“Hey, don’t break the set!” Chief-in-Chief Underpants yelled.
I took a page from a master wielding a staff weapon I’d seen on TV and took aim at Chief-in-Chief Underpants with the long drainpipe in a fighting stance. He’d been about to rush me, but he stopped in his tracks. Behind him, theater troupe members were watching with bated breath.
Behind the Crackpot Castle towering in the twilight, wrapped in steam, we confronted each other.
“Do you mean to keep us from performing the final act?” Chief-in-Chief Underpants scowled at me. “I’m not letting anyone stop us. I’ve put everything I’ve got into this play.”
“I’m not trying to stop you.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
“First, let me ask you something. How does it end? Is it a happy ending? An unhappy ending?”
He didn’t say anything, so I shoved him in the chest.
“Fine.” He groaned. “It’s a happy ending. I’m sure everyone will blush, it’s so happy.”
“Good!”
Wise readers, in order to obliterate the burning question on your minds—Why have you taken on such a major role?—I believe a few short words will suffice: I just happened to be passing by. I was going to get my happy ending—even if I had to become a circumstantialist!
“Do you really think I came to get in your way?”
“You didn’t?”
“No. I insist that you put on the show. However…,” I proceeded, still wielding the drainpipe. “I’m playing the Crackpot of Monte Cristo.”
Some of the people gathered were reading a booklet called The Crackpot of Monte Cristo Guidebook. There were people walking around selling leftover copies from the booth. A screen had been put up next to the stage, and the film club Ablutions was showing the previous act on repeat. Finally, the video cut off, and the loud voices of the chatting audience died right down. The fat chimney in the middle of the Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds shot white steam with a pshoooo! The spotlight at the top of the castle shone down on me in the crowd.
“The five o’clock show is about to start! Presenting The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!” The prop girl’s voice rang out. She put a cape over my shoulders. “The final act!”
Everyone turned around and made way for Princess Daruma.
After her fierce battle with the School Festival Office and the escape from their headquarters, Princess Daruma was injured. Leaning on a walking stick, she took her final steps toward the Crackpot Castle, where the one she loved was imprisoned. One step, then another…
THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO
THE FINAL ACT
SETTING: THE CRACKPOT CASTLE OF WIND AND CLOUDS (ENGINEERING BUILDING ROOFTOP)
The Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds towers in the twilight. Princess Daruma approaches, leaning on a walking stick. Office staff members pursue and try to catch her. The director arrives.
DIRECTOR
This rooftop is dangerous. Please halt the performance immediately and disperse!
AUDIENCE MEMBER 1
What? Wait a second.
AUDIENCE MEMBER 2
Isn’t it over after this? Just let them do the final act!
The audience subdues the office staff, and Princess Daruma continues her approach.
DARUMA
The world has been trapped in darkness ever since the Crackpot of Monte Cristo went missing. But now my journey is at its end. With this key I stole from the school festival office director, I shall open the door to the cursed four-and-a-half-mat fortress and liberate the Crackpot of Monte Cristo from his long imprisonment. Oh, my dear Crackpot of Monte Cristo, soon I shall be beside you!
Princess Daruma reaches the door of the castle and inserts the key. Steam spurts out. Eventually, the door opens. The Crackpot of Monte Cristo appears from inside.
CRACKPOT
I have been trapped in darkness for so long that my vision has gone. I cannot even see the palm of my hand. So do forgive me, but I cannot even see the face of my savior!
DARUMA
I’m sure you can recognize my voice.
CRACKPOT
Ohhh!
DARUMA
My chest is bursting at the thought of the suffering you have endured. But while you were in darkness, so, too, was my heart.
CRACKPOT
But, Princess Daruma, however did you get here?
DARUMA
I went around and questioned each of your enemies, sometimes humbly bowing, sometimes getting a bit rough. I followed clue after clue, fine as silk thread, and finally arrived here.
CRACKPOT
That must have been a long and difficult journey. I’m sorry!
DARUMA
Oh, let us not speak of such things!
