Strange Weather in Tokyo

by Hiromi Kawakami

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

Within the forest, Sensei seemed quite different from his usual self. He was like a woodland creature who had lived among the trees since ancient times.

Oh how nature grounds us and nourishes us

But she would reply, impervious to me, It’s important to dress the part. She wouldn’t break character, even on a trail where people were walking around in flip-flops.

She may have been stubborn, but she did not go in for cattiness.

The combined varieties of mushrooms had mingled together and the taste was ineffable. That had been Sensei’s description—“ineffable.”

“Everyone causes trouble for someone at some point in their lives.”

Even a cracked pot has a lid that fits.

You’d think we’d be close, but it was precisely because we were close that we couldn’t reach each other.

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,

I, on the other hand, still might not be considered a proper grown-up.

And then as the years passed, I turned into quite a childlike person. I suppose I just wasn’t able to ally myself with time.

I would totally forget about whatever notions I had momentarily entertained regarding what it might be like to spend time with Sensei.

If not kept in check, nighttime thoughts are prone to amplification.

mused that there must be a poem about how depressing it is to look out the window in a toilet and see blue sky.

“It grows because you plant it.” This was a phrase often repeated by my great-aunt

I had given up worrying about Sensei’s intentions. I wouldn’t get attached. I wouldn’t distance us. He would be gentlemanly. I would be ladylike. A mild acquaintance. That’s what I had decided. Slightly, for the long term, and without expectations. No matter how I tried to get closer to him, Sensei would not let me near. As if there were an invisible wall between us. It might have seemed pliant and obscure, but when compressed it could withstand anything, nothing could get through. A wall made of air.

We entered the art museum together. It was surprisingly crowded inside. I was amazed that so many people could be interested in completely indecipherable calligraphy from the Heian and Kamakura eras.

“Tsukiko, when you see a handsome man, even if you cannot understand what he says, you still think, ‘Oh, that guy’s good-looking,’ don’t you?

“Let’s walk alongside each other,” Sensei said, still holding my arm.

“Sensei, even if you were to die very soon, it would be all right for me. I could handle it,”

“Would you consider a relationship with me, based on a premise of love?”

I’ve been in love with you, for a while now, I blurted out, forgetting any and all restraint. I’ve loved you all along,

That was quite a discovery for me, the fact that arbitrary kindness makes me uncomfortable, but that being treated fairly feels good.

“Tsukiko,” Sensei said softly after a moment. “I understand. I will get a mobile phone.” What? I asked. Sensei patted the top of my head and replied, “You never know when something might happen to us geezers.”

If I were to try when I was feeling insecure, and then if I couldn’t do it, my confidence would be even more diminished.

And that is such a formidable outcome that it prevents me from even trying.”

We spoke these words to each other sincerely. We were always sincere with each other. Even when we were joking around, we were sincere.

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.

Those nights, I open Sensei’s briefcase and peer inside. The blank empty space unfolds, containing nothing within. It holds nothing more than an expanse of desolate absence.