Innocent World: Chapter 4

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Hirokuni had been caught at a supermarket 20 kilometers (about 12 mi) from the apartment. He was apprehended by the staff after they found him eating bulk deli food with his hands in the takeout section.

In the supermarket’s office, Hirokuni sat in the corner, his hands and feet bound, curled up with a sullen, defiant expression on his face.

Yamamura sighed as he explained that Hirokuni barely understood any language, ate with his hands even at home, and walked around indoors with his shoes on. It was a constant struggle. This earned him some sympathy from the person in charge, and since none of the supermarket staff had been injured and no shelves or dishes were damaged, they agreed to settle things if Yamamura paid for the food Hirokuni had eaten plus a little extra.

By the time Yamamura got back to the apartment, it was past 1 a.m. When he switched on the lights, the same wreckage he had seen earlier greeted him, instantly souring his mood again.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang. Yamamura turned around to see Hirokuni throwing his shoes at the door, which caused it to gently swing open again.

“What the hell are you doing?! It’s the middle of the night, stop making so much noise!” Yamamura shouted. He grabbed Hirokuni by the arm and shoved him deeper into the room, closing the door and securing it again with the wire hanger. As he sighed deeply, he heard a rustling sound from the back of the room. Hirokuni was tearing into the packaging of the convenience store bento that Yamamura had bought earlier.

I spent all that time searching for him, driving out there, apologizing for something that wasn’t even my fault, and this is how he repays me? Yamamura thought, fuming as Hirokuni began eating without waiting for him.

Without thinking, Yamamura snatched the bento from Hirokuni’s hands and threw it out the window. The bento disappeared into the night. Hirokuni darted to the window, peering down. Yamamura allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. Hirokuni calmly grabbed Yamamura’s untouched bento and began tearing that one open instead.

“That’s mine!” Yamamura yelled, yanking the bento away forcefully. Hirokuni, staring at the food in Yamamura’s hands, pointed to the window as if to tell him to go fetch the one he’d thrown out.

“Go to hell!” Yamamura shouted and kicked Hirokuni hard in the side. Hirokuni, who was thin, curled up, clutching his ribs.

“Do you even realize who’s taking care of you? If you’re gonna act like an idiot, at least be quiet about it! You’re more trouble than a dog or a cat, you worthless piece of crap!”

Hirokuni glared at Yamamura, still holding his side. Slowly, he stood up, his eyes scanning the room. He walked toward the bed, grabbing the alarm clock from the bedside table in his hand. Yamamura felt a chill crawl up his spine.

Hirokuni said something in his native language for the first time. Yamamura had no idea what it meant. When he didn’t respond, Hirokuni’s eyes grew even more hostile, and he spoke again.

“Nabrushi shakute.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying!” Yamamura snapped.

Without warning, Hirokuni let out a loud, animalistic scream—“Hokiaaaa!”—and swung the alarm clock at Yamamura. Yamamura tried to block it, but the clock struck him hard on the head. The blow was shockingly powerful, far more forceful than Yamamura would have expected from someone as thin as Hirokuni. His fingers dug painfully into Yamamura’s shoulder, pinning him down with brute strength. Yamamura found himself on his back, with Hirokuni repeatedly slamming the clock into his head. I’m going to die.

“Stop! Please, stop!” Yamamura begged. The third time the clock struck, it shattered into pieces. Hirokuni tossed the broken remains aside and began punching Yamamura with his bare fists. Yamamura’s nose began to bleed, and he felt the inside of his mouth tear. The pain was excruciating.

Yamamura wasn’t a fighter. He was never the physical type, with poor coordination and a natural aversion to violence. Back in high school, the guys he hung out with were troublemakers, but their idea of rebellion was skipping class, smoking, chasing girls, and going out at night—not getting into fistfights and causing enough trouble to land in police custody.

“I’m sorry, okay? It’s my fault, I’m sorry!” Yamamura pleaded desperately. But Hirokuni’s assault continued without mercy. Yamamura clasped his hands together in front of his face, as if in prayer, but Hirokuni swatted them away with a cold indifference. Even the gods won’t help me against this guy.

