This
is my unofficial translation of 小説すずめの戸締まり～芹澤のものがたり～, a booklet
written by director Shinkai Makoto and handed out to viewers of the
movie Suzume no Tojimari starting from 24 December 2022. I am sharing my translation so that fans who do not understand Japanese can read it.
Note: The rights to the original work belong to the author Shinkai Makoto. While this unofficial translation is being shared under fair use, I will remove it if it comes to my knowledge that this translation is being misused or if there is any infringement of the copyright owners' rights.
Note: The rights to the original work belong to the author Shinkai Makoto. While this unofficial translation is being shared under fair use, I will remove it if it comes to my knowledge that this translation is being misused or if there is any infringement of the copyright owners' rights.
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Suzume—Serizawa’s Story
by Shinkai Makoto
小説すずめの戸締まり～芹澤のものがたり～
新海誠
Suzume—Serizawa’s Story
by Shinkai Makoto
小説すずめの戸締まり～芹澤のものがたり～
新海誠
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Ah, even so, I don’t have the money.
As I walked to the car park hammed between buildings, that meaningless calculation kept playing in my head. At 24,000 yen, this monthly car park—exposed to the rain and bird shit—was prized amazingly for its location in the heart of Tokyo. Add in car insurance, the price of high octane fuel, and it’s going to cost 50,000 yen each month for the upkeep of this car. After switching to a cheap SIM-only plan, I pay 3,400 yen each month for my smartphone. Utilities are slightly less than 6,000 yen after being extremely frugal. Rent for that room in a 40-year-old condominium stands at 56,000 yen. I also need to eat and buy textbooks, and I do want to buy a couple of clothes every month to keep up appearances. I may be doing two part-time jobs, but the income just can’t keep up with the expenses. So, the first thing I need to do is to let go of this red sports car, which doesn’t match my current situation—and so I keep thinking every time I get into the car, ignite the engine, and fasten the seatbelt. I also know that I won’t do it. Suppressing a yawn, I turned the wooden steering wheel and drove out of the car park. I don’t know why I woke up so early today. It’s still six in the morning. Something has been bugging me since the events of yesterday.
I drove slowly along the alley beside the large temple in Zoushigaya. Cruising over the asphalt, the red Alfa Romeo reflected the spots of silver created by the early morning sun coming in behind the leaves. A young woman—probably on her way to work—looked at me as I drove by.
That’s right, I love this. Driving this beautiful car even as I looked at Tokyo, a place that treats me poorly. More than anywhere else, I feel a sense of peace when sitting in the driver’s seat. And I told myself, on days like this, it is best to have a car. That girl yesterday—I think she said her name is Suzume—she probably knows where Souta is. I’m going to find her again and ask her for his whereabouts. Souta keeps making me worry, and this time, I am really going to get mad at him. I stared at the passersby as I drove off in the direction of Ochanomizu.
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I first met Munakata Souta in spring, a year and a half ago. It was the first day of a seminar series on educational psychology.
“Hey, you there.”
Classes had been held online for the past two years. That day, I was having lessons in a classroom for the first time. That excitement and a longing to meet people led me to reach out to the person sitting next to me.
“Are you going for teaching practical with that hair of yours?”
“Erm, yes?”
He slowly stood up. He looked around 179 cm, a few centimeters taller than me. He brushed his shoulder-length hair with his hand and gave me a confused look. His long eyelashes cast a shadow on his eyes. He was a really handsome man.
“Must I cut my hair?”
His reply, frank but surprised, made me laugh. I had meant it as a joke, for him to rebut about my blonde hair and earrings, yet he kind of took it seriously.
“Well, I guess you’re going to stand out. When that time comes, let’s go cut our hair together.”
With a gentle smile, he said, “Yes. Please.” Extending his right hand, he said, “I’m Munakata Souta. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Serizawa Tomoya. Let’s not be so formal.”
Somehow, I did not hesitate in shaking his hand. I was actually a bit moved. Finally, I have made a friend in university.
In the year that I came to Tokyo after graduating from a high school in the countryside, the pandemic struck. This unknown virus which caused symptoms similar to a very bad cold took the world by storm. Schools closed and eateries suspended business. My university didn’t even hold an entrance ceremony, and after a delay of a month and a half, lessons commenced, all of them online. I started life in Tokyo in a situation that sounded more like a cheap sci-fi novel.
With all lessons online, there was no way I could make friends in university. Those were days when people avoided going out, much less say eating out. Still, I packed my time with part-time jobs to make a living. I have three younger siblings at home, and my parents did not have any extra cash for me. For close to ten months, I pressed on, alternating between online lessons and my jobs at a convenience store and running deliveries.
