“That was all?” I asked Seven Stars after the class was over.
She nodded. “Yup.”
I’d put her composition at the bottom of the pile, so she would be the last student to leave the classroom.
“This is an intriguing story, but not what I was looking for,” I said. “The homework I assigned was an argumentative essay.”
“Really?” she asked playfully. “Are you going to ask me redo it?”
“You don’t need to, since I’m leaving. Today is my last day.”
Her smile disappeared. “I know.”
“You know a lot of things, don’t you?” I leaned back in my chair. “I’m curious. Whose train arrived first?”
She shrugged. “That, I don’t know. The woman woke up before she could find out.”
I’d expected such an answer from her. “That must be vexing.”
“You’re wrong, Mr. Ishida. You don’t understand a woman’s heart. She’s glad she’ll never find out. She doesn’t even want to know. Either way, it’s going to be sad, since one of them has to leave first. It might be fine for the one leaving, but the one who is left behind must feel very, very sad.”
Seven Stars pulled the paper from my hand and crumpled it up. Opening the window, she threw it out.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You’re overthinking this. It’s just a story I wrote, no big deal. Don’t worry so much about it.” She leaned closer and touched my forehead with the tip of her finger. “See, you have wrinkles here.”
She took her schoolbag and walked out. Her high ponytail swung with every step she took. And that was the last time I ever saw her, the girl with the beautiful fingers. Never again in my life would I meet such a precocious girl who could sweep me away like a violent tidal wave.
I left the office with the rest of my colleagues around ten. The bar was only a few minutes away on foot, but the December night was cold. We walked as fast as we could.
When we reached the place, there were only four other patrons. Unidentifiable jazz music played in the background. The sound was faint. It probably came from a stereo hidden somewhere behind the counter.
A man welcomed us and showed us to the biggest table in the middle of the room. He appeared to be the owner. The principal bowed to him, and they went to the counter to chat. The rest of us took off our coats and seated ourselves, the principal joining us shortly. The bartender brought a few bottles of Nikka whiskey, some mixers, two buckets of ice, and a tray of shot glasses.
“Isn’t this too much?” one of the teachers asked.
“It’s okay,” the principal said, “we haven’t gone out to drink in a long time.”
One of the young female staff brought a set of larger glasses and filled them with ice cubes, liquor, and bottled iced green tea. The principal gestured for us to pick up our drinks and led us in a toast. Once we’d put down the glasses, another staff member refilled without pause, coaxing everyone into another toast. The principal seemed in high spirits. He laughed loudly and exchanged banter with everyone.
After a couple of rounds, most faces around the table had turned red, yet no one was slowing down. If anything, everyone was getting more pumped up, especially the principal.
“Is he drunk?” I whispered to Honda, who sat next to me.
“No, he holds his liquor well,” he answered. “But it’s his mission to get everyone drunk before he lets us off.”
“Honda and Ishida, what are you whispering about?” the principal shouted. “Stop talking amongst yourselves and drink more.”
Another staff member filled our glasses until the liquor overflowed and invited us for a toast. Honda and I had no choice but to oblige.
After a while, I noticed the young woman who did most of the pouring didn’t mix the drinks equally. The glass on the far right would have the most whiskey, while the glass all the way to the left would have almost no alcohol in it. I kept taking the one on the left and drank copious amounts of iced green tea with only a waft of liquor scent.
I glanced at my watch. It was already past midnight. The majority of my colleagues were drunk, but most were still drinking and pouring for each other nonstop. Some of them started sipping the whiskey on the rocks. The bar owner returned with more.
Watching my colleagues chatter to each other at the dimly lit bar reminded me of a Chinese movie I’d seen at the Cinema Komori. The movie theater was old, but within walking distance of my house. Unfortunately, it had since been demolished and turned into a McDonald’s.
I went to that cinema with my first girlfriend on our first date. We kissed during a scene when the two leads stood in a bar similar to this one. It was just a brief peck on the lips, an amateurish kiss, but I was still so nervous. Good thing the cinema was dark, or my girlfriend would have seen me turn red.
And that movie, what had it been about? An extramarital affair, if I remembered correctly. I was sure the female lead had young children. What a choice of film to watch on a first date. And what had the title been? I couldn’t recall. It had something to do with music and it started with an A—Allegro, Adagio, Andantino?
I gave up; I couldn’t remember. Was I getting old, or was I just drunk?
The teacher sitting across the table stared at me. He looked quite intoxicated. We had never talked, and I felt uncomfortable under his intense gaze.
“Are you looking at me?” I whispered.
“Yes, it’s your eyes,” he said. “You don’t look like your sister, but you have the same eyes as she did. Do you know that?”
His voice was clear enough for everyone at the table to hear him.
I drained my glass. “Is that so?”
The atmosphere became tense. All this while, the staff had tried not to talk about my sister in front of me. But now, the barrier was broken. After an awkward silence, the principal spoke.
“She was a sweet girl, wasn’t she?”
I nodded.
We continued to drink for a while, but no one said anything. The uneasiness lingered.