Yamamura realized he was truly in danger of being killed. Summoning all the strength he had left, he pushed Hirokuni away with his right hand. In the brief moment that Hirokuni hesitated, Yamamura scrambled to his feet and bolted toward the door. But the wire latch he had rigged earlier wouldn’t come undone, and the door wouldn’t open.

Before he could free it, Hirokuni grabbed him by the collar from behind and dragged him back into the room with overwhelming force. Yamamura’s throat was crushed in a powerful chokehold, and as he gasped for air, Hirokuni finally loosened his grip. Just as Yamamura took a desperate breath, Hirokuni flipped him over and delivered a final, crushing blow to his face.

Yamamura fell backward from the impact, his head slamming hard against the corner of the bed. The pain dulled as his head started to feel light, and his vision quickly went dark. He lost consciousness.

…The sound of running water. The ceiling light was blindingly bright. He had no idea whether he’d been out for five minutes or an hour. At the very least, he’d woken up without dying. His face throbbed—painfully, unbearably. Hirokuni was drinking from the faucet, letting the water run freely, his face close to the stream. Yamamura felt a faint breeze inside the room. Despite it being the middle of the night, both the front door and the window were wide open.

When Yamamura touched the back of his aching head, a sharp sting greeted his fingers, which came away slick with blood. A chill ran down his spine. That man is a wild, violent beast. If I mess with him any more, he’ll kill me.

Hirokuni finished drinking and started walking toward him. Yamamura tensed up, quickly closing his eyes. He heard some rustling nearby, but after a while, it grew quiet, and the sound of steady breathing filled the room. Hirokuni had fallen asleep.

Yamamura quietly, slowly got up, trying not to make a sound. His head and back screamed in pain. He glanced over at Hirokuni, only to find him lying there, eyes wide open, staring directly at him. Despite trying to move silently, Yamamura had woken him up. He felt like a frog under the gaze of a snake, his entire body trembling uncontrollably.

Hirokuni’s shoulder twitched slightly, and that tiny movement triggered something in Yamamura.

“Uwaaaah!” he screamed and dashed toward the front door. He burst out of the apartment and flew down the iron staircase. Fear kept him from looking back. That guy is dangerous. If I stay near him, he’ll kill me. In Hirokuni’s world, there was no law, no restraint. No one who believed in the law could hit someone so mercilessly. Surely, Hirokuni wouldn’t think twice about killing someone.

When Yamamura had run far enough that the apartment was no longer in sight, he stopped, panting heavily. He looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign that Hirokuni was chasing him. As relief washed over him, he began to think about what to do next. I can’t go back to the apartment. I don’t want to be near someone that violent.

As he slowed to a walk, his breathing gradually steadied. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was 2:30 a.m. The night air was cold on his skin. He had run away, but now he had nowhere to go. He thought of calling Nishida to ask if he could crash at his place, but he realized with a jolt that he didn’t have his phone. Nor had he brought his wallet, so taking a taxi was out of the question. He vaguely remembered where Nishida’s apartment was from the one time he’d stayed there after a drunken night, but his memory was hazy. With no money, he couldn’t even afford a capsule hotel. Money, money, money… everything in this world runs on money.

Yamamura wandered into a nearby park. He found a wooden bench with a backrest, sat down, and slowly lay down on it. As he lay on his back, he could see a few stars scattered across the night sky. I haven’t slept on a park bench since I got kicked out of my apartment at seventeen. Back then, with nowhere to go, he’d slept in parks for about a week. It was just like tonight—cold, but not quite freezing.

If someone asked him what the worst period of his life had been, Yamamura would say it was that week. He was always hungry, and sleeping on park benches made his back ache. Worst of all was seeing the students who crossed the park on their way to school each morning. Just a few days earlier, he had been one of them. That made it even harder to bear.

He’d nearly forgotten about all of that, but now the memories came flooding back. It’s because I’m here, sleeping on a park bench again. Because that man attacked me and tried to kill me. His face hurt, his chest hurt. It was all terrible—just the worst.

Yamamura closed his eyes and thought. Tomorrow, he would go to the hospital and get a medical certificate. Then he would take it to Arisawa and file a complaint. He’d tell him about the violence he’d endured and that he couldn’t handle Hirokuni anymore. He’d demand compensation. There’s no way I’m letting this go without getting something in return for what I’ve been through.

