‘You know what I mean. This place is built on my miraculous flair for business—in spite of it being such as it is.’
As brother and sister, they were quite a pair. In any case, Mr. Nakano set off on his trip. Masayo came every day to check the safe. Inside the safe were the proceeds from the day’s sales and the receipt book, along with an amulet from the Toyokawa Inari temple. Masayo had bought the amulet; it was supposed to bring prosperity in business. Hang it from the lintel, Masayo had said, but Mr. Nakano firmly refused to put the amulet anywhere in plain sight. I mean, come on—I grew up listening to Janis Joplin! Mr. Nakano had once said to Takeo, with a sidelong glance at the amulet, which he now kept in the safe. Takeo had replied, I see, with the same expressionless look as always.
On the third day after Mr. Nakano left on his trip, a postcard arrived. It was addressed to Nakano & Co.
‘Is the name of this shop Nakano and Co.?’ I asked.
Masayo shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard it called that before now,’ she replied.
Masayo read the postcard first, then passed it to me. After I read it I passed it to Takeo, who stared at the postcard as if his eyes were glued to it.
Just a quick note. I’m here in Sapporo. I ate some ramen.
I also ate some Genghis Khan barbecue.
Unfortunately something came up with Ishii, and I’m stuck in Sapporo until the day after tomorrow. Hokkaido is vast, but it’s spread out like a big-boned woman.
Cheers to everyone. Haruo Nakano
Takeo read the contents of the postcard in a low voice. Guess Ishii must be the colleague in Hokkaido who was supposed to travel with him, Takeo said, his head tilting to one side.
Just then, we happened to be in the midst of eating ramen ourselves. Masayo had made tanmen for us. It was filled with bean sprouts, garlic chives, and bamboo shoots. There had been hardly any customers. If you’re busy, Hitomi, I can mind the shop, Masayo said occasionally. No, it’s okay, I’m fine, I replied. Masayo would smoke one or two cigarettes and then go back home.
At eleven o’clock, when I opened the shop, and again around seven, when we closed, Masayo always showed up. She was much more punctual than Mr. Nakano, and more importantly, whenever she was minding the register, things sold very well.
‘There must be something about me that puts people at ease,’ Masayo said.
Exactly one week had passed since I went on something like ‘a real date’ with Takeo. During that time, I had sent two emails and phoned him once in the evening. Takeo’s email reply—both times—was ‘I’m fine. Hope you are too.’ As for the phone call, it was difficult to keep the conversation going for even five minutes, so I hung up soon after.
‘How does one go about having a carefree conversation with a boy?’ I decided to ask Masayo one afternoon when Takeo wasn’t around. Masayo was in the process of going over the receipt book, but she looked up and thought about it for a moment.
‘If you can get them into bed, they tend to relax a bit.’
I see, I said in response.
‘You know, it’s amazing this shop doesn’t go under,’ Masayo said with awe. Then she snapped the notebook closed. Maybe Haruo really doesn’t plan on coming home, Masayo said, stifling a laugh. Business is getting worse and worse, and that woman is bleeding him dry.
What, is that true? I asked. Masayo narrowed her eyes. She’s a strong-minded woman. But he always goes for that type. She shrugged as she said this. I wonder why that kid only ever falls for exactly the same kind of woman. It’s ridiculous.
I didn’t know whether by ‘woman’ she was referring to Mr. Nakano’s wife (his third) or perhaps to yet another mistress. I was too embarrassed to question Masayo about it. And when it came to having sex with Takeo, I had a hard time imagining it. Maybe I should rearrange things? I said as I went outside and changed the position of a lampshade and an ashtray that were placed oddly on the bench. The rainy season had not yet ended, but there had been a string of hot days that felt like summer, and the blazing sunlight was glinting off the ashtray.
Just a quick note. The appraisal went well. Ishii has a way with words and he saved the day.
Tamotsu and I are going to travel together for a few days. Despite the fact that he lives in Hokkaido, he can’t drive, so we have to get around by bus. We could take the train, but there are fewer transfers on the bus.