The convenience store job was a one-man job, with few customers and no opportunities for conversation due to the taking of temperatures, disinfecting, and other measures against infection. Running deliveries was a lonely job, racing against time on a road bike around a largely deserted metropolitan city. But I managed to keep up this life because I had came to Tokyo with dreams, hopes, and sacrifices. I had my dream of becoming a teacher and believed the world would eventually overcome the pandemic. However, when the new year came and I saw the sudden increase in infection cases, something in me snapped. Damn it, I thought one day while drinking a can of chuhi after a tiring day at work. I had thought this crazy situation would not last more than a few months, but now, it looked like it could go on for years. I had lost close to 10 kg since coming to Tokyo, had no one to talk to about the future, lessons were no different from watching online videos, and there was no way for me to find a girlfriend and such. People were talking about whether to hold the Olympics, which really didn’t matter to me. My hard-earned money was going to high rent and living expenses in a city that gave me no meaning. Damn it.
And so, I switched to another job for better returns. At that time, there were businesses that continued to operate into the night, against the government’s requests. These businesses offered high hourly wages. I started working as an assistant at a bar in downtown Ikebukuro. A job in the nightlife entertainment industry suited me. I poured a lot of beer in a small bar located on the fifth floor of a mixed-use building until day broke. Gradually, I was allowed to make simple cocktails such as gin fizz and Moscow mule, and I learned to drink and smoke. There were many customers who were sick of the stifling infection-prevention measures, and I enjoyed drinking in-person with someone instead of over a computer or smartphone screen. I realized how much I had craved for a human touch. Eventually, I started drinking with female customers over the counter and learned how to draw out conversations, flirt, and wash away despair.
“Serizawa, let me introduce you to some good jobs.” A senpai by the name of Oishi had been especially nice to me at work. In his late 20s and with the build of an MMF fighter, he was a amiable person. I was introduced for a trial at a host club. Dealing at a members-only poker club. Filling and signing forms for others. Every job introduced by Oishi was shady, but I was grateful as it was hard to set aside time for more down-to-earth jobs with the many university assignments. In time, I dyed my black hair blonde, pierced my ears, and started wearing tinted glasses, simply so as not to stand out from the crowd at those part-time jobs. Before I knew it, I had spent two autumns in Tokyo. The Olympics had came and gone without leaving any mark on my life, gone as if it wasn’t anything significant in the first place.
It was after the mild Tokyo winter, during the spring vacation when cherry blossoms were starting to bloom, that Oishi asked if I wanted to buy a car. The pandemic was in its sixth or seventh wave, and no one around me really cared.
“You remember that host club? The one in Kabuki-cho, behind the municipal office? My friend there needs to recover some cash. 400,000 yen. No, 350,000 yen would do. It’s an Italian convertible, you know.”
True, it’s very much cheaper than the market price, but it’s an older model from 11 years ago with manual transmission. But in the end, I bought the car for 300,000 yen. I thought the flashy red sports car would give me a better sense of living in Tokyo. Another 200,000 yen was needed for the vehicle inspection, and I borrowed from Oishi to tide over the times. I needed to earn more.
With the end of the spring vacation, I became a third-year university student, and more and more classes started reopening in-person instead of online. That was when I met Souta.
Summer. It had been three weeks since I last saw Souta at the seminar series, and without much thought, I asked him, “What have you been up to?” This class was quite strict about attendance, and above all, the casual conversations every week with Souta had been a healthy getaway for me as someone who spent most of my time in nightlife entertainment.
“Oh, I was helping out with the family trade. What? Were you worried?”
“Nothing like that,” I said, without being able to hide my annoyance. Souta always uses his family trade as an excuse, and I have never been able to get the truth out of him. He gave off an aura of “don’t ask.” When I passed him the PDF containing three weeks of notes, he said he would treat me to whatever I want.
“You make it sound so nice, but it’s still school cafeteria food.” I laughed as I sat across him at a table in the school cafeteria. It was bright outside from the summer sun, and the cicadas were singing their lives away. Souta smiled wryly and said, “We are both broke. Come to my place next time. I’ll make you something better.”
“Really?!”
This university is full of classy people from well-to-do families. Being always hard for cash, I stood out, and it helped that there was Souta who was in a similar financial state. As the two of us ate the cafeteria’s famous pork cutlet rice bowl, I stole a glance at Souta. The long beige shirt, probably used, suited his larger build. Worn on him, the faded shirt looked like it was from a beautiful portrait. I mean, if he wears a new stylish shirt, it would probably make the average model feel like leaving the industry.
“If you have no money,” I started saying casually, “There is something that pays well. It was introduced by my senpai at work. Interested?”
“I don’t know…” said Souta in a cool voice. This got me a bit irritated, and I decided to surprise him a bit.
“You know what is cryptocurrency? It’s really high now, and you can earn quite a bit even if you invest only a little. If you put your money within this month with someone I know, you can get back four times...”
“Serizawa”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what you are talking about?”
“Huh?”