“We’ve had enough for the night,” the principal finally said.
Everyone murmured in agreement. I looked at Honda. His face was completely red.
“Are you all right?” I asked, patting his shoulder.
He looked at me and muttered something unintelligible. He continued to drink, then put down his glass and fell asleep on the table.
“Someone needs to take care of Honda,” Abe said.
I was about to volunteer when Maeda said, “I’ll take him back. I can drive, and I know where he lives.”
“I’ll help you carry him to the car,” I said.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do that,” said one of the male teachers. “My car is parked next to his.”
He stood and helped Honda leave the bar. Maeda followed behind, holding Honda’s briefcase. The principal went over to the counter to settle the bill.
“Is it true that Maeda likes Honda?” one of the teachers asked.
“Of course it’s true,” another teacher answered. “She’s been eyeing him for such a long time.”
“What about the no-relationship rule?” the first teacher asked.
A female staff member waved her hand. “Is there such a rule? Someone must have made it up.”
I remembered Maeda being the one who’d told me that. Had she known Honda was seeing my sister? Anyway, that had nothing to do with me. Grabbing my bag, I left the bar with the rest of the staff. Once outside, they took turns shaking my hand and giving me parting words.
The night got colder as we walked to the main street. The bus service was no longer available, so some of the group, including me, had to flag down taxis. A yellow sedan came. Because it was my last day, they forced me to take it. I thanked them and promised to keep in touch before climbing in.
When the taxi stopped
at the intersection, I stared at the red light. I must have been drunk, because it seemed to last forever, as if someone had pressed a switch to freeze time. But when the light turned green, time made up for it by moving faster, blurring the streetlights together.
When I arrived at my apartment, the sight of a man standing outside my door gave me a fright. Was I hallucinating? I blinked a few times. Walking closer, I realized it wasn’t my imagination. Speaking of the tiger.
“Good evening,” Mr. Katou greeted me. He held a dessert shop paper bag in his hand. “I apologize for coming here unannounced.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I opened the door, hoping I didn’t reek of alcohol. “Please, come in. I hope you weren’t waiting too long in the cold.”
Mr. Katou followed me into the apartment. He wore a thick, long dark-gray coat, but it still wouldn’t have kept him warm on such a cold night.
“Was it hard to find this place?” I asked.
“Not really,” he said. “I’ve been here before.”
I waited for him to explain, but he didn’t. I should have probed him for more, but I could tell from the way he shifted his glance, he didn’t want to talk about it.
“Please, take a seat,” I said. “What can I get for you? A cup of coffee?”
He nodded. “That would be great.”
Mr. Katou took his coat off, revealing a crisp white shirt underneath. He sat down and rubbed his palms together. He must have been waiting for some time before I returned.
I went to the kitchen to make coffee. While waiting for the water to boil, I splashed icy tap water on my face. It woke me up, though I couldn’t do much for my queasy stomach. When I returned, Mr. Katou had already placed the paper bag on the low table. I put the coffee next to it.
“Please, help yourself,” I said.
He reached for the mug. The coffee must have been too hot, but he still took a sip. He held the cup in his hands for a moment before setting it back down.
“You’ve found yourself a pleasant apartment,” he said. “It fits the image of one of my favorite poems, ‘Shizuka Na Tsukiyo Ni.’ ‘On a Silent Moonlit Night.’ It’s by a poet named Akitsuki. ‘Aki’ for ‘autumn,’ and ‘tsuki’ for ‘moon.’ Have you heard of him?”
“No,” I answered, wondering if he was talking about the book he kept reading over and over. “I’m not familiar with many poets.”
“Neither am I. Previously, I only knew the famous ones, like Basho and Issa, but few years ago, I chanced upon Akitsuki in my wife’s personal collection. I enjoy his works. They calm me down and silence the noises around me. I wanted to get hold of more of his books, but he only has one, which is probably why most people have never heard of him.”
“Uh-huh.”
He took a deep breath and pushed the bag toward me. “Actually, I came to deliver this.”
I wondered what he could possibly have for me. “May I?”
“Please do.”
Opening the paper bag, I found a small porcelain urn.
“I found this in Miss Ishida’s room when we moved out,” Mr. Katou said. “I apologize for keeping quiet for so long, but I couldn’t decide the right thing to do with it. I heard from my office that you were returning to Tokyo, so I thought it would be best to pass it on to you before you left. After all, you’re Miss Ishida’s next of kin.”
I held the urn in my lap. “Did anyone else know about this?”
He shook his head. “Only my wife and I.”
“I went through that bedroom a couple of times.”
“It was well hidden under one of the wooden floor panels,” Mr. Katou said. “When Miss Ishida was taking care of my wife, she confided to her about the miscarriage. The clinic in Kuromachi helped to arrange a discreet cremation.”
“I see.” Trying hard to maintain composure, I asked, “How is Mrs. Katou?”
“She’s started to speak again and responds when we talk to her. The new environment seems to be helping her regain strength.”
“That’s great.”
