Takashi looked up from his bag, his hand caught in mid-motion from putting his books in. Outside the classroom window, a heavy rain was pouring. He closed his bookbag, and smiled kindly at the two girls standing in front of him. They were his juniors in the cooking club, and both of them were always together, everywhere they went.
"Miyazawa-san, Kanamo-san, kon'nichiwa." He glanced shortly at his table, making sure he had not left out anything, and turned back to look at the two excited girls.
"Kawamura-sempai, are you not coming for club meeting later? We heard from the chairman that you excused yourself today." Miyazawa Suzuki was one year his junior, and was particularly talented in baking. During Valentine's Day she had given him a chocolate cake. He had regretfully turned her confession down, and they remained good friends.
Takashi smiled, his hand lifting his bookbag and slotting his chair back into his table. "My family sushi place is having a big event tonight, so I have to go back and help my father."
"Kawamura-sempai's family owns a sushi shop?" Kanamo Sumire was in the same class as Suzuki, and she was pulled into the cooking club by her friend. She secretly gave him some chocolates during Valentine's Day, and was devastated when he turned her down gently. She seemed to have recovered recently though, and both girls continued to treat Takashi as their favourite senior.
The two girls were the ones who invited him to the festival in the first place. They wanted to organise a club outing, so that the entire cooking club would go to the festival together. And when he protested that he didn't have a proper yukata, they were the ones who contacted Iroi and passed Takashi her contact. Apparently the three of them were in the same class for around three years now, since middle school. Takashi nodded in response to their question, and his mind wandered back to the intriguing girl he met two days ago. Her sad expression floated up in the consciousness of his mind; he shook it away. It was not like him to be so troubled over a girl.
"We heard that Kawamura-sempai met Iroi-chan the other day." Takashi looked up at the sudden serious tone. The girls were looking at him with more concern now. "Did... was there any trouble?" Suzuki managed to add on, uncertainly.
"Trouble?" Takashi answered back gently. The girls looked at each other for a while, as if wondering whether to divulge some kind of secret.
Sumire spoke up first, her face full of worry. "Well, we weren't sure whether you two would be able to... talk to each other. Iroi-chan's been keeping herself away from everyone ever since the accident last year, and recently she doesn't even respond to us."
"We knew she had started making yukatas for other people, which is why we recommended her to you. But we were scared that she would not even open up to Kawamura-sempai, that is why we were worried there would be some trouble." Suzuki finished off for her friend, and the two of them linked hands and looked at Takashi hopefully.
"Well. She seemed fine. Quite a pleasant girl." In his mind he pondered over the one phrase the two girls had glossed over quickly.
The accident last year.
The rain pelted the soft nylon cloth of her umbrella, but she did not take notice of the weight of the water. The skies were crying hard, there were tiny rivers of fast-running rain water on the downhill slope away from the school. Her school shoes stepped carefully into the water, displacing the water step by step as she gingerly made her way down the wet slope, surrounded by other students with their umbrellas. Her long black hair was wet at the end, too long to be completely sheltered by her umbrella. But her face remained emotionless, and her small hands gripped her umbrella tightly, the knuckles turning white.
Around her, the loud murmur of students trying to carry on their friendly conversations through the rain mixed with the calming monotonous pitter-pattering of the rain. The fresh smell of a summer shower was drowned out by the slightly tangy sensation of humid bodies covered barely by thin cotton and polyester. It was almost as if the mass of human bodies around her decreased the enjoyment of rain she would normally have. Iroi crouched more and more onto herself, as if trying to tuck herself away from the world of other people. Her black fringe hung over her face, heavy and wet from the rain spray.
The rain continued all the way back to her apartment. She stepped into the sheltered corridor of the building, and carefully closed her umbrella, carrying it a distance away from her body as she ascended the quiet concrete stairway. Resting the umbrella against the wall, she unlocked her apartment door, and stepped into the house, dark and silent in her absence. There was an intense feeling of loneliness surrounding her, as she softly murmured to nobody in particular, "Tadaima. [1]". The echo of the lone announcement was her only welcome home.
