“…It’s probably because I felt lost.”
Before Jinya knew it, Akemi and a couple of other waitresses found clients, and the milk hall became rather empty. He recalled his exchange with Nanao as he took another drink from his glass.
The flavor tasted off. He finished his drink but declined a refill when it was offered. Liquor was to be enjoyed. It was wasteful to drink with his mind in its current shape.
“I see,” the manager remarked and followed up with nothing more.
Jinya was thankful for the silence. Even though it was empty, he fiddled with the glass in his hand and stared down at the counter. He noticed the manager moved somewhat stiffly.
The manager noticed his gaze, stopped what he was doing, and grinned wryly. “Maybe I mentioned it before, but I had an illness when I was young. Left my right leg paralyzed.”
“You don’t use a cane?”
“No. It’d get in the way of my work, so I use a leg brace. I’m used to having a bad leg, though. Doesn’t get in the way of most tasks.”
He made small talk as he wiped some glasses. His disability didn’t seem to weigh on his mind much; he could even joke about it. He had probably received more looks of pity than he cared for ever since he was a child.
“But I guess it was rough for me in the past,” he continued. He squinted sadly. “Children are cruel, you know? I had friends, but I couldn’t run with them. I always got left behind.”
His voice was tinged with nostalgia, but he sounded more like he was getting something off his chest than anything. His expression grew softer with each word, as though whatever burdened him was being cleared away.
“I don’t even know how many times I’ve cursed myself for having this leg, but it also meant that I didn’t have to go to war. You never know what will turn out to be a blessing in life.”
“You call it a blessing, but you don’t sound happy about it,” Jinya said.
“…I suppose not. In the end, I got left behind again because of this leg. My friends all ran and ran, rushing forward to die for the country’s sake and leaving me all alone.” He gazed off into the distance, to someplace else.
“Do you wish you could have died with them?” Jinya bluntly asked. He chose not to mince his words out of respect. Seeming to understand, the manager faintly smiled.
“…To tell the truth? I don’t know. I don’t know what I’d wish for.”
The nation came together as one to fight in the Pacific War. All of the manager’s friends went to battle and ultimately perished for their country.
The Great Empire will never lose!
If we don’t fight, who will?
Everyone ran forward as fast as they could. He could do nothing but watch as they left him behind, and he survived because of it. How was he supposed to feel about that? Should he wish he could have fought with his friends and died? Or should he be happy to be alive? More than a decade had passed since the war ended, but he still didn’t know.
“I haven’t a clue what I should have done. I feel like I’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere.” He made a wry, tired smile. Though he was in his forties, he looked helpless like a child. A child trying to run but unable to catch up as he begged in tears for others not to leave him behind.
“We’re not too different,” Jinya said. No matter how hard he ran, he was often too late when it mattered. That was why he could see the pain hiding underneath the manager’s ambiguous smile, and why he could now guess the reason for the Dove District’s persistence. “Sorry. That’ll be all for me today.”
“Oh? I understand. Feel free to come by again.”
As Jinya stood, the heavy atmosphere fell away. The two returned to being strangers, two ships passing in the night. But as they passed, they had glimpsed each other and seen they were not alone.
Two lost men wandered into this place and stayed. That was the kind of anomaly he was dealing with.
✦ ✦ ✦
3
BEFORE HE BECAME the manager of Sakuraba Milk Hall, he felt small and inferior. During the war, almost every adult man was conscripted, and even students were mobilized for labor. He was spared the battlefield because of his bad leg, but he was just as useless elsewhere. He lacked the education to work a desk job, and he wasn’t shameless enough to stay home and leech off his family, so he left home as if he was running away.
That was how he came to work as an assistant handling odd jobs in one of Tamanoi’s questionable shops, and his decision proved wise. Even in those times, Tamanoi was flourishing. Men sought dreams to forget the fears brought about by the war.
He had to work hard to earn his place, but that was better than being useless. He was happy to be one of the many who kept the dream of the glamorous, neon-lit world alive. His boss and the women who worked at his place liked him. He wasn’t the fastest at his job, but a man’s help was still rare with most being conscripted. He worked earnestly, and though his bad leg sometimes got in the way, he never slacked. His efforts were recognized by those around him, and he, who had always thought of himself as a lesser person, found fulfillment in this dingy red-light district alley.
But every day, after he worked himself dead tired and took a moment to breathe, he would be gripped with an indescribable unease. Where it came from, and why it worried him so, he did not know.
On March 9th in year twenty of the Showa era (1945 AD), the Bombing of Tokyo occurred, and Tamanoi disappeared overnight. Nearly five hundred brothels and more than a thousand sex workers perished.
As he stared at the burned remains of what had been his home, his former boss made a suggestion. “The Tamanoi folks are going to buy up this one residential district. Why not try running your own shop there?” And that was how he came to be in what would later become the Dove District.
Perhaps he went with it because he figured he would rather try something new if he was to toil all the same. Perhaps he was simply happy to have his previous efforts recognized and be entrusted with a business of his own. To tell the truth, he did not know. Any reason he came up with sounded like no more than an excuse. For reasons even he didn’t understand, he came to the Dove District and settled down as the manager of Sakuraba Milk Hall.
But nothing changed. He worked earnestly and tirelessly as the manager, but in his spare moments the unease returned.
“…I must be lost as well.” With resignation in his voice, the manager let out a similarly feeble murmur. The young man had already left and the waitresses were busy with their work, leaving him alone downstairs. It was quiet enough to hear the ticking of the clock, giving rise to all kinds of unwanted thoughts. The receding figures of his friends always came to mind in moments like this.
Age had given him wisdom. As he was now, he felt he understood why he had come to this place.
“I…”
He was likely the first to realize the truth behind the Dove District.