Planet: Chapter 3 - part 1

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The woman on TV is wearing a yellow skirt. Yellow skirts are nice. My mom always wore a yellow skirt. I wonder if she’s wearing one on our star too. I wonder if she watches TV there.

“Mura-san.”

That’s my name, isn’t it?

“Mura-san.”

Again. What is it? Oh, are they calling me? I roll over and face the direction of the voice. Kan-san is looking down at me, and then he sits beside me, bending his knees and settling down in a proper way. Our faces are close.

I hear laughter and look towards it. On the TV, there’s an older guy struggling to swim in what looks like a pool, splashing his hands around, and everyone is laughing. Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha. I wonder if it’s funny. When I washed my face this morning, the water was freezing, and my fingers went all tingly. I hated it. Cold water’s no good. Poor guy.

“If you’re watching, we can do this later.”

Oh, Kan-san. I’d forgotten Kan-san was there.

“What is it?”

After a short pause, Kan-san says, “I have a favor to ask.” A favor, huh? I wonder if he wants money or something? But I don’t have any money since I’m not working. If I were working, I’d have a bit saved up with the agency.

“I’d like to carve you, Mura-san.”

Carve me? Carve… like a tattoo? There was a man in the dorm baths with a dragon tattoo across his back. He said it hurt so much he nearly wet himself while it was being done. I don’t want the pain, and I don’t want a dragon on my back either. I wonder why Kan-san wants to carve me. I don’t like the pain, but Kan-san gives me food, and he’s nice to me. If it’s Kan-san asking, I guess it can’t be helped.

“All right, that’s fine.”

Kan-san bows and thanks me. “If it’s alright, I’d like to start with a sketch.” He stands up. Sketch… what was that again? I think I’ve heard it before. What was it?

“All you have to do is sit at the table like you would for a meal.”

Kan-san brings over a big notebook and looks at me from across the table. The eraser end of the pencil in his hand moves. There’s a scratching sound. Scratch-scratch… then it stops, and there’s silence. He looks at me, then the scratching sound starts again, then stops.

We did something like this at school. We went outside, and everyone was drawing. Oh, that’s it—it’s called sketching. I guess he’s sketching now? I wanted to see what he was drawing, so I leaned closer to him.

“Sorry, can you sit still for a bit?” he asked.

I don’t quite get it, but I guess I need to stay still. Am I not supposed to move? How still do I need to be? I’m blinking and opening my eyes, so I guess that’s okay. I don’t really know. I take a breath in, and let it out. I’ve always breathed without thinking, but now I don’t know what to do. My chest thuds, and my breaths come out in little huffs. My body starts to tremble.

Kan-san looks at me. “Um, are you feeling alright?”

“It’s hard to stay still.”

“You can just look at the wall blankly, like usual.”

I don’t understand what he means by “blankly.” I don’t like it when people stare at me. People who stare always complain or get angry.

My heel starts to itch. I scratch it on the floor, which makes my ankle sting a little. Ah, I just moved. I wasn’t supposed to move, but what should I do? Kan-san doesn’t say anything; he just keeps his eyes on his notebook, and the scratching of the pencil continues. I guess he didn’t notice. That’s good.

My leg is getting better. Maybe it’s time to start working again. The pain is mostly gone. Kan-san is nice, though, so he hasn’t taken me to the Center yet, saying, “No rush.”

It’s been a while since I last worked. It’s gotten cold since I’ve been here. Kan-san even gave me a long-sleeved shirt for free, saying, “Here, wear this.” When I offered to pay, he said, “It’s got a hole in it, so I was just going to throw it out.” I looked at the hole in the elbow and felt relieved. Old clothes or clothes someone’s about to throw out are okay to accept. That’s not stealing, and it doesn’t trouble anyone.

“All done now.”

Kan-san speaks while looking at me. I wonder what he means by “all done.” He places his notebook on the table, no longer writing in it. Just as I was wondering if he’d start drawing again, he says, “I’m finished, so you can move now.” As soon as I hear the word “finished,” I feel a huge relief, and I let out a big breath, “Phew.” Kan-san chuckles softly.

“You were really tense, weren’t you? Your cheeks were twitching the whole time, and I felt a little bad.”

