by Hiro Arikawa
As autumn shed its leaves, their school organized a residential trip. Three days, two nights, in Kyoto. Kosuke could do without the temples – they all looked the same to him – but he was overjoyed to be staying away overnight with his friends, far from home.
And having more spending money than he’d ever imagined to buy souvenirs with was exciting, too. There were plenty of things he wanted to buy for himself, but he also had to remember to buy presents for his family.
One day, when they were in a souvenir shop, Satoru had a worried look on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Kosuke.
‘Um, I’m wondering which one to buy.’
Satoru was looking at various kinds of facial blotting paper on a cosmetics display.
‘Mum asked me to buy some blotting paper, but I’ve forgotten which brand she wanted.’
‘Aren’t they all the same?’
Satoru didn’t seem to know one way or the other, so Kosuke said, ‘Why don’t you buy her gift another time?’
‘Okay, I guess I’ll get something for Dad.’
‘Yeah, you should. I’ll get something for my dad, too.’
They wandered around a few shops, and Kosuke was the first to decide what to get. A good-luck maneki-neko cat keyring, the cat with a banner on its back that read ‘Success in Business’. Of course, there was an ulterior motive behind this choice: his father might begin to like cats.
‘Oh – that’s great!’ Satoru’s eyes sparkled at the comical expression on the maneki-neko cat’s face. ‘But we don’t have a family business, so that slogan wouldn’t work.’
‘There’re lots of others besides “Success in Business”.’
Satoru figured that the two slogans on banners that made most sense for his father were ‘Health Comes First’ and ‘Road Safety’. A third read ‘Harmony in the Home’, but he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant.
Satoru ended up picking the keyring with the ‘Road Safety’ banner, because he thought the maneki-neko cat resembled Hachi.
He hadn’t bought the blotting paper for his mother, but said he’d look for some the following day.
But after lunch the next day, Satoru was gone. When their class assembled, their teacher explained that ‘Miyawaki-kun had to return home before us.’
‘Ah – poor Satoru!’
His classmates all murmured to each other how sorry they were. They imagined themselves in Satoru’s place, having to go home early.
‘Sawada-kun, do you know why?’
Kosuke had heard nothing. Satoru had gone home without saying a thing even to his best friend, so something very serious must have happened.
And Satoru hadn’t even bought the blotting paper for his mother. She’ll be disappointed, Kosuke thought, when only his father gets a souvenir.
That’s it! Kosuke had a sudden flash of inspiration.
I’ll buy it for him, that whatchamacallit blotting paper. But how am I going to work out which brand she wants?
As he was puzzling over this, their school group went on a visit to Kinkakuji, the Temple of the Golden Pavilion. This glittery temple was unique, totally different from all the sober-looking ones they’d seen up till then. There were squeals of disbelief among the students when they saw it. ‘Man, that’s gaudy!’ was the consensus. If only Satoru could be here to see it, Kosuke thought, his heart aching.
During their free time, a couple of girls in his class were hanging out in a souvenir shop, and when he spied them, Kosuke was struck by another flash of inspiration.
The girls will know! Blotting paper is something girls use.
‘Hey!’ Kosuke called over to the girls, who were twittering away to each other like a pair of chirping birds.
‘Do you know a brand of blotting paper? It’s supposed to be kind of famous?’
They both shot back the same reply.
‘You mean Yojiya. Yojiya! They have it in that store over there.’
The girls were about to head over there themselves, so Kosuke went with them.
The cheapest blotting paper was over three hundred yen and, thinking how much spending money he had left, Kosuke hesitated.
But Kosuke felt sorry for Satoru, having to go home in the middle of the school trip. And he was Satoru’s best friend.
Satoru probably feels worse about not getting the gift for his mother than having to go home early, he thought. And Kosuke was the only one who understood that.
He had no clue what was so special about this blotting paper, but he went ahead and bought a pack, with its distinctive drawing of a kokeshi doll on the wrapping. The package was so thin and flimsy-looking he was doubtful that Satoru’s mother would really want it, but that’s what Satoru had decided on.
‘Sawada-kun, did your mother ask you to buy Yojiya paper?’
‘Nope. Satoru’s mother asked him, and he was searching for it in all the shops. But he went back without buying any …’
‘You are such a good guy, Sawada-kun!’ the girls gushed. It was not a bad feeling.
‘Miyawaki-kun’s mum will love it. It’s a famous brand.’
Is it really that famous? Kosuke was surprised, and at the same time relieved. He was convinced now that Satoru’s mother would appreciate the gift, no matter how flimsy it seemed.
I should have bought the same thing for my mother, he thought, but he’d already bought her a present the day before. Buying two presents for her would push him over budget, and he could picture his father’s face. He abandoned the idea.
They arrived home on the evening of the third day.
‘I’m back!’
Kosuke held out the presents he’d bought and was about to tell his parents all about the trip when his father poked him.
‘Stop messing around!’
But all he was doing was giving them their presents. The thought made him want to cry.
His mother had a serious look in her eyes. ‘Change your clothes, we’re going over to Satoru’s.’
‘Satoru had to leave early. Has something happened?’
