At Kinosaki: Kusaka Kyorai (Part 2)

She was on the shorter side, and the ends of her bob cut were constantly fluttering as if there was a draft in the room.

“How come you’re dressed up like a panda, mister?” she asked quizzically, staring at Janjan/me as Janjan/I gnawed proficiently at a stalk of bamboo.

The gnawing stopped for a moment. But I couldn’t respond to her question…for I was Janjan the panda.

Janjan resumed his gnawing.

“You’re taking this awful serious,” she said, sounding suitably pleased. I acted like I was tired of bamboo and did a little somersault.

“Just like the real thing! You make a great panda. But that suit’s pretty lousy. You oughta pull it a tad tighter so the outline’s not so saggy.”

No arguments about the suit. I acted out Janjan as best I could, using every technique I’d picked up from my research. Up until then I’d barely had an audience to speak of, but even so I was pretty confident in my performance.

The girl clapped her hands, watching me act my heart out.

“Thanks, mister. Next time, do you mind if I do a little more talking? You don’t have to talk back or anything.”

On the spur of the moment I made a little circle with my paws to convey my assent. The Kinosaki Panda had some tricks up his sleeve.

“Thanks, I’ll be back.”

So she was the one who’d bought the yearly pass. Young lady, you shouldn’t throw your allowance away like that. Your dad and mom worked very hard for that money.

“That musta been Kanami, Sakai the milkman’s kid.” said the mama, trying in vain to put out a skinny cigarette which ended up breaking in two.

“Milkman’s daughter, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, Kanami. Smart enough to get in a good high school ‘n everything, but…”

A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the black ashtray.

“Can’t say I know what happened, but she’s stopped going. A couple of times I’ve seen her standing around at the bus stop during the day.”

A regular truant then, this Sakai Kanami. Word got around fast in this little town, just like it did back home. Everybody knew everybody else’s business. I wished she wouldn’t gossip to me, it made me feel a little nosy. But I guess I was just as guilty as the mama was for listening to it.

That being said, I bet I could imagine how Kanami felt. She was supposed to ride the bus to school, but she just couldn’t bring herself to get on. She must know how it looked to everyone else. Heck, I’d felt that way too, at least until a little while ago.

Maybe I should take back what I said about her wasting her allowance.

“Hadn’t seen her there in a while, so I thought she’d started going back to school again. So she’s at the zoo, huh…damn thing just won’t go out.”

The mama picked out an ice cube from her glass and mashed it into the ash tray. There was a wet little hiss.

“Hah, there it goes.”

I was torn. I could listen to someone talk all day, but as Janjan I couldn’t use human language to reply. If I’d been a tiger maybe it would have worked out. I mean, if Li Zheng of Longxi¹ could do it, so could I.

But what was Janjan supposed to do? As I climbed into bed that night, that was all I could think about.

　　　　　　　⁎

Starting the next day the girl would show up at the zoo every three days or so.

“Hi, I’m back. Still pretty empty in here, I see.”

Janjan/I didn’t answer. Just listened to Sakai Kanami talk.

But she didn’t talk about her life, or her personal troubles.

“I wanna be a writer. My dad said he wanted to be one, a long time ago.”

She said that long ago, Sakai Fuminori―now Sakai the milkman―had been a wunderkind who had studied literature at Waseda University. But his long dreamed-of literary debut was not to be, and so he had little choice but to head home and take over the family business.

“I wonder if it’d make him happy, to see me become a writer. Mom wants me to go to school, but I think that’s just her usual kind of worrying.”

Yeah, I felt like I could relate. Janjan gestured sympathetically, though I don’t know if she understood.

“That’s why I think up all sorts of different stories. I want to tell you some of them today. I tend to write myself into a corner when I’m by myself, but I feel like if I told them to someone I could find a way out.”

For the briefest of moments Janjan made a circle with his paws.

