The plan was to meet up outside the bar at six in the morning on Sunday. So I set my alarm for 5:30 am and, without even washing my face, grabbed the musty old rucksack that I had dug out from the back of my closet the night before as I left my apartment. The sound of the key as I locked the front door echoed unpleasantly in the morning air. I couldn’t stop myself from yawning repeatedly as I headed for the bar.
Sensei had already arrived. He stood there perfectly straight, his briefcase in hand, as always. The trunk of the car was open wide, and the bar owner’s upper body was thrust inside.
“Is that equipment for hunting mushrooms?” Sensei asked.
“No,” the owner replied, without changing position. “I’m bringing this stuff to my cousin’s place in Tochigi.” His voice reverberated from within the trunk.
The things he was bringing to his cousin’s place in Tochigi consisted of several paper bags and one long, rectangular package. Sensei and I both peered over the owner’s shoulder. A crow cried from atop a utility pole. Caw, caw, caw, caw, it called, sounding just like a crow. Its voice seemed a bit more carefree than when I heard crows during the daytime.
“These are Soka senbei and Asakusa nori,” the owner said, pointing at the paper bags.
“I see,” Sensei and I replied in unison.
“And this is saké.” He pointed at the long package.
“Yes,” Sensei said, his briefcase hanging straight down. I said nothing.
“My cousin, he really likes Sawanoi saké.”
“As do I,” Sensei said.
“It’s great. But my bar serves Tochigi saké.”
The owner seemed much more relaxed than when he was at the bar. He looked at least ten years younger. Hop in, he said, opening the rear door and leaning halfway into the driver’s seat to start the car. Once the engine caught, he extricated himself from the front seat and went to close the trunk. He made sure that Sensei and I were settled into the backseat and walked a full circle around the car, then stood there smoking a cigarette before getting in to the driver’s seat. He yanked on his seatbelt and slowly stepped on the accelerator.
“Thank you so much for inviting us today,” Sensei called out formally from the backseat.
The owner swiveled around, beaming at us. “Let’s take it easy.” He had a nice smile. But he still had his foot on the gas pedal and the car continued to inch forward while he was completely turned around.
“Um, ahead of you,” I murmured, but the owner merely craned his neck in my direction. “Huh?” he asked. Still facing us, he made no effort to glance in front of him. All the while the car continued to glide forward.
Sensei cautioned, “You might want to look ahead,” while I cried out at the same time, “Up ahead! Up ahead!” A utility pole was close at hand.
“Oh?” The owner spun back around and turned the steering wheel just in time to avoid the pole. Sensei and I both gave a deep sigh.
“No worries,” the owner said as he sped up. What on earth was I doing here in a stranger’s car? And this early in the morning? I still had no idea what mushroom hunting entailed, and I felt as if I were still drinking. The car sped along faster, despite my confusion.
I must have dozed off. When I opened my eyes, we were on a mountain road. I had been awake until we had gotten off the expressway onto a smaller highway that I didn’t know the name of. The three of us had chatted intermittently, about the fact that Sensei had taught Japanese, that I had been his student, that my grades in Japanese class had been unremarkable, that the bar owner’s name was Satoru, that there were lots of modashi mushrooms to be found in the mountains where we were heading. I might have liked to know more about these modashi mushrooms, or to share just how strict a teacher Sensei had been, but since Satoru kept turning all the way around whenever he spoke to us, Sensei and I made sure not to seem too interested in eliciting small talk.
The car slowly climbed the mountain road. The windows had been open, but Satoru closed his now. Sensei and I followed suit, rolling up the rear windows. The air had grown slightly chilly. I could hear the crystalline sound of birdsong from within the mountains. The road gradually narrowed.
We came to a fork in the road. One way was paved, the other way was gravel. Just as we pulled onto the gravel road, the car came to a stop. Satoru got out and walked further up the gravel road. Sensei and I stayed in the backseat as we watched Satoru.
