Part 4 (1/2)

'Seedy! CD! See-Dee!'

I wince in genuine pain and Mr Fujimoto gurgles appreciatively. The worse the better.

This lunchtime Mr Fujimoto was looking for something Lee Morgan-ish. I recommendedHank Mobley's 'A Caddyfor Daddy', which he promptly bought. I know his tastes. Anything on the loony side of funky. As I handed over his change he suddenly became serious. He switched to a more formal mode of speech, took off his heavy gla.s.ses, and started cleaning the lenses.

'I was wondering whether you might be planning to apply for college next year?'

'Not really, no...'

'So, would you be thinking about entering a particular profession?'

He'd rehea.r.s.ed this beforehand. I guessed what was coming.

'I don't really have any plans at the moment. I guess I'll just wait and see.'

'Of course, Satoru, it's absolutely none of my business, and please forgive me for interfering in your plans, but the only reason I'm asking is that a couple of positions in my office have just become available. Very humble. Just glorified editorial a.s.sistants, basically, but if you were interested in applying then I'd be happy to recommend you for one of them. Certainly I could get you to the interview stage. And it would be a foot in the door. I started out myself this way, you know. Everybody needs a step up, occasionally.'

I looked around the shop.

'That's a very generous offer, Mr Fujimoto. I'm not sure how to answer.'

'Think it over, Satoru. I'm going to Kyoto for a few days on business. We won't start interviewing until I get back. I'd be happy to have a word with your present employer on your behalf, if that's what's worrying you... I know Takes.h.i.+ has a lot of respect for you, so he wouldn't stand in your way.'

'No, it's not really that. Thank you. I'll think seriously about it. Thank you... How much are the books?'

'Nothing. Your consultancy fee. They're just a few samples, we give 'em out free to people in the trade. These pocket paperback cla.s.sics, they walk off the shelves. I remember you said you enjoyed The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby there's a new Murakami translation of Fitzgerald's short stories we've just brought out, there's a new Murakami translation of Fitzgerald's short stories we've just brought out, The Lord of the Flies The Lord of the Flies, that's a laugh-a-minute, and a new Garcia Marquez.'

'It's very kind of you.'

'Nonsense! Just give the idea of publis.h.i.+ng a serious think. There are worse ways to make a living.'

I'd thought about the girl every day since. Twenty or thirty or forty times a day. I'd find myself thinking of her and then not want to stop, like not wanting to get out of a hot shower on a winter morning. I ran my fingers through my hair and contemplated my face, using a Fats Navarro CD as a hand-mirror. Could she ever feel the same way back? I couldn't even remember accurately what she looked like. Smooth skin, highish cheekbones, narrowish eyes. Like a Chinese empress. I didn't really think of her face when I thought of her. She was just there, a colour that didn't have a name yet. The idea of her.

I got angry with myself. It's not as if I'm ever going to see her again. This is Tokyo. And besides, even if I did see her again, why should she be in the least bit interested in me? My mind can only hold one thought at a time. I may as well make it a thought worthwhile.

I thought about Mr Fujimoto's offer. What am I doing here? Koji's getting on with his life. All my high school cla.s.smates are in college or in a company. I am unfailingly updated on their progress by Koji's mum. What am I doing?

A guy in a wheelchair flashed by outside.

Hey, hey, this is my place, remember. Time for jazz.

'Undercurrent' by Jim Hall and Bill Evans. An alb.u.m of water, choppy and brushed by the wind, at other times silent and slow under trees. On other songs, chords glinting on inland seas.

The girl was there, too, swimming naked on her back, buoyed along by the currents.

I made myself some green tea and watched the steam rise into the disturbed afternoon. Koji was knocking on the window, grinning at me berkishly, and pressing his face up against the gla.s.s so he looked like a poison dwarf.

I had to grin back. He came in, walking his loping b.u.mpy walk.

'You were miles away. I came via Mister Donuts. Vanilla Angel Donuts okay?'

'Thanks. Let me make you some tea. This great Keith Jarrett record came in yesterday, you must give it a listen. I can't believe he makes it up as he goes along.'

'A hallmark of genius. Fancy a couple of drinks later?'

'Where?'

'Dunno. Somewhere frequented by nubile girls on the prowl for young male flesh. The Students Union bar perhaps. But if you're busy sorting out the meaning of existence we could make it another night. Smoke?'

'Sure. Pull up a chair.'

Koji likes to think of himself as a ruthless womaniser like Takes.h.i.+, but really his emotions are as ruthless as a Vanilla Angel Donut. That's one reason I like him.

We lit up. 'Koji, do you believe in love at first sight?'

He rocked back on his chair and smiled like a wolf. 'Who is she?'

'No no no no. No one. I was just asking.'

Koji the philosopher gazed upwards. At length he blew a smoke ring. 'I believe in l.u.s.t at first sight. You gotta keep a certain hardness, or you just turn to goo. And goo isn't attractive. And whatever you do, don't let her know how you feel. Or you're lost.' Koji went into Humphrey Bogart mode. 'Stay enigmatic, kid. Stay tough. You hear?'

'Yeah, yeah, like you, for example. You were as tough as Bambi when you were last in love. But seriously?'

Another smoke ring. 'But seriously... well, love has got to be based on knowledge, hasn't it? You have to know someone intimately to be able to love them. So love at first first sight is a contradiction in terms. Unless in that first sight there's some sort of mystical gigabyte downloading of information from one mind into the other. That doesn't sound too likely, does it?' sight is a contradiction in terms. Unless in that first sight there's some sort of mystical gigabyte downloading of information from one mind into the other. That doesn't sound too likely, does it?'

'Mmm. Dunno.'

I poured my friend's tea.

The cherry blossoms were suddenly there. Magic, frothing and bubbling and there just above our heads filling the air with colour too delicate for words like 'pink' or 'white'. How had such grim trees created something so otherworldy in a backstreet with no agreed-upon name? An annual miracle, beyond my understanding.

It was a morning for Ella Fitzgerald. There are fine things in the world, after all. Dignity, refinement, warmth and humour, where you'd never expect to find them. Even as an old woman, an amputee in a wheelchair, Ella sang like a girl who could still be at high school, falling in love for the first time.

The phone rang. 'It's Takes.h.i.+.'

'Hi, boss. Are you having a good day?'

'I am not having a good day. I'm having a very bad day.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'I am a fool. A b.l.o.o.d.y fool. A b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y fool. Why do men do this?' He was drunk, and me still on my morning tea. 'Where does this impulse come from, Satoru? Tell me!' Like I knew but was refusing to grant him enlightenment. 'A sticky wrestle in an anonymous bedroom, a few bitemarks, about three seconds' worth of o.r.g.a.s.m if you're lucky, a pleasant drowse for thirty minutes and when you come to you suddenly realise you've become a lecherous, lying sleazebag who's flus.h.i.+ng several million sperm and six years of marriage down the toilet. Why are we programmed to do this? Why?'

I couldn't think of an answer that was both honest and consoling. So I went for honesty. 'No idea.'

Takes.h.i.+ told the same story three times in a loop. 'My wife dropped by to pick me up for lunch. We were going to go out, talk things over, maybe sort things out... I'd bought her some flowers, she'd bought me a new striped jacket she'd seen somewhere. Hopelessly uncool, of course, but she remembered my size. It was a peace-pipe. We were just leaving when she went to the bathroom and what did she find?'

I almost said 'a nurse's corpse', but thought better of it. 'What?'