“What about the songs?” his boss interjected. “They sound pretty good to me.”
“They’re good. For an amateur. But good’s not good enough.” The critic’s voice was unforgiving. “They sound like songs that are already out there. They aren’t fresh.”
This was excruciating, and Katsuro’s body went hot with resentment and self-pity.
So I don’t have any talent, and I’ll never make a living from my music. From that day forward, Katsuro had taken these fears as givens.
3
He wound up leaving his apartment the following afternoon, carrying a duffel and a garment bag. Inside the latter was a black suit he’d borrowed from his boss. Not knowing when he was coming back to Tokyo, he’d been tempted to bring along his guitar, but the thought of what his parents might say gave him pause. Instead, he stuffed his harmonica into a pocket of the duffel bag.
He boarded a train for Tokyo Station. At that time of day, the train was so empty he had a four-seater booth all to himself, so he wiggled out of his shoes and propped up his feet on the seat across from him. To get to his hometown from that station, he had to transfer and ride for two hours. He’d heard of some people who supposedly commuted all the way to Tokyo and back each day, but Katsuro couldn’t fathom how anyone could do that on the daily.
His mind wandered back to when his boss had heard about his grandmother’s passing and how he hadn’t hesitated to give Katsuro the okay to go to the ceremony.
“It’s a good chance for you to go back home and talk things over with your folks. About what comes next and all.” It sounded like a reprimand. The implication was that maybe it was time he gave up on music.
Gazing out the windows of the train at the fields of farmland, he asked himself dimly if maybe they were right, if maybe he didn’t have what it took. He was sure that when he got home, somebody would make a comment. He could hear his parents already. “Come on; wake up; quit dreaming; life isn’t easy; wise up and come home; take over the shop; it’s not like any proper company is going to hire you.”
Katsuro shook his head. He needed to stop mulling over these depressing thoughts. He unzipped his duffel and pulled out his Walkman and headphones, two devices that had been on the market for a little over a year and changed the world for good. Katsuro could listen to music anywhere he went.
He pressed play and closed his eyes. A gorgeous mélange of digital sounds fed into his ears, a song by a group called Yellow Magic Orchestra. All the members were Japanese, but they’d first made a name for themselves overseas. As legend had it, when they opened for the Tubes at a show in Los Angeles, the whole crowd stood and wouldn’t stop cheering.
Is this what it takes to have talent? He’d tried to block the idea from his mind, but this time, it slipped by and went straight for his heart.
The train finally arrived at the station closest to his house. Exiting the ticket lobby, he found himself surrounded by familiar sights. There was a main street that curved into the highway and was lined with shop after tiny shop. These businesses had no customers other than their regulars. Katsuro hadn’t bothered to come home since dropping out of college, but the atmosphere of the town hadn’t changed in the slightest.
He stopped at a narrow storefront, set between a florist and a greengrocer, that had its shutter partially closed. The sign above read UOMATSU, and in smaller text to the side, FRESH SEAFOOD and EVENT CATERING.
The shop was started by his grandfather. The first location was more spacious, but that building had burned to the ground during the war. He had reopened here when it was over.
Katsuro ducked under the half-closed shutter. The shop was dark. He squinted at the refrigerated display cases. No fish. This time of year, fresh seafood barely lasted in the fridge for a day. Whatever was left had probably been frozen. On the wall, a handwritten message announced: NOW SERVING GRILLED EEL.
The familiar stench of fish tugged at his heartstrings. He walked to the back of the shop, where there was a stone slab that led into the rest of the house. The sliding door was almost shut, but light leaked through the gap, and Katsuro could sense someone moving beyond it.
He took a deep breath and yelled inside. “I’m home.”
The second that left his lips, he wished he’d said only “Hello?”
The door rolled open, and his sister, Emiko, stood there in a black dress. It had been a while since he had last seen her, and she was all grown up now. Emiko looked down at Katsuro and sighed.
“You made it. I thought you weren’t coming.”
“Why? I said I’d figure something out.”
Katsuro kicked off his shoes and stepped up into the tiny living room. He looked around.
“Just you here? Where’s Mom and Dad?”
“They’ve been at the funeral home all afternoon. I was supposed to go and help them, but I stayed behind because I thought it’d make things harder for all of us if you came home to an empty house.”
Katsuro shrugged. “Oh.”
“Don’t tell me you’re planning to go to the tsuya dressed like that.”
He’d shown up in a T-shirt and jeans. “Course not. Wait a minute; I’ll go change.”
“Hurry up, okay?”
“I know.” Katsuro lugged his bags upstairs.
The second floor had two modest tatami rooms, six mats and four and a half mats. The bigger one had been Katsuro’s until he’d graduated high school.
When he opened the door, he was ticked off by what he saw.
The closed curtains made it dark, so he flicked the light switch on the wall. Under the white fluorescent lights, he found his old room untouched. The ancient pencil sharpener was still bolted to his writing desk, and the posters of his favorite idols were tacked up on the walls. On the bookshelf, guitar books shared space with his old dictionaries.