He stared at me. His eyes have with a hint of blue. They reminded me of the bottom of the sea. Then, he let out a sigh, as if in resignation.
“It’s a scam,” he said in a low voice and got up. “It’s best that you quit that job. You should treat yourself better.” Saying this, he walked toward the cafeteria door, without looking back once. He had only eaten about half of that pork cutlet rice bowl. I was dazed and couldn’t do anything except look at his back as he walked away.
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I parked the car at a car park that costs 800 yen per hour and walked to Souta’s place. It was the corner room on the third floor of a small building, with a convenience store on the first floor.
“Souta, are you there? Suzume?”
I knocked on the door, but there was no reply. I turned the doorknob, and the thin wooden door opened.
There was no one inside, and the room was in a mess. One of the three shelves had fallen over, spilling many books on the tatami. Just as I was wondering why, I recalled that there was an earthquake yesterday. It happened a while after Suzume had ran off somewhere and I left this place. There was a single huge vertical shake which felt strange. The shelf probably fell over then.
I took off my shoes and stepped in. Returning the shelf to its original position, I placed the books back on the shelf. Mixed in among the textbooks and teaching references were several old books in traditional Japanese binding. Similar books filled the other bookshelves. I guess they have to do with his family trade, although I never asked him much about it. They were written in a cursive script that was indecipherable to me. Halfway through putting back the books, I stopped. Shouldn’t clearing up this place be the job for that girl? The one with eyes like Souta’s. I felt dubious about my own random thought and stood up to take a look around the room. It was a familiar place that I had visited many times. In this little room that felt like a secret hideout surrounded by books, we ate the food that Souta cooked and drank together, sharing our small dreams with each other several times. We prepared for teaching practicum here (in the end, we never got that haircut), and we celebrated the completion of the practicum here too. We also studied for the teaching certificate examination. In spite of all these, he had the nerve…
“Just you wait, Souta,” I said softly while suppressing a sudden feeling of loneliness. With some books still on the floor, I left the room. I’m done with this place. I walked briskly back to my car.
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The next day after that awkward split with Souta, I took a day off from my part-time job, pretending that I wasn’t feeling well. “Are you serious?” questioned Oishi loudly.
“You didn’t take a PCR or antigen test, right? If you didn’t, that’s fine. Even if you do, don’t say anything to the bar. Whatever it is, don’t come here for the next two weeks. Oh, and about that payment. You haven’t…”
“Sorry, it’s hard to breathe,” I interrupted while pretending to cough, then hung up.
For the next two weeks, I mostly stayed at home, passing time slovenly. I kept watching online videos, ate rice and canned food when I was hungry, and played games during online lessons. I skipped classes that required in-person attendance. I intended to continue university and work, but somehow, I couldn’t find that energy in me. But my body was healthy and I ended up installing a dating app. I swiped right on every profile I saw, but there were hardly any matches. Just when I was starting to get bored, there was a reply from a woman and we agreed to meet for a meal. We met at a nice Italian restaurant in Shibuya, and Mana was a beautiful lady who looked kind and gentle.
“My, you look young. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“You’re joking! We’re 12 years apart.”
“Eh? You’re above 30? No way!”
We drank wine and got drunk, then went to a bar and got even more drunk on cocktails and whisky.
“How can you be a teacher when you look so gaudy?”
I laughed. “Being gaudy doesn’t matter.” At her insistence, I showed her my student ID stating that I was in the faculty of education.
“I have many siblings so I am good at teaching kids. I am not bothered if they do poorly. In fact, I like it better.”
“You’re a mush nicer guy than you rook,” said Mana with a slur as she rubbed my back.
“But then, ricently…” I also started having difficulty articulating words. At the white cheeks that look blur but really close, I asked, “What to you do when you fill worried and ronely?”
“Huh?” She laughed and said as if speaking to the ceiling, “I never feel lonely.”
I honestly felt amazed. Since that day, I haven’t been able to contact Souta. My messages remained unread. Never feel lonely—such people do exist. Wow. Maybe I am weird for feeling lonely.
I woke up when the bartender shook me firmly. I had fallen asleep. There was no one else in the bar. “Your friend has paid and left,” said the unfriendly bartender. I was feeling nauseous and having a headache from the hangover as I tried to launch the app to thank Mana. That was when I realized she had blocked me. I didn’t know her real name and had no other way of contacting her.
The headache that I had thought was from the hangover turned out to be the real thing. My body felt like it was on fire, and the thermometer said I had a fever of 38 degrees. Before I knew it, my throat was parched and painful. The next day, when I saw the thermometer showing close to 39 degrees, I thought, this is not just a cold. Nine out of ten, it has to be that virus. While I wasn’t following Oishi’s instructions, still, I didn’t feel like going to the hospital now. I ordered a lot of sports drinks, jelly, and ready-to-eat porridge and locked myself up in my room. It was the middle of summer, but I felt really cold. With my teeth chattering away, I brought out the futon, wrapped it around me, and closed my eyes. I ate jelly in between naps, and took whatever fever medicine I had lying around. Three days later, the fever had not subsided.
