Moshi Moshi

by Banana Yoshimoto

  “Your mom’s sweet,” Shintani-kun said.

  “So embarrassing,” I said. “Drunk in the middle of the night. I’m sure she’s going to get back and find she has nowhere to sleep, with the big TV and stereo in the room.” I laughed.

  “Oh, I nearly forgot. I’m kind of glad she’s gone, actually, because of this,” he said, and took a small bundle wrapped in cloth out of his bag.

  I know this, I thought. This happened recently.

  “I don’t think I could have told your mom,” he said.

  “What is it?” I said.

  He opened the bundle, revealing what looked like slips of paper with writing on them.

  “Not again,” I said, without really meaning to.

  “What do you mean, again?” Shintani-kun asked, so I told him how the customer from Ibaraki had given me the bag of salt. He nodded thoughtfully.

  After a pause, he said, “I mentioned before that someone had killed themselves, at the venue? And we had the space cleansed by someone from the local shrine. Since you said you might go to Ibaraki sometime, I went to the shrine and got these talismans. I thought they could help, even if you just took them with you.”

  “You, too?” I said in surprise.

  “I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” he said. “I just thought you might feel better if you had them. Sorry, I know it’s none of my business, and it’s not like you asked for my help. I’m not really sure why I even got them.”

  He sounded a lot like the woman had, which spooked me a little.

  “I’m sorry I said that,” I said. “And thank you.”

  Shintani-kun blushed, looking embarrassed.

  I was getting fonder and fonder of him.

  I didn’t know what was holding me back anymore.

  The ale was as bitter as sinking down into the pit of night. Like a child, I longed to forget where I was and what I’d done, and just go back to his place with him. The stuff with Dad still left lumps in my throat, like the pinbones of a fish, but Mom’s changes were reflecting in me and I was slowly changing inside, too.

  Shintani-kun and I could carry on like this, and grow closer, and commit to each other, and then time would pass, and all kinds of things could happen—we’d fight and make up, I’d go to France, and come back, and go back to work, and we’d pass the days, maybe move in together, or get married, have children . . . but none of this was certain. I could get hit by a car the moment I left the bar tonight and die, or meet someone in Paris and have an epic romance and never come back here again. Shintani-kun might go to work tomorrow night and get approached by someone so incredibly beautiful that he’d come to me and apologize and say he wanted to break up. So maybe it was better to go for things so I didn’t regret it later. I was sure that was true.

  Even so, there was something murky and inexplicable inside me that said that getting in deeper now would be too easy. It had something to do with Dad, and I was worried that if I moved forward without understanding it, I might end up pretending I’d never noticed it at all.

  If you carry things forward as they were now, the murkiness seemed to say, standing everything up straight and proud in the sunlight, you’ll have a respectable kind of life, but any dark things will have to be hidden, pushed back down into the depths. And that’s where things start to go awry.

  And when those little niggles accumulate and blacken deep inside, I thought, they’ll be a lesser version of what killed Dad.

  But I was tired of thinking about all this.

  Part of me wanted to say it was too much trouble, to give into my desire to lean into him right then and there and lay myself against him and close my eyes. But there was still a thin film separating the normal me who would do these things from the me inside.

  My instinct was telling me that if I took any action while this barrier existed, I would end up paying for it later. I didn’t quite understand it, but I knew it was true. I wasn’t being cautious, or overthinking it. I just couldn’t help being aware of the barrier’s existence.

  Maybe I want to stay like this for now, I thought. I think it’s still safe. I don’t want to imagine losing Shintani-kun, and he’s not about to leave. I hope that’s true, please let him wait, I thought, lightly stroking the surface of the paper talismans he’d given me.

  But I had no idea what I wanted him to wait for.

  WHEN I GOT BACK to the apartment, the imposing flat-screen TV was standing on the shabby tatami mat floor, illuminating Mom’s face like she was in a movie theater.

  “I’m home,” I said. “That TV has some presence.”