Sometime after moving to Tokyo, Katsuro had heard from his mother that Emiko wanted to use the room. Katsuro had said he didn’t care. By then, he’d already set his heart on pursuing a musical career and had no intention of ever moving home again. The fact that his parents had left his room this way made Katsuro wonder if they were expecting him to come back. The thought of it made his spirit sink. He changed into his suit.
He and Emiko left the house together. It was cool for July, mercifully so. The tsuya ceremony was being held at the community center. It was a new facility, ten minutes on foot from the house.
When they stepped out into the neighborhood, Katsuro was disturbed by how much the landscape had changed. Emiko had said a lot of people had been moving here. Guess even a town this small has its fair share of change, he thought.
“So, Katsuro, how’s everything going?” Emiko asked him as they walked.
He knew what she meant, but he tried to dodge the question. “How’s what going?”
“You said you had big plans. It’d be great if you could make a living off your music, but do you think you can make it happen?”
“Obviously. If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t be doing it.” He felt a prick in his heart. He wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“I just can’t get my head around the idea that I grew up in the same house as a person who has that kind of potential. I know your music. I’ve seen you perform, and I think you put on a great show, but could you do that for a living? Going pro is a whole different ball game.”
Katsuro screwed up his face. “Don’t be cute. What do you know about any of this? You’re clueless.”
He thought she would tear into him for that, but her tone was temperate.
“You’re right. I am clueless. I don’t know the first thing about the business. That’s why I’m asking you. Like, what’s the plan? If you’re really so confident, I’m sure you can be more specific about your vision for the future. A concrete destination, and the steps you’ll take to get there. How long is it going to be before you can get by on music alone? It makes me worried to think you don’t have a clue. I bet it’s even worse for Mom and Dad.”
&nb
sp; His sister’s logic made perfect sense, but Katsuro dismissed it with an ugly burst of laughter.
“If things always went according to plan, no one would ever struggle. Though it might be hard to understand for a certain someone who’s going straight to the local bank after graduating from a women’s college.”
He was talking about Emiko. She wasn’t graduating until next spring, but she already had a job lined up. He was certain that this time she’d lose her cool, but she sighed instead.
“Do you ever think about how you’re going to help take care of our parents? They’re old, Katsuro.”
He was silent. The fact that their parents were getting old was something he didn’t like to think about.
“Dad collapsed again last month. Another heart attack.”
Katsuro stopped and looked at her. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.” Emiko looked straight back at him. “It wasn’t severe, but the timing sucked. Grandma had just taken a turn for the worse. It really gave us a scare.”
“I had no idea.”
“Dad didn’t want Mom to tell you.”
“Man…”
His father must have thought there was no use telling a thankless child. Katsuro had no argument against that. There was nothing left to say, so they started walking again. The rest of the way, Emiko didn’t say anything, either.
4
The community center was built like a traditional Japanese house, one story but on a larger scale. Men and women in funeral clothes were moving hurriedly about the entrance.
Their mother, Kanako, was standing in the lobby and having a conversation with a man who was positively skeletal. Katsuro took his time approaching them.
When his mother saw him, he watched as she soundlessly mouthed “Well.”
Katsuro was about to say, “I made it,” but just before he did, he saw the face of the man standing beside her, and he lost the ability to form any more words.
It was his father, Takeo. So skinny Katsuro mistook him for a stranger.
Takeo gave him a long, hard look and opened his rigid line of a mouth. “How’d you wind up here? Who told you?” he asked, no filter.
“Emiko called me.”
“Is that right?” Takeo glanced at Emiko, then back to Katsuro. “Didn’t think you had time to spare on a thing like this.”
Katsuro parsed this as shorthand for: “I thought you said you wouldn’t show your face around here again until you made it big.”
“If you’re suggesting I go back to Tokyo, I can hop on the next train.”
“Katsuro.” His mother gave him a look of warning.
Takeo waved his hand dismissively. “I’m not saying that. Cut the shit, okay? I don’t have time for it today.” He hobbled off in haste.
The three of them watched Takeo take his leave, and then Kanako said, “You sure came a long way. I was worried you might not make it.”
It was starting to look as though Emiko’s phone call had been her idea.
“Emiko wouldn’t let up. Whatever. Anyway, Dad’s getting pretty skinny. I heard he fell again. Is he okay?”
His mother’s shoulders slumped a little under Katsuro’s question.
“He acts tough, but I can see he’s losing strength. I mean, he’s over sixty.”
“He’s that old?”
As the story went, Takeo was already thirty-six when he married Kanako. He’d been so preoccupied with rebuilding Uomatsu that he hadn’t had time to find a bride, or at least, that’s what Katsuro had heard over and over as a kid.
As the clock neared six PM, the scheduled start time for the tsuya ceremony, more family began to show. Takeo had a lot of siblings, and between them and their kids, they saw at least twenty people from his side of the family. It had been ten years or more since Katsuro had seen any of them.
An uncle three years younger than Takeo approached Katsuro and extended his hand for a handshake.
“Hey, Katsuro, looking great. Heard you’re still up in Tokyo. What’ve you been up to?”
“Ah, um. Yeah, you know, this and that.” He was ashamed by his vague answer.
