Sweet Bean Paste

by Durian Sukegawa

  I’m sorry. Please forgive me for saying the same thing over and over. But it’s what I believe. I know you can get through the difficult stage you are going through.

  When it gets warmer please do come and visit again. I look forward to seeing Wakana too.

  Take care,

  Tokue Yoshii

  24

  The end of February approached, bringing with it the winds heralding spring. Gusts rolling in from the south shook the tiny buds that were beginning to appear on the cherry tree outside the shop. As temperatures rose, more and more people could be seen walking with coats tucked under their arms. Sentaro kept the window closed almost completely to prevent dust blowing into the shop, but he left a small gap through which he called out ‘Freshly cooked dorayaki!’

  Bit by bit, sales were picking up. Although Sentaro had not given up on the idea of salty dorayaki, and was still mulling over how best to make them, the turn of the season seemed to bring about a change of heart in former customers, who began to drift back and show their faces again. They stood outside the shop self-consciously making remarks such as ‘It’s been a while’ or ‘I suddenly felt like eating a dorayaki’. Sentaro merely responded with a smile.

  There was a slight softening in the owner’s face, too, as she went over the books. ‘If you keep on like this we might be able to make a go of it,’ she said sometimes. Sentaro was cautiously optimistic, believing that although the crisis was not yet over, he did at last have some breathing space.

  Then one day, in the still of the evening after the winds had subsided, the owner appeared through the door near the counter. She was followed by a gum-chewing young man.

  ‘This is the shop manager, Mr Tsujii,’ she said to the youth, pointing her chin in the direction of Sentaro.

  ‘Tanaka’s the name,’ he responded, still chewing, and with a nod of greeting that could only be described as perfunctory.

  ‘I’ve been thinking things over and…’ the owner paused, ‘I know this is sudden, but – look here, Sentaro, I want you to work with this lad.’ She looked at him. ‘Come on,’ she urged.

  Tanaka took a step forward. He looked about twenty-two or -three, and wore his jeans low over the behind, in the current fashion.

  ‘Work with?’ Sentaro repeated, not getting her meaning.

  ‘He’s my nephew. He went to cooking school and got a job in a restaurant, but had trouble getting on with some people. You know how it is with kitchens and cooks. It can be a tough world.’ Her tone rose, as if asking Sentaro to agree with her. ‘So then he was in a position where he had to quit,’ she continued, ‘and all winter he’s just been hanging around. Isn’t that right?’

  Tanaka gave a forced smile, and cocked his head bashfully.

  ‘Now, Sentaro. I want you to listen to me, because I’ve made an executive decision as owner of this shop. Next month we’re renovating. I want us to sell dorayaki and okonomiyaki from now on. We’ll sell savoury food as well as sweet.’

  ‘Renovate, but…?’

  ‘Yes. I know it’ll be cramped. But luckily customers are coming back, and a lot are school kids, so my nephew will be able to talk with them.’

  ‘But, hold on a minute…’ Sentaro tried to cut her short, but couldn’t find the right words.

  ‘I understand. Truly I do.’ She waved her hand wildly, as if to push away his objections. ‘It’s sudden, I know. And I feel bad about that. But you have to realize at my stage of life I need to think seriously. Then, just by coincidence, my nephew…well I’ve always been fond of him since he was a little boy, and he did train to be a cook…well, you know, I started thinking about it a while ago. I want you to do me a favour. I’d like you to pull him into shape. He’s still got a lot of rough edges. But he’s a good kid, really.’

  ‘But you said if sales grew we could keep on as we were…’ Sentaro could barely suppress the anger and bitterness that was beginning to well up.

  ‘If anyone can do it, you can. Look how determined you were to get sales back on track after they’d dropped so far. I finally understood what my husband saw in you. That’s why we’ll keep the name. We’ll still be Doraharu. You keep making your dorayaki. But at the same time I want you to train up the future head of this business. I’m asking you, Sentaro.’

  She prodded her nephew. ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled with a faint smirk, and bowed.

