I Called Him Necktie Read Online Free Page A

and he would go home and speak up. But perhaps not. Perhaps he would delay it until the last savings were exhausted. And perhaps that was what he was waiting for: That Kyōko would figure it out. That she would wake up one morning with an uneasy feeling that something wasn’t right. She would start to investigate, find him out, put him on the spot. And perhaps we really were like each other in that way. We watched as everything slid away from us, and felt some relief at not being able to set things straight. Perhaps that was the reason we’d encountered each other. To simultaneously and irrevocably realize that it was impossible for us now to change what has happened to us. So perhaps his story was my story too. It concerned what he had neglected, what could not now be changed.
    So many people going home. So many shoes in step, Iwas out of step. There ahead of me under the street lamp I saw Father coming from work, past a flowering bush, his gaze on the ground. He did not see me. I had quickly hidden behind a vending machine. I wanted to spare us, him and me, the pain of meeting outside on the street and not knowing what to say. Only when he had gone around the corner did I feel sorry that I had not wished him good evening, at the very least.
27
    A lovely day, isn’t it? When the sky is so blue, one would love to drive out to the seaside. Too bad, really. He looked down at himself, shaking his head. I am free and yet I am not. But tomorrow is another day. He sat down. Sighed. So, Taguchi Hiro. I thought you were mute and somehow that would have been alright by me. Not really of course, if you see what I mean. He scratched his chin. In the green of the trees behind him, a runner flung her arms in the air. She trotted on, wearing a red headband. From the street came a gentle honking. The sound of cars rising and falling away in the surrounding bushes, staying outside the innermost circle that contained us.
    He picked up where he had left off. Really it would be alright if Kyōko found out that I come here. It’s a comfort to me, the idea that she may know, instinctively, in her heart; it would make her, if she knew, my accomplice, did it for my sake. Sad, isn’t it. The idea that she would play along, willingly. Early this morning, when she tied my tie, she said, and she said it seriously: If only one were crazy enough to do everything differently. To break out for once, she said and drew a breath. That would have been the moment to admit to her that I’ve been outside for a long time. But then she finished tying the tie andwhat remained was only the shame. I’m ashamed of my shame. How much effort I use, to conceal it from myself and from Kyōko. It’s like this: it’s not just my job that I’ve lost. The biggest loss is self-respect. That’s where the descent begins. When you stand at the end of a crowded platform, see the lights of the approaching train and find yourself calculating the exact moment when a leap onto the rails would mean certain death. You take a step forward. You think Now! Now! Now! And then: Nothing! Such a dark Nothing! You’re not even up to that. The train rolls in. It’s full of people. You see your reflection in the windows as they glide by and you don’t recognize yourself anymore.
28
    So! He drew himself up. That’s the end. I talk and talk. You must think I can’t stop. Enough about me. Now it’s your turn. Tell me something.
    What?
    Whatever. The first thing that comes to you. I’ll listen.
    And then he leaned back and actually seemed to have nothing else in mind but to listen.
    Where to start? I was looking for something that would be worthy of what he had said. It’s difficult, I said. The first thing that occurs to me is that it is difficult to tell something. Every person is an accumulation of stories. But I. I hesitated. I am frightened of accumulating stories. I’d like to be one in which nothing happens. Given that you throw yourself in front of the train in the early