メロウレイン / Futtara Doshaburi Mellow Rain

The Scent of Light. 

The guests seemed content to chat among themselves while picking at the finger food, and it didn’t look as though any particular event was scheduled for later.

 

“If you’re feeling out of place, we can just slip away whenever you like,” Kazuaki whispered in Hiiragi’s ear.

 

“I thought you came here to do business.”

 

“It’s more accurate to say I’m here to make an appearance.”

 

“Oi, what are you two whispering about?”

 

At the sound of the voice, they both turned around. A man was standing there, dressed in a suit that made him look rather unremarkable amongst the other guests. At first glance, he had a rather cold-looking face, but the way he was chewing something made him seem less charming than oddly incongruous.

 

“Mr Kujō,” Kazuaki greeted him.

 

“They’ve got lobster over there,” Kujō announced.

 

“If you eat that enthusiastically at an event like this, people might think your business is struggling.”

 

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

 

Even Hiiragi could tell from his tone that he had absolutely no intention of doing so.

 

The man called Kujō looked Hiiragi up and down without the slightest hesitation, then turned to Kazuaki.

 

“He with you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s unusual. As far as I know, this is the first time you’ve ever brought someone along.”

 

“It’s the first time, even counting the occasions you don’t know about.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

Kujō stared at Hiiragi even more openly. But his scrutiny was so straightforward that it felt almost like being examined by a child, and strangely enough, Hiiragi didn’t mind.

 

“Where did you pick him up?”

 

“If I had to say, probably in the mountains.”

 

What am I, an acorn you found lying on the ground?

 

“Actually, I’d say I’m the one who was taken in,” Hiiragi added.

 

“Ah, so that’s why you suddenly decided to retire to the countryside.”

 

“In a manner of speaking.”

 

“If this were a fairy tale, it’d end with you having to return him to the mountains before he grew weak and died.”

 

“I’m not going to die…”

 

It was the first time Hiiragi had spoken back to him.

 

“Oh, so you understand human speech? My apologies.”

 

With that, Kujō wandered off to rummage through the food table again.

 

“Sorry about that,” Kazuaki apologised. “He handles things like rights and contracts for me, as well as some of my management. He’s like that with everyone. I couldn’t tell you whether he means any harm by it, but personally, I don’t dislike him.”

 

“…Yeah. I think I can sort of understand that.”

 

Although Hiiragi had been taken aback by the man’s rather one-sided remarks, he hadn’t actually been offended.

 

Kujō’s appearance seemed to open the floodgates, and all sorts of people began approaching Kazuaki. Without exception, their first words were some variation of “It’s been a long time”, which made it fairly obvious that Kazuaki had finally been unable to avoid attending this particular gathering.

 

They all glanced at Hiiragi, too, but none of them asked any unnecessary questions. Instead, they simply offered pleasant smiles, behaving like proper, respectable adults.

 

Well, of course they would.

 

“…I’m going to wander around for a bit.”

 

Hiiragi quickly told Kazuaki during a brief lull between visitors.

 

“Will you be all right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

There was something strangely refreshing about watching Kazuaki from a little distance away as he talked to people other than Hiiragi.

 

It was almost like watching an actor onstage. His name and personality seemed to fade from Hiiragi’s mind, leaving only the impression of an elegantly dressed, quiet, refined older man.

 

Kazuaki smiled warmly at everyone and kept the conversations flowing effortlessly. It was entirely different from the intimate expressions he showed Hiiragi. Yet anyone who didn’t know the real Kazuaki would never imagine that he disliked gatherings like this.

 

Once Kazuaki accepted something as part of his work, he couldn’t seem to help performing to a standard higher than anyone expected of him.

 

Was that a sign of how skilful he was, or how hopelessly awkward?

 

Hiiragi began to feel uncomfortable spying on him, so he went outside. The wooden decking in the garden area was cold. It also doubled as a smoking area, so there was a faint haze of cigarette smoke, but the illuminated greenery and the pond reflecting its shimmering lights made for a beautiful view.

