Short Story 'A Little Closer' + vol.20 [Evening Natsuzora] (in the corner) The Endless Boundary and the Persimmon Economic Zone

Short story 'A Little Closer'

On the morning of the seventh-year memorial service, Toru bought flowers in front of the station.

He hated the smell of chrysanthemums. He felt like his mother had said something similar. When those entered a room, everyone would take turns making a sad face, as if it were a set rule. Following the borrowed emotions, he cast his gaze down at the clerk's hands. Every bundle of Buddhist flowers contained chrysanthemums, and the clerk handed over the white package as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Toru took it and gripped it along with the handle of his bag.

There was something else in his bag. An envelope handed to him by a judicial scrivener two weeks ago. It contained a list of documents required for the inheritance registration application and a sample of the power of attorney prepared by them.

It also contained a family register. It was one the judicial scrivener had obtained, consisting of a bundle covering three generations. In the heir column, there was only Toru's name. His older brother Takayuki's name was in their father's family register.

He had changed his surname along with his mother when he was six. He remembered that. He had thought the procedures ended there.

He had only heard the story once, and at the time, he had said, 'I will take it home and think about it.' The judicial scrivener, looking accustomed to this, explained a little about the deadline.

A fifteen-minute walk. Six years ago, he had taken a taxi. The road hadn't changed, but almost all the houses along the way had been rebuilt.

When he turned the corner, his parents' house was there.

The roof had been replaced. It used to be dark-colored tiles, but now it was made of a flat, dark gray material. The wall had also been repainted.

In front of the gate, Toru paused for a moment.

Legally speaking, he could call it his own house. But he couldn't remember if it had been this kind of house.

*

'Glad you could make it.'

It was Takayuki who opened the entrance. He was wearing easy-to-move-in clothes that looked like a samue. Having passed sixty, his hair was almost entirely white.

'Did you fix the roof?'

'Three years ago. It was badly damaged by a typhoon.'

That was all. Takayuki took the flowers and went into the back.

His aunt Setsuko was already sitting in the Buddhist altar room. She was his mother's younger sister and the only person who had called Toru over the past six years.

"Toru, haven't you lost weight?"

"Do you think so?"

"Your brother is pushing himself too hard, you know. He's doing everything here all by himself. Even the garden, that's a lot of work."

Takayuki was in the kitchen and must have heard, but he said nothing.

The sutra chanting ended after about forty minutes. The monk left, and the three of them moved to the living room.

Setsuko, while arranging bowls of simmered food, spoke as if she had just remembered.

"Come to think of it, Toru, your brother has kept all the records of Mother's hospital visits. From the dates to how much he paid, all in a notebook."

Toru stopped his chopsticks.

"He really does a lot, doesn't he? I could never do that."

Takayuki, still holding his teacup, was looking toward the garden.

Setsuko then began talking about how so-and-so from the neighborhood had moved into a care facility.

*

The first time he heard that story was four years ago. It was from Setsuko again, in the middle of a phone call. Even then, Setsuko had said it with the intention of praising him.

After hanging up the phone, Toru didn't move for a while.

He thought about the meaning of having those records. Why were they kept? It meant there was a time when Takayuki felt he had to keep them.

And that was so he could show them to someone someday.

There was only one person to show them to.

*

"This house, you know."

Takayuki said. He was still looking at the garden.

"After my old man moved in, I redid everything. The bath, the floors, the fence. I was in junior high. If he hadn't put up the money back then, we wouldn't have been able to live here anymore."

Toru set down his teacup.

"I know that. But originally, it was Mom's family home, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"It's been in the family since Grandpa's time."

"That's right."

That was the end of it.

Takayuki didn't deny it, and Toru didn't press the issue. The air in the room just shifted slightly, then returned to how it was before.

Setsuko stood up, saying, "I'll go get the pickles."

In the six years since their mother died, the words the two of them had exchanged probably wouldn't even add up to half a day's worth of conversation. And some of those words had taken the form of the exchange that had just ended.

Neither of them was lying. And so, neither of them would back down.

*

After lunch, Toru went out into the garden.

The position of the stone lantern had been changed. The grass was cut short. It was actually more orderly than when his mother was alive.

In the corner, there was a drum can for burning trash. It was rusted, and the rim was slightly warped.

