Just a twenty-minute walk past Kanjou Route 8, away from the city, the nighttime air is so clear that the smog warnings that ring throughout the day feel like a lie. The residential streets lined with small houses are sparsely lit; still and silent.
As he walked along the narrow one-way streets, Haiji Kiyose looked up at the sky. It couldn’t possibly compare to the starry skies of his hometown of Shimane, but he could still glimpse a small dusting of light.
If only there was a shooting star right now, he thought, but the sky remained quiet.
A breeze brushed across his nape. It was almost April, but the night was still cold. Above the low roofs of the houses, he could see the chimney of his usual bathhouse, Tsuru-no-yu.
Pulling himself away from his stargazing, he buried his chin into the collar of his padded jacket, and hurried along.
Baths in Tokyo were unbearably hot. As usual, Kiyose rinsed off his body and sank down into the bath, but the heat was too much for him and he soon stood back up, earning a laugh from one of the other regulars, a middle-aged plasterer.
“Just a quick dip again, Haiji?”
It would be silly to leave so soon having paid the entrance fee, so Kiyose sat down on one of the plastic stools and began to shave his beard in the mirror with the razor he had brought with him. The plasterer ambled past him leisurely and sank down into the bath with a groan.
“The perfect temperature for a bath is when the water bites you in the ass, as Tokyoites always say.”
The plasterer’s voice echoed against the high, tiled ceiling. There were no signs of life from the women’s bath. At the attendant’s booth, the bathhouse owner idly plucked his nostril hairs. It seemed Kiyose and the plasterer were the only guests.
“You know, I always thought that was a good one, but I do have one objection.”
“What?”
“This isn’t Shitamachi. It’s Yamanote.”
Kiyose finished shaving and approached the bathtub again. Keeping a stern eye on the plasterer, he turned on the faucet and poured some cold water into the steaming hot bath. The cooler liquid rippled into the hot water, and after checking that it had mixed in enough, Kiyose sank into the tub. Taking up a position by the faucet, he spread out his legs in the now tolerable water.
“Seems you’ve settled in here pretty well to be able to tell the difference.”
The plasterer seemed to have given up on recapturing the faucet, and instead moved to a spot diagonally from Kiyose to avoid the cooling water.
“It has been four years now.”
“How is it at Chikusei-sou? Will you be able to fill the rooms this year?
“We just need one more, but I don’t know.”
“Well, I hope you can find someone.”
“Thanks.”
I hope so too, Kiyose thought. This was his last year, and the opportunity of a lifetime was just around the corner. Just one more. He scooped up some water and rubbed his face with his hands. We just need one more person.
The hot water stung his face lightly. Razor burn, perhaps.
Kiyose accompanied the plasterer out of the bathhouse. The plasterer walked his bike along as the two of them strolled leisurely along the night road. Thanks to the hot bath, they couldn’t feel the cold at all. Just as Kiyose was debating whether or not to take off his jacket, the distant sound of footsteps and shouting came from behind them.
Turning around, he could see the distant silhouettes of two men on the narrow street.
One man was shouting something, while the other shook him off and ran towards Kiyose and the plasterer with precise strides. Kiyose had just enough time to observe that he was a young man before he had already run past them. Some distance behind, a man in a convenience store apron gave chase.
As he brushed past Kiyose’s shoulder, the young man had not been breathing heavily at all. Kiyose almost started running after him, but the plasterer’s voice interrupted him.
“Ugh, a shoplifter.”
Now that he mentioned it, the shopkeeper had been yelling, “Catch him!” But Kiyose’s ears hadn’t registered those words at all.
His eyes had only been on the young man’s running―the strong gait of his legs, almost like a machine.
Kiyose snatched the handlebars from the plasterer and wrestled the bicycle from him.
“I’m going to borrow this.”
He left behind the dumbfounded plasterer and pedaled as hard as he could, still standing, as he followed the trail of the young man who had disappeared into the darkness.
It’s him. He’s the one I’ve been searching for.
A fiery conviction like writhing magma burned inside him. He couldn’t lose him. The young man’s tracks glowed on the narrow road. Like the Milky Way in the night sky, or the sweet scent of a flower beckoning to an insect―they lingered in the air and guided Kiyose along his path.
Kiyose’s jacket billowed out with the wind, and the bicycle’s headlight finally shone on the running man. With each turn of the pedal, the white circle of light swung from side to side against the man’s back.
He has good balance. Kiyose controlled his excitement and observed the man carefully. It was as if a line had been drawn straight through his spine. His legs stretched out beneath his knees. His shoulders were relaxed, and his ankles lithe as his feet hit the pavement. His running was light and refined, yet powerful.
The young man seemed to have noticed Kiyose’s presence, and as he passed under a street lamp, he turned around slightly. His profile stood out against the darkness, and Kiyose let out a soft, “Oh.”
So it was you.
A flood of emotions whirled inside his chest, though he did not know if they were of happiness or fear. All he knew was that something was about to begin.
He pedaled faster, until he was beside the man. He felt as if some faraway force was controlling him; as if a voice coming from deep, deep inside him was pushing him along. He didn’t ask of his own will―the question poured out of his mouth before he could think.
“Do you like running?”
The man stopped suddenly, frozen, and looked at Kiyose with an expression that was neither quite confused nor angry. His dark eyes hid an intense passion, but they shone with a pure light as he looked back at Kiyose and asked him in return.
“What about you? Can you answer that question?”
At that moment, Kiyose knew. If there truly are such things as happiness or beauty or goodness in this world, to me, they would take the shape of this man.
The light of conviction that had pierced him would continue to shine inside him forever; like a lighthouse in a raging storm, a single ray of light guiding his path.
Unchanging. Constant.
TN: Procrastinated on other work today by translating the prologue of Run with the Wind by Shion Miura. This is a 672-page novel, so while I may continue to work on it in my spare time, please don’t expect a full translation any time soon, if ever.