The water bubbled feverishly, and she lowered the temperature of the stove slightly, adding in the various stiff strips of vegetables and stirring slightly. The rain was still pouring outside her apartment, but she ignored it, focusing on cooking her dinner. In the main room, her bookbag was against the wall, and her various books and stationery were piled neatly at the corner table, her workbook opened to the homework page, her pens laid out ready for use. A single circular light lit the main room, and on the table in the middle of the room sat three innocent bolts of cloth, her scissors, sewing kit and measuring tape on the floor next to it. She was to start on the yukatas yesterday, but had pushed it to today, her mind still troubled by the visit to her grandfather's.
Comforted by the warm smell of food cooking, she bundled back into the main room. Casting a gaze at the bolts of cloth, she took out her old notebook, and flipped to the page where she had noted down Takashi's measurements. Faintly, she recalled his easy smile, his gentle nervousness, and his polite voice. A slight smile came to her lips, as she took a sip from her cup of hot green tea, and moved towards her corner table to start on her homework for the day.
The windchime in her kitchen sounded softly, a small breeze blew despite the suffocating rain.
"Tadaima!" He opened the sliding door of the small sushi place and stepped into the restaurant, making sure to put his wet umbrella and shoes away. The air from the sushi place was warm as compared to the biting cold of the rain, and he was grateful for the bustling human noise as opposed to the never-ending pelting sound of the raindrops.
"Yo! Okaeri Takashi! [2]" His father's cheery voice boomed from the sushi counter. The regular customers turned to smile at him before returning to their food and conversations. Takashi smiled back, and bustled over to the counter. His father was already in action, slicing away, moulding rice, joking with his customers. The small sushi establishment was not fancy, but it was well-known for the good food and the cheery staff. His father had built it up by himself, starting by renting the shop, and then buying over the plot, building a second floor as a home, and it has persisted till now. Takashi had always known that one day he would succeed his father and take over the sushi joint. As a child that was his dream, and despite moments of uncertainty, especially during his middle school period, and despite the difficulties, he still is pursuing that dream.
"Takashi, okaeri." His mother appeared from the small kitchen, and patted her son's shoulders, even as he went to change into workclothes. The hustle and bustle of the store showed in her red face, but she smiled pleasantly, and went back to the kitchen, stirring the miso and dashi soups, checking on the egg custards. All around him, there was noise and ruckus, but he grew up in such an environment, and this was just like home to him.
The making of a good piece of sushi was an art. It required skill of the knife, because a piece of fish sliced amateurishly would taste many times worse than a skilled cut. It required quickness of the hand, so that the fish would still be fresh and cool by the time it reaches the customer's plate. It also required experience and some amount of talent, in order to be able to mould the rice in the right way so that it won't fall apart when handled with chopsticks and maintain its attachment to the fish. Takashi had started learning the ropes of sushi-making since young, but it was only in his middle school years when his father finally allowed him to serve his sushi to others. Even now, he was not as good as his father, lacking in both skill and experience, but not in enthusiasm.
"Takashi-kun?" The voice from the other side of the counter was somewhat familiar. Takashi looked up from his preparations. His eyes grew slightly big with recognition.
"Oji-san." It was the old man from the cloth shop. Takashi blinked a few times in surprise, before breaking into a polite but warm smile. "Irasshaimase! [3]"
The old man looked at Takashi up and down, and gave a broad grin. Then he turned and called out to Takashi's father, his voice jolly. "So! Kawamura-san! This is the son you told me about!"
"Hai hai! Yoshima-san, I didn't realise you came in!" His father came over, all smiles. He patted Takashi affectionately on the back, and beamed at the old man across the counter. "Indeed! He'd be helping me tonight because of that big order."