Even though his body was exhausted, his mind was racing, preventing him from falling asleep. It wasn’t until the sky began to lighten with dawn that sleep finally crept in.

“Is that old man dead?”

Yamamura woke up to the shrill voice of a child. “Don’t point!” a sharp female voice scolded. He watched as the child, glancing back at him over his shoulder, was pulled away by a woman who was probably the mother.

It was past 10 a.m. when Yamamura checked his watch. He went to the park’s water fountain to wash his face, wincing as he touched the swollen skin. The pain was less intense than it had been the night before, but when he tried to open his mouth wide, a sharp sting shot through his jaw.

Yamamura inevitably ended up skipping work without notifying anyone. He wanted to contact them, but he had no way to do so. Without a phone or money, the world simply wouldn’t move.

Yamamura decided to return to the apartment. There was nothing edible left there, so if Hirokuni got hungry, he’d probably go out to look for food. Surely, there would be a moment when Yamamura could slip in and retrieve his wallet and phone.

But as the familiar sight of the apartment came into view, Yamamura’s legs suddenly began to tremble. The vivid memory of the overwhelming violence from the previous day flooded back. His room’s window was wide open, but he couldn’t tell if anyone was inside.

Hunched forward, ready to bolt back down at the slightest noise, Yamamura slowly climbed the iron stairs, careful not to make a sound. He checked each step as he went. His door was wide open.

He crept closer, cautiously peeking into the room through the open door. Hirokuni’s shoes were gone. Maybe he was out. But then again, he could still be in the bathroom. Yamamura entered the room and pressed his ear against the cream-colored bathroom door. There was no sound. Even though he’d lived here for years, Yamamura had never felt this nervous about opening the bathroom door.

The state of the room was just as it had been the day before—completely trashed. Half of Yamamura’s bento was still sitting there. Maybe Hirokuni had planned to eat it later. Yamamura shoved his wallet into the back pocket of his slacks and began searching for his phone. He remembered having it in his suit pocket when he went to pick up Hirokuni, but it was nowhere to be found. Getting down on all fours, he pushed aside magazines and garbage until he finally spotted the phone under the bed. Nearby, dark red stains dotted the floor, a grim reminder of the previous night’s disaster.

Yamamura held the phone in his hand and thought. If Hirokuni had left despite there being food, it probably meant he’d gone far away like the day before. In that case, unless someone went to look for him, he might never come back. Maybe this is my chance for a permanent goodbye. The thought immediately lightened his mood.

Sitting on the bed, Yamamura called the office. He wasn’t about to tell them that his cousin, raised by Indigenous Peoples, had beaten him up and that he’d spent the night in a park. No one would take him seriously, and they’d just laugh at him. Instead, he lied and said he’d caught a cold and had gone to the hospital. The section chief immediately accused him of slacking off. "It’s just a cold," Yamamura insisted.

As he talked, Yamamura absentmindedly stared at the limp curtains. He noticed them start to sway slightly. Feeling a draft, he glanced toward the entrance—and let out a startled yelp.

“Hey! What’s going on?” the section chief asked through the phone. Yamamura hung up in a panic, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

Hirokuni was standing at the entrance, staring directly at him. He was wearing work pants but was shirtless. Hirokuni took off his shoes and hurled them against the door with a loud bang. The noise made Yamamura freeze in fear.

As if to block his escape, Hirokuni spread his arms wide and started advancing down the narrow hallway. Yamamura, shaking, stood up and began inching backward, retreating until he was cornered by the window. There was no escape except to jump out.

His knees and clenched teeth rattled with fear. He couldn’t bear to look Hirokuni in the face. The thought of being beaten again was terrifying. He glanced behind him. It was the second floor—he probably wouldn’t die if he jumped, but there were thick bushes below, obscuring the ground.

For some reason, Hirokuni grabbed the half-eaten bento and marched toward him. Pressing the bento against Yamamura’s chest, Hirokuni’s gesture was as if commanding him to take it. Yamamura wanted to tell him to stop, but he was too scared to speak. He couldn’t even bring himself to brush Hirokuni’s hand away.

