The Ink-Keeper's Apprentice (12 page)

As three o'clock approached I got all the lines mixed up and didn't know what I was thinking anymore. Maybe she's standing somewhere and spying on the dog statue, too, I thought suddenly. So I crossed the square and walked to the statue, fumbling with my newspaper. One by one smiling faces appeared out of nowhere,
paired up with somebody who'd been standing near me, and disappeared into the crowd, happy as imbeciles.

At three-thirty an old man with a beat-up felt hat and a box camera coaxed his toothless wife to pose in front of the statue and snapped a picture of her. Then they changed places, the old man telling his wife that all she had to do was to push on the shutter. She couldn't find it. I thought of taking the picture for them but felt too depressed even to offer.

She never came.

Going to school was dreadful after that. Reiko was cool and indifferent, and acted as though we had never had our conversation. She seemed vacant, as if she had no feelings. Maybe she wasn't too bright, but that thought didn't cheer me up. I never gave her the picture.

Mori was full of praise for my snapshots, and was delighted when I gave him all the ones that included him. I showed him all the pictures, hoping he'd notice the one of Reiko and tell her something about it.

"You have the eye of an arust, no doubt about it," he declared. "And that lens of yours is sharp as anything Zeiss makes." He picked up the one of the three girls and studied it with a knowing smile.

"You're a sly one, Sei. How did you guess?"

"Guess what?" I asked.

"Don't play innocent with me. You know what I'm talking about."

"No, I don't."

"You know one of them has a crush on you."

"We're not going to go through that again, are we? You men don a girl every dme I see you, and it's a different name each time," I said sarcastically, hoping he wouldn't notice me flushing.

"Don't pretend with me, Sei; I've told you about her before. It's the same one. You have a short memory when it comes to names."

"If you mean the one with the dead crab, I think she's rather pretty, too," I said. Mori fell for it.

"Don't be a fool. And I don't mean the moron standing next to her either."

"Let me guess. The one whose eyes are forever closed to me?"

"What do you expect? You made her nervous."

"Here, give her the picture, with my compliments."

"Any message?"

"No."

"You have nothing to say to her?"

"Why should I? I'm not interested in her."

"Say hello to her or something, at least."

"Look, if you like her so much, buy her a cup of coffee at one of your special places."

"To hell with you, Sei," he said and walked off.

One day during the morning assembly in the auditorium, a girl sitting next to me slipped a paperback book onto my lap. Slowly I turned my head around to make sure no one was watching and put the book in my coat pocket. I looked at her from the corner of my eye and whispered, "Thank you." My face flushed. She didn't look at me, but pretended to listen to the featured speaker on the stage.

Her name was Nakano Michiko. She was not in my class, but she'd been assigned the seat next to me since the new term began. I'd spoken to her a few times before, making snide comments about boring lectures, and she had nodded and smiled politely. I now studied her with quick sidelong glances. Her hair was cut straight across her forehead, and also on the back of her neck. She was one of the few girls who wore a school uniform, a pleated skirt of navy blue and a shirt with a sailor suit collar. The drab clothes
and her schoolgirl haircut made her look plain, but now I saw that she was rather pretty.

The book was a work by Soseki, the great Japanese writer. Opening it in the art room that afternoon I found a note inside.

If you have not read this, please keep it. You'll think me stupid,
but the man in the story reminded me of you.

Nakano

I read the thin handwriting over and over again. It was the first note I had ever received from a girl and it excited me tremendously. I was flattered, and had enough sense to know Michiko was telling me that she liked me. I read the book eagerly to find out what I had in common with the man in the book.

It was a strange tale of a man in his thirties, a painter who would scribble a poem every time something interested him. And the plot of the book was about his long vacation in a mountain inn and his encounter with a young woman who could read his mind. The book gave me an eerie feeling. If Michiko saw a similarity between me and the hero, she understood literature far more than I did.

"Thank you for the book," I whispered to her next day at assembly.