You should treat yourself better.
Someone said this from afar.
I never feel lonely.
Someone seemed to say from far away.
This must be a punishment. As for what, I didn’t know. But this must be a punishment. I had no money, no future. No heart, no sincerity. And so, I had no friends. I didn’t even have the kindness to notice a lonely person saying she wasn’t lonely. I didn’t have the courage to speak up when I see something wrong. I did my best to survive after coming to Tokyo, but all I was left with were debts. Be it the gods or the prime minister, someone, anyone, please end our suffering.
That was when I heard a knocking sound.
I peeked out of the futon. The sound was coming from the door. Someone was knocking on it.
“Serizawa? You’re in, right? It’s me, Munakata.”
Souta was standing there with a large backpack when I opened the door.
“What? Did you catch a cold? I’m coming in.” Souta looked surprised as he took off his dirty boots and came in uninvited. “I’m letting in some air,” he said as he opened the windows.
“Wait…”
“You look bad. Get some sleep. I’ll cook something nice.”
“Hey, get out. You’re going to catch Covid.”
“Yours is just a cold.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry. I know the difference,” he said, with a gentle expression that looked like a fool. I could offer no rebuttal. He drove me back to the futon, and complained about the almost empty fridge, left to buy something from the supermarket, and started cooking after he got back.
“Souta, why…”
“I messaged you but you didn’t reply.”
Next to my pillow was my smartphone with a flat battery.
“I had to help with the family trade,” said Souta as he cut some vegetables and meat. “So I couldn’t reply to your messages. Sorry to make you worry.”
“Nevermind…” I choked on my words. The room was filled with the sound of a cutting knife, the bubbling of boiling water, and a bit of soft music in the background.
“Let’s eat.”
Souta cleared the table and placed a pot of steaming-hot minced chicken soup on it. As I reached for the chopsticks, I thought with a dry smile, hot soup in the middle of summer. It was full of Japanese leek, and the minced chicken had pieces of crunchy ginger. I didn’t have any appetite, but I couldn’t stop eating once I started. For a while, we ate without words. Sweat started to flow, and it even felt like I was going to cry if I wasn’t careful. As I wiped my face with a towel, I saw that Souta was sweating too.
After eating, I wiped away the sweat from my body and put on a fresh change of clothes. Souta handed me some cold lemonade, and I downed two cups in a row. “Let me use your shower,” said Souta as he went off to the bathroom. When he next appeared, he was wearing my T-shirt. “Sorry, lend me this. Can I wash my clothes with yours?” Even though I objected, he still went on to do the laundry.
The window let in a breeze that caressed my skin. My throat was no longer as painful, and I could see things a bit better. I knew my fever had gone done considerably without having to use a thermometer. I truly felt that Souta could perform magic.
“You can use the rest of the hot pot to make porridge tonight. Don’t smoke even though your throat is not as painful. I’ll come again tomorrow,” said Souta as he put on his boots.
“Erm… Souta?”
“Yes?”
Looking at the back of the person wearing my red T-shirt, I asked bluntly, “What are you carrying?”
“Huh?”
Souta stood up and looked at me. I asked again.
“Your family trade, can’t you talk about it?”
With a melancholic voice that almost sounded like he was crying, Souta said, “When the time comes, will you listen to my story?”
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I stopped my car in front of Ochanomizu Station.
It was the morning peak hour, and there were many people passing through the station’s gates. I could hear the sounds of the trains mixed with the chirping of birds. With my hands and chin on the steering wheel, I scrutinized the people who went by.
Around the time when my fever subsided last summer, I went to the bar in Ikebukuro, feeling bad for missing work for a whole month. It was no longer there. There was no notice on the door, and when I looked through the glazed window, I did not see anything inside. Looking around, I saw that this building and the ones around were full of empty units. After that, I went to the student office at the university and somehow found a job as a home tutor. Together with the part-time job running deliveries, which I had continued to do on and off, I was able to make ends meet. Still, I was always short of cash.
Something white flashed across the rearview mirror.
A tail?
A cat? Here? I looked around, but did not see any animal. Thinking that I must be imagining things, I looked up at the rearview mirror to see the reflection of a girl walking. Unlike yesterday, this girl was wearing a uniform, but there was no mistake—it was Suzume. With her face held up high, she was walking straight toward me. Her expression and stride confirmed my thoughts.
This girl is going to where Souta is. I don’t know the circumstances, but she is probably involved in his family trade.
Hang in there, Souta. I recalled the day when he spoke in that melancholic voice, “When the time comes, will you listen to my story?” Even now, I clearly remember that sad look in his eyes, like water disrupted by a sudden ripple.