“Eat,” Hirokuni said.

Yamamura was stunned to hear him speak Japanese. Cautiously, he raised his eyes. Hirokuni’s gaze was fixed on him—not with the wild rage from the day before, but with an unmistakable air of displeasure. The thought of that look turning into fury again terrified Yamamura.

Yamamura couldn’t tell what was going on in Hirokuni’s mind, but it seemed like he was being ordered to eat the bento. Not wanting to provoke him, Yamamura picked out a piece of the mushed-up pickles with his fingers and put it in his mouth. He couldn’t taste anything.

After he ate, Hirokuni’s gaze seemed to soften, if only slightly.

“Eat,” Hirokuni commanded again.

Yamamura, forced to comply, grabbed another piece of the pickles, swallowing it without even chewing. But Hirokuni pushed the bento at him again, repeating, “Eat.”

"Oh... no, really, that's, um, that's enough," Yamamura stammered.

Please, just give me a break, he thought as he found himself clasping his hands together in a half-hearted prayer. At that, Hirokuni finally pulled the bento away. He placed it on the table and then said to Yamamura, "Kuru."

Was it the Japanese word "kuru" (to come), or was it a word in his native language? Yamamura couldn’t tell. Since Hirokuni had just used "taberu" (eat) in Japanese, this "kuru" might also be Japanese. If so, was he saying that someone was coming?

"Kuru," Hirokuni repeated, motioning with his hand as if beckoning him over. It dawned on Yamamura that maybe "kuru" didn’t mean someone was coming, but that Hirokuni was telling him to come closer. Yamamura didn’t want to get near him, but he knew if he didn’t comply, Hirokuni’s mood might sour again at any moment. Besides, if he had to escape, the front door was a safer option than jumping from the second-floor window.

Reluctantly, Yamamura stepped away from the window and slowly approached Hirokuni. When he was about a meter and a half away, Hirokuni suddenly sprang forward, closing the distance in a flash and standing right in front of him.

“Eep!” Yamamura squeaked, but before he could react, Hirokuni grabbed his shoulders tightly and forced him down with overwhelming strength. Unable to stay standing, Yamamura’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor.

Once Yamamura was seated on the ground, Hirokuni pushed down on his knees, making him extend his legs out in front of him. Then, straddling Yamamura's thighs, Hirokuni sat down directly on top of him so they were facing each other. Yamamura had no idea what Hirokuni intended to do. None at all. And what happened next was something he couldn’t have predicted.

Hirokuni suddenly leaned in and hugged him tightly. Startled, Yamamura froze. Hirokuni took Yamamura’s limp right hand and guided it behind his own back, indicating that he wanted Yamamura to return the hug. Cautiously, Yamamura wrapped his arms around Hirokuni, who then grabbed Yamamura’s left arm and made him complete the embrace. In the end, they sat there, both with their arms wrapped firmly around each other.

Yamamura could feel the warmth of Hirokuni’s body and caught the scent of sweat and dust clinging to him. The sensation of being squeezed so tightly was unfamiliar—stifling, uncomfortable, and scary. As they remained locked in the embrace, Hirokuni nuzzled his face against Yamamura’s. At first, Yamamura thought he was going to kiss him and instinctively shut his eyes, but instead, Hirokuni rubbed his nose against Yamamura’s in an affectionate, almost childlike manner. He did it repeatedly—nuzzling Yamamura’s nose, cheeks, and forehead.

After a while, Hirokuni suddenly stood up, breaking the embrace as abruptly as he had started it. Yamamura was left sitting there, the warmth of Hirokuni’s body still lingering on his lap, utterly baffled by what had just happened. Next to him, Hirokuni began wolfing down the leftover bento.

Drained by the unexpected hug, Yamamura sat quietly, watching his wild cousin devour the meal. It made no sense. One moment, Hirokuni had beaten him so badly Yamamura thought he’d die, and the next, he was hugging him and nuzzling him like a dog. It was incomprehensible. But strangely, Yamamura no longer felt like Hirokuni would hit him again.