"Did you read it?" she asked without turning her head.

"I read it last night."

"Isn't it a wonderful book?"

"I liked it very much."

"I don't understand how he knows so much about women," she whispered.

"You think the woman is real?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh, yes. I often feel the way she does."

I thought about that for a while. Most likely it was the woman in the story who reminded Michiko of
herself.
The hero was probably an excuse to let me know how she felt about me.

"Did you read about the man who killed himself in Nikko?" asked Michiko.

I nodded. In the morning paper was an article about a man who
had jumped from the top of the waterfall at Nikko, a well-known summer resort in the north. It was a popular place for committing suicide. The news was that they hadn't found the man's body.

"He's causing a lot of trouble," I said. "Why couldn't he have done it in a place where they wouldn't bother to look for his body? Jumping into a volcano would've been better."

Michiko gave me a quick look. "But don't you think it's egoistic to kill oneself?"

I nodded knowingly. I didn't know what she was talking about.

A few days later I gave her a book during meditation. It had been translated from German, but I felt a closeness to its hero, who lived alone in a boarding house. It didn't matter if she'd read it before, I wanted her to have my copy. We were now even in terms of gifts.

That afternoon I ran into Michiko in a bookstore near the Shibuya station. Actually I wasn't aware of her until she called my name. I blushed and started to stammer. I had the feeling our meeting wasn't an accident.

"Thank you for the book," she said and bowed to me in the narrow lane. "I'm glad you like Hesse. Have you read
Demian?
"

I shook my head.

"It's a lovely book. It's the kind of book you like to keep to yourself and not tell anyone about. Are you angry with me?"

"Why should I be angry?" I looked at her.

"For meeting you here."

"No, why should I? Are you looking for something special?"

"I'm just looking," she said and scanned the shelf in front of us. "Do you ever visit your friends?"

"I don't have many friends," I replied.

"I don't either. I like to be alone and read books. I spend all my allowance on books."

"I like to read, too, but I spend most of my free time at Sensei's studio."

"Your cartoon master? He must be a wonderful person. His serials are so amusing."

Michiko didn't seem like someone who read comic strips, and I wondered if she read Sensei's serials because of me.

"Sei-san," she said and hesitated. "Will you be angry if I ask you to come to my house some weekend?"

"No," I said and looked away. I had never expected an invitation from a girl. And Michiko's invitation meant that she'd already asked her parents' permission to bring me home. Whatever she'd told her parents about me must have been good.

"I don't mean for you to decide now, but my family, especially my father, would like very much to meet you."

"I'd like that," I said. "It would be an honor to meet your family."

"Will this Saturday be too soon?"

"No, I have nothing planned."

"It's best if I meet you somewhere. You'll never be able to find our house."

"I can meet you in front of the dog statue," I said without thinking.

"Would two o'clock be all right?"

"Yes, that's fine."

"I'm glad you can come." She bowed and left me standing in the narrow lane. I had my first date in front of the dog statue after all.

She was there before me, and I almost didn't recognize her in a smart blazer and a wool skirt. It was wonderful to see her waiting for me. As I crossed the square and walked toward her, she spotted me and smiled nervously. She was very pretty.

"Have you been waiting long?" I asked, even though I knew I was on time. She shook her head and looked away.

"Do we have to go to your house right away?" I asked.

"No, but I'd like you to have supper with us."

"With your family? But that's too much trouble."

"It won't be anything special. My father likes to meet young people. Can you?"

"Yes, if you're sure it's all right."

"Father will be honored."

"Do you like coffee?"

"Sometimes, if it isn't too strong."

"Would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?"

"Yes."

I took her to a fancy cafe in the neighborhood, telling myself there wasn't anything wrong with what we were doing. We didn't look at each other all the while we walked and talked, with me doing most of the talking. Her constant nodding made me uncomfortable.

When we came to the cafe Michiko stuck her head through the doorway as if to make sure the place was respectable. "Is this all right?" I asked. She hesitated for a second, then said yes.

