In the end, I managed to shake off the allure of the foot bath, reignite my ire at the world around me, and head out into the night.
The rain had let up at last, but the cold assaulted my frame more fiercely than ever.
The Shijo Kawaramachi intersection, the location designated by Shikama for the night’s protest, is the meeting point of two major roads in eastern Kyoto: Shijo Street and Kawaramachi Street. Both roads are crowded with trendy shops and other venues said to be for the purpose of youthful enjoyment, though I could never for the life of me figure out how one was supposed to enjoy them.
I was traversing the block of Kawaramachi Street between Sanjo and Shijo Streets, observing the endless waves of humanity that packed my surroundings. Every speck of real estate was plastered with red and green. Every shop screamed Christmas! with its decor. Vacuous rings of intertwined evergreen foliage—the name for which I do not know—hung at regular intervals along the street, each strangled to death by lengths of gold streamers. Decorative lights twinkled madly, and entire sides of buildings were defaced with Christmas tree imagery and yuletide graffiti written in foreign phrases.
And among it all, the people wandered to and fro, in and out of shops, delighted as can be. It was nonsensical. The only possible explanation I could come up with was that everyone in the city had simultaneously decided to use this heathen holiday as an excuse to fritter away his or her life savings.
With each step forward, the crowd grew denser yet. I pushed and pushed to get through. A hundred different Christmas songs blared out onto the street from a hundred different storefronts, all blending together into one shameless, pulsating rhythm designed to toy with my sanity.
The thought of spending another second in this downtown mania was more than I could bear, so I fought my way to one side and slipped onto Teramachi Street, which was decidedly less mad. I entered a tobacconist and browsed their collection of cigars for a time, and then, seeking further calm, delved into the Nishiki Market. The market, too, was crowded, but at least this was a place where no one gave a damn about Christmas. I’d be able to burn some time without constant agitation eating away at my mind.
I happily walked the market aisles, peering at seafood on display in Styrofoam crates, wrapping myself in the mouthwatering, fishy aromas of dried baby sardines, kombu kelp, and bonito flakes. Soon I was feeling peckish, and I found myself staring intently at the grilled eel liver kebabs on display at the front of one shop. Perhaps, I reflected, it would be wise to partake of some nourishment while time allowed, to store up strength for the unknown struggle ahead.
“Hey, there!”
Few things are more disconcerting than to be caught staring at an object of desire with obvious abandon. I straightened my back, scrambling to compose myself before turning to confront the man who had addressed me. When I finally did so, my breath caught in my chest, and my muscles froze.
It was Ebizuka.
From each of his hands dangled an oversize plastic grocery bag filled nearly to bursting. I could not discern the contents.
Ebizuka’s expression, however, was plain. My erstwhile rival greeted me with a wide, toothy grin.
I stammered a greeting. “O-oh. Long time no see.”
“Hah! The hell are you doing here?” he bellowed. “This isn’t your scene!”
“Ah yes, well… About that…”
Ebizuka glanced in the direction of my naked desire. “Ooh. Eel liver, huh? You thinking of buying a snack?”
Without providing any opportunity for me to reply, Ebizuka called to the middle-aged woman tending the shop. “Two of the liver skewers, if you would.”
When he’d received his purchase, he handed one to me.
“Well? What are you waitin’ for? Chow down! It always bothered me, y’know? I can’t figure out why you’re so damn skinny. You got tuberculosis or something? You need more nutrition.”
Not seeing any other way out of the encounter, I began to munch on the skewer of eel liver right there in front of the shop. Memories of the other day’s dream resurfaced: Ebizuka bursting his way into my room, seeking vengeance. The reality of our unexpected reunion was different, to say the least. Honestly, I was a bit appalled by the gap.
I asked meekly, “Might I inquire as to what brings you here today?”
“Me? Procurement, of course.”
He flashed another toothy grin.
“I’m working at a shop just down the street from Ginkaku Temple. Stop by sometime, yeah?”
“I’ll be sure to do that.”
My mind was still whirling, recounting the sight of Ebizuka diving from the window in the restaurant at Kiyamachi, then waving his katana around wildly in the shallows of the Takase River. I had no idea what had happened to him between then and now, but the pathetic, hapless aura he’d once exuded was nowhere to be found. Somewhere along the way, the universe had breathed new life into Ebizuka.
(For my readers’ sake, I’d like to be abundantly clear: In no way was my new perception of Ebizuka skewed by the fact that he’d treated me to a kebab.)
We chewed on our skewers of eel liver. Passersby seemed to find us an amusing sight. Ebizuka inhaled the last few bits of his snack, then picked his two large plastic bags back up off the ground.
“Hah! Keep at it.” He laughed as I continued to gnaw away. “You’ll get there.”
He looked me up and down once more and said, “And put a little more meat on your bones. Girls aren’t into the skinny bookworm type these days.”
At that moment, a young woman—probably a college student—came walking down the street. She carried a cake box in one hand and was humming the tune to Osamu Yoshioka and Asei Kobayashi’s “Hasty Santa Claus.”
Ebizuka’s eyes followed the woman’s movements in a calm, leisurely manner. The slight whisper of a sigh escaped his mouth.
“Heh. I almost forgot,” he mused. “It’s nearly Christmas, isn’t it?”
And then, with his two overstuffed grocery bags dangling from his hands, he set off, wading his way through the crowds of the Nishiki Market. I called after him, half a mouthful of eel liver stuffed in my cheek.
“Thank you for the food!”
Ebizuka didn’t turn. He just lifted his right hand, heavy plastic bag and all, as he continued on his way.