The week after the rain, in the evening, a short message arrived from the name one up in the list.
It's been a while. How have you been? If you're up for it, maybe we could get tea
Fujimura. He had been in the same seminar since I was an undergraduate, several years ahead of me, and was now in the doctoral program at the graduate school of our university. He had always stayed at the distance of someone I saw a few times a year, at seminar study meetings or the send-off parties for graduating students. There was no prying tone anywhere between the lines.
Yes. If you'd like
That was all I sent back.
It was a coffee shop on the second floor of an old building, two stations away. The wooden window frames were sun-faded, and only beside the register at the back was an old-fashioned brass lamp lit. At a table by the window at the far end of the shop, Fujimura stood up and lifted one hand lightly.
"Your senior thesis, is it due soon?"
"Yes. At the beginning of next month."
"Right. So this is the hardest stretch."
He laughed quietly. Where the glass of water had been set down when it was brought, a small ring was left on the wooden table. Before using his hand towel, he wiped the drops away once, carelessly, with the back of his hand. He took a sip of coffee and returned the cup to the center of the saucer. The handle was turned neatly to the angle that was easiest for his own fingers to hold.
"Sakurai. Can I ask you something personal?"
I lowered my eyes to the steam rising from my cup. With the pad of a finger on my right hand, I stroked the face of the watch on my left wrist, just once. The words wouldn't come.
"No, forget it," was all Fujimura said in return. For a while, his eyes followed the tops of the street trees outside the window. He took a single sugar cube from the sugar bowl, sank it gently at the edge of his cup, and held it down with the back of his spoon. It made no sound.
"Sakurai, if you'd be all right with it,"
His eyes came back to me.
"could you keep me company for tea like this again sometime?"
The end of his words stayed, just slightly, in the air.
The warmth of the bottom of the cup stayed only on the insides of my palms.
I looked up.
"I'm sorry, Fujimura."
My voice came out straighter than I'd thought it would.
"I'm still not able to look ahead."
Fujimura didn't even nod. His expression didn't change.
"Okay. You don't have to apologize. If you ever feel like it, get in touch again."
He turned the bill on the table so the writing faced him, and then picked it up. He stood first and took care of the check. He was a little quicker than I was in reaching for my bag.
In front of the ticket gates at the station,
"Well, I'm this way," Fujimura said, lifting one hand lightly. His back disappeared into the black band of the up escalator without turning around. I bowed my head briefly where I stood and went down the stairs on the other side, one step at a time.