Shikama had been in a relationship with a woman just once. At the time, he was working occasional shifts as an instructor at a cram school to help cover his living expenses. In short, he managed to bag one of the high school girls attending his class. Or to put it more tastefully, he blatantly abused his position of authority to win her affections.
Mizuo was a chapter of my life yet to be written, so the fact that Shikama had managed to secure a relationship when I was still alone left me rather disquieted. I was a bit enraged at the time, to be honest. I felt as if my trusted compatriot had succumbed and taken the easy path through life, and for a time, I even considered severing our friendship. I also refused to believe that some run-of-the-mill high school girl could ever hope to comprehend Shikama’s greatness. After all, this was a man to whom I tipped my hat. To think that there was a brat of not yet twenty toying with his heart… Well, I imagine my feeling of disgust was similar to that of a young woman who learns that her father has eloped with an even younger girl.
But I digress.
There is a red Ferris wheel at the HEP Five shopping mall in Umeda. I’ve yet to see it with my own eyes, but I’ve heard the talk. It is a place where young couples flock daily to spin around and around in one spot and inexplicably not tire of the unchanging scenery. While on a date in Osaka with the aforementioned girl, Shikama had decided it might be nice to visit the famed attraction.
Once they were waiting in line, Shikama began to grow restless. One can hardly imagine what words they exchanged, but they must have appeared to be a normal couple to anyone observing. However, when they finally reached the front of the line, and it was their turn to hop aboard, Shikama climbed into the gondola alone. When the girl tried to climb in after him, he turned and blocked the way.
“No,” he explained. “This one is my gondola.”
Shikama shut the door and proceeded to enjoy his arc through the Umeda sky. When he disembarked, she was gone.
Let me assure you, this all actually happened.
On learning of this tale, I’m sure some of you will think Shikama quite the fool. I am inclined to agree. To this day, Shikama looks back on the event with a mix of pride and bitterness, referring to it as his “grand design to propel himself into desert exile.”
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It was Christmas Eve, two years past. Roughly six months had elapsed since I successfully inveigled Mizuo, and what careful checks I’d once had on my emotions had failed completely, allowing my mind to run freely through a wasteland of shame. This was to be my first romantic Christmas Eve, and I felt as if every part of me from crown to toe had been pumped full of helium. I was walking on air. I was possessed with an absurd, base desire to fully experience the customary enjoyments of a young man in love, and I’d accordingly arranged for us to celebrate the occasion with dinner at her apartment. I cycled all the way to Gion to procure a suitable Christmas gift, along with a reservation ticket for a festive bucket of chicken from KFC.
When I arrived at Mizuo’s apartment that night, I found that she’d even prepared us a homemade chocolate cake for dessert. The three of us anxiously sat down to begin our meal.
Apologies, dear readers. I suppose I should clarify. In addition to Mizuo and me, Shikama was also in attendance, for reasons I’ll attempt to explain. I fully recognize how tactless it is to invite a third party to join in on what should be an intimate dinner for two. You would be very right to chastise me for roping Shikama into our Christmas Eve celebration. However, he was not there at my invitation. Mizuo was the one who had requested his presence.
She seemed to have taken a rather keen interest in this inscrutable acquaintance of whom I often spoke. And to be honest, I was quite pleased to see the morbid curiosity take hold. Come to think of it, at the time Mizuo joined our club, she was the only incoming member to display no fear of Takayabu. She had boldly approached the bearded giant, huddled in gloom, and struck up a conversation.
That said, you may still question Shikama’s integrity. It’s one thing to receive an invitation to intrude upon a couple’s special night—and quite another to actually show up, totally nonchalant. But that is a failure on Shikama’s part, not mine.
We gorged ourselves on chicken and were about to turn our attentions to Mizuo’s homemade cake. I decided that this was the ideal moment to pull out my thoughtful, carefully selected Christmas gift. It was wrapped in a pretty sheaf of decorative paper and adorned with a bow. Mizuo began to unwrap it. The paper came away to reveal a high-tech maneki-neko with an automatic waving arm, capable of nigh-perpetual motion thanks to a tiny solar panel on its base. As mentioned, I’d gone to a great deal of trouble to acquire the gift, pedaling my bicycle all the way to Gion, where I had purchased it for a very handsome sum and had it professionally wrapped.
Mizuo held the cat in hand, staring at it for quite some time. Eventually, she placed it on the table and flicked the paw with one finger, setting the cat’s arm into rhythmic motion.
“I prefer not to clutter my room with unnecessary belongings,” she said.
A chill descended upon the room—a second chill, compounding the cold of the late December night. I froze in place. Shikama, desperate for somewhere else to focus his attention, began to slice the cake. All the while, the cat’s paw bobbed limply back and forth, marking each painstaking moment of silence.
After a span of seconds that felt like days, Mizuo and I erupted in a very terse, very heated argument—or so I’m told. Shikama was apparently forced into the awkward and very unsuitable role of arbiter. It seems he both helped and aggravated the situation in turns. My memory of the events is hazy at best, but I do recall a very clear sense of incredulity that anyone could be so upset over such a novel gift or that they could openly malign both it and its giver so cruelly.
Looking back, that should have been the point at which I realized the futility of my ridiculous aspiration. I should have abandoned my pursuit of ordinary happiness right then and there. But I swore in my heart that I would redeem myself the following year.
Only later would I realize that I’d never get the chance.
On reading this tale, I’m sure some of you will think me quite the fool. I am inclined to agree. To this day, I look back on the event with a mix of pride and bitterness, referring to it as the Solar-Powered Maneki-neko Incident.
Incidentally, I would say that the individual most deserving of pity that evening was Shikama. For a while, he made fumbling attempts to mediate, but the experience quickly wore on his nerves. Ultimately, he threw up his hands in defeat and weakly announced, “I’m going home.” He staggered out unsteadily into the night, and I’ve no idea how he spent the remainder of his Christmas Eve. Perhaps he collapsed with fever and was confined to bed.
Nonetheless, his sister found the tale of my evening quite amusing. From then on, whenever her brother brought home some unusual new purchase, she would exclaim with a devilish grin, “I prefer not to clutter my room with unnecessary belongings.”
She seemed to thoroughly enjoy this twisted little joke. In fact, on initially hearing the particulars of the Solar-Powered Maneki-neko Incident, I’m told she was so overcome with laughter that she fell on the floor, gasping for air. When she finally regained her breath, the first thing she asked her brother was, “So wait, why were you there?”
I’m sure Shikama must have been at a loss to answer.