“Suzume!”
I called out to her. The girl with a ponytail and eyes that looked like Souta’s—as if she was looking at something that I cannot see—stopped and stared at me.
As I walked to the car park hammed between buildings, that meaningless calculation kept playing in my head. At 24,000 yen, this monthly car park—exposed to the rain and bird shit—was prized amazingly for its location in the heart of Tokyo. Add in car insurance, the price of high octane fuel, and it’s going to cost 50,000 yen each month for the upkeep of this car. After switching to a cheap SIM-only plan, I pay 3,400 yen each month for my smartphone. Utilities are slightly less than 6,000 yen after being extremely frugal. Rent for that room in a 40-year-old condominium stands at 56,000 yen. I also need to eat and buy textbooks, and I do want to buy a couple of clothes every month to keep up appearances. I may be doing two part-time jobs, but the income just can’t keep up with the expenses. So, the first thing I need to do is to let go of this red sports car, which doesn’t match my current situation—and so I keep thinking every time I get into the car, ignite the engine, and fasten the seatbelt. I also know that I won’t do it. Suppressing a yawn, I turned the wooden steering wheel and drove out of the car park. I don’t know why I woke up so early today. It’s still six in the morning. Something has been bugging me since the events of yesterday.
I drove slowly along the alley beside the large temple in Zoushigaya. Cruising over the asphalt, the red Alfa Romeo reflected the spots of silver created by the early morning sun coming in behind the leaves. A young woman—probably on her way to work—looked at me as I drove by.
That’s right, I love this. Driving this beautiful car even as I looked at Tokyo, a place that treats me poorly. More than anywhere else, I feel a sense of peace when sitting in the driver’s seat. And I told myself, on days like this, it is best to have a car. That girl yesterday—I think she said her name is Suzume—she probably knows where Souta is. I’m going to find her again and ask her for his whereabouts. Souta keeps making me worry, and this time, I am really going to get mad at him. I stared at the passersby as I drove off in the direction of Ochanomizu.
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I first met Munakata Souta in spring, a year and a half ago. It was the first day of a seminar series on educational psychology.
“Hey, you there.”
Classes had been held online for the past two years. That day, I was having lessons in a classroom for the first time. That excitement and a longing to meet people led me to reach out to the person sitting next to me.
“Are you going for teaching practical with that hair of yours?”
“Erm, yes?”
He slowly stood up. He looked around 179 cm, a few centimeters taller than me. He brushed his shoulder-length hair with his hand and gave me a confused look. His long eyelashes cast a shadow on his eyes. He was a really handsome man.
“Must I cut my hair?”
His reply, frank but surprised, made me laugh. I had meant it as a joke, for him to rebut about my blonde hair and earrings, yet he kind of took it seriously.
“Well, I guess you’re going to stand out. When that time comes, let’s go cut our hair together.”
With a gentle smile, he said, “Yes. Please.” Extending his right hand, he said, “I’m Munakata Souta. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Serizawa Tomoya. Let’s not be so formal.”
Somehow, I did not hesitate in shaking his hand. I was actually a bit moved. Finally, I have made a friend in university.
In the year that I came to Tokyo after graduating from a high school in the countryside, the pandemic struck. This unknown virus which caused symptoms similar to a very bad cold took the world by storm. Schools closed and eateries suspended business. My university didn’t even hold an entrance ceremony, and after a delay of a month and a half, lessons commenced, all of them online. I started life in Tokyo in a situation that sounded more like a cheap sci-fi novel.
With all lessons online, there was no way I could make friends in university. Those were days when people avoided going out, much less say eating out. Still, I packed my time with part-time jobs to make a living. I have three younger siblings at home, and my parents did not have any extra cash for me. For close to ten months, I pressed on, alternating between online lessons and my jobs at a convenience store and running deliveries.
The convenience store job was a one-man job, with few customers and no opportunities for conversation due to the taking of temperatures, disinfecting, and other measures against infection. Running deliveries was a lonely job, racing against time on a road bike around a largely deserted metropolitan city. But I managed to keep up this life because I had came to Tokyo with dreams, hopes, and sacrifices. I had my dream of becoming a teacher and believed the world would eventually overcome the pandemic. However, when the new year came and I saw the sudden increase in infection cases, something in me snapped. Damn it, I thought one day while drinking a can of chuhi after a tiring day at work. I had thought this crazy situation would not last more than a few months, but now, it looked like it could go on for years. I had lost close to 10 kg since coming to Tokyo, had no one to talk to about the future, lessons were no different from watching online videos, and there was no way for me to find a girlfriend and such. People were talking about whether to hold the Olympics, which really didn’t matter to me. My hard-earned money was going to high rent and living expenses in a city that gave me no meaning. Damn it.