“This and that? Don’t tell me you were held back just to screw around.”
Katsuro was startled at the revelation that his parents evidently hadn’t told his relatives he’d left school. Kanako was nearby; she had to be listening, but she neither spoke nor looked their way.
Humiliation bubbled inside Katsuro. So his parents felt like they couldn’t admit their son was an aspiring musician. But he’d also been unable to tell his uncle. Was he going to stand there, tongue-tied, just like his parents? No way, he thought. Not me.
He licked his lips and looked his uncle square in the face. “I dropped out.”
“Huh?”
“College. I dropped out.” From the corner of his eye, Katsuro noticed Kanako stiffening up all over, but he went on. “I’m trying to make it in the music industry.”
“Mu-sic?” Given his uncle’s face and stilted pronunciation, he seemed almost unfamiliar with the word.
But their conversation ended there, mercifully. The ceremony had formally begun. His uncle walked off, incredulous, and cornered some relative, probably to verify that what Katsuro had said was true.
Starting from the chanting of the sutras, the ceremony proceeded in customary fashion. Katsuro partook and burned a stick of incense. Up at the altar, the memorial photograph of his grandmother smiled gently. Katsuro had fond memories of his grandma looking after him when he was little. He was sure that if she were still alive, she’d be on his side.
When the ceremony was over, everyone moved to another room in the building, where sushi and beer were spread out on low tables. As he looked around, he noticed that family were the only ones who’d stayed behind. Grandma had been almost ninety, and everyone was only a little bit sad. It had been so long since everyone had gotten together. The reception turned out to be more like a warm reunion than anything else.
Amid the revelry, a voice screamed, “Enough! What happens in my house is none of your business.” Katsuro didn’t need to look to know that it was Takeo.
“Your house? Before you moved the shop, it was our old man’s. Not sure if you recall, but I lived there, too.” The person talking back to him was the uncle from earlier. Both of their faces were flushed red from the alcohol.
“The house Dad built was burned in the war. I built the house that’s there now. You’ve got no reason or right to complain.”
“Listen to this guy! Only reason you could reopen the shop was because of the name Uomatsu. Dad may have left it to you, but did ya think you could close down shop without consulting us? That store’s his legacy.”
“Who said I was closing? I’m not going anywhere.”
“How long you think you can go on in the shape you’re in? Look at you. I bet you can’t carry a flat of tuna across the shop. What the hell are you thinking? Sending your only son to school in Tokyo? You don’t need an education to sling fish.”
“Oh, is that all the family trade is to you?”
Takeo stood up. The two men were on the verge of a scuffle, but everyone rushed in to break it up. His father finally took a seat.
“…Crazy old goat. What’re you thinking?” the uncle muttered, settling down. He nursed his cup of sake. “How’d you let your only son quit school? To become a singer? Stupid.”
“Shut it. I don’t need your advice.”
Seeing the heat rising between them, the aunts escorted the uncle to a different seat at the other side of the room.
The argument between the two men may have quelled, but the tension in the room could not be neutralized. One of the relatives stood and said they’d better be going. The rest followed suit.
“Don’t feel like you have to stick around,” Takeo told Kanako and Katsuro. “I’ll wait for the incense to burn down.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Don’t push yourself.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m sick or something.�
��
Katsuro exited the community center with Emiko and Kanako, but after they’d trudged toward home for a little a bit, he stopped in his tracks and turned around.
“Don’t mind me. You two go on ahead.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Kanako. “Did you forget something?”
“Not exactly…,” he stammered.
“Are you going to talk to Dad?” Emiko guessed.
He nodded. “Yeah, I was thinking I probably should.”
“Yeah, okay. All right, let’s go, Mom.”
Kanako showed no sign of leaving. She cast her eyes down, as if deep in thought, and then raised her head to look at him.
“Your father isn’t angry at you, Katsuro. He wants you to be happy.”
“…You think so?”
“You saw him fighting with his brother.”
“Yeah…”
Katsuro had understood the meaning behind their conversation. Shut it. I don’t need your advice. The whole fight with his brother was a way of demonstrating that his son could make his own decisions. That was why Katsuro wanted to talk to him, to ask him about his true intentions.
“Your father wants you to live out your dreams. He doesn’t want to get in your way. He doesn’t want his poor health to force you to give up what matters most to you. If you’re going to talk to him, that’s fine, but keep that in mind.”
“Okay. Got it.”
Katsuro watched his sister and his mother walk off into the night, then turned and ran the other way.
This was a development he hadn’t been expecting when he boarded the train at Tokyo Station. He’d been prepared to be chided by his parents and guilted by his relatives, but not for his parents to shield him from their accusations. He thought back to the moment three years prior when he watched his parents limp away from his apartment, the night they failed to persuade him. How had they come to this change of heart?
Almost all the lights were off inside the community center, except for the window in the very back. Skirting the main entrance, Katsuro tiptoed along the side of the building and went up to the window. A paper screen blocked most of what was inside, but it was slightly ajar. Through the gap, he peered inside.
The Miracles of the Namiya General Store Page 7