Day by day, we went deeper into autumn. Winter was closing in. The dry wind was cold enough to make us shiver. Along the road, the trees had just begun to change color. Before we knew it, the sun would set earlier with each passing day, and the nights would grow longer and deeper.
This was my favorite time of the whole year, the period before winter had truly arrived, the time to mourn the passing season. It made me want to stand still and stare up at the pale blue sky and its soft light. That’s why lately my morning routine had been to walk to work with my gaze turned to the sky.
I was working at a design studio in Iidabashi, the same company that had hired me when I moved out of the bookshop. It was a very small firm whose main business was designing pamphlets and leaflets. If you include the time in the beginning when I was part-time, I’d been working there almost three years.
Since many of our jobs were basically solo projects, we didn’t have strictly defined hours or workdays, and as long as we maintained basic office etiquette, we were relatively free to do as we wished. At the company where I worked before, our personal relationships were kept secret, and they definitely even had cliques, all of which I was truly terrible at navigating. In part because my new firm was small, I could keep clear of those sorts of entanglements. My income was significantly lower than at my last job, but I was able to work at my own pace, and I felt like the new place was definitely a better match for me.
Staying late at night at the office slogging away at work isn’t my favorite thing to do, so I was usually the first one to arrive in the morning, and I would try to finish up early in the evening. I’d have conversations with my coworkers, but I didn’t get involved with them any more than was necessary. I rarely met them outside of work.
Perhaps because of all this, on one of the rare occasions when I was invited out for drinks with my coworkers, one of them said to me, “You kind of keep to yourself, don’t you?” The others seemed to have formed the same impression of me. In their view, I didn’t talk much, and I always went straight home early in the evening. It caught me a bit by surprise, but when I thought it over, it seemed a major reason for this might be that I had found a place where I felt at home.
Before I mostly would just go back and forth between home and work. I didn’t have any real hobbies or any strong attachment to anything. I wasn’t especially unhappy, but I did have the slight sense that my life was missing something. Looking back, I think I always felt that way and didn’t know what to do about it. But I didn’t feel that way anymore. Of course, it would be foolish to say that I felt perfectly fulfilled right now. It was just that when I thought about it, I no longer really felt that anything was missing.
There were places I wanted to go and people I wanted to see. And there was a place that was always ready to welcome me back.
I can’t think of anything more wonderful than that.
I was able to do my job working at my own pace. I liked the job itself, and things at the office weren’t too bad. I felt confident that things were headed in the right direction.
But more recently, I did run into a little bit of trouble. Deep down it was a trivial matter. If I told anyone about it, they’d probably laugh it off like it was the punchline of a joke. But the truth is it was pretty upsetting to me.
It all started one day at lunch. The company didn’t have a cafeteria or a set lunchtime. It was up to each person to spend their lunch break as they saw fit. I generally went to a nearby café. It was empty even at lunch, and I never saw anyone from work there, which made it the place I felt most comfortable eating.
One day, however, I unexpectedly bumped into a senior colleague. He was a guy who had a sarcastic, condescending way of talking to people. I’d already had a feeling that he was someone I’d have a hard time with. So, I casually said hello and tried to find another seat, but he called out to me.
“Hey, come sit here.”
I didn’t have any other choice but to sit with him. As I might have expected, it was not exactly festive at our table. It was partly my fault for not making an effort to keep the conversation going, but I really didn’t know how to respond when he went on talking and talking, boasting and complaining about work. “The problem is our clients are too idiotic to know better. I need a bigger job to put my talents to work. With our current projects, I barely feel like putting in fifty percent of what I’m capable of.” We spent the whole lunch break with him going on like this with a revolting look on his face. In the end, I could only muster a simple “uh-huh” in response.
That should have been the end of it. I thought to myself, it’s just one of those things—you run into someone you don’t like; today’s not your lucky day. But afterward, he started looking for ways to talk to me whenever he could. Even at the office, if I was busy working at my computer, he’d go out of his way to come over and start talking to me. If I pretended not to hear him and kept on working, he’d come over and hit me on the back to force me to pay attention to him. Then he started asking me out to lunch as if that were perfectly normal. I had absolutely no idea what could possibly motivate him to want to spend another dull hour in my company. And in my position, I couldn’t very well turn him down every day, so I got stuck going back to that same café with him many times after that day. Of course, all that was waiting for us was a total waste of time.
