—You might be surprised to know, I’ve read every story you’ve written. To tell the truth, they’re not my cup of tea. But, uh, I still enjoyed reading them. Guess there really are stories that can only be written by an Okinawan. Only someone like you, who was born there, can really capture the, uh, atmosphere, I guess you’d call it, and the language. Reminds me of that first critique after you joined the literary arts circle. You remember? Back then, I gotta tell you, I secretly resented you for having a world of your own. You know, something that only you could write about. Sure, my story might’ve looked impressive. But, really, it was just a rehash of the same old stuff. But yours! The writing might’ve been a little stilted, but your stories were unique. Nobody else could’ve written them. But enough about that. Once I start talking about the past, I can go on forever.... So anyway, you noticed the contents of the envelope, didn’t you? I mean the one enclosed with this video. If you haven’t, take a look now....
After a long pause, Matsumoto continued:
—So about that pendant. It was made from the head of a harpoon. Would you call it an arrowhead? Hmm. I guess not. I mean, it’s not from an arrow. But, uh, there’s no such word as harpoonhead, is there? Well, whatever it’s called, it couldn’t have rusted in the mail, so I’m sure it’s still black, and shiny, and smooth, just like when I sent it. It’s pretty old, I guess. Made into a pendant about sixty years ago, apparently. An American guy had it. But originally, it was from Okinawa, like you. It was part of a harpoon used by a guy living on an island there. Actually, my favor has to do with this pendant. And that’s why I’m sending you this video. Sorry for beating around the bush and all.... First, let me tell you about the guy with the pendant. After I graduated from college, I started working for a publishing company, as you know. But about ten years ago, which would’ve been about, uh, six months after I saw you last, I quit. Even before I was out of college, I knew I didn’t have much talent for writing fiction. But I figured that by supporting writers as an editor, I could help get some good stuff published. Oh, I guess now I’m just making excuses. And I’m tired of that. Besides, my motive for joining the company hardly matters now. The truth is, I just couldn’t stand it any more. All the boring manuscripts, all the boring writers, all the boring work. Yeah, some of my colleagues tried to get me to reconsider. Said that pretty soon I’d be able to pursue the projects I wanted. But I didn’t want to hear it. Well, sorry for all the, uh, all the complaining....
At that point, Matsumoto had an intense coughing fit and couldn’t continue. The video cut off, and then immediately resumed. Of course, the recording had been stopped and restarted. In reality, a considerable amount of time must’ve passed. Matsumoto was still sitting on the sofa and wearing the same clothes, but he now looked completely exhausted. After he cleared his throat and was about to resume talking, I hit the stop button.
I had returned home from work shortly after eleven in the evening. As soon as I entered my apartment, I opened the parcel I’d picked up from my postbox and popped the video into the player. I still hadn’t showered or eaten. Now that I could see it was going to be a long explanation, I figured I’d have dinner first, and then sit down to watch the rest. I live alone, so I can be pretty flexible with my time.
After graduating from university, I returned to Okinawa and started working as a part-time instructor at various vocational and cram schools, while working on my writing on the side. Four years ago, I won a literary magazine’s award for new writers. Since then, I’ve managed to get two or three new stories published a year, all short ones under a hundred pages in length. Trying to write while holding down several part-time jobs really cuts into my sleep. I’ve had some ideas for a full-length novel but not the time to finish one. To compensate, I try to make my short stories rich in content. I was thrilled to hear that Matsumoto had read everything I’d written.
I showered and changed, