Strange Weather in Tokyo

by Hiromi Kawakami

Every so often I could hear a sound like ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra. Sensei kept a steady pace as he climbed along the path. He wasn’t particularly out of breath. I, on the other hand, was considerably winded. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra became more insistent. “Is that a cuckoo?” Sensei asked. Toru turned around to reply. “No, actually, that’s a woodpecker. Sensei, you must know a lot about birds to recognize a cuckoo’s call.”

The path seemed like it would go on forever. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra was now interspersed with calls of chi-chi-chi, and ryu-ryu-ryu-ryu-ryu, and gu-ru-ru-ru-ru. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?” Toru said. “I’m sure it’s right around here,” Satoru replied. Toru

Tsukiko, you weren’t listening very closely in science class, either, were you?” he scolded. Nobody ever taught us that in class. I pouted. Toru burst into laughter. “They don’t teach the really important things in school, do they?” he said.

Finally, he said quietly, “A person can learn all manner of things, no matter where he finds himself, provided his spirit is determined.”

sensei

I was sitting on a large tree stump and looking up at the sky. Sensei and Satoru and Toru had all ventured much further into the forest. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra was now off in the distance and in its place I could hear a high-pitched ru-ru-ru-ru-ru. The area where I sat was slick with dampness. It wasn’t just that the ground was moist—all around me, it felt like it was bursting: with the leaves on the trees, the undergrowth, the countless microorganisms under the ground, the flat bugs crawling over the surface, the winged insects flitting through the air, the birds perched on branches, even the breath of the larger animals that inhabited the deeper forest. I could only see a small patch of sky, the part that was left open between the treetops of the forest around me. The branches seemed like a network that in some places almost obscured the sky. Once my eyes had adjusted to the faint light, I realized that the undergrowth was alive with all manner of things. Tiny orange mushrooms. Moss. Something that looked like coarse white veins on the underside of a leaf. What must be some kind of fungus. Dead beetles. Various kinds of ants. Centipedes. Moths on the backs of leaves. It seemed strange to be surrounded by so many living things. When I was in Tokyo, I couldn’t help but feel like I was always alone, or occasionally in the company of Sensei. It seemed like the only living things in Tokyo were big like us. But of course, if I really paid attention, there were plenty of other livi...

Isolated. Lonely

“Fine, you know it’s a Big Laughing Gym, but what are you going to do with it?” I asked her. My wife replied, “Why, eat it, of course.” “But isn’t it poisonous?” I said. “Mom, stop it!” our son cried out. Right at that moment—paying no mind whatsoever to the dirt on its cap—my wife popped the mushroom into her mouth.

My wife, who up until then had been so calm and collected, began to emit a sort of chortle, intermittent at first but soon growing in frequency before developing into the full-fledged so-called “laughter.” They call it laughter, but there was nothing happy or cheerful about it. It sounded as though she was trying to stifle a laugh as it welled up, but for the life of her she couldn’t hold back, and no matter how much she tried, her brain was unable to overcome the involuntary physical reaction—that’s what kind of laugh it was. An unspeakably sinister laugh, as if at some sick joke.

“Sensei, do you think they’ll be all right to drive?” I asked under my breath.

anxious...

“What they did with them in Siberia. Long ago, the chiefs of indigenous highland peoples of Siberia would ingest the fly agaric before going into battle. Fly agaric mushrooms contain constituents that induce a psychoactive trance. Once eaten, the mushroom causes an extremely agitated state characterized by ferocity and temporary bursts of tremendous strength that can persist for hours. First, the chief would eat the mushroom, and the next-highest-ranking man would drink the chief’s urine. Then the next-highest-ranking man would drink the second-highest-ranking man’s urine, and so on, until the mushroom’s constituents were coursing through the veins of all the members of the tribe. “Apparently, when the last man finished drinking the urine, they were prepared to do battle,” Sensei concluded.

eww

Sensei closed his eyes as he said the words, “Cracked pot.” What’s that? I asked him. He repeated the phrase, Even a cracked pot has a lid that fits.

I found myself surrounded by such a plethora of living things, all of them buzzing about. What on earth was I doing, wandering around a place like this?

