just lying there, without any desire to move anywhere else, she said; he’s perfectly content with staying where he is. Akiko then paused, as though she were recounting the dream to herself. At least that’s what she said to me, anyway.

  Nobuo thought about what she had just said. Has she had the dream again recently? he asked Akiko, and Akiko shrugged her shoulders. She said she wouldn’t know.

  Nobuo wondered if this was what it all meant, for the three of them in particular: to live in the after; to mourn an ending.

  After Akiko was done talking about Kawako, Nobuo told her that he couldn’t stay long. I have to meet my girlfriend in an hour, he’d explained to her. At Denenchofu.

  Akiko had looked confused. But there’s nothing to do at Denenchofu.

  Well, she likes to look at houses, you know? said Nobuo. And it’s where she wants to live in the future, when the time comes for her to settle down.

  Akiko in turn asked Nobuo how many of these walks he has had with her. Nobuo thought about it. Eleven times, twelve? He wasn’t sure about the number.

  I see, said Akiko. She then asked if he would propose to her in Denenchofu, when the time came for him to do so. That would be quite romantic, she said, fulfilling all of her dreams.

  Nobuo shook his head. He asked Akiko to stop teasing him. They fell silent for a while. Akiko asked Nobuo if his girlfriend knew about their time together—about the fact that they were in a café just twenty metres away from her own apartment.

  My girlfriend knows nothing, he said.

  A tense silence followed his confession. Nobuo didn’t know what to do, although a burning feeling in his face informed him that he might be crying. Akiko stared at his two hands on the table, clasped tightly onto one another. It was only when Akiko placed her hands on his that he realised he was also shaking.

  I’m sorry, Akiko had said to him. I’ve become such a bitch.

  Nobuo nodded. She let out a quiet laugh.

  I wish things could have gone differently between us, said Akiko. There are days when I look back and ask myself how I could have better handled things. But the truth is that no matter how many ways I try to look at it, the Kurosawa Akiko that existed back then would not have acted otherwise. There was no doubt who that girl needed to be with more.

  Nobuo said he understood. Akiko tightened her grip on his hands.

  I’m sorry, she said again. There is a cruel streak within me. I didn’t know it then, but I see it now. I see it all the time.

  Nobuo turned towards the window. There, situated between two cherry trees, was where she lived now: in that apartment with Kawako. It was funny how much smaller it looked, from deep inside the café.

  Do you know why I was in love with you? he asked. Akiko shook her head.

  You never actually said why, she said.

  He kept his eye on the apartment block.

  You were holding on so tightly to the two of us, he’d said to Akiko. It took a while for me to realise that you were doing it for yourself. Not for me, or for Kawako. You held on to us because you had to.

  Nobuo then told Akiko that he’d once considered dropping out of Waseda. I raised an eyebrow at this point of the story.

  “You did?” I asked.

  “That, or I kept wishing Kawako would transfer to another university,” said Nobuo. “I wanted some way for the three of us to break up and go our separate ways, so I could ask Akiko out again and not feel guilty about it.” He paused. “In the end, about a month after I realised the truth about Kawako, I began to find and make other friends of my own. Or rather, people finally were beginning to see that I’d had my heart broken, really, by two girls whom I’d considered to be my closest friends. And then things just became easier. Eventually I stopped feeling so attached to the two of them, and managed to move on.”

  Akiko had taken all of that in. She absorbed everything that he had said to her.

  So you know about Kawako? About why she suddenly left your side? sh
e’d asked him.

  I was confused at first, he said in reply; so many things were happening in the span of one day.

  Akiko bit her lip.

  So you know, then, she said, that your cousin was in love with you. That she has probably always been in love with you.

  He nodded. The moment that possibility came to my mind, everything else just fell into place. Everything made sense.

  Akiko then asked him what had happened that day, after he had confessed to her over lunch. Nobuo said that he had gone straight home. He couldn’t really remember how he’d gotten there in one piece, when he’d found himself constantly on the brink of tears. I love you, he kept thinking on the bus. I love you. Why isn’t that enough for you?

  He opened the front door. I’m home, he said. He then found Kawako, seated in his living room. She was wearing a floral green dress, with a white cardigan slung over her arm. Kawako had seemed like she was about to say something, but Nobuo had taken her by the arm instead. He dragged her into his bedroom. Kawako, too bewildered by what was going on, kept quiet and waited for him to speak. But he didn’t.

  “What did you do?” I asked.

  Nobuo shrugged, as though it were no big deal. He began to play with the crumbs on his plate.

  “I cried,” he said to me. “I turned my back towards her and cried. I couldn’t face her at all. I told her I was in love with Akiko, and that it was the bravest thing I had ever done. I then told her how Akiko had done the most cowardly thing. I told her how she said she didn’t remember.”

  “About what she said on Valentine’s?”

  Nobuo looked up from his plate. “Akiko told you about that?”

  “Yes,” I said. “About that night in Shibuya.”

  Nobuo shook his head. He nearly seemed to laugh. And then he dropped his fork: he let it fall, with a clatter, as he held on to his hand. “I’m shaking,” he said, holding it close to his chest. “Look at that, Ms Chiba. I’m shaking again.”

  •

  I was back in the café, two days later; I was about to sit down, at my usual spot by the window, when the door swung open with a jingle of the bell. I checked my watch—one forty-five, it read—and looked up.