“Thanks,” said Kanami, and she started to list off plots one after the next. “Um, so I’ve got this idea…”

Once upon a time, probably around the end of the Meiji period, there was a young man named Takeshi. Takeshi was born the heir to an old ryokan in Kinosaki Onsen, and he was so tremendously clever that when he was still in primary school he could debate circles around his schoolmasters. But as it turns out, Takeshi was allergic to shellfish; the mere scent of crab would send him into a dead faint, frothing at the mouth…

Set in the near future, in the waning days of the Heisei period. With tourism on the decline, Kinosaki Onsen faces an uncertain future. One man dares to stand up and revive the town’s fortunes: the young heir to the local newspaper. He invents a mascot, Kinosshi, and donning a self-crafted crab suit, fights to save his hometown. His catchphrase: “It’s crab-licious!”

What is the oldest story in Japan? Most people will tell you that it’s the Tale of the Bamboo Cutter. But that is not so. The throne was claimed this year by a manuscript unearthed beneath Onsen-ji, entitled The Tale of the Crab Catcher. And this is how that tale begins: Once upon a time there lived an old crab catcher. Every day he would make his way into the sea to catch crabs, which he would cook into all manner of things. This old man was called Kinusaki no Miyakko…

Long after the onsen novel craze has faded into history, three onsen novelists and one onsen novel editor visit Kinosaki. After gorging themselves on a delectable meal of crab, they amuse themselves with a game of kokkuri-san. But who should appear but the ghost of Shiga Naoya…

In 1981, a Vietnam veteran wanders into Kinosaki Onsen to visit an old war buddy who is recuperating there. But the tyrannical sheriff labels him a rabble-rouser and tries to run him out of town…

In the first year of the Genna era, two men arrive in Kinosaki Onsen. By all appearances they appear to be noblemen: one, a brash warrior, is dressed head-to-toe in red; the other is a young man nearly two meters tall. Together they invent the onsen tamago. Their true identities? Sanada Yukimura and Toyotomi Hideyori…

The prefecture of Nara is a meager one, ignorant of the bounty of the seas. As an unknown plague sweeps the land, two men set off in a car from their landlocked hometown in search of the distant Kinosaki Onsen. But at the end of their journey they find themselves at the Crab Ryokan of Many Orders…

These are all the stories I remember, but that day at Janjan’s Corner the girl outlined at least twice that many. By no means did I know anything about literature, so I couldn’t say whether any of them were ready to publish, but if they ever did appear in print I would have wanted to read them.

“Janjan, I just came up with another one!” she would say with a smile. With every visit there was a little more life in her, especially compared to our first meeting, but as time went on her visits became less frequent. Apparently she’d started going back to school.

“Look, Janjan, I wrote them all down!” she said, brandishing a college notebook at me. “There’s almost enough for a whole book in here!”

Pandas can’t read, so Janjan just snuffled at it. Now that summer had arrived he needed to take frequent water breaks.

“I’m hoping to write enough for two books by summer vacation. If I can manage it I’ll make a copy for you,” she told me, before practically skipping away.

I never saw her again.

　　　　　　　⁎

When I arrived at the zoo the next morning, there was a Mercedes parked outside. An angry-looking middle-aged guy was peering into the building.

“Hey, buddy. You work here?”

Immediately I worked out what was going on. I’m not Old Ōji’s nephew for nothing. We have abnormal senses of danger, like Newtypes in Gundam.

“Nope, I’m here to collect some money.”

“You too, huh?” The scary man dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his foot. “He’s already skipped town. Place is empty.”

“Damn, really? What am I going to do now?” I groaned, before making a U-turn outta there. Strictly speaking, I counted as a creditor―President Yoshiyan still owed me a paycheck―but I didn’t expect to get another yen.

I quickly went back to my room and gathered my things, then killed some time at Café Yushima before heading to the bar once lunchtime rolled around.

“I was just gonna call you!” said the mama, her makeup only half finished. She handed me a letter. “Found this in the mail slot.”

It was from President Yoshiyan, saying that Yoshiya Enterprises had run into financial issues, and that he’d need to lay low for the time being, and that he’d asked an acquaintance at city hall to find a home for the animals, and how he was sorry to the mama and that he’d pay his tab one day, and lastly, to me, that I should go home to Nara. The panda suit I leave to Daisuke, said the postscript, Keep the spirit alive. What the hell was I going to do with the suit? And whatever spirit that was is retired now, thank you very much.

