As violent as her words were, her eyes were still just as lucid as they had been, and her expression remained very mild. Her tone had been so entirely ordinary that for a while none of us was able to speak.
Finally Kyōichi said, “That’s an idea, Tsugumi.”
I listened to the echo of that final word, Tsugumi, as it vanished delicately into the waves. The night had deepened, and there were tons of stars out. We hadn’t told anyone at home where we were, and we wouldn’t—we stayed there at the tip of the dike, caught up in a mood that wouldn’t let us leave. Each one of us was equally fond of Gongorō, each one of us thought of him as irreplaceable. And maybe Gongorō had sensed that? Because he kept trotting from one of us to the next, from one to the next, sniffing at things and putting his paws up on our knees, licking our faces. Little by little he seemed to be forgetting the terrible thing that had happened to him. A strong wind was blowing, and every so often the flames of the fire began whipping wildly back and forth, seeming almost on the verge of expiring, but each time Tsugumi would toss on another piece of wood, just as casually as if she were throwing away a scrap of trash, and the fire would grow. The crackling of the burning wood mingled with the sounds of the waves and the wind, and it was as if the sound were being blown away into the darkness at our backs. And the ocean continued to roll its black, sleek surface onward toward the shore.
“I’m glad you’re okay, buddy,” said Yōko, putting an arm around Gongorō’s as he eagerly fidgeted, and scooping him up from her lap, where he had climbed yet again. She rose to her feet and stood staring out across the distant waves, her long hair swishing back and forth across her back. “Boy, this wind sure is strong, isn’t it!” she said. “It won’t be long until autumn now.”
Summer is almost over.
This knowledge left us a little quieter than before. For a moment I found myself wishing, really wishing that Tsugumi’s clothes would never ever dry, that our fire would never die.
The next day Kyōichi came to tell us that he’d found one of the guys who made off with Gongorō in town, and dragged him up to the shrine and given him one hell of a thrashing. He was pretty banged up himself, but Tsugumi was thrilled to hear the news. Yōko and I helped Kyōichi fix up his wounds. Gongorō was sleeping with Pooch out in the garden, the two of them now just as chummy as could be.
One more day and Gongorō could have returned home. Just a single day more would have been enough.
But that night someone made off with him again. It happened while the four of us were out. Aunt Masako said she heard him barking and ran outside, only to find the gate open and Gongorō gone. Left on his own, Pooch went on jangling his chain and jumping around in a panic.
We sprinted to the shore, feeling this time like we really were going to burst crying. The four of us walked up and down the beach until late that night, covering every square foot, and went out in a boat and shone lights into the water, and asked friends to search the river and hunt through town.
But luck wasn’t with us this time. Gongorō never came back.
The Hole
“You’ll come back here before I leave, won’t you?” said Tsugumi, staring at Kyōichi with paralyzed eyes. Her face had that look on it that people get when they’re struggling to hold back tears—the saddest expression in the world.
“Of course. I’ll only be gone two or three days.” Kyōichi laughed.
Seeing him on the beach now without Gongorō to complete the pair, you had the impression that his body was lopsided, off-balance, like a person missing a limb. And in a way it was true—here in this still-unfamiliar town, Kyōichi really had lost a part of himself.
“Yeah, I see your point. I mean, you’re not a kid anymore, huh? It’s not like you won’t be able to leave your parents,” said Tsugumi.
Evening was drawing closer, and rays of sun played across the surface of the ocean, flooding it with gold. Tsugumi and Kyōichi walked side by side, making their way along the dike that traced the shore, heading for the harbor. They talked as they walked, and Yōko and I followed behind, watching them. We were on our way to see Kyōichi off. Yōko was already getting ready to cry, and I felt strangely absent. Autumn wind blew quietly over my cheeks.
Next week I’ll be heading back to Tokyo.