When I look at Kan-san’s notebook, I see a small drawing of a person’s face, about the size of a circle I could make with both hands. Kan-san is good at drawing. … It looks kind of like the face I see in the mirror when I wash my face.

“Is this me?”

“Yes, Mura-san.”

Kan-san gives a little chuckle. He often laughs quietly like that.

“I’ll transfer this onto tracing paper and then copy it onto wood before carving.”

Transfer? What was transfer again? Oh, that thing where you copy a pencil drawing onto rubber. But he said wood. Not rubber, wood. Huh?

“Are you going to carve it onto wood? Or onto me?”

Kan-san tilts his head. “Carve it onto you?”

“A dragon on my back.”

After a moment of silence, Kan-san suddenly shouts, “Ah!” so loudly that it startles me.

“Did you think I was going to carve it onto you?”

“Yes. Are you going to give me a tattoo?”

Kan-san waves both hands back and forth, laughing, “Oh no, not at all. I would never ask to tattoo someone for my own reasons… It’ a serious, life-altering thing.”

Life-altering… life. So, tattoos are about life? Now that I think of it, I heard that you can’t go to the public bath if you have a tattoo.

“Ah, Mura-san, you really are unique.”

As Kan-san scratches his head, I notice something on the inner side of his arm. A circle, a triangle, and a moon. He always has it. That’s a tattoo.

“Kan-san, you have the universe on your arm.”

He tilts his head, then after a moment realizes, “Oh, you mean this,” and he rubs his arm where the tattoo is.

“As long as I’m the one who gives myself a tattoo, it’s fine.”

Kan-san taps his notebook with a quick motion and lets out a breath. He looks at me. Is he looking at me?

“What do you do during the day, Mura-san?”

“I watch TV.”

“And besides that?”

“I sleep.”

“With your leg still healing, I get it, but isn’t it boring staying inside all the time?”

“The TV is interesting.”

Sometimes, when I watch TV, something really funny happens. Kan-san makes a small “hmm” sound.

“Is there anything else you want to do?”

Something I want to do? What do I want? Oh, cigarettes. I want a cigarette.

“It doesn’t have to be big. It could be an ideal, a hope, a desire, even just a little wish.”

I had to think about the meanings of his words, but I understood “wish.” A wish… I want to go to my parents’ star. I want to go to our star. I want to go to a place that feels nice. I want someone to come get me soon.

“I do have a wish.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to say.”

If I talk about it, no one will come. My mom told me that.

“I heard that if you talk about your wishes, they’re more likely to come true.”

My heart starts pounding. My mom said I mustn’t talk about being taken away. But Kan-san says wishes come true if you say them… Both of them are saying different things. That’s strange. Which one should I believe?

“Oh, please don’t take it too seriously. There’s no real basis for it.”

I don’t know. I don’t know, but I think my mom’s advice is better. She told me before Kan-san did. So, I’ll keep quiet. I don’t want to be unable to return to my star.

“I always feel like you have a sort of voided look in your eyes, Mura-san.”

A voided look? Is that some kind of illness?

“Not quite like a Buddha, but there’s this unreadable mystery in what you hold within.”

Kan-san’s way of speaking is slow, and he takes long pauses, so I understand what he’s saying. But if there are too many words I don’t understand, then I lose track of it all. Sometimes, I ask him to explain, but when I’m not in the mood, I just say “yes.” And that’s enough. So this time, I say, “Yes.”

"I think things like that are interesting."

Interesting is good. It’s not a bad thing. Good.

"On the other hand, I sometimes wonder how I must look to you, Mura-san."

"Kan-san, you’re a good person."

"And what makes you think that?"

"You lent me a sleeping bag. You bring me food."

"Those are just physical things, though."

His voice doesn’t sound like he’s scolding me, but somehow, it feels like he’s mad. Did I say something wrong?

"Kan-san, you’re a good person."

No one has ever gotten angry when I’ve called them a good person. But Kan-san goes quiet, his mouth closed, not saying anything.

"You’re a very good person."

Kan-san’s looking at me now.

"I’m only offering a little bit of help for your daily life."

"Is that so?"

He falls silent again. The quiet makes me restless, but then he speaks.

"Your simplicity, Mura-san, sometimes comes across as a sort of detachment."

I’ve heard the word detachment before. What was it again? Ah, I can’t figure it out. He’s talking about me, isn’t he? If only he could say it in terms of “like,” “dislike,” “kind,” or “mean,” I’d get it right away.

