Chapter 2 | Contents | Chapter 4
He’d seemed unapproachable when he was sitting silently, but now that he’d opened his mouth, he became like an instantly endearing uncle. I was surprised by that change. He smiled gently and turned to face me while staying seated.
“You must be Tachiarai-san.”
“Yes. And you were the one who taught the boy outside Japanese.”
“That is correct.”
He slowly nodded.
“I am Yatsuda. As you might have guessed, I am Japanese. Nice to meet you.”
He gave a deep bow. I returned the favor.
“I am Tachiarai. It seems that by some curious turn of events, you have already been told my name.”
“Yes. Do you know that boy’s name?”
“He said it was Sagar.”
“Oho.”
His eyes widened as a cheerful smile spread across his face.
“That boy is usually very cautious, yet he told you his name?”
“I think it was because I told him mine.”
“If that was all, he would have given you a false name. He likes you.”
Yatsuda’s voice was filled with warmth, as if he were talking about his own son. I didn’t know what relationship they had, but it seemed that Yatsuda was staying here long-term.
The monk sat deeply in the folding chair and placed his hands on his thighs. Each of his fingers was thick, and looked sturdy. It was difficult to estimate his age from his facial features, but his hands bore the marks of time.
“I was asked to help with a tricky request from a Japanese person. He said that he was told to recommend a souvenir even when he only met this customer today.”
“That was unreasonable of me. He kept repeating, ‘All Japanese like this,’ so…”
“Being constantly lumped in with everyone else can be irritating. This should also be a good lesson for Sagar. So, what did he find for you?”
I handed the kukri in my hand to Yatsuda. His eyes narrowed.
“I see. He sure is a bright boy.”
“I thought you were the one who gave him the idea of recommending me a kukri.”
He stroked the gold-decorated sheath with his thick fingers. He then turned it upside-down, gazed at the hilt and spoke.
“No, it was not I. The only thing I told him was the meaning of Tachiarai, with Tachi meaning ‘blade’, and Arai meaning ‘to wash’, so altogether the name means ‘to wash a blade’. That boy deserves all the credit for choosing a kukri. Also, the craftsmanship is quite good, is it not?”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“It does not seem to be a souvenir for tourists. You should treasure it.”
He returned the kukri, and I nodded. While looking at my hands, Yatsuda mused.
“It is good that you bought something from Sagar. No matter how many days he gets by with little profit, he never tries to sell me anything.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, I mean…”
He ran a hand over his completely shaved head and smiled wryly.
“Even like this, I am a humble Buddhist monk. I will not say that turned out to be a mistake, but… rather than try to sell me anything, Sagar has even tried to give alms to me.”
Nepal is a Hindu country, but it is also the birthplace of Sakyamuni. While Buddhism is often conflated with and largely absorbed by Hinduism in this country, it still commands the respect of people here.
Yatsuda continued.
“Of course, I cannot accept them.”
“You don’t accept alms?”
I asked, causing him to shift his body and sit up straight while maintaining the smile on his face. There was a hint of hoarseness in his voice, one that spoke of the passing years.
“I should accept them. It is unthinkable to be selective of almsgivers. Just as we should not take more from the rich, we should also not refuse alms simply because someone is poor. But I am a corrupt monk. I cannot accept alms if it does not sit well with me. Sagar has also not tried pressing me to take his alms.”
I looked at Yatsuda again. I was starting to be a little interested in him, since he claimed to be a corrupt monk while staying in a cheap accommodation in Kathmandu.
“Pardon me, but can I consider you to be a Buddhist monk, Yatsuda-san?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“So why are you here in this city?”
Instead of answering my question, he pushed up his sleeves in a leisurely manner. Wrapped around one of his arms was a big dial watch. That got me to look at my own watch, which showed that it was exactly 12 noon. I still wasn’t used to the change in time zones, but it was a good time for lunch. Though his face made it seem like he was unconcerned with material possessions and detached from worldly affairs, Yatsuda was apparently not such a simple man.
“Since it’s the perfect time for a meal, would you like to join me?”
With a gentle grin one would expect of a monk, he put his large palms together in front of his chest.
“That would be greatly appreciated. I would be happy to accept your treat… But you do not need to worry. I am a veteran of this city. Let me introduce you to a good restaurant.”
Yatsuda wasn’t lying. He walked through the alley confidently, like he’d done it many times before. All I did was follow his yellow kasaya whenever I caught sight of it.