How many times this summer have I looked out over an ocean like this? Just like always. Flooded with so much light, a final breath of sunshine flaring up over the western horizon, disappearing little by little, never glancing back, into the haze of darkness—this ocean.
The harbor was bustling, echoing with the noise of people waiting for the last ferry of the day, which was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. Kyōichi dropped his bag with a whump and sat down on top of it, then called Tsugumi over and had her sit down next to him. I felt a hint of loneliness in the shape of their backs as they sat together looking out over the distant ocean, and yet somehow that shape also seemed imbued with an unyielding strength. The combination reminded me of a dog waiting for its master.
The sharp waves that announce the coming of autumn were still shining out there in all their overlapping brilliance. In this season each tiny glimpse I get of the ocean calls up an ache so tender it’s like having ropes bound around my heart, cutting into the flesh. But this year the pain stabbed at me more ferociously than I would ever have expected. Without even realizing it was happening, this farewell of theirs had me pressing my fingers to my temples, kicking scraps of bait that lay scattered on the pavement at my feet down into the water, fighting to hold back tears.
Because even though Tsugumi just kept saying the same things and asking the same questions, repeating herself so often that it got a bit cloying—When will you be back? she’d say, and, If you’ve got time to sit around talking on the phone, you might as well just get on the train and come yourself, you know? Even if it’s just a day earlier—her tone was still deeply touching. Tsugumi’s translucent voice seemed to mingle with the crashing of the waves to create a music that was strangely beautiful.
“We may not be together, but don’t forget me,” Tsugumi muttered, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “Don’t ever forget me.”
The ferry arrived exactly as it always does—beelining in from the horizon, pushing up waves. Tsugumi rose, and Kyōichi shouldered his bag.
“Well, see you around,” he said, turning to face Yōko and me. “Come to think of it, Maria, rumor has it that you’ll be heading home soon, too. We might end up just missing each other, huh? We’ll be in touch, though. You gotta come stay in our hotel when it’s finished.”
“Sure. You’ll give me a good deal, right?” I said, holding out my hand.
“Naturally,” he said.
My summer pal put his warm hand around mine and shook it.
“I’ve got an idea, Kyōichi. Why don’t you marry me, right, and then we’ll fill the garden of the hotel with dogs and call it ‘Dog Palace’? How’s that sound to you?” asked Tsugumi ingenuously.
“Yeah . . . I’ll think about it.” Kyōichi smiled wryly. Next he held out his hand to Yōko, who was halfway in tears. “Thanks for everything,” he said.
The boat’s gangway created a bridge with the land, and people moved into line and began to stream into the boat, one after the other after the other.
Kyōichi looked at Tsugumi. “Well, see you soon.”
“If you even try and shake my hand I’ll break your spine!” cried Tsugumi, throwing herself around his neck.
It only lasted an instant. Without even wiping away the tears that streamed down her cheeks, Tsugumi shoved Kyōichi toward the boat. Kyōichi didn’t say anything. He just gazed long and hard at Tsugumi, then ran off after the last person in line and boarded the boat.
The whistle blew and the boat started moving, heading slowly out toward the ocean and the sky, the line between which was growing ever more vague. Kyōichi stood on the deck, waving and waving his hand. Tsugumi crouched down and watched the boat slide away without even returning his wave.
The boat passed completely out of sight.
“Tsugumi,” said Yōko.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes the ceremony!” cried Tsugumi, and stood up. The expression on her face was so nonchalant it was as if nothing had happened. “I mean what the hell, the big booby goes running home just ‘cause his dog died. You can say we’re grown up and whatever else you like, but we’re all still nineteen or thereabouts, huh? We might as well be a bunch of little brats on summer vacation.”
She’d said this in a murmur, not aiming it at anyone in particular, but her words caught the vague idea that had been circling through my head.
“You said it,” I agreed.
For a while after that the three of us stood in silence at the very edge of the harbor, as if we were in the closing scene of some movie, staring out over the farther reaches of the ocean and at the coloring of the sky as it reflected the sun, which had now sunk utterly from view.
