Takeru didn’t know if that was true or not. But he remembered seeing white between his sleeping brother’s eyelids. Perhaps his own eyes would look the same if he could see himself asleep.
“When we dream I figure we see a landscape inside ourselves,” said Tsuru.
If that was the case, then what about Bunji? He looked like he was dreaming even when he was awake. What did those eyes of his show him? An always unfamiliar scene of desolation? No. Takeru imagined it to be a land of green grass and trees, of brightly colored flowers, of clear water. In fact, Takeru could see it. It was a warm place, but cool in the morning and evening even on the hottest days, so you had to cover up at night. It was a land between green mountains and dark blue sea, which meant it was here. Right here. This place that his mother hated, detested.
When, in his dream about the apartment in Akeroma, Takeru heard the alarm in Bunji’s voice, he lifted his fist off of his brother’s cheek. Bunji’s tone suggested an intimacy with Takeru and his brother, so Takeru felt, more than ever, like he had known Bunji for a long time. But he couldn’t have. The first time Takeru saw Bunji was at the airport, on the day he arrived here.
Mitsuko had come all the way to Tokyo to pick him up and bring him to his mother’s old village by the sea. She wasn’t used to trains, and they had to transfer several times on the way from Akeroma to the Tokyo airport. She kept checking with the station staff, or anybody else around, to make sure that she and Takeru weren’t getting on the wrong train. They got to the airport two hours before their flight. Although there was plenty of time, Mitsuko was all flustered, rushing to buy presents for people back home. In the end she bought so many that she couldn’t carry them, and had to ask the shop to ship some of them for her. But she seemed embarrassed as she spoke to the shopgirl. She was trying to speak Tokyo Japanese, which wasn’t natural for her at all.
She turned to Takeru as she was filling in her address and muttered, “Oh dear, I’ve used a whole year’s spendin’ money.”
“Will you be paying with cash or a card, Madam?”
“Card?” Mitsuko frowned, as though a credit card might carry a curse. “No! Oh no!” she said, waving a hand in front of her face. “Cash!”
Mitsuko looked very tense as she paid. She spoke to Takeru in a hurried whisper, but he didn’t really understand what she was saying:
“A credit card takes money straight out your ’count, don’t it? What if it takes out t’much and you don’t realize it? I don’t like things like that…”
Unfortunately, Mitsuko’s intended whisper was loud enough for the pretty, young shop assistant to hear. Takeru saw the girl put her hand to her mouth and snicker. He felt awkward. He didn’t want to look at either Mitsuko or the girl, so he kept his eyes on the floor.
“Restaurants’re too expensive,” sighed Mitsuko, having spent so much money on gifts. “Save, save, save,” she muttered as she made her way to a food stall, where she bought some lunch boxes and tea. The high-ceilinged lobby was lined with seating. They chose a place and settled down to eat.
“Taste good, don’t it, Takeru.”
Mitsuko sounded as though she really meant it, and maybe that made it taste good to Takeru too.
It wasn’t yet the peak summer vacation period, so their flight just before 2 p.m. had quite a few empty seats. Most of the other passengers were businessmen in white button-down shirts. Across the aisle from Takeru was a middle-aged man with his shoes off, reading a newspaper. There were a few women and children on the plane as well, no doubt traveling early to spend the bon holidays with grandparents. A boy of about Takeru’s age was being told off by his mother for not sharing his manga book or game console with his little brother. Mitsuko fell asleep shortly after takeoff. Takeru looked at the side of her face. He’d been told that he’d met her when he was small, but he couldn’t remember. Takeru grew sleepy too. When he opened his eyes again Mitsuko was awake.
“What’s the matter?” asked Mitsuko, feeling Takeru’s eyes on her.
No, he had no memory of her at all.
But the person at the airport seemed familiar right away. Takeru and Mitsuko had picked up their luggage and were walking through the arrivals gate. The person was sitting on a bench by the glass wall of the lobby, thin and frail. Because he was sitting down, it was difficult to be sure of how tall he was, but he struck Takeru as very short, probably no taller than Takeru himself.
What was most remarkable was his face. It was like a child’s, yet at the same time like that of someone very old. But then it was neither. A mysterious face, as though immaturity and the decrepitude of age had fused together in a fight for center ground. Takeru had no idea how old the person was, but there was no doubt he was male. He couldn’t tell whether the person was looking at him or not. Somehow he reminded Takeru of the old woman who’d always been kind to him at the supermarket in Akeroma. Of course, they couldn’t be the same person.
“Hii-chan!” Mitsuko shouted, waving her arm. “O’er here!”
But she wasn’t calling to the person on the bench; she was calling to a man farther down the arrivals hall. He hurried cheerfully toward them. He was small and wore a Hawks baseball cap.
“You’re late,” said Hii-chan. His face was ruddy, and he had a very large nose. His long white eyebrows hung down to his dark, mischievous, sparkling eyes.
“Your flight was takin’ so long I went t’see if there was any news ’bout a crash on TV,” he said, pointing to the large screen at the other end of the hall.
“Don’t be silly,” laughed Mitsuko. “We got lots to carry so give us a hand. I got ya a present, by the way.”
Hii-chan took her bag of presents. It was so full of candy boxes it was beginning to tear.
“Whoa! So many gifts!” he said, with an exaggerated show of surprise. “Are you a millionaire now?”
He turned to Takeru.
“Welcome!” he said kindly. “Glad t’meet ya.”
Takeru took off his FC Barcelona cap and bobbed his head. His bangs were sticking to his forehead with sweat. Hii-chan frowned at the length of Takeru’s hair.
“What’s all that for? Don’t it get in the way? You should get yourself a haircut like me, kid!”
Hii-chan took off his cap with one hand and rubbed his shaved scalp with the other. He smiled, a silver tooth glinting in his mouth.
Neither Hii-chan nor Mitsuko looked even once at the person on the bench, and they didn’t seem to notice Takeru stealing glances in his direction.
Hii-chan had parked in the lot in front of the airport. Takeru followed him and Mitsuko out of the lobby and across the road. He then stopped and turned around. He could see the man through the shiny blue plate glass, his head oddly large against his slight frame, his back stooped. The man wasn’t looking in his direction, so that was all that Takeru could make out. He turned away and hurried after Mitsuko.
Takeru was astonished to see the man again the next day, after his first night at Mitsuko’s house. When he got up Mitsuko was placing a bowl of rice on the family altar, as she did first thing every morning.
“Come here, Takeru,” she said. “Look, these’re your relatives. Tell ’em you’ve come home, and ask ’em to look after ya.”
Takeru pressed his palms together in front of the altar and did as he was told. “I’ve come home. Please look after me.”
Then he pointed to the small wooden altar drum. “Can I hit that?” he asked.
“Sure,” said Mitsuko, handing him a stick.
He tapped the drum and began to chant: “Dummy number dummy number…”—his approximation of a prayer to the Amida Buddha.