The Briefcase (15 page)

“Don’t worry, Tsukiko,” Sensei turned around to face me.

Huh? I said from down below on the slope. Sensei gave a little wave of his hand.

“It’s only a little bit farther from the top of this hill.”

Is the island really that small? Climbing this hill puts us all the way around the island? I asked. Sensei waved his hand again.

“Tsukiko, don’t be absurd. How could that possibly be?”

“But you said . . .”

“We couldn’t make it all the way around with someone as out-of-shape as you along, and wearing those sandals, no less.”

He was still stuck on the sandals. Hurry up! Don’t just stand there! Sensei hastened me along as I held my head high.

“Where the hell are we going anyway?”

“Stop grumbling now, and come up here.”

Sensei had swiftly climbed the slope. The last part of it was even steeper, as it circled around the hill. I could no longer see Sensei. Hastily I slid my feet farther into the sandals and followed after him. Sensei, please wait for me. I’m on my way. I’m coming now, I said as I followed him.

When I reached the top of the slope, I found myself at the summit. It was spacious and wide open. There were tall, dense trees along the path that continued up from the slope. Several houses were nestled among the trees, forming a hamlet. Each home was bordered by small plots in which cucumbers and tomatoes were being grown. Beside the fields were chicken coops, and I could hear the serene sound of clucking from beyond the rough chicken wire.

Past the hamlet, there was a small marsh. Perhaps because it was getting dark around us, the marsh was immersed in a deep green. Sensei was standing alongside, waiting for me.

“Tsukiko, this way.” Backlit by the setting sun, his face and figure looked pitch-black. I couldn’t see Sensei’s expression at all. I walked over by his side, dragging my feet in the sandals.

The marsh was covered with duckweed and water hyacinths and the like. Dozens of water striders were skimming lightly along its surface. Now that I was standing next to Sensei, I could make out his face. His mien was placid, like the surface of the marsh.

“Shall we go on?” Sensei said as he stepped forward. It was a little marsh. The road circled all the way around it, now with a slight descent. Instead of tall trees, it was bordered with more shrubs. The road narrowed, the paving patchy in places.

“We’re here.” It was now virtually unpaved, just bare ground. Sensei went along the dirt road slowly. I followed him, my sandals making a pitter-patter.

A small cemetery appeared before us.

 

 

THE GRAVESTONES NEAR the entrance were tidily maintained but, further inside, the spindle-shaped tombstones and mossy ancient-looking graves were overgrown with weeds. Trampling the knee-high grasses, Sensei proceeded farther into the graveyard.

“Sensei, how far are you going?” I called after him. Sensei turned back and smiled. An extremely kind smile.

“It’s not far. Look, here it is,” Sensei said, as he crouched before a small gravestone. This one was not quite as moss-covered as the other old graves near it, but still, the small marker was swathed in a damp green. There was a chipped bowl in front of it, about half-full of what must have been rainwater. A horsefly buzzed about, flitting around Sensei’s and my head.

Still crouching, Sensei joined his hands in prayer. He closed his eyes, praying earnestly. The horsefly alighted alternately on me and on Sensei. Each time it landed on me, I shooed it away, but Sensei kept on praying, seemingly unbothered.

After a while, Sensei unclasped his joined palms and stood up. He looked at me.

“Is this a relative’s grave?” I asked.

“I’m not sure if I would say a relative,” Sensei replied ambiguously.

The horsefly landed on top of Sensei’s head. This time he seemed to notice, and he swatted at his head. As if surprised, the horsefly flew off in retreat.

“It’s my wife’s grave.”

Huh? I swallowed my surprise. Sensei smiled again. That extremely kind smile.

“She died on this island.”

After she ran away from her home with Sensei, she ended up in the village on the mainland where we took the ferry to this island, Sensei explained in a detached tone. She had soon broken up with the man with whom she fled, and there were several others, but Sensei’s wife settled down with the last man with whom she lived in the village at the tip of the cape. And when had she come to this island, whose shore looks so close from the village? One day Sensei’s wife and her last lover came over, and she was struck by a car, rarely seen on the island, and she died.

“She lived quite a bohemian life,” Sensei said with a grave look as he concluded the story about his wife’s past.

