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carefully wash out my neck towel and sweaty clothes.
While they were in the dryer I would help my mother
make breakfast. Then I'd go back to bed for a while. That
was my life. In the evenings I'd get together with friends,
watch videos, whatever, anything to leave myself as litde
free time as possible. But the struggle was fruidess. There
was only one thing I had any desire to do: I wanted to see
Hitoshi. Yet at all costs I had to keep my hands and body
and mind moving. Doing that, I hoped, albeit listlessly,
would somehow, someday, lead to a breakthrough. There
was no guarantee, but I would try to endure, no matter
what, until it came. When my dog died, when my bird
died, I had gotten through in more or less the same way.
But it was different this time. Without a prospect in sight,
day after day went by, like losing one's mind bit by bit. I
would repeat to myself, like a prayer: It's all right, it's all
right, the day will come when you'll pull out of this.
The river, spanned by a white bridge, was wide, and di-
vided our part of the city almost exacdy in half. It took me
about twenty minutes to reach it. I loved that place it was
there that I used to meet Hitoshi, who had lived on the
other side of the river. Even after he died I still loved the
place.
On the deserted bridge, with the city misted over by the
blue haze of dawn, my eyes absendy followed the white
embankment that continued on to who knows where. I
rested, enveloped in the sound of the current, leisurely
BANANA YOSHIMOTO
drinking hot tea. Standing there in the clear air that tingled
with cold, I felt just the tiniest bit close to death myself. It
was only in the severe clarity of that horribly lonely place
that I could feel at ease. My self-torture stopped when I
was there. Without this respite I would never have been
able to get through the days. I was pierced by how much
I needed it.
That morning I awoke with a start from a vicious night-
mare. It was five-thirty. In the dawn of what promised to
be a clear day I dressed and went out as usual. It was still
dark; not a soul was out. The air was bitingly cold, the
streets misty white, the sky a deep navy blue. Rich grada-
tions of red were coming up in the east.
I had to force myself to run. My breath was labored; the
notion that running this much on not enough sleep was
only tormenting my body passed through my mind, but I
ignored it: I can sleep when I get home, I thought in my
befuddled brain. The streets were so utterly quiet that I
struggled to remain fully conscious.
The sound of the current grew louder as I approached
the river; the colors in the sky were changing moment by
moment. I was leaning over the railing the way I always did
upon reaching the bridge, absently looking at the rows of
buildings on the street, which hung in a faint mist, as if
submerged in an ocean of blue air. The river was roaring,
sweeping along anything and everything in its way on a
stream of white foam. The wind it gave off blew cold and
seemed to suck the perspiration from my face. A half-
MOONLIGHT SHADOW
m6on shone serenely in the still-brisk March sky. My
breath came out in puffs of white. I took the cap off my
aluminum bcfttle and poured out some tea, still looking out
over the river.
Just then I suddenly heard a voice from behind me pipe
up, "What kind of tea is that? Could I have some?" It
startled me so much so that I dropped the bottle in the
river. I still had a full cup of steaming tea in one hand.
Imagining god knows what, I turned around, and there
stood a young woman with a smile on her face. I knew she
was older than me, but for some reason I couldn't guess her
age. Maybe about twenty-five . . . She had short hair and
very clear, large eyes. She wore a thin white coat, but
seemed not to feel the cold in the least. She had popped up
before I had a clue that anyone was there behind me.
Then, looking cheerful, she said in a slighdy nasal but
sweet voice, "It's just like that Brothers Grimm story about
the dog, isn't it? Or was that Aesop?" She laughed.
"In that instance," I said coolly, "the dog dropped his
bone when he saw his own reflection in the water. No-
body sneaked up behind him."
She said, smiling, "I'd like to buy you a new thermos."
"Thank you," I said, showing her a smile in return. She
spoke so calmly that I was not afraid of her, and she wasn't
attempting familiarities. She didn't seem crazy, nor did she
look like a drunk on her way home at dawn. Her eyes were
too knowing and serene; the expression on her face hinted
that she had tasted deeply of the sorrows and joys of this
world. The air around her seemed somehow charged.
After taking one sip to wet my throat, I offered her the
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cup. "Here, have the rest. It's Pu-Arh tea."
"Oh, I love that," she said, taking the cup with a slender
hand. "I just got here. I came from pretty far away." She
looked down at the river. Her eyes had the bright sparkle
of a traveler's.
"Sightseeing?" I asked, wondering what could have
brought her to this particular place.
"Yes. Soon, on this spot, there'll be something to see
that only happens every hundred years. Have you ever
heard about it?" ,
"Something to see?"
"Yes. If all the conditions are right."
"What, exactly?"
"I can't tell you yet. But I promise I will, because you
shared your tea with me." She laughed as she said it, and
I almost failed to catch that last part. The mood of ap-
proaching morning seemed to fill the whole world. The
rays of the rising sun spread over the blue sky, illuminating
the faintly sparkling layers of air with white light.
It was time to be getting back, so I said, "Well, good-
bye." At that she looked me direcdy in the eye with that
same bright expression. "My name is Urara," she said.
"What's yours?"
"Satsuki," I answered.
"Let's get together again," said Urara, waving
good-bye.
I waved back and started running home. She was an odd
one. I had no idea what she was talking about, but some-
how I knew that she was someone who did not live like
MOONLIGHT SHADOW
other people. With each step I took I grew more uneasy,
and I couldn't help but turn and look back. Urara was still
on the bridge. I saw her face in profile as she watched the
river. It shocked me it was not that of the person I had
just talked with. I had never seen such a severe expression
on anyone.
She noticed me standing there, smiled brighdy again,
and waved. Flustered, I returned her wave and broke into
a run.
In heaven's name, what kind of person was she? I pon-
dered it for quite some time. More and more, that morning
in the sunlight, the impression of that mysterious Urara
carved itself with baroque fdigree into my sleepy brain.
Hitoshi had an extremely eccentric younger brother. His
way of thinking, his responses to events, were "curioser
and curioser." He lived exactly as if his awareness of things
had been formed in some other dimension, after which he
was plopped down on this planet to fend for himself. That
was my first impression of him, and I stick by it. His name
was Hiiragi. He was to turn eighteen this month.
Hiiragi and I had arranged to meet, after he got out of
school, in a coffee shop on the fourth floor of a department
store. In he came, wearing a sailor-style girl's high school
uniform, complete with middy blouse and skirt.
The truth is I was mortified, but he acted so natural that
U?
banana yos hi mot o
I managed to feign calmness. Sitting down across from me
he asked, breathless, "Were you waiting long?" When I
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