When Yuichi was adopted by his grandparents his last name, naturally enough, changed, from Honda to Shimizu. At New Year’s the next year, when Norio stopped by to give Yuichi the traditional gift of money, he asked, half joking, “What do you think? Doesn’t Yuichi Shimizu sound better than Yuichi Honda?”
But Yuichi, who was getting interested in motorcycles and cars, replied, “No, Honda is way more cool,” as he traced the English letters on the tatami.
Now, driving, Norio returned to the intersection-the spot where the giant’s land and the dwarves’ had been forcibly stitched together-and as they were waiting for the light to change, Yuichi spoke up from the backseat. “Uncle, this morning we’re gonna remove the blue sheet on the concrete, right?”
“We could wait till the afternoon,” Norio replied. “How long you think it’ll take to get rid of all of it?”
“If we leave just the front, about an hour should do it.”
At this time of morning the lane going in the other direction was packed with cars all headed toward the shipyard, full of men trying their best to suppress yawns.
The light changed and Norio stepped on the gas. The tools stacked in the back of the van clanked together. Yuichi must have opened the window, for the scent of the sea wafted into the van.
“What’d you do last night?” Norio glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. He saw Yuichi grow suddenly tense.
“Why are you asking?”
Norio actually wanted to ask about Yuichi’s grandfather Katsuji, who would probably have to go back in the hospital before long, but Yuichi’s response made him keep asking questions. “I just figured you must have been out driving around last night.”
“I didn’t go anywhere yesterday,” Yuichi replied.
“What kind of mileage do you get with that car, anyway?” Norio tried to change the subject but he saw a slightly disgusted look on Yuichi’s face. “Bet you get ten kilometers to the liter.”
“No way. It depends on the road, but if I get seven I’m doing okay.” Yuichi’s tone was curt, but he perked up at a conversation about cars.
Already the line of cars headed for the city was starting to show signs of turning into a traffic jam. If they had come thirty minutes later they would have been caught in a massive tie-up.
The road they were on was the only interstate that ran north and south along the Nagasaki peninsula. In the opposite direction, past the city, the highway ran past an abandoned offshore industrial island called Battleship Island, so named because of its shape; past Takahama Beach, crowded with people in the summer; then past the swimming beaches at Wakamisaki; and finally, at the end of the highway, the beautiful lighthouse at Kabashima.
“Hey, how’s your grandpa? Still not feeling so good?” Norio asked as they continued down the highway toward the city.
There was no response, so Norio asked, “Is he going to go back in the hospital?”
“I’m taking him there today after work.”
Yuichi was looking out the window, and his reply was half blown away by the breeze.
“You should have told me. You could have taken him first and then come to work.” Most likely Fusae had told him to go to work first, but Norio thought this was a little cold of her.
“It’s the same hospital as always, so it can wait till evening,” Yuichi said, protective of his grandmother.
For the last seven years Yuichi’s grandfather had suffered from a severe case of diabetes. He was getting on in years, and no matter how often he went to the hospital he never seemed to improve. When Norio called on him once a month to check on how he was doing, he was struck by the older man’s increasingly ashen complexion.
“I know it’s my own daughter’s fault, but I’m really happy Yuichi’s with us. Without him I’d have a heck of a time getting Grandpa back ’n’ forth to the hospital.”
Recently every time Norio and Fusae saw each other she’d say the same thing. Yuichi might be helpful to have around, but the more Fusae said this, the sorrier Norio felt for his quiet cousin-whom he treated like a nephew-as he was practically bound hand and foot to this elderly couple. Besides this, Yuichi was almost the only young person in his village. The rest of the residents were old couples, or old people living alone, and Yuichi was kept busy shuttling not just his grandparents but other elderly neighbors to the hospital. But he always brought his car around without a word of complaint.
For Norio, Yuichi was like the son he’d never had, which is why he’d been so upset when Yuichi had taken out a loan to buy his flashy car. Once Norio had calmed down, though, he started to feel sorry for him-since the whole point of having the car seemed to be to ferry old people back and forth to the hospital.
Unlike the other young guys on the construction site, Yuichi never overslept and he always worked hard. But Norio had no idea what made this young man happy.
On this particular day Norio made his usual rounds to pick up the other workers. Yuichi was the only one of all of them who wasn’t in his late fifties-the others, including Norio, filled the van with cigarette smoke and groans about married life, about how much their knees ached, or how much their wife snored.
They all knew Yuichi wasn’t talkative, so they barely spoke to him. When Yuichi had first joined their construction gang, they tried to take good care of him, inviting him to boat races, or out to bars in Doza in Nagasaki. But at the races he wouldn’t even make a single bet, and wouldn’t sing even one karaoke song when they went drinking. Young guys these days are no fun at all, they concluded, and washed their hands of him.
“Hey, Yuichi! What’s the matter? You look pale.”
Norio glanced in the rearview mirror. He’d almost forgotten that Yuichi was there, but now he saw that his face was white as a sheet. They were just about to enter the city, at a spot where they could see the harbor between the row of warehouses along the coast.
“What’s wrong? You don’t feel good?” Norio asked.
Yoshioka, seated behind Yuichi, said, “You gonna throw up? Open the window! Right now!” and hurriedly leaned forward to roll it down.
Yuichi weakly brushed his hand aside and whispered, “No, I’m okay.”
Yuichi looked so bad that Norio decided to pull over. As he did, the truck behind them roared past, blaring its horn, the wind rocking their van.
As soon as the van stopped Yuichi tumbled out, holding his stomach, and vomited on the ground. Nothing seemed to come up from his stomach, though, and he just stayed there, his breathing ragged and labored.
“You got a hangover?” Yoshioka called out from the van. Yuichi, hands on the paving stones of the sidewalk, shuddered as he nodded.
Koki Tsuruta held the curtain, dyed in the evening sun, open a crack and peered down at the street below. From the twelfth-floor window he could see all of Ohori Park. Two white vans were parked on the street and the young detective who had just questioned him was climbing into one of them. His parents had bought this condo for him near the university, but Koki had never liked the view. The broad vista outside it made him feel small, like a worthless, spoiled rich kid.
The digital clock beside his bed showed five past five. The detective had banged on his door at four-thirty, and Koki, who’d just dragged himself out of bed, answered his questions for a half hour.
Koki sat down on his bed and took a sip of lukewarm water from a plastic bottle.
Until it dawned on him that the detective was after Keigo Masuo, Koki had answered him sullenly. He’d been watching videos until morning and couldn’t hide how upset he felt at having someone pounding on his door. When the detective, not too much older than himself, showed him his badge and said he’d like to ask him some questions, Koki figured that the guy who molested women in the park must have been at it again.