140
boy’s words contained a good deal of venom. Tengo was in the group at the next
table, but he found it impossible to pretend that he had not heard anything. Exactly
why, he could not be sure, but he could not leave it alone.
Tengo went to the other table and told the girl she should join his group. He did
this almost reflexively, without deep thought or hesitation. He then gave the girl a
detailed explanation of the experiment. She paid close attention to his words,
understood them, and corrected her mistake. This was the second year that she and
Tengo were in the same class, but it was the first time he ever spoke to her (and the
last).
Tengo had excellent grades, and he was a big, strong boy, whom the others
treated with respect, so no one teased him for having come to the girl’s defense—at
least not then and there. But later his standing in the class seemed to fall a notch, as
though he had caught some of her impurity.
Tengo never let that bother him. He knew that she was just an ordinary girl.
But they never spoke again after that. There was no need—or opportunity—to do
so. Whenever their eyes happened to meet, however, a hint of tension would show on
her face. He could sense it. Perhaps, he thought, she was bothered by what he had
done for her during the science experiment. Maybe she was angry at him and wished
that he had just left her alone. He had difficulty judging what she felt about the
matter. He was still a child, after all, and could not yet read subtle
psychological shifts
from a person’s expression.
Then, one day, the girl took Tengo’s hand. It happened on a sunny afternoon in
early December. Beyond the classroom window, he could see the clear sky and a
straight, white cloud. Class had been dismissed, and the two of them happened to be
the last to leave after the children had finished cleaning the room. No one else was
there. She strode quickly across the room, heading straight for Tengo, as if she had
just made up her mind about something. She
stood next to him and, without the
slightest hesitation, grabbed his hand and looked up at him. (He was ten centimeters
taller, so she had to look up.) Taken by surprise, Tengo looked back at her. Their eyes
met. In hers, he could see a transparent depth that he had never seen before. She went
on holding his hand for a very long time, saying nothing, but never once relaxing her
powerful grip. Then, without warning, she dropped his hand and dashed out of the
classroom, skirts flying.
Tengo had no idea what had just happened to him. He went on standing there, at a
loss for words. His first thought was how glad he felt that they had not been seen by
anyone. Who knew what kind of commotion it could have caused? He looked around,
relieved at first, but then he felt deeply shaken.
The mother and daughter who sat across from him between Mitaka and Ogikubo
could well have been Witness believers themselves. They might even have been
headed for their usual Sunday missionary activity. But no, they were more likely just
a normal mother and daughter on their way to a lesson the girl was taking. The
cloth
sack might have been holding books of piano music or a calligraphy set.
I’m just
being hypersensitive to lots of things
, Tengo thought. He closed his eyes and released
a long, slow breath. Time flows in strange ways on Sundays, and sights become
mysteriously distorted.
141
At home, Tengo fixed himself a simple dinner. Come to think of it, he hadn’t had
lunch. When he was through eating, he thought about calling Komatsu, who would be
wanting to hear the results of his meeting. But this was Sunday; Komatsu wouldn’t be
at the office. Tengo didn’t know his home phone number.
Oh well, if he wants to
know how it went, he can call me
.
The phone rang as the hands of the clock passed ten and Tengo was thinking of
going to bed. He assumed it was Komatsu, but the voice on the phone turned out to be
that of his married older girlfriend. “I won’t be able to get away very long, but do you
mind if I come over for a quick visit the day after tomorrow in the afternoon?” she
asked.
He heard some notes on a piano in the background. Her husband must not be home
yet, he guessed. “Fine,” he said. If she came over, his rewriting of
Air Chrysalis
would be interrupted for a time, but when he heard her voice,
Tengo realized how
much he desired her. After hanging up he went to the kitchen, poured himself a glass
of Wild Turkey, and drank it straight, standing by the sink. Then he went to bed, read
a few pages of a book, and fell asleep.
This brought Tengo’s long, strange Sunday to an end.