 

He leant against the railing and stared absently into the distance for a while.

Then someone quietly approached and stopped beside him.

 

“What’s wrong? Missing the mountains?”

 

“Not really. It’s not like I’ve spent my entire life living up there.”

 

“Oh? I thought you’d lived so deep in the mountains that your eyes had turned green.”

 

Kujō delivered the remark in a tone that made it impossible to tell whether he was joking. Then he lit a cigarette and took a puff.

 

“So where do you live when you’re amongst civilisation?”

 

“Er, well…”

 

Was Kujō fishing for information? How much was Hiiragi supposed to tell him? More importantly, how much did the man already know? While Hiiragi hesitated, Kujō casually supplied the answer himself.

 

“Oh, you’re living at Fujisawa’s place.”

 

“Don’t be so wary. I don’t care about any of that. As long as he keeps producing work that makes money, the rest is none of my business. I was just surprised he’d actually brought someone along. That guy’s a pain in the arse, isn’t he?”

 

“…Not really.”

“Seriously? He’s got far too many rules about how things should be done. His own personal way of doing absolutely everything. I wouldn’t last a day living with him.”

 

“He’s never forced me to follow any of them.”

 

“Maybe not, but when someone doesn’t follow his rules, he gradually closes himself off from them, no matter how polite he seems on the surface. The best way to deal with him is to keep a comfortable distance.”

 

“You’ve done nothing but say horrible things about him.”

 

Hiiragi glared at Kujō.

 

“You make money from the things Kazuaki creates, don’t you?”

 

“I’m not bad-mouthing him. And I don’t think he should change in the slightest. In fact, I’d be in trouble if he did. It’s precisely those troublesome qualities of his that allow Fujisawa Kazuaki to produce work nobody else can. He should be damn proud of that. An eccentric who makes money is a valuable thing.”

 

It was clear that Kujō understood Kazuaki and genuinely valued his abilities, but Hiiragi still found it difficult to regard those words as praise. He looked across the pond, where a magnificent camellia was illuminated by lights shining up from the ground.

 

“Tokumei…”

 

For some reason, he murmured the name at exactly the same moment as Kujō.

 

“You know some rather obscure names.”

 

“So do you, Mr Kujō.”

 

“We had one growing in the garden at my parents’ house. Ah…”

 

Kujō stubbed out his cigarette in the nearby metal ashtray.

 

“He asked me about that over the phone once.”

 

“Who?”

 

“I’m the one who gave one of Fujisawa’s products the name Wabisuke. Does that ring any bells?”

 

“Ah… yes.”

 

“I thought it was strange when someone as terrible at keeping in touch as him suddenly rang to ask me something like that.”

 

Kujō glanced towards the building.

 

“…The wind’s picking up.”

 

He started back towards the warmth of the venue, but just before going inside, he turned around.

 

“Maybe I ought to thank you.”

 

For the first time, he smiled a little.

 

“What for?”

 

“When Fujisawa started saying he didn’t think he could create anything any more, I’d more or less given up on him, to be frank. If that man says he can’t do something, then it means he genuinely can’t do it. So when he eventually came back, perfectly fine, even if it took him a while… Well, I suppose it’s because someone picked him up in the mountains, isn’t it?”

 

“Kazuaki managed to come back because he walked forwards on his own two feet,” Hiiragi answered sincerely.

 

“And, for the record, I didn’t pick him up.”

 

“Well, whichever way round it was, it doesn’t matter.”

 

The night wind was as cold as though it had swept across a sheet of ice.

People kept coming outside, determinedly taking in their nicotine before fleeing back indoors again. Hiiragi couldn’t understand the urge to smoke when it meant willingly standing out in such dreadful cold.

 

“Brr…”

 

He shivered.

 

It was colder in the mountains.

 

And yet, his body already seemed to be forgetting what the cold up there had felt like.

 

It hadn’t even been a year.