His mother looked down, searching for how to put it, but his father didn’t mince his words.
‘Satoru’s parents passed away.’
Passed away. The words didn’t register, and Kosuke stood there blankly.
‘They died!’ his father grunted.
The moment Kosuke understood, the tears started to flow. It was as if a dam had broken.
‘Stop your blubbering,’ his father said, poking him again, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
Satoru – Satoru, Satoru … My god …
Kosuke had gone over to Satoru’s just the day before they had left for their school trip. He had been playing with Hachi and Satoru’s mother had said, ‘You have to get up early tomorrow for your school trip, so you’d better be getting home soon. You’re welcome to play with Hachi any time.’ Kosuke suddenly fell silent.
‘It was a car accident. They swerved to avoid a bicycle that came out of nowhere …’
They missed the bike, but the two of them didn’t make it.
‘Today’s the wake, so we should go.’
Kosuke changed into the clothes his mother had laid out for him and the three of them set off. Just as they reached the bottom of the slope leading to the housing complex, Kosuke realized he’d forgotten something.
‘You can get it later!’
He stood up to his father, telling them they could go on ahead, and finally managed to persuade him to give him the house key.
‘What an idiot!’ he heard his father mutter as he trotted on.
The wake was being held at the local community centre.
A couple of women dressed in black scurried around, and Satoru sat vacantly in front of the two coffins at the altar.
‘Satoru!’ Kosuke called out.
‘Um,’ Satoru said, nodding. It was as if his mind was elsewhere. Kosuke had no idea what to say.
‘Here you go.’
Kosuke pulled out a thin paper packet from his pocket. The present
he’d run back to fetch when his father had called him an idiot.
‘The blotting paper your mother wanted. It’s Yojiya.’ Satoru burst into tears; he dropped his head while his small body shook with his sobbing. It was only later, when Kosuke had grown up, that he understood the full meaning of the word ‘lament’.
A young woman came over quickly and huddled over him. She spoke in Satoru’s ear, and from the way she was rubbing his back to comfort him, she seemed to know him well.
‘Are you a friend of Satoru’s?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I am,’ Kosuke replied, standing up straight.
‘Would you take him home so he can have a rest? This is the first time he’s cried since he got back.’
Kosuke said he would.
The woman’s eyes, puffy from crying herself, broke into a smile.
‘Thank you,’ she said.
Throughout the funeral, Satoru had sat rigidly next to the young woman. There were other people there who were apparently relatives, but they didn’t seem so close to him.
Satoru’s classmates had gone, too, to light incense and pray. All the girls sobbed, but Satoru had greeted them without shedding any tears himself.
Kosuke was impressed by how Satoru had held up. But, at the same time, it felt as if his friend had drifted away somehow and wasn’t really there. If Kosuke were in Satoru’s place, if his father – the one who had called him an idiot – and his mother had passed away at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold it together like that.
Kosuke took Satoru by the hand and led him home. On the way, Satoru’s words were broken up by tears.
‘The good-luck charm for my father came too late. And I didn’t get a present for Mum … Thank you for buying it …’
Only Kosuke could have worked out what he was saying, so incoherent with sobs were his words.
When they got to Satoru’s house, Hachi was waiting on that day’s newspaper near the front door. He seemed unfazed by Satoru crying like an animal and padded towards the living room as if guiding them. When Satoru collapsed on the sofa, Hachi jumped up on his lap and licked Satoru’s hand over and over.
When they’d found Hachi he’d been only a kitten, but now he seemed more grown up than Satoru.
After the funeral, Satoru didn’t come back to school. Every day, Kosuke would take homework over to his house, and they would play silently with Hachi for a while, then Kosuke would go home.
The young woman stayed at Satoru’s house the entire time. It turned out she was Satoru’s aunt – his mother’s younger sister.
Is he going to live with her here? Kosuke wondered; he would drop in on Satoru even on days when there was no homework to deliver. His aunt knew his name, greeting him with a ‘Hello, Kosuke,’ whenever he came by. But she was quieter than Satoru’s gregarious mother and the house now felt strange to him.
‘I’m going to move,’ Satoru said one day.
The aunt was going to be Satoru’s guardian, but she lived a long way away.
Ever since Satoru hadn’t come back to school, Kosuke had had an inkling that this might happen, but when it did it felt as if a hole had opened up in his heart.
He knew that whining about it wasn’t going to change anything. He stroked Hachi as he lay curled up on Satoru’s lap, without saying a word. Today, too, Hachi was gently licking Satoru’s hand.
‘But Hachi will go with you, won’t he?’
That way, Satoru wouldn’t be so lonely.
But Satoru shook his head.
‘I can’t take Hachi with me. My aunt moves around a lot with work.’
And Satoru, too, looked like he knew that whining about it wasn’t going to change anything. But that’s just too much to bear, Kosuke thought.
‘What’ll happen to him?’
‘Some other relatives say they’ll take him.’
‘Do you know them well?’
Satoru shook his head. This made Kosuke angry. How could Hachi be taken in by people Satoru didn’t even know?
‘I’ll … I’ll ask if we can have Hachi at our place!’
