I was growing quite anxious about my beloved bicycle, left to suffer the cold winter night in front of Mizuo’s apartment building, so I went immediately to retrieve it the next day.
It occurred to me that I risked running into the two of them. They might emerge from the entrance hand in hand, as if in ambush, at the very moment I unlocked the chain and prepared to ride away. Their fingers would be entwined, fresh from an obscene night together in her apartment.
How would I react? What would I do? I asked myself those questions over and over. My mind refused to stop, as if reveling in the self-torture. I felt more alone than ever, a single beacon of decency among the penetrating cold of the Kyoto basin. Manami was all I had left. She was the only one still supporting my battered heart.
I do recognize that my bicycle is not, strictly speaking, female. However, given the gravity of the situation, I hope you find yourself able to overlook that minor detail.
My fists were buried deep in my coat pockets. I walked in silence, scenes of Manami in my mind. How pure! How chaste! She’d stood faithfully at my side through thick and thin.
Come rain or shine, for richer or for poorer, in health and in sickness, my bicycle had always been with me. We’d been through so much together—far more than simple commutes between lodgings and campus. Manami was an integral part of my daily life. Her charming modesty seemed to draw the attention of others, too: If I left her alone for but a moment on the streets of downtown Kyoto, she’d be carried right off to the Jujo Bicycle Impound Lot. Each time it happened, I rushed to get her back. I made the long trek by rail on the Keihan Line, paid the impound fee to the middle-aged man on duty, and walked the rows and rows of dirt-smeared two-wheelers. Manami was inevitably incarcerated in some far-flung corner, left callously exposed to the elements. When I found her, I always knelt beside my precious companion, clasped her tight, and vowed never again to let her from my sight.
It was a poignant scene—and one that had played out between us in the impound lot more times than I could count.
As I’m sure you now see, Manami and I shared a very special bond. Yet she admittedly had a certain intractable wildness about her. Occasionally, she fought the reins of the handlebars, longing to roam free. Once, I was racing down Mikage Street, and she refused to respond to the brakes. I squeezed and squeezed to no avail: Manami would not slow. That morning, we very nearly vanished from this earthly plane along with the early dews of Kitashirakawa Betto.
“Now, now,” I chided her gently. “You mustn’t be so reckless.”
She uttered no response, but I sensed her remorse as she tenderly cooled my rear end with her peeled, weatherworn saddle. The touching exchange left me feeling more attached than ever. I realized I’d never be able to junk her, and for a brief moment, I was seized by a reckless urge to speed off to Iwakura, or Kurama, or even Ohara Sanzen Temple. We’d hide out in the farthest reaches of the city, and I’d never allow anyone else to lay hands upon her, not even to fix her malfunctioning brakes.
I arrived at Mizuo’s apartment with my face upturned, pleading to the wintry sky. O Dearest Manami. How could I have been such a coward, to flee from the dark parking lot without you? Can you ever forgive me?
Once I had ascertained that neither Mizuo nor her most unpleasant male companion were loitering in the entryway, I began my search. But my beloved Manami, too, was nowhere to be found. I figured some neighborhood busybody may have carried her to another location and widened my search net, but a thorough scouring of the vicinity failed to yield any trace.
For a short while, I wandered aimlessly and on the verge of tears. Eventually, I had to accept the truth. It was exceedingly unlikely that the city’s parking patrols would cover a residential neighborhood like this—and certainly not after one short night. It was only prudent to assume the worst. This was the work of some malevolent third party.
Manami had been bikenapped.
I stood stiff with rage. My numb hands clenched tight as I glared at the cold, ashen sky. My beloved Manami! Where was she? What ruffian of dubious background sat astride her in that very moment? It was only a matter of time before he abandoned her in some run-down corner of town. She would be left scared and alone, wondering when I would come for her, her peeling saddle pelted by freezing rain. O cruel world! Are the gods bereft of mercy? How could my poor bicycle be left to such a fate?
I had no lead with which to continue my search, and I was forced to trudge home the same way I’d arrived.
This was all his fault. Just thinking of him made my blood boil. If the man in the parking lot hadn’t accosted me, I wouldn’t have been forced to flee. Manami wouldn’t have been left alone, and I wouldn’t be suffering these pangs of parting that yet threatened to tear my chest asunder.
Yes, divine retribution needed to be served. The man would pay for this. I cursed him under my breath and prayed that Shikama’s investigation would be swift.