CH 1 (1/2)

Chapter 1: Tooko-senpai Is a Gourmet

“Gallico‟s stories are filled with the flavor of winter. It is as if fresh snow was quiescently

melting on your tongue. That feeling of nippiness intertwining with surreality- it cleanses my

heart of all its impurity. Such beauty, yet with a touch of sorrow.” Tooko-senpai gasped as she

looked through Paul Gallico‟s short stories anthology.

The club we are in, Kiyos.h.i.+Jou School‟s Literature Club, is located at a four-story high complex,

at the west side corner of the third building.

Whenever the sun set, its golden sunlight s.h.i.+nes through the windows as if the cla.s.sroom were

being poured with honey.

The old cardboard boxes that were used as storage containers were currently stacked at the

corners of the room. In the middle there was an old beech table, plus two iron bookshelves and a

drawer. All these are blanketed with books. Books that have no room to be placed are piled at

every corner. If an earthquake strikes, the towers of books would definitely collapse. It seems

very likely that we would be trapped under the book rubble and die of suffocation.

Sitting in this narrow room, filled with the musty odor of old books and mildew, was Tookosenpai.

With her knees bent, and her feet on the chair, one could almost make out the sight of her

panties. Moreover, every time she s.h.i.+fted her positions, one could get a glimpse. Her posture is

very inappropriate.

Senpai put her pale face on her bent kneecaps and, with her arms wrapped around her legs, she

carefully turned the page of the book she was reading with those slender fingers of hers.

Her black bangs were reclined on her white forehead. Her long braids were hanging from her

shoulder to her waist. Her skin was so pale that, in contrast, her black hair, eyebrows, and irises

seemed as if they were glimmering.

When Tooko-senpai was silent, she appeared graceful to the point of being like a doll.

But…

Tooko-senpai‟s slender fingers slowly teared part of the page out and put the strip into her mouth.

She held the piece in her mouth and, like a goat munching on gra.s.s, she started chewing.

(Oh my G.o.d, she's eating paper…she's eating it. This scene seems surreal to me no matter how

many times I witness it.)

Then she swallowed.

Her throat gave a bit of a gulping sound as she swallowed the paper. After she was done with

that piece, she tore out another strand of paper and ate it. Almost immediately, her apathetic

expression changed into an expression of bliss. The corner of her eyes fell and her face gave a

very sweet smile.

“Gallico‟s stories always taste so good~~~~~Ahh, Gallico! He was born in New York. The

movie adaptation of his book „The Poseidon Adventure‟ and his children literature series „Mrs.

Harris‟ are deservingly famous. However I think his best work is „The Snow Goose‟! The artist,

Rhayader, who live a solitary life in an abandoned lighthouse, and the girl, Fritha, who held an

injured white goose when she met Rhayader –their hearts communicate with such silent grieve!

They both have boundless affection and empathy, yet the characters never converse! Sigh, what

an innocent love! Did you know? Konoha, not everything can be expressed through noisy

verbalization. Thoughts that are truly important should be kept inside one‟s heart until he dies.

Only by resisting the temptation to speak can one admire the beauty of lamentation! I cry every

time I get to the ending. Gallico‟s stories can cool one‟s feverish heart; just like how high cla.s.s

chilled Gelatin dessert can heal one‟s mental scars. That throat soothing sensation, absolutely

superb. Oh, you must read „Jennie‟ and „Snowflake‟ as well! I recommend Sumiko Yagawa‟s

translation edition!”

I put the fifty pages a stack genkoo yos.h.i.+ onto the uneven table. Then, with a HB pencil, I

prepared myself to write a three topic short story. Today‟s topics were “First Love”, “Strawberry

Daif.u.ku”, and “The Parliament Building”- these topics seemed a bit nonsensical to me.

As I lowered my head and started writing, I calmly retorted Senpai with comebacks.

“Because Tooko Senpai is a monster, one that cannot taste anything other than words on papers,

you don‟t know what chilled jelly tastes like; how can you do a.n.a.logies with it?”

The moment I said it, Tooko-senpai became so miffed that she puffed her cheeks.

“Of course I can. I can use my imagination to compensate for this fault. Ahhhh! The taste of

chilled jelly must taste like this. And Konoha, you called me a monster; this is a prejudiced term.

I only want to swallow all the stories and words in this world into my stomach. I am just a

normal high student who happens to have a deep love for literature. A common bungaku shoujo.