CRACKPOT
I was forced into battle after fruitless battle for merely trying to walk the path I believed in. When, bruised and battered, I had exhausted my every means of resistance, I fell to my knees on this barren campus. I’m sure you remember last year, when we saw each other for the first time in a corner of the school festival. As if God were playing a trick on us, red apples fell out of the sky and bounced off our heads. Those apples made me realize that you were the light guiding my way as I wandered this idiotic wasteland.
DARUMA
Talking with you like this about how we met was a dream of mine. It’s strange to be here now, saying, “When you think about it, that’s how it all began.” The world is full of surprising coincidences, God’s mischief…
THE CRACKPOT OF MONTE CRISTO
Now, let us go. Let us leave this cursed four-and-a-half-mat castle, put the deep darkness behind us, and seize our glorious campus life.
The pair embraces. Curtain.
After the curtain fell and while she was still in my arms, her flushed cheeks broke into a smile as she said, “You were magnificent.” I’d miraculously escaped with my life, but having her in my arms, even if it was according to the stage directions, was such a lethal dose of joy that I nearly died. I was so moved, I couldn’t come up with any smooth lines. But I had put my heart into the Crackpot of Monte Cristo’s. I was sure she must have felt something.
Under the stars, the applause showed no signs of ending, and we bowed again and again.
Eventually, Chief-in-Chief Underpants appeared, and the audience grew quiet. When she projected her voice to introduce him—“Here he is, not only the creator but the writer and mastermind of this historic guerilla theater production, The Crackpot of Monte Cristo!”—the applause started up again, and Chief-in-Chief Underpants bowed low. After that, the prop and scenery teams appeared and received applause. The members of the troupe shook hands with Chief-in-Chief Underpants one after another. The prop girl told him, “This project was really fun. You’d never believe we were almost forced to give up.”
The office staffers were all shouting, “That’s it, folks. Please disperse in a calm, orderly manner!” and started ushering the audience away. “There will be a closing show on the special stage on the field!”
The director strode over against the flow of the departing audience with a stern look on his face. He glared at me and then at the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, Chief-in-Chief Underpants.
“Sorry for all the fuss,” the Crackpot said as he bowed apologetically.
“…Well, anyhow, it’s over now. We got through it without any accidents,” noted the director. “But I won’t let it happen again.” Then he looked at me. “When you fell, I thought you were done for. My heart practically stopped.”
“I’m still kicking.”
“Don’t be so reckless. I mean, I get it, but…” The busy director sighed, cracked his neck, and stated, “I’ve got a lot to do. After this, I’m singing in drag for the closing show.”
“I’m surprised you have the energy.”
“You guys should come. I’ll knock your socks off.” He briskly left the roof.
The theater troupe had started breaking down the Crackpot Castle, but Chief
-in-Chief Underpants was still standing absentmindedly in front of it on the stage. I patted him on the shoulder.
“You did good. It’s already admirable you’re Chief-in-Chief Underpants and the Crackpot of Monte Cristo, to top it off. I’m sorry I stole your role.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he murmured. “It wouldn’t have made much difference even if I had played him. I whipped everyone into a frenzy for nothing.”
“C’mon, don’t talk like that.”
“Praying at Yoshida Shrine and becoming Chief-in-Chief Underpants, leading the theater group, and planning this ruckus—it was all to meet that girl again. I thought if my play was getting buzz, she might come to see it. And if she came to the final act? I’m sure she would have noticed the feelings I poured into it. I fantasized about it so many times: She’d realize in her seat how I felt about her and come backstage after the curtain fell. But now that I’m thinking more clearly, maybe I’m just an out-and-out idiot.” He looked up at the Crackpot Castle as it was getting torn down and groaned. “The plan was too roundabout in the first place!”
“It’s a bit late to say that.”
“Do you know what once in a lifetime means? Whether a chance meeting remains a coincidence or becomes destiny all depends on you. Our coincidence slipped away before it could become destiny. The privilege of someday reminiscing with her—‘When you think about it, that’s how it all began’—has slipped away from me. And it’s because I didn’t have the means or the guts to seize my opportunity!”