Five days passed, and still Kyōichi hadn’t come back. Apparently Tsugumi was so mad that every time he called she’d just hang up on him.
I was in my room working on an essay that I had to turn in after classes started again when there was a knock at my door, and Yōko came in.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Listen, Maria, do you have any idea where Tsugumi’s been going these last few nights, after it gets late?” Yōko asked. “She’s gone now, too.”
“You don’t think she’s just gone on a walk?” I asked. Tsugumi had been very irritable since Kyōichi left, and recently her mood had turned so ugly that you could hardly believe it. Every time I started feeling sorry for her and tried to be nice she’d turn around and take it all out on me, so I’d been keeping my distance, letting her do as she pleased.
“Pooch is still in his doghouse,” Yōko said, looking worried.
“Oh, is he?” I cocked my head slightly. Usually I could never make any sense at all of Tsugumi’s actions, but this time I had something of a hunch. “Well, I’ll ask her if I have a chance.”
Yōko nodded and left the room as soon as I’d said this.
Why do all these people fail to understand Tsugumi—why do they misread her character like this? Kyōichi and Yōko were both completely convinced by Tsugumi’s pantomimed dejection. True, she had acted the part extremely well, making it seem as if the sadness in her really had beaten out the hatred. But Tsugumi isn’t the kind of person who just sits around twiddling her thumbs when a dog she’s fond of is murdered. It was revenge. That was the only possible explanation for these excursions of hers. She’s such an idiot, she really is! Her body is too delicate for her to be getting involved in stuff like this, I thought, and for an instant I was seriously annoyed. But still I couldn’t tell Yōko.
Apparently Tsugumi was back now, because I heard noises in the next room. Then, mixed in with the other sounds, came the yipping of a dog.
“Tsugumi? What are you doing?” I said, walking over to the door of her bedroom and sliding it open. “Are you bringing Pooch inside? You know that when Aunt Masako finds out she’ll whack you so hard you—”
Having said this much, I fell silent. I was stunned. Of course it couldn’t be Gongorō—he was dead, after all—but it was precisely the same breed of dog, and it looked so similar to Gongorō that for a moment I was dreadfully shaken. “Wh-what’s going on here?” I stammered.
“I borrowed him. Gotta give him back soon, but hey.” Tsugumi grinned. “I just felt so lonely without a dog around, you know?”
“You’re such a liar,” was all I said. I went and sat down next to Tsugumi and started thinking furiously, even as I petted the dog in front of me. It had been a while since I’d last relished the taste of a struggle like this. When things started progressing in this direction you either had to figure out what Tsugumi was planning, or she’d shut her mouth and refuse to say another word.
“For starters, you’re planning on parading this dog in front of the guys who killed Gongorō, right?” I asked.
“Wow, babe, nice work! You really are pretty clever, huh?” said Tsugumi, flashing me a little grin. “Without you around, it’s just all these bozos who can never understand what I’m thinking. It really wears me out.”
“Tsugumi,” I said, laughing, “no one understands what you’re thinking.”
“Wanna hear about tonight?” Tsugumi said, picking up the dog.
“I’d love to.” I was leaning toward her now. It doesn’t matter how many years pass, at times like this we both turn into children again, sharing a secret. Suddenly the night seems to grow more dense, and we feel giddy.
“I’ve spent these last few days investigating the weedy little assholes, pint-sized punks that they are, trying to find out what kind of group they belong to. You noticed I haven’t been around at night?”
“I’d noticed.”
“Well, turns out they’re nothing much. They look old, but they’re all just high school kids. Local losers, in other words. They hang out at this snack bar in the next town over.”
“And you went there, Tsugumi?”
“Yup, that’s where I was tonight. And man was I scared. My hands were trembling.” Tsugumi showed me her palms. Her hands weren’t trembling, they were just extremely small and white. I stared at her palms, feeling a quiet stirring of emotion, and listened as she continued to talk.