“Where could he be going?” I pondered, and Sensei tilted his head. I opened the window and cool mountain air rushed in. The birds’ voices were close. The sun was now high in the sky. It was past nine o’clock.
“Tsukiko, do you think we’ll get back?” Sensei said suddenly.
“What?”
“Somehow I have the feeling that we might not make it back home again.”
You’re not serious, I replied, and Sensei smiled. He fell silent after that, staring at the rearview mirror. You must be tired, I added, but he shook his head.
“Not at all. Not at all!”
“You know, Sensei, it’s not too late to turn back.”
“‘Turn back’? How do you mean?”
“Well . . . ”
“Let’s go along with this, together. No matter where.”
“What?”
Was Sensei having a bit of fun? I stole a glance at his face but his expression was the same as always. Calm and reassured. He was sitting up straight, his briefcase lying next to him on the seat. While I puzzled over this, Satoru came down the hill with another person in tow.
The other man was a perfect double of Satoru. The two of them opened the trunk and hurriedly carried the packages up the hill. Just as I thought they were out of sight, they returned, both of them stopping beside the car to puff on cigarettes.
“G’morning!” Satoru’s double said as he got into the passenger seat.
“This is my cousin Toru,” Satoru introduced him. Toru looked just like him, in every way. His face, his expression, his build, even the air about him—they were exactly alike.
“So, Toru, I hear that you enjoy Sawanoi saké,” Sensei said.
With his seatbelt fastened, Toru twisted himself around to face the back. “That’s right, I sure do!” he replied cheerfully.
“But saké from Tochigi is still better,” Satoru added, turning around at the same angle as Toru. The car had started up the mountain road. Just as Sensei and I each let out a cry, the front end of the car scraped up against the guardrail.
“Idiot,” Toru muttered nonchalantly. Satoru smiled as he turned the steering wheel. Sensei and I let out another sigh. I could hear muffled birdsong from the forest.
“Sensei, are you going to hike in those clothes?”
We had driven for another thirty minutes or so after Toru joined us, then Satoru had stopped the car and turned off the engine. Satoru, Toru, and I were all wearing jeans and sneakers. We got out of the car, and the two of them started bending their knees and stretching their legs. I followed their lead. Only Sensei stood still, completely upright. He wore a tweed suit with leather shoes. His suit looked old but well-tailored.
“You’ll get dirty,” Toru continued.
“It does not matter if I get dirty,” Sensei replied, shifting his briefcase from his right hand to his left hand.
“Would you like to leave your briefcase?” Satoru asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Sensei replied imperturbably.
Without further ado, we started to climb the wooded path. Satoru and Toru both wore similar rucksacks on their backs. Theirs were climbing daypacks, about one size larger than the one I was carrying. Toru led the way, and Satoru brought up the rear.
“The ascent is surprisingly tough going,” Satoru said from behind.
“Uh . . . Yes, it is,” I said, as Toru said from ahead in the exact same voice, “Easy, just take your time.”
; Every so often I could hear a sound like ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra. Sensei kept a steady pace as he climbed along the path. He wasn’t particularly out of breath. I, on the other hand, was considerably winded. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra became more insistent.
“Is that a cuckoo?” Sensei asked.
Toru turned around to reply. “No, actually, that’s a woodpecker. Sensei, you must know a lot about birds to recognize a cuckoo’s call.”
He went on, “That’s the sound the woodpecker makes when he pecks at a tree trunk, looking for insects to eat.”
“He makes quite a racket,” Satoru said from behind, laughing.
The path grew steeper and steeper. It was about as narrow as an animal trail. Autumn grasses had grown thick on either side, and they brushed against our faces and hands as we walked along. At the foot of the mountain, the fall foliage had yet to change but up here most of the leaves were tinged red or yellow. The air was cool and pleasant, but I had broken into a sweat, due to the fact that I never exercised. Sensei, however, appeared quite relaxed, carrying his briefcase lightly in one hand.
“Sensei, do you do a lot of mountain climbing?”
“Tsukiko, this is not what one calls mountain climbing.”
“I see.”