It takes about two hours to go from one town to the next, so if I have to pee along the way, I’m out of luck.
Tonight we’re staying at a hot spring spa that faces the sea along the main road. We had planned to get off at the last stop, but Tamotsu suddenly suggested that we stay here. There are no other places to stay around here besides the inn—no town, no shops, no seaside homes—nothing.
I was hoping we could go to the cave at the tip of the cape, where they say there are white crabs (they’re white because they don’t get any sun), but Tamotsu was afraid. Tamotsu may be bald and fat, but he still gets the women.
Cheers to everyone. Haruo Nakano
Takeo slowly read the postcard out loud. It was a hot day. When it first gets hot, I always feel like the heat might drive me mad, but once that passes, I get used to it again and it doesn’t bother me—why is that, I wonder?
‘Want some ice cream?’ Takeo asked.
Sometimes, when Takeo and I were alone together in the shop, he would speak to me familiarly, without his idiosyncratic stiffness. Sure, I said, and Takeo ran over to the convenience store across the street. He came back with cola-flavored ice cream. This acceptable to you? he asked, reverting to his peculiar form of polite speech as he handed it to me.
‘Mr. Nakano is a good correspondent,’ I said, and Takeo nodded. His mouth was filled with ice cream, so he couldn’t reply.
Takeo had just returned from a pickup at the house of a family who were planning to move. Nobody had died, they were simply moving, so there wasn’t that much stuff. Takeo had not paid anything for doing the pickup. There were two cardboard boxes filled with odds and ends. The moment he had brought them into the shop and set them down on the floor, an old candy tin rolled out of the larger box. The tin was light green and had a pretty design. I tried to open the lid but it was tightly rusted shut and wouldn’t budge.
Takeo deftly took it from my hands. With a little grunt, he gave it a jerk and the lid came off easily. Inside, it was chock-a-block with monster-shaped erasers and suchlike.
‘Hey!’ Takeo said.
‘What?’
‘These might actually be worth something.’
The garish yellow and red and orange of the monsters wasn’t faded at all. It’s great that you got these for free, I said, and Takeo nodded lightly. Glad I didn’t know about them. Would feel funny about it if I had.
Glad I didn’t know about them. Takeo’s words echoed vaguely in my mind. Takeo, do you want to have dinner together again? I asked without really giving it much thought. Yeah, sure, he replied on the spot. Then you should come to my place, I continued. Tonight, even. Yes, I will be there tonight. Takeo again reverted to stiffness. I chewed on the stick from my ice cream. It tasted of wood mingled with a sweet liquid.
It was just before the shop’s closing time when I realized that my place was a total mess. Takeo had already gone for the day. Once he finished his duties, he always left in a hurry. As soon as Masayo arrived, I rushed out of the shop.
Back home, I shoved my discarded clothes and CDs and magazines onto the bottom shelf of the closet, ran the vacuum cleaner around in record time, scrubbed the toilet, decided the bathroom floor and tub would have to do because there was no time, and then finally, I looked around the apartment. It seemed unnaturally tidy to me, like I had overdone it, so I took out a few CDs and magazines from the closet and scattered them around.
Takeo arrived, again smelling of soap. For a moment, I wondered if I ought to have taken a shower, but I q
uickly pushed that thought aside, since had I done so, he might have thought I was expecting something. This was what made love so difficult. Or rather, the difficult thing was first determining whether or not love was what I wanted.
Let’s just go with the flow, I murmured as I held up one hand to welcome Takeo. Hey, Takeo said. It was a greeting midway between friendly and brusque.
‘What flow are you talking about?’ Takeo asked. Y-you have good hearing, I stuttered. Takeo was no longer just Takeo; he looked to me like ‘a man named Takeo.’ ‘Should we get something, like pizza?’ I asked cautiously.
‘Do you like pizza, Hitomi?’
‘In general.’
Hmm, Takeo said. What kind of pizza should we get? I asked. With tomatoes, I guess, he said. Oh, I said, I want to order one with anchovies. Mmm, he replied, that sounds good.