  “Oh, you came back,” she said, sounding disappointed.

  “Can’t I come home to my own apartment?” I said.

  “No, I’m glad. I wanted you to see how luxurious it looks now,” she said, gleefully.

  I started brewing some herbal tea.

  “Your boyfriend’s nice,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, he’s smart, and he has good taste in music, even though it’s different from mine, and he’s got good manners, and can be endearingly naïve, and he’s just a really good person. Um, so did he mention he runs that venue in Shinjuku?” I said.

  “Yeah, he told me. It takes me back,” Mom said. “I never really liked the way it smelled, or how loud it was, or the gin and tonics that were always way too strong and came in flimsy cups. I used to resent Dad for enjoying himself on stage like a young man while demanding his wife be the put-together Madame. Knowing what I do now, I’d be there dressed just like this, dancing my ass off and having fun. I was young, too, I guess. Young and serious. I probably felt like I needed to act responsible to make up for Dad being in a frivolous-seeming line of work.”

  I nodded. Then I said, “By the way, Mom, what are you watching?” I’d been wondering for a while. I felt like I might have seen the movie, once, but if I had, it had been so long ago, I’d completely forgotten the story. The actors playing the man and the woman were Yusaku Matsuda and Hiroko Yakushimaru.

  “It’s Detective Story. I walked past the jazz bar, Lady Jane, where Yusaku Matsuda used to be a regular, and suddenly felt like seeing his face again, so I bought it and put it on. What a masterpiece. And such good acting from both of them. I love this movie, I really do. Why on earth didn’t I move here while Yusaku Matsuda was still alive? Then I might have bumped into him on the street at night, or something. I don’t know what I might have done to him then,” Mom said.

  “I remember now, I saw this at the theater when I was small, with Dad,” I said. “I was too young to understand any of it, though.”

  “That’s right, Dad was a Yusaku Matsuda fan. I think he wished he could be more like him,” Mom said matter-of-factly, like she used to do when Dad was alive.

  There was a clue here, too, I thought, in the way the movie proceeded steadily forward through time, conserving all the interior heat it generated, and carrying it all toward a single point—the kiss in the final scene.

  IT WAS ONLY WHEN Michiyo-san came down with the flu that I understood quite how far I was from being fully fledged.

  “I feel feverish. You’d better not come too near,” she said. “In case it gets bad, let’s streamline the lunch menu to just the couscous and the curry, and get them prepped.”

  Without saying much more, but clearly suffering, she started preparing the stews. I helped as much as I could, but when I saw what a hard time she was having, I couldn’t help but feel I wasn’t helping much.

  “If we can get hold of Moriyama-san, we can definitely stay open tomorrow,” I said.

  “You’re right,” Michiyo-san said, “but let’s worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

  Michiyo-san left everything prepped and went home, and I had an early night in preparation for lunch service, but the next day was harder than I could have imagined.

  Moriyama-san had had plans that morning and rushed to the bistro just before noon. However, there was an influx of customers just before he arrived, and by that time I already had a full h
ouse on my hands.

  Even though the couscous and the curry were the only things on the menu, for the first time since I’d started working at the bistro, I left our customers waiting for their food.

  And if Murphy’s Law suggested we’d be busier than usual on the day I happened to be holding the fort alone, there was no excuse for showing a group to a table that hadn’t been fully cleaned and having to hurriedly wipe up with napkins, or rushing through plating up and serving dishes with sloppy presentation. I started to panic, and had to take deep breaths until I calmed down enough that my mind became quiet and clear, and I started to understand what I had to do, and in what order. That was when Moriyama-san arrived. I couldn’t describe how relieved I was to see his round face and glasses come through the door. I could have hugged him.

  I recounted my mistakes to him, feeling sorry for myself, and he consoled me, saying I’d done well for being all on my own.

  For evening service, we wrote up the board outside to say we were running a limited menu, and with me and Moriyama-san working together, we just about managed to keep up. Even so, the plating and presentation fell short of our usual standards. By the time Shintani-kun came in just before closing, I had found my rhythm and acclimatized to the kitchen without Michiyo-san in it. But that was too late—for many customers, that night would have been the only time they ate here.