What was the point of it all? What did he find amusing in all this? Was this just some new form of harassment? I was getting more and more irritated.
On the fourth time he forced me to take my lunch break with him, in a pause between complaining and boasting, he suddenly asked me, with a mouthful of sandwich, “So, what do you do on your days off?”
“I . . . um . . . go to secondhand bookshops a lot.” I was caught so off guard that I made the mistake of giving him an honest answer.
“Why? What would you want to go to a place like that for? What are you, an old man?” He burst out laughing like I’d just told him the funniest joke he’d ever heard. You have no right to ask me what I do on my days off! I said to myself, but then I remembered he was still above me at work. There was no way for me to say that out loud.
“How about we go for a drive on your next day off?”
After another surprise attack, I felt more and more upset. “Um, why would we do that?”
“What do you mean ‘why’? If you’re not busy, wouldn’t it be nice?”
“No . . . I have, um, plans.”
“Plans?”
“I just told you about the bookshops.”
“Come on. Nobody goes to bookshops that often.”
“People who like them do though. There’s nothing wrong with that,” I replied. I was definitely getting annoyed. He scratched his head in confusion and took a deep breath. He let out a sigh rich with pity, like a teacher coming across a high school dropout in the guidance counselor’s office.
“Do you enjoy life?” he asked.
“What?”
“I mean it’s like you’re always under a dark cloud. You can’t keep up a conversation. It’s like what’s the point in talking to you? Even when I try to help you out and invite you places, you start squirming and say something about used bookshops or whatever. You need to get a more positive attitude, or you’ll end up wasting your life.”
After this parting shot, he didn’t give me a second to reply before sniping, “This is boring.” Then he got up and walked out. For a moment, I couldn’t move at all. I just sat there stunned, with my mouth hanging open.
“Oh, how annoying!”
That night, I went to see Momoko at the little restaurant where she was working and sipped sake as I went rattling on about the incident at lunch. Recently, I’d started to frequent the restaurant, drawn by Momoko’s cooking. Mr. Nakasono, the restaurant’s owner, was an affable guy who had a way with words. In that sense, he and Momoko were a pretty good match. But maybe because he couldn’t keep track of all the names and faces of his customers, Mr. Nakasono just could not remember my name. Every time I came into the restaurant, he would start calling me “Mikako” or “Yukako” or something like that. No matter how many times I corrected him, the next time he saw me, he always mixed it up again. I finally resigned myself to it.
That night, after being called “Teruko,” which is quite a long way from my actual name, I shook with rage before quickly deciding it didn’t matter.
On the other side of the counter, Momoko was busy at her work, looking quite at home in her apron. “Hey, don’t come into someone’s place of business jabbering on when you’ve had too much to drink,” she said, like she was telling off a drunk customer.
I was, on this rare occasion, actually rather drunk.
“But it’s so incredibly annoying. Of course it’s annoying to have to hear that from him, but the most annoying thing of all is that I couldn’t even respond.”
“Yeah, I get it, sure. It’s annoying. I get it.”
The drunker I became, the angrier I felt about what I saw as his high-handed attitude. And what made matters even worse was that his name, by some twist of fate, was Wada. That was another thing I found extremely unpleasant.
“I wouldn’t call it a twist of fate. Wada’s a common name. It’s not as if it was his choice to be named Wada,” Momoko said in disbelief.
“But I can’t stand it. I mean when you think of him, doesn’t Wada end up popping into your head too?”
“So you’ve been thinking about this guy, have you?” Momoko said, with a malicious grin.
“That’s not what I mean. I mean like when we’re talking about him now,” I said, taking offense.
“Well, I guess it is inconvenient. Shall we call him Wada #2 then?” Momoko said, giving him an impromptu nickname. “So, basically you’re saying Wada #2 asked you out and you didn’t realize it?”
“No, I knew, but I didn’t know why he was suddenly talking to me about all that.”
“He asked you out because he thought you wanted him to, and then you got angry at him.”
“It doesn’t make sense, does it? Like is that how people really see me?”
“Well, that’s how Wada #2 did,” Momoko said dryly. She shrugged, as if to say, Don’t get mad at me. “But you can be a little like that, you know, Takako.”
