“I wonder if he’s all right.” Satoru glanced at me. I remained silent, not answering him.
The cricket kept chirping, then it stopped. My racing heartbeat, however, did not subside. It echoed loudly inside my head.
Satoru kept chopping away with his knife on his block, interminably. The cricket started up its chirping again.
I KNOCKED ON the door.
This was after I had paced around in front of Sensei’s gate for more than ten minutes.
When I went to ring the bell, my fingers froze like ice. So I went around the garden and tried to look in from the veranda, but the rain shutters were closed up tight.
I listened through the shutters for a sign of life, but there was no sound whatsoever. I went around to the back where a light was on low in the kitchen, and I felt somewhat relieved.
“Sensei,” I called out through the front door, but of course there was no reply. How could he reply if he had no voice left to call out with?
“Sensei,” I said several more times, but my voice was swallowed up by the night’s darkness. That’s why I was knocking on the door.
I heard footsteps in the hall.
“Who is it?” a voice asked, hoarsely.
“It’s me.”
“‘It’s me’ is not an appropriate response, Tsukiko.”
“But you know who it is, don’t you?”
During this exchange, the door screeched open. Sensei stood there, wearing striped pajama pants and a T-shirt that said I ♥ NY.
“What’s the matter?” Sensei asked with perfect composure.
“Um.”
“A lady doesn’t go visit a man in the middle of the night.”
He was the same old Sensei. The moment I looked him in the eye, my knees went weak.
“What do you mean? You’re the one who invites me over here whenever you’re drunk.”
“I’m not the least bit drunk tonight.”
He spoke as if we’d been together all evening. Suddenly I felt as if the two months I had been distancing myself from Sensei never happened.
“Satoru said you were sick.”
“I had a cold but I’m quite well now.”
“Why are you wearing that strange T-shirt?”
“It’s a hand-me-up from my grandson.”
Sensei and I held each other’s gaze. Sensei’s beard was unshaven. His whiskers were white.
“By the way, Tsukiko, long time no see.”
Sensei narrowed his eyes. But he didn’t look away, so neither could I. Sensei smiled. Awkwardly, I smiled back.
“Sensei.”
“What is it, Tsukiko?”
“You’re just fine, aren’t you?”
“Did you think I was dead?”
“The thought might have crossed my mind.”
Sensei laughed out loud. I laughed too. But our laughter fell silent as soon as it converged. Please don’t say the word “dead,” Sensei, I wanted to plead. But Tsukiko, everyone dies. And what’s more, at my age I’m much more likely to die that you are. It stands to reason. I had no trouble imagining his response.
The specter of death always loomed over us.
Come in for a while, Sensei said. Have some tea, he said as he led the way inside. The small I ♥ NY logo was also printed on the back of Sensei’s T-shirt. I read it aloud while I took off my shoes.
So, you wear pajamas, Sensei? I would have thought you wore nemaki, I muttered as I trailed after him, referring to Japanese-style sleepwear.
Sensei turned to face me. Tsukiko, please refrain from commenting about my clothing choices.
Yes, I answered quietly.
Very well, then, Sensei replied.
The interior of the house was damp and quiet. A futon was laid out in the tatami room. Sensei took his time making the tea and he took his time serving it to me. For my part, I lingered over my cup, drawing out the minutes.
Several times, I called out, “Sensei,” and each time, Sensei would reply, “What is it?” I wouldn’t say anything in response, until the next time I called out, “Sensei.” It was all I could manage.
Once I had finished drinking my tea, I took my leave.
“Please take good care of yourself.” I bowed politely at the front door.
“Tsukiko.” This time Sensei was the one to say my name.
“Yes?” I raised my head, looking Sensei in the eye. His cheeks were sunken and his hair was tousled.
“Get home safely,” Sensei said after a moment’s pause.
“I’ll be fine,” I replied, rapping on my chest.
I closed the front door to prevent Sensei from walking me to the gate. A half-moon hung in the sky. Dozens of insects were chirping and buzzing in the garden.
I’m so confused, I muttered, leaving Sensei’s house.
I don’t care anymore. About love or anything. It doesn’t matter what happens.
In truth, it really didn’t matter. As long as Sensei was fine and well, that’s what was important.
This was enough. I would stop hoping for anything from Sensei, I thought to myself as I walked along the road by the river.
The river flowed along, silently, to the sea. I wondered if right now Sensei was nestled in bed, in his T-shirt and his pajama pants. Was his house locked up properly? Had he turned out the light in the kitchen? And checked the gas?
“Sensei,” I breathed his name softly, in lieu of a sigh.
“Sensei.”
The air rising off the river carried a crisp hint of autumn. Goodnight, Sensei. You looked quite nice in your I ♥ NY T-shirt. Once you’re all better, let’s go for drink. Fall is here, so at Satoru’s place there will be warm things to eat while we drink.
Turning to face toward Sensei, who was now several hundred meters away, I kept on speaking to him. I walked along the length of the river, as if I were having a conversation with the moon. I kept talking, as if forever.
In the Park
I WAS ASKED out on a date. By Sensei.
I find it awkward to use the word “date,” despite the fact that the two of us had gone on that trip together (though, of course, we hadn’t actually been “together”), but we had plans to go to an art museum to see an exhibit of ancient calligraphy, which may sound like the kind of thing students would do on a school trip, yet nevertheless, it was a date. Sensei himself had been the one to say, “Tsukiko, let’s go on a date.”
It had not been in the drunken fervor at Satoru’s place. It had not been a coincidental meeting on the street. Nor did it seem to be because he happened to have two tickets. Sensei had called me up (however it was that he got my phone number) and, straightforward and to the point, he had said, “Let’s go on a date.” Sensei’s voice had a more mellow resonance over the phone. Perhaps it was because the sound was slightly muted.
We arranged to meet on Saturday in the early afternoon. Not at the station near here but rather in front of the station where the art museum was, two train lines away. Apparently, Sensei would be busy with something all morning but would then head toward the station by the art museum.
“It’s such a big station that I’m a bit worried about you getting lost, Tsukiko,” Sensei laughed on the other end of the line.
“I won’t get lost. I’m not a little girl anymore,” I said, and then, not knowing what else to say, I fell silent. On the phone with Kojima (we had spoken on the phone more often than we had seen each other), I had always been so relaxed, yet talking to Sensei now, I felt terribly ill at ease. When we were sitting next to each other in the bar, watching Satoru as he moved about, if the conversation lulled, it didn’t matter how long the silence lasted. But on the phone, silence yawned like a void.
Um. Yes. Well. These were the catalog of sounds I uttered while on the phone with Sensei. My voice got smaller and smaller and, although I was happy to hear from Sensei, all I could think about was how soon could I get off the phone.