Even the act of forcing him to eat the bento, which had been so unpleasant for Yamamura, could be seen as Hirokuni’s odd way of sharing food—he had deliberately left some behind, perhaps intending to give Yamamura a portion.

After finishing the meal, Hirokuni, still barefoot, walked out into the hallway. He returned shortly and grabbed Yamamura’s hand, pulling him insistently.

"Hey, wait, I’m not wearing shoes!" Yamamura protested, but Hirokuni’s grip was too strong. He dragged Yamamura outside, barefoot and all.

Hirokuni led him to the monthly parking lot next to the apartment. After walking around the lot for a while, Hirokuni stopped in front of a white car.

"Kuru, kuru," he repeated over and over. Yamamura was standing right there beside him, so he wasn’t sure if Hirokuni was expecting something to come or telling him to come closer. Realizing Yamamura didn’t understand, Hirokuni grabbed the door handle of the locked car and started yanking on it, trying to force it open.

“Hey, stop that!” Yamamura shouted, but Hirokuni didn’t listen. After a few more futile attempts, Hirokuni gave up and stepped away from the car. Yamamura barely had a chance to relax before Hirokuni climbed onto the car’s hood. He began trying to climb even higher.

“What the hell are you doing? Get down!” Yamamura pleaded, panicking at the thought of what would happen if the car’s owner caught them.

“What the hell are you two doing?!”

A voice shouted angrily from a distance. Yamamura, panicking, grabbed Hirokuni’s right leg and forcefully dragged him down from the car. Hirokuni lost his balance and tumbled onto the concrete. Yamamura quickly grabbed him by the waistband of his work pants and pulled him up.

“Hey! Stop right there!”

The shouting voice grew louder, closer. If the car's hood was dented, they’d be forced to pay for the damage—but they had no money. It was a high-end domestic car. Yamamura didn’t even want to imagine how much it would cost to repair.

He grabbed Hirokuni by the arm and started running. The apartment was nearby, but if they went back, they'd be found out. Instead, he darted across the street, turning down the first corner, then quickly taking another turn. The sound of their pursuer’s voice faded until it disappeared entirely. It seemed they had escaped. Just to be safe, though… As Yamamura veered into a narrow alley, a sharp, searing pain shot up from the bottom of his foot, as if something had struck his heel.

“Ah, crap!”

He collapsed against the wall of a nearby house, sitting down to inspect his foot. Blood was dripping from the dirty sole of his foot—he’d stepped on a plastic shard.

“This is all your fault!”

Yamamura yelled at Hirokuni.

“If you hadn’t messed around with that car, this wouldn’t have happened. Damn it!”

Blood continued to trickle down from the deep wound in his foot. It hurt badly, and the thought of walking any further was unbearable. But going back for his shoes was out of the question.

“Damn it all!”

Yamamura clenched his fists and screamed into the alley. Tears of frustration welled up.

Hirokuni, who had been standing quietly, crouched down and grabbed the hem of Yamamura’s shirt. He tugged it free from Yamamura’s slacks.

“Wait… What the hell are you doing?!”

Before Yamamura could stop him, Hirokuni tore the shirt apart, ripping it into long strips. Without a word, Hirokuni used the shredded shirt to tightly wrap Yamamura’s wound, binding it two, three times over.

Yamamura understood that Hirokuni was trying to help, but now his shirt was in tatters, leaving him looking like a mess.

“What the hell, man…”

Yamamura was on the verge of tears. It was one of those “thanks, but no thanks” gestures. And to top it off, the injury had only happened because Hirokuni had messed with the car in the first place. Yamamura sat there, dejected, when Hirokuni suddenly grabbed his arm and said, "Kuru."

“What’s this ‘kuru’ business? I don’t understand a damn thing you’re saying!”

Hirokuni kept tugging on Yamamura’s arm with his considerable strength, causing Yamamura pain. No matter how much Yamamura told him to stop, Hirokuni couldn’t understand and wouldn’t let go. Limping, Yamamura followed him.

In broad daylight, two men—one shirtless, the other in rags—walking hand-in-hand looked like a couple. This just keeps getting worse, Yamamura thought, resigning himself to the situation. Even as people stared at them curiously, Yamamura kept his head down, ignoring them.