“Hey, let’s go drinking,” I consoled him. “I can’t actually drink, but if there was ever a time to do it, it’s now. Some things get easier if you talk them out.”
“I’ve had enough of that solidarity between men… I don’t need men. Men are worthless.”
Just then, the girl listening to our conversation cheerfully called out, “Ms. Noriko!”
When we looked out from the stage, a single girl stood on the roof as the cold wind whipped by. It was Noriko, the girl I’d mistakenly chased down before. She’d taken off the rope and held the koi fish in front, and she came over. “I’ll give this back now,” she said, and she handed it to the girl, who hugged it happily and replied, “Thank you.” She was so adorable, I couldn’t look straight at her, and I averted my eyes instinctively. Just then, I happened to see Chief-in-Chief Underpants’s face and noticed he was looking at Noriko in a daze. Oh! I thought and looked at Noriko. Sure enough, she was looking right back at him.
Noriko went over to him and held out her hand. “Funny seeing you here.”
Chief-in-Chief Underpants took her hand in silence.
The Crackpot Castle of Wind and Clouds had been packed up in the blink of an eye, and we could see the roof of the building across from us. Hanuki and Higuchi were standing on the edge of it clapping. Higuchi set off some fireworks—pow, pow! Hanuki sat dangling her legs over the edge and suddenly screamed, “Finale! Finale!” I don’t know what she was thinking, but she had taken a bunch of the Daruma dolls from the top of the Speedy Kotatsu to throw them into the evening sky. The Daruma came flying lightly through the air across the gap and scattered around. Two of them bounced off the heads of Chief-in-Chief Underpants and Noriko.
Honestly, I got teary-eyed. It was so beautiful, and I was so envious.
“What the hell?!” moaned Chief-in-Chief Underpants. “There has to be a limit to plot convenience!”
Daruma dolls fell out of the sky and bounced off Ms. Noriko’s and her friend’s heads. It was just like the apples from that day. I’ll never forget the deep emotion that permeated my entire body at that moment. I wiped my eyes.
My clubmate standing next to me had moist eyes, too.
“Are you crying?”
“Me, cry? It’s just a little salt water coming out of my eyes.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed. This is such a wonderful ending.”
I looked up at him as he held back his tears and thought, He’s a great guy.
Eventually, we went to go see the closing show, mingling with the crowd on our way to the field. Darkness had fallen completely, and it had gotten even colder. November was coming to an end, so soon General Winter would get serious and cross the mountains from the direction of Lake Biwa.
The school festival was broken down in the cold, smaller and smaller, until in the center of that lonely gloom, a stack of logs was lit. The fire blazed up and illuminated the faces of all the people who had come to the field. On the glittering special stage, the dazzlingly beautiful festival office director poured his soul into idol pop songs. Next to us as we clapped along, Mr. Higuchi and Ms. Hanuki were sitting under the Speedy Kotatsu. Chief-in-Chief Underpants and Ms. Noriko, along with the theater troupe, were all smiling as they watched the show.
I had one of the Daruma dolls that had bounced off their heads in my hand. My clubmate had one, too, and he played with it in his hand, spinning it around.
“Do you like Daruma dolls?” he asked.
When I explained, “Yes, because they’re so small and round,” he laughed.
I was happy to have had such a wonderful time at the school festival. I whispered “Namu-namu!” in thanks to God.
“I never thought you were going to be the one playing the Crackpot of Monte Cristo.”
He replied in a disinterested way, “Well, I just happened to be passing by.”
“Your performance was so passionate and skillful. Do you have theater experience?”
“No, not really.”
“Anyway, it’s so funny seeing you here. I run into you pretty often, huh? Maybe this is another one of God’s plot conveniences.”
“Yeah,” he mused, gazing at the fire. “I guess God and all the rest of us are circumstantialists.”
