"Goodbye," you waved your hand: Chapter 2 - part 1

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The rain that started falling the day before yesterday continued without a break, occasionally shifting in intensity as if rushing, pouring down day and night. The old inn had a large eave that jutted far out, so even with the window open, a little rain wouldn't blow in. Keisuke Himi sat in a six-tatami room that served as both a living room and workspace, listening to the sound of the rain through the open window. He sighed, staring at the reservation log in front of him.

The guest section of the book had remained blank for a week now. June, during the rainy season, always brought fewer visitors, but it had never been this bad. The inn's business had been struggling ever since he took over its management three years ago, after his mother passed away—or even before that, really. Even so, he had managed to keep it going thanks to the regulars who came for the stream fishing. But since a new hotel boasting a hot spring opened just a kilometer away three months ago, his customers had dropped off drastically.

It was only natural that guests would flock to a brand-new, clean hotel rather than his old inn, which couldn't be called beautiful by any stretch of the imagination. He had tried to promote the place a bit by getting featured in a local magazine, but the editor simply told him, "What you need nowadays is something unique." Keisuke, knowing he was too ordinary to come up with any novel ideas, had no means to keep the guests from slipping away, and so the empty days dragged on.

His son, Takayuki, would start elementary school in a couple of years, and expenses would only continue to grow. If this situation didn't improve, Keisuke thought he might as well close the inn during the slow season and find work elsewhere. But then he worried about what kind of job a man in his thirties with just a high school diploma and no certifications could find, and a wave of anxiety washed over him.

A dull clattering sound came from the entrance. He jumped to his feet at the sign of a visitor and ran down the hall. When he passed through the indigo noren curtain and reached the front desk, he found his wife, Emi, shaking off her soaking wet shoes with a look of displeasure, and their son, Takayuki, dashing down the hallway, leaving a trail of small wet footprints. Glancing up at the old-fashioned clock on the wall, Keisuke realized it was time for kindergarten to be over. His son came over to him and flashed a wide grin.

"I had pudding at the store!"

Keisuke tilted his head, surprised. Emi was usually strict about not giving Takayuki sweets unless there was a special reason, out of concern for his teeth.

"Takayuki, come here," she called. Obediently, the boy detached himself from Keisuke's leg and went to her side.

"We'll have dinner early tonight," Emi said, taking Takayuki with her to the kitchen. Keisuke let out another sigh in the now quiet reception area and returned to the living room. Barely five minutes passed before Takayuki came running back in after changing his clothes.

"Dad, let's play!" he said, looking up at him with a smile. Drawn in by his son’s invitation, Keisuke started playing finger games with him. Children were so amusing, he thought. "Why do we call this color 'red'?" Takayuki asked, with a puzzled expression at something so obvious. Keisuke was always amazed at his son's pure curiosity and flexible mind. As they played together, time slipped by, and soon Emi called out, "Dinner's ready."

The dinner table was set with Keisuke's favorite dishes, and there beside him were his beloved son and his dear wife. Perhaps wanting more than this was asking for too much. The inn's business might be struggling, but at least they weren't in debt. Being with his family made his worries about the future fade away. During the meal, Emi was unusually silent. Her gloomy expression bothered him, but he decided not to pry, thinking it would be overstepping if she didn't bring it up herself.

After dinner, when he emerged from the bath, Takayuki was already in bed, even though it was only eight o'clock. He must have been put to bed early. The quiet sliding sound of the fusuma door opening caught his attention. Turning around, beer in hand, Keisuke saw Emi enter the room, her head bowed.

"I have something to talk about," she said in a small voice, sitting down across from Keisuke at the low table. She silently handed him a piece of paper. He took it, still confused, and before he could even unfold it, she bowed low, pressing her forehead to the tatami mat.

"I’m so sorry for being selfish. Please forgive me," she said.

Staring blankly at the divorce papers, already signed and stamped with her seal, Keisuke couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to ask if this was a joke when he saw the serious expression on her face.

"I want to know why you want to leave me. Is it because you don’t love me anymore?" he asked, his voice trembling. Emi's face turned pale, and she slowly shook her head from side to side.

"Then why? Why are you asking for a divorce? I know we don’t have much money, but we’ve been managing, haven’t we? I have no complaints about you. I don’t want to lose you," he pleaded, his voice cracking.

Tears welled up in Emi's eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she looked at him.

"I’ve fallen in love with someone else," she whispered.