After passing the old, quiet alley where Tokyo Lodge stood, we entered a wide road where automobiles constantly drove past each other.
“This is Dharma Path.”
Yatsuda told me. I found it hard to believe, but I couldn’t have possibly been fooled; in just ten minutes of walking, we’d reached Indra Chowk, which I’d been to with Rob earlier.
“So this road connects to Indra Chowk. I went by another road in the morning.”
I mused while looking around Indra Chowk, which now had a different kind of hustle and bustle compared to the morning. Yatsuda tilted his head in puzzlement.
“Another road? That would be a detour. This road gets you here instantly.”
We walked on through Indra Chowk, ignoring the candle shops and clothes shops. While looking curiously at various sights like a shrine covered in gold leaf standing in the middle of a path, or the large overhanging eaves of a four-story house, we walked on for about ten minutes. It was then that I noticed that the color scheme of the streets had changed.
After arriving in Kathmandu, the street colors I’d seen were only the brown of wood and the red of brick. I’d enjoyed the variety of carpets, cloths, fruits, vegetables, sweaters, and T-shirts at the bazaar, but the buildings themselves never deviated too much from the colors of red and brown. However, the place that Yatsuda brought me was a fountain of colors.
White walls, yellow signs, red text that read “HOTEL”, “BAR”, “CAFE”, “BOOK” in English… It was as if the shops catering to tourists had all been swept up by a giant hand and stuffed here. The storefront to a souvenir shop featured felt pouches, golden vajras1, and small prayer wheels. The lyrics “GO WEST” continually blared out over the beat of loud rock music as passersby carrying backpacks protected their bodies from infrared rays with sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats. People holding Buddha statues and necklaces approached tourists, trying to sell their goods while rattling off their sales pitch. Some people had also spread out mats at the side of the road to sell melons and radishes. Even the dark-skinned, sun-tanned people who looked to be Nepalese were walking on this street in green T-shirts and light blue jeans. It was completely different from Indra Chowk, which had a rich Hindu atmosphere, but this, too, had a unique, exotic charm.
“I never thought a place like this would be so close by.”
Yatsuda looked over his shoulder and nodded.
“This place is called Thamel. Tourists used to gather in Jhochhen an age ago, but now Thamel has taken over as the center. If you come here, you can usually find just about everything you need for your travels. It might be handy to keep that in mind.”
Looking around, I noticed a drug store and supermarket. Indeed, coming here would be useful.
Yatsuda slowed down and entered a small alley that anyone not used to the area would have easily missed. I followed him, to find that out of the countless signs hanging over our heads, one of them bore words that I was used to seeing. In black letters, it read “てんぷら TEMPURA”. I shifted my gaze to look below that sign, and observed a narrow lattice door one might find at a street corner in Kyoto. Yatsuda placed a hand on that door.
“Here we are.”
Even the creaking made by the door as it slid open also sounded like it had been brought over from Japan. The establishment’s name, “Yoshi-da”, was written next to the door. We entered the store, and were greeted with a shout of “Welcome!”. A thin man who looked to be in his fifties stood in the cooking area behind the counter. To top it off, he was wearing an indigo samue2. Much of his hair was white. Yatsuda seemed to be a regular customer, for he lightly raised a hand and said, “Hey.”
The restaurant’s interior was bright, with its cream-colored floor giving it a sense of cleanliness. Old Japanese pop music played from a speaker on the ceiling. I silently counted the number of seats. The store could probably fit 15 people. There were two groups of customers, and they all seemed to be tourists. One consisted of two white people, while the other was made up of a white person and a black person.
Following Yatsuda’s lead, I arrived at a table.
“Are you surprised?”
“Yes, quite.”
“The food here is fairly good.”
Amused that I was staring so in such an intrigued manner, Yatsuda asked in a mirthful voice.
“Was it that much of a surprise to see a tempura restaurant in Kathmandu?”
“No… I don’t think it to be strange, but yes, I’m a little surprised. I thought I would only be going to places with Nepalese cuisine.”
The waiter, who seemed to be Nepalese, brought over a teapot and teacups. Yatsuda didn’t reply, but poured tea into the cups. I could tell from the rising fragrance that it was regular roasted green tea. It might have even come from Japan.
I put my hands around my teacup. It was neither hot nor cold. Probably thinking that I was worried about the water quality, Yatsuda reassured me.
“You can trust this place. They use water that has been properly boiled.”
He then took a sip. Not that I intended to imitate him, but I also sipped some tea.
