Chapter 8

Chapter Eight Your Name. I have a few habits I’ve unconsciously picked up. For example, when I’m feeling rushed and flustered, I touch the back of my neck. When I wash my face, I look into my eyes, reflected in the mirror. Even on mornings when I’m in a hurry, when I step out the front door, I pause and take a long look at the scenery. I also gaze at my palm for no reason. “The next station is…Yoyogi…Yoyogi.” As the synthetic audio announces the station, I realize I’m doing it again. I look away from my right hand, gazing absently out the window instead. We’re slowing down, and beyond the glass, the crowd of people standing on the platform flows by. Abruptly, my whole body breaks out in goose bumps. A beat later, I think, It’s her. She was standing on the platform. The train stops. Even waiting for the doors to open seems to take too long, and I leave the train at a sprint. I turn in a circle, scanning the platform. Several passengers dart suspicious glances at me as they pass, and my head finally cools down. I’m not looking for anyone in particular. “She” isn’t anybody. This is yet another habit I’ve picked up unawares, and it’s probably a weird one. The next thing I know, still standing on the platform, I’m gazing at my palm again. Just a little more, I think. Just a little longer. Just a little more. I don’t know what wish accompanies those words, but somewhere along the way, I’ve started longing for it. “I applied to your company because I like buildings— Or, no…I mean cityscapes. The landscape of people living their lives in general.” The faces of the four interviewers in front of me cloud slightly. No, no, that’s just my imagination, I think. This is the first time I’ve managed to make it to the second round of interviews at a company. I can’t blow this chance, I think, psyching myself up again. “I always have. Even I don’t really understand why, but, um… Anyway, I like them. What I mean is, I like watching buildings and the people who live and work there. That’s why I often go to cafés and restaurants. I even worked at a few part-time—” “I see.” One of the interviewers cuts me off gently. “Then could you tell us why you chose to enter the construction field, rather than the restaurant industry?” She’s a middle-aged woman, the only one of the four who looked kind, and I finally realize I’ve been blabbing about an irrelevant reason for applying. I break out in a sweat in a suit I’m not yet used to wearing. “Well, I… Serving customers at my part-time job was fun, but I guess you could say I wanted to be involved in something bigger…” Something bigger? That’s a middle school answer. Even I can tell my face is flushing red. “I mean… The way I see it, there’s no telling when even Tokyo could disappear.” This time, the interviewers’ faces really do cloud over. Realizing I’ve been touching the back of my neck, I hastily put hands on my knees again. “So if it does— No, precisely because it will someday, I want to create the sort of town that warms people, even if it’s only a memory—” Agh, it’s no good. Even I can’t follow what I’m saying. I’ve failed this one, too. Thinking this, I glance at the gray skyscrapers that tower behind the interviewers, and I feel like crying. “So? How many companies have you interviewed at, including today?” Takagi asks me. “I’m not keeping track,” I tell him glumly. Looking awfully entertained, Tsukasa says, “I don’t think you’re going to make it.” “I don’t want to hear that from you,” I cut back crossly. “Sure it’s not because you just don’t look good in a suit?” Takagi grins. “You guys aren’t much different!” I bristle angrily. “I’ve got unofficial offers from two companies,” he counters cheerfully. “I have eight,” Tsukasa condescends. “Rrgh…!” I have no comeback. My coffee cup rattles in my fingers as they tremble with humiliation. Tweedle. My phone chirps from the table. I check the message, drain what’s left of my coffee in one gulp, and stand. Come to think of it, the three of us came to this café a lot when we were in high school. The memory strikes me after I’ve waved good-bye to Tsukasa and Takagi and started jogging toward the station. Life was so carefree back then. I didn’t have to think about the future or finding a job, and somehow, every day was ludicrously fun. Especially that one summer—I think it was during my second year of high school. It seems like that summer was especially thrilling. What happened that year? I think back and conclude there wasn’t anything in particular. I guess I must’ve just been at an age when absolutely anything was enough to trigger a giggling fit. …Wait, no, that’s something they say about girls… Absentmindedly, I hop down the stairs to the subway. “Ooh. Job hunting, hmm?” Okudera-senpai looks up from her phone, sees me in my suit, and smiles. It’s evening, and the area in front of Yotsuya Station is filled with the faintly languid hum of people released from their days at work or school. “Ha-ha. Well, it’s not going so great.” “Hmm…” Okudera-senpai murmurs, bringing her face closer to mine. She inspects me from head to toe with a frown. Then, gravely, she asks, “You don’t think it’s because suits don’t look good on you?” “I-is it really that bad?!” Involuntarily, I look down at myself. “Oh, come on, I’m joking!” Okudera-senpai beams, her expression changing easily. “Let’s walk a little,” Okudera-senpai says, and I