The wind was strong that day.
Sitting in the seat of the rickshaw that had stopped outside the tea house, Misao heard the sound of rooftiles whistling in the breeze.
He gazed down at his toes, at the socks that covered them and the wooden sandals he wore, wondering if all this was real. It didn’t seem like it. And though Misao was convinced it was a dream, a lot of preparation had gone into dreaming it.
Gikuyo had rousted Misao from his bed that morning, which already seemed so long ago. Apparently Masaomi had spoken with Gikuyo. He had stayed the night, then argued with her for Misao’s outing the very next morning. When Misao found out about it, Masaomi was already waiting for him in his overnight room, dressed in a formal men’s kimono.
“Give this to the gatekeeper.”
Misao heard Gikuyo’s voice as she spoke to Masaomi, and he glanced out at the front of the tea house from a small hole cut in the rickshaw’s hood. They stood facing each other under the eaves, which protected them from the wind. Masaomi slipped something into his pocket. It was probably some sort of document that the tea house needed to show for Misao to be allowed outside the gate. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to leave.
The owner was still in bed. Misao could imagine how he would panic when he woke and found Misao gone, and he worried a little for Gikuyo, who had given him permission to go without consulting the owner.
As if she had sensed Misao’s apprehensive gaze, Gikuyo looked over and marched straight up to him. She stepped definitively onto the footboard and leaned forward, raising Misao’s chin sharply with her index finger.
“Are you trying to impress people with this flaccid, uncomplicated, lovesick face?”
Gikuyo snorted loudly. Misao only stared at her blankly. Her imperious nature made him momentarily forget everything else.
Gradually, Misao’s eyes sharpened. He shook his chin free of Gikuyo’s finger irritably. In the same moment, he banished his concern for her. This woman didn’t need anyone to worry about her well-being.
Gikuyo looked at him sardonically, then drew her face close to his. She whispered against his ear, so close he thought he could feel her lips, “Everything’s going according to plan.”
Misao’s brows knitted dubiously and Gikuyo winked at him, then she drew back from the cart. Masaomi came up beside her and they conversed briefly.
“Thanks for waiting.”
He climbed in beside Misao, his shoulders pressing against Misao’s own. He raised a hand to one side of his mouth, as if he were telling Misao a secret. “She’s pretty scary.”
“She’s a witch,” Misao asserted flatly, still worked up from the earlier outburst. But he cut himself off at once. Stealing a sidelong glance, he saw that his companion was staring straight at him. They looked at each other uncomfortably for a moment. Suddenly, Masaomi began to chuckle.
“Sorry.”
Misao apologized quietly, but Masaomi lowered his head and wrapped his arms around his stomach, unable to contain himself anymore, shaking with quiet laughter. He was probably laughing at the fact that in one breath Misao had spoken so poisonously about someone, and then before the words had died on his tongue, had apologized so primly.
“You don’t need to laugh that hard,” Misao grumbled softly. But he finally felt like this was real.
The rickshaw rolled down the main street of the pleasure district at a quick clip.
“I can’t believe it.”
Misao looked down at Masaomi’s hand, which covered his, and laid his other hand on top of it.
“I never imagined my wish would be granted so quickly.”
He raised his eyes silently and half-turned toward Masaomi.
His tender face, which made Misao think of sunshine, gazed back at him.
“As they say, seize the day,” he answered humorously. Then Masaomi turned his head back to the front and he gazed into the distance, as if to say,Besides...
“I won’t be here much longer.”
“What?”
Misao’s eyes bulged slightly as he stared at Masaomi’s face.
“Are you going back to Tokyo?” he asked, dazed.
Masaomi tilted his head to look at Misao, and his eyes told him “yes.”
“When—?”
His voice was rough.
“Next week at the latest.”
There was no hesitation in his voice and Misao knew that his mind was made up.
He felt a pit of despair yawn open in his heart. He didn’t understand why he felt so desolate at the departure of this man whom he had met only two days before.
“I see.”
Misao looked down for a while, and fell back against the seat with a heavy heart. He knew his face was an open book. Masaomi looked over at him pensively, but Misao had no desire to speak. He didn’t even know what he would say.
The motion of the cart rocked his body slightly from side to side, then suddenly stopped. Realizing that the driver had stopped the cart, Misao looked up.
The western gate soared into the sky above.
His heart went quiet and he craned his neck out to see.
A thin film of sweat covered his palms.
