Our conversation must have been pretty amusing, then. While I was a little embarrassed about that, it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, and I soon joined in on the laughter. Turning back to Nito, I saw that she seemed to share my same mood. She was shying away, but as our gazes met, she laughed. However, apparently remembering herself, she turned away with a pout right afterward.
“You make a really good pair,” Charolles told us, slight hints of laughter still audible in her voice.
“We’re the best of friends, after all,” I answered.
“We are not the best of friends.”
I had a feeling we’d had the same exchange before; apparently, she still didn’t see me that way.
“Being the best of friends sounds wonderful. I’m jealous,” Charolles said, chuckling.
“I told you, we’re not!” Nito insisted.
“It’s okay. I know you’re embarrassed to admit it,” I said in a soothing tone.
“Keisuke, are you mocking me?” she demanded.
“Oh, the water’s boiling.”
“And now you’re ignoring me?!”
She stood up with a clatter and came over, smacking my back repeatedly. Nito was surprisingly weak, though, so it ended up being more of a massage than anything. I ignored her physical protestations and picked up the can I’d set down by the wall. I’d already opened it, revealing the broccoli-ish vegetables packed inside, which meant that it was destined to be the main component of our meal for the night. We had a lot of cans of broccoli to get through.
“Just wondering, Nito,” I spoke up. “How long are you going to keep up the shoulder massage?”
“It’s not a massage. I’m demonstrating my displeasure with you,” she insisted, before making a quiet admission that it’d tired her out.
Giving up on it, she sat down next to me. She looked into the pot of boiling water with an air of disapproval.
“Is that all we’re having?” she asked.
“I get you, but you don’t need to be that put out.”
Adding the broccoli had turned the liquid inside the pot green. It wasn’t a particularly appetizing sight. I used a knife to shave some rock salt into the pot and then left it to simmer and soften the vegetables.
“That looks like it’s got a while to go,” Charolles commented.
“Yeah, probably around half an hour.”
“Then I’ll read until it’s done. Nito, want to join me?” Charolles offered.
Nito’s eyes widened, but her surprise then immediately morphed into a smile and she happily agreed.
“I found an interesting book earlier,” she said as she stood.
“Oh? What kind of book?” Charolles asked as she followed suit.
She walked past me into the library, and the both of them sat down at the table in front of a book, chattering away. They were getting along like a house on fire. And there I was, over at the neighbor’s place. I watched the broccoli rise and fall with the bubbling water. It felt rather lonely, actually. All I had was broccoli...
I got tired of that before even a minute had passed and I decided to lean against the wall. I pressed the button on my watch to set the timer. That way I wouldn’t forget about the broccoli, though I had no idea what in the room I could ever get so engrossed in that I’d lose track of the time. Nito and Charolles were absorbed in their book. I considered that maybe I should help look for the map. Actually thinking about things, I realized I didn’t need to be able to read to tell something was a map. I’d be no use at finding Charolles’s story, though.
But, truthfully, I couldn’t be bothered. I wasn’t a massive fan of books, and that went double when they were in a foreign language. Just the thought of flipping endlessly through them and putting them back on the shelf made my head hurt. In short, the extra time on my hands was something I had out of pure selfishness. It was like the melancholy of a student on summer vacation, wanting to do something easy and fun. In the same way that they’d never think of actually studying, I didn’t want to look for the map.
I stirred the broccoli intermittently with a spoon and started drawing up vague plans for tomorrow. I’d help Fago with the temple cleaning. I’d take Nito to that theater and let her meet Paula and Jill. Then I’d ask Paula to show me to the food stores. We’d search here in the library for a map... Actually, I want to learn the guinea pig’s name. I don’t want to just keep calling him “the guinea pig.”
Thinking it over in detail like that made me realize that I’d met so many people recently. It was actually only a few, but after all the completely deserted plains, mountains, and ruins, even that felt like a lot. Thinking back on the memories of the day made it obvious that it was a momentous one, and yet I’d spent it in the same way as any other. Guilt assailed me at that, like the mourning at the end of a meal when you’d wanted to keep eating and tasting it.
Would we forget about today when tomorrow came? Maybe it’d just be vaguer, the impressions slowly fading as time passed. My surprise at meeting the guinea pig, the shock of watching Paula’s dance, and the joy of seeing Charolles’s smile—I’d forget it all one day, and we’d all vanish at some point as the world fell to ruin.
I felt a sudden shock. For some reason, I was crying as I boiled the broccoli. Come on, it’s just broccoli, I scolded myself. Still, the weight on my chest was overwhelming, and I felt almost like I was going to throw up as I glared at the broccoli.