“You can eat that whenever you want.”
I was suddenly spoken to.
“What?”
Folding his kasaya-wrapped arms, Yatsuda replied.
“I was talking about Nepalese cuisine. Since you will be here for a while, there will be many chances for you to eat it. You might get sick of it and long for the taste of Japan before long. That was why I brought you here, as a pre-emptive move.”
I stared at the monk.
“Why did you come to think that I’ll be here for a while?”
“Oh, I can easily tell.”
He shook with laughter.
“In the morning you had breakfast with an American, and after that you dealt with Sagar. Now, in the afternoon, you are here talking to me. A tourists who is here for only one or two nights does not do this. It is a different story for regular visitors, but you did not know about meal times in this country.”
I instinctively looked at my wristwatch. It was a little before one. Come to think of it, there had hardly been anyone in the dining room in the morning, and Rob had said that people didn’t eat breakfast here.
“In Nepal, people have meals twice a day, normally at about ten in the morning and about seven in the evening. That said, overseas companies which start work early have recently moved their operations here, so it appears that more people are eating in the morning.”
“I didn’t know. Was it a bother for me to invite you out so early?”
“No, it is fine. I subscribe to the Japanese habit of breakfast, lunch and dinner. That is why I am a regular customer of this restaurant.”
Yatsuda raised a hand to call over a waiter, then started ordering something in what sounded like Nepalese. While looking at his side profile, I took another sip of roasted green tea. His deduction was right on the mark. It all made sense after hearing his reasoning. I just never thought that those indifferent eyes had been observing me so well.
“So, how long do you plan to stay here?”
I put down the teacup.
“I’m thinking a week, for now.”
“I see. Well, there is no shortage of things to see in the city. You will not get bored here.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
Again, I surveyed the interior design of the restaurant. The bamboo wainscoting that ran all around the room was a nice touch. Who did they ask to handle the task of setting that up? Does Nepal also have its own techniques for working with bamboo? Along with the sentimental pop music, the sound of tempura being fried was familiar to my ears. And on a wall at the back, I found a pair of photographs.
One was of a mustached man wearing a brimless hat. The other was of a woman clad in a sari, with her hair up and a mark on her forehead. Both photos were in bland white.
“What’s…”
I muttered, causing Yatsuda to follow my gaze and put on a surprised look. He called out to the establishment’s owner.
“Hey, Yoshida-san. Were the photos of the King and Queen here before?”
The restaurant owner named Yoshida stopped moving his large cooking chopsticks, raised his head and laughed.
“Come on. They’ve been here from the very beginning.”
“Is that so? I never noticed.”
“They’re there in place of a good-luck charm.”
So the photos were of the King and Queen of Nepal. But what Yoshida said made me curious.
“Erm…”
I addressed Yoshida. He turned to look at me without displaying a shred of annoyance.
“What is it?”
“Since they’re there in place of a good-luck charm, did something happen that made having a good-luck charm necessary?”
Yoshida gave an ambiguous, wry smile.
“Not really. I put them up when I opened the restaurant, and just haven’t had the chance to remove them.”
Yatsuda groaned.
“Ah, this is embarrassing. Perhaps I failed to notice because I am so used to them.”
“Are these photos usually put up in Nepal?”
“I cannot say. I have seen them around, but I do not think they are everywhere.”
Without thinking deeply about it, I replied.
“This country didn’t seem like a monarchy.”
Yatsuda nodded.
“That is understandable. Until I came here, the only things I could picture about Nepal were the Buddha, the Himalayas, and… curry.”
“Curry?”
“I did not know the difference between Nepal and India.”
I couldn’t help but break into a smile. Yatsuda looked at me with kindly, then brought the teacup to his mouth and let out a long sigh.
“Once you come here, you understand all sorts of things. Until just eleven years ago, this country was ruled directly by the king. Even after democratization, the king is still considered to be an important person.”
Before long, the waiter delivered our food. The tempura served on a ceramic plate had been fried until they were in a slightly darker color. As far as I could tell, there was eggplant, sweet potato, lotus root, onion, and a small fish. It was indeed no different from what you would find in Japan.
“Now, shall we begin?”
Yatsuda suggested. I glanced at his plate to see that it had one item missing: the fish tempura, which was the most noticeable and was likely meant to be the main.
“Do you not take fish?”
I asked, and Yatsuda solemnly pressed his palms together.
“I may be a poor excuse for a monk, but I am one nonetheless. I do my best to live according to its precepts.”
