Free The Briefcase by Hiromi Kawakami

surreptitiously pinched the back of my hand. It hurt. This was the first time in my life that I realized people actually did such a thing—pinched themselves to make sure they weren’t dreaming.
    Sensei, I called out. He was a little ways away from me, so I called out softly.
    Tsukiko, he replied, enunciating my name.
    We stood there for a moment, facing each other in the darkness, and I no longer felt like crying. Which was a relief, since I had started to worry that my tears would never stop. And I didn’t even want to imagine what Sensei might say to me if he saw me crying.
    Tsukiko, the last verse, it’s “Oh, the mountain calls to me,” Sensei said.
    What?
    The words to the ski song. I used to ski a bit myself back in the day.
    Sensei and I began walking side by side. We headed toward the station. Satoru’s bar is closed on holidays, I said.
    Sensei nodded, still facing forward. It would be good for us to go somewhere else for a change. Tsukiko. I just realized this will be our first drink together this year. That’s right—happy new year, Tsukiko.
    Next to Satoru’s place was another bar with a red paper lantern hanging out front. We went in and sat down with our coats still on. We ordered draft beer and drained our glasses in one gulp. Tsukiko, you remind me of something, Sensei said after his first quaff. What is it . . . ? Hmm, it’s on the tip of my tongue.

    I ordered yudofu and Sensei ordered yellowtail teriyaki. A-ha, I’ve got it! With your green coat, red sweater, and brown pants, you look like a Christmas tree! Sensei said in a slightly high-pitched voice.
    But it’s already New Year’s, I replied.
    Did you spend Christmas with your boyfriend, Tsukiko? Sensei asked.
    I did not.
    Do you have a boyfriend, Tsukiko?
    Yeah, I’ve got one or two, or ten boyfriends, even.
    I see, I see.
    We soon switched to saké. I picked up the bottle of hot saké and filled Sensei’s cup. I felt a sudden rush of warmth in my body, and felt the tears well up once again. But I didn’t cry. It’s always better to drink than to cry. Sensei, happy new year. I wish you all the best in the coming year, I said in one breath.
    Sensei laughed. Tsukiko, what a lovely greeting. Well done! Sensei patted me on the head as he complimented me. With his hand still on my head, I took a long sip of saké.

Karma
    I UNEXPECTEDLY RAN into Sensei as I was walking along the street.
    I had been lazing about in bed until past noon. Work had been extremely busy for the past month. It was always close to midnight by the time I got home. For days on end, I would hastily scrub my face before falling into bed, without bothering with my nighttime bath. Even on weekends, I almost always went in to the office. I had been eating terribly and, as a result, I looked drawn and haggard. I’m a bit of a gourmand, so when I’m not able to take the time to indulge my tastes as I please, I begin to lose a certain vitality, as was reflected in my pallid complexion.
    Then at last on Friday—yesterday—I had successfully gotten through a major portion of the work. For the first time in what felt like ages, I slept in on Saturday morning. After having a good lie-in, I filled the bath to the brim with hot water and took a magazine in with me. I washed my hair and immersed myself countless times in the hot water, into which I had trickled a wonderfully scented potion, occasionally stepping out to cool off, all the while perusing about halfway through the magazine. I must have spent nearly two hours in the bathroom.

    I drained the water from the bath and quickly scrubbed the tub, and then I pranced about my apartment, naked except for a towel twisted atop my head. It was one of those moments when I think to myself, I ’m glad to be alone. I opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of mineral water, poured half of it into a glass, and gulped it down. It made me think about how I had hated mineral water when I was younger. In my twenties, I had traveled