And so, I switched to another job for better returns. At that time, there were businesses that continued to operate into the night, against the government’s requests. These businesses offered high hourly wages. I started working as an assistant at a bar in downtown Ikebukuro. A job in the nightlife entertainment industry suited me. I poured a lot of beer in a small bar located on the fifth floor of a mixed-use building until day broke. Gradually, I was allowed to make simple cocktails such as gin fizz and Moscow mule, and I learned to drink and smoke. There were many customers who were sick of the stifling infection-prevention measures, and I enjoyed drinking in-person with someone instead of over a computer or smartphone screen. I realized how much I had craved for a human touch. Eventually, I started drinking with female customers over the counter and learned how to draw out conversations, flirt, and wash away despair.
“Serizawa, let me introduce you to some good jobs.” A senpai by the name of Oishi had been especially nice to me at work. In his late 20s and with the build of an MMF fighter, he was a amiable person. I was introduced for a trial at a host club. Dealing at a members-only poker club. Filling and signing forms for others. Every job introduced by Oishi was shady, but I was grateful as it was hard to set aside time for more down-to-earth jobs with the many university assignments. In time, I dyed my black hair blonde, pierced my ears, and started wearing tinted glasses, simply so as not to stand out from the crowd at those part-time jobs. Before I knew it, I had spent two autumns in Tokyo. The Olympics had came and gone without leaving any mark on my life, gone as if it wasn’t anything significant in the first place.
It was after the mild Tokyo winter, during the spring vacation when cherry blossoms were starting to bloom, that Oishi asked if I wanted to buy a car. The pandemic was in its sixth or seventh wave, and no one around me really cared.
“You remember that host club? The one in Kabuki-cho, behind the municipal office? My friend there needs to recover some cash. 400,000 yen. No, 350,000 yen would do. It’s an Italian convertible, you know.”
True, it’s very much cheaper than the market price, but it’s an older model from 11 years ago with manual transmission. But in the end, I bought the car for 300,000 yen. I thought the flashy red sports car would give me a better sense of living in Tokyo. Another 200,000 yen was needed for the vehicle inspection, and I borrowed from Oishi to tide over the times. I needed to earn more.
With the end of the spring vacation, I became a third-year university student, and more and more classes started reopening in-person instead of online. That was when I met Souta.
Summer. It had been three weeks since I last saw Souta at the seminar series, and without much thought, I asked him, “What have you been up to?” This class was quite strict about attendance, and above all, the casual conversations every week with Souta had been a healthy getaway for me as someone who spent most of my time in nightlife entertainment.
“Oh, I was helping out with the family trade. What? Were you worried?”
“Nothing like that,” I said, without being able to hide my annoyance. Souta always uses his family trade as an excuse, and I have never been able to get the truth out of him. He gave off an aura of “don’t ask.” When I passed him the PDF containing three weeks of notes, he said he would treat me to whatever I want.
“You make it sound so nice, but it’s still school cafeteria food.” I laughed as I sat across him at a table in the school cafeteria. It was bright outside from the summer sun, and the cicadas were singing their lives away. Souta smiled wryly and said, “We are both broke. Come to my place next time. I’ll make you something better.”
“Really?!”
This university is full of classy people from well-to-do families. Being always hard for cash, I stood out, and it helped that there was Souta who was in a similar financial state. As the two of us ate the cafeteria’s famous pork cutlet rice bowl, I stole a glance at Souta. The long beige shirt, probably used, suited his larger build. Worn on him, the faded shirt looked like it was from a beautiful portrait. I mean, if he wears a new stylish shirt, it would probably make the average model feel like leaving the industry.
“If you have no money,” I started saying casually, “There is something that pays well. It was introduced by my senpai at work. Interested?”
“I don’t know…” said Souta in a cool voice. This got me a bit irritated, and I decided to surprise him a bit.
“You know what is cryptocurrency? It’s really high now, and you can earn quite a bit even if you invest only a little. If you put your money within this month with someone I know, you can get back four times...”
“Serizawa”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what you are talking about?”
“Huh?”
He stared at me. His eyes have with a hint of blue. They reminded me of the bottom of the sea. Then, he let out a sigh, as if in resignation.
“It’s a scam,” he said in a low voice and got up. “It’s best that you quit that job. You should treat yourself better.” Saying this, he walked toward the cafeteria door, without looking back once. He had only eaten about half of that pork cutlet rice bowl. I was dazed and couldn’t do anything except look at his back as he walked away.
------------
I parked the car at a car park that costs 800 yen per hour and walked to Souta’s place. It was the corner room on the third floor of a small building, with a convenience store on the first floor.
“Souta, are you there? Suzume?”
I knocked on the door, but there was no reply. I turned the doorknob, and the thin wooden door opened.
There was no one inside, and the room was in a mess. One of the three shelves had fallen over, spilling many books on the tatami. Just as I was wondering why, I recalled that there was an earthquake yesterday. It happened a while after Suzume had ran off somewhere and I left this place. There was a single huge vertical shake which felt strange. The shelf probably fell over then.
