One
“I want to eat your pancreas,” she said.
Yamauchi Sakura’s bizarre non sequitur came as I was dutifully organizing the books in the school library’s dusty stacks, as was my responsibility as a librarian’s assistant.
I considered ignoring it, but she and I were the only people there, and the remark was clearly intended to inspire morbid curiosity. That meant she was talking to me.
Having no other choice, I responded without turning around. If she was doing her work, her back would still be to me.
“What,” I said, “did you suddenly realize you’re a cannibal?”
She took a deep breath, coughed a little from the dust, then explained with some pride, “I saw this story on TV last night. In old times, when something was wrong with someone’s body, they would eat that part of some animal.”
I kept on not looking. “And?”
“If their liver was bad, they’d eat liver; if their stomach was bad, they’d eat stomach. I guess they believed it would heal them. So, I want to eat your pancreas.”
“My pancreas?”
“I don’t see anyone else’s pancreas here.”
She giggled. I heard the sound of hardcover books being rearranged on a shelf; so she was still working and hadn’t stopped to look my way.
I said, “I’d rather you not hang all the pressure of saving your life on one tiny organ in my body.”
“You’re right. All that stress might take out your stomach, too.”
“Go lay this on someone else, then.”
“Like who? I can’t say I like the idea of eating my own family.”
She giggled again. I didn’t; I was taking my job seriously. I wished she would learn from my example.
She continued, “That’s why you’re the only one I can ask, [Classmate Who Knows My Secret]-kun.”
“And in this scenario you’re imagining, you don’t suppose that I might need my pancreas for myself?”
“You don’t even know what a pancreas does,” she teased.
“Sure I do.”
I did know. I hadn’t always known, of course—I’d needed to look it up. I wouldn’t have had any reason to if not for her.
This made her happy, and she turned toward me. I could tell both from the sound of her breathing and the movement of her feet. Turning only my head, I gave her a quick glance. Her expression was so happy, her face alive with beads of perspiration. It was hard to believe she would be dead soon.
She wasn’t the only one sweating. It was July, with global warming in full effect, and the air conditioning struggled to extend to the archive room.
Gleefully she said, “Don’t tell me you looked it up.”
I might have tried to avoid answering, but she was too worked up to let this go. Better to just get it over with.
“The pancreas regulates digestion and metabolism,” I said. “For instance, it secretes insulin that converts sugar into usable energy. Without the pancreas, people can’t make energy, and they die. I’m sorry, but I can’t offer you mine on a platter.”
As I turned my attention back to my work, she howled with laughter. I figured my tiny quip must have gone over better than I’d expected, but that wasn’t why she laughed.
“How about that,” she said. “You’ve taken an interest in me after all, haven’t you?”
I took a moment to form an answer, then said, “A classmate dying of a serious illness is always going to be interesting.”
“No, I mean me, as a person.”
I paused. “Who can say?”
“Oh, come on!” she said with more laughter. The heat must have dazed her, making her not think straight. I worried for her condition.
I kept working in silence until the librarian came to get us.
It was time to close up the school library for the day. I slid a book partly off the shelf to mark my position, then looked around to make sure I hadn’t forgotten any of my possessions. We exited the sweltering archives for the library’s main room, where the cool air struck my sweaty skin and sent a shiver down my body.
“It feels so nice in here,” my classmate said, as she twirled her way behind the circulation desk. She retrieved a towel from her school bag and wiped her face. I followed her—at a slower pace, and without the spinning—and dried myself off, too.
“Good work today,” the forty-something female librarian said. “You can stay and relax a bit if you’d like. Here, I prepared some tea and sweets.”
“Wow!” the girl said. “Thanks!”
“Thank you,” I said.
I took a drink of the cold barley tea and gazed across the library. All the other students had left.
My classmate bit into a sweet bun and said, “This manjuu is delicious.”
She had a habit of reacting to every single positive thing around her.
She had already claimed a chair behind the counter. I took a pastry for myself and moved the other chair a little farther from her before sitting on it.
“Sorry to take you away from your study time,” the librarian said. “I know exams are next week.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the girl said. “We always do fine—right in the middle of the pack. Isn’t that right, [Classmate Who Knows My Secret]-kun?”
“Sure,” I said noncommittally, “as long as I listen in class, I do all right.” I bit into the manjuu. It really was delicious.
The librarian asked, “Have you thought about what you’re doing for college, Yamauchi-san?”
“Not yet,” she replied. “Or maybe I don’t feel like I need to.”
“And you, [Well-Mannered Student]-kun?”
“I haven’t either,” I said.
Reaching for a second manjuu, the girl protested, “You can’t be that way, [Classmate Who Knows My Secret]-kun. You have to think about the future.”
I ignored her meddling and drank another sip of tea. The store-bought drink tasted good, and familiar.
The librarian said, “You both have to think about your futures. If you don’t pay attention, you’ll be as old as I am before you know it.”
The girl gave me a glance, then laughed pleasantly and said, “Aw, that won’t happen.” The two exchanged a chuckle, but not me. I took another bite of my pastry and washed it down with the barley tea.
My classmate was right. It wouldn’t happen.
She would never be as old as the librarian, and only she and I knew it. She had only glanced at me, but I found it about as subtle as a stage wink from some Hollywood actress telling a joke.
Just to be clear, the reason I didn’t laugh wasn’t because her joke was too risky. Rather, I was irritated by her self-satisfied, Look at me, I’m saying something funny expression.
She returned my sullen lack of reaction with a sharp, frustrated glare, and she kept it on me until I finally offered her a slight upturn of a smile.
We sat in the closed library for about a half an hour before deciding to go home.
It was just past six in the evening when we reached the shoe cubbies inside the school’s entrance, but the sun was still going strong. Through the open doorway came the energetic voices of student athletes practicing after school sports.
“It sure was hot inside there today,” the girl said.
“Yeah,” I replied.