Is detachment a bad thing? I wonder if there's something wrong with what I’m doing. I keep doing the same things, but sometimes I get scolded. I don’t want Kan-san to scold me. If he told me to leave, I wouldn’t like it. This place is nice. My back doesn’t hurt when I sleep here. Even if I don’t do anything, I can eat. I don’t know for sure, but I probably did something wrong. I should apologize ahead of time.

"I’m sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because it was my fault."

"Mura-san, you haven’t done anything wrong."

Even though Kan-san says I haven’t done anything wrong, this uneasy feeling won’t go away.

"You’re not angry?"

His mouth moves like a fish, opening and closing, then he looks down.

"If it sounded like I was angry, I’m sorry."

The gentleness in his voice eases my discomfort a little.

"I’m glad you’re not angry."

Kan-san says, “How curious,” and folds his fingers together on the table.

"Sometimes, I think you’re simple, Mura-san, but other times, I feel like you’re a bit complex, and I can’t quite figure you out."

"Is that a good thing?"

"It’s not good or bad; it’s just who you are, I think."

Living in Kan-san’s room, I eat breakfast and dinner with him. We eat, like people who always sit at the same spot in a cafeteria. I see him every day, so his face has become familiar. Even without talking, it feels like we’re close. Kan-san started to feel like that too. But now, somehow, that feeling of closeness suddenly seems to be gone. I wish this strange feeling would just disappear… Maybe soon… maybe very soon… it will.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

I want to see the picture of space, so I go beyond the rust-colored curtain. It's always in the same spot, and when I look at it, I feel good somehow. I reach out. It feels like I could go through the picture, but my fingers bump against something hard. It's glass.

"Mom and Dad, are you doing okay?"

I ask the universe.

"When will you come to get me?"

There’s no answer from the universe. This is Kan-san's universe, so maybe it doesn't connect to my parents on our star. I miss them. Kan-san is kind, and staying here is easy, but…

"I made a stamp," I tell them. I cut my hand making it, but stamping with it is fun. Sometimes, Kan-san brings me paper and the stamp, and I get to stamp away. I end up with lots of red star-stamped sheets. Kan-san once held them up to the light, saying, "With this many overlapping, they look like autumn maple leaves." Yeah, the red leaves of maples, I see those sometimes.

There’s a rattling sound, and I hear, “Ah, I thought you’d be in here.” Kan-san laughs lightly and sits down in a chair, rustling a plastic bag. Snacks, maybe? Kan-san buys snacks at the convenience store and shares them with me. I hope it’s snacks.

“It’s not snacks.”

He reads my thoughts. It’s my own mind, yet somehow, Kan-san knows what I’m thinking. From the bag, he takes out something yellowish. It’s about the size of both hands cupped together—a round piece of wood.

"Do you want to touch it?"

The wood comes closer, so I reach out to touch it. It’s about as thick as two finger joints, and the pale, sanded surface is smooth, like a polished wooden pillar. No shine, but my fingers glide over it smoothly, and it feels nice.

“I thought I’d carve you into this, Mura-san.”

“You’re going to carve me into this?”

Kan-san nods, “Yeah.”

“It's a boxwood block I ordered through the stationery store where I work part-time. It’s a bit cheaper than buying it on my own.”

Kan-san’s hand moves close, and when I give it a light tap, he chuckles, “Haha.”

“Can I have the wood back?”

Oh, he wants me to put it on his hand. I get it and hand it back. After dinner, Kan-san goes behind the rust-colored curtain.

I sit in front of the TV, moving my foot a bit. It doesn’t hurt. But if I walk, there’s a small pain. Sometimes, I forget about my foot and put weight on it, then realize, “Oops.” I should start working soon, though.

A woman in a swimsuit appears on TV. Her chest is big. As I watch, I get hard and go to the bathroom. Rubbing myself, I finish, and the pent-up tension clears away. My dad once gave me a picture of a woman like that—it was nice. I kept it in my wallet, but then I lost the wallet.

When I leave the bathroom, Kan-san quickly goes in. He seemed in a rush. Maybe he was holding it in. There’s only one bathroom, so I guess it was bad to be in there so long. Back at the dorm, they used to scold me: “Don’t hog the toilet for a long time.” I’d forgotten since Kan-san never gets mad about it.