She covered her face with both hands, her body shaking with sobs. "I’m sorry, I’m so sorry," she repeated, over and over. Keisuke couldn’t find the words to say to the woman who kept apologizing. He could only stare at the nape of her neck, so pale and exposed. The sound of the rain outside mixed with the heavy, suffocating sound of her crying. His words of "I love you" were swallowed up by her endless "I’m sorry." In that moment, Keisuke felt the footsteps of his family falling apart, sensing that there was no longer any place for him in his wife's heart.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It was the last day of September, clinging to the remnants of summer heat but no longer deserving to be called the late summer. On that day, Keisuke closed the inn that had been in operation for forty years. It had been about three months since he found himself alone, and during that time, the number of guests at the inn could be counted on one hand. When he realized that he could barely make enough to sustain himself, he finally made the decision to shut it down. Closing the inn that his parents had cherished was heartbreaking. He felt guilty, but he was also exhausted from running a failing business and had lost the energy to try turning things around.

The day after he closed the inn, Keisuke forced himself to shake off his sinking mood. He washed all the guest sheets and aired out the futons. The inn's windows, adorned with the bright colors of the bedding, seemed livelier than usual, but knowing it was only on the surface left him with an indescribable emptiness. He asked himself what the point was in cleaning things he would probably never use again, and then smiled wryly, realizing it was just sentimentality. Succumbing to that sentiment, he carefully cleaned each room, one by one. By the time he finished, the sun was already sinking in the western sky.

He made himself a cup of tea and sat down in front of the low table. No laughter from his wife, no cries from his child could be heard. The absence of what he had always taken for granted hit him hard. He endured the stabbing pain in his chest. Nothing lasts forever; if such a thing exists, he would like to see it. Everything eventually disappears, destined to be forgotten, just like the inn his parents treasured for forty years that had now come to an end, and like the woman who had vowed her love to him before God, only to betray him after five years.

"You were so good to me," his wife had said. "My friends would always tell me they’d never met a husband as kind as you. Even Takayuki loves you so much... but I just want to be honest with my feelings."

Keisuke could understand her sincerity; she was never one to lie about her emotions. But still, he couldn't help but wonder what he was supposed to do now that the future he had planned—to live out his life with her as her husband—was gone.

"He said that if it's alright with me, he wants to marry me," she continued. "He loves kids, and he adores Takayuki."

Keisuke had hoped she would reconsider, but in the end, he stamped the divorce papers. His wife’s gaze was no longer directed at him. She looked outwards, like a bird in a cage, anxiously awaiting the door to open, her body tense and uneasy in their house. She had found another man she loved more than him, and that man was ready to accept her. With the inn’s business in dire straits, Keisuke felt that letting her go to live a freer life might be the most loving thing he could do for her.

He suppressed his loneliness and smiled as he saw her off, doing his best to ensure she wouldn't feel guilty about leaving. He watched her walk away in her dress, their son skipping beside her as if they were off on a picnic. What he was left with were five years’ worth of memories of his family—memories that were now just a source of heartbreak. He knew that happiness never lasts forever, but still, he wished he could have had just a little more time with them.

The dull clatter of the sliding door echoed through the inn. He heard a distant voice from the entrance say, "Excuse me," and hurriedly got to his feet. It might be a visitor unaware that the inn was now closed.

"Welcome," he called out as he passed through the noren curtain, only to stop in shock at the sight of the man standing there in a suit.

"It's been a while," the man said.

The briefcase he was holding made a thud on the hallway floor. His hair was shorter than the last time Keisuke saw him, half a year ago, but it suited his well-proportioned face. Seeming a little thinner than before, Seiichi Ashiya, Keisuke’s cousin of the same age, grinned and thrust his right hand forward, offering a netted bag containing a watermelon, out of season. When Keisuke accepted it, it felt surprisingly heavy despite its small size. He wasn't sure how sweet it would be at this time of year, but it was undeniably a fine-looking fruit.

"I found it for sale near the station. It's yours," Seiichi said.

Seiichi took off his worn black shoes and stepped up into the hallway.

"Oh... thanks," Keisuke replied, somewhat awkwardly.

Knowing his way around the inn, Seiichi walked straight into the back rooms on his own and opened the sliding door to the living room. Keisuke headed to the kitchen, put the watermelon in the fridge, and then poured some chilled tea into glasses. As he stepped into the living room with the tray in hand, he found Seiichi lying on his back next to the low table, using a cushion as a pillow. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead, which he wiped away with his shirt sleeve in a seemingly irritated motion. Keisuke noticed that Seiichi's face looked a bit leaner than it had six months ago. When he set the tray down on the table, the clink of the teacups made Seiichi open his eyes.

"Care for some tea?" Keisuke asked.