 

It wasn’t so much that he missed the mountains. Rather, there were moments when the thought of being human, of existing within such a changeable and fickle vessel, left him feeling strangely insecure.

 

If he stayed out here wandering around for too long, Kazuaki might start worrying about him. His hands were growing numb with cold anyway, so he decided it was about time he went back inside.

 

Just then, his eyes met those of a man who had come out through the door.

 

“Ah!”

 

Naturally, Hiiragi didn’t recognise him. He had intended to give a polite nod and walk past, but the man’s eyes widened in obvious surprise.

 

“Thank goodness!”

 

He hurried towards Hiiragi.

 

“I’ve been looking for you for ages! I thought you might have gone home already. Ah, do you speak Japanese?”

 

Startled by the man’s sudden enthusiasm, Hiiragi froze for several seconds before finally answering.

 

“I’m Japanese.”

 

“Born and raised in Japan.”

 

“But you’re half-Japanese? A quarter? Ah, never mind. Anyway, this is who I am.”

 

The man thrust a business card into his hand.

 

Words such as "creative" and "agency" were scattered across it in English, to the point where Hiiragi wondered whether it might actually be easier to understand if he weren’t Japanese. He had absolutely no idea what the man’s occupation was.

 

“Have you ever thought about modelling? Oh, or are you already doing that sort of work somewhere? Is that why you’re here tonight?”

 

Hiiragi shook his head vigorously, for several reasons at once. Why couldn’t this man ask one question at a time?

 

“You’re incredibly striking, you know. Especially those eyes. I feel like even if we photographed you in black and white, the green would somehow still be alive.”

 

It was supposed to be a compliment, but Hiiragi didn’t feel pleased in the slightest. Probably because the man’s gaze was already treating him, at least partly, as an object.

 

Ah, I see.

 

To become a model, perhaps you needed to be someone who could consciously and willingly turn yourself into an object. At the very least, Hiiragi knew he could never do it.

 

But…

 

He hesitated.

 

What if this man was an extremely important business associate of Kazuaki’s? Even if he wasn’t, Hiiragi was only here as someone’s guest. If he didn’t refuse politely, he might end up causing Kazuaki trouble.

 

“Um, I’m not particularly tall…”

 

“Modelling isn’t just about clothes and runways. There are interiors, household goods… I bet there are musicians who’d want you for their album covers, too. You don’t need to worry about that sort of thing.”

 

Hang on. Why does he sound as though he thinks I actually want to do this?

 

“For now, could you at least come to the studio for a camera test? Just once? If you’re underage, naturally, we’d have your parents come along as well.”

 

“No, um, well, I…”

 

As Hiiragi stumbled helplessly over his words, the door to the garden suddenly swung wide open. A wave of warm air drifted outside. And with it came Kazuaki.

 

“Hiiragi.”

 

His expression was as pleasant and composed as ever, but there was unmistakable tension beneath it. It wasn’t directed at Hiiragi. It was aimed squarely at the man from the agency with the incomprehensible English name.

 

“Excuse me, but is there something you need from my companion?”

 

“Ah, no, I was just wondering if we might be able to work together.”

 

“Hiiragi, what would you like to do?”

 

Hiiragi shook his head again, clearly indicating that he wasn’t interested.

Kazuaki took his hand.

 

“It’s cold, and I think it’s about time we left. I’m sorry we can’t accommodate your request. Excuse us.”

 

Without giving the man another glance, Kazuaki led Hiiragi away.

 

They left the venue at a brisk pace without saying goodbye to anyone, collected their coats from the cloakroom and climbed into a taxi waiting outside the entrance.

 

The entire process couldn’t have taken even five minutes.

 

“…Are you sure it’s all right for us to leave like that?”

 

“Yes. I think I’ve spoken to everyone I needed to maintain contact with. More importantly, are you sure you’re all right with it?”

 

“With what?”

 

“What happened just now. You looked uncomfortable, so I couldn’t help interfering. But it might not necessarily have been a bad opportunity for you. I’m wondering now whether I should have shut it down so completely.”