Following Yatsuda’s lead, I put my hands together. The chopsticks were the disposable kind, making me wonder where they were sourced from.
The tempura was not very well done, but I was happy with it.
The ingredients were all soaked in oil, and none of them made me think, “Wow! I can’t believe there is such authentic tempura in Nepal!” In fact, it was close to my amateur cooking back home in Tokyo. But precisely because of that, eating Japanese food here gave me a peculiar sense of nostalgia. The side dish of simmered potatoes was simple, yet delicious. As for the rice, it was quite different from what you would get in Japan, as expected.
Yatsuda had graceful table manners. With neither too much nor too little rice on his chopsticks, he ate composedly, but also wasn’t too slow. Additionally, he kept his back straight without straining it.
Finding a pause between bites, I asked a question.
“You mentioned that you are a regular customer, but do you come here often?”
Putting down his bowl of miso soup, Yatsuda answered slowly.
“Well, I come here once or twice a week without fail.”
“I hope it’s not rude of me to say this, but it seems a little unusual to be a regular customer of a Japanese restaurant in Nepal.”
“I suppose you are wondering why I do not return to Japan even when I long for Japanese food so much, and why I am here.”
“Frankly speaking, yes.”
A faint smile formed on Yatsuda’s lips.
“Well, I do not mind revealing my reasons, but it is not anything special. Where should I begin?”
With that preface, Yatsuda started his story, speaking a few words at a time between bites.
“I was born in the northern part of Hyogo, and I am 59 this year. Sorry for being so late to give my full name, but it is Yatsuda Genshin. I come from a typical salaryman family, and it never crossed my mind to become a monk until I graduated from school. However, after working at a company in Osaka and found it to be a little boring, so I took the plunge and entered the Buddhist priesthood.”
Though the question of what he found to be boring piqued my interest, I did not ask him. Everyone has their own circumstances, after all.
Yatsuda continued with his story.
“After undergoing spiritual practice, I was entrusted with a small temple in Wakayama for about twenty years. All sorts of things happened there. I brought relief to the parishioners who were worried about finding a successor for the temple, and they were very kind to me. I also started a family, and was living happily there.”
Even as he was reminiscing about the past, his voice and countenance showed no feelings of nostalgia. As if he were talking about something that happened a long time ago, Yatsuda spoke in a matter-of-fact way.
“But after passing fifty, I had a sudden thought. I had become a monk not for the sake of others, but for my own, yet I was preaching to others for twenty years. Feeling that this was not right, I abandoned my home. Nine years has passed since then.”
“Your family?”
I asked, and Yatsuda quietly answered.
“I also abandoned them.”
“…I see.”
“Wanting to find a quiet place somewhere to reflect on myself, the first thing that came to mind was Lumbini, where Sakyamuni was born. After leaving the temple which was my home for twenty years, I recklessly came to Nepal… and after that, well, I simply went along with it. I suppose it suited me. Now I live on alms.”
After finishing the tempura set lunch without leaving behind a single grain of rice, Yatsuda slurped his tea.
“Could I ask which sect you were from?”
I asked, but my question was turned down gently.
“I am a person who caused trouble by running off. Let us leave it at that.”
Soon after, I also finished my tempura set lunch, and put down my chopsticks. In the end, I couldn’t tell what fish it was. I picked up the teapot and poured tea into our cups.
The owner, Yoshida, approached our table with cups of water in his hands.
“How was the taste?”
“I enjoyed it. Thank you for the food.”
“My pleasure. It wasn’t much.”
He then placed the cups of water on the table.
“It’s been boiled and cooled, so don’t worry.”
I wasn’t exactly worried about it, but him mentioning that certainly made the water easier to drink. I’d heard that there were issues with Kathmandu’s water supply, and that unboiled water was dangerous.
Yoshida turned to face Yatsuda.
“Yatsuda-san. When will the Buddha arrive?”
The monk answered in a serene, unhurried tone.
“The day after tomorrow, or the day after that.”
“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.”
After watching Yoshida turn around and leave, I couldn’t help but stare intently at Yatsuda. I must have been making quite a funny face, for he put out a wry smile.
“Yoshida-san worded in poorly.”
“Erm, just now, by Buddha…”
Was there a sick person who was predicted to pass away soon? Their exchange sounded too casual for that, though.
“The Buddha is the Buddha. Or you could call him The Enlightened One.”
He spoke as if he was giving a riddle.