I took off my shoes and stepped in. Returning the shelf to its original position, I placed the books back on the shelf. Mixed in among the textbooks and teaching references were several old books in traditional Japanese binding. Similar books filled the other bookshelves. I guess they have to do with his family trade, although I never asked him much about it. They were written in a cursive script that was indecipherable to me. Halfway through putting back the books, I stopped. Shouldn’t clearing up this place be the job for that girl? The one with eyes like Souta’s. I felt dubious about my own random thought and stood up to take a look around the room. It was a familiar place that I had visited many times. In this little room that felt like a secret hideout surrounded by books, we ate the food that Souta cooked and drank together, sharing our small dreams with each other several times. We prepared for teaching practicum here (in the end, we never got that haircut), and we celebrated the completion of the practicum here too. We also studied for the teaching certificate examination. In spite of all these, he had the nerve…
“Just you wait, Souta,” I said softly while suppressing a sudden feeling of loneliness. With some books still on the floor, I left the room. I’m done with this place. I walked briskly back to my car.
------------
The next day after that awkward split with Souta, I took a day off from my part-time job, pretending that I wasn’t feeling well. “Are you serious?” questioned Oishi loudly.
“You didn’t take a PCR or antigen test, right? If you didn’t, that’s fine. Even if you do, don’t say anything to the bar. Whatever it is, don’t come here for the next two weeks. Oh, and about that payment. You haven’t…”
“Sorry, it’s hard to breathe,” I interrupted while pretending to cough, then hung up.
For the next two weeks, I mostly stayed at home, passing time slovenly. I kept watching online videos, ate rice and canned food when I was hungry, and played games during online lessons. I skipped classes that required in-person attendance. I intended to continue university and work, but somehow, I couldn’t find that energy in me. But my body was healthy and I ended up installing a dating app. I swiped right on every profile I saw, but there were hardly any matches. Just when I was starting to get bored, there was a reply from a woman and we agreed to meet for a meal. We met at a nice Italian restaurant in Shibuya, and Mana was a beautiful lady who looked kind and gentle.
“My, you look young. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
“You’re joking! We’re 12 years apart.”
“Eh? You’re above 30? No way!”
We drank wine and got drunk, then went to a bar and got even more drunk on cocktails and whisky.
“How can you be a teacher when you look so gaudy?”
I laughed. “Being gaudy doesn’t matter.” At her insistence, I showed her my student ID stating that I was in the faculty of education.
“I have many siblings so I am good at teaching kids. I am not bothered if they do poorly. In fact, I like it better.”
“You’re a mush nicer guy than you rook,” said Mana with a slur as she rubbed my back.
“But then, ricently…” I also started having difficulty articulating words. At the white cheeks that look blur but really close, I asked, “What to you do when you fill worried and ronely?”
“Huh?” She laughed and said as if speaking to the ceiling, “I never feel lonely.”
I honestly felt amazed. Since that day, I haven’t been able to contact Souta. My messages remained unread. Never feel lonely—such people do exist. Wow. Maybe I am weird for feeling lonely.
I woke up when the bartender shook me firmly. I had fallen asleep. There was no one else in the bar. “Your friend has paid and left,” said the unfriendly bartender. I was feeling nauseous and having a headache from the hangover as I tried to launch the app to thank Mana. That was when I realized she had blocked me. I didn’t know her real name and had no other way of contacting her.
The headache that I had thought was from the hangover turned out to be the real thing. My body felt like it was on fire, and the thermometer said I had a fever of 38 degrees. Before I knew it, my throat was parched and painful. The next day, when I saw the thermometer showing close to 39 degrees, I thought, this is not just a cold. Nine out of ten, it has to be that virus. While I wasn’t following Oishi’s instructions, still, I didn’t feel like going to the hospital now. I ordered a lot of sports drinks, jelly, and ready-to-eat porridge and locked myself up in my room. It was the middle of summer, but I felt really cold. With my teeth chattering away, I brought out the futon, wrapped it around me, and closed my eyes. I ate jelly in between naps, and took whatever fever medicine I had lying around. Three days later, the fever had not subsided.
You should treat yourself better.
Someone said this from afar.
I never feel lonely.
Someone seemed to say from far away.
This must be a punishment. As for what, I didn’t know. But this must be a punishment. I had no money, no future. No heart, no sincerity. And so, I had no friends. I didn’t even have the kindness to notice a lonely person saying she wasn’t lonely. I didn’t have the courage to speak up when I see something wrong. I did my best to survive after coming to Tokyo, but all I was left with were debts. Be it the gods or the prime minister, someone, anyone, please end our suffering.
That was when I heard a knocking sound.
I peeked out of the futon. The sound was coming from the door. Someone was knocking on it.
“Serizawa? You’re in, right? It’s me, Munakata.”
