Chapter 3.2 (1/2)

s.h.i.+zusawa Sou was an autobiographical writer from before the war. He wasn’t very well-known to the public, but apparently, he had some loyal fans.

His most notable work, ‘One Ray of Light,’ was known as a typical piece of sanatorium literature. Sanatorium literature refers to works depicting the lives of patients hospitalized in sanatoriums. ‘One Ray of Light’ depicted the life of a protagonist who suffered from luminescence disease. s.h.i.+zusawa Sou was an autobiographical writer, and autobiographies are generally stories written based on actual experiences. s.h.i.+zusawa Sou himself had suffered from luminescence disease and died in his twenties.

I couldn’t quite get a grasp on the image his work portrayed just from this description on the internet, so I decided to actually borrow the book from Mamizu and read it.

While I was reading ‘One Ray of Light’ at my own seat between cla.s.ses, Kayama called out to me.

“What are you reading that for?” he asked.

“Ah, it’s just…”

It was an old book; its literary style and metaphors were old-fas.h.i.+oned, so it took me quite a while to read through it. Honestly, it was such a minor work, and I would never have picked it up in my life if Mamizu hadn’t been reading it.

“That’s the book that Watarase Mamizu likes, isn’t it?”

I was startled.

Did Kayama know something?

“Oh, really?” I played dumb. Isn’t this a really obvious way to play dumb? I thought.

“I like it too, actually,” Kayama said.

This was an unexpected fact. Or rather, I couldn’t imagine that it was a coincidence. I would have understood if it were a famous novel, but it was no coincidence that Kayama liked an obscure book like this.

“I haven’t finished reading it yet, so don’t spoil it,” I said.

“He dies in the end,” Kayama said, spoiling the story immediately.

But even I knew that much of the ending, so I didn’t feel like getting angry.

‘One Ray of Light’ wasn’t that long a book. It wasn’t even two hundred pages in paperback form. I finished reading it within the day. Honestly speaking, I didn’t find it particularly interesting. Well, there were interesting parts, but the story seemed to have few redeeming features in my eyes. Maybe that was because it was a work where an autobiographer knew that he was dying and depicted what he thought his own death was going to be like. It was melancholic and induced a dark mood.

The next day, we had an educational field trip. It had been decided that our cla.s.s would go to the folklore museum. I could kind of imagine what the folklore museum would be like, but not quite. What kind of things would be on display? Earthenware? Bears?

It was at nine o’clock in the morning, just after I got past the ticket gate at the station near the museum we were supposed to be meeting at. I’d arrived early, but I encountered Kayama, who had arrived even earlier. Almost none of the other students had arrived yet.

“Hey, shall we skip out on this?” Kayama suggested. Of course Kayama would be the one to suggest something like this.

I decided to join him, because I didn’t have much interest in the origins of the people of our hometown.

“I want to visit s.h.i.+zusawa Sou’s grave,” I said.

Kayama looked a little taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure. “Well then, let’s go,” he said. “We’re leaving early,” he said to one of our cla.s.smates, who stared at him blankly.

We went through the ticket gate and got on the train. I looked on the internet to find that s.h.i.+zusawa Sou’s grave was deep in the mountains at the prefectural border. It would take about an hour and a half by train to get there, but then we’d have to climb a mountain after that.

“Kayama, can you climb mountains?” I asked, worrying about his legs.

“Well, I’ll manage. If I can’t, you’ll carry me anyway, Okada,” Kayama said in a tone that made it hard to tell whether he was serious or joking.

Our conversation stopped there.

Rush hour had pa.s.sed, so there were few people inside the train and, it was quiet.

Now that I thought about it, the two of us had never gone out somewhere together. We hadn’t even established hobbies or topics of conversation that we might have in common. I couldn’t imagine that we’d have a lively conversation during our journey.

“About Watarase Mamizu,” Kayama said.

No, that’s right. That was the single topic of conversation we had in common.

“I liked her,” Kayama said briefly.

“I know,” I said, not playing dumb this time.

“I guess you do,” Kayama said, not playing dumb either.

And then, Kayama began telling me why he had come to like Mamizu.

The first time Kayama met Mamizu was in the gathering place for the entrance exams for middle school.