Chapter 3 A Million Prayers

June is the rainy season in Kyoto, as it was in my hometown.

Quiet jazz music was playing at Kura, accompanied by the sound of the manager’s pen gliding along his manuscript paper. Clipboard in hand, I was checking our inventory when suddenly I found myself pausing to look out the window. The people walking outside were carrying folded umbrellas. It must be another rainy day. It’s as if the sky is crying during this season.

“Is something wrong, Aoi?” the manager asked.

Brought back to my senses, I readjusted my grip on the clipboard. “Ah, sorry. I spaced out for a minute.”

“If you’re tired, feel free to take a break. You can even do your homework if you want. Kiyotaka and I are always doing our own things here too.” Behind his glasses, the manager’s eyes narrowed into a warm smile.

I shook my head. “No, I’m being paid, so I’ll work, even if it doesn’t amount to much… Although I guess I shouldn’t be saying that when I was spacing out.” I slumped my shoulders and the manager chuckled. Honestly, he’s just like Holmes when he’s like this.

By the way, right now Holmes is at university, while the owner is apparently running about somewhere as usual.

“As you can see, we don’t get many customers. But that doesn’t mean we can leave the shop unattended, so just having someone to keep watch is much appreciated. Plus, you’ve been assisting with the cleaning, displays, inventory checks, and wrapping items. We really are thankful for your help,” the manager said with a gentle smile, making me feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside.

“Th-Thank you for saying that.”

“There’s no end to the inventory checks, so why don’t you take a short break and we can have some coffee?”

“Oh, in that case, I’ll prepare it.”

Unlike Holmes who brewed coffee as a hobby, the manager wasn’t good at such things. So when Holmes wasn’t around, it became my job. I diligently prepared the coffee and placed it near him, being cautious since his manuscript was there. “Here you go.”

His penmanship was so excessively artistic that I couldn’t read any of it.

The manager picked up the cup and said, “Handwritten manuscripts are anachronistic these days, right?” as though having noticed my gaze.

“Ah, yes. I thought everyone was using computers now.” I nodded and sat down next to him, ready to greet a visitor at any time.

“They’re calling me the bane of my editor.”

It might be true, considering they’d have to input the entire manuscript. I also found myself impressed that his editor could read that handwriting.

“Are you bad with computers?” I asked.

“Not particularly. I discuss things over email, and our store management is done in Excel.”

Huh, that’s unexpected. I thought he was writing by hand because he was bad with computers.

“Why don’t you use the computer for this, then? Isn’t it more tiring this way?”

“That’s a good question… I started off writing by hand, so I’m used to it. But most importantly, when I’m typing on a keyboard, I feel like I can’t put my soul into it.”

“Your soul?”

“Everyone is different. Personally, I feel like I can pour more into my writing when I do it by hand.”

“You might be right. It feels like that with letters too.”

“Indeed. I really hope that handwritten letters remain part of our culture. But when it comes to published works, the editor will turn it into data anyway, so it might not matter in the end. It’s my state of mind that’s the issue,” the manager said with a chuckle.

His soul will stay bottled up inside, huh?

“I’ve been slowly making my way through your book. It’s amazing—it’s like it really does have a soul.”

Women’s Quarters, published under the manager’s pen name, Takeshi Ijuin, takes place in the women’s quarters from the Heian period—in other words, the Emperor’s harem. The story depicts a storm of jealousy involving an official who kicks others down for his own ambitions and the concubines who are desperate to curry favor with the emperor. To put it bluntly, it’s a messy love-hate drama. It’s written in such realistic, excruciating detail that I had to stop at one point because I got too immersed and it hurt to read. I was surprised that the calm and gentle manager could write such a sordid story.

“Ah, you really are reading it? Do you understand now why I didn’t want you to?” The manager smiled sheepishly as he took a sip of his coffee.

“Oh, u-um, well, how do I put this… I was surprised at how sordid it was.” I accidentally answered honestly.

The manager chuckled. He looked out the window and murmured as though talking to himself, “All of my hidden darkness is spewed into my works.”

“Hidden darkness…” I found myself mimicking him by looking out the window too.

I think I understand what he’s talking about, sort of. I, too, have a dark part of me that I can’t get rid of.

“I lost my mother when I was young. She didn’t pass away, though—it was a divorce. It was just me and my father left, but as you can see, my father is always running around. So, I was raised by our relatives in Tokyo.” The manager began telling his story in a calm tone akin to the jazz notes that were currently playing in the store. I patiently waited for him to continue.

“Those relatives were my father’s younger brother and his wife. They didn’t have children of their own, so they treated me very well. Still, they weren’t my real parents, so a part of me always felt lonely. I missed my father and came back to Kyoto during long vacations, but even when we were together, it felt unbearable for some reason. It was awkward with just the two of us guys.”