follow her. We set off, going against the current of the university students on Shinjuku Street. We cut across Kioicho, then cross the Benkei Bridge. For the first time, I realize that the trees lining the roads are changing color. About half the people we pass have on lightweight coats. Okudera-senpai is wearing a loose ash-gray jacket, too. “What’s going on today? Your text came out of the blue.” Feeling as if I’m the only one who hasn’t kept up with the season, I turn to Okudera-senpai beside me. “What?” Her glossy lips pout. “I can’t get in touch with you without a reason?” “No, no, no!” I wave my hands hastily. “You’re happy to see me, aren’t you? It’s been a long time.” “Y-yes. I am.” She smiles in satisfaction at my answer, then continues. “I was in the area for work and thought I’d like to see your face, Taki.” She was hired by a major clothing chain and works at a branch store in Chiba now. “Life in the suburbs is fun, too, but Tokyo really is lively and one of a kind,” she tells me, gazing at her surroundings like she’s a little awestruck. “Look,” she says suddenly, and I raise my head. We’re crossing a pedestrian bridge, so we’re eye level with the giant outdoor display screen above an electronics store. It’s showing aerial footage of gourd-shaped Itomori Lake and the words The Comet Disaster—Eight Years Later in big letters. “We went to Itomori once, didn’t we?” Okudera-senpai narrows her eyes, as though she’s searching distant memories. “You were still in high school, Taki, so it must’ve been…” “Five years ago, maybe?” I finish the sentence for her. “That long…” She exhales a little, as if surprised. “I’m forgetting all sorts of things.” She’s right, I think. As we come down off the pedestrian bridge and walk up Sotobori Street where it runs along the edge of the Akasaka Estate lands, I try remembering that day. It was the summer of my second year in high school— No, it was just about this time of year, early autumn. Tsukasa, Okudera-senpai, and I went on a short trip. We transferred from the Shinkansen to an express train, went all the way to Gifu, and wandered aimlessly around the area along the local train line. Right, and we went into this ramen shop that was standing all by itself on the side of the national highway. And then… From that point on, my memories blur and grow distant, as if belonging to a past life. Maybe we fought? I have a vague recollection of leaving the other two and going off on my own. I climbed a mountain somewhere all alone, spent the night there, and then went back to Tokyo by myself the next day. That’s right… Back then, I was obsessed with the events surrounding that comet. In the sort of natural disaster that’s happened only a few times in human history, a fragment of the comet destroyed a town. And yet, in spite of that, almost all the town’s residents survived. It was a miraculous night. The day the comet fell, Itomori just happened to be holding a town-wide disaster drill, and most of the locals had already been evacuated from the area impacted. It was such a huge coincidence and such incredible luck, that there were all sorts of whispered rumors after the disaster. The unprecedented astronomical phenomenon and the townspeople’s stupendous luck were enough to stir up the media’s and public’s imagination. All sorts of irresponsible ideas flew around wildly for days on end, from folklore-type stories that linked the comet’s visit with Itomori’s dragon-god legend, to political statements that either praised or questioned the mayor of Itomori’s use of plenary power in forcing an evacuation, to occult rumors that the meteorite strike had actually been foretold. Other strange details, such as the fact that the town had been so isolated it was practically a landlocked desert island, and the fact that the power across the entire area had gone out about two hours before the meteorite strike, spurred public speculation. Society’s excitement lasted until the programs to resettle the victims in other areas had calmed down a bit, but as with most incidents, just about the time the seasons changed, the topic of Itomori slowly disappeared from public conversation. Still… Once again, it strikes me as strange. I’d even drawn sketches of Itomori, several of them. Not only that, but my feverish interest had materialized unexpectedly, a few years after the comet strike. Something had visited me suddenly, like a delayed comet itself, then vanished without a trace. What in the world had it been? Well, I guess it’s not important, I think, watching the streets of Yotsuya sink into the dusk from a hill beside Sotobori Street. It really doesn’t matter now. I write the thought on a wall in my mind. I need to be focusing on finding a job next year, not ancient history I don’t really remember. “The wind’s come up,” Okudera-senpai whispers, and her long, wavy hair rises softly. A sweet scent I smelled once, somewhere long ago and far away, reaches my nose faintly. Like a conditioned reflex, the fragrance sparks a melancholy inside me. “Thanks for spending the day with me. This is far enough,” Okudera-senpai says when I offer to see her to the turnstile at the station. We ate dinner at the Italian restaurant where we’d worked part-time as students. Thanks to a promise I totally don’t remember making—“Come to think of it, Taki, didn’t you say you’d treat me after you graduated from high school?”