“So I climb up the stairs to the snack bar, right, holding this little guy in my arms. The place is on the second floor. Now, the assholes in question are low-down little pieces of crap, I’ll give them that much, but there’s no way any of them would have the courage to go out and dirty his own hands, actually kill a dog. I’m guessing they just dropped Gongorō into the ocean, you know, maybe tied some sort of weight or something to him first, but that’s the farthest they’d go. So I don’t think they saw him die. I’m pretty sure of that.”
My eyes still went dark when I thought of what had been done to Gongorō. Even before the anger came, everything turned black.
“It was enough just to give them a glimpse of this dog. Of course it would be pretty damn bad if there were a whole lot of them, and if they actually came after me . . . well, that’d be the end of the story, huh? As tough as I am, I gotta tell you, Maria—I was really scared shitless when I opened that door. But I did it anyway. Luckily there was only one of them sitting at the counter, and he was a guy I’d definitely seen before. The bozo glanced back and forth from me to the dog with this sort of startled, frightened look in his eyes, and I gave him this really nasty look, and then very quickly I turned my back on him and slammed the door behind me as hard as I could and dashed down the stairs. I figured that if I had to try to run from him he was bound to catch me, so I got down behind the stairs to hide. Fortunately the idiot just opened the door and then closed it again, that was it. But man, during the time he was standing up there my legs were shaking like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Sounds pretty wild.”
“It was. I’m running a fever.” Tsugumi smiled as if this were something to be proud of. “It’s funny, I have the idea that when I was kid I put myself in this much danger every day. Guess I’ve gone soft, huh?”
“I don’t care if you’re going soft or whatever, your body isn’t strong enough for you to go around doing things like this,” I said. “You can’t put something like this on the same level as the stupid stuff kids do to show how tough they are.”
Still, I did feel a bit relieved now that she’d told me the story.
“Okay, I’m going to sleep now,” said Tsugumi, climbing halfway down into her futon. “Would you mind tying this little guy up outside for me? The jerks might come take him if you put him with Pooch, so you better leave him under the veranda or something.”
Tsugumi really looked exhausted, so I nodded and scooped up the dog, and then stood up. I buried my face in the hair of his small head, and then, almost before I realized what I was saying, I blurted out, “He even smells like Gongorō!”
Tsugumi said quietly that I was right, he did.
My room was pitch dark, and I was fast asleep.
In my dream I had a faint sense of some noise, off in the distance. I rolled over in my futon with a groan, turning to face the door, and suddenly realized what the sounds were. It was someone sobbing, and mingled with these sobs the heavy clump clump clump of feet ascending the stairs.
The awful sense of unreality that hit me, the fear I extracted from the dark, finally succeeded in waking me. With my mind clear, I became increasingly conscious of the fact that the noises were headed in my direction, and for one nightmarish instant I found myself unable to figure out where this place was, where I had woken up, and when. Then my eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw my feet and hands and the white of my blanket resting dimly in the black.
Then the sound of a door sliding open.
The realization that whatever was happening was happening in Tsugumi’s room threw me into a state of confusion. This time I really was completely awake, so I got out of my futon and stood up. Then I heard a voice.
“Tsugumi!”
It was Yōko. I stepped out into the dark hall and stood there peering into Tsugumi’s room. The door was open, and Yōko was standing inside.
Tsugumi’s room gets quite a lot of moonlight. Tsugumi was sitting up on her futon, and I could see her wide-open eyes shining whitely in the darkness. Following her gaze, I saw Yōko—her entire body was plastered in mud. She was trembling, staring fixedly at Tsugumi, sobbing wildly, gulping down her breath. These hiccuplike gasps truly seemed to have frightened Tsugumi—that was how she looked—and she sat there completely frozen.
“Yōko, what . . .?” I said. I had the horrifying idea that maybe she had been attacked by those guys. But she spoke quietly.