When Kan-san comes out, I apologize, “Sorry about that.”

He looks surprised, with a little “Eh?” sound, glancing at me.

“I was in there a while because I was rubbing myself.”

Kan-san’s face turns red, and he says, “You don’t have to say things like that,” and disappears behind the curtain. Did I say something wrong? But his voice didn’t sound angry, so it’s probably fine. A woman shows up on TV, but the woman in the swimsuit is gone.

There’s a rattling sound. When I look over, Kan-san comes out from behind the rust-colored curtain. He places a piece of dark wood on the table, sits cross-legged, and starts working.

On the dark wood, he moves a rounded tool that looks like a bent nail. He leans in close, then pulls back, gently sliding the tool. Where he moves it, the wood turns white. As he carves away the black parts, thin lines of white appear on the wood. It’s interesting—really interesting.

A laugh bursts out from the TV—a fat man is dancing. He’s good at it. It’s fun. Really funny. Ah, it went to a commercial right at the best part. Not very interesting. Kan-san is leaning close to the dark wood, making tiny, trembling movements with the engraving tool. Wherever the tool moves, there’s a white dot, a white line. Small wood shavings scatter everywhere.

Kan-san glances at the picture placed beside him. Then he looks up at me, just staring. The tool moves again, only a little, then stops. A faint white line appears, inch by inch. Inside this round slice of wood, dark as night, white lines—a face. The lines Kan-san carves are beautiful. It’s like he’s drawing on the dark wood with his tool.

Kan-san’s hand stops. The tool’s tip isn’t moving, and then he looks up at me again. He just keeps looking.

“Mura-san, I have a favor to ask.”

Kan-san’s mouth moves.

“What is it?”

“Would it be okay if I touched your face?”

Touch my face? I wonder why. I reach up to touch my own face—it’s a little dry.

“Oh, no, not like that. I’d like to try feeling Mura-san’s face myself. For reference.”

“Oh, I see. Go ahead.”

Kan-san places a hand on the table. One hand comes closer, and he says, “Excuse me,” then touches my face. Kan-san’s hand is warm and soft, like a futon. His hand moves, and that soft feeling shifts around to other spots. His fingers move from under my eyes down to my jaw, then back up.

Kan-san’s hand pulls away, and his fingers graze over the dark wood. Then the tool carves the wood again, creating white lines and dots. His hand stops, starts again, stops. It’s like… Ah, this is like being lost on a road, isn’t it? He looks up again.

“Um, may I touch it one more time?”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After dinner, Kan-san starts carving the dark wood. He’s been carving nonstop. There’s a face sketched on the dark wood in pencil. You can’t really tell from far away, but up close, it’s visible. Kan-san follows the pencil lines as he carves, but the carved version feels a little different from the drawn one. It’s like when I look at that space picture and the drawing of the same wood—they’re similar, yet something feels slightly off.

Bit by bit, lines appear on the dark wood. Kan-san says, “I’m carving Mura-san.” I can’t tell if it’s looking like me or not.

Even when I was getting ready for bed, Kan-san was still carving. I woke up during the night and noticed a faint light near the head of his bed, hazy like a soft glow. He’s still awake. I go to the bathroom, and when I return, the light is still there, and his legs shift restlessly under the covers.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” I ask.

Kan-san, holding his phone, turns toward me. “I can’t fall asleep.”

There was an old guy I knew who could never sleep and always drank to knock himself out.

“Do you have insomnia?”

“No, my mind’s just too awake from focusing so hard.”

Concentration means giving something your all. Usually, when you work hard, you get tired and sleep easily. I wonder why Kan-san can’t sleep. I once knew people who said that after taking drugs, they’d stay wired and unable to rest. My dad always told me, “Never take drugs from anyone, not even if they’re free.” So I never did. If my dad says it’s bad, I don’t do it. I wonder if Kan-san took something?

“When I close my eyes, I keep seeing the image of the block I’m carving.”

He’s seeing something that isn’t really there? That’s not good. There was an old guy who’d see bugs everywhere, even though there was nothing, and people said he’d fried his brain on drugs.

“You should avoid drugs.”

“Drugs? Oh, no, I’m not on sleep meds. I don’t always have trouble sleeping.”

