Free 172 Hours on the Moon by Johan Harstad Page A

Yoshida-san?”
    “Are you happy?”
    “Have you talked to the other two winners?”
    “What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get to the moon?” “Are you scared?” “Do you have anything to say to the people
     of Japan?” “How have you prepared for this?” “What do you think this will mean for you personally?” “How much did you know
     about the moon before is there anything you’re dreading are you ready to go will it be sad to say good-bye to Earth are you
     scared are you happy what are you thinking right now what are you feeling howareyoudoing doyouhaveanylastwordsfor-theviewingaudienceradiolistenersfriendsfamily
     whatareyougoing-tomiss?”
    When they emerged on the other side of the security checkpoint, it was finally quiet. There was only a lone photographer to
     be seen. He must have bought a plane ticket just to be allowed into the international departures hall. He took a few picturesfrom a distance before shuffling off, satisfied. The switch from the overwhelming throng before security was discombobulating
     but nice. In here there were pretty much only sleepy businessmen on their way to or from insignificant meetings, and they
     were preoccupied with their own affairs, not even glancing up at the press photographer who passed by them an arm’s-length
     away.
    Midori’s father stopped in front of a screen showing the gate assignments for departing flights. He looked vaguely confused.
    “J5?” he mumbled to himself. “J5?” He gave Midori and her mother a puzzled look. “Where in the world is J5?”
    Behind them to the right were gates 61 to 67. To the left, gates 71 to 77. Ahead of them to the left, gates 81 to 88 and ahead
     of them to the right, gates 91 to 99. There was no sign of gate J5.
    “Are we in the right terminal?” her father asked of no one in particular, scratching his head. His face was turning red, and
     sweat was beading up on his forehead. Midori’s father didn’t like situations like this. He liked being in complete control
     of what was going on and where he was supposed to go. He pulled out a map of the airport.
    “Well, we’re in the right terminal,” he declared. “I just don’t get it. It should be here.”
    A group of Japanese men in suits passed the family, and Midori’s father bowed to them and asked for help.
    But they just looked at him with a puzzled expression. “I’m sorry,” one of them said. “There’s no gate with that number here.”
    “We’re at Narita Airport every week. We’d know if it existed,” one of the other men said before they continued on toward gates
     91 to 99.
    “What are we going to do?” her mother exclaimed miserably,just loud enough to make people turn around and look at them. Midori was embarrassed.
    “I’m sure it’s here somewhere,” Midori tried. “We just have to ask someone who works here.”
    But there were no airport employees anywhere to be seen. Had they all decided to take their lunch breaks at the same time?
    Midori’s father was now beet red in the face and losing his composure. “Wait here, wait here, wait here,” he panted, studying
     his map one more time. “I’m going to take a little walk around and see if I can find someone who can help us. Don’t go anywhere.”
     He rushed down one of the hallways.
    Midori and her mother stood next to the large departures board without talking to each other.
This is so typical
, Midori thought.
Every single time those two don’t understand something, they totally freak out. We’ve got hours until the plane leaves anyway.
     There’s no reason to get all worked up
.
    The last several weeks she had been almost dreading saying good-bye to her parents. After all, she had been living with them
     for fifteen years and was used to having them around every single day. But now she knew that she was looking forward to it,
     too. Everything would be calmer without them. They were like two propellers just spinning around and around for no reason,