  I saw exactly how much I relied on Michiyo-san, day to day. How I’d thought I was standing on my own two feet, but actually might have only been slowing her down and getting in the way of her work.

  Moriyama-san and I got through the next day’s lunch service the same way.

  When lunch was over, we got a phone call from Michiyo-san, who’d nearly lost her voice completely, saying she couldn’t prep for dinner service, so we’d have to close. If we didn’t open tomorrow, the day after that was our regular day off, so she’d get two more days of rest, which should be enough, she said.

  I felt a little downcast, realizing I needed to be able to prep some simple stews at the very least if I wanted to keep the shop open in an emergency. I knew, of course, that I was nowhere near ready to take Michiyo-san’s place, but I resolved to aim toward being able to keep the bistro going for a few days without her. I didn’t intend to rush to learn many dishes, but to get a solid grasp on the basics so I could support her as best I could.

  I’d moved so busily around the shop that by the time we closed, my legs felt like lumber, and I was unsteady on my feet.

  Shintani-kun had waited for me, and we walked down the street in the dark looking for somewhere to have a drink. The cold air felt infinitely refreshing, and the stars glittered like pieces of ice. A strong wind was blowing, clearing the air, and every window into every building appeared sharp and close at hand.

  “I thought I’d already been working as hard as I could, every day. But it turns out I’m still a child when it comes to what I can do. Plus I had more strength than I knew I had,” I said. “I guess it’s pretty childish in itself to not see yourself clearly until something like this happens.”

  “But no one could ever run a restaurant all alone. You’d have to be a child to think you could. And anyway, Yocchan, you’re still in your twenties. It’s too early to expect yourself to know how to keep cool and take care of everything,” Shintani-kun said casually, yet sagely.

  I had my arm hooked through his, and the woolen fabric of his expensive-looking duffel coat felt firm and dense and secure.

  “I’ve got a long way to go,” I said, but along with the sensation of my glowing cheeks cooling down, I was full of hope. I was aware that this was youth—the sheer joy of meeting new challenges and achieving things for the first time.

  “Your nose is running,” Shintani-kun said. He looked at me, then suddenly brought his gloved hand up and neatly wiped at my face.

  “Stop it!” I said, and laughed, but Shintani-kun leaned straight in and kissed me hard. We were on Chazawa-Dori, which was nearly deserted at this hour of night, right outside the Showa Shinkin bank.

  He held me tightly and pushed me against the closed shutters of the bank, and groped me all over.

  “I’m not waiting any longer. Come stay tonight,” Shintani-kun said.

  “I’m exhausted, and I can’t stay, but I can come back to yours if you like,” I said.

  “Let’s go, then,” he said, and hailed a taxi. Why not? I was thinking. I’d worked hard, and the bistro was going to be closed tomorrow.

  In the taxi, I sat quietly. I wanted to think things through, but my attention kept flitting to things passing outside the window, and I didn’t get very far. I wondered whether he’d mind that I knew nothing about his job or the sound system at his venue, and nor was I interested in learning. It was a strange thought, but I’d vaguely assumed he’d get married to someone he could run the business with. Or, if not, that he’d be against marriage because his parents were divorced.

  Of course I’d gotten into the relationship knowing that we might split up, but I still felt sad about the possibility of it.

  Just then, Shintani-kun said, artlessly, “I wish we could be there already,” and I laughed out loud. I really loved discovering his sense of humor at moments like these, when it revealed itself in small and surprising ways.

  Shintani-kun opened the front door to his dark apartment and turned on the light in the entry. I was taking off my coat and shoes in the now-familiar entry when he grabbed me and held me to him.

  “Already?” I said.

  “Already. Tea can wait,” he said, “but I can’t.”