“I don‟t think a normal high school girl would just tear books apart and then swallow the pieces

as if they were the most delicious things in this world. At least in the 16 years of my life, I have

never heard of a high school student as weird as Tooko-senpai.”

Tooko-senpai became even more disgruntled, and the puffs on her cheeks grew even bigger. She

shouted-

“That is so insensitive of you! You actually called a girl weird right in front of her, you are so

unthoughtful! I am hurt. Konoha, despite you having such a gentle face that suggests you may

name the roses in your house “Nancy” or “Betty” or something and tend to them, you actually

say such mean things to your Senpai.”

Tooko-senpai became disgruntled and muttered “Gos.h.!.+ Sheesh~~~”, but she recovered almost

instantly. She sprang from her chair with a loud thud and, with a merry expression on her face,

she walked toward me.

“Ah well. My forgiveness is as encompa.s.sing as the Andromeda galaxy. I won‟t pay much

attention to impolite things an insolent Kouhai said. Now, is my „snack‟ ready?”

She really is a very straightforward person, so much so that when she asks for snacks, even her

tone becomes lively. If she were a cat, one could probably hear her gulping saliva down her

throat at this moment.

The 3rd year student Tooko Amano-senpai is the president of the Literature Club; she is also a

monster who likes to eat stories. She sees book pages and words on papers as bread and water,

and happily devours them.

One year ago, this French braid bungaku shoujo dragged me into the Literature Club. From then

on, every time we get off from cla.s.ses, she would nag me “I am hungry, hurry and write

something, come on….” I would then proceed to scribble some poems or stories.

Now I am in the 2nd month of my 2nd year, yet the Literature Club has Tooko-senpai and I as its

only members. We couldn‟t get any 1st year student to join. A few days ago, she finally lost her

patience. She stuffed the overdue club brochures to me, and ordered me “Konoha, as the club

president, I will entrust these to you!”

So I swallowed my pride and, with me blus.h.i.+ng furiously, stood at the entrance of the school to

hand out the brochures. Even then, no new students joined.

Maybe Tooko Senpai and I are destined to uphold this club...?

I already decided to quit writing, why would I join the Literature Club? Writing should have

become irritating for me.

The reason for this is that writing snacks for this monstrous senpai is no longer a tedious task- it

has become part of my daily life… Tooko-senpai took out a silver hand watch from her front

pocket and shoved it to my face.

“Look look. There are only 5 minutes remaining. For the sake of your respected senpai, please

write something that is super sweet! Gallico‟s stories are known for their inner calmness and are

refres.h.i.+ngly untainted, so for this time~~~ It's best if it's a heart-warming story. Tragic stories

are beautiful in themselves, but a romance story must be coupled with a happy ending. Don‟t

make the main character died of leukemia or a heart attack, or have his plane crash, or him

choking to death by eating strawberry daif.u.ku, or anything similar in tone!”

I got it.

I decided to change the plot.

I will write that the main character and his first love, after years of separation, coincidentally run

into each other in front of the parliament building. The girl will then be killed by a box of

strawberry daif.u.ku falling onto her head, and the story will end tragically!

Tooko-senpai put her chin on her hands and, with her elbows supporting the weight of her head,

smiled at me.

She looked as if she were a well-mannered lady; when she was waiting for her food or snacks,

however, her obsession surfaced as if she were a little kid. Her eyes gleamed with eager

antic.i.p.ation.

“Ho ho. Handwritten compositions are my favorites. When one reads Ougai or Souseki‟s

compositions, the reader will taste the sweetness of ripened fruit. On the other hand, the writings

of amateurs have that bitter fresh taste that attracts me. Especially those handwritten

compositions- it is as if you use your hands to lade water from a clean creek and sip the crystal

clear water from your palm- it calms one to the heart! And so fresh and sweet as if you are

enjoying some just-harvested tomatoes or yellow pickles! Even though sometimes the fruits taste

a bit like dirt, they are still very, very, very delicious!”

My compositions are tomatoes and yellow pickles…?

If I tell her that I was the mysterious bishoujo writer, what sort of expressions would she have?

Of course, I would never mention that incident ever again in my life.

“Look, two minutes left. Crunch time. Do your best.”

Tooko-senpai started cheering for me. She slightly tilted her neck and, with her eyes looking

upward, happily stared at me.