“Meaning…”
But Yatsuda did not answer my question, and instead called out to Yoshida.
“Hey, Yoshida-san. This lady here is surprised by what you said.”
Yoshida picked up his cooking chopsticks again and smiled affably.
“Oh? Did I say something strange?”
“You mentioned the Buddha, did you not?”
Apparently realizing what he’d said, Yoshida nodded and said, “Ah.” Facing me, he spoke.
“I was talking about a Buddha statue. I’m supposed to receive one from Yatsuda-san.”
“…Ah, I see.”
“I’ll be going back to Japan next week, so I was asked to help with something while I’m there.”
Yatsuda added.
“The postal service here is not very good. When I want to send something fragile to Japan, I make sure to ask someone to bring it there for me.”
That was an important point. I decided to keep it firmly in mind.
“ I was sure someone was on the verge of death.”
“That is understandable.”
Some new customers walked into the restaurant. It was a group of two young men, and I could tell they were backpackers at a glance. I thought they looked Japanese, but the words that came out of their mouths were in English.
Another old Japanese pop song started playing from the speaker.
“Hmm. This is a good restaurant, but the downside is that it can get a little noisy.”
Yatsuda commented while stroking his teacup.
We exited Yoshi-da. Yatsuda didn’t tell me where he was going or to follow him, but we quickly reached the bustling Thamel area. Probably finding Yatsuda’s priestly attire to be a novel sight, many tourists pointed their cameras at him.
After passing through a few alleys in this fashion, the backpackers’ town disappeared as if it were just a magic trick, and so too did the English rock music and calls of street vendors. Once again, we were surrounded by a red-brown streetscape. The sun was finally shining brightly, but I did not feel that the heat was unpleasant. Based on latitude, it should be a tropical country comparable to Okinawa, but the weather felt comfortable, perhaps because there was no humidity.
A strange building stood by the roadside. Though it had a magnificent tiled roof, it had no walls, like a gazebo. The roof was held up by only six pillars that had intricate geometric patterns carved on them. Also, there were no structural elements under the roof, only a slightly raised, stone-paved platform. It looked like nothing more than a roof providing shade by the roadside. If anything, it resembled a bus stop.
In the deep shade, a man in his prime lay sprawled out, taking an afternoon nap. Without paying heed to that man, Yatsuda spoke.
“This spot should be fine.”
He then went under the roof. I felt a little intimidated by the unfamiliar structure.
“What is this building?”
“It is called a paati, but I do not know what it was originally made for. Now, they are resting spots placed here and there in the city.”
There wasn’t a bench in the paati, let alone a chair. Without any hesitation, Yatsuda sat cross-legged on the stone-paved platform. He did not tell me to sit down. Neither did he gesture with his hands or prompt me to do so through eye contact. It was as if he knew that I would sit down without him saying anything. And that was exactly what I did.
With both of us seated, Yatsuda resumed our conversation.
“Now, then. Why did you come to this city?”
A somewhat gentle gaze fixed onto me.
“I…”
“You are not a tourist. You did not come here to follow the Buddhist path. You also do not seem to be a student. Yet you are in a hurry.”
“Am I?”
“You cannot underestimate a monk’s judgment. Even someone like me has seen a good variety of people… Why not tell me? Even a lousy monk can serve as a listener.”
I didn’t think Yatsuda’s assertion that I was in a hurry to be accurate.
However, it was true that I wanted to try talking to somebody. I didn’t follow the practice of confessing my sins, and I didn’t necessarily feel like confiding in someone simply because they were a monk, but there was something about Yatsuda that allowed him to slip seamlessly into people’s hearts. As prompted to, I opened my mouth.
“Well… Actually, I didn’t exactly want to come here.”
I was often told that my way of speaking was too logical that it came across as being cold and detached. I’d also been told that there was no warmth in my voice, so it sounded insincere. With that exact voice, I continued.
“My full name is Tachiarai Machi. I was a journalist for Toyo Newspaper. I started at the Okazaki branch and worked for five years. I think I did well at my job. But last year… my colleague died.”
While looking at the dusty street in early summer, I thought back to that moment. It was hot on that day.
“Was it an accident?”
“It was suicide.”
I didn’t know the reason for that suicide. He had been working normally up to that point, and had even seemed sunny. After the weekend, he did not come to work on Monday. He also did not answer any phone calls. Since he was single, I was asked to check on him.