  He probably couldn’t, I thought, but I also thought he was used to not having to. He touched me, and it wasn’t rough, or nervous—it felt very natural. We had sex for the first time on the sofa in his apartment, lit only by the light in the entry and the streetlights outside the window. Neither of us even took our clothes off.

  Once you slept with someone, the distance between you suddenly grew a lot closer.

  The milky late-night tea that Shintani-kun made us half an hour later, with clothes still mussed, tasted fantastic. He’d put loose Assam tea leaves into a pan of milk and simmered it, then added plenty of brown sugar. It was incredibly sweet and tasted of happiness. Then we laughed about how we’d originally planned to go for a drink, and got two cold beers out of his refrigerator and cracked them open.

  The second time was much slower. We both undressed, and had sweet sex wrapped up in his woolen blanket. Shintani-kun’s technique was eye-opening. I’d never experienced anything like it, and found myself almost looking forward to the next time.

  Even so, somewhere inside, I knew we didn’t have much of a future together.

  I’d been vaguely aware of it before, but once we’d done it, there was nothing left between us. Nothing more for us to do—that was what it felt like. It was unbelievable, but it felt completely empty. I don’t know whether Shintani-kun felt it too, or not. But I thought he did. Now that we had slept together, the spell had been broken.

  “That was really lovely. See you soon,” I said, wrapping up in my coat. Shintani-kun saw me to the road, still in his loungewear, and hailed me a taxi and waved until I couldn’t see him anymore.

  But I couldn’t stop crying.

  Why can’t I love him? I wondered. If only I could have done, I thought. The taxi drove smoothly and silently toward Shimokitazawa through the dark streets. Good-bye, my dead-end love. If we’d met at another time, I might have really fallen for you.

  The streets outside were swimming through my tears. I’d let it get this far because I’d been so scared to lose anything, because I wanted to keep things the same, I thought. I was lonely—I’d been lonely without him, that was why I’d been drawn to him. But I didn’t love him. I could only ever come to like him a lot. I realized I’d known it all along, and had been trying to fool myself.

  I SENT SHINTANI-KUN A message asking him to give me a little time, saying things had moved a little too quickly and I wasn’t sure what I wanted. H
e wrote back, “Please feel free to get in touch anytime. I hope you will. I’ll still go to the bistro—I can’t picture life without it.”

  That was so typical of him; it made me laugh fondly.

  I liked so many things about him, but I didn’t think I’d ever be able to feel more than that. But I felt like I could keep that to myself a little longer, and still welcomed Shintani-kun coming by the bistro every two or three days. We kissed, or held hands, but nothing more. He was prepared to wait, and I was in no shape to make any definitive decisions. I was at my emotional limit finishing out my time at the restaurant. I was thankful that Shintani-kun understood and didn’t press me to discuss anything deeper.

  At the same time, though, a part of me knew this was because he’d done this all before. Not because he understood me, but because he knew from experience not to put pressure on a woman who was acting like I was.

  It gave me a kind of shabby, inferior feeling—one that wasn’t welcome in any way.

  SO THAT WINTER PASSED, and Les Liens’s time in the Tsuyusaki Building came to an end. The date had been set for the demolition.

  In those last days, our regulars all came through the door, one after the other, and every day was like a celebration.

  On the very last night we held a small leaving party, and Shintani-kun and Mom came, and Michiyo-san and Moriyama-san both cried a little, and afterward we all cleared up for the final time, quietly. Our customers pitched in, too. We took a photograph of the view of Chazawa-Dori from the small window that had nurtured Mom’s and my recovery in the early days, and carefully wiped down all the windowpanes. Then the building was locked up until the date when the movers were scheduled to come and take everything away.

  “See you in France in February,” Michiyo-san said as we parted outside the building, and disappeared into the darkness.

  “The end of an era,” Mom said, and the three of us—Mom, Shintani-kun, and me—went to Chizuru-san’s bar to raise a toast to the bistro and my time there. I felt proud to have that celebrated by the two of them, plus Chizuru-san, who joined us for the toast.