A guard ran up to the cart and peered sharply under the hood at them. Misao gasped, recognizing the man’s rugged face.
“Misao? You’re the one from Oumi going out?” he asked, narrowing one eye in suspicion.
Misao felt like he was going to grab his arm and drag him back to the tea house.
Staring stiffly at the man, he groped blindly to clutch at Masaomi’s jacket. Masaomi rested his own hand over Misao’s.
“Here.”
He took the document out of his pocket and passed it to the guard. The man took his time reading it over to verify its authenticity. The thin paper rattled in the strong wind.
“Looks good.”
The guard nodded and stuffed the paper into his pocket, grinning lewdly at Masaomi.
“Watch out, sir. That one tried to run away a couple of times when he was a kid. He doesn’t walk too well anymore.”
Masaomi looked straight ahead, not answering, and ordered the driver to continue.
Misao could see them leaving the gate behind through the window in the hood.
There was a limit to how much he could see through that window. He turned to look, irresistibly attracted by the image, but the joints in the hood got in the way, which only increased his impatience. Misao shouted at the driver, unable to contain himself.
“Stop!”
He flew out of the rickshaw as it slowed. His jacket trailing behind him, his hair swept in the same direction, Misao stared at the giant gate. Far away inside was the street he had grown up on.
Masaomi slowly drew up behind Misao as he stood there, fixated.
“I would never do anything to cause you problems, Mister Towa.”
Misao turned his face into the wind to look at Masaomi.
“Never.”
He swore it with utter conviction.
But Masaomi continued to stare at Misao and he shook his head with an intense look.
“I’m not worried about that. Look, your hair is getting mussed. Let’s get back in the cart.”
He wrapped his arm around Misao and Misao leaned against him as they walked back to the rickshaw in the powerful wind. Covered by the hood, it was like a tiny nest inside.
“Are you all right?” Masaomi asked in a whisper, and Misao nodded, hanging his head.
The rickshaw slowly began moving again.
“It was childish indiscretion. I didn’t know what I would do or where I would go once I got past the gate.”
His heart was being pulled back into the past.
Masaomi gazed ahead, his eyes lowered slightly. He listened in utter silence, but Misao knew he was paying attention.
“I thought once I got past the gate, I would head for the sea. But I didn’t even know where the sea was.”
Now that he said it, he realized how reckless he had been and he smiled at himself.
“Why the sea?”
Masaomi looked at him quietly.
“I’m not sure.”
Misao turned his head, still smiling. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time.
“I think I must have decided that when people travel, they go by sea.”
“By sea...” Masaomi murmured, turning his face to the window. “In weather like this, the waves will be very rough.”
“Really?” Misao answered vaguely, not sure how to agree with him. Masaomi stared at him.
Misao forced a smile onto his lips.
“All I’ve ever done is imagine it. I’ve never seen it.”
“Would you like to?”
Misao was confused by such a casual suggestion.
“Go to the sea?”
“Yes.”
“But we’re supposed to see a play in Dotonbori...”
Misao began making confused excuses, then trailed off.
Masaomi waited for his response, his face entirely earnest in his suggestion.
“Can we?”
Misao’s heart fluttered.
Masaomi nodded fluidly.
“We’ll find a carriage in Dotonbori. It will still take a few hours to get there, though. Is that all right?”
Misao nodded, his face tense.
The carriage stopped in the shade of some pine trees. From his seat inside, Misao stared out at the sandy ground that ran on into the gray waters of the sea.
“Are you staying there?” Masaomi asked secretively, but Misao didn’t answer. He sat perfectly still, riveted by the spectacular sight on the other side of the glass. He was incapable of moving.
His hands tensed unconsciously as they rested on his knees, and he trembled as if he’d seen something frightening.
“The real sea... it’s not actually blue, is it?” Misao murmured in a reedy voice.
“No,” Masaomi whispered back, reaching for the window fastener. “That’s because the weather doesn’t look very promising. The face of the ocean changes with the weather. When the sky is clear, the sea sparkles.”
The window fell open with a clatter.
The air blew in, carrying a strong, salty scent that Misao had never smelled before, and with it the lamentation of the ocean.
The sensations assaulted all of his senses and Misao’s eyes opened wide.
He rose.
“Misao?”
The cautious voice passed over Misao’s ears unheard.
He got out of the cart. He walked unsteadily, as if he were being controlled by something.
As he walked toward the sand, his eyes swung up, his face quivering as he stared at everything around him.