If he’s not taking them, then that’s good. That’s a relief.

“I tried watching videos to distract myself, but that just made me more alert,” he says, setting his phone on the table beside his bed.

“If I don’t get some sleep, it’s going to be rough going to work tomorrow,” he mutters. His futon rustles softly in the dim glow of his phone.

Poor guy. Not being able to sleep must be hard. I move closer to his bed and sit by his head. Kan-san, still lying down, looks up at me.

“I’ll sing a song.”

“A song?”

“My mom used to sing to me,” I say. If I couldn’t sleep, she would sometimes sing for me.

“Little lost kitten, little lost kitten, where is your home…” Ah, I can’t remember what comes next. What was it again?

“Little lost kitten, little lost kitten, where is your home…”

It won’t come to me. I’m so close, though.

“Little lost kit…” Kan-san chuckles.

“Mura-san, you’re stuck on the same line.”

“I forgot it.”

After he laughs, he says, “Mura-san, you’re kind.” Feeling pleased, I laugh a little too.

“Is life enjoyable for you?”

Kan-san asks. Life means living. Is living enjoyable? TV is fun. Kan-san is kind. He’s kind.

“You’re kind, Kan-san.”

Kan-san is quiet. Maybe he’s finally getting sleepy?

“I wonder what Mura-san’s world is like,” he says.

My world… I look around.

“I’m in Kan-san’s room, and Kan-san is here.”

“That’s just where you are right now, isn’t it?”

“My world is here. Here is very nice.”

It is nice here, but I’ll go back someday. I’m an alien, after all, and one day I’ll return to my star, where my mom and dad are.

“Mura-san, your world is pretty small, isn’t it?”

“Small is good.”

“Why?”

“When things are too wide, there’s too much, and it’s hard to make sense of it all. Small is good. This place is comfortable. Kan-san, you’re a good person.”

“That’s all you say—that I’m a good person.”

“Kind people are good.”

Kan-san reaches out and touches my cheek gently.

“How do you capture this kind of softness, both inside and out?” he murmurs as his hand lingers briefly before pulling back. “Sorry about that.”

It felt like what my mom would do, so I don’t get why he’s apologizing.

“It’s fine if you pet me a bit more.”

Kan-san says, “I’m good. I think I’ll try sleeping now. I’m finally starting to feel sleepy,” then turns his back to me.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kan-san is watching TV. After dinner, he didn’t go behind the curtain as usual but instead sat next to me. Is he going to watch TV? That’s unusual. There’s a chubby person on screen striking a funny pose, and it makes me laugh. The TV laughs too. Kan-san doesn’t laugh—he just stares intently.

“Aren’t you going to carve wood?”

Kan-san, still facing the TV, says, “Today’s a break.” Oh, a break. When you work hard all the time, you get tired, so you need breaks. Watching TV makes me yawn, and I start dozing off on the tatami. When I wake up, I see Kan-san sitting by the table with his back hunched, his arm moving. Ah, Kan-san is carving again. That familiar sight is nice. I get up and watch him work. His hand stops.

“Is watching me carve interesting?”

“Yes. I like watching the white parts appear bit by bit.”

“Mura-san, you’re always exactly as you seem.”

Kan-san puts down the rounded chisel and looks at me.

“…Mura-san, where are you from?”

“Osaka.”

“Really? But you don’t have a Kansai accent.”

I’ve heard that before, people saying I don’t sound like I’m from Kansai. My mom and dad didn’t speak in Kansai dialect either.

“I’m from Tokyo. I moved here for university and ended up staying. I get by with part-time work, and I have plenty of time, so I can just keep carving. I’m pretty satisfied with that.”

University… He must be smart. There was someone at my old site who was a university graduate, and an old guy said, “Why’s a college grad here?”

“My world’s pretty narrow too, kind of like yours,” Kan-san says.

A narrow world? But Kan-san has a job—is it still narrow? I’m always in this room, so if you say it’s narrow, I guess it is.

“But it’s not perfectly closed off. I still have a worldly side that makes me aware of friends who are making strides in their careers.”

Kan-san lets out a big sigh.

“In some ways, I kind of envy you for how closed-off your world is.”

I’ve heard that before—someone told me at work, “Must be nice to be young; I’m jealous.” That made me kind of happy.