As the mama continued to unhurriedly apply her makeup, I asked, “How much was the president’s tab?” There hadn’t been much to do around here, so I’d barely touched my salary.

“Oh, don’t you fret about that, dear. But shouldn’t you be hurrying to leave town?”

Now that she’d reminded me she was absolutely right. But there was one last thing still on my mind.

“Do you have some pen and paper lying around?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Why bother? I don’t think he’ll be coming around here no more.”

“It’s not for him,” I said, quickly explaining that it was for Kanami, and that I at least wanted to say goodbye.

“Hmm, well alright. Where’s some paper…”

The mama looked around the shop for a bit before taking a long thin calendar which hung on the tar-stained walls, one of the ones with stirring quotations written in calligraphy, and ripping off a page.

“Only 3 days left in the month anyways. Here, take it.”

“Thank you so much!”

“Ain’t much time left if you want to catch the next Kōnotori, better hurry it up!”

My pen scrambled across the page. The pen she’d lent me was practically dry, and I had to almost scratch some of the words into the paper. But once I was done, I snatched the first volume of Selected Poems out of my bag, folded the calendar page until it was small enough to fit, and stuck it inside the pages.

“Can you make sure she gets it?”

The mama had finished her makeup while I was jotting down my letter, and with a draw on her cigarette she took the book and slowly nodded.

“You take care of yourself now. If I was you I’d stay away from Kinosaki for a while.”

“I will. Thanks for everything.”

With a bow I sprinted off towards Kinosaki Onsen Station. I didn’t have time to buy any souvenirs, or take one last look around the onsen district. If I’d known this was going to happen I would’ve done a little more sightseeing. But it was too late for that now.

I made it just in time to catch the Kōnotori before it left. I wiped off the sweat, and then took out the second volume of Selected Poems from my bag. Whenever my heart was racing and I couldn’t get it to stop, reading a little Saitō Mokichi had a strangely calming effect on me. Even the time I’d gone stir-crazy during my rōnin days and considered jumping in front of a train on the Midōsuji Line, it had been Selected Poems that had rescued me.

But now, for some reason, my heart just wouldn’t stop pounding.

　　　　　　　⁎

“Didn’t work out, eh? Yoshiyan’s *idea *sounded good enough…” said Old Ōji, puckering his lips and blowing out a puff of smoke. Not that it mattered, but the way he said “idea” in English weirded me out.

“Would ya lookit that, Daisuke, I made a smoke ring!”

When I waved my hand to dissipate the smoke he sat up straight, looking chagrined like a frigging kid.

“Well, don’t get too down on yourself.”

I wasn’t down on myself. More like I didn’t know how to feel. I wasn’t angry at Old Ōji or President Yoshiyan either.

I’d implored my sister to make some calls, and it sounded like all of the animals had found new homes. Thanks, unknown city hall employee. I couldn’t openly express my gratitude though, because they’d probably ask what I had to do with the whole thing, so all I could do was face the general direction of Kinosaki and press my hands together in thanks.

It’d been over two weeks since I fled Kinosaki.

“Hmm, you want me to find you your next gig?” asked Old Ōji.

I thought for a second, then said, “Nah, I’ll find it myself.”

“Sounds fine, but you ever need anything you just come on and ask. Ya never know what might become the manure of life.”

He blew out another smoke ring and chortled to himself.

“What the hell is the manure of life?”

Whatever it was, I was pretty sure he didn’t have much of it.

“Means that what you go through in your younger days’ll come of use someday.”

“Uhh…well, sure. So you think I’m still young?” I asked.

When he heard that Old Ōji opened his eyes wide and bellowed, “Idiot! Of course you’re young! At your age no matter how many times you fuck it up you can still start again. And I’ll have you know I ain’t given up either!”

So he was still hoping to strike the motherlode…for the sake of the family, I hoped that he’d stay put right where he was, for all eternity.