“Indeed.”

“And what’s more, a singular life.”

“Indeed.”

“All that to be hit by a car on this sleepy little island,” Sensei said feelingly, and then gave a little laugh. I turned to face the grave, clasped my hands lightly, then looked up at Sensei. He was still smiling as he looked down at me.

“I thought we should come here together, Tsukiko,” Sensei said softly.

“Together?”

“Yes, it had been a while since I’d visited.”

A flock of seagulls hovered above the cemetery, their cries raising a commotion. I tried to ask, Why would you think to bring me here? But the seagulls were wild with excitement. My words were drowned out by their cries and Sensei didn’t hear me.

“I’ve never understood . . . ,” Sensei murmured, gazing up at the seagulls in the sky. “It seems that, even now, I still dwell on my wife.”

The words “even now” reached me between the seagulls’ cries. Even now. Even now.
Did you bring me all the way to this desolate island just to tell me that?
I screamed in my head. But, of course, I didn’t say this either. I stared at Sensei. He wore a soft smile. What the hell was he smiling so blithely about?

“I’m going back to the guesthouse,” I said finally, turning my back on Sensei.

Tsukiko, I thought I heard him call out after me, but I might have been imagining it. I followed along the path from the cemetery to the marsh at a trot, passing through the hamlet and down the hill. I kept turning around but Sensei wasn’t following me. I thought I heard his voice call out my name again.

Sensei, I called back. The seagulls wouldn’t shut up. I waited a moment, but I didn’t hear Sensei’s voice again. Apparently, he wasn’t coming after me. Was he sitting alone in the cemetery, praying? Feelingly? About his wife that he still dwells on? His dead wife?

Old bastard
, I said to myself, and then I repeated it out loud. “Old bastard!”
The old bastard must be taking a brisk walk around the island. I should just forget about him and go soak in the little outdoor hot spring at the guesthouse. Since I ’m here on this island anyway. I ’m going to enjoy myself on this trip whether Sensei is with me or not. I’ve managed on my
own until now anyhow. I drink by myself, I get drunk by myself, and I have a good time by myself, don’t I?

I made my way down the hill with determination. The setting sun was still hovering over the water, about to disappear. The loud pattering of my sandals annoyed me. The seagulls’ cries that filled the entire island were relentless. The new dress that I had worn especially for this trip was uncomfortable around my waist. The too-big sandals had made my insteps hurt. The road and the beach without a soul to be seen were lonesome. And Sensei—damn him for not coming after me—had pissed me off.

This was just what my life was like, after all. Here I was, trudging alone on an unfamiliar road, on some unfamiliar island, separated from Sensei—whom I thought I knew but didn’t know at all. There was no reason not to start drinking. I had heard that the island’s specialties were octopus, abalone, and giant prawns. I was going to eat a shitload of abalone. Sensei had invited me, so it ought to be his treat. And tomorrow when I’m so hungover I can’t walk, he can carry me on his back. I would totally forget about whatever notions I had momentarily entertained regarding what it might be like to spend time with Sensei.

The lights under the guesthouse’s eaves were illuminated. Two large seagulls were perched on the roof. Hunched and still, they looked like guardian deities on the edge of the roof tiles. It was now completely dark and, without my noticing it, the seagulls’ cries had ceased. As I rattled open the front door of the guesthouse, I called out, I’m back. I heard a cheerful voice from inside say, Welcome back! The aroma of freshly cooked rice wafted toward me. Looking out from inside, it was pitch-black.

Sensei, it’s dark, I murmured. Sensei, come back, it’s dark already. I don’t care if you’re still dwelling on your wife or whatever, just hurry back and let’s have a drink together. My earlier anger was now completely
forgotten. We don’t have to be teatime companions, we can just be drinking buddies. I’d like nothing more than that. Hurry back now, I murmured over and over, out toward the dark night. I thought I saw Sensei’s silhouette in the dimness on the hill outside the guesthouse. But there wasn’t a silhouette at all, not even a shadow to be seen, only darkness. Sensei, hurry back, I would go on murmuring forever.

“LOOK, TSUKIKO, THE octopus is floating to the top,” Sensei pointed out, to which I nodded.

