Minae Mizumura - A True Novel

In the end Taro switched topics and started talking about Japan.

“Maybe because I don’t expect to come back here anymore, I often think about this country.” He stared with dark eyes at the garden, beyond which was a thicket with a dingy, abandoned cottage almost hidden by trees. Above it was a glimpse of sky, clear a little while ago but now once again heavy with low-lying clouds. “I never thought Japan would turn into the country it is now.” His voice was emotionless. “For one thing, I never thought it would be so rich.” His lips pursed for a second, then relaxed. “But somehow I thought it would turn out to be a better place, a more decent place than this.” His eyes remained fixed on the yard.

“I had a grudge against Japan when I was growing up, so I never hoped it would turn out better, but over the past fifty years I assumed as a matter of course that it would. Maybe it was the times. Without even knowing it, I believed in the future, I guess.”

Cocking his head in Yusuke’s direction, Taro told him that one of his own parents came from a Chinese ethnic minority. He continued, “When I was little, I was told once I was lucky not to be Japanese.”

He looked straight at him.

At the time, he had just felt happy that someone should have made this comment when everyone else picked on him for not being Japanese, and he’d thought no more about it, but lately he had started to think about the unintended meaning of the words.

“These days, I’ve begun to thank my stars that I’m not Japanese. Or not altogether Japanese, not in my DNA. That’s the way I feel now.” He laughed as if half joking.

Rather than taking offense, Yusuke asked an honest question. “Why? What’s wrong with Japanese people?”

The man took in Yusuke’s earnest face and seemed to hesitate.

Impulsively, Yusuke followed it up with another question. A word Fuyue was said to have used had stuck in his mind, and he asked, “Would you say they’re … a little shallow?” This was probably his own conclusion as well, after only twenty-six years of life.

“Shallow …,” the man echoed, before saying simply, “They’re beyond shallow. They’re hollow—nothing inside.” He brought the champagne glass level with his eyes and studied the bubbles in it. “Like these bubbles … barely there at all.”

Then, as if remembering something, he looked at Yusuke and said, “So, you’ve met the Three Witches, have you?” When Yusuke nodded, he explained that it was their house in Karuizawa that Fumiko had gone and got trapped in. “But there’s nothing hollow about those three, I have to say.”

He said this with a wry smile. Yusuke felt he was wrapping things up, so he got quickly to his feet and said he should be going. He had known he might be outstaying his welcome, but until then he’d been unable to move, as though chained in place. The man did not detain him but put his champagne glass down on the table and got up too. That was his way of saying goodbye.

Yusuke got on his bicycle and pedaled off. The seat was still moist from the previous day’s rain.

THE BARBECUE PARTY at Kubo’s sister-in-law’s villa started at dusk and went on till midnight, attended by an assortment of guests. The rich neighbor from Minamihara showed up too, though fairly late; he had come on from another party and his face was already bright red from drinking. Fortunately, it didn’t rain, so they trundled two enormous American barbecue grills out onto the lawn, and Kubo and Yusuke went to work flipping corn on the cob, char, and sweetfish on them. Kubo’s sister-in-law seemed a bit miffed that her little sister had stolen Kubo, but she was a good sport, and even while Kubo and the sister were flirting, she was all smiles, a conscientious hostess. It was past midnight when Kubo and Yusuke started for home, laden with foil-wrapped bundles of leftover goodies and a pair of flashlights provided again to light their way.

The sky, which had continually threatened rain yet produced no drops, still remained overcast, the moon barely visible through haze.

“Whatcha gonna do tomorrow?” asked Kubo tipsily, spinning his flashlight in circles.

“Do?”

“How you goin’ back to Tokyo, I mean.”

Yusuke, who had been planning to take the train back with Kubo, couldn’t make sense of the question.

“See, we could go by car.”

Two cars would be heading to Tokyo the next day—one with his brother, his wife, and their two children, the other with the wife’s parents and the little sister. Packed with things to bring back, neither car would have room for the two of them to ride together, but if they went separately, both could get back to Tokyo without taking the train. Kubo apparently wanted to accompany the little sister but couldn’t come right out and say so.

“I’ll take the train.” Yusuke didn’t feel like riding in either car.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Whichever car he was in, he knew he would feel ill at ease, so he would rather travel back by train even if it meant standing all the way.

Kubo, knowing his antisocial tendencies, didn’t push the point.

“It’s only August, and listen to the racket those crickets make. You’d think it was already fall, eh?” Instead of describing circles with his flashlight, he was now training it on neighbors’ gardens along the way, as though hunting for chirping insects in the clumps of grass.

THE NEXT DAY when the two young men got up it was raining again. Fortunately, like the day before, from around half past ten the sun came out and blue patches in the sky quickly began to spread. Since the families intended to have supper in a service area along the highway, they would be leaving late in the day. With hours to kill, Yusuke and his friend took their time over brunch, then threw the sheets in the washer and ran the vacuum cleaner, only for the sky to darken again. The two German cars pulled in just as they finished closing the rain shutters. They said goodbye to each other, and Kubo got into the driver’s seat in his chosen vehicle. Yusuke accepted a lift to the station in the other, already cramped with Kubo’s brother, his wife, and the children.

At the station the wife got out to move into the front seat and said, “You don’t have a reservation, do you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Might not get a seat then.”

“It’s all right; it’s a short ride.”

“Not that short—more than two hours, isn’t it?”

“I’ll be okay.”

Afraid she would insist on his riding with them, Yusuke edged away, backpack in hand, as he spoke. When he judged there was enough distance between them, he shouted out his thanks again and turned to go.

“Take care now,” she called. “See you again sometime.”

When he looked back, she was waving both hands like a young girl.

HE DIDN’T TAKE the Asama super-express back to Tokyo. Instead he bought a ticket heading in the opposite direction, on the local bound for Komoro. The train took a long time to arrive, and it was forty minutes later when he got off at rustic Oiwake station. There was a lone telephone booth with the number of Matsuba Taxis posted on it, but he didn’t want to arrive at the cottage in any obvious way. He had no excuse for going there. In fact, he hadn’t originally planned to go at all. Tucked in his backpack was his borrowed flashlight from the night before, which Kubo’s sister-in-law had said he needn’t bother to return, but even when he put it there he hadn’t exactly made up his mind. He just wanted one more glimpse of the cottage—one more glimpse of its residents. This desire had made him hesitate—he couldn’t just take off for Tokyo—and when he arrived at Karuizawa station, he’d just followed his instincts. Once in Oiwake, he set off with only a simple map and those same instincts to guide him, and after nearly an hour he reached Taro’s summer cottage.