‘You were making eyes at each other! The whole bar saw. A sea-cucumber would have noticed. Her father definitely did. Taro noticed. He came up to me afterwards and asked me who she was. I’d hoped that he could tell me. He said to grill you. And what Taro wants he gets, so I’m grilling you.’
‘There’s not much to tell. She came into the shop four weeks ago. Then she came in again last week. We got talking, just about music, and we went out on a date or two last week. That’s all.’
‘A date or seven you mean.’
‘Well, you know how it goes.’
‘Not that I want to be nosey or anything, it’s just that I didn’t get the chance to interrogate her last night. But, er, so have you, y’know, snipped her ribbons and unwrapped her packaging yet?’
‘The girl’s a lady!’
‘Ah, yes, but every lady is a woman.’
‘No. We haven’t.’
‘You always were a slow worker, Satoru. Why not?’
‘Because...’ I remember her body wrapped inside my duffle-coat as we walked along, sharing the same umbrella. I remember spending the whole movie holding her hand. I remember her eyes scrunched up in laughter as we watched a street performer who stood motionless on a pedestal until you left a coin in his urn, when he changed his expression and pose until the next coin was dropped in. I remember her trying not to laugh at my bowling alley disasters. I remember lying on the blanket in Ueno Park as the cherry blossom fell onto our faces. I remember her in this room, in this chair, listening to my favourite music as she did her homework. I remember her face as she concentrated, and that strand of hair that fell down, almost touching her notebook. I remember kissing the nape of her neck in elevators between floors, and springing apart when the doors suddenly opened. I remember her telling me about her goldfish, and her mother, and life in Hong Kong. I remember her asleep on my shoulder on the night bus. I remember looking at her across the table. I remember her telling me about the ancient Jomon people who buried their kings in mounds, on the Tokyo plain. I remember her face at Mrs Nakamori’s when Koji and I did ‘Round Midnight’ better than we’ve ever played it before. I remember... ‘I dunno, Koji. Maybe we didn’t do it because we could have done it.’ Was that true? It would have been easy, just to slip into a love hotel. My body certainly wanted to. But... but what? ‘I really can’t say. Not because I’m being coy. I don’t know.’
Koji made the sage noise that he always does on the rare occasions when he doesn’t understand something. ‘So, when do I get to see her again?’
I swallowed. ‘Never, probably. She’s going back to international school in Hong Kong. She only comes to Tokyo every couple of years with her father to visit relatives for a few weeks. We have to be realistic.’
Koji sounded more depressed about it than I did. ‘That’s terrible! When’s she going back this time?’
I looked at my watch. ‘In about thirty minutes.’
‘Satoru! Stop her!’
‘I really think... I mean, I think that—’
‘Don’t think! Do something!’
‘What do you suggest? Kidnap her? She’s got her life to get on with. She’s going to study archaeology at university in Hong Kong. We met, we enjoyed each other’s company, very much, and now we’ve parted. It happens all the time. We can write. Anyway, it’s not like we’ve fallen longingly in love with each other, or anything like that—’
‘Beep beep beep.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, that was my bullshit alarm going off.’
I dug out some old big band Duke Ellington. It reminds me of wind-up gramophones, silly moustaches and Hollywood musicals from before the war. It usually cheers me up. ‘Take the “A” Train’, rattling along on goofy optimism.
I looked gloomily into the murky lake at the bottom of my teacup, and I thought about Tomoyo for the fiftieth time that day.
The phone rang. I knew it was going to be Tomoyo. It was Tomoyo. I could hear aeroplanes and boarding announcements in the background.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello.’
‘I’m phoning from the airport.’
‘I can hear aeroplanes taking off in the background.’
‘Sorry I couldn’t say “goodbye” properly last night. I wanted to kiss you.’
‘So did I, but with everyone there, and everything...’
‘Thanks for inviting me and Dad to Mrs Nakamori’s last night. My dad says thanks too. I haven’t seen him nattering away like he did with your Mama-san and Taro for ages.’
‘I haven’t seen them nattering away like that for ages, either. What were they talking about?’
‘Business, I guess. You know Dad has a small stake in a night club. We both loved the show.’
‘It wasn’t a show! It was just me and Koji.’
‘You’re both really good musicians. Dad didn’t shut up about you.’
‘Nah... Koji’s good, he makes me sound passable. He phoned about twenty minutes ago. I hope we weren’t too gooey at the bar last night. Koji thought we were a bit obvious.’
‘Don’t worry about it. And hey! Dad even implied, in his roundabout way, you could visit during your holidays. He might manage to find a bar for you to play sax in, if you wanted to.’
‘Does he know? About us?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Takeshi doesn’t exactly give me holidays... At least, I’ve never asked for one.’
‘Oh...’ She changed the subject. ‘How long did it take you to get so good?’
‘I’m not good. John Coltrane is good ! Wait a sec—’ I grabbed a copy of John Coltrane and Duke Ellington, playing ‘In a Sentimental Mood’. Smoky and genuflective. We listened to it together for a while. So many things I wanted to say to her.
There was a series of urgent rings. ‘I’m running of out money — there’s something — Oh, damn, ’Bye!’
‘’Bye!’
‘When I get back I’ll—’
A lonely hum.
At lunchtime Mr Fujimoto came in, saw me, and laughed. ‘Good afternoon, Satoru-kun!’ he jubilated. ‘Blue skies, just you wait and see! Tell me, what do you think of this little beaut?’ He put a little package of books on the counter, and straightened out his bow tie, arching his eyebrows and acting proud.
A grotesque polka-dot frog-green bow tie. ‘Absolutely unique.’
His whole body wobbled with mirth. ‘We’re having a disgusting tie competition in the office. I’ve got ’em licked, I think.’
‘How was Kyoto?’
‘Oh, Kyoto was Kyoto. Temples and shrines, meetings with printers. Uppity shopkeepers who think they have a monopoly on manners. It’s good to be back. Once a Tokyoite, always a Tokyoite.’
I started my rehearsed speech. ‘Mr Fujimoto, when I told Mama-san about your kind offer to help me get an interview at your office she gave me this to give you. She thought you and your co-workers might enjoy it at a cherry-blossom party.’ I heaved the huge bottle of rice-wine onto the counter.
‘Sake! My word, that is a big boy! This will last awhile, even in an office full of publishers! How extraordinarily kind.’
‘No, it was kind of you. I’m sorry I’m too ignorant to accept your generous offer.’
‘Not at all, not at all. No umbrage taken, I promise you... It was just a passing...’ Mr Fujimoto looked for the right word, blinking hard, and laughed when he couldn’t find it. ‘I don’t blame you in the least. You wouldn’t want to end up being like me, would you?’ He found that a lot funnier than I did.
‘It’s not my place to say this, but I wouldn’t mind ending up being like you at all. You’ve got a good job. Unforgettable bow ties. A great taste in the world’s finest jazz discs.’