—I ended up paying for Okudera-senpai. Even so, I felt a little bit proud picking up the check. “You know, I had no idea the place we used to work had such good food.” “Yeah, all the meals they gave us during our shifts were like school lunches.” “We went for years without catching on.” We laugh. Okudera-senpai draws a deep, contented breath, then says, “All right. I’ll see you later.” She waves at me, and there’s a band like a thin drop of water shining on her ring finger. “You’ll find happiness someday, too,” she’d assured me earlier over an espresso, after informing me she was getting married. I couldn’t manage a good response—I just mumbled something congratulatory. I’m not particularly unhappy, I think, watching Okudera-senpai’s silhouette descend the pedestrian-bridge stairs. That said, I don’t really understand what happiness is yet, either. I abruptly inspect my palm. All that’s there is an absence. Just a little longer…, I think one more time. Before I know it, the season’s changed again. An unusually typhoon-filled autumn passed, moving straight into a winter of nothing but cold rain. Tonight, too, the rain is whispering down unabated, like the memory of a pleasant chat on some bygone day. Christmas lights twinkle beyond windows beaded thickly with water droplets. I take a sip from my paper cup of coffee, as if swallowing my scattered thoughts, then look down at my notebook again. Even now, in December, it’s packed with job-hunting appointments. Visits with former upperclassmen to discuss their work, information sessions, entry deadlines, paper schedules, interview dates. The range is chaotic, covering everything from major general contractors to design offices to old-town factories, and as I check the notebook against the schedule on my phone, even I’m a bit disgusted by it. I start organizing the main points from tomorrow onward, writing them into my notebook. “Y’know, I’d like to go to at least one more bridal fair.” Mixed with the sound of the rain, the conversations of strangers sound a bit like secrets. The couple behind me has been discussing their wedding for a while now, and it makes me think of Okudera-senpai. Their voices and bearing are completely different, though. There’s a bit of an easygoing regional accent to their speech, and their conversation seems completely relaxed, as if they’re childhood friends. I’m not really listening, but my ears pick up what they’re saying. “Again?” The guy sounds annoyed, but even then, there’s no mistaking the affection in his tone. “We’ve been to a ton of fairs already. They were all pretty much the same stuff.” “Well, I was thinkin’ a Shinto ceremony might be nice, too.” “You said your dream was to have it in a chapel.” “This is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. I can’t make up my mind that easily.” “But you said you did make up your mind,” the guy quietly complains, and I chuckle. The girl ignores him. “Hmm…,” she murmurs, thinking. “Never mind that. Tesshi, you gotta shave off those whiskers before the ceremony.” I was about to drink my coffee, but my hand stops dead. My pulse is speeding up, though I don’t understand why. “I’ll lose a few pounds for you, ’kay?” “But you’re eatin’ cake!” “I’ll start for real tomorrow!” Slowly, I look behind me. The two of them have already gotten up from their chairs and are pulling on their coats. The tall, skinny guy is wearing a stocking cap over his buzzed head. I just catch a glimpse of his profile. The girl is petite, and her bobbed hair makes her seem young, almost like a student. The pair turns away and leaves the café. For some reason, I can’t take my eyes off their backs. “Thank you for your visit.” The café employee’s voice reaches my ears indistinctly, mingled with the rain. By the time I leave the café, the rain has turned to snow. Maybe it’s because of all the moisture up in the atmosphere, but the town is oddly warm in the falling snow. I feel strangely uneasy, as if I’ve wandered into the wrong season. It seems to me as if each and every person I pass is hiding some important secret, and in spite of myself, I keep turning back to look at them. I go straight to the ward library, which is almost ready to close for the evening. The sparseness of the handful of readers in the vast, vaulted space makes the air inside feel even chillier than outside. I take a seat and open the book I’ve retrieved from the stacks. The title is Vanished Itomori—Complete Records. It’s a collection of photographs. As if removing an ancient seal, I slowly page through the book. Gingko trees and an elementary school. The shrine’s steep stairs, with their view over the lake. A shrine gate with peeling paint. A tiny railroad crossing, like toy building blocks abruptly set down in the fields. A pointlessly expansive parking lot, two snack bars right next to each other, a drab concrete high school. A prefectural road with old, cracked asphalt. A guardrail that traces a winding hill road. Vinyl greenhouses, reflecting the sky. They’re the sort of ordinary sights you see all over Japan, so I recognize all of them. I can visualize the temperature of the stone walls and the chill of the wind, just as if I’d lived there. Why is this so…? I wonder as I turn the pages. Why do the unremarkable sights of a town that no longer exists make my heart hurt this much? Once, fueled by intense emotions, I made