With that sincere prayer in my heart, I left the *kakinoha *sushi I’d brought him and left his tenement.

For some reason the walk to Ōji Station felt very long. As I walked, I wondered what might have happened if I’d taken that panda suit back with me. Maybe I could have found some empty property around here, opened up a zoo. I’d call it the Ōji Zoo.

But that was exactly what I shouldn’t do.

Tomorrow, or maybe the day after…definitely by next week, I’d hit up Hello Work. Bye-bye Janjan: from now on, I was back to being Tatsumi Daisuke.

　　　　　　　⁎

It’s been a little over fifteen years.

Thankfully Old Ōji never did get back to his enterprising ways; last autumn he was on his way back from a booze run to Mandai when he fell down and never got up again. The coroner said he probably hadn’t felt a thing. Personally I felt like he deserved to suffer a little, but by all appearances it was a peaceful way to go.

A few unsavoury characters showed up at his funeral, but President Yoshiyan wasn’t one of them. I don’t know if he’s still laying low, or if he’s already dead too. I helped out at the funeral wondering if he might show up, but I guess things never happen the way you expect.

On that same theme, after I got out of Kinosaki I drifted across the country from job to job, though probably not quite as restlessly as Shiga Naoya.

Maybe it was all that rolling around that softened my edges, like greenschist worn smooth by the Yoshino River, or maybe it was just that with every year it got a little easier to breathe, but eventually I was holding down a job and putting food on the table.

I came back to Nara three years ago, and now I work at a company in Tennōji run by an acquaintance of mine. It’s not much, but it gives me a sense of accomplishment. I make enough to give my sister’s two kids a hongbao every year. Not like Old Ōji.

Just before Old Ōji keeled over, I was drinking with some work buddies when someone floated the idea of visiting Kinosaki. My uncle didn’t have a wife to take care of the funeral arrangements, so we had to put it off for a while. After all the fuss died down, I visited Kinosaki in early December, for the first time since I’d left.

It was great being able to be there as a tourist. We prayed at Onsen-ji, feasted on crab, and had a little competition at a shooting gallery.

I’ll never forget our walk back to the inn, just the four of us strolling along the river eating ice cream.

Once everyone else had fallen asleep that night, I left the inn by myself and headed towards the bar.

This was mostly why I’d agreed to come here. I hadn’t lied to them, of course. But everyone has a few secrets to keep.

I got lost a few times―it had been fifteen years, after all―but eventually I made it to the bar. The building was still standing, and the weathered sign was just as I remembered it, but judging from the rust on the shutters it’d been abandoned for at least a few years.

I wandered around the vicinity until I found the yakitori place that had been brand-spanking new fifteen years earlier. Without hesitation I went under the noren, ordered a highball, and struck up a conversation. Apparently the mama had gone into a care facility about five years earlier.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Kinosaki native, are you?” asked the grill chef, who looked a little bit like Abareru-kun, the comedian. I mumbled back that I’d done a little work in Kinosaki.

Of course, I didn’t mention the zoo.

“Huh, you don’t say. Well here, have some chicken heart, on the house!”

“Hey, thanks.”

There was one more thing I wanted to know. Looking at the steam rising from the piping-hot chicken hearts, I asked, “Do you happen to know Sakai Kanami, the milkman’s daughter?”

　　　　　　　⁎

What I scribbled down on the back of the calendar that day is not for my readers to know.

But I owe it to you at least to write down what happened to the promise we made.

Back in Nara I visited a Tsutaya Books, and just as the Abareru-kun lookalike chef had told me, found three volumes written by a certain female author. She’d been born in Kinosaki and made her literary debut while still in her teens studying literature at Osaka University. Her third book became a bestseller, and even after hitting a slump after that she was still a fairly popular author with a steady output, whose quirky style never failed to capture her readers.

Of the three books I found on the shelves, one was a collection of short stories. I picked it up and flipped past the table of contents. The very first story started like this:

You may not know this, but once upon a time, Kinosaki Onsen was home to a panda which lived in a zoo.

Footnotes

1. See The Moon over the Mountain in Through Kyoto Streets. ↩