He had no house, no money, and no job.
His life was worthless.
He had nothing.
In search of a place to sleep, he eventually wound up at a small park.
The park was like a hole in the middle of the city: It had a slide, a bench that seated two, and a drinking fountain, but that was all.
In the evening, “Yuuyake Koyake” chimed from the disaster prevention speaker, but there were no children around to hear it. No one even walked by.
All of this was convenient for Kazushi.
One day in April, he’d washed his face and head in the drinking fountain and was lying on the bench when a dog appeared out of nowhere. It was a Chihuahua mix. Since it didn’t have a collar, it was probably a stray or a dog somebody had abandoned.
It put its front paws up on the bench, sniffing at Kazushi with its moist nose.
When Kazushi sat up, it backed away but looked up at him with steady, searching eyes. It didn’t seem suspicious but rather like it wasn’t sure whether it should wag its tail. Almost involuntarily, Kazushi put out his hand; the dog sniffed it, then nuzzled it.
“…Are you hungry?”
When he tore off some of his stuffed roll and held it out, the dog ate it, smacking its tongue noisily. It must have been famished. When it was done eating, it put its front paws on Kazushi’s knees and licked his face all around his nose, wagging its tail so hard that it seemed like it might come right off.
From that point on, the park had two residents: one human, one canine.
Kazushi fed the dog because he felt like it; it could take its leave and go elsewhere anytime it wanted to. His attitude toward it was careless, but the dog didn’t leave his side.
It was always beetling around, digging holes in the sandbox or sticking its head into the weeds and smelling all the scents. Its gait was oddly unsteady, though, and it had a habit of pestering Kazushi to pick it up when there was even a small step to climb.
When Kazushi called, “Hey,” it whipped around to look at him and wag its tail. Then it would run up to him as fast as it could, sniff his outstretched hand, then jump into his arms and lick his nose and lips.
Kazushi took to calling it Chako, or “brown girl.”
The reason was simple: The dog was brown and a female.
Once he’d named her, though, that dog was Kazushi’s. Even though he knew he didn’t really have the right to own a dog.
Still, whenever he called “Chako,” the dog wagged her tail. When he tapped her lightly on the head or petted her back, she snuffled happily.
In June, with summer just around the corner, their lives changed a bit.
An intruder began visiting the park.
Her name was Suzu Torikai.
“Oh my, do you want this?”
When Chako stood up on her hind legs and poked her nose into the woman’s chair-walker, Suzu brought out a pack of fried chicken, explaining that she’d stopped by on her way home from the supermarket.
“My doctor told me to go outside and get as much sun as possible, you see. I was planning to sun myself on the bench; I had no idea someone so adorable was already using it.” As she spoke, Suzu picked Chako up. The fine, crepe-like wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes deepened, and she looked very soft and kind.
He almost asked, Would you adopt this dog?
For some reason, though, he couldn’t say it.
Suzu shortened Chako’s already short name even further, calling her “Chi.”
She said she’d spent a long, long time caring for her grandparents and parents, and then they’d died one after another. She’d been living alone ever since. She’d carelessly scorched a pot by forgetting to turn off the burner once, so these days she got most of her meals from the supermarket deli.
“I’m sorry it’s just my leftovers, but if you’d like…,” she’d say apologetically, and then she’d feed Chako fish sausage or bargain ham and treat Kazushi to inari sushi or the day’s special box lunch.
She also told them a bit about herself.
She said she was lonely because practically the only person she’d had to talk to had been her neighbor, and now they’d moved into a nursing home. She said she’d started staying home all the time and had ended up with insomnia, so the hospital had prescribed her some sleeping pills, which worked really well.
“If I go awhile without talking to anyone, it feels as if I might forget my own name, you know? Even if I think, ‘Wait, who am I?’ there’s nobody to ask.”
Speaking slowly, at a tempo that made Kazushi feel a bit drowsy, she stroked Chako’s head.
Why not adopt a dog, then?
It was only a brief remark, but he just couldn’t say it. He also couldn’t reveal his own situation to this elderly woman, whose lonely life was gradually being eroded by dementia.
He couldn’t even admit that he didn’t want to give up Chako.
However, one day, when winter was getting close…
“I’m not going to be here anymore, so please take care of her.”
Pushing Chako into Suzu’s hands, Kazushi ran out of the park.
A little while after that, he managed to land some on-site work that came with dormitory housing. If Chako had been there, he couldn’t have taken it. She was on his mind, though, and once, he went to sneak a look at the park.
Suzu was there, sitting on the bench with Chako on her lap. She was petting the dog’s back in a leisurely rhythm, talking to her the whole time, as if she were a small child.
They looked happy.
The new year came, and Kazushi was out of work again. Instead of going back to his old haunt, he started sleeping in a children’s park close to the train station. The kids were loud during the day, but there was a handicapped bathroom where he could take shelter from the rain or snow. On top of that, no other homeless people had claimed it as their territory.
However…
Late one night, the noise of firecrackers startled him. When he dashed out of the bathroom, someone launched a rocket firework straight at him. The fireball had been targeting his face, but it hit the palm he’d thrown up to protect himself instead, bursting loudly and burning him. If it had hit him in the eye, it would have blinded him.