Yudofu had always been one of my favorite dishes. It’s not the kind of thing children usually like but, even before I started elementary school, I loved my mother’s yudofu. In a small cup she mixes saké with soy sauce, sprinkling it with freshly shaved bonito, and then warms the cup along with the tofu in an earthenware pot. When it’s hot enough, she opens the lid of the pot and a thick cloud of steam escapes. She heats the whole block of tofu without cutting it, so I can then ravage the firm cotton tofu with the tips of my chopsticks. It’s no good unless you use tofu from the corner tofu shop, and they always reopen on the third, my mother chatted away as she cheerfully prepared the yudofu for me.

Nevertheless, neither one of us was any good at chitchat. So we just avoided each other’s gaze until my brother and his family returned.

Socially awkward with family

listening. I was pretty sure that I wasn’t very good at this whole love thing. And if being in love required so much effort, then I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of it anyway. That friend ended up marrying that boyfriend a little more than six months later.

love is effort

My dizziness passed. I could now make out the ceiling. The lightbulb in this room hadn’t burnt out, it just wasn’t turned on yet.

lol

room. I had, in fact, been very much in love with that boyfriend. I guess I should have called him back then. I had wanted to at the time, but the prospect of hearing his cold voice on the other end of the line had frozen me in place. I hadn’t known that he felt the same way. By the time I found out, my feelings had already been oddly distorted, squashed down into the furthest reaches of my heart. I had dutifully attended the wedding of my friend and my boyfriend.

Ouch, social

tears? I kept crying in between bites of the apple. The crisp sound of my chewing alternated with the plink, plink of my tears as they fell into the stainless steel sink. Standing there, I busied myself with eating and crying.

The three stars of Orion’s belt

Sensei, I whispered. Sensei, I can’t find my way home. But Sensei wasn’t here. I

😢

Sensei and I didn’t see each other very often. It stands to reason, since we weren’t a couple. Yet even when we were apart, Sensei never seemed far away. Sensei would always be Sensei. On a night like this, I knew he was out there somewhere.

fate? connection?

forlorn,

Still unable to remember the last words, I felt like crying again. My feet started walking of their own accord as my tears started flowing on their own as well. Tsukiko. I heard my name but didn’t turn around. I figured it must have been in my head.

I turned around this time, only to see Sensei standing there with his perfect posture. He was wearing a lightweight but warm-looking coat and carrying his briefcase, as always. Sensei, what are you doing here? Taking a walk. It’s a lovely evening. Just

We stood there for a moment, facing each other in the darkness, and I no longer felt like crying. Which was a relief, since I had started to worry that my tears would never stop. And I didn’t even want to imagine what Sensei might say to me if he saw me crying.

I drained the water from the bath and quickly scrubbed the tub, and then I pranced about my apartment, naked except for a towel twisted atop my head. It was one of those moments when I think to myself, I’m glad to be alone. I opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water, poured half of it into a glass, and gulped it down. It made me think about how I had hated mineral water when I was younger.

I had a habit of acting as though I were having a conversation with someone beside me—with the me who was not really right there beside me—as if to validate these random effervescences.

What I see in the mirror is not my own lithe, naked body, more than necessarily subject to gravity—I’m not speaking to the me who is visible there, but rather to an invisible version of myself that I sense hovering somewhere in the room.

short. I find something quite carefree about the days around the winter solstice, when the daylight is so brief it seems like 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.

The moment after I realized it was dark, I would feel a surge of loneliness.

He went on, “Indeed, it’s a shame what limited vocabularies young people have nowadays.”

“But you know what they say: ‘Even a chance meeting is the result of a karmic connection.’” Do you think you and I have a karmic connection? I asked.

like meeting the publisher, is a sign that I should apply

Sensei shook his head with furrowed brows. “Not chance, but rather, destiny. Transmigration of the soul.” I see, I replied. I, uh . . . Japanese class was not my best subject. “That’s because you didn’t study hard enough,” Sensei said judgmentally. “Tsukiko, the idea of karmic destiny comes from the Buddhist concept that all living things are reincarnated again and again.”