 

“What? No way.”

 

“To begin with, what sort of work was he offering you?”

 

“…Modelling, apparently… It’s weird, isn’t it?”

 

Hiiragi’s embarrassment made his voice trail off, but Kazuaki answered with a perfectly serious expression.

 

“Not in the slightest.”

 

“No, no, no… I was only worrying because I thought he might be someone 

you knew. I don’t want to do anything like that at all.”

 

“I see.”

 

Kazuaki rested his temple against the car window and sighed.

 

“I’m sorry I made you feel you had to be considerate of me.”

 

“You didn’t. Thank you. I was relieved when you came to rescue me.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t try doing things that are so unlike me.”

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

“I’ll explain when we get home.”

 

Kazuaki gave Hiiragi’s chilled hand a firm squeeze. No wonder it was so cold. At some point, the darkness surrounding the taxi began to fill with white, falling snow.

 

When they arrived home, Kazuaki brought out a picture book. It was thoroughly worn, the corners of its hardback cover rubbed smooth and rounded with age. Yet there was a faint warmth about it, the unmistakable impression that someone had treasured and carefully preserved it.

 

It must have been the book Kazuaki mentioned having sent over from his parents’ house recently.

 

“The Greedy Little Caterpillar… What cute illustrations.”

 

(The Greedy Little Caterpillar, by Hiroshi Maki, published by Fukuinkan Shoten.)

 

Although a caterpillar was normally green, the creature illustrated on the cover was an enormous, genuinely sky-blue thing. It had a large, drooping mouth and eyes that slanted downwards, giving it the appearance of smiling somewhat helplessly.

 

Rather than a caterpillar, its shape reminded Hiiragi a little of the boa constrictor that had swallowed an elephant in The Little Prince. The creature was bigger than a house, and all the people walking along the street were staring at it in alarm.

 

A little boy sat astride its back.

 

“His name is Masao,” Kazuaki explained.

 

“Mm.”

 

“The caterpillar Masao picks up is terribly greedy. He eats absolutely everything and keeps growing bigger and bigger. He simply can’t control himself. Eventually, he swallows Masao’s parents and then the entire town where Masao lives. With nothing left to eat, he and Masao travel farther and farther away. The caterpillar loves Masao and doesn’t want to make him sad, but he still can’t stop eating.”

 

Hiiragi flicked through the short story. It certainly unfolded much as Kazuaki had described, although the simple, charming illustrations kept it from feeling quite as tragic as the summary suggested. Surreal. And somehow philosophical, too. That was Hiiragi’s immediate impression.

 

“But it does have a happy ending in the end… doesn’t it?”

 

“I find it frightening that I could regard that as a perfectly happy ending.”

 

Kazuaki rested his cheek against his hand as he looked down at his mug, which, today, contained the same café au lait as Hiiragi’s.

 

“I don’t particularly like the thought that I was already so obsessed with this sort of fiction long before I even understood romantic feelings.”

 

“It’s a good picture book. I bet loads of children love it.”

 

“Swallowing someone’s entire world into your stomach is impossible in reality, and terrifying. And yet, somewhere deep down, I can’t help thinking there might be no more perfect form of togetherness than that. I can’t actually eat you, but I still have a very clear desire to shut out more and more of the world until there’s nothing left but you and me.”

 

“But you don’t do that.”

 

Unlike the little caterpillar, who couldn’t stop eating even when his beloved Masao cried.

 

“…Today, I was conducting something of an experiment. I wanted to see what would happen if I took you somewhere that felt like a world outside my own. It didn’t go very well, though.”

 

“I already told you I was glad you came to help me…”

“I might have cut off an encounter you would otherwise have wanted.”

 

Kazuaki really could be astonishingly stubborn at times like this.

 

“Is that why you never come to see me at my part-time job?”

 

“Yes. Whether you looked happy while you were working or miserable, I’d probably end up worrying. Or rather, I think I’d feel rather unsettled.”

