“Much obliged,” Sensei took the glass from me and tapped the ash from his cigarette into it. Thin wisps of cloud hung in the sky. Every so often, children’s voices echoed up from the tidal flat. I thought I heard one of them say, Look what a big one I dug up!
“Where are we?”
“I don’t really know,” Sensei replied, casting his eyes toward the sea.
“Have we left Satoru’s place?”
“Probably not.”
“What?”
I was surprised by how loudly my own voice echoed. Sensei was still looking off at the sea. The wind was damp and smelled like the ocean.
“Sometimes I find myself here, but this is the first time I’ve ever come here with someone else,” Sensei squinted.
“But it’s probably just a matter of convincing myself that we came here together.”
The sun was strong. The seabirds rustled as they flew about. I could probably imagine that it sounded like Come here. At some point, my hand was clasped around a to-go glass of saké. It was filled to the brim. I quaffed it in one swig, but I didn’t feel the least bit drunk. It’s that kind of place, Sensei said as if to himself.
“Hey…,” Sensei said. As he spoke, his profile seemed to blur.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, and Sensei looked sad.
“I’ll be sure to come back again,” he said, and then simply disappeared. The cigarette he had been smoking had vanished. I wandered a few meters around in each direction, but he was gone. I even looked behind the rocks, but he wasn’t there either. I gave up and sat down on a rock, gulping down the saké. If you set down an empty bottle on the rocks, it would disappear in the blink of an eye. The same way that Sensei had disappeared. It must be that kind of place. I kept drinking as many glasses of saké as sprang up in my hand, while I looked off toward the sea.
JUST AS HE’D promised, Sensei reappeared momentarily later.
“How many have you had?” he said as he came up from behind me.
“Hmm…,” I was a little drunk. Even in “that kind” of place, when you drank that much, I guess you could still feel the effects.
“Well, I’m back,” Sensei said curtly.
“Did you go back to Satoru’s place?” I asked, and Sensei shook his head.
“I went home.”
“Really? Well, I wouldn’t have thought.”
“Drunkenness brings out the homing instinct,” Sensei said solemnly. I laughed, and at that moment the contents of my saké glass spilled out onto the rocks.
“The empty glass, if you will.” Just as he had before, Sensei held a cigarette. At the bar, he rarely if ever smoked, but I suppose when he came here, he always smoked. He tapped the ash into the glass just as it was about to fall off.
Most of the people on the tidal flat were wearing hats. Their heads covered, they squatted as they dug for shellfish. Short shadows sprouted from each of their haunches. They were all facing the same direction as they dug.
“I wonder why they enjoy doing that,” Sensei said while he carefully stubbed out his cigarette on the edge of the glass.
“What do you mean?”
“Digging for shellfish.”
All of a sudden, right there on the rocks, Sensei started doing a headstand. The rocks were at an angle, so that Sensei’s headstand was aslant. He wobbled a little, but he soon steadied.
“Maybe they plan to have them for dinner,” I replied.
“You mean, eat them?” Sensei’s voice drifted up from my feet.
“Or maybe they’ll keep them.”
“Keep the littleneck clams?”
“When I was little, I had a pet snail.”
“A pet snail is not particularly unusual.”
“Isn’t it the same? They’re shellfish.”
“Now, Tsukiko, are snails shellfish?”
“No, I guess not.”
He was still standing on his head. But I didn’t think it was strange at all. It must be this place. Then I remembered something. It was about Sensei’s wife. I had never met her, however, I must have been remembering on behalf of Sensei.
His wife was very good at magic. She started with basic sleight of hand like manipulating a red ball between her fingertips, then moved on to large-scale tricks that involved animals, until her skills were really like that of a professional. But she did not perform her tricks for anyone. She would only practice them alone at home. Every so often, she might demonstrate a newly learned trick to Sensei, but that was rare. He was vaguely aware that she practiced diligently during the day, but he wondered just how much. He knew that she raised rabbits and pigeons in cages, but these animals for magic tricks were smaller and more passive than usual. Even though she kept them inside the house, you could easily forget they were there.
Once, Sensei had an errand that took him to the busy shopping district, far from school, and as he was walking along, a woman who, from straight on, looked just like his wife was headed toward him. However, her carriage and attire differed from his wife’s usual appearance. This woman was wearing a gaudy dress that exposed her shoulders. She was arm in arm with a bearded man in a flashy suit who did not seem like the type who made an honest living. Sensei’s wife may have been willful at times, but she did not care to be the center of attention. That being the case, he figured it couldn’t be his wife, it must just be someone who resembled her, and he looked away.
His wife’s doppelgänger and the bearded man were quickly approaching. Sensei had already looked away, yet he found his gaze drawn to the couple once again. The woman was smiling. Her smile was exactly like his wife’s smile. And as she grinned, she pulled a pigeon from her pocket, which she then perched on Sensei’s shoulder. Then she took a small rabbit from her bodice, and placed it on his other shoulder. The rabbit was as still as if it were a figurine. Sensei too stood still, transfixed. Lastly the woman drew a monkey out from beneath her skirt and saddled it on Sensei’s back.
“How’s it going, dear?” the woman said sunnily.
“Is that you, Sumiyo?”
“Shush!” Instead of replying to Sensei’s question, the woman scolded the thrashing pigeon. The pigeon soon settled down. The bearded man and the woman were holding each other’s hand tightly. Sensei gently set the rabbit and the pigeon down on the ground, but he struggled with how to handle the monkey clinging to his back. The man drew the woman closer to him, and then, putting his arm around her shoulder, he whisked her away. They just rushed off, while Sensei was stuck dealing with the monkey.
“YOUR WIFE’S NAME was Sumiyo, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Sensei nodded. “Sumiyo was a peculiar woman, indeed.”
“I see.”
“After she left home, more than fifteen years ago, she moved around from one place to another. Even so, she would regularly send me postcards. Dutifully.”
Sensei was no longer standing on his head; now he was sitting on his heels with his legs folded under him on the rocks. He had called his own wife a strange woman. However, here on the tidal flat, Sensei was the one behaving quite strangely.
“The last postcard, which arrived five years ago, had a postmark from the island you and I went to recently.”
There were more people on the tidal flat. With their backsides facing us, they were digging for shellfish intently. I heard children’s voices. They sounded long and drawn-out, like a tape that was being played back too slowly.
Sensei closed his eyes as he blew cigarette smoke into the empty saké glass. I was able to recall with such detail things about Sensei’s wife—whom I had never met—but when I thought about myself, I could remember nothing. There were only the glimmering boats heading out to sea.