“The ideal is to be satisfied just carving and conversing with myself. But as long as a part of me craves a little recognition, that ideal can never be complete.”

I don’t really get what Kan-san’s talking about—something feels muddled. If I had to guess between “good” and “bad,” the way his voice sounds sad, maybe it’s “bad.”

Kan-san stretches out and lies on the tatami. I wonder if he’s going to sleep. I copy him and lie down too. Lying down, our eyes meet.

Kan-san’s hand moves toward me. It gets close to my face, then stops halfway. I think, huh? Then his finger gives a small beckoning motion, like he’s calling me over, so I bring my face closer. Kan-san’s finger freezes like a startled cat, and then slowly retreats.

Kan-san doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything either. We just look at each other in silence.

“How’s your leg feeling?” he asks.

Something stirs inside my chest.

“My leg doesn’t hurt much anymore.”

For a while now, it hasn’t hurt when I walk. Sometimes I feel a slight twinge, but it’s nothing. I’ve been thinking I could work again now, but since I get meals here, I’ve been quietly slacking a little longer.

“I noticed you aren’t using the patches anymore, and you seem to be walking just fine. If it’s healed, that’s good.”

“I’ll start working again tomorrow.”

People shouldn’t live by slacking off—my dad always said that.

“Just take it easy, though. No need to push and make it worse.”

Kan-san doesn’t get angry if I’m not working. Back at the dorm, the boss would sternly say, “Get back to work once you’re better.”

“Here, you can sleep and work during the day,” he says.

Is it okay to stay here all the time, like I did at the shelter? If I could stay here, I’d just pay Kan-san in cash every day. That would be good. Kan-san’s place is clean, there’s food, and he doesn’t shout or get mad. He’s kind, like my dad. Feeling happy, I start to chuckle a bit.

“Suddenly laughing—what’s up?”

“This place is nice. I feel happy here.”

Kan-san replied, “I see,” and turned his head away, hiding his face. His voice sounded lonely, so I wondered if he was crying. I peeked over, but he wasn’t. He just looked surprised when he noticed me staring, and I was startled too.

Our faces were close. Now that I think about it, Kan-san touched my face before, didn’t he? He’s touched me, but I haven’t touched him. Since he touched me, it should be okay if I touch him too, right? I reached out and touched his cheek. It was soft, like almost-set silicone—softer than my fingers. It felt kind of funny. His face slowly started turning red, and my fingertips began to feel warm too.

“Are you hot?”

“No,” Kan-san said, though his face was still red. His head moved slightly, and he rubbed his cheek against my hand. It reminded me of a friendly cat nuzzling up close. When I said, “You’re adorable,” his face turned even redder. He looked like an old man with heatstroke. Everyone kept telling him, “Drink water, drink water!”

“Would you like some water?”

When Kan-san nodded, I went to the kitchen, filled a cup with water, and brought it back to him. He drank it all in one go, and the redness in his face faded a bit, which was a relief.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

As I was eating my cup ramen for lunch, I heard a clatter from the front door—Kan-san was home. He hurried inside.

“I’m going to visit my parents,” he said, speaking a bit quickly. His parents’ place… that would be his other house, the one with his family.

“One of my family members isn’t doing well. I’m not sure what’s going to happen next.”

Kan-san slipped behind the curtain, reappeared almost immediately, and put something on the table. “Here’s the key to the room. While I’m away, feel free to use this place as a temporary stay. …You’re able to walk quite a bit now, right?”

Kan-san handed me a bill as he added, “I’m a bit strapped for time, too.” I wondered what the money was for. Was he lending it to me? His hand shook a little as he handed it over. Why was he trembling? …Oh, right, he just said his family member was unwell. That’s rough. If my mom or dad got sick, I’d hate that too. I remembered how everyone would come to me to borrow money whenever a family member was sick. I squeezed his hand along with the bill and asked, “Are you okay?”

Then, tears started streaming down Kan-san’s face, which caught me off guard. I let go in a hurry, but he gripped my hand even tighter. The bill fluttered to the floor.

“I’ll come back once things settle down,” he said before leaving in a rush. The door closed, and suddenly, everything around me felt quiet. On the table was my half-eaten ramen. Right—I’d been eating ramen. I looked inside the cup to find the noodles swollen from absorbing the broth. I slurped up the now-extra-soft ramen.