Seiichi sat up and took the cup, drinking it down in a single gulp before letting out a slow breath.

"No guests today?" he asked.

"None," Keisuke replied.

Seiichi shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. "Every time I come here, it's always dead quiet. And what's with all those futons in the window? There's a ton of them."

"The weather's nice, so I'm airing them out," Keisuke said.

"I get that, but there's way more than usual, isn't there?"

As he spoke, Seiichi reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He tapped the ash into a white ashtray with the inn's name engraved on it.

"If I'm the only one staying here, I must be getting the VIP treatment," Seiichi said with a laugh, cigarette between his lips. His smile was the same as always, that charming grin like a mischievous kid.

"You're not a guest," Keisuke said.

"Hey, I pay every time I stay, don’t I?" Seiichi puffed up his chest, looking proud.

"I keep telling you it's not necessary, but you always leave the money anyway."

Seiichi let out a hearty laugh, but then, as he ran a hand through his hair, his smile faded suddenly.

"By the way, where's Emi? I haven't seen her around," he asked, a slight pause lingering between his words.

"…She had something to do, so she took Takayuki and went back to her parents' place," Keisuke said, lying.

Whether Seiichi sensed the lie or not, he didn't say. He simply rolled back down onto the tatami mat, stretching out with a wide yawn.

"Are you tired?" Keisuke asked.

Seiichi gave a small nod. "Yeah, I pulled an all-nighter yesterday. Mind if I sleep here?"

"You can, but I could set up a room for you upstairs. It'd be cooler and more comfortable—"

"This spot's fine," Seiichi said, already closing his eyes.

Within minutes, Keisuke could hear the steady rhythm of Seiichi's breathing as he slept. Trying not to wake him, Keisuke stood up quietly and went upstairs. He started putting away the freshly aired futons, folding them one by one into the closets, their fabric carrying the comforting scent of sunlight.

In the easternmost room, the best room in the inn with the best breeze and the coziest feel, he set up a space for a guest. As he prepared the room, he couldn't help but find it ironic that Seiichi had ended up being his last visitor.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

While Seiichi was sleeping, Keisuke went out to buy ingredients for dinner. At the small supermarket, he found himself filling the basket with foods that he knew Seiichi would like, and couldn't help but smile wryly at himself. For Keisuke, Seiichi Ashiya wasn't just a cousin; he was something special. He pondered how best to describe that feeling and settled on the simple phrase, "a cherished person." As he turned the words over in his mind, "a cherished person," he felt a tinge of sadness welling up.

Back in his second year of high school, Keisuke had fallen in love with his city-dwelling cousin, Seiichi. Even though he knew it was a love for another man, he couldn't help being captivated. Seiichi carried a different aura than his friends from the countryside, and Keisuke was irresistibly drawn to that charm. They spent time together, even finding joy in mischievous deeds. Driven by curiosity, they even had sex. Although he knew it wasn’t "normal," there was a powerful current that swept them away, brushing aside societal norms and ethics. They kissed repeatedly, made love with the raw passion of young animals, and then, exhausted, would fall asleep in each other’s arms. Being with Seiichi was like living a dream, and time seemed to fly by in his presence.

But after three weeks of staying in the countryside, Seiichi returned to the city. As they parted, Seiichi had said, "I’ll come back for you, and when I do, let's run away together." Keisuke had believed those words without a shred of doubt... at least at first. Yet, as time passed, reality set in. Letters he sent went unanswered, and there were no calls during winter or spring break. It took Keisuke several times longer than those three weeks to finally accept that the love that had consumed him so thoroughly was something Seiichi could easily forget. Still, he never regretted those summer days. Looking back over his life, there was never a time before or after when he had felt so alive, so deeply infatuated.

When his father died five years ago, Keisuke's mother told him, "From now on, you’re free to do whatever you want," as she encouraged him to give up his plans to go to university and help with the inn. So he made a decision—to be close to Seiichi again. He didn't care if they never met face-to-face. Just living in the same area, with the possibility that they might pass by each other someday, was enough to make him happy. He held no bitterness toward their youthful romance.

That modest hope led to an unexpected result—Seiichi reached out to him again. Even though Keisuke knew it was only physical, he was still glad and gave his all without reservation. But as much as he cherished those moments, Seiichi was never really his to keep. He learned to savor each fleeting joy—the gentle touch of Seiichi's fingers, the heat of his kisses—loving the entirety of who Seiichi was. The pain itself felt almost sweet, though that might sound strange to others, it was true for him. And just as every beginning has its end, when financial circumstances forced Keisuke to leave the city, he closed the chapter on his time with Seiichi, tucking it away as a treasured memory. He wouldn’t say there were no regrets, but there was also a sense of closure.