I could sort of see what he meant by that, too. A mother and son wouldn’t be too bad, but a father and son suddenly stuck together by themselves sounded like it’d be awkward and clumsy.

“My father didn’t know what to do with me, so he brought me with him to work. Art galleries and wealthy families would ask him to do appraisals, and my young self was fascinated by how he could instantly see through counterfeits. He was just like Sherlock Holmes, who could instantly expose criminals. Ah, I was a bookworm of a child,” the manager added. I smiled and nodded.

“I fiercely admired my father and wanted to become an appraiser like him one day. I worked hard to get into Kyoto University solely because I wanted to return to his side.”

“I see…”

“However, I realized that I didn’t have a ‘discerning eye.’ There wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I gave up on my dream and got a job at a publishing company. My dream was lost, but I did marry the woman I’d been seeing. We were blessed with Kiyotaka and lived a happy life. Kiyotaka was my father’s first grandson, so he was doted on very much.”

“I can imagine that.”

“It’s embarrassing to admit, but I was jealous of my son because I didn’t have any memories of my father doting on me. I did cherish Kiyotaka, but I also envied the love my father poured out for him.”

I felt a small pang at his words. It sounds unbelievable to be jealous of your own child, but in his case, it might’ve been inevitable.

“When Kiyotaka was two, my wife fell ill and passed away… It was initially only a minor cold, but there were severe complications.”

“Oh no…”

“Since it all began with a simple cold, my father became terribly fussy about Kiyotaka. He’d insist, ‘His body is still developing, so I can’t let him go to places that are full of germs like kindergarten.’ Even though others and I told him that exposure to bacteria through communal living is how children become healthy and strong, he wouldn’t hear a word of it and started supervising Kiyotaka at all times. My son was an obedient child, so my father would bring him everywhere he went, whether it’d be appraisal sites or auction markets.”

I was surprised. That meant that Holmes didn’t go to kindergarten.

“Kiyotaka had a special ‘eye’ from the start, and his talent was further refined by all of the genuine articles he saw from a young age. One time, my father, Kiyotaka, and I went to an antique market at a temple. Kiyotaka tugged at my sleeve and said, ‘Wow, they have a Tsukinowa Yuusen bowl here!’ To me, it only looked like an ordinary bowl, but my father’s eyes lit up and he shouted, ‘You’re a genius!’ As a parent, I should’ve been proud too, but instead, I felt helpless in my envy,” the manager said, casting down his eyes.

My breath caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say.

“I loved Kiyotaka dearly, but I was painfully jealous. Not knowing what to do with those feelings, I picked up a pen and wrote a historical tale about a teacher who was hopelessly jealous of a talented young person. I won the Best New Writer award with that story.”

“Wow, really? That’s amazing.”

“Thank you. That’s what led to me debuting as an author. But even now, I still feel a burning jealousy towards Kiyotaka’s talent. I vent all of those negative emotions into my writing,” the manager explained quietly before sipping his coffee again.

I see… It’s definitely painful to be jealous of the person closest to you.

The manager smiled wryly at my inability to say anything. “I’m sorry for bringing this up so suddenly. I’ve never spoken honestly about this with anyone before, so perhaps there’s something special about you.”

“O-Oh, not at all. I think it might be because we have similar feelings. I have negative emotions swirling in my head too.”

“Towards your ex-best friend who stole your boyfriend?” the manager asked calmly.

I nodded. “Yes, towards both of them.”

“You should almost have enough saved up to go to Saitama, right?”

“Yes, I managed to save enough for the train fare.”

“There aren’t any long holidays in June, but you should be able to go back next month during summer break, right?”

I hesitated, unable to answer.

The manager smiled gently and said, “There’s no need to rush. Take your time thinking about it.”

I nodded.

The manager looked towards the door and squinted. “Ah, Kiyotaka’s here.”

I looked over at the door too. The chime rang as Holmes entered. He greeted us and placed his umbrella in the stand.

“How’s the rain?” asked the manager.

“It’s already stopped. Tomorrow should be sunny.”

“Ah, tomorrow’s the fifteenth,” said the manager, looking at the calendar on the desk.

Tomorrow’s a Sunday, so I’ll be here again for my shift.

“Will you be going this month too, Kiyotaka?”

“Yes, I’d like to.”

“In that case, you should invite Aoi to go with you. I’m sure it’ll be educational for her,” the manager suggested as though he’d just gotten the idea.

“Huh?” I looked at him, startled. “Umm, go where?”

Holmes smiled and said, “Hyakumanben Chion-ji Temple’s handicraft market. They hold a flea market on the fifteenth of every month, and sometimes you can find some remarkable treasures there. As my father said, I think it’ll be educational for you, so please do come along. It’ll be considered part of your work, of course.”

I didn’t quite understand, but I agreed nonetheless.