Even Suzui didn’t know why he suggested such a brazen act. Maybe he felt emboldened now that he was off work. Regardless, the anger coursing through his chest was honest and direct. Maybe reflecting on the chief’s alcohol-related bullying had left him in a foul temper.
“C’mon, let’s hang up.”
He wrested the phone away from Jin’s grasp. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the screen. The section chief’s name was displayed. But it was what he saw below that locked his eyes to the phone.
3:12:14.
As Suzui watched, the second counter increased to 15, then 16. He heard a faint voice through the speaker.
“So I don’t think Mutsumi’s making any sense. The department chief takes her side, but that’s just cowardice, if you ask me. He thinks no one can argue if he says the woman is right. I don’t think that makes sense. If anything, it’s reverse sexism.”
19, 20, 21… The count continued. The section chief’s voice seemed to dig into Suzui’s ears deeper via the phone speaker than in the hallway at the office. It felt like his heart and mind were being ground by a rough file.
This had been going on for three hours…
Suzui shivered, so intimidated that he couldn’t even press the end call button. He knew how to, of course, but for a moment, he forgot. He panicked and started hitting buttons at random. The section chief’s name left the screen.
The man was in the middle of a sentence when his voice vanished.
Suzui’s train emitted a chime to warn that it was leaving. It was very loud. Three hours. He repeated the thought, just to grapple with it. For over three hours, Jin had endured this phone call, trapped here in this noisy environment.
“Um… I’m sorry, Suzui,” Jin apologized, perhaps because Suzui was too shocked to actually speak.
“Was that from the chief?” Suzui finally asked. It felt stupid to ask a question with such an obvious answer. However, the voice over the phone had wrapped itself around him, dulling his mind and body.
The train doors closed. Suzui heard the sound of a train rolling by and felt wind on his face.
Once the train had left the station, Jin inclined his head awkwardly. “Yes.”
“But you can barely hear anything here. Why would you stay in a place like this?”
“I was on the train when I got the call. If I didn’t pick up, it would just keep ringing, so I thought to answer just long enough to explain and then call back later. But he never stopped talking.”
Suzui didn’t know where Jin lived. However, based on his story, this wasn’t the station closest to his home. Jin had meant to be on the phone for only a minute, and the call lasted for over three hours…
Suzui was stunned and rooted to the spot. Just then, Jin’s phone buzzed in Suzui’s hand, the vibration of an incoming call. He almost yelped at the surprise.
“Oh, I’ve got to take that,” Jin said. The section chief’s name was on the screen again.
On sheer impulse, Suzui snapped, “Don’t do it. You don’t have to answer!”
He was shouting because he was scared. Jin’s eyes went wide, and he stared with concern at the phone in Suzui’s hand.
Suzui shook his head. “You don’t have to answer. You talked plenty already, didn’t you? It didn’t sound very urgent anyway.” He felt guilty for overhearing, but admitted to it all the same.
It wasn’t just the length of the phone call that unnerved Suzui; it was the content as well. Mutsumi. Not making sense. No one can argue if he says the woman is right. Reverse sexism…
He didn’t want to hear it. It was all so tiresome. There was no reason to call an employee after work hours and subject them to commentary like that for hours.
The buzzing continued. Sato should give up, yet he didn’t.
“All right,” Jin said at last, staring Suzui in the eyes. After several long moments, he said, “I won’t answer. Will you give back my phone if I don’t pick up?”
“…Okay.” Suzui handed the phone back, and immediately his body felt lighter. They walked over to a bench on the station platform and sat down. Jin looked utterly exhausted, as though he were about to crumble into nothing. No wonder; he’d probably been on his feet the entire call.
“Does this sort of thing happen often?” Suzui asked.
“Yes,” Jin admitted. Suzui was stunned, despite having expected that reply. Jin wasn’t even a full employee. There was no reason for him to deal with all this.
The overturned phone kept buzzing on Jin’s lap. Having a conversation with that noise in the background felt bizarre, like some kind of poorly performed comedy skit. Suzui got the sense he was seeing something he ought not to.
He nearly suggested they file a complaint.
Admittedly, he didn’t know where, but he wanted to try. To human resources, to the department chief, to the labor board—somewhere.
But the ceaseless vibrations from Jin’s phone made it challenging to voice the words.
“He must be really bored.”
The noise stopped at last. Suzui stared at Jin’s silent phone.
“Chief Sato’s married, isn’t he? He probably has children, right? Doesn’t he have anything better to do? Or does his family ignore him?” Suzui joked. However, it lacked the same zest as when he complained with Mutsumi at work. The phone call had been mostly Sato griping about Mutsumi. He wasn’t even scolding Jin. Who went around forcing their employee to listen to an endless stream of grievances for three hours?
Just then, the quiet phone erupted again. Vnn-vnn-vnn-vnn… Fear welled up in Suzui like before, but this time it was colored by a streak of anger.
“Just turn the phone off, Jin. This is ridiculous.”
Jin wasn’t looking at him.
His eyes were resting on the shaking phone on his lap. It made Suzui worry. If these calls were commonplace for him, then he might be completely broken and traumatized…
Jin mumbled something. It coincided with an announcement about a train coming in on the opposite platform, so Suzui couldn’t hear.
“Huh?” he said, and Jin lifted his head to look at him.
“…I think it’s because I might hear him out.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s why the section chief acts this way.”
His lips were curled in his usual weak smile. It wasn’t self-derisive, but serene and contemplative, as though Jin was full of more emotion than he could suppress.
“Thank you for your concern, Suzui.”
“But I didn’t…”
Jin’s courteousness, even when speaking with someone young enough to be his son, wounded Suzui.
“Shall we go?” Jin asked. “My family’s waiting.”
He stood from the bench.
Vnn-vnn-vnn-vnn, vnn-vnn-vnn-vnn.
All the while, the cellphone vibrated in his hand. Suzui got the sinking feeling that as soon as they parted ways, he was going to answer the call.
He wanted to say something before he left, but no words would have sufficed.