 

Hiiragi had his own worries. He wondered whether his presence at home interfered with Kazuaki’s concentration. Whenever Kazuaki stopped working to do something for him, Hiiragi was happy, of course. But he also worried that those little interruptions might gradually accumulate inside Kazuaki as irritation and weariness, settling like sediment.

 

They were the inevitable little disturbances that came with sharing everyday life, whether two people were family or lovers. Hiiragi himself had countless memories of becoming inexplicably prickly with his grandfather over things that barely mattered.

 

But Kazuaki was so conscientious that he might suppress those frustrations over and over, until one day, quite suddenly, he reached a conclusion.

 

Hiiragi, I think we should live separately after all.

 

Trusting someone and imagining the reality of parting from them weren’t necessarily contradictory. If Hiiragi told Kazuaki about these fears, Kazuaki would undoubtedly insist that such a thing would never happen. Just as Hiiragi rejected Kazuaki’s own anxieties.

 

Perhaps there wasn’t such a great difference between what two people could understand about each other and what they couldn’t.

 

“…Kazuaki, you’re a pain.”

 

Hiiragi said it aloud.

 

“…Well, um, that’s what that man Kujō said.”

 

“I think he’s absolutely right.”

“But he said it’s precisely those troublesome parts of you that allow you to do work nobody else can. I think so, too. The coffee you make always tastes better than mine. The sheets you wash come out perfectly white and crisp, and the glasses you polish are sparkling clean.”

 

Hiiragi continued.

 

“That’s why, when I come home, I feel relieved. And that’s what makes me want to go back out and work amongst lots of people again. My little world was swallowed up inside yours a long time ago.”

 

“…I see.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“And you’re all right with that?”

 

“Of course I am.”

 

“I see… I see.”

 

The two mugs of café au lait sat untouched on the counter beside the picture book, gradually growing cold. But if Kazuaki warmed them up again the following morning, Hiiragi was sure they would taste just as delicious.

 

“Kazuaki.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Do you remember when I told you about scale insects?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“People in the old days didn’t even realise they were living creatures, apparently. They’re so tiny, maybe people thought they were just little rough patches on the bark of trees. And then…”

 

“Mm.”

 

As their bodies moved together slowly and smoothly, Kazuaki gently encouraged him to continue.

 

“When they attach themselves to the bark, their bodies dissolve and disappear, until all that’s left is the digestive system that sucks up the sap. I don’t really know whether you can even call something in that state ‘alive’, but I…”

 

Hiiragi hesitated.

 

“…When we’re doing this, I remember them really vividly. And when I remember, I feel almost envious.”

 

To surrender everything that got in the way. His troublesome body, the concerns of everyday life, his five senses, even his own sense of self. To simply cling to Kazuaki and exist solely on the nourishment Kazuaki provided.

 

“Am I frightening, too?”

 

“I wonder,” Kazuaki answered.

 

And together, they lost themselves in the one act that could offer them the fleeting illusion of melting completely into each other.

 

The following morning, when they opened the curtains, the brightness was almost dazzling enough to make them turn away. The balcony was completely white.

 

“Whoa, it really settled!”

 

Hiiragi opened the window, and his white breath disappeared into the clear morning light.

 

He closed his eyes.

 

“The smell of snow.”

 

“What does it smell like?”

 

“It’s kind of… a little sweet, but metallic? Do you know what I mean?”

“No.”

 

“Seriously…?”

 

“Speaking of which, apparently outer space smells like raspberries.”

 

“How am I supposed to know what that smells like?”

 

“Apparently, spacesuits used for spacewalks have that sort of smell when the astronauts come back inside.”

 

“Huh.”

 

On the back cover of the picture book, the happy little blue caterpillar was greedily munching away at the stars. If they tasted of raspberries, they would surely be delicious. And the people living inside the caterpillar would be able to smell that fragrance, too.

 

Deep inside the caterpillar’s blue belly, perhaps they would think it was the scent of light.