Souta was standing there with a large backpack when I opened the door.
“What? Did you catch a cold? I’m coming in.” Souta looked surprised as he took off his dirty boots and came in uninvited. “I’m letting in some air,” he said as he opened the windows.
“Wait…”
“You look bad. Get some sleep. I’ll cook something nice.”
“Hey, get out. You’re going to catch Covid.”
“Yours is just a cold.”
“Huh?”
“Don’t worry. I know the difference,” he said, with a gentle expression that looked like a fool. I could offer no rebuttal. He drove me back to the futon, and complained about the almost empty fridge, left to buy something from the supermarket, and started cooking after he got back.
“Souta, why…”
“I messaged you but you didn’t reply.”
Next to my pillow was my smartphone with a flat battery.
“I had to help with the family trade,” said Souta as he cut some vegetables and meat. “So I couldn’t reply to your messages. Sorry to make you worry.”
“Nevermind…” I choked on my words. The room was filled with the sound of a cutting knife, the bubbling of boiling water, and a bit of soft music in the background.
“Let’s eat.”
Souta cleared the table and placed a pot of steaming-hot minced chicken soup on it. As I reached for the chopsticks, I thought with a dry smile, hot soup in the middle of summer. It was full of Japanese leek, and the minced chicken had pieces of crunchy ginger. I didn’t have any appetite, but I couldn’t stop eating once I started. For a while, we ate without words. Sweat started to flow, and it even felt like I was going to cry if I wasn’t careful. As I wiped my face with a towel, I saw that Souta was sweating too.
After eating, I wiped away the sweat from my body and put on a fresh change of clothes. Souta handed me some cold lemonade, and I downed two cups in a row. “Let me use your shower,” said Souta as he went off to the bathroom. When he next appeared, he was wearing my T-shirt. “Sorry, lend me this. Can I wash my clothes with yours?” Even though I objected, he still went on to do the laundry.
The window let in a breeze that caressed my skin. My throat was no longer as painful, and I could see things a bit better. I knew my fever had gone done considerably without having to use a thermometer. I truly felt that Souta could perform magic.
“You can use the rest of the hot pot to make porridge tonight. Don’t smoke even though your throat is not as painful. I’ll come again tomorrow,” said Souta as he put on his boots.
“Erm… Souta?”
“Yes?”
Looking at the back of the person wearing my red T-shirt, I asked bluntly, “What are you carrying?”
“Huh?”
Souta stood up and looked at me. I asked again.
“Your family trade, can’t you talk about it?”
With a melancholic voice that almost sounded like he was crying, Souta said, “When the time comes, will you listen to my story?”
------------
I stopped my car in front of Ochanomizu Station.
It was the morning peak hour, and there were many people passing through the station’s gates. I could hear the sounds of the trains mixed with the chirping of birds. With my hands and chin on the steering wheel, I scrutinized the people who went by.
Around the time when my fever subsided last summer, I went to the bar in Ikebukuro, feeling bad for missing work for a whole month. It was no longer there. There was no notice on the door, and when I looked through the glazed window, I did not see anything inside. Looking around, I saw that this building and the ones around were full of empty units. After that, I went to the student office at the university and somehow found a job as a home tutor. Together with the part-time job running deliveries, which I had continued to do on and off, I was able to make ends meet. Still, I was always short of cash.
Something white flashed across the rearview mirror.
A tail?
A cat? Here? I looked around, but did not see any animal. Thinking that I must be imagining things, I looked up at the rearview mirror to see the reflection of a girl walking. Unlike yesterday, this girl was wearing a uniform, but there was no mistake—it was Suzume. With her face held up high, she was walking straight toward me. Her expression and stride confirmed my thoughts.
This girl is going to where Souta is. I don’t know the circumstances, but she is probably involved in his family trade.
Hang in there, Souta. I recalled the day when he spoke in that melancholic voice, “When the time comes, will you listen to my story?” Even now, I clearly remember that sad look in his eyes, like water disrupted by a sudden ripple.
“Suzume!”
I called out to her. The girl with a ponytail and eyes that looked like Souta’s—as if she was looking at something that I cannot see—stopped and stared at me.
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My translations of other short stories:
The Tailor and the Auto-Memories Doll (unofficial translation of 仕立て屋と自動手記人形)Gilbert Bougainvillea and the Fleeting Dream (unofficial translation of "ギルベルト・ブーゲンビリアと儚い夢")
Violet Evergarden short stories: "Logbook entry" and "Diary entry" (unofficial translation)
The Starry Night and the Lonely Two (unofficial translation of 星降りの夜とさみしいふたり)
Diethard Bougainvillea's If (unofficial translation of ディートフリート・ブーゲンビリアIf) Suzume—Tamaki’s Story (unofficial translation of 小説すずめの戸締まり～環さんのものがたり～)