He now turned to shout at the owner, and tried to douse him in the face with the saké in his cup. But he was so drunk that his aim was off, and he spilled most of it on his own pants instead. “Fuck!” he shouted again, using a towel the owner had handed him to wipe off his pants as well as the area around him. Then suddenly he fell flat on the counter, and immediately started to snore.

lol

“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 in gold.

coffee klatch

“Omachi, you were always like that.” “Like what?” “The type who would say something outlandish with a totally straight face.” Was that right? I never would have thought of myself as the type who made jokes or witty remarks. I was more likely the type who spent recess in a quiet corner of the schoolyard, sometimes tossing back an errant ball.

Ayuko was sort of like Ms. Ishino. She was petite and full of energy, but she could also appear quite timid. She must have been aware of it too. It was this quality that attracted lots of boys. Ayuko was always getting “love letters” or being chatted up. But she never responded to any of them.

Kojima had failed his entrance exams and started university a year later, so Ayuko had entered the workforce a year before him. She fell in love with her boss and, after much ado, they finally got divorced. Kojima relayed the story dispassionately.

ouch

Kojima and I walked around a bit along the area where, not an hour ago, the party’s attendees had swarmed. The moon shone brightly. The flowers bloomed pale white, lit up by the moonlight. Kojima led me over to a bench in a corner. He still had his arm circled around my waist, with the same delicate touch.

“You know, Omachi, you’re really just like . . . ” “Like what?” “Like a high school student. Omachi, don’t be nervous.” Kojima spoke very softly. Then he put his arms firmly around my shoulders and drew me into an embrace. Really? I thought to myself. Kojima’s just going to hug me like this? How strange, my mind said. But my body quickly responded to him.

Everything felt so far away. Sensei, Kojima, the moon—they were all so distant from me. I stared out the window, watching the streetscape as it rushed by. The taxi hurtled through the nighttime city. Sensei, I forced out a cry. My voice was immediately drowned out by the sound of the car’s engine. I could see many cherry trees in bloom as we sped through the streets. The trees, some young and some many years old, were heavy with blossoms in the night air. Sensei, I called out again, but of course no one could hear

cliche? moon?

“It’s time to go home, you should go to bed.” “I will not go home.” “Don’t you think you’re being unreasonable?” “I’m not the least bit unreasonable! What I mean is, Sensei, I love you!” The moment I said this, my belly blazed with warmth. I had screwed up. Grown-ups didn’t go around blurting out troublesome things to people. You couldn’t just blithely disclose something that would then make it impossible to greet them with a smile the next day. But I had gone and said it. Because I wasn’t a grown-up. I never would be, not like Kojima. Sensei, I love you, I repeated one more time, as if to be doubly sure. Sensei just stared at me with astonishment.

Thunder rumbled off in the distance. After a little while, there was a flash among the clouds. It must have been lightning. A few seconds later, thunder could be heard again. “This strange weather must be a result of the strange thing you said, Tsukiko,” Sensei murmured, leaning forward from the veranda. It wasn’t strange, I retorted. Sensei gave a wry smile. “It looks like we’ll have a bit of a storm.” Sensei put up the rain shutters with a loud clatter. They didn’t slide very well. He also closed the doors. The lightning was flashing wildly, and the thunder was growing near.

title

Tsukiko, he replied. His voice was extremely clear; he sounded very much like himself. Children think the strangest things, don’t they? Because anyone who is afraid of thunder is nothing more than a child. Sensei laughed loudly. His laughter reverberated with the rumbling thunder.

me. “Tsukiko, this way.”

As I changed into a yukata and got ready for the bath, I repeated over and over, “Don’t get your hopes up, don’t get your hopes up.” The hot spring made my skin soft. I washed my hair, immersing myself in the bath over and over, and by the time I had painstakingly blown my hair dry in the changing room, to my surprise, more than an hour had passed.

Yes, I said quietly, diving under the covers. The sense of Sensei washed over me. Sensei, I said, burying my face in his chest. Sensei kissed my hair again and again. He touched my breasts over my yukata, and then not over my yukata. “Such lovely breasts,” Sensei said. His tone was the same as when he had been explaining Basho’s poetry. I chuckled, and so did Sensei. “Such lovely breasts. Such a lovely girl you are, Tsukiko,” Sensei said as he caressed my face. He caressed my face, over and over. His caresses made me sleepy. I’m going to fall asleep, Sensei, I said, and he replied, Then go to sleep.

“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.

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.