Chapter 12

At the scheduled time, I sounded the long steam whistle three times and set sail on the ferry, called Hibiki. It was late in the afternoon, but the sun was still high in the sky. I could see the vivid blue horizon from the captain’s cabin. After earning my third-grade maritime officer qualification in college, I’d started working for a domestic ferry company—a career path viewed at school as one that “failures” ended up going down. Still, I spent the next dozen years or so working my way up as a navigator, and by the time I was forty, I’d been given the responsibility of captaining a voyage. Some of my college classmates who’d also become navigators were now captains of international cargo ships, sailing across the vast oceans of the world. These “successful” friends of mine earned more than three times my salary. Whenever we met up, they’d talk about narrow trenches and pirate-infested waters in oceans I’d never even heard of. All I had to bring to the table was local knowledge, like how the tides in the Kanmon Straits between Yamaguchi and Kyushu could change direction depending on how high they were, so I tended to keep my mouth shut during our conversations. The navigation program I’d graduated from took in forty students every year, but it was eventually split into two groups of twenty based on test results from the first two years. One group did an onboard training course, while the other took a course in marine engineering. Since only those who did the onboard training course could obtain a deck officer qualification, many students who’d enrolled with dreams of becoming navigators were able to achieve that goal based off their grades. As a result, many of my friends in the program took attending our lectures far more seriously than people in other courses. Even so, I’d still ranked near the top of the class. I think everyone had assumed I’d end up at a famous trading company. So when my classmates discovered I’d accepted a position at a ferry company—and a local one, no less—they were shocked. Some teased me, assuming I’d failed in my job search, and when I explained that it was a deliberate choice I’d made, they were even more puzzled. “The pay is great,” they kept saying, trying to convince me. “You can enjoy yourself as much as you like when you’re abroad.” But I just laughed it off, telling them I couldn’t care less. I had an older brother with Down syndrome. My dream of becoming a navigator had been partly driven by my desire to support my family financially. However, when the question of finding a job arose, I realized I couldn’t care for my brother and be a navigator. You were forced to spend an extremely long time at sea; once you were on an international cargo ship, you could be away for six months to a year. I realized that if anything happened to my brother, I wouldn’t be able to help. A domestic ferry company, on the other hand, would allow me to rush and see him whenever I needed to. Hence why I’d chosen to work for one. I got the call just before leaving port. My brother had collapsed at his care facility. My parents were with him, but he’d been calling out my name in a panic. When I started my job, I’d told my family I’d have plenty of time to spare, since I’d ship out in the evenings and finish work the next morning. The ferry was cruising through the Seto Inland Sea at a speed of twenty knots. Normally, I found the ferry’s leisurely pace delightful, but on this occasion, it felt excruciatingly slow. If it were any other day, the vastness of the ocean would excite me, but right now, I was just desperate to reach our destination. There was limited cell phone service out at sea, so I had no idea how my brother was doing. Is he okay? Is he gonna be okay? C’mon, just stick it out a little longer. I gripped the ship’s wheel, my palms sweaty. I wanted to turn back and go and see my brother. The thought of jumping off the deck and swimming back to Izumiotsu Port crossed my mind, regardless of how stupid it was. I used to hate my brother when I was in elementary school. He went to the same school as I did, but he was in a special needs class called the Sparkle Class. One day, he started running through the corridors, shouting at the top of his lungs. The kids in my class made fun of me for it, and I ended up getting into fistfights. I was embarrassed that I was getting harassed because of my brother. It was the atmosphere at home that I really couldn’t stand, though. I wasn’t allowed to get embarrassed there. I was told to accept that my brother was disabled and forced to walk to and from school with him every day. I never once said it out loud, but as an elementary school student, it made no sense to me. My grandfather lived nearby, and he was the only person who let me complain about my brother. To me, the freedom to do that was a godsend. Once I started middle school, my classmates grew up and stopped mocking my brother. Still, I began to feel a barrier between me and them. I was in the baseball club, and while my teammates weren’t allowed to skip practice even when they had a cold, I was given special treatment because of my situation at home. I kept hoping one of my teammates would say “What does that have to do with anything?” But they never did. I gradually started feeling too awkward to show up at practice, and in the end, I quit the club altogether, using my brother as the excuse. What kind of life was this? Would I always have to live under the cloud of my brother’s condition? During that dark period of my life, my grandfather passed away. I cried all the way through the wake and funeral. All I could do was cry. My brother, on the other hand, was different. He called out to my grandfather’s casket as it was being carried away. “Thank you. Thank you for looking out for Ushio.” That was when I realized he’d been paying attention to me all along. That was the first time I took notice of how my brother felt. I’d spent all my time worrying about myself and never once considered his feelings. It was at that moment I made a vow to myself. The ferry had just passed Kobe, having departed from Izumiotsu. I was in a hurry, but no matter how impatient I got, I wasn’t going to be able to go ashore until six the next morning. The whole situation sucked. As I sitting in the wheelhouse with my head drooped, I heard a faint bang. Colorful fireworks were being set off in the distance. “Fireworks are great, aren’t they?” Suddenly, memories of a friend from my college days came rushing back to me. She was the girlfriend of my best friend—a guy I’d spent all four years of college with. Her name was Koharu Fuyutsuki. Fuyutsuki was blind, but even after losing her sight and falling ill, she hadn’t lost her passion for life. One time, I’d set off fireworks with Fuyutsuki, Hayase, and my best friend Kakeru. He’d once asked Fuyutsuki why she liked fireworks even though she couldn’t see them. I could still remember her response. “I think fireworks leave a mark on your heart. “Even now, when I’m feeling down, those memories of looking up at the sky keep me going. “I want to live in a way that leaves a mark on somebody’s heart, too.” Fuyutsuki’s smile flashed through my mind. “Yeah. I gotta keep my head up high, too.” As soon as I said that out loud, my anxiety dissipated. I managed to calm down, realizing I needed to focus on what I could do. Wiping away my tears, I picked up the microphone for the ship’s PA system. “Good evening, passengers. I apologize for the disturbance. I just wanted to let you know that there’s a fireworks display tonight at Kobe Port…” A large flower bloomed in the night sky with a bang, only to fade away again. The fireworks dyed the city of Kobe red, blue, yellow, and orange, their glittering colors blending in with the town’s nightscape. There were far more here than the small display we’d held in college—yet no other fireworks had ever left such a mark on my heart. I didn’t get to see my friends from back then very often anymore. Hayase had set up a nonprofit organization and seemed to be traveling all around the world. As for Sorano… I hoped he was doing okay. The last time I’d seen him, he was in a state of total despair. It had been Fuyutsuki’s funeral. It wasn’t as though he’d given up on life, but I’d been able to tell he was putting on a brave face for me. I wondered if he’d managed to bounce back. I was sure he’d be fine. Holding on to that belief, I decided to call him the next time I had the chance. I’d talk to him about the Kanmon Straits that flowed past his hometown, and how fast they were. As I watched the fireworks glittering in the distance, I thought about what I’d talk to him about.