Free Ghostwritten by David Mitchell Page B

sensation of being in a story that someone was writing, but soon that sensation too was being swallowed up.
    ————
    The cherry blossoms had come and almost gone. New green leaves, still silky and floppy, were drying on the trees lining the back street. Living and light as mandolins and zithers. The commuters streamed by. Not a coat in sight. Some had come out without their jackets. No denying it, spring was old news.
    The phone rang. Koji, calling from the college canteen. “So. Who is she?”
    “Who?”
    “Stop it! You know perfectly well who! The girl at Mrs. Nakamori’s last night who sat there swooning on your every note! Let me see … Her name began with ‘Tomo’ and ended with ‘yo.’ What was she called I wonder? Oh yes, that’s right. Tomoyo.”
    “Oh,
her …
”
    “Don’t give me that! I saw you two making eyes at each other.”
    “You imagined it.”
    “You
were
making eyes at each other! The whole bar saw. A sea cucumber would have noticed. Her father definitely did. Taro noticed. He came up to me afterwards and asked me who she was. I’d hoped that he could tell me. He said to grill you. And what Taro wants he gets, so I’m grilling you.”
    “There’s not much to tell. She came into the shop four weeks ago. Then she came in again last week. We got talking, just about music, and we went out on a date or two last week. That’s all.”
    “A date or seven you mean.”
    “Well, you know how it goes.”
    “Not that I want to be nosy or anything, it’s just that I didn’t get the chance to interrogate her last night. But, er, so have you, y’know, snipped her ribbons and unwrapped her packaging yet?”
    “The girl’s a lady!”
    “Ah, yes, but every lady is a woman.”
    “No. We haven’t.”
    “You always were a slow worker, Satoru. Why not?”
    “Because …” I remember her body wrapped inside my duffle coat as we walked along, sharing the same umbrella. I remember spending the whole movie holding her hand. I remember her eyes scrunched up in laughter as we watched a street performer who stood motionless on a pedestal until you left a coin in his urn, when he changed his expression and pose until the next coin was dropped in. I remember her trying not to laugh at my bowling alley disasters. I remember lying on the blanket in Ueno Park as the cherry blossoms fell onto our faces. I remember her in this room, in this chair, listening to my favorite music as she did her homework. I remember her face as she concentrated, and that strand of hair that fell down, almost touching her notebook. I remember kissing the nape of her neck in elevators between floors, and springing apart when the doors suddenly opened. I remember her telling me about her goldfish, and her mother, and life in Hong Kong. I remember her asleep on my shoulder on the night bus. I remember looking at her across the table. I remember her telling me about the ancient Jomon people who buried their kings in mounds, on the Tokyo plain. I remember her face at Mrs. Nakamori’s when Koji and I did “Round Midnight” better thanwe’ve ever played it before. I remember.… “I dunno, Koji. Maybe we didn’t do it because we could have done it.” Was that true? It would have been easy, just to slip into a love hotel. My body certainly wanted to. But … but what? “I really can’t say. Not because I’m being coy. I don’t know.”
    Koji made the sage noise that he always does on the rare occasions when he doesn’t understand something. “So, when do I get to see her again?”
    I swallowed. “Never, probably. She’s going back to international school in Hong Kong. She only comes to Tokyo every couple of years with her father to visit relatives for a few weeks. We have to be realistic.”
    Koji sounded more depressed about it than I did. “That’s terrible! When’s she going back this time?”
    I looked at my watch. “In about thirty minutes.”
    “Satoru! Stop her!”
    “I really think … I mean, I