After I finished eating, I noticed the bill on the floor. It was probably a 5,000 yen bill from the look of it. I placed it back on the table. Then I started feeling drowsy—lunch always makes me sleepy—so I grabbed my sleeping bag and crawled in.

When I woke up, the room was pitch black. I turned on the light and looked at the clock. Exactly 07:00. Kan-san would usually be back by now with bentos, but he was late. What happened? I waited in front of the TV, but he didn’t come back. That seemed strange, so I tried to remember: he’d come home at lunchtime, hadn’t he?

He’d said he was going to his parents’ place. Maybe it was too far for him to come back quickly. I wondered where his parents’ house was. Did he tell me? I think he did, but I couldn’t remember.

If Kan-san doesn’t come back, there won’t be dinner. It reminded me of how, when Dad didn’t come home, we didn’t have dinner either. I was getting hungry. I wondered if it’d be okay to eat another cup ramen, even though I already had one for lunch.

I waited a little longer, but when Kan-san still didn’t return, I went ahead and ate a cup ramen. My stomach felt full, but I couldn’t shake the restless feeling. I’d always eaten dinner with Kan-san, so being alone at night felt… different somehow.

Watching TV made it feel a bit more normal, but when I turned it off, the silence was heavy. There was no sound of him moving behind the curtain. I thought maybe, somehow, Kan-san was still here, even though I didn’t see him behind the curtain. All that was there was the picture of space. Looking at it made me feel at ease. Maybe it was because my mom and dad were out there, waiting for me. Was that Kan-san’s universe or mine? …It didn’t really matter.

I grabbed my sleeping bag and lay down in front of the picture. Somehow, I felt like someone from my own star might come for me while Kan-san was away.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

I lock the door with the key Kan-san gave me. The sound of the lock clicking into place, that solid kachunk, puts me at ease. I turn and pull the doorknob, hearing just a rattling noise. It’s locked for sure. There are no rooms beyond here; it must be the corner unit at the end of the building. Everyone says corner units are the best in boarding houses—quieter with only one neighbor.

My feet don’t hurt, but I take my time walking, just in case. Even going down the stairs is pain-free. Nice. Outside, finally. It’s been a while. The weather’s good. My body shivers for a second—there’s a bit of wind, and it’s a little chilly.

The road in front of me is just wide enough for two cars to pass each other, but there are no lane markers. I don’t know this area at all. It’d be easy to get lost on a road I don’t know. I wonder if there’s a convenience store nearby. I spot a yellow sign ahead with a big “P” on it. That’s for parking. There’s a picture of a dog under the P—this little yellow dog. Kinda cute.

I don’t see any convenience store signs, so I keep walking. After a while, there’s still no convenience store in sight. I’m getting a bit worried if I’ll be able to find my way back to Kan-san’s place, but then I suddenly spot the Center. It feels kind of nostalgic, and for some reason, that makes me happy. It’s still midday, so there’s no sign of the recruitment manager’s car.

Once I’m here, I know where the convenience store is—I came here a few times before. I pick up a fried chicken bento, tea, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes from the shelf and hand over my bill. I shove the change into my pocket. I’m hungry, so maybe I’ll eat somewhere around here. But it’s cold. At Kan-san’s place, it wouldn’t be cold, and I could lie down right after eating, so I decide to head back after all.

Did I get turned around somewhere? No matter how far I walk, Kan-san’s place isn’t showing up. It’s that gray four-story building. I was definitely there before, but now it’s gone. I really don’t want to lose my way back to Kan-san’s place. That thought makes my stomach churn. When I can’t stand the hunger any longer, I sit down in the corner of a small bushy area off the path and eat my bento. After that, a cigarette. It tastes good and takes the edge off the anxious feeling.

“Excuse me…”

I look toward the voice and see an older man with white hair. He’s dressed real nice.

“There’s no smoking allowed here.”

Ah, I shouldn’t be smoking here, huh? “Sorry,” I apologize, and he gives a long, deep sigh through his nose.

“Mind moving on? Some of the residents might feel uneasy seeing a stranger hanging around the building.”

Moving on… Ah, so he’s telling me to leave. Guess I wasn’t supposed to be here. Some places are like that. He doesn’t seem angry, so he’s just letting me know. That’s kind of considerate. As I approach, saying, “Um…” the older man steps back a bit.

