His voice is clear and penetrating as he makes the declaration. He wants Mr. Fujiyama to be completely sure of his intentions, I suppose—and as I listen next to him, his voice, and every word he says, resonates in my heart. My body is heated up. His desires come across to me, crystal clear.
I take another look at the woman on the jacket. She is smiling brightly, like her buckteeth are the last thing on her mind.
“…I want to play it for him, too,” I say, the words coming easy to me. My emotions are spilling over. “I want Mr. Fujiyama to remember what was so important to him.”
I hold the jacket to my chest as I look at Mr. Fujiyama. He is looking back at me, tears not dried yet. His eyes are slightly open, and I wonder if he can sense our intentions.
When I look at Cherry, the barrier has gone away and he is smiling at me. He’s so kind like that. He’s really doing his best for Mr. Fujiyama. I want to look for it with him, too. I’ll join you, Cherry. I’ll do whatever it takes!
Whump!
I turn toward the loud noise—and suddenly, the blood drains from my face. Mr. Fujiyama is slumped over the counter.
“Mr. Fujiyama!”
I immediately run up and shake him by the shoulder. He doesn’t respond. Maybe he is unconscious. No matter how many times I call out to him, he never answers.
“…Dad!”
I hear a cry from the doorway. Looking over, I see a short-haired woman, who appears to be just a little older than my mother, rushing toward me. Cherry and I move a little away from Mr. Fujiyama, as if pushed off by her momentum. I am kind of floored by it all, and Cherry and I just wind up watching as she takes care of Mr. Fujiyama.
Mr. Fujiyama’s house is located behind the store. Cherry and I help carry him back. Then while the paramedics are looking at him, Cherry calls Sunnyside to explain what happened. “Ms. Tanaka and Nami will be here later,” he says as he ends the call. “They said we could go home for now.”
Maybe they did, but after the paramedics leave, Cherry and I kind of hang out by the front door, not really sure what we should be doing. After a while, the woman who discovered Mr. Fujiyama comes to us and smiles gently.
“Thanks very much to you both.”
She tells me her name is Tsubaki. I guess she’s Mr. Fujiyama’s daughter; she’s dressed in kind of an eccentric outfit with some stylish glasses, both of which suit her perfectly.
“So you’re Toughboy’s mother?” Cherry asks.
“Yes.” She nods. “You really do call Yasuyuki ‘Toughboy,’ huh?”
“Um, so how’s Mr. Fujiyama…?”
“They said it’s a mild case of heatstroke. They gave him an IV drip, but he wasn’t bad off enough to merit a trip to the ER, so they told me to give him plenty of bed rest at home.”
“Oh, good…”
Well, at least Mr. Fujiyama is doing all right.
“I’m sorry, I…” Cherry holds his head down. “I should have…been with him on his walks more often…”
It has been very hot lately. I suppose Cherry feels responsible for letting Mr. Fujiyama go on his little strolls all the time.
“I couldn’t find him very quickly, either, though…”
It’s not just your fault, Cherry.
“It’s all right,” Tsubaki says, smiling and shaking her head. “He’s not suffering or anything like that, so…you know.”
She is showing real concern for us. That makes her words even more painful.
“Um, Tsubaki…” I hand her the jacket I still have in my hands. “I guess he’s looking for a record that’s really important to him. He wants to hear it again…”
Tsubaki stares at the jacket, quietly listening to my story.
“He’s looking all around the mall for it, too, so…”
She looks at us. She is smiling, but she seems kind of troubled, or sad. Instead of replying, she looks at the jacket again. Looking at that inscrutable expression, I decide it is wiser not to dive in any further—and in the end, we leave without learning any more about the record.
It is already night. The farm road doesn’t have any lights, so it gets really dark at night. You can easily trip and fall if you aren’t careful.
“…I hope Mr. Fujiyama’s okay.”
As I walk home with Cherry, I find my heart racing, my head full of worry for the old man. I think Cherry feels the same way. I’ve been trying to chat with him on the way home, but all he says back is “Yeah,” then silence. I am taking the lead along the farm path, Cherry following behind, and his voice is almost drowned out by all the frogs in the paddies.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and tap the photo app. I took some pictures of the record jacket before giving it back to Tsubaki—the front, the back, and that other strip of paper.
“You think maybe the record Mr. Fujiyama’s looking for is in that store somewhere?”
It seems pretty likely, given all the records in there. But…
“Well, if so, why would he constantly be looking for it around the mall?”
I can see the mall still, all lit up beyond the rice fields. Mr. Fujiyama was definitely looking for it in and around that mall. Is it over there after all?
…Well, no point dwelling on it. I have to take action. I look back at Cherry, walking backward.
“I’ll try researching it on my phone.”
I’m talking to Cherry, but he keeps his head down.
“We’ll probably find out a lot about it. Maybe we can buy another copy, even?”
“Yeah.”
Oh, good, he’s answering me. But his voice is as low as always, his face still looking down at the ground.
“And Marie knows a lot about this stuff, too. I’ll ask her to help once I get home.”
“I’ll poke around, too.”
Finally, he’s looking at me. Great.
“Perfect!”
I nod at him, still walking backward. I’ve walked down this farm road with Cherry many times now, but seeing him from the front like this is kinda strange… He doesn’t have those on his head today, either.
“By the way, you haven’t been wearing them lately, huh?”
I put my hands over my ears to simulate a pair of headphones. Yes, I noticed. He’s been going around without them a lot lately.
Cherry’s eyes widen in surprise. Then he quickly looks away and whispers something. All the frog croaking around us is so loud, I can’t be quite sure what he said, but I definitely made out the last part:
“…and I don’t need them anyway.”
Need them? What’s he mean by that?
So I simply reply, “Okay,” and don’t ask any more questions.