Chapter 34 Eels and Hope
Eels and Hope
The trip back to Kyoto took ages, because I had to get the slow train to Utsunomiya and then two bullet trains.
It was dark when I arrived. Although the futuristic architecture of the station surprised me again, I had the sensation of coming home after my week of traveling.
Nikko is a small place surrounded by forests and Tokyo is an endless concrete forest where one can feel equally lost.
Kyoto is the perfect size for a city, I thought as I got into a taxi and set off for The Blue Frogs ryokan. Although it was an extravagance, I’d decided to go back there because I liked staying in the same street as the karaoke bar for the lonely.
The tiny receptionist bowed and led me to the same room I’d occupied six nights earlier. Under the lukewarm shower I had the sense that my trip had been only a dream. Everything seemed to be in the same place, and so was I.
This time, however, I had a mission: I’d promised Okamura’s niece that we’d meet that evening. I was going to keep my promise, and if she turned up at the karaoke bar, she would be keeping hers too.
At half-past nine I saw that the bar still bore my name. What had first seemed offensive and then ridiculous now seemed to be a sign that harmony reigned in my little Kyoto universe.
I pushed open the black door and, as if in a new round of an old game, the impassive owner pointed at the stool I’d occupied the first two nights.
Once again, I was the only customer in the place, but the music was turned up full blast with a song that was even more raucous and harder on the ear than the mushroom one.
If I’d known a bit more Japanese than a couple of greetings, I would have used it to ask the lady to turn off this annoying music immediately. Instead, I sat there stock-still, watching as she served my Asahi.
The door opened and Okamura came in. This time he was dressed in a pin-striped navy-blue jacket with a sky-blue tie. His gray hair was neat—the first night I saw him he must have been battling the memory of his wife with sake and the microphone.
“Konbanwa,” I said, then added: “Can you ask her to turn down the volume, please?”
“Why? It is almost finished . . . You do not like eels?”
“Is it a song about eels?” I said, surprised.
“Yes, it’s about eels and hope. This is a very popular song.”
I held my tongue. This was really a nation of eccentrics if a song about wild mushrooms and another about eels were top of the hit parade.
The black door opened again. Mizuki had not only safely returned from the mountains, but she was dressed to kill.