  ‘The okonomiyaki pancake grill can go here.’ She pointed to the space next to the window, ‘and we’ll move the dorayaki griddle in the back.’

  Ignoring Sentaro, she began discussing the renovations with her nephew. It was clear the space for dorayaki was not going to be in the shopfront any more.

  Sentaro stood watching them, there was nothing he could say.

  25

  Beams of light from the streetlamps filtered through the gap between the curtain and its rail. Sentaro lay curled up on his futon, staring up at the geometrical patterns of light on the ceiling.

  A cat yowled outside.

  Nearly a month had passed since Sentaro had quit working at Doraharu. He had been holed up in his flat ever since, oblivious to the spring weather and only going out to get food from the convenience store. He spent the days sitting around, indifferent to the passage of time.

  But it could not go on. Sentaro understood that very well, hence today he had bought a job-vacancy magazine along with his instant noodles. He planned to ring and inquire if he found anything suitable. He didn’t care what kind of work, he wasn’t going to be picky, and he had the stationery to write up a résumé for a job application if necessary. But after turning page after page he found nothing. His age disqualified him for every position he looked at, and the very few companies that made no mention of age were, without exception, seeking applicants with special qualifications. Sentaro had no qualification apart from an ordinary driver’s license. He had nothing. The gateways to all mid-career opportunities were firmly closed to him.

  Grumbling to himself, he reverted to his now usual position on the floor and lay in a heap next to a pile of unwashed clothes. Night came and still he lay there, unmoving. A cat meowed outside and he wondered idly what it looked like. It sounded as if it were calling to him. Was it meowing out of loneliness? Or in search of a mate? Why did it meow? Was it male, or female?

  Sentaro expelled a shallow breath. He thought of Tokue’s letter. ‘Listen,’ she’d written. What did she mean by that? What on earth was he supposed to hear?

  He didn’t have the faintest clue what the voices that he could actually hear – like the cat – were saying. How was he supposed to hear something like the whispers of adzuki beans?

  Sentaro stared at the dingy wall from the corner of his eye. At the end of the day, he was a loser. He might as well face up to it; that was the only conclusion he could draw. He should just string a rope up in here and get it over with.

  His eyes roamed about the room, searching for a place to attach a rope. The curtain rail was the only feasible place, he decided, but the thought of himself dangling alongside the curtain seemed ridiculous. He snorted abruptly.

  ‘Ungrateful dog, am I?’ he murmured.

  Those were the words the owner had thrown at him when he quit Doraharu. Sentaro thought so, too, and didn’t argue back.

  ‘Do you know what my husband went through to help out an ex-con like you? How can you have the face to abandon my nephew? What kind of person are you? What would your parents say?’ she yelled.

  The day he had asked the owner over to hand in his resignation, and the money he still owed her, she’d thrown one insult after another at him, calling him, amongst other things, a criminal who knew nothing about gratitude.

  Sentaro did not say a word in his defence. He simply stood there and took it, because he knew that there was truth in what she said. There was nothing he could do about it though. He’d always let people down – everybody, including his parents.

  He did not know when or why his fall had begun, but he sensed the seeds of it had always b
een in him, ever since he was small. It was nothing sudden. It was not failure to try and live an honest life – the result of leading an honest life was the wreckage of his days now. In short, Sentaro suffered because he was who he was.

  That’s why tonight once again he was struggling with himself. He groaned like an injured animal, feeling as if he would suffocate whichever way he turned. He thought again how to hang himself, but he had no rope. Maybe he could use packing string, or a belt.

  By the side of his desk sat a cardboard box of cooking implements which the owner had let him bring from Doraharu since they wouldn’t be needed any more – his only compensation after years of work there. It contained his beloved copper pot with bowls stacked inside, the rubber spatula and dora spoon, the beater, the palette knife and his cook’s outfit.

