“Mitsu, you and I are tsu-ka. We’re in perfect sync.” She pushed the lever on top of the electric kettle and filled the teapot. “But what are you doing fretting about something so childish at your age? You’re a silly Billy who thinks too much.”
Chastened, he fell quiet and concentrated on polishing off his croquette. While eating, he thought about that expression, tsu-ka. Why should the idea that two people were on the same wavelength be expressed that way? The full expression was “one says tsu, the other ka.” He’d read about the etymology once in some book, but as he recalled there was no definitive answer. Dictionaries were better off staying away from etymologies unless they could be proven beyond all doubt. Words mostly just sprang up without any how or when, anyway.
Still, it bothered him. Why not “one says ‘good,’ the other ‘morning’” or “one says ‘horse,’ the other ‘carriage’”? What did tsu and ka mean anyway? The first one resembled tsuru (crane), and the second one sounded like the cawing of a crow. Maybe a woman changed into a crane and flew up into the sky, as in the folktale, and a crow said hello?
“You change lightbulbs for me when I ask you to, don’t you, Mitsu?”
“Of course.” Pulled back to reality, he took a quick look around. Which bulb was out? He tried to change them before she asked, but he must have missed one.
“And if I invite you to supper, you come up without any hesitation.” She was watching the thin steam rise from her teacup. “That’s all you need to do. Rely on people and let them rely on you. Do it with the people at work, not just me.”
He realized there was no burned-out bulb, that she was being tactful and warmly sympathetic.
He thanked her for the meal and then, as a token of gratitude, offered her the packet of instant ramen.
Majime offered to clean up and took the dishes downstairs to the kitchen to wash. Také, having already taken her bath, retired to her bedroom for the night. He generally showered before leaving for work. Tonight he decided to turn in early, rather than staying awake to think about the dictionary or how to be more socially outgoing.
He poured fresh water in Tora’s saucer, then piled more dried sardines in the cat’s food dish and set it on the kitchen floor. Tora never did more than snack in the lodging house. Také often wondered aloud who else might be feeding him, but Majime had an idea that Tora was self-sufficient in that area. Despite his bulk, he was a crackerjack hunter. Time and again Majime had seen him triumphantly strolling along the canal with a sparrow or a dragonfly in his mouth.
He went back to his room and laid out his futon, then called softly for Tora. He waited a bit, but Tora didn’t appear. Usually the big cat spent the night curled up at Majime’s feet. Where could he be?
He lay down and pulled the lazycord to turn off the light. Thinking Tora might yet come, he stayed awake, staring at the ceiling. The window was slightly open.
There in the darkness, the lapping of the water in the canal became the murmur of a limpid brook. The wind blew away the clouds, and on the window were the shadows of leaves in the moonlight.
Suddenly he heard Tora. Somewhere he was emitting low sounds that might have been either threatening or placating. Majime sat up in the bluish-white moonlight and listened. Definitely Tora. Where was he? What was he doing?
Worried, Majime crawled out of bed and put on his glasses. The air had chilled. He picked a pair of socks off a nearby stack of books, gave them a quick sniff, and put them on. He went to the window and peered down at the canal, but to his surprise, Tora’s meows were coming from overhead. Také must have shut her window before going to bed. Of course she had. Tonight was cold.
Majime tiptoed up the stairs to rescue Tora. The second-floor hallway was dimly lit. The sound of Také’s deep breathing filtered from her bedroom. She was unaware of Tora’s faint cries. Fortunately, every upstairs room had a window that opened to the clothes-drying platform, so there was no need to wake her up.
He slid open the door to the room where earlier they’d eaten supper and went in. Neither of them bothered to lock their doors anymore, since it was only the two of them. He entered the room, which was unexpectedly bright in the moonlight. He went to the window and looked out. The silver pampas grass and dumplings were gone. Had she cleared them away? Or had Tora eaten them? Wondering, he opened the window, and Tora’s cries became more distinct.
“Okay, don’t worry.” He swung his legs through the window and out onto the platform. “I’m coming to get you.” Intending to call the cat by name, he looked toward the far end of the platform, where for some reason the pampas grass and dumplings had been moved. A young woman was standing there with Tora in her arms.
Surprise made Majime’s throat constrict, and he emitted a strange “urk.” Slowly the young woman, who had been gazing up at the full moon, turned her head to face him. She’d been beautiful in profile, and she was no less beautiful seen straight on, he thought irrelevantly—and froze. As if by sorcery, his muscles and heart went rigid. He was incapable of speech.
The young woman smiled, her long black hair swaying in the breeze. “Oh, I’m so glad. You’ve come to get him.”
The easy, faintly mischievous tone sounded familiar. Was this Také, rejuvenated by the moonlight? His mind reeling with age-old stories involving shape-shifting and apparitions connected to the moon, Majime staggered over to the bedroom window and looked inside. Také was fast asleep, mouth agape.
Then who was this? He fell back on his rear.
Tora twisted out of the young woman’s arms, leaped down on the platform, then came over and rubbed against Majime’s shins.
“So sweet!” she said. “Got a name?”
“Majime.”
“Funny name for a cat.”
“No, I’m Majime. The cat is Tora.”
His mother, who saw him in the most favorable light possible, might conceivably call him sweet, but who else in their right mind would? He turned red at his mistake and then at his excessive self-consciousness. She tilted her head, clearly puzzled.
Seizing his chance, he asked, “Who are you?”
“Kaguya.” (Shining Night.) “I just arrived today. Nice to meet you.”
He gazed up at the young woman, her figure silhouetted against the great full moon.
“All right, Majime, what’re you mooning about?”
Nishioka poked him, and Majime hastily brought his thoughts down to earth. If he wasn’t careful, when he opened his mouth the name “Kaguya” might slip out, along with his soul.
Ignoring Majime’s flustered appearance, Nishioka peered at his desktop. “What’re you working on, anyway?”
Nishioka was the biggest reason Majime felt out of place in this department. The tempo of his conversation; the fluctuating distances—both physical and psychological—that he maintained with coworkers; the precision of his work—all were beyond the bounds of Majime’s understanding. Every time he came into contact with Nishioka, he flinched.
“Um, nothing in particular . . .”