Hirokuni dragged him back to their apartment. The car’s owner was gone, along with the car itself. Once inside, the first thing Yamamura did was wash his injured foot. He wanted to disinfect it properly and bandage it, but the thought of walking to the convenience store discouraged him. So, he settled for layering tissues over the wound and tying it with a handkerchief.

When Yamamura came out of the bathroom, Hirokuni was lying sprawled out on the tatami mat.

"Kuru," Hirokuni mumbled like a chant, face-down.

“What does kuru even mean? I don’t get it! You need to learn more Japanese, man. Otherwise, I’m the one stuck dealing with all this!”

They stared at each other, both equally confused. Yamamura scratched his head, looking for the scrap of paper Arisawa had given him. It was supposed to contain some Japanese phrases Hirokuni could understand, but it was nowhere to be found. No matter how long it took, Yamamura realized he’d have to teach Hirokuni not to mess with other people’s cars. They’d escaped this time, but if they got caught, it’d become a police matter.

"Why did car… do bad thing?"

Hirokuni slowly tilted his head to the side. Even when Yamamura reduced his speech to the bare minimum, leaving out unnecessary words, Hirokuni didn’t seem to understand. Yamamura’s head started to throb with frustration. He hated this stilted, broken way of communicating. Normally, he spoke fluidly, so this halting, clunky exchange made him even more irritable.

“If you don’t understand me, then you tell me why you did it! Explain yourself!”

Yamamura pointed at Hirokuni, commanding him to "talk." But Hirokuni didn’t respond at all.

“Talk! Speak! Explain!”

Yamamura rattled off similar words, and finally, one of them triggered a response.

“Talk,” Hirokuni said.

“Yeah, you talk,” Yamamura repeated, pointing at him again.

Hirokuni’s previously blank expression shifted slightly, as if he had finally realized he was being asked to explain himself. He seemed to ponder for a moment before looking directly at Yamamura, staring intently.

“Me... come.”

“Come? Where do you come to?” Yamamura asked.

“Me... village. Me... come.”

Come to his own village? Yamamura wondered if Hirokuni was talking about returning to the place where he was born. Come... Come... The more Yamamura thought about it, the more a realization struck him: Hirokuni was using “come” instead of “return.” If that were the case, it would make sense.

Hirokuni wants to go back to the Amazon jungle. That must be it, Yamamura thought. Come to think of it, Arisawa had also mentioned him wanting to go back. Arisawa had said it was too far, and that he'd persuaded Hirokuni to learn the language and work so he could afford to fly home.

“Me... village. Me... come,” Hirokuni repeated. Yamamura waved his hand in front of his face.

“No. Impossible. You can’t.”

“No... can’t?” Hirokuni asked. The word "can’t" seemed to click in his limited vocabulary.

“You... come. No can,” Yamamura said, adjusting his phrasing to match Hirokuni’s broken speech. Hirokuni’s expression suddenly darkened.

“Me... village. Me... come,” Hirokuni insisted.

“No, no, no!” Yamamura repeated. The more Hirokuni’s expression hardened, the more Yamamura began to understand why Hirokuni couldn’t accept the idea of not being able to go back.

“The village is far away,” Yamamura finally said. Just like with Arisawa, Yamamura blamed the distance as the reason. Hirokuni didn’t argue, but his lips pouted in frustration. It seemed like he understood the word “far.”

Suddenly, Hirokuni grabbed Yamamura’s arm and, with a strong grip, began dragging him toward the entrance. The pain from his right foot hitting the ground made Yamamura yell, “Hey! Walk slower!” But Hirokuni didn’t listen. Yamamura had no choice but to follow him outside, but this time, he didn’t forget to put his shoes on.

Once out in the corridor, Hirokuni leaned against the iron railing and pointed somewhere. Yamamura followed the direction of his finger and saw the neighboring parking lot. The white car was gone, but there were still several vehicles parked there.

“Village far,” Hirokuni said, still pointing at the cars. Then he added, “Fast.”

Finally, the strange series of events began to connect in Yamamura’s mind. Hirokuni wants to return to his village, but he knows it’s far, so he wants to use a car. If he uses a car, he can return faster. It wasn’t a bad line of reasoning, after all.