Hachi had been looked after by Kosuke half the time anyway. If Kosuke could take care of Hachi, then Satoru could come to his place to see him.
Even his father had shown an interest in Hachi whenever he visited.
But his father’s view hadn’t changed a bit. ‘No way! A cat? Are you kidding?’
‘But Satoru’s mum and dad are dead! And now, if Hachi has to stay with people he doesn’t even know, think how sad he’ll feel!’
‘He knows them. They’re relatives.’
‘Satoru said he doesn’t know them!’
Distant relatives you hardly ever see are, to a child, like total strangers. Friends are much closer. Why don’t adults understand that?
‘In any case, it wouldn’t work. Cats live ten, twenty years sometimes! Do you want to take responsibility for it your entire life?’
‘Yes!’
‘That’s pretty cheeky for someone who’s never earned a penny in his life.’
His mother, perhaps thinking this was getting out of hand, stepped in on Kosuke’s side, but his father still wouldn’t budge.
‘I feel sorry for Satoru,’ his father went on, ‘but these are two different things. Go and tell him you can’t do it!’
There was no way a sixth-grade boy was going to make him change his mind, so Kosuke headed towards Satoru’s, crying fat tears all the way. His legs felt like lead as he climbed up the slope from the bottom of the housing complex.
When they had first found Hachi, Satoru had done everything he possibly could to enable Kosuke to have him. His attempts had been misguided, but he had given it his all, done his very best.
And the upshot was that Hachi had gone to live in Satoru’s house.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Kosuke said, still crying, his head on his chest. ‘My dad said I can’t have him.’
Damn you, Dad. Don’t you see what Satoru means to your son?
‘It’s okay,’ Satoru said, smiling through his own tears. ‘Thank you for asking.’
On the day Satoru moved, Kosuke was there to see him off. Unbelievably, Kosuke’s father came with him. ‘Of course I’m coming,’ his father had said, ‘since we know Satoru so well.’
Seeing his best friend off before he moved away, Kosuke had never felt such deep contempt for his father.
At first, the boys exchanged letters and phone calls frequently, but as the days passed, the calls and letters naturally became less regular. One reason for this was Kosuke’s shame at having shirked his duty towards his friend by not taking Hachi in.
If they had been able to see each other from time to time, their closeness would have eased his sense of awkwardness, but as they were not able to meet, time only made his feelings of guilt grow.
However, they never stopped sending each other New Year cards.
These always included a brief note saying that they should get together sometime, and they continued through high school and on into college. But the intervening years in which they hadn’t seen each other made it all the harder to arrange to meet again.
At the Adult’s Day ceremony, all Kosuke’s old classmates were reunited to celebrate their turning twenty. Many who now lived outside the prefecture came back especially. But Satoru wasn’t among them. Where was he attending his Adult’s Day ceremony? Kosuke wondered.
Kosuke and his classmates must have had fun at the ceremony, because afterwards, for a while at least, they continued to get together on various occasions. It was still a bit soon for a high-school reunion, but it was just the right time to wax nostalgic about elementary- and junior-high-school days.
Kosuke, who still lived in the prefecture, was put in charge of organizing the elementary-school reunion. It was decided that all his sixth-grade classmates should be invited.
As he was in charge, he decided to send an invitation to Satoru.
Satoru phoned in reply. His voice had not changed. Though they hadn’t t
alked in years, their conversation was as lively as if no time at all had passed. Satoru rattled on and on, as if making up for all the years of silence.
‘It was fun talking to you again. Well, see you!’ Satoru said, and hung up. Moments later, he called again. He’d forgotten to mention the class reunion. Of course he would come.
After this, they kept in touch more regularly. Satoru was living in Tokyo, but now that they were adults distance wasn’t so much of an obstacle.
Satoru graduated from a college in Tokyo and got a job in the city. Kosuke graduated from a nearby college and found a job locally.
It was three years ago now that Kosuke had taken over his father’s photographic studio.
Even after Kosuke had grown up, he and his father didn’t get on, and when his father’s health failed he shut up shop and moved to the countryside a short distance away. He was from a family of local landowners, so he had various plots of land in the area.
For a time, his father kept the photo studio closed. But after a while, keeping it at all seemed like too much trouble so he decided to sell it off. He’d often announced his intention to do this, but even so it made Kosuke a bit sad.
He’d been around photos ever since he was a child. His father, hot-tempered and overbearing most of the time, became cheerful and kind when teaching him about photography, and once he’d even given him an old camera. Kosuke had picked up a lot about photography, or at least his father’s version of it, and when he was older he had helped out occasionally with photo sessions at the studio.
It was only through photography that he and his father had got along. Which meant that now that their connection with photography had ended, their relationship could only get worse.
And Kosuke couldn’t bear that. He talked things over with his wife, and urged on, too, by the fact that his own job wasn’t going well, he told his father not to sell off the studio but to let him take it over.
His father was unexpectedly overjoyed, and nearly burst into tears.
Ah, even this late in the game, maybe this would mark a change for the better.
‘At least that’s what I thought …’ Kosuke almost spat the words out.
‘Did you two have a bad argument or something?’ Satoru asked anxiously.