Takeo was sitting in a chair. Actually, it was a yellow stool that had no backrest. I bought it cheap from Mr. Nakano’s shop. I got it because I liked the frivolity of the yellow. I made a cucumber salad (I just cut it up and poured dressing over it), took beer glasses from the cupboard, set out plates, and there was nothing left to do. It would be twenty minutes or so until the pizza was delivered—just how were a young man and woman expected to pass the time? I thought with a faint sense of desperation.
So, I got a postcard from Mr. Nakano, Takeo said and, remaining seated, he felt around in his back pocket. Out came a postcard folded in half, which Takeo read slowly, in his usual manner.
Dear Takeo, just a quick note. How are you?
I’ve been drinking. Since I’ve been here, alcohol seems to have a strong effect on me. Maybe because all I’ve been doing is riding along in the bus.
During the day, there are lots of flies on the beach. They must be newly hatched. They fly around in swarms, and I just stare at them. The flies don’t seem to notice me at all.
Hokkaido is really vast. I wonder if that has anything to do with the saké taking effect more quickly.
I really don’t understand women. Takeo, even though you’re young, it seems as if you are indifferent to women, and I envy you.
I think Tamotsu will spend the night tonight with a woman he met here, and then go home tomorrow.
Takeo, you know, don’t get involved with women.
Sincerely, Haruo Nakano
Huh, I wonder if Mr. Nakano is all right? I said.
Takeo’s entire body swayed vertically. ‘He was just drunk, right?’
But doesn’t it sound like he’s in some kind of trouble?
‘Someone who was really in trouble wouldn’t have time to write a postcard like this.’
Takeo’s tone was light, which made me look at him suddenly. It was the first time today that I had really looked at his face. Takeo’s eyes were closed. In contrast to his light tone, his expression was like that of a small animal crouched down in its burrow. Takeo’s entire body appeared to be coursing with energy, as if it were emitting a faint electrical charge.
Are you angry? I asked softly.
‘Why would I be angry?’ Takeo said in the same light tone, but the electrical charge was still there. Takeo’s mind may not have been worked up, but his body definitely was. I looked away from him. Just who was this Takeo? I no longer knew.
‘Nice to be so happy-go-lucky,’ Takeo murmured. It was only his tone of voice that was still light. I wondered why I had invited Takeo over. I sincerely wished that the ‘happy-go-lucky’ Mr. Nakano were here instead.
Since we saw each other every day, I had been under the impression that I knew a little about Takeo. But now I realized that was not the case at all. The thought had even occurred to me that maybe I should just throw myself at him. Masayo had made a valid point: once two people start sleeping together, all sorts of things become hazy and unsettled.
Takeo was dangling his legs from the stool. Eventually the sound of the doorbell rang, and I paid for the pizza, a little over 2,000 yen. Let’s eat, Takeo said and then he dug in. We emptied several cans of beer. After we had eaten everything, Takeo smoked a cigarette. I didn’t know you smoked, I said. Every once in a while, he replied. Without anything much to say, we just sat facing each other. We each drank another can of beer. Takeo looked at the clock twice. I looked three times.
Well, then, Takeo said and stood up. At the front door, he brought his lips near to my ear. I thought he was going to kiss me, but I was wrong. With his lips close, he said, ‘I, uh, I’m not one for sex and all. Sorry.’
While I was standing there astonished, Takeo closed the door behind him as he left. After a few moments I snapped out of it. Thinking about it while I washed the glasses and plates, it occurred to me that Takeo had chosen to eat the pieces with the least amount of anchovies on them. I couldn’t decide whether I should be angry or sad about it, or just laugh.
When I went to the shop the next day Takeo had already arrived. Masayo was there too. I looked at the clock and saw that it was almost one o’clock. I was the one who was late.
Masayo left as soon as I got there. It took me a little while to realize that, come to think of it, Takeo didn’t have any reason to be at the shop that day.
‘Here,’ Takeo held out 2,000 yen. ‘The pizza and beer last night, that was good,’ he said.