“Look, there’s the sound of the woodpecker eating insects again.”
I chose not to look, instead keeping my head down as I continued to walk along. Toru (or was it Satoru?—I couldn’t tell which way the voice came from) called out, “Sensei, you’re doing well.”
Then Satoru (or was it Toru?) called out in encouragement, “Keep it up, Tsukiko, you’re much younger than Sensei.”
The path seemed like it would go on forever. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra was now interspersed with calls of chi-chi-chi, and ryu-ryu-ryu-ryu-ryu, and gu-ru-ru-ru-ru.
“We’re almost there, aren’t we?” Toru said.
“I’m sure it’s right around here,” Satoru replied. Toru suddenly veered off the path. We traipsed into an area where there were no tracks of any sort. Just one step off the path, the air suddenly felt dense and thick.
“They’re around here, so keep your eyes on the ground,” Toru said as he turned around.
“Be careful not to trample them,” Satoru added from behind.
The ground was moist and damp. After a while, the undergrowth became sparse and instead there were clusters of trees. Here there was a gentle incline, and it was much easier to walk without the grasses catching at my steps.
“I’ve found something!” Sensei cried out. Toru and Satoru ambled their way closer to Sensei.
“Well, that’s unusual,” Toru said as he crouched down.
“Is it a Cordyceps sinensis?” Sensei asked.
“The caterpillar is still pretty big.”
“It must be some kind of larva.”
The three of them exchanged opinions. Under my breath, I muttered, “Cordyceps sinensis?”
Sensei took a stick and drew the Japanese name in four large characters on the ground: Tō chū ka sō. “Winter insect summer plant. Tsukiko, you weren’t listening very closely in science class, either, were you?” he scolded.
Nobody ever taught us that in class. I pouted.
Toru burst into laughter. “They don’t teach the really important things in school, do they?” he said. Sensei stood erect as he listened to Toru’s guffaws.
Finally, he said quietly, “A person can learn all manner of things, no matter where he finds himself, provided his spirit is determined.”
“Your teacher, he’s hilarious, you know?” Toru said, having himself another good laugh. Sensei took a plastic bag out of his briefcase and quietly put the Cordyceps in it, tying off the top. He put it back into his briefcase.
“All right then, we’re going in further. We have to, if we want to find enough to fill our bellies with,” Satoru said, stepping between the trees. The rest of us broke out of line, everyone looking at their feet as we moved forward. Sensei’s tweed suit blended in among the trees, providing him with a sort of natural camouflage. Even when I thought he was directly in front of me, if I happened to look away, I would quickly lose sight of him. Wondering where he’d gone, I’d look around to find him standing right beside me.
“Sensei, there you are, right here,” I’d call out to him, and he’d respond in a strange voice, “I’m not going anywhere,” trailing off in a chuckle. Within the forest, Sensei seemed quite different from his usual self. He was like a woodland creature who had lived among the trees since ancient times.
“Sensei,” I called out to him again. I felt lonely.
“Tsukiko, didn’t I say that I’d stay right by your side?”
Despite what he had said, Sensei—being Sensei—would go on ahead, leaving me behind. Tsukiko, pull yourself together. You always have the wrong attitude, he would say as he kept right on moving.
I heard the ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, much closer this time. Sensei went off into the trees. Idly, I stood and watched him go. What am I doing here, I wondered to myself. I caught a glimpse of Sensei’s tweed coat between the trees.
“Inky cap modashi!” Satoru shouted from further ahead. “A whole colony of them! Lots more than last year!” Satoru’s voice (or was it Toru’s?) was full of excitement as it echoed throughout the forest.
Mushroom Hunting, Part 2
I was sitting on a large tree stump and looking up at the sky.
Sensei and Satoru and Toru had all ventured much further into the forest. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra was now off in the distance and in its place I could hear a high-pitched ru-ru-ru-ru-ru.
