Picking Up Fingers

There is a fairly large river flowing near the forty-year-old wooden apartment building where I live. Things that look like human fingers often fall around that area, so I frequently go to pick them up.
Whether they are rolling among the weeds on the riverbank or hiding in the shadows of stones, they look like nothing but severed human fingers. They are long and thin, have nails, fingerprints, and wrinkles, and you can see the bone in the middle of the red cut. Every time I find one, I think, 'Yep, that's definitely a finger,' but I don't know why they are lying there. Some are thick like thumbs, while others are thin like pinkies. Some are sturdy, looking like they belonged to a man, while others are slender, with an air of delicate femininity. There are small, childlike ones, and wrinkled ones that look like they belonged to an old person. In any case, all sorts of 'fingers' are lying around.
If I were to drop a finger, I think I would make a huge scene, but as far as I know, I have never heard a scream at the riverbank, nor have I heard of any accidents or incidents. It's just that when I walk near the river, things that look like fingers are lying there, so I pick them up. No one has ever scolded me, and no one has ever screamed at the sight of me picking up a finger. At least, not yet.

It was past the middle of July, and the summer heat was steadily increasing. Heat haze rose from the road, and wearing a straw hat, I felt dizzy from the heat coming from below. It was so hot that the pavement felt like it might melt.
If the asphalt really did melt and my shoe soles got stuck to the road, what should I do? Should I leave my shoes behind? But if I did that, my socks would surely get stuck to the road the moment I took a step. If I left my socks behind and took another step, I would have to step on the heated asphalt with my bare feet. I would surely get burned. It seems best not to move blindly, but to stay still, stuck to the ground, until night falls and it gets cooler. Though just standing blankly outside on a hot day must be quite painful.
If it ever got so hot that the road melted, I wouldn't be able to go to the river. That would be a problem. If that happened, it might be better to just leave the apartment and live on the riverbank.
While I was lost in thought, I arrived at the riverbank in no time. I began to search the ground with my eyes wide open.

I quit my job in September the year before last. I had no dreams, plans, or prospects, but it was as if a switch had suddenly been flipped, and I didn't want to do anything at all.
Even though I had been working reasonably brightly and seriously at a reasonably demanding workplace until then. Even though I had been traveling abroad every six months, hanging out with friends, and getting boyfriends and breaking up with them. Even though I had secretly felt proud when people said, 'Miyaji-san, you're what they call a
I quit my job, broke up with my lover, and stopped contacting my friends. Since my parents passed away and my family home was gone, there was no one left who cared about me. After I stopped meeting people and hanging out, I naturally started to economize, but money still goes out just by living. My savings, which were not much to begin with because I was a spendthrift, were steadily decreasing.
Thinking that I was dying of annoyance, I canceled the lease on the apartment I had been living in and moved to a cheap, crumbling apartment. My unemployment benefits ran out, my savings balance dropped below six figures, and I thought I might finally have to start job hunting, but I haven't even looked for a part-time job yet. Dressing up in decent clothes for an interview and talking to complete strangers is too high a hurdle for me right now. Instead, I decided to cut my living expenses, so I started going to the riverbank.
At first, I would pick weeds growing around there that I didn't even know the names of, and boil or stir-fry them in a small pot to eat. They were incredibly bad, but they were edible, they were free, and it was better than putting nothing in my stomach. I thought it would be nice if I could also eat meat for free—and that was when I discovered the 'fingers'.
I was surprised when I found one for the first time. But when I happened to ask an unknown middle-aged woman who was there, 'What should I do with this?', she said with a calm face, 'Oh, they often fall around here, so it's fine. Just leave them alone.'
The woman walked away immediately, and I stood there for a while, holding the finger. I hesitated about what to do, but I was hungry, so I ended up taking it home with the weeds. I had never eaten a human finger, of course, but needs must. Even just lying on the tatami mats without doing anything makes me hungry. And just eating weeds doesn't really satisfy my hunger. I really can't do without protein.
When I got back to my apartment, I made a soup by boiling it with the weeds, thinking, 'I don't know whose finger this is, but I'm sorry.' Honestly, it was delicious. It had a broth, and it was well-flavored. As I chewed, the umami slowly flowed into my mouth, and I ate it in a frenzy, actually saying out loud, 'It's meat, after all.'
Since then, picking up fingers at the riverbank has become my daily routine.

The river was flowing gently.
The river is wide, and to get to the other side, I have to cross a bridge that is a little far away. I don't know if fingers fall on the other side of the bridge, as I haven't been there yet. If I ever finish picking up all the fingers on this side, I think I'll go to the other bank then.
Whether it's a sunny day or a rainy day, I have never seen a person on the other bank. I don't see anything moving on the other side of the river, to the point where I wonder if it's just a backdrop.
The water surface reflects the sunlight, sparkling as it flows. I remember learning the piano when I was a child. My piano teacher once told me, 'The piece
Bending my waist like an old woman, I searched for fingers while pushing aside the weeds and turning over stones. It didn't matter if it was a man's, a woman's, an adult's, or a child's. As long as I could eat it, that was all that mattered.
Eventually, I found a finger in the shadow of a stone shaped like a crab. I picked it up carefully. When I brushed off the dirt, it was a beautiful finger that looked like it belonged to a young woman. The well-shaped pink nail looked like a cherry blossom shell. I remembered the teacher who used to teach me piano again. I put it in the plastic bag I was carrying, feeling a little relieved that I had secured some meat. And then I started walking again, searching the area to see if there were any more fingers.
It was hard to find any. If I were greedy, I would want two or three more. That way, I could have meat soup again tomorrow morning. If I only eat weed soup, I don't feel satisfied, and I feel like my face is turning greener and greener. Come to think of it, I wonder if my face has started to look like a grasshopper, I thought self-deprecatingly, yet I haven't even looked in a mirror properly for the past few days.
Finger. Finger. Finger. Are there any lying around somewhere?
I couldn't find what I was looking for, so I straightened my bent back, tapped it, and let out a yawn. Sweat trickled down my temples. I was tired, and my head felt fuzzy.
I sat on the riverbank, where there was nothing to block the sunlight, and gazed at the water's surface. The river flowed calmly from my right to my left, sparkling as it went. It flows twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year, without resting at all. 'That's amazing,' I muttered to myself. Even though no one seems to have asked it to, and no one seems to praise it, it's amazing. As I thanked it on my own, saying something like 'Thank you for your hard work,' I realized the possibility that someone might be praising or cheering on the river somewhere I don't know about. Maybe in the middle of the night, when no one is watching, the river stops its flow and rests in secret. Maybe it goes on a trip once every six months. But since I don't know that, I just mutter, 'That's amazing.'
When I suddenly searched near my hand, a finger that was half-buried in the dry soil touched my finger. It was a thick, sturdy-looking finger. For its size, the nail was unusually small, and I associated it with some kind of craftsman who uses their hands. I could feel a story in it, like the nail had worn down over many years of doing detailed work. I put that finger in the plastic bag, too.
That makes two. Well, this is enough for today. It's hot. I'll just pick some weeds around here on my way home.
I stood up slowly, and with a sigh, I stretched again. It looks like I can still manage to live without working, somehow or other. Feeling relieved and calm, I headed home, making a slapping sound with the soles of my peeling sneakers.