It should have ended there, but Seiichi followed him, without a word, back to the countryside. Seiichi said he still loved him and even suggested that they live together. Keisuke was touched by the offer, yet by then he was already engaged, and he couldn’t leave his aging mother on her own. No... even then, he knew that if he’d had the courage to throw everything away, they could have run off together. But he knew Seiichi’s nature too well—his values, his personality—everything about him was different from his own. That difference was part of Seiichi's charm, but Keisuke understood that Seiichi wasn’t someone he could build a life with. He could love Seiichi, but he wasn’t confident that Seiichi would love him forever.

Even after Keisuke married Emi, Seiichi continued to visit the inn once or twice a year, saying it was just a stop on his business trips. Seiichi would laugh and chat as though the intimate words they once shared had never existed, and then he would leave the next day. Keisuke sometimes wondered about the true reason behind those visits—was it really just for business, or did Seiichi still hold some feelings for him? He never knew, and he never dared to ask. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice that despite Seiichi’s handsome looks and social charm, at thirty-three, he was still single.

When Keisuke returned from shopping, Seiichi’s shadow lay motionless in the living room. It wasn’t until Keisuke finished preparing dinner and set the dishes on the table that Seiichi finally stirred and sat up.

They sat facing each other, eating dinner in silence. With the television off, the isolation of their location, set a bit apart from the village, made the quiet feel almost unnervingly profound. Occasionally, the chirping of crickets broke the stillness. A gentle breeze set the wind chime tinkling, reminding Keisuke of its presence, which he had forgotten to take down. As they ate, Seiichi started scratching his right arm, and soon a small red bump appeared, swelling slightly under his touch.

"There are mosquitoes here," Seiichi said.

Keisuke stood up and closed the screen door.

"It's been a while since I got bitten by a mosquito," Seiichi muttered, toying with the red mark on his skin.

"I'm glad you got to experience that again," Keisuke teased with a grin.

"What's to be glad about?" Seiichi replied, his tone not at all angry, and when Keisuke laughed, Seiichi's mischievous smile appeared as well.

After finishing the meal, Keisuke washed the dishes and prepared some coffee. When he returned to the living room, Seiichi was sprawled out on the floor like he had been earlier in the day. Though Seiichi was never one to stand on ceremony, Keisuke thought he’d never seen him act quite this unguarded before. He called out to him, and Seiichi, rubbing his red eyes with the heel of his hand, sat up. "Are you tired?" Keisuke asked, and Seiichi gave a slight nod.

"Ever since I got promoted, it's been nothing but a bunch of headaches. I’m sick of it," Seiichi said.

"You got promoted? That's amazing," Keisuke said earnestly.

"It's just what comes with getting older. Nothing special," Seiichi replied dismissively, then took a couple of sips of coffee before lying down again.

"I’ve prepared a room for you upstairs. Why don't you sleep in a proper bed?" Keisuke offered.

It was only eight in the evening, early to turn in, but Seiichi slowly got to his feet, as if he'd made up his mind.

"It's the room on the east end, right? I’ve stayed there before, so I remember," Seiichi said.

"Yeah," Keisuke confirmed. "Feel free to use the bath whenever you like. I'll leave some towels in the changing room for you."

With a curt "Good night," Seiichi went upstairs. Once Seiichi retired to his room, Keisuke was alone again. He felt aimless, gazing out the window absentmindedly. The nearly full moon shone beautifully in the night sky.

Drawn by the pale, bluish light, Keisuke slipped on the faded geta sandals with the inn's name barely visible and stepped out into the garden. The clack of the wooden sandals echoed softly. Under the gentle, dim light, the small garden took on an almost dreamlike appearance. His father had intended to build a garden facing the south side of the inn. He used to work on it little by little, day by day, looking so content, but he fell ill before he could finish. Left untended, the garden had become overgrown with weeds, despite his mother’s efforts to maintain it. It never again reached the beauty it had when his father cared for it. Now it was a tangled mess, almost like a tiny jungle—just like the state of Keisuke’s own heart. Chaotic, overrun, untamed...

He felt a faint sting on his arm and instinctively slapped it. He managed to kill the mosquito, but soon a deep, itching sensation spread where he'd been bitten. In the same spot where Seiichi had been scratching earlier. Now he couldn’t laugh at the man who'd complained about getting bitten. He looked up at the second floor, toward the east room of the inn. The lights were out, and it seemed that his cousin, who had come for a visit after half a year, had already fallen asleep.

