Хироми Каваками - Strange Weather in Tokyo [= The Briefcase]

Before I knew it, Sensei was standing next to Ms. Ishino, talking animatedly as he drank saké. He was holding a skewer of chicken with teriyaki sauce that he had bought at a storefront in the shopping district. Any other time, Sensei would stubbornly insist on salted skewers when he ate yakitori. But apparently he was capable of flexibility under certain circumstances, I thought, growing reproachful as I sipped saké by myself in a corner.

From atop the embankment, the schoolyard grounds seemed to reflect back in white. The school was quiet, the new term having not yet begun. The buildings and the schoolyard were unchanged since I had been a student here. But the cherry trees that were planted all around had grown considerably taller.

Suddenly I heard someone say, “Hey, Omachi, not married yet?” and I glanced up. Without my noticing, a middle-aged man had come to sit near me. Looking me in the eye now, he took a sip of saké from his paper cup.

“I’ve been married and divorced seventeen times, but I’m single now,” I quipped in response. His face was familiar but I couldn’t place him. He was dumbstruck at first but then he let out a chuckle.

“Well, then, that’s quite a remarkable life you’ve had.”

“Not at all.”

Deep within his laughing face, there was a faint semblance of what he had looked like in high school. That’s right, we had definitely been in the same class. I remembered how when he laughed his face seemed to change completely from when it was in repose. But what was his name? It was on the tip of my tongue, yet I couldn’t recall it.

“As for me, I was only married and divorced the one time,” he said, still chuckling.

I had drunk about half of the saké in my paper cup. There was a flower petal floating in it.

“It wasn’t easy for either one of us.” Even through his quiet laughter, a warmth showed in his expression. I remembered his name—Takashi Kojima. We had been in the same homeroom for our first two years in high school. Both of us had similar numbers for attendance call, so that when they assigned seats according to these numbers, we were always seated near each other.

“I’m sorry for making such a strange joke before,” I apologized.

Kojima just shook his head and laughed again.

“Omachi, you were always like that.”

“Like what?”

“The type who would say something outlandish with a totally straight face.”

Was that right? I never would have thought of myself as the type who made jokes or witty remarks. I was more likely the type who spent recess in a quiet corner of the schoolyard, sometimes tossing back an errant ball.

“Kojima, what do you do now?”

“I work in an office. And you?”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

There was a slight breeze. Even though the cherry blossoms were not yet in full bloom, every now and then the wind would catch one or two petals and send them scattering.

“So, you know, I was married to Ayuko,” Takashi Kojima muttered after a brief silence.

“You were?”

Ayuko was the girl who had said she wanted to grow up to be like Ms. Ishino, the same classmate who had brought me to the art room after school. Now that I thought about it, Ayuko was sort of like Ms. Ishino. She was petite and full of energy, but she could also appear quite timid. She must have been aware of it too. It was this quality that attracted lots of boys. Ayuko was always getting “love letters” or being chatted up. But she never responded to any of them. At least not openly. There were rumors that she was dating a college boy or a businessman, but whenever she and I would walk home together from school, getting soft-serve ice cream or just chatting, I never had the slightest impression any of that was true.

“I had no idea,” I said to Kojima now.

“Hardly anyone did.”

Kojima said that they had gotten married while they were still students at university, but that they had split up after three years.

“That’s a pretty short marriage.”

“Ayuko insisted on getting married, she didn’t want us just to live together.”

Kojima had failed his entrance exams and started university a year later, so Ayuko had entered the workforce a year before him. She fell in love with her boss and, after much ado, they finally got divorced. Kojima relayed the story dispassionately.

Now that I thought about it, Kojima and I had gone on a date once. It was during the last term of our junior year in high school, I remembered. We went to a movie. We met up at a bookstore, walked to the cinema, and used tickets that Kojima had bought in advance. “I can pay you,” I had said, but Kojima had replied, “It’s okay, I got the tickets from my brother.”

I don’t think I realized that Kojima probably didn’t have a brother until the next day.

After we saw the movie, we walked through a park, talking about our reaction to the film. Kojima had been rather impressed by a trick that was employed in the film. I, on the other hand, had been rather impressed by the various hats worn by the lead actress. We came upon a kiosk selling crepes, and Kojima asked if I wanted one. When I answered no, he had grinned and said, “Good, I’m not one for sweets anyway.” Instead, we got hot dogs and yakisoba that we washed down with colas.

And now I find out after graduation that, in fact, Kojima is quite fond of sweets.

“How is Ayuko?” I asked.

“She’s fine,” he nodded. “She married her boss, and they live in a three-story prefab home, it seems.”

“Prefab, huh?” I murmured, and Kojima repeated, “Yup, prefab.”

A strong breeze blew up, and the petals swirled around the two of us.

“So, you never married?” he asked me.

No—I mean, I don’t know anything about prefab housing, I replied. Kojima laughed. We drained our cups of saké, petals and all.

“TSUKIKO, COME HERE,” Sensei called. Ms. Ishino was beckoning me as well. There was a hint of excitement in Sensei’s voice. I pretended not to hear him, to be engrossed in conversation with Kojima.

Even when Kojima said, “Someone’s calling you,” I only made a vague reply. Kojima’s cheeks were flushed red. I never really liked Mr. Matsumoto, he said quietly. What about you?

I don’t really remember him, I said, and Kojima nodded. That’s right, you were always a million miles away. Here in body, not in spirit, as they say.

Sensei and Ms. Ishino beckoned me for the umpteenth time. Right at that moment I happened to be facing in their direction as I tried to fix my windblown hair. I couldn’t help but catch Sensei’s gaze.

“Tsukiko, come over here with us,” Sensei said loudly. It was the same tone of voice that I recognized from the classroom in my high school days. His tone was different when we sat next to each other, drinking together. I turned my back to him, sulkily.

“You know, I had a bit of a crush on Ms. Ishino,” Kojima said blithely. His cheeks were now an even deeper shade of crimson.

“Yeah, Ms. Ishino was certainly popular,” I said, trying not to sound emotional.

“Ayuko was really crazy about her.”

“Yeah.”

“I guess that’s why I fell for her too.”

That was just like Kojima, to fall in line. I poured some saké into his cup. Kojima gave a little sigh and took a tiny sip.

“She’s as pretty as ever.”

“She is.” No emotion. Or so I tried to tell myself.

“It’s hard to believe she must be in her fifties.”

“You’re right.” Must not get emotional.

Sensei was engaged in a lively conversation with Ms. Ishino (of that I was sure, despite the fact that my back was turned to them). I no longer heard him calling my name. The sun was starting to set. There were numerous lanterns lit. The cherry blossom party grew merrier and merrier as here and there people were breaking into song.