Strange Weather in Tokyo

by Hiromi Kawakami

I didn’t think he would be so fickle, but then again, he was a Giants fan. There was no way that I could genuinely trust what he might do.

It seemed strange to be surrounded by so many living things.

I never really acknowledged that any of them were alive in any way. I never gave any thought to the fact that they were leading the same kind of complicated life as I was.

You’d think we’d be close, but it was precisely because we were close that we couldn’t reach each other. Forcing myself to make conversation felt like standing on a cliff, peering over the edge, about to tumble down headfirst.

I had dutifully attended the wedding of my friend and my boyfriend.

A grown woman would know how to get warm in a situation like this. But, for the moment, I was a child and helpless.

I’m a bit of a gourmand, so when I’m not able to take the time to indulge my tastes as I please, I begin to lose a certain vitality, as was reflected in my pallid complexion.

I find something quite cheering about the days around the winter solstice, when the daylight is so brief it seems as if it’s chasing you.

Knowing that it will soon be dark anyway, I’m able to steel myself against that inevitable sense of regret brought on by the evening twilight.

‘Tsukiko, I didn’t do this in order to teach that fellow a lesson. I stole the earring because I found him annoying and I wanted to. Make no mistake about it.’

Sensei and I strolled along. There was a faint promise of spring in the night air. The moon glimmered gold.

‘This strange weather must be a result of the strange thing you said, Tsukiko,’ Sensei murmured,

Sensei, am I dreaming? I asked. It certainly seems like it, doesn’t it? he replied merrily. If this is a dream, when will I wake up? Hmm, I can’t say. I wish I didn’t have to wake up. But if this is a dream, then we must wake up sometime.

While I had been agonizing over my feelings for Sensei, he had been agonizing over the puzzle

‘Tofu is quite special.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘It’s good warm. It’s good chilled. It’s good boiled. It’s good fried. It’s versatile,’

‘That’s how love is,’ she used to say. ‘If the love is true, then treat it the same way you would a plant – feed it, protect it from the elements – you must do absolutely everything you can. But if it isn’t true, then it’s best to just let it wither on the vine.’

But had I really enjoyed living life on my own until now? Joyful. Painful. Pleasant. Sweet. Bitter. Sour. Ticklish. Itchy. Cold. Hot. Lukewarm. Just what kind of life had I lived? I wondered.

‘Would you consider a relationship with me, based on a premise of love?’

Enveloped in Sensei’s warm, dry embrace, I wanted to laugh and I wanted to cry. But I didn’t laugh and I didn’t cry any more either. All I did was be still, there in Sensei’s arms.

‘Sometimes waiting is a good thing.’ ‘You think so?’

We spoke these words to each other sincerely. We were always sincere with each other. Even when we were joking around, we were sincere. Come to think of it, so were the tuna. And the skipjack. All living things were sincere, on the whole.

In loneliness I have drifted this long way, alone. My torn and shabby robe could not keep out the cold. And tonight the sky was so clear it made my heart ache all the more.

The world that exists behind a story is never fully known, not even to the author.