The area where I sat was slick with dampness. It wasn’t just that the ground was moist—all around me, it felt like it was bursting: with the leaves on the trees, the undergrowth, the countless microorganisms under the ground, the flat bugs crawling over the surface, the winged insects flitting through the air, the birds perched on branches, even the breath of the larger animals that inhabited the deeper forest.
I could only see a small patch of sky, the part that was left open between the treetops of the forest around me. The branches seemed like a network that in some places almost obscured the sky. Once my eyes had adjusted to the faint light, I realized that the undergrowth was alive with all manner of things. Tiny orange mushrooms. Moss. Something that looked like coarse white veins on the underside of a leaf. What must be some kind of fungus. Dead beetles. Various kinds of ants. Centipedes. Moths on the backs of leaves.
It seemed strange to be surrounded by so many living things. When I was in Tokyo, I couldn’t help but feel like I was always alone, or occasionally in the company of Sensei. It seemed like the only living things in Tokyo were big like us. But of course, if I really paid attention, there were plenty of other living things surrounding me in the city as well. It was never just the two of us, Sensei and me. Even when we were at the bar, I tended to only take notice of Sensei. But Satoru was always there, along with the usual crowd of familiar faces. And I never really acknowledged that any of them were alive in any way. I never gave any thought to the fact that they were leading the same kind of complicated life as I was.
Toru came back to where I was sitting.
“Tsukiko, everything okay?” he asked as he showed me the handfuls of mushrooms he had collected.
“Totally fine. Really,” I replied.
“Well, I wish you would have come along with us,” Toru said.
“Tsukiko can be a tad bit sentimental.” The instant I realized this was Sensei’s voice, he suddenly and unexpectedly emerged from the shade of the trees just behind me. Whether it was because his suit acted as protective coloring or he was particularly surefooted in the forest, until that moment I had been completely unaware of his presence.
“You were sitting there all alone, lost in your thoughts, weren’t you?” Sensei went on. There were fallen leaves stuck here and there on
his tweed jacket.
“Do you mean to say she’s a girlish romantic?” Toru asked as he roared with laughter.
“Girlish, indeed!” I replied, deadpan.
“Well, then, would the young Miss Tsukiko like to help me prepare the soup?” Toru said, reaching into Satoru’s rucksack and taking out an aluminum pot and a portable cooking stove.
“Could you fetch some water?” he asked, and I hurriedly stood up. He told me there was a stream just ahead, so I walked over to find water springing forth among large rocks. Catching some water in my palms, I brought it to my lips. The water was icy cold, yet smooth and mellow. I caught more of it with my palms, bringing it to my lips over and over again.
“Have a taste,” Satoru said to Sensei, who was sitting up straight, Japanese-style, his feet tucked under his legs on a newspaper that had been spread over the ground. Sensei sipped the mushroom soup.
Satoru and Toru had skillfully prepared the mushrooms they had collected. Toru had cleaned the mushrooms of any dirt or mud, and Satoru had torn the large ones into pieces, leaving the smaller ones as they were, before briefly sautéing them in a small frying pan they had also brought along. Then he put the sautéed mushrooms into the pot of already boiling water, stirred in some miso, and let it all simmer for a little while.
“I studied up a bit last night for our trip,” Sensei said, as he blew on the soup, cupping in both hands the alumite bowl that reminded me of old-fashioned cafeteria ware.
“You studied up? Isn’t that just like a teacher!” Toru responded, heartily slurping his soup.
“There are many more kinds of poisonous mushrooms than I realized,” Sensei said, snaring a piece of mushroom with his chopsticks and popping it in his mouth.
“Hmmm, well . . . ,” Satoru murmured. Having already drained his first bowl, he was just that moment ladling out a second serving.
“The really poisonous ones, you shouldn’t even think about putting them near your mouth.”
“Sensei, please stop! At least while we’re eating,” I pleaded, but he paid no attention to me. As usual.
“But the trouble is, it seems the kaki-shimeji mushroom looks exactly like the matsutake, and the tsukiyotake mushroom is indistinguishable from the shiitake, and so on.”
Strange Weather in Tokyo Page 4