He nodded. “My wife has always blamed herself for our daughter’s death, even though I was also to blame. I was too preoccupied with my work to pay attention to my own family. You knew it too, didn’t you? Miyuki . . .” His voice turned hoarse. “She was never sick.”
I swallowed hard. “I had a vague idea.”
“My wife isn’t well.” Mr. Katou rubbed his eyes. “Have you ever heard of Munchausen syndrome by proxy?”
“No—what is that?”
“It’s a mental illness, and a rare form of child abuse. It happens when a child’s caregiver, usually their mother, fabricates or causes symptoms in them to gain attention.”
A lump lodged in my throat. It was a conclusion I’d hoped was wrong.
“I figured it out too late, and because of that, we lost our daughter. After Miyuki was gone, my wife refused to talk. I took her to several psychologists, but they couldn’t do anything as long as she shut herself in. I didn’t know what to do. I guess she needed a change of scenery, and for me to acknowledge what had happened instead of masking it with work.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I said. I decided not to tell him about my last conversation with Mrs. Katou.
He mumbled words of thanks before getting up. “It’s late. I’d better get moving.”
I stood and accompanied him to the door.
Putting on his coat, Mr. Katou said, “My wife asked me to send her regards.”
“Please give her my regards, too.” I hesitated for a moment, then decided to say something. “And thank you for the medical documents.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word. He only nodded before walking down the stairs. I took it as an acknowledgment.
The cold wind blew, and tiny bumps appeared on my arms. I pulled up my collar and returned to my living room. Sitting in front of the low table, I clasped my hands in prayer.
“Pigtails, may your soul rest in peace.”
I took the small urn and carried it to my room, where I kept my sister’s urn. I placed the urns side by side on the floor and poured the ashes from the small container into the large one, careful not to spill anything.
“I hope the two of you can rest peacefully, now that mother and daughter are finally reunited.”
After putting the urns in my wardrobe, I took a shower and went to bed.
That night, I slept soundly. It was probably the perfect combination of drunkenness and fatigue. The next morning, I read in the newspaper that there had been a mild earthquake during the night. But I didn’t recall hearing or feeling anything. I’d sunken into the quiet, bottomless pit of sleep; even an earthquake couldn’t rouse me.
33
Farewell
at
Capriccio
I left my apartment five minutes before ten with a Takashimaya Department Store paper bag. It was less conspicuous than walking around with an urn in the street. But my worry was unfounded, as I didn’t run into anyone. People woke up late on Sunday.
I spotted Honda’s black sedan parked across the street. Walking over, I knocked gently on the rear window. He peered over the newspaper and unlocked the door.
“Were you waiting long?” I asked, getting in.
“No,” he said. “I just got here.”
He must have seen the paper bag, but he didn’t say a word about it.
I put on my seat belt. “The drive is around two hours, right?”
“Yes. You can sleep, if you’d like,” he said, turning on the engine.
Honda flicked the radio on. It was tuned to a jazz channel. I recognized the melody as John Coltrane’s “My Favorite Things.”
As the journey began, the music enveloped us both in warm nostalgia. The next song was a number by Charlie Parker, followed by Duke Ellington. One familiar sound after another. Listeni
ng to the music, it occurred to me the station must have been set when he’d dated my sister, and he’d never changed it. Just like he’d never gotten rid of the rabbit trinket.
Honda turned the steering wheel. His gear-shifting was almost unnoticeable. I held the paper bag tightly, especially when we sped up and made turns. This had happened before. Six months ago, on the way from the crematorium to the Katsuragi Hotel. So much had happened since then.
We passed through several farming towns before reaching the mountainside. Honda switched to a lower gear as we started up the steep, curvy road. No wonder the place was quiet. This route wasn’t easy to drive.
A half-hour later, the car slowed near a long bend. Honda parked it at a spot where the shoulder was wider. When I opened the door, the clean mountain air filled my lungs. I felt refreshed just breathing it in. We climbed the barricade and admired the scenery. From where we stood, I could see the little town at the bottom of the mountain.
“Do you think the wind is strong enough?” Honda asked.
“Hopefully,” I answered.
I opened the paper bag and took out the urn, slowly tilting it. The wind blew away the ashes. When only a small portion of the ashes remained, I poured that into the lid and the wind whisked it away. I closed the empty urn and put it back into the paper bag.
“I came here alone once,” Honda said. “When Keiko returned the engagement ring, I was heartbroken. I drove all the way here and threw the ring from this exact spot.”
I kept quiet, unable to think of anything appropriate to say.
“At that time, I only thought of this mountain. Maybe because I have fond memories of coming here with her.”
“My sister was a fool, wasn’t she?” I said. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Well, feelings are something you can’t force. Either you have them, or you don’t. But coming here sure brings back memories.” He stared off into the distance. “Have you heard the news about Nakajima?”
I shook my head. “What about her?”
“She handed in her withdrawal form a few days ago. I was in the principal’s office when she came in and I overheard the conversation. She’s going to try modeling. It surprised me a little. I mean, the industry is such a gamble.”
Rainbirds Page 26