“Like what?”
“You know, careless.”
“What do you mean, careless? I wasn’t doing anything.”
“Sometimes that’s the same thing. And sometimes that can invite an even more thoughtless response.”
That startled me. I’d been guilty of that in the past. “I guess you’re right . . . I did run into some trouble that one time.”
“Ah, are you referring, for example, to the case of the girl who locked herself away inside the secondhand bookshop?”
“What, that? Please let’s not start giving the events of my life weird case names.”
Momoko burst out laughing. “But although you can be a little slow . . . and careless . . . and, well, tactless, I do love how sweet you are.” Momoko stared at me with a smile. Her soft, short hair gleamed in the fluorescent light.
“I can’t quite tell if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”
“Nah, I’m complimenting you, more or less,” Momoko said, laughing out loud again. “Coming back to what you were saying before though, even if Wada #2 saw you like that, it doesn’t necessarily mean that he truly saw you for who you are as a person. He just saw you from his own preconceived point of view. The point is, if you’d been a little more aware, you could’ve steered clear of someone like that who was going to put you in a difficult position.”
“That’s easier said than done. He’s above me at work.”
“Which is why you’ve got to do your best to give off an aura that says you’re not interested in getting any closer to this guy. You can project that. And even as dumb as he is, he’ll get the message.”
“Oh, I really am terrible at that sort of thing.”
“That’s what I meant when I said you were so sweet. And I want you to be yourself. I like you just the way you are,” Momoko said as she reached across the counter and patted me on the back.
“What do you mean?”
“You might often end up on the losing side that way, but isn’t it better to be true to who you are?”
“I guess.” I didn’t really understand what she was talking about, but I figured she was saying she wanted me to remain the same.
“But there are people like that, you know, people who are so self-centered. To someone like that, it doesn’t matter if it’s you or somebody else who’s there with them.”
It was painful to hear, but I knew she was right. I’d had a bad experience like that in the past. I thought that person had chosen me, but in fact, it wasn’t true. He would’ve been satisfied as long as it was someone like me. It was deeply upsetting, because it felt like my very identity was being negated. On the other hand, it’s clear that I bore some of the responsibility.
“There are all kinds of people in this world. A person like Wada #2, he’s the main character in the story of his life. Of course, personally I’m not that interested in reading a book about that Wada #2.” Momoko stuck out her tongue like a naughty little kid.
“Listen, life is short. In the story of your life, you’ve got to avoid people like that. Choose to be with the people who really choose you, people who see you as irreplaceable. That’s the story you want—you know what I’m saying?”
“I do. I know exactly what you mean.”
I really did feel like I understood. It seemed to me to be deeply connected to what I’d been thinking lately about my relationship with Wada. Someone who chose me for who I am. Was that how Wada (and, of course, I’m not talking about Wada #2) thought of me? Wada was the only one for me. There was no way someone else could take his place.
“That’s good. Take it to heart. It’s a little advice from one of your elders.”
“Okay.”
Our conversation had taken a strange turn, but I knew what Momoko had told me then was true. I nodded obediently, accepting what she’d said.
A few days later, a last-minute request for edits came in from a client, and it brought with it so many new deliverables that it led to a series of hectic days at the office. Thanks to that, I guess, though maybe “thanks” isn’t the right word, I didn’t have any time to give Wada #2 another thought.
Then, one night, after things had started to look up again at work, I left the office feeling exhausted and found myself walking automatically to the Saveur. It’s not because I was planning on meeting Wada there, I just had an overwhelming urge for a cup of coffee. You’re a real addict now, I thought. I laughed a little to myself as I made my way to the coffee shop.
Opening the door, I heard the familiar sound of lively conversation, and I realized that Sabu was there. And of course, there he was, sitting at the counter, talking to the owner.
“Hey, good to see you.” After a brusque greeting, I sat down beside him and ordered a blend coffee and Japanese-style Napolitan spaghetti with a salad because I was feeling incredibly hungry.
The owner turned to the kitchen and yelled, “Hey, Takano! One Napo on the double!”
“Okay!” Takano replied a bit sheepishly.
“By the way, that idiot has been trailing around after you, Takako. Is he talking nonsense to you again?” the owner asked, maybe thinking about Takano’s odd behavior the other day.
“No, not particularly.”