"Yoroshiku onegaishimasu, Yoshima-san. [4]" Takashi bowed politely. In his mind, a million questions floated, but only one was correct at this point of time. "Go-chuumon wa? [5]"
After her frugal dinner, she set to work. Rolling out the cloth bolt on the floor, she glanced at her rough sketch in her notebook, and pulled out her marking board, criss-crossed with measurements on each side for easy marking. From her sewing kit she took out a hard piece of wood for marking, and then set her ruler and proceeded to mark out the sections of the bolt for the sleeves, back and front as well as the other sections of the yukata. After marking out each part, she carefully cut it along the line and placed it neatly aside, keeping track of what sections have been cut out. The sewing would only come later, after she had all the pieces.
Sewing kimonos was what she did since young. Back when she was still a child, and was always bedridden for one reason or another, Iroi remembered her mother teaching her how to sew. First it was easy things like a bandanna, and then it was clothes for her dolls, and soon Iroi knew how to sew her own clothes. There was always a spark of happiness in both the mother and the daughter's eyes when they sewed together, or when someone modelled the clothes they had sewed. It was a joy derived from making something out of nothing; it was a calm derived from hours of concentration and focus; it was a way to relax by engaging in a somewhat monotonous action of pushing and pulling the thread. Over the years, sewing became part of her life, a hobby, a side-job, a source of catharsis.
By the end of the hour, after rolling out more than ten metres of the cloth, she wiped her brow and started gathering all the pieces together. It would take her another week or so of sewing to be able to produce a yukata. Her hands itched for her needle and thread, but her eyes and heart were attracted to the beautifully dyed purple bolt still on her central table. Her hand went irresistibly to soothe a crease on the top part of the bolt, and then her fingers caressed the texture of the fabric. It was a soft and smooth cloth, and she knew from experience it would be a joy to sew and then feel the cloth next to her bare skin. Iroi frowned, and then gave a reluctant smile, before setting the cut cloth aside and rolling out the purple bolt.
The rain had stopped by the time she finished cutting up the purple bolt. She stared at the pieces on the tatami mats, frowning slightly. The cool night breeze blew into the room through the open balcony, and the windchime there chimed happily. She felt the wind caress her face, and turned towards the sky, her face caught in a ray of moonlight, casting shadows on the rest of her body. Her eyes searched the moon, almost completely round, and unobstructed by clouds. Breathing in the fresh smell of after-rain air, she turned back to the cloth with much reluctance.
The sky after a long pouring rain was truly beautiful. Takashi looked out of his window at the white clouds spread evenly throughout of the rapidly darkening sky, a smile hanging on his face. He could still taste the slightly briny taste of miso soup in his mouth, the remains of a hurriedly eaten dinner with his family late at night. The party in the sushi restaurant was nearing its end, with only just a few businessmen still singing drunkenly, most of the partygoers have already gone home. Takashi sighed a satisfied sigh, and kneaded his shoulders, staring up at the moon at the same time. It is a beautiful moon.
Glossary [1] - A phrase said when returning home. [2] - Okaeri nasai is a phrase said in response to Tadaima, which roughly means "Welcome back". Here, Takashi's father is using an informal version. [3] - Welcome! (commonly used by shop-owners for welcoming customers) [4] - Please take care of me in the future (formality said when introduced to someone) [5] - What is your order?
. Kon'nichiwa --- Good Afternoon . sempai --- senior . yukata --- a bathrobe-like wraparound gown that is worn to summer festivals . miso --- fermented soybean . dashi --- a fish and vegetable based stock widely used for a lot of japanese cooking
chiiyo's comments :
I really wanted to show how lonely Iroi is in this chapter, to try and create a contrast between Takashi and her life. Both her and Takashi are meant to be equally troubled, but his troubles will come with time... *grin* I actually enjoy writing about sewing a lot, because I myself have a strange affection for sewing. That was the basis for her in the first place, a girl who sews yukatas for other people. But with all hobbies of mine, once I start writing about it, the description tends to get a little too detailed sometimes, and I had to cut out quite a bit of the sewing description. As opposed to that, Takashi's hobby, sushi-making, is totally foreign to me... O_o... I can't cook. O_o. But I'll try my best anyway~