Yamamura pointed at the cars and repeated the word “car” several times. Eventually, Hirokuni seemed to recognize that the thing that moves quickly is called a “car,” and he started incorporating the word into his speech: “Village far. Car close.”

“No. Your car... no,” Yamamura bluntly cut him off. Hirokuni’s face instantly darkened.

“There’s no point in making that face. It’s not your car, after all,” Yamamura said.

Even if Hirokuni somehow managed to get a car, it wouldn’t help him cross the ocean. What does he plan to do? Yamamura wondered as his thoughts drifted.

In a world where there are no written words, there’s no need for paper. If the entire world is within walking distance, a world map wouldn’t exist. Even if someone showed Hirokuni a map, would he even understand it as representing the world?

If you live in the depths of the mountains without electricity, there’d be no TV or radio. In a world where nothing is heard, what does Hirokuni think about? How does he see the world?

Not knowing anything. Not understanding anything. Despite all this ignorance, this man still holds Japanese citizenship. Yamamura felt both pity and, for some reason, a hint of fear.

Hirokuni stared into Yamamura’s eyes, trying to convey something. The word kuru—“come”—would normally be confusing, but Yamamura had gotten used to smoothly translating it as “return” in his head.

“The village far,” Hirokuni said.

“Car close,” he added.

“I’m telling you, the village is far away! And even if you talk about a car, you don’t have a car. It’s not your car,” Yamamura snapped, his irritation at having to adjust his speech to match Hirokuni’s pace finally boiling over. If he wanted to explain the impossibility of returning to the village by car, he’d have to start by explaining that the earth was round, that there were continents and oceans, and the vast distances in between—so vast that flying was the only option.

Just thinking about it made him tired. He wasn’t about to waste his energy on something so pointless.

“If you want to go back that badly, learn the language, get a job, save up money, and take a plane. If you’re that homesick, then here, look at this.”

Yamamura handed Hirokuni a photo book of South America. The moment Hirokuni opened it, his expression changed. He stared at the pictures of monkeys, yelling and smacking the pages. He flipped through the book, squinting at the photos under the fluorescent light, occasionally letting out odd cries. Yamamura started to get nervous. He knew complaints would come from the old hag next door for sure.

“Keep it down!” Yamamura warned, but it was no use. For a second, he thought about stuffing a towel in Hirokuni’s mouth, but as Hirokuni flipped more pages, the noises gradually softened.

Then, Hirokuni’s hands stopped. He had reached a page showing a large butterfly in flight. Yamamura wasn’t particularly interested in insects, but the blue butterfly soaring through the dense greenery was beautiful.

“Have you ever seen a butterfly like that?”

The moment Yamamura asked, Hirokuni ripped the page out.

“Hey! Stop that!”

Yamamura snatched the book away, but Hirokuni was already tearing the page into smaller pieces.

“I bought this for you, and now you go and do this?! What the hell are you thinking?”

Ignoring Yamamura’s shouting, Hirokuni continued tearing the page with a kind of obsession. Once he’d torn it into the shape of a butterfly, he tossed the pieces into the air. They spun slowly as they floated down onto the tatami mat, jagged pieces forming a makeshift butterfly. Hirokuni picked it up and released it out the window.

A strange sound came from Hirokuni, and Yamamura’s eyes widened in surprise. Hirokuni was groaning by the window. At first, Yamamura thought something was wrong with him, but it wasn’t that. He was singing—in a strange language that Yamamura had never heard. He slapped the tatami with his right hand to keep rhythm. As he grew more excited, his voice got louder.

“Hey, keep it down a little,” Yamamura said.

But Hirokuni didn’t stop. His voice swelled, slithering in strange rhythms and tones. It wasn’t even a cheerful tune—listening to it made Yamamura feel like he was being cursed.

“Hey! Enough already!”

Yamamura grabbed Hirokuni’s shoulder and shook him, but Hirokuni shoved him off. The sharp look Hirokuni shot him reminded Yamamura of when he was hit with the alarm clock, and his body flinched.

“P-please, I’m begging you. Stop. The singing… too loud. Stop, okay?”