Have you ever seen the great divide between fair weather and rain?
I’d like to have you imagine yourself standing in a downpour listening to drops of water striking the road. When you wipe away the rain running down your face and look forward, just a few steps ahead, the sun is shining bright, and the pavement doesn’t seem to be wet at all. Before your eyes is the border between fair weather and rain. I witnessed that strange phenomenon only once, when I was a child.
That winter, I found myself thinking of it again and again.
There’s a drenched rat running through the cold rain. That’s me, of course. I’m trying to get into the sun. But just like the shimmering summer heat, it flees when I approach, even though I can see it in front of me. Standing in that sunlight is the black-haired maiden I’m always thinking of. She’s surrounded by warmth and tranquility; the area is filled with god’s goodwill, and it probably smells nice. In comparison, what about me? Far from goodwill, I’m surrounded by the folly of youth, wet with my tears of self-loathing at my clumsy struggles and whipped around by the storm of love.
She walked the streets where the God of Colds ran rampant, and as you might expect, she was the star of that December without even trying. She didn’t realize it then, and she probably still hasn’t.
Meanwhile, I was smitten by the God of Colds. Tormented by a high fever, wrenching my lungs with a horrible cough, curled up in bed, unable to go after her, I was lost in fantasies. Having failed to seize the lead role and having to make do as a pebble by the wayside, it seemed I was fated to begin the new year all alone.
But it all happened right there in my futon.
This is her story, but it is also mine.
The pebble by the wayside finally got out of bed thanks to the plot convenience of fate.
My strenuous efforts at the school festival in fall were surely worthy of admiration. Setting aside the fact that they relied entirely on God’s plot convenience, it’s, first off, not overkill to say I risked my life. The mayor of the city of Kyoto should have publicly acknowledged my efforts in front of city hall, and I should’ve been jostled by a pile of girls in bunny suits.
To attract her attention, I leaped into the air from the engineering building roof. I
hijacked the guerilla theater production and took on the weighty lead role. Going back even further, I fought powerful rivals in mortal combat around fire hot pot to acquire a picture book for her at the summer used bookfair. In the spring, I got knocked around as I walked through the streets the night of a monster parade. Most plans work out after you put that much thought into them. But the fortress of the black-haired maiden was impregnable.
My problem was that I avoided making any definitive moves. For the time being, I’d like to reject the many arguments that I was taking a giant, unnecessary detour. I’ll mull over them later.
I was most unclear about how she felt about me. Did she see me as a man? Or even as a human, her equal?
I had no idea.
And that’s why I hadn’t made a move.
My apologies, but it’s difficult to explain how I felt at the time.
After all, up until then, I’d been completely absorbed in other funteresting things and so had neglected to train for the wheeling and dealing between men and women. I was convinced that such negotiations were reserved for the adult pursuits of gentlemen and ladies dressed to the nines in a corner of a masquerade ball. I didn’t think they had anything to do with a child like me. Since my heart wasn’t ready, it was difficult to consider his feelings, as I could hardly grasp even my own nebulous emotions, so cotton candy–like as they were.
I do, however, remember feeling something like relief when, moments before the curtain rose for the guerilla theater production The Crackpot of Monte Cristo, my clubmate appeared before me. Perhaps it was because I often ran into him around town. And another thing I’ve had difficulty forgetting is the strange feeling of being held in his arms, which was according to the stage directions.
Even after the school festival ended, that moment would pop into my head. And every time that happened, I’d get distracted, in a way. Of course, I’m not the kind of person who usually has razor-sharp focus anyhow, but this was hard-core empty-headed behavior, truly some harebrained stuff, and if there were such a thing as a World Befuddlement Championship, I would surely have been entered as the representative of Japan. And after recovering from that daze, I’d feel so restless I didn’t know what to do with myself, so I would pummel the red koi plushie in my room or squish it out of shape. The poor thing. I owe it an apology. And after perpetrating that violence on my koi, I would always be exhausted.
The Night Is Short, Walk on Girl Page 16