“I want to go back to Kan-san’s place.”

The older man looks at me with a puzzled expression. “Huh?”

“I don’t remember how to get back.”

He lets out a sigh, his mouth hanging open.

“Do you at least know the address of this friend or acquaintance’s house?”

Address? I don’t know Kan-san’s address.

“No, I don’t.”

“Is there some kind of landmark near the place? Something that stands out?”

A yellow “P” sign flashes in my mind as a landmark.

“A parking lot with a P sign. There was a picture of a dog on the sign.”

“A dog sign for a parking lot… that’d be the one near the park. If that’s the place, keep going straight here and turn left.”

He points straight ahead, then makes a big motion to turn to the side. Maybe that’ll get me back?

“Thank you.”

I go straight and turn where he pointed, and soon I see the parking lot with the dog sign. Right beside it is Kan-san’s apartment. I’m relieved. I made it back. Inside, as I close the door behind me, it really feels like I’ve “come home.” Yeah, Kan-san’s place feels nice.

I head out to the balcony and light a cigarette. It’s a bit chilly, but I can deal with it. Kan-san doesn’t smoke, after all. Smoking leaves a smell in the room, and some people don’t like that smell. The sky is kind of red. Really red. The cigarette tastes good as I watch the sunset. It’s getting darker and darker around me.

Ah, what should I do about dinner? I just got back, but if I don’t go out and buy something, there’s no food here. Not even any instant ramen. It’s dark out, and if I go outside, I might get lost again. And if I can’t find my way back, that would be awful. But if I don’t go, I’ll just stay hungry. Maybe if I get lost, I could just ask someone for directions, tell them about the parking lot with the dog sign. The white-haired old man who told me not to smoke mentioned something about an address. If I knew Kan-san’s address, maybe even if I got lost, I could still find my way back here. I remember the address of the house where I used to live with my mom and dad. I wonder if there’s something around here with Kan-san’s address written on it. Oh, letters have addresses on them.

I walk around the room with the TV, running my hand along the wall. No letters here. I head into the room beyond the rust-colored curtains.

There’s a low shelf, a tall shelf, and a desk pushed up against the wall. On the desk, there’s a patterned nail and a piece of wood, darkened on one side. The wood has a carved face on it. Kan-san said it was a carving of my face.

When I touch the carved face, it feels rough and gritty. My real face doesn’t feel gritty like that. Even though the wood face feels rough when I touch it, when I look at it, it looks perfectly round. Why does it change like that?

When you’re in someone else’s house, you’re not supposed to touch their things without permission. Dad used to say that; otherwise, people might think you’re a thief. But if it’s just looking, it’s okay to look as much as I want.

Nothing with an address, though. As I’m going in circles around the room, looking, I accidentally kick something. A black trash bin tips over, and its contents spill out all over the place.

“Oh…”

I squat down and set the trash bin upright, then pick up some crumpled tissues and stuff them back inside. There’s a strange smell, like semen. I sniff the tissue, and, yeah, that’s the smell. Kan-san must’ve done it here. Among the trash, there’s a postcard folded in half. One side has a picture, and the other side has something that looks like an address—a sticker with an address. This might be the address for Kan-san’s apartment. I bet that’s what it is. The name has the kanji for “three,” “peace,” “sweet,” and “rain.” The last name is San... San... Sanwa, I think. As for the first name, there’s a kanji that looks like a ladder, but I don’t know how to read it. The only one I can read is “rain.” Rain… I remember it was raining really hard when I met Kan-san by the ocean. Barara, barara … That memory of the rain, heavy like something scary, rises up for a second and then fades away.

Since the postcard was in the trash, it must be something he didn’t need anymore. So, it’s okay to take it. There are guys who collect cans or books out of the trash and sell them to make money.

I put the postcard in my pants pocket, then toss all the scattered trash back into the bin. There’s this tiny white stuff that no matter how much I pick up, it just keeps coming.

Just putting the trash back in the bin leaves me feeling kind of exhausted, so I lie down. There’s that picture. A picture of space. The space where Kan-san’s star is. But it feels like somewhere out there, I might have a star, too. …Today, space feels far away. Really far. I wonder when Kan-san will come back.

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