“Thanks. But I’ll never be a professional. My pictures don’t have whatever it takes to make the cut at a commercial magazine.”
Mogi’s words came back to him and a wave of sadness washed over him. Mogi had been hard on him, certainly, but he wasn’t wrong.
“I don’t get it,” said Tsugi, tilting his head in confusion. “Making it your job, or making a meal out of it, or, uh…making the cut at a commercial magazine—are those things that important?”
“Well, aren’t they?” Yoshirō raised his voice as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Isn’t that the way it works? I always dreamed about drawing a manga that all the kids were crazy for, and so—”
“And so…” Tsugi broke in, “are you saying your dream is equal to all that other stuff?”
Yoshirō became still. Tsugi scratched his disheveled head furiously. “Aren’t things like food and work the extras that get thrown in after your dream?” His voice was so gentle it was almost like he was talking to himself, and Yoshirō could say nothing in response.
“T-talent is…” he gasped, as if trying to breathe.
“So listen. I’m telling you I think your pictures are good,” Tsugi continued. “My brother, too. To say you want to be accepted by everyone, that’s not easy. But now you have at least two people saying you’re good. Don’t you need to start somewhere?”
Yoshirō thought that was a little idealistic. But he could say nothing in reply.
At a loss for words, he flipped through his sketchbook, page by page. He gazed, captivated, at the pictures he himself had once drawn.
Yoshirō was halfway through the book when there was a loud exclamation from Tsugi, who hurriedly pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped the car. Yoshirō looked at him in surprise. Eyes shining, Tsugi commanded, “Turn back a page!” Yoshirō wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he flipped to the previous page.
“Uh…here?”
It was the scene of the duel between Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojirō. Once he saw those two bronze statues, he knew he simply had to draw them, come hell or high water. He didn’t have the skill to sketch them in fine detail, so he just did it his own way. Tsugi gazed happily at that picture.
“It’s good. Really good. Is that your style? I see it. I think these two are great.”
“Really? Musashi and Kojirō?”
Tsugi pulled back onto the road. “My old man liked them a lot. When he was in a good mood, he’d always do it for us—the duel at Ganryū Island.”
“He’d do it?”
“Well, according to him, it was like his version of kamishibai, the puppet shows he’d seen in the streets when he was a kid. He would beat the table with some rolled-up paper and tell us the story. ‘Kojirō waited on the shore for his nemesis. At last, Musashi appeared! He stood tall in the bow of his small boat. Kojirō shouted: You there, Musashi! Do you fear me? Are you trembling? Mad with impatience, Kojirō unsheathed his long blade—the hanging pole, he called it—and flung its scabbard to the sand. Musashi mocked him: If you’re ready to throw away your scabbard, then you’ve already lost!”
Tsugi let his voice swell into a chant as if he were in a real drama in a theater. “I’m not bad at it myself,” he laughed, “because I’ve already heard it dozens of times. And every time, I adored it.”
Tsugi pointed to the open sketchbook in Yoshirō’s lap and said earnestly, “It’s good, that one. It’s nice and warm, and I think it’s really good. You want something that children will love? How about kamishibai?”
“Ha! You think I should do puppet shows?” Who needed a Shōwa-era relic like that now? Yoshirō laughed, but at the same time his heart gave a little jump. Maybe there were other jobs out there involving pictures that children would love?
“Well, you could do something besides kamishibai, I guess.” Tsugi’s voice startled him out of his reverie.
“There might be something.” Yoshirō replied. Could there be? He didn’t know. The sea breeze came flowing through the open window of the car and he looked outside.
“Ah, Mojikō already.”
The mini-truck slipped into the car park of Tenderness Mojikō-Koganemura. As Tsugi cut the engine, his brother Shiba popped eagerly out of the store. Catching sight of Yoshirō in the passenger seat, he smiled like a flower bursting into bloom. Yoshirō recoiled for an instant at this smile, which seemed more appropriate for a long-lost lover than anything else.
“Older Brother! Thank you!”
“Pretty amazing, aren’t I?”
“I never thought you’d get him here!” Shiba bowed his head deeply to Yoshirō, who was climbing awkwardly out of the passenger seat. “Please forgive me for my words that day. I spoke out of turn.”
“Oh, um, forget about it. I got fairly worked up, too, didn’t I? Sorry about that.” As Yoshirō bowed his head in return, Shiba noticed the sketchbook in his hand and heaved a sigh of relief.
“Ah, good! I was worried that you’d quit drawing on my account.”
“No, it’s fine.”
Tsugi had wasted no time ducking into the store, leaving Yoshirō alone with his brother. Presently, he stuck his head out of the dine-in space and shouted to Yoshirō, “Hey! Let’s eat, I’m starving!”
“What about me, Older Brother?”
“Nope. Buy your own.”
“Oh, that’s harsh!”
Listening to the two of them banter, Yoshirō laughed. They may have been completely different types, but they sure sounded like brothers.
“Yoshirō, be quick! Coffee’s getting cold!”
“Oh! The Sachika Coffee! You got it?”
At the side entrance to the store a banner hung down, reading “New! Now Selling Sachika Coffee. Sole Authorized Vendor.” Yoshirō still hadn’t had a chance to try it, he had been so far away from the store.
“I’ll be right there!”
Hurrying over, he entered the familiar dine-in space to find hot coffee and egg sandwiches—two for each of them—lined up on one of the four-top tables. Not to mention the bright red fukujinzuke pickles.
“Ha! That’s a combination I know.”
He wanted to toast the egg sandwiches immediately, but first he just had to try the coffee. He seated himself across from Tsugi and reached for the cup. It was a high-quality cup with a touch of luxury and the Sachika logo embossed on it. He traced it with his finger, then popped off the plastic lid. Yoshirō breathed in as the fragrance gently spread. He made a little noise of surprise. “Hmm?”
“Taste it.”