The side door from the store opened and the young man he had been watching earlier entered the dine-in space. He sat at the opposite end of the counter from Yoshirō and reached into his plastic bag. He took out a fizzy drink and the latest issue of a weekly manga magazine for boys. He ran his hand happily across the cover, which featured the main character brandishing a sword. Yoshirō recognized the series—it had been made into an animated film the previous year. He quietly examined the young man. The kid must be a real fan, too, he thought. After devoting a sufficient amount of time to the magazine cover, the boy turned the page. Ignoring the sweat running down his temples, he started to read, and in no time he was lost in the world of the manga, contentment spread across his face.
By force of habit, Yoshirō reached for the sketchbook that he kept stowed away at the bottom of his messenger bag. Then he caught a faint scent of curry. He looked around. The bearded man from before had entered the dine-in space. The man looked around the room, and with a grunt and a nod, sat down right next to Yoshirō. There were plenty of seats at the empty tables behind us, thought Yoshirō, so why’d you have to sit next to me? He shot an accusatory glare at the man, but the man paid it no mind, and reached into one of the bags he was holding.
With a gesture that radiated pleasure, he pulled out a black curry with wagyu beef and a small pack of red fukujinzuke pickled vegetables. From a second bag, he pulled a one-liter bottle of sparkling water. He took about half of the pickles, heaping them alongside the steaming curry sauce. He gave a long, satisfied look at the way the bright red of the pickles stood out against the velvety black curry, and then slowly, taking time to savor the food, the man began to eat. Either he was very hungry or else he just really liked curry. Periodically, he would close his eyes and give a heartfelt nod. He ate the pickles straight and then tried them mixed together with the sauce. The man ate continuously, admiring each subtle variation, one by one. The whole experience looked so delicious that Yoshirō couldn’t help but stare.
Yoshirō ate egg sandwiches just about every day. It made him happy, but as he watched the man, it occurred to him that a little curry once in a while might be nice, too. The dark black roux, which had never held the slightest interest for him, and the bright red pickles—they were too bright, really—were stirring his appetite in an unexpectedly powerful way.
The man ate the curry with gusto from start to finish, then cleared his throat happily and drank some of the water. Then he put his hand back in his bag and drew out one of Yoshirō’s favorite egg sandwiches. The man peeled back the plastic and took out the sandwich, and then, deliberately, as if he were analyzing it, he also peeled apart the two slices of bread. What? thought Yoshirō, but before he could react, the man had scattered the leftover pickles from the curry on top of the creamy egg filling of the open sandwich. Looking at the vivid contrast between the intensely red pickles on that background of pastel yellow, Yoshirō said, “Whoa!” out loud. What was this guy doing?
As if noticing his existence for the first time, the man turned toward Yoshirō. The man looked first at Yoshirō’s bemused face and then down at the contents of his own hands, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a grin. The face beneath the well-tanned skin and long beard was unexpectedly youthful. With an innocent smile, he asked, “Any food allergies?”
“Huh? Uh, no, but…”
“Okay, then give that here.”
The man pointed to the half-eaten sandwich, still in Yoshirō’s hand. Almost against his will, he held it out and the man said quickly, “Open it, open it!” Under pressure with no time to think, Yoshirō pulled apart his sandwich into two pieces and the man just as quickly scattered some of the pickles inside.
“Ugh,” Yoshirō groaned.
“Eat,” the man said simply. “Try it. It’s good.”
The man reassembled his own sandwich with expert precision and took a big bite. Yoshirō could hear the crunch of the pickles as he chewed. Watching the smile lines gathering in the corners of the man’s eyes as he enjoyed his food, Yoshirō put his own disassembled sandwich back together. After some hesitation, he bit into it nervously.
“Well?” asked the man. “It’s good, isn’t it!”
Slowly Yoshirō nodded at the man, who now had a little egg in his beard. Gradually a smile dawned on his face. The combination was surprisingly good. It was sweet and sour, with an appealing texture. He had never for a moment considered having it this way, but somehow he also felt like he had tasted it sometime before. Something…what was it? Then he remembered. It was the special tartare sauce that his mother would always make for him at home. It was like that, with minced pickled radish or something in it.
“Pickled wasabi isn’t bad either, but these are good for color, don’t you think?” The man finished his sandwich and drank down the rest of his water in a great gulp. Draining the liter bottle easily, he gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. He cleaned up his rubbish, said, “Well, gotta go,” and took his leave. But then he suddenly turned back to Yoshirō.
“I get it.”
Yoshirō stared at the man and shook his head in confusion, not understanding what he meant. The man raised his voice. “You toast the egg sandwich. I get it!” And this time he left for good, “Whatever Guy” gleaming in the sunlight as the man disappeared into his truck. The vehicle pulled slowly out of the car park and was lost in the flow of traffic along the roadway.
Yoshirō watched him go, dumbfounded by this strangely vigorous mystery man. Then he took another bite of the half-forgotten sandwich he was still holding in his hand and gave a little laugh.
“He’s right. It’s pretty interesting,” he said. “Maybe it goes well with curry, too.”
The aroma of curry lingering in the room complemented the egg sandwich well. Next time, he thought, he’d try the man’s combo himself. After his strangely satisfying meal was complete, Yoshirō looked at his watch and saw that it was almost time for his train. He hopped out of his seat and left in a hurry.