When he peered inside, ash had collected at the bottom. It was still fresh. It was dry ash that hadn't been hit by rain.

It was ash from burned paper. A thin, white layer floated on the surface.

Toru stared at it for a while.

He didn't know what had been burned. It might have been dead leaves from the garden, or perhaps old New Year's cards. This house held forty years' worth of paper.

However, the amount of ash seemed incomplete. It looked as if something of a certain thickness had been burned all at once.

As I returned from the veranda to the Buddhist altar room, I saw that the closet was half open. On the bottom shelf, document cases were lined up. Labels were attached: "Taxes," "Insurance," "Repairs."

At the very back, there was one more. The side with the label was facing the wall.

Toru closed the closet.

＊

As he was leaving, Takayuki brewed some tea.

"What time is your train?"

"Four-thirty."

"You still have time."

Two teacups were placed on the table.

Takayuki placed one toward Toru, and after placing it, he used his fingertips to push it just a little closer.

It was a movement of less than a centimeter.

Toru was watching it.

My mother used to do that. Whenever she served tea to someone, she always did that. After placing it down, she would push it slightly closer with her fingers. I never asked her why. I just thought it was a habit.

And now, at my own home, when I serve tea to my wife, I do the same thing.

I don't know when it started. I had never even thought about who I learned it from.

Takayuki picked up his own teacup and drank without saying a word. I don't even know if he realized he was being watched.

Toru drank the tea. It was hot.

His bag was still left in the entryway.

＊

On the way to the station, Toru thought about the envelope.

There is a deadline, the judicial scrivener said. If it passes, the procedures will become complicated and cost money. That is all there is to it; the rights themselves do not disappear.

While waiting for the train on the platform, I opened my bag. The envelope was inside, just as it had been.

Toru closed it.

*

After the new year began, the judicial scrivener contacted him once to confirm. Toru replied that he would pass on it this time.

The invoice for obtaining the family register and the consultation arrived at the end of the month. The amount was smaller than he had expected. Toru paid it.

*

In the spring, Setsuko called. She talked about someone in the neighborhood and how Takayuki had hired a contractor to shovel snow this year.

"He's getting on in years, too."

"I suppose so."

"Toru, you should show your face once in a while, too."

"Yes."

"...Come to think of it. Your sister, toward the end, she was writing something."

Toru adjusted his grip on the receiver.

"I don't know if she said she was giving it to you, Toru, or to your brother. I haven't seen it myself, though."

"Is that so?"

"I've already forgotten. Getting old, I suppose."

Setsuko then returned to talking about the neighborhood. Toru chimed in.

After hanging up the phone, he reached for the cold teacup.

(End)

vol.20 [Evening Natsuzora] (in the corner) The Never-Ending Boundary Line and the Persimmon Economic Zone

Mid-August, in the strategy room where the sweltering heat typical of the Obon season hung in the air. I was at my desk, slurping down some quickly boiled dried soba noodles and complaining loudly.

Natsuzora: "...Ah, but lately, aren't there too many conflicts all over the world? Just watching the news is enough to make my soba get soggy."

Chief: "Territory, resources, economy, national security. Since all of these involve history and emotions, they are all issues that cannot be easily conceded."

Natsuzora: "But, if both sides are just going to be stubborn and lose out, why not just work together and make a profit? Put the territorial claims on hold for now, and just share the practical benefits of the resources there. This is the ultimate peaceful solution."

(Clatter)

Setsuko: "Oh, Natsuzora-chan, soba? You're working hard even in this heat. I brought some leftover sweets that were offered to the ancestors for Obon. ...Oh, hello to you too, Chief."

Chief: "Today's guest is Setsuko-san, the aunt of the protagonist, Toru, visiting from the short story 'A Little Closer.' She has brought us some neighborhood gossip today."

Natsuzora: "Leftover sweets... well, I'll take them. So, Setsuko-san, what's up today?"

Setsuko: "I want you to listen to this. Sato-san and Suzuki-san from the third block are fighting again."

Natsuzora: "Neighborhood gossip again!? I was talking about international affairs, the scale is so small!"

Setsuko: "It's not small. It's about the 'persimmon tree' standing on the boundary line between those two houses. They've been fighting over it for over ten years now. Sato-san says, 'It's a tree that has been on my land for generations,' and Suzuki-san says, 'For the forty years you've been neglecting it, I've been the one watering and taking care of it.'"