some sort of resolution. I remember this out of nowhere when I look up at the light in somebody’s window on my way home, or when I reach for a box lunch in the convenience store, or when I retie my loose shoelaces. I decided something once. I took an oath because I met somebody—no, so that I would meet somebody. Washing my face and staring into the mirror, tossing a plastic bag in the trash, squinting at the morning sun between the buildings, I think this and smile wryly. “Somebody,” “something.” In the end, I don’t know a thing. Still, I think as I close the door at an interview. Still, even now, I’m fighting my way through. Perhaps it’s a bit dramatic to say, but I’m struggling against life. Wasn’t that what I decided once? To struggle. To live. To breathe and walk. To run. To eat. To bind, musubi. To live an ordinary life so I shed tears over the sights of a perfectly ordinary town. Just a little longer, I think. Just a little is fine. Just a little more. I don’t know what it is I want, but I keep on wishing for something. Just a little longer. Just a little more. The cherry blossoms bloom and scatter, long rains wash the streets, white clouds billow high, the leaves change color, freezing winds blow. Then the cherry trees bloom again. The days are accelerating. I’ve graduated from university, and I’m working at the job I somehow managed to find. I spend every day with the desperation of a man trying not to be flung from a careening vehicle. There are times when I can believe I’m getting closer, in very tiny increments, to the place I want to be. In the morning, when I wake up, I stare at my right hand. There are little drops of water on my index finger. By the time I notice them, both the dream I was in a moment earlier and the tears that for an instant stained my eyes have evaporated. Just a little longer. With that thought, I get out of bed. Just a little longer. As I recite the wish, I face the mirror and tie my hair cord. I pull my arms through the sleeves of my spring suit. I open the door of my apartment and, for a moment, gaze at the Tokyo cityscape that unfurls before me. I climb the station stairs, go through the automated turnstile, and board a packed commuter train. The little patch of blue sky I can see beyond the heads of the crowd is piercingly clear. I lean against the train door, looking out. The city teems with people, in the windows of buildings, in cars, on pedestrian bridges. A hundred people to a car, a thousand people to a train, a thousand trains crisscrossing the city. Gazing at them, I make my wish. Just a little longer. In that instant, with absolutely no warning, I see her. And then, I see him. He’s there, close enough to touch if it weren’t for the windowpanes, on a train running parallel to this one. He’s looking straight at me, and his eyes are wide with surprise, like mine. Then I realize what the wish I’ve carried for so long really is. She’s there, just a few feet away. I don’t even know her name, but I know it’s her. Our trains are pulling away from each other. Then another train passes between us, and I lose sight of her. But I finally know what I’m wishing for. I wanted to stay with her, just a little longer. I want to be with him, just a little more. The train stops, and I dash through the streets. I’m looking for her. I’m already positive she’s looking for me, too. We’ve met before. Or, no, that could be my imagination. It might be just an assumption, something like a dream. It might be a delusion, like past lives. Even so, I—we—wanted to stay together a little longer. We want to be together, just a little more. As I run along the sloping road, I wonder, Why am I running? Why am I searching? I probably know the answer. I don’t remember it, but everything in my body knows. I turn at a narrow alley, and the road drops off. Stairs. I walk over to them, look down…and there he is. Fighting back the urge to run, I climb the stairs slowly. A wind that smells like flowers lifts my suit jacket and fills it out into a bell. She’s standing at the top of the stairs, but I can’t look at her directly. I only watch her out of the corner of my eye. She’s descending the stairs. The click of her shoes drifts softly into the spring air. My heart is leaping in my rib cage. As we approach each other, we keep our eyes downcast. He doesn’t say anything. I can’t say anything, either. Then, still without speaking, we pass each other. In that moment, I feel a tense, squeezing pain all over, as though something inside me has taken hold of my heart. This is wrong, I think fiercely. We can’t possibly be strangers. It goes against something as basic as the mechanics of the universe, or the laws of life. And so… And so I turn around. She turns, too, with the exact same speed. She’s standing on the stairs, the streets of Tokyo behind her, her eyes wide and round. I realize her long hair is tied back with a cord the color of the evening sun. My whole body trembles slightly. I finally found him. We finally met. Just as I think I’ll probably burst into tears unless I do something, I realize I’m already crying. Seeing this, he smiles. Even as I cry, I smile, too. The spring air carries with it all sorts of apprehension and anticipation, and I draw a deep breath. Then we open our mouths at the same time. Like children who’ve agreed to go on the count of three, we say together: What’s your name?