  Sentaro looked over and silently took in the irregular-shaped silhouette formed by these objects poking out of the box. He recalled his days in the shop: faces of customers waiting in line on the other side of the window; school kids sitting at the counter chatting away in high spirits; the cherry tree and its changing appearance through the seasons; Tokue, standing beneath the cherry tree.

  ‘Dorayaki…’

  He could feel the bowl and rubber spatula in his hands. He saw the sparkle of freshly cooked adzuki. He smelled their rich aroma.

  ‘Dorayaki…fresh dorayaki.’

  Sentaro bit his lip.

  ‘Dorayaki, fresh dorayaki.’

  Sentaro spoke the words again and felt something roll down his cheek. He clenched his fists, drew a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

  I know you can get through...That’s what Tokue had written. He’d let her down already. He hadn’t kept any of his promises.

  ‘Tasty, fresh dorayaki, how about it?’ His voice trembled.

  Clutching the pillow in his arms, Sentaro buried his head in it. An image of the cherry tree outside the shop rose in his mind again. No doubt it was proudly blooming again this year, stopping passers-by in their tracks with its glorious cloud of flowers. Petals would be wafting down into the shop. And the school girls who complained about petals in their dorayaki… Would they be there? Were those girls still going to the shop under its new manager?

  26

  That night, Sentaro had a dream.

  Somewhere, in a place he does not know, he is climbing a slope amid rolling hills. Below he sees something sparkling blue. It is a broad, slow-flowing river. He stops and looks at the surface, maybe a dozen metres below. The junction of currents below the surface is as clear as if he were standing in it. Several strands of sparkling white lines floating on the surface meet up and separate in constantly shifting patterns.

  What is this? Sentaro cannot fathom what he sees. Then understanding dawns: these are flower petals. His gaze follows the flow upstream where a chalk-white cloud meets his eyes. He sees that the entire riverbank sloping up to the mountains is a carpet of cherry blossom in full bloom.

  Sentaro climbs step by step in the direction of this luminescence. Birds sing and the breeze carries the fragrance of flowers. Gradually he draws closer to the cloud of cherry blossoms. Sparkling petals fall around him, drifting down from the sky above.

  He hastens over to the trees and walks among them. Sentaro slowly turns his head to gaze in rapture at each and every tree. Blossom surrounds him on all sides, as if he is at the centre of a deep, sparkling lake. He senses the full force of emotion that has been dormant in the trees all year, waiting for this once-a-year explosion of joy: their pure, unadulterated happiness. Sentaro turns around and around as he makes his way over to the slope’s edge, where he looks down on the river. A cool breeze rises from the glistening water.

  A fragrance seems to wrap around him as dancing petals borne upward on currents of rising air envelope him from the feet up. The light permeates everything, radiating from the surface of the blue water, from the proudly blooming flowers, and pouring down from the sky.

  Two birds skim the water and take off into flight. Sentaro lingers, wondering where he is.

  ‘Sentaro,’ he hears a young girl’s voice say, and turns around to look.

  Among the rows of cherry trees he sees a teahouse, with a fluttering banner at the entrance advertising goheimochi grilled rice cakes. He smells a savoury aroma that whets his appetite.

  ‘Sentaro.’ It is the girl’s voice again.

  The voice seems to come from the direction of wooden tables outside the teahouse, where customers sit viewing the blossoms while they eat and drink. He moves closer and sees a young girl sitting at a table slightly apart from the others.

  ‘Huh?’ he exclaims.

  The girl stands and bows in Sentaro’s direction. He knows immediately who she is.

  ‘Look.’ She points with a smile to the collar of her pure white blouse. ‘My mother made it.’

  The blouse glows in the spring sunshine. Petals flutter through the air and settle on it.

  ‘That’s nice.’ Sentaro speaks to her in a respectful tone, as if addressing an adult.

  ‘Yes,’ she answers.

  ‘So this is the place?’

  ‘Yes, this is it. My hometown. This beautiful place.’

  Sentaro sits down facing her. On the table is a plate of rice dumplings coated with sweet bean paste, along with a small pot and a teacup.