Chief: "I see. It is a direct confrontation between legal 'ownership' and long-term 'effective management records.' Even though the scale is different, it is essentially the same structure as the territorial disputes between nations that you were worried about earlier, Natsuzora-san."

Natsuzora: "...Hey, my idea from earlier could work for that!"

I slammed the chopsticks I was holding onto the desk.

Natsuzora: "Listen, they're fighting because they're talking about land! Put the boundary line on hold. And when autumn comes, they should harvest the persimmons together and make jam!"

Setsuko: "Jam?"

Natsuzora: "Yes! Sell it and put the proceeds into the neighborhood association. If they use it for the neighborhood festival or road maintenance, both of them will benefit indirectly. But, don't touch the land ownership at all. How about that? The neighborhood association version of a Win-Win 'Persimmon Economic Zone' is complete! Did you see that? My perfect diplomatic strategy!"

Chief: "...Wonderful. Eliminating emotional arguments and connecting through practical benefits. It is an extremely rational scheme."

Setsuko: "You know, the neighborhood association president said the exact same thing last year."

Natsuzora: "...And?"

Setsuko: "Both of them were absolutely furious."

Natsuzora: "Why on earth!"

Setsuko: "Mr. Sato said, 'Do you think I'm going to let you gloss over the land I inherited from my ancestors for peanuts?' and Mr. Suzuki said, 'Don't put me, who has taken care of it for forty years, on the same level as that guy who hasn't done a thing.' It's not about the money for them."

Natsuzora: "...My perfect economic theory has been easily dismantled by pride and emotion..."

Chief: "A living example that rationality is not always the correct answer in diplomatic negotiations."

Setsuko: "And so, both of them finally got fed up and built an iron fence right in the middle of the boundary line."

Natsuzora: "They went that far!? Over persimmons!?"

Setsuko: "At first it was only waist-high, but they hated seeing each other's faces, so every year they stubbornly kept making the fence higher. Now it towers over everything like a prison wall."

Chief: "...If one side increases its defensive capabilities, the other counters by building the wall higher. It is the end result of an endless arms race."

Setsuko: "But you see, because of that overly magnificent fence, the sunlight in both of their gardens has become terrible."

Natsuzora: "Hey... don't tell me."

Setsuko: "That's right. Because it's in the shade, the persimmon trees themselves have weakened and are starting to wither."

Natsuzora: "That's completely counterproductive! Well, then, just move the fence, or better yet, just cut down the persimmon trees! Eradicate the root cause!"

Setsuko: "That's the thing. Mr. Sato says, 'Don't you dare cut down my ancestors' tree,' and Mr. Suzuki says, 'You have no right to cut down the tree I've cared for for forty years.' And they won't lower the fence either, because they feel like 'it would mean losing to the other guy,' so they absolutely won't back down."

Natsuzora: "It's a total stalemate!! What are they supposed to do!"

Chief: "It is very human, isn't it?"

Natsuzora: "You're definitely enjoying this because you think it's someone else's problem!"

Setsuko: "On top of that, the two of them have stopped speaking entirely, and the sharing of radishes and other vegetables they used to do has completely ceased."

Natsuzora: "............"

Setsuko: "Lately, both Mr. Sato and Mr. Suzuki have been having trouble with their lower backs. They can't even take care of the dying persimmon tree, let alone scrape the rust off that high fence, so it's just left to go to ruin. ...Oh well, those persimmons over there used to be so sweet and delicious."

Saying this, Setsuko opened the plastic container she had brought with her. Inside were store-bought pickled daikon radishes, likely purchased at the supermarket.

Natsuzora: "...In the end, while they were busy being stubborn and building that fence higher, the persimmon tree is about to die, and both of them are ending up unable to stand on their own two feet, aren't they?"

Chief: "It is, quite impressively, too late."

Setsuko: "Well, it's none of my business since it's someone else's problem. Here, have some tea snacks. They're store-bought, but they're delicious."

Urged on by Setsuko, I silently picked up a piece of pickled daikon and took a crunchy bite.

Natsuzora: "...It's good."

Chief: "The problem, however, remains completely unsolved."

Natsuzora: "............"

(Today's grumble: In the end, maybe humans don't live by logic, but by their stomachs and their pride. Wait, this neighborhood dispute, it's like something...)