Even when Yamamura pleaded, it was no use. Hirokuni continued to sing, his voice echoing around the room. Feeling completely powerless to stop him, Yamamura grabbed his wallet and headed outside.

Even after Yamamura returned from buying cigarettes, that strange singing still echoed through the night. He lit a cigarette behind the wall at the base of the apartment, exhaling a plume of smoke as he wondered, Why me? Why did he have to live in fear of that man’s violence and, on top of that, look after him? …Because he wanted a cut of the inheritance. It was for the money. Thinking of it like a job, his spirits lifted just a little. Earning money required a certain amount of effort—selling skills, speaking techniques. Putting up with things was probably part of the inheritance too. He had to think like that, or he wouldn’t be able to get through this.

By the time Yamamura finished his second cigarette, the singing had stopped abruptly. Hirokuni must have been satisfied after singing his heart out. Yamamura climbed the iron stairs, feeling some relief, but as he neared his door, he sensed something ominous.

The red-haired hag from the next apartment was standing in front of his door like a guardian statue. In a way, it felt inevitable that this would happen. Considering the destruction in his apartment and the noise from their fight the day before, she had taken far too long to show up.

Dressed in a flowery, childish nightgown that didn’t suit her age, his neighbor glared at Yamamura with the intensity of someone ready to kill. Her expression only darkened as he approached.

“What happened to your face?”

“Oh, uh, I just tripped on the stairs,” Yamamura replied with a sheepish grin, pressing a hand to his swollen cheek.

“I don’t care about that. Your place has been so noisy, I can’t sleep.”

It was harsh for her to ask and then say she didn’t care. Her red hair looked like a wildfire, and she was probably in her late fifties. Self-centered and always nagging, this old woman would throw a fit if Yamamura so much as littered a cigarette butt. Her rants had a kind of soul-crushing power, capable of making him feel like an insect over the smallest things.

“I’m really sorry,” Yamamura said, scratching the back of his head—though it didn’t itch—and apologizing with overly polite language.

“I’ve been babysitting at my daughter’s place until yesterday, and I was finally looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep at home, and then there’s that weird voice. It’s a nuisance to the whole neighborhood!”

Just keep babysitting forever and never come back, he thought, but all he said was a series of “I’m sorry.”

“My cousin, who lived abroad for a long time, is visiting.”

“A foreigner?!”

Her eyes widened in shock. Battle mode engaged.

“He’s Japanese. He just lived overseas for a while. He’s not used to the customs here, and his Japanese is really poor. I’m truly sorry for the trouble. I’ll make sure to talk to him.”

“Why are you letting someone like that stay with you?”

Even if she complained, there was no rule saying he couldn’t have someone stay over.

“It’s kind of like a life lesson. I’m just looking after him for a little while. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience.”

Yamamura kept bowing and repeating, “I’m sorry.” In situations like this, it was best not to talk back. Provoking the angry party would only make things worse.

“I apologize for disturbing your rest,” he said, lifting his head and glancing at the woman’s fancy nightgown. It was a knock-off of some cartoon character popular with kids, strawberries all over it. It actually looked fairly new.

“That’s a lovely nightgown you’re wearing,” Yamamura said, switching on his professional charm.

“It has such a gentle color to it. Not everyone can pull off a color like that. But you, with your fair skin—it really suits you.”

In reality, she wasn’t that fair-skinned at all. But the truth didn’t really matter.

“Oh… what are you talking about?” Her cheeks flushed as red as her hair. No matter their age, women like being complimented, even if they know it’s just flattery.

“You must take good care of your skin, making sure not to get too much sun. I really admire that.”

Yamamura conveniently ignored the fact that he often saw her shambling around without makeup, clutching her shopping basket.

“Who’s got time for that kind of thing?”

“Really? Well, even so, that complexion of yours is still remarkable!”

Yamamura continued to pour on the compliments—whether true or not—until he saw the pleased look on her face. With that, he bowed one more time, saying, “I’m really sorry. I’ll be more careful,” and retreated into his apartment. He shut the door and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Inside, the source of all his problems, Hirokuni, was in the exact same spot as when Yamamura had left—standing by the window, silently staring out into the night sky.

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