  ‘Please,’ the girl says, indicating them with her hand.

  Sentaro looks at it. The teacup contains what appears to be hot water with floating petals.

  ‘Did these petals fall in?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. This is cherry-blossom tea. It’s a little bit salty with a lovely smell of flowers.’

  ‘Really? Cherry-blossom tea?’ Sentaro has never heard of it before. ‘Cherry-blossom tea,’ he murmurs again, and at that moment feels something pierce his breast. A petal fluttering through the air penetrates his chest, becoming a momentary beam of light before it disappears. But no, it is not gone.

  A little bit salty with a lovely smell of flowers…The words linger and echo inside him. Suddenly the cherry blossoms all around seem to expand and Sentaro blinks.

  ‘What’s it made from?’ he says, lifting up the teacup to examine it closer.

  ‘We pickle it at home,’ the girl replies. ‘Look inside.’ She points to the pot with long, straight fingers.

  Sentaro lifts the lid and sees that the liquid is filled with peach-coloured flowers. He breathes in the intense, sweet aroma.

  ‘Ahhh…’

  ‘It’s a double-flowered variety, not your usual somei yoshino. We pickle it with salt,’ the girl says.

  ‘It’s lovely.’

  Sentaro is annoyed by his inability to say more.

  ‘You steep it in hot water and it becomes cherry blossom tea.’

  He listens and peers into the teacup again, as if to compare it with the pickled blossom. Two perfect flowers twist and turn as they rise gently to the surface. They have been picked with the sepal intact to preserve the shape.

  Entranced, Sentaro watches the spiralling flowers. He smells the full, deep aroma, then raises the cup to his lips and takes a sip. The flavour opens up in his mouth like a flower. A fresh trail of salt trickles down his cheek.

  A little bit salty with a lovely smell of flowers… Exactly as the girl said it would be. The saltiness and aroma interact with perfect union.

  This is it.

  Sentaro gently places the cup back on the table and gazes with fascination at the pickled double-flowered cherry blossom in the pot. This is it – the thing he has been seeking.

  ‘The saltiness is just enough so you can still appreciate the taste of the flower. I could put one or two flowers in dorayaki batter…’

  Sentaro half-rises from his seat. The girl has disappeared. Her smiling face, the white blouse with the petals sticking to it – all is gone. He stands up and hastily looks around. Everything has vanished. Nothing is left of the tables, customers looking at flowers or the teahouse with its banner. All he sees are shining
white cherry blossoms. The table he touched only a few moments ago, with the dumplings, teacup and pot of pickled cherry blossom, has also vanished.

  Enveloped in the glare of shining white cherry blossom he calls the girl’s name over and over. But the only movement is the steady drift of flowers dropping to the ground, nothing else changes. Finally Sentaro realizes this world he has strayed into is not real. He senses that he will soon return to the waking world and knows he has to find the girl. Where is she? There is something he needs to ask: where were you born and raised? He recalls she told him once there was a river, and beautiful cherry blossoms, and something about pickling the cherry blossoms.

  He wants to know: did you ever eat them with sweet food?

  27

  On the other side of the long holly hedge the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Falling petals spiralled to the ground on the breeze.

  Sentaro and Wakana exchanged few words as they walked along, but at intervals Sentaro asked her neutral questions.

  ‘What club will you join in school?’

  ‘Err…I haven’t decided yet.’

  It was Sentaro who had contacted Wakana. He had his doubts about the propriety of a grown man phoning a 15-year-old girl to ask her to accompany him somewhere, but with the issue of Marvy to resolve they needed to go to Tenshoen together.

  Ever since the dream, Sentaro had been unable to get pickled cherry blossom out of his head. When a search on the internet revealed that it actually existed, he was so deeply overcome he closed his eyes. He toyed with the idea of immediately ordering some to try, but decided against it, as he was no longer set up for cooking and experimenting with dorayaki. Besides, if those pickled cherry blossoms really did exist in that place then that was what he wanted to use, and he still did not know where it was.