Uh huh, I said, nodding absently. For some reason I had a hard time falling asleep the night before, and had ended up watching television until dawn. I would never understand why television shows in the middle of the night were so stilted.
Without saying anything, I put the two thousand yen in my wallet. Takeo didn’t say anything either. As usual, there were no customers in the shop, and after an hour had passed, still no one had come in.
‘Vinegar,’ Takeo said suddenly.
Huh?
‘My girlfriend heard somewhere that vinegar helps with impotence, and she made me drink it every day.’
What?
‘I, uh, that isn’t the problem, I just don’t have that much interest in doing it.’
Uh, okay.
‘I can’t really explain it. It just got to be too much trouble.’
That was all he said before falling silent again.
I wonder if another postcard from Mr. Nakano will arrive today, I said to break the silence. Takeo gave a little laugh.
I wonder if he’s still riding around on the bus. I glanced across furtively to see Takeo’s expression.
What do you think Mr. Nakano looks like, on the bus by himself? In turn, Takeo looked at me from under his brows.
I had the feeling that Mr. Nakano might walk through the door at that moment, but still, nobody appeared.
Hitomi, I . . . I’m not very good at this, I’m sorry, Takeo said softly.
Not good at what?
Everything and nothing.
That’s not true. I’m the one who’s no good at this.
Really? I mean, Takeo said, looking me straight in the eyes for a change. You’re not one for, for getting through life either?
Takeo took out a cigarette from the crumpled packet that Mr. Nakano had left on a corner of the shelf and lit it. Could I have one too? I said, and gave it a puff. Takeo spat into a tissue, just like Mr. Nakano. Without answering Takeo’s question, I asked instead, When do you think Mr. Nakano will come back? Takeo replied, Only God knows. Then he pursed his lips and inhaled the cigarette smoke.
LETTER OPENER
Tch. The sound of a quick click. An electronic flash lighting up everything.
‘You know what I mean? These digital cameras scare me,’ Mr. Nakano said, pointing at it without seeming particularly frightened.
‘What do you mean, then?’ Masayo asked, looking up with the camera still in front of her face.
‘It makes no sound.’
‘What do you mean, sound?’
‘The sound of the shutter.’
; There’s a little click, Masayo replied, bringing the camera’s display up to her eye once again and crouching. She was taking a shot, head on, of a glass vase that was set directly on the floor alongside the wall. Then, turning it to the side, another shot. Lastly turning it upside down, another shot, this one a close-up of the bottom. The wall was slightly yellowed. A little while ago Takeo had carried to the back the goods that were usually stacked up in disarray along the wall. Within the jumble of Mr. Nakano’s shop, the only calm space was the wall where the vase now sat, as if bathed in soft light.
From here on, it will be online auctions! Masayo had first said this around the time that Mr. Nakano returned home from Hokkaido. With Tokizo posting photos on the website he made for us, stuff will sell like hot cakes! Masayo would say, coming by religiously every week to photograph what she called ‘featured items.’ Whenever she did this, Takeo and I had to follow her instructions, which involved tidying things up along the wall, or holding up a reflector board (this was what Masayo called the piece of simple white cardboard—Ever the artist, Mr. Nakano would grumble when Masayo wasn’t around) at a forty-five-degree angle.
The Tokizo whom she mentioned was a Western antiques dealer, a friend of a friend of Masayo’s live-in, Mr. Maruyama. Tokizo seems to specialize in watches, Mr. Nakano said, which had surprised Masayo.
How do you know anything about Tokizo?
I’ve seen him a few times at swap meets. You mean to tell me that wiry old crane knows how to use the Internet?
He may be wiry, and he may look like a crane, but Tokizo has a very enterprising spirit—unlike you! Masayo said bluntly, still peering at the camera display.
Come to think of it, Mr. Nakano had returned home from Hokkaido a bit fatter. Never mind cranes, he looked more like a goat, his body scrawny with only his belly that looked as if it was swathed in a few towels. His face and limbs looked the same, and his chest was lean enough to be concave, so only his belly bulged out.
The Nakano Thrift Shop Page 5