“If he bothers you, feel free to give him a smack on the head.”
“Sorry, I don’t think I could do that,” I said, taken aback. It made me wonder what it must be like for Takano to work there, having to put up with such harsh treatment.
Sabu was in fine form as usual, chatting about one thing or another as he sat beside me.
“What’s wrong—are you tired?” Sabu asked, more or less admitting he was bored when I failed to keep up my end of the conversation.
“Yeah, things have been a bit busy at work. You look well though, Sabu, as always.”
Sabu giggled. “You need to take a vacation. I, on the other hand, am so powerful, so robust, that I don’t need time off.”
I guess it must’ve been my imagination then that he seemed to be on a permanent vacation.
“I take days off all right.”
“Is that so? And then you’re always hanging around Satoru’s place. If anyone, it’s Satoru who never takes a day off. Momoko came back, but nothing’s changed. If he keeps it up, she’ll run off again. I’m always taking my wife on trips or taking her out to eat, bringing her to all kinds of places and whatnot to keep her happy.”
“After all, when she’s unhappy, she throws away your books,” the owner muttered, sending Sabu into a rage.
“Shut up, old man!”
“The only old man here is you.”
“Ah, that’s true. I’m the old guy,” Sabu said, slapping his bald head. Then he burst out laughing like an idiot. To my surprise, the owner, who had been polishing glasses with a blank expression, couldn’t keep from laughing a little. These two had a weird relationship. It was hard to know if they liked or hated each other.
Nonetheless, what Sabu said touched on something I’d been concerned about for a while. Momoko had come back, but despite the fact that they now had time to spend together, my uncle was just working nonstop. Even on the days the shop was closed, he would go out in his run-down little van, traveling long distances to buy books. He didn’t seem to be setting aside any time at all for them to spend together. He was extremely worried about her health, and yet I couldn’t see any sign that he was actually trying to take care of her.
As I sipped my coffee, I thought about how hopeless my uncle was and sighed. “My uncle should take some time off. What with his hemorrhoids and all.”
“Right, think of his hemorrhoids. He ought to go to the hot springs and really relax. What if he took your aunt with him?”
It sounded like it might be a good idea. I forgot all at once about feeling tired, and was now bounding with energy.
“That’s great. That’s an amazing idea.”
My uncle was too busy at the shop to realize it, but what if I offered them a little trip as a simple gift to thank them for all they’ve done for me? Momoko was just saying that their wedding anniversary was in November. It might be a little early, but I could say it was my present for them. I could take care of the reservations for the inn and the train tickets for my uncle, because that was too much of a hassle for him. That ought to make both of them happy.
“Ah, wouldn’t that be nice?” the owner said. “It would be good for Momoko, of course, but even Satoru should take a break every once in a while. He might seem carefree, but when it comes to the bookshop, he’s so devoted to his work that he might be taking it too far.”
I felt encouraged by what he’d said. And at that moment another idea popped into my head that made me even happier. I was getting extremely excited.
“Sabu, on occasion you say something smart.”
“Hey, what do you mean, ‘on occasion’?”
“I ought to thank you though,” I said, sincerely expressing my gratitude.
It was rare to see Sabu looking slightly embarrassed by the attention. He turned away and mumbled, “Okay, that’s enough,” chewing his words. He seemed unaccustomed to being thanked, maybe because he was always needling people.
“Thank you, Sabu.” I pushed it a little more and said it again.
“No, really, that’s enough.” Sabu looked truly embarrassed now as he brought the coffee to his mouth, mumbling.
He looked unbearably funny.
“Look at you laughing all the time. You haven’t got a care in the world.”
“Though someone told me recently that I was an extremely gloomy person.”
“Must be something wrong with his eyes. The only time you’ve ever been gloomy was back in your sleep monster days. Now you’re Miss Carefree.”
“Hey, you might be right. Thank you, Sabu.”
“I told you to quit that. It makes me all itchy. If you keep going, I won’t say another word!” Sabu said, scratching all over his back.
“Takako, I see you too have figured out how to tease Sabu. And here is your Napolitan.” The owner placed my spaghetti with plenty of ketchup on the table in front of me.
I ate in a trance.
By the time I was full, my fatigue had vanished, and the anger I’d felt toward Wada #2 had long since disappeared.