Keisuke went back inside, took a bath, and then decided to head to bed himself. It felt different with someone else in the house. Even if they exchanged no words, it was comforting. But despite that comfort, he still needed the help of alcohol to fall asleep, so he took a glass of liquor with him to his bedroom.

He pondered why he hadn’t told Seiichi about his divorce. What made him lie in the first place? Was it because he was embarrassed? No, that wasn’t it. Maybe he thought that if he mentioned the divorce, Seiichi might suggest they be together again, like in the old days. He considered that possibility. Would he be happy if Seiichi asked him that? The answer was no. He wouldn’t be happy.

He still liked Seiichi. But that love belonged to the past, to memories, and had no place in his current reality. That’s why he’d lied, as a way of keeping his distance. He chuckled at his own thoughts. It had been five years. There was no guarantee that Seiichi still felt the same way he once did. People’s hearts change much more easily than the passage of time itself.

Tomorrow, once Seiichi leaves, he decided he would go to the employment office. He didn’t know if there were any jobs for him, but he’d at least try looking. And if nothing turned up locally, he’d consider moving away. There was nothing holding him back here anymore.

After the divorce, Keisuke had run into an old classmate by chance in town. When asked how his wife was doing, Keisuke, knowing that the truth would come out sooner or later, confessed that they had separated. At first, the classmate offered him words of sympathy, but eventually, the truth slipped out in a candid remark.

"Back to being single, huh? Must be nice to be so free," said the classmate.

He mistook being alone for being free. Freedom is something you choose for yourself, but being alone is inevitable. Keisuke wasn’t free; he was just alone. True freedom is possible only when you have something to look back on, a place to return to. When you have nowhere to return to, all that awaits you as you move forward is loneliness.

Keisuke looked down and saw that his glass was empty. Almost mechanically, he refilled it with more alcohol, as if it were something he shouldn't have let happen. He stared at the moonlight seeping through the curtain, using it as a companion for his drink. Suddenly, the phone on his bedside table rang, its jarring sound cutting through the silence. After the fifth ring, he finally picked up the receiver. It was a voice he recognized.

"Did I wake you?" Seiichi's voice asked.

"No, I’m still up," Keisuke replied.

"Sorry to bother you this late, but the TV’s acting up. Could you come take a look?"

"Oh, sure. I’ll be right there."

Leaving his drink unfinished, Keisuke stood up and made his way down the dark hallway. Though he had lived in this house since he was a child, he found it strange that he almost bumped into the walls. It took him a moment to realize that it was because he was tipsy.

"I'm coming in," he called out as he reached the east room. He slid open the door, and there was Seiichi, sitting cross-legged on the futon in his yukata. He stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray and pointed at the old TV.

"The power won’t turn on," he said.

Keisuke tried pressing the buttons on the remote a few times, but the screen remained blank. He tilted his head in confusion, then had a thought and checked the cables at the back of the TV. Sure enough, the plug was unplugged. He reached behind the TV, reconnected the plug, and then pressed the remote again. The TV came to life, filling the room with noise as if nothing had ever been wrong.

"It was just the plug," Keisuke said as he turned around. But at that moment, the light in the room abruptly went out. He thought it might be a power outage, but the TV continued blaring away as usual, only to cut off with a faint click moments later.

He felt heat against his back. Strong arms wrapped around him, squeezing so tight it hurt, making it almost impossible to breathe. He tried to twist away, but the arms wouldn’t let go. He struggled to break free, but Seiichi held him even tighter, and they went through this back-and-forth battle several times. His breath came in short gasps, and before he knew it, he was pinned down on the futon. His chest pounded wildly—whether from the alcohol, the struggle, or something else entirely, he didn’t know.

"Let go," he whispered.

He felt the warmth of Seiichi's lips against his neck, then the gentle touch of fingers as they began to unbutton his nightclothes. Keisuke shivered slightly.

"No... you can’t, you can't..." he muttered.

Seiichi's hands tore his clothes away, and the heat of his body pressed down on Keisuke, leaving him dizzy. The moonlight poured through the window, casting a blue shadow over them. In the dim light, Seiichi’s hands held his head gently, pulling him into a kiss. The act itself was rough, yet the kiss was tender, almost like a delicate peck. That tenderness brought an ache to Keisuke's chest.

He stopped resisting halfway through. This was the man he had loved with all his heart, and even now, in a different way than he had loved his wife, he still cherished him deeply. More than anything, he was lonely. He didn't have the strength to push him away completely. As Seiichi's touch sent shivers down his spine, the night outside remained brightly lit by the moon. The faint sound of the wind chime accompanied the soft flutter of the curtains by the window.

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