It was sort of like an octopus version of
shabu-shabu
. Thin, almost-transparent slices of octopus were submerged in a gently boiling pot of water, and then immediately plucked out with chopsticks when they rose to the surface. Dipped in
ponzu
sauce, the sweetness of the octopus melted in your mouth with the
ponzu
’s citrus aroma, creating a flavor that was quite sublime.

“See how the octopus’s translucent flesh turns white when you put it in hot water,” Sensei chatted exactly the same way as if he and I were sitting and drinking at Satoru’s place.

“It’s white, yes.” I, on the other hand, was decidedly unsettled. I had no idea whether I ought to smile or be quiet, or how I should behave at all.

“But, just before, there’s a moment when it appears ever so slightly pink, don’t you see?”

“Yes,” I replied quietly. Sensei looked at me with a bemused expression and then helped himself to three slices of octopus at once from the pot.

“You’re awfully acquiescent tonight, Tsukiko.”

Sensei had finally come down the hill after a really long time. The seagulls’ cries had fallen completely silent and the darkness had grown thick and dense. A really long time, I thought, but then again it may not have been more than five minutes. I had stood and waited for him at the guesthouse’s front door. He had returned, his footsteps light and not the least bit uncertain in the dark. When I called out to him, “Sensei,” he replied, “Ah, Tsukiko, I’m back.” As we headed into the guesthouse alongside each other, I said, “Welcome back.”

“Such splendid abalone!” Sensei exclaimed as he lowered the flame under the pot of octopus
shabu-shabu
. Four abalone shells were lined up on a medium-sized plate, each shell filled with abalone cut into sashimi.

“Have your fill, Tsukiko.”

Adding a little wasabi, Sensei dunked a piece of abalone in soy sauce. He chewed it slowly. His mouth while chewing was the mouth of an old man. I chewed the abalone too. I hoped that my mouth was still that of a young woman, but if not, I was resigned to that too. I felt very strongly about it at that moment.

Octopus
shabu-shabu
. Abalone.
Mirugai
.
Kochi
fish. Boiled
shako
. Fried giant prawns. They were served one after another. By now, the pace of Sensei’s chopsticks began to slow. He barely tipped his saké, taking small sips. I inhaled the rapid-fire offerings, drinking cup after cup without saying much of anything.

“Are you enjoying the food, Tsukiko?” Sensei asked, as if he were indulging a grandchild with a voracious appetite.

“It’s delicious,” I replied brusquely, then I repeated myself, this time with a bit more enthusiasm.

By the time they brought out the cooked and pickled vegetables, both Sensei and I had eaten our fill. We decided not to have any rice, just some miso soup. The two of us finished our saké leisurely as we sipped the soup, rich with fish stock.

“Well, is it about time to go?” Sensei stood up, holding his room
key. I followed him to stand, but apparently the saké had had more of an effect than I realized and my feet were unsteady. I stumbled as I took a step, falling forward onto my hands on the tatami.

“Oh, dear,” Sensei said, looking down at me.

“Stop with your ‘Oh, dear’ and give me a hand!” I sort of shouted, and Sensei laughed.

“There, now you sound like Tsukiko!” he said, holding out a hand. I took it and climbed the steps. We stopped outside Sensei’s room, which was halfway down the corridor. Sensei put his key in the lock. It made a clicking sound. I stood there, swaying in the hall, as I watched Sensei’s back.

“You know, Tsukiko, the hot spring at this guesthouse is supposed to be quite good,” Sensei turned around to say.

All right, I replied vacantly, still swaying.

“Once you’ve had a moment, go take a bath.”

All right.

“It will sober you up a bit.”

All right.

“Once you’ve taken the waters, if the night is still long, come to my room.”

This time, instead of replying All right again, my eyes widened. Huh?!? What do you mean by that?

“I don’t mean anything by that,” Sensei answered, disappearing behind the door.

The door closed before me and I was left standing in the corridor, now only slightly swaying. In my saké-addled mind, I ruminated about what Sensei had said. Come to my room. He had definitely said those words. But, if I went to his room, what exactly would happen? Surely we wouldn’t just be playing cards. Maybe we’d keep drinking. Then again, it was Sensei—he might suddenly suggest, “Let’s write some poetry,” or something like that.