The dark cafe was the kind of place where you would ordinarily sit with one cup of coffee for hours, for, as Mori used to say, you were paying for the rent. But we drank our coffee quickly and hurried out. I'd never felt so young in a public place, and Michiko did look like a girl in a middle school. We were also afraid we might run into someone we knew, and Michiko insisted on paying for her cup of coffee.

"Won't you let me pay for this?" I asked.

"You must let me pay for mine," she said seriously.

"Why?"

"Mother would be angry with me if I accepted a treat."

I let her pay for her share. At least she didn't say her mother wouldn't approve.

Michiko lived in a big rambling house on the outskirts of Tokyo where most of the houses had a lot of land and trees around them. It was quiet there, away from the city noise, and a little gloomy. A housemaid greeted us in the dark porch and laid out a pair of house slippers for me, and led us through the seemingly empty house. There was something eerie about the stillness of the place, the kind of place where you unconsciously lowered your voice, as in a hospital. We went up a flight of stairs and entered a spacious, elegant room, with an alcove in the corner where an old scroll was hanging. There were four or five oil paintings on the walls and I knew at least one of them was a work of a great painter. Next to the alcove was a rack that held three samurai swords with lacquered scabbards. But the thing that really caught my attention was a pair
of
kotos
lying side by side on the floor. A
koto
is a kind of large Japanese zither with thirteen silken strings.

"Chie, a pot of tea, and please tell Sister we're here," said Michiko to the maid. The maid bowed and shuffled out of the room. It was strange to see Michiko lording it over a grown woman.

"Do you play?" I pointed at the
kotos.

"I only pluck at it; my sister is the expert. I've always wanted to study the violin, but Father thinks
koto
is more ladylike. It must be wonderful for you to be able to study with your master."

"Yes, I'm very lucky; my parents don't object. But I don't see why you can't study the violin if you really want to. Can't you take lessons without telling your father?"

"No, I can't do that. I'm only a girl."

That's what they all say. I'm only a girl. There isn't much you can say to that, and I never knew whether it was a complaint or envy.

"I'll probably take it up some day," she said, "and find out I have no talent for it."

"I like music," I told her.

"I do, too. Classical music. Do you?"

I nodded and looked around the room. Two framed photographs on the writing table caught my eye. They were old-fashioned photographs, slightly yellowing; one was of a man in a white military uniform with medals on his chest, and the other was of a boy about my age, with hair cropped short, wearing a school uniform.

"That's my father." Michiko pointed to the man. "He was an admiral. It's been a family tradition with us. My grandfather was also an admiral."

Her father did look like an admiral, with an impressive handlebar mustache, holding a sword as casually as one would hold a walking cane.

"And that is my older brother. He would be twenty-three this year. He died right after the war."

I wanted to say something but the maid came in with the tea things. She was followed by a young woman in a flowered kimono.
The woman was about twenty, and looked beautiful with faint makeup.

"So you are Sei-san," she said and bowed. "I'm Yoko, Michi's sister. We've heard some fascinating things about you, so we know a little more about you than you know about us. It isn't fair, is it?"

I didn't know whether she was flattering or teasing me.

"You're embarrassing Sei-san." Michiko frowned at her sister.

"I'm sorry." Yoko smiled.

We sat on silk pillows and talked over tea and cakes. I was glad when Michiko asked her sister to play the piece she'd been practicing.

"My playing is only an amateur's delight," Yoko said politely and played the long instrument.

She was very good. The beautiful haunting air made me think of my childhood, when there was hardly any Western music. The sound of old Japan.

After the solo, Michiko joined her sister and they played a duet. Their father entered the room so quietly I wasn't aware of him until I heard the rustling sound of a kimono and saw him sit next to me. I started to bow but he raised his hand, signaling me to be still. He sat with his back straight, like a samurai lord, and listened to the music with his eyes closed. He was an impressive man, with white hair and a huge mustache.