I waited until Thursday, when I talked with the apartment manager and had them open the door with a duplicate key. We found the body and called 110. It did not make the news.
“That was when I had a thought.”
In the end, I never managed to fit in at work. I collaborated reasonably well with my colleagues, but for no particular reason, I couldn’t really get along with my boss. They didn’t look too pleased whenever I said that I wanted to do investigation on my own story ideas.
But aside from that, I enjoyed my work, and there was a lot for me to learn.
In the first year, my job was to go to the police station every day and ask if anything happened. The person assigned to deal with journalists was the deputy chief. I wrote many small articles, and learnt the basics.
In my second year, I was given a slightly wider range of tasks, and in my third, I moved to the Ogaki branch, where I was put in charge of a regular feature of the newspaper. It was just a small corner called “Watashi no Machi”3 that reported on people involved in traditional culture and local specialties, but the character for “no” in the title logo was too small, so it looked like “Watashi Machi”. Whenever I produced a back issue of the newspaper along with my namecard that read “Tachiarai Machi”, people would often nod knowingly.
Through the process of investigation, I got to know a lot of people. The aging local historian would grumpily answer any of my questions with “Dunno” but would always respond to them a few days later through a letter. The proprietress of a Japanese confectionery shop took quite a liking to me, and would give me manju, kintsuba, daifuku and other Japanese sweets whenever I passed her shop. I was also thought to do the lion dance while covering preparation for a festival because “everything is a learning experience”. Though I wasn’t a parishioner, and while I couldn’t dance in front of the altar because women were not even supposed to be in the costume, they said, “We don’t mind, why don’t you try?” and encouraged me to don the costume when it came time for the lion to parade through the streets. In that region, the lion’s role was to scare the children, so I made a good number of kids cry. Of course, situations where things didn’t go as planned seemed to happen every day, but in general, I got to work a great job.
New journalists would be sent to a branch office once they enter the company, and would usually move to another branch or the main office after two to three years. On my sixth year, I thought it would be time for me to move again, reluctant as I was.
But the unexpected death of my colleague confronted me with a question I’d never considered.
“What did you think about?”
“About how limited time is.”
This wasn’t the first time someone near me left the world at a young age.
A friend also died when I was still in school. I wasn’t able to witness her death, and I still haven’t been able to visit her grave even at this point. Did I decide to become a journalist for the sake of understanding my friend’s death? With the current way I’m doing things, how far can I see? These questions turned into small thorns in my heart.
Even so, I wouldn’t have quit my job if that were all. I hadn’t done all I could as a newspaper journalist yet.
“The reason I quit was more significant – because rumors were circulating that I was to blame for my colleague’s suicide.”
“Oho.”
“It wasn’t something I had any recollection of, but I was rather troubling to be scrutinized so deeply. I’m not the type to worry about what others think about me, but not receiving information that I need started to interfere with my work, so I was at a loss as to what to do. I talked it over with my peers and thought it through, but in the end I realized that there was more than one path, that I didn’t have to be so set on working for a newspaper, so I decided to quit.”
Some people even called me a wimp. There were also friends who tried to stop me, saying that quitting would be like admitting the rumors were true. However, I just didn’t feel as attached to that job as I’d thought.
“I was searching for jobs, planning to work as a freelancer, when an acquaintance of mine who works as a magazine editor asked if I’d like to help put together a special feature on travel in Asia, so I took the lifeline. However, material gathering only begins in August. To be honest, I found it disorienting that the pace was so different from newspaper journalism. So I thought that rather than doing nothing, I might as well come to this city and do some preliminary research…”
I chuckled a little.
“In essence, I just happened to come here.”
I didn’t mean to be in a hurry. But perhaps I was indeed in one.
The man who had been taking a nap under the roof suddenly let out a loud yawn and got up. Though we were sitting nearby, he paid no heed to us and stretched relaxedly, then went out of the paati while turning his head.
Yatsuda had been listening attentively to my story. When I stopped, he spoke in a soft, gentle voice.
“I think so too.”
“What do you mean?”
“That there is more than one path.”
“…Yeah.”
He then asked in a slightly more cheerful voice.
“If you are a journalist, you must carry a camera, right?”
“Yeah.”
“There are many beautiful locations in this city that should be captured by camera. You should be able to take some good photographs.”
I hoped so too.
However, my camera was still in my luggage, and I hadn’t taken its lens cap off yet.
After all, I still hadn’t seen anything that should be photographed.
Chapter 2 | Contents | Chapter 4
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