Read The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya Online
Authors: Nagaru Tanigawa
Tags: #Fantasy, #Young Adult, #Fiction
The Disappearance of Haruhi Suzumiya (20 page)
I placed my foot on the first step.
I had been completely transformed into an interested party. My role as an innocent bystander was a relic of the past, banished to the depths of the galaxy.
“So what?”
What was the point in realizing this now? I was one of them. I knew that a long time ago. After Haruhi dragged me to the literary club room and declared that she was taking it over.
Like the other members of the SOS Brigade, I was on the side that was actively protecting this world. And I hadn’t been pushed into this. I voluntarily raised my hand.
As I climbed the stairs, I switched to thinking about the event that was scheduled to begin soon. Haruhi and Asahina had done the shopping in the end. I’d been excused from my assigned role of carrying stuff, since I was fresh out of the hospital. Though this really wasn’t an example of Haruhi’s being considerate, since her goal was to hide the menu until the very last second so she could surprise everyone—at least, that was her plan. She might be attempting to use her experience from the remote island. An economical mystery pot Christmas party.
What would we find inside? Knowing Haruhi, her priority was to surprise, so we might end up with some kind of experimental and bizarre hot pot, the like of which hasn’t occurred in the history of mankind. Still, most stuff was edible if you boiled it long enough. Haruhi wasn’t going to throw in anything that her own stomach wouldn’t be able to digest, unless she had the stomach of a monster. But I would assume that Haruhi, master of defying
common sense, still had a stomach that conformed to human standards. The only part of her that’s transcended human norms would be whatever’s inside her head.
And I was supposed to perform in the reindeer costume as a sort of sideshow to the hot-pot party. Try to consider how hard it was for me to come up with material to work with.
“Good grief.”
I voiced the interjection I had determined to seal away last month, but yeah, whatever. The words may have sounded the same, but they might as well have been completely different words, since the meaning was different.
And with that follow-up explanation, I added an item to my mental schedule book.
That item was
established information.
Something I absolutely had to do to remain here in this present.
—I would have to go restore this world in the near future.
As I approached the clubroom, a fragrant aroma tickled the mucous membranes of my nose. That was enough to make me feel like my stomach was full, but I had to wonder why there was a sense of satisfaction. I still needed to travel through time soon. It was too early to feel satisfied.
—But, yeah. Before that.
There was still time. A future version of me would be handling that. Not that it would happen in the distant future, but it wouldn’t come in the immediate future.
As I placed my hand on the literary club room doorknob, I posed a question to the world.
Hey, world. Could you wait a bit? Hold on a little longer until I go to retransform you.
—I mean.
I should at least have time to enjoy Haruhi’s special hot pot, right?
I hope you’ll forgive my relating an old memory in place of an afterword.
When I was in sixth grade, there was a boy in my class who was literally a genius. He was a central figure in our class with a sharp mind and good family background who was also gentle, with a smile that could brighten a room. He was shining with charisma. I happened to become friends with this boy because we shared the same interests. Fishing and foreign mystery novels. I wouldn’t know how to rate that combination.
I was also assigned to the same group as him. Naturally, he was the leader of the group. Once there was an event in which a group from every class was supposed to perform before the entire grade. Our group was running out of time to decide on a performance when he said, “Let’s do a play,” and wrote an original script. I’ll never forget it. I was rolling around on the floor laughing with tears in my eyes as I read his script. I didn’t know it was possible for something so funny to exist.
And we were able to faithfully perform that scenario under his
direction. Our play had the sixth graders laughing. Even the teachers were laughing. Our group won the gold award and a wooden shield. I can still remember the role I played as though it happened yesterday.
After that I enjoyed middle school with him before he went on to a high school far away, and a college that was even farther away.
At times I would wonder if I could ever make people laugh the way he did—and if his script had flipped a switch somewhere in my mind—
That feeling took root in my mind and became an unforgettable memory.
… Guess that wasn’t long enough. I’ll continue with a second memory.
In high school, I was a member of the literary club for a brief moment. I mainly focused on a different club, so I only went to the literary club once a week, if that. However, the club only met once a week to begin with. The first time I knocked on the door, I was greeted by an intelligent-looking girl with glasses who happened to be the only member, the president of the club, and an upperclassman. I can’t remember if I said anything or if I even had anything to say. It’s entirely possible that we never spoke at all.
After I joined the club, the two of us made a literary club magazine. I’d rather not remember what I wrote at the time. Not a story. I also drew the cover. Don’t want to remember that either. The two of us couldn’t fill all the pages by ourselves, so she asked a number of her friends to contribute articles. On an unrelated note, one of those friends had a very striking name that I can still remember.
Once that upperclassman was a senior, she quit the club to focus on her studies. At the same time, around five new members joined. Not sure why. I was having much more fun in my other club, so I soon stopped going to the literary club.
I ran into that upperclassman on the day she graduated. I don’t remember what we talked about. We probably just chatted idly for a bit before I watched her leave.
I can’t remember the name of that upperclassman. I’m sure that she doesn’t remember my name either. But I would hope that she remembers the existence of such a person at the time.
The way I do.
… And so I more or less filled up the afterword with a couple sonnets about painful memories that don’t sound very real, but I have to admit that when I dug through my hazy memories, there were many more headaches than humorous episodes, enough to make me swoon… I’d find myself wondering if I could have handled something better, but that would accomplish about as much as wondering about the fate of a soccer ball floating down a river. I should probably focus on something else.
Finally, I would like to offer a dance of gratitude to the publishers of this book, along with the readers. Until next time.
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Suzumiya Haruhi No Sh
shitsu copyright © Nagaru TANIGAWA 2004
Illustrations by Noizi Ito
First published in Japan in 2004 by Kadokawa Shoten Publishing Co., LTD., Tokyo. English hardcover/paperback translation rights arranged with Kadokawa Shoten Publishing Co., LTD., Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.
English translation by Chris Pai for MX Media LLC