When regular customers came to dine, Yoriko would make a point of greeting them in person. She always wore a kimono. Shuhei knew that there were rules governing what kimono to wear in what season and that Yoriko followed those rules very scrupulously. That night, she was wearing a lilac kimono made of semitransparent fabric.
The sight of Yoriko chatting to the customers mesmerized Shuhei. Her face became animated and she appeared far younger and more beautiful than normal. Shuhei couldn’t believe that she was almost the same age as his mother.
The restaurant’s patrons were the only people to whom she displayed her captivating smile. The instant she turned away from their table, her eyes hardened.
“What are you standing around daydreaming for? Can’t you see that the glass of that gentleman over by the window is empty?”
“Oh... uh... sorry.”
Shuhei had to jump to it every time Yoriko made a sharp comment.
By ten o’clock, the customers started to go home. Shuhei couldn’t help feeling pleased when they thanked him for the delicious dinner on their way out, despite his not having had a hand in the cooking.
Then it was time for tidying up. Shuhei was responsible for washing the dishes and scrubbing down the kitchen. Since he had only joined the restaurant in the spring, he hadn’t yet learned even how to handle a carving knife. Katsuya, another apprentice who had started two years before him, had only just recently been permitted to help out with the cooking. Shuhei would have to put up with his present duties for a while yet.
He was only seventeen years old. He’d been in high school until last year, but somehow never settled into the rhythm of school. No, that was putting a gloss on the truth; the fact was that he wasn’t able to keep up with his classmates and got frustrated. He’d never wanted to go to college, but his parents had begged him to at least complete high school, so reluctantly he’d tried. In the end, and to no one’s great surprise, he simply couldn’t hack it.
After he dropped out of high school, his parents started asking him what he planned to do with his life. His answer — that he wanted to become a chef — was off the top of his head. The reason for it was simple enough: there was a sushi restaurant near the family home, and Shuhei had always thought the chefs working there were the last word in cool. His father used his connections to get him the Matsuya job.
Having finished the cleaning and tidying, Shuhei was about to leave when Taiji wandered in, wearing the same outfit he’d had on in the afternoon. He must have been out all evening.
“How’d we do tonight?” Picking up one of the glasses that Shuhei had just washed, Taiji opened a nearby bottle of sake.
“Same old, same old. Oh, Professor Okabe was here.”
“Oh yeah? The great self-styled gourmet who tragically lacks any sense of taste?” Taiji poured himself a glass of sake and took a sip. His face was already purple. Must have been doing some serious boozing, thought Shuhei.
Taiji drank the rest of the sake and put the empty glass down on the table. “Cheers, that was delicious,” he said, and left the room.
What was that about? Are you just trying to make my job harder than it is already? thought Shuhei, sulking as he reached for Taiji’s dirty glass.
2
Matsuya offered a reasonably priced lunch that was popular with the better-heeled workers from nearby office buildings.
Shuhei was hard at work waiting tables when Katsuya, the senior apprentice, came up to him.
“The boss is asking for you. She wants you in the Cypress Room.”
Shuhei wondered what it was all about. The Cypress Room was never used at lunchtime.
When he got there, Shuhei found Yoriko and a group of three men sitting on opposite sides of the table. Two of the men were in suits, while the third was more casually dressed in a short-sleeved checked shirt over a T-shirt.
“These gentlemen are from the police, Shuhei. Detectives, they tell me. They want to ask you a few questions,” Yoriko explained.
“Sorry, I know this is a busy time of day,” said the man in the short-sleeved shirt. He swung back around to Yoriko. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, we’d like to talk to the young man alone.”
“Be my guest,” said Yoriko. For all her winning smile, there was a trace of uneasiness in her eyes. Shuhei was baffled. Why on earth did the police want to talk to him?
The three men filed out of the room and headed for the front door of the restaurant. Shuhei followed. They went outside, stopping when they got to Ningyocho Boulevard.
Ningyocho Boulevard was a broad, multilane one-way street lined with all sorts of restaurants and bars.
“God, it’s hot today. Want a nice drink?” The detective in the checked shirt thrust a plastic carrier bag in Shuhei’s direction. Inside were several cans of cold coffee.
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Don’t say that. If you don’t have one, then neither can we.”
“Really?” Shuhei peered into the bag and took out a can. The three detectives then did likewise.
“Do you have draught beer at Matsuya?”
Shuhei shook his head.
“No, only bottled, but it’s a craft beer we get directly from a brewery in Hida, in Gifu Prefecture.”
“Sounds good. Go on, drink up.”
“Sure,” replied Shuhei, pulling the tab on the can. It was only June, but the heat was already intense. The cool liquid seemed to seep into every pore of his body.
“Heard you bought a bunch of ningyo-yaki recently?” began the older-looking of the two men in suits, after taking a swig of his coffee. Ningyo-yaki were small snack cakes, baked in molds — a Tokyo specialty.
Shuhei almost choked. “What?” Blinking, he looked back at the detective.
“You bought a bunch of snack cakes at a shop on this street three days ago, didn’t you?” reiterated the detective, staring into Shuhei’s eyes.
Shuhei’s heart started racing. He couldn’t very well lie straight to a cop’s face.
“Yes, I did.”
“What time was that?”
“A little before four.”
“Good. How many did you buy?”
“Ten. Seven with sweet bean paste filling, three without.”
“Did the shop pack them in a wooden box?”
“No. Just a see-through plastic container.”
“A present for someone?”
Shuhei shook his head and nervously licked his lips. His promise to Taiji flashed through his mind. “No, I bought them for myself.”
“Really? Ten of the darn things?” the shorter of the two detectives wearing suits asked, his eyes widening in surprise.
“I ate some that afternoon and polished the rest off that night.”
The other detective in a suit gave a sardonic smile. “You youngsters!”
“You really ate the whole lot yourself?” asked the shorter one.
“Ye... yes.”
“What did you do with the plastic container?”
“I threw it away.”
“Where?”
“Uhm...” Shuhei was getting flustered. He wasn’t sure how to parry that question. “Don’t remember. Some bin or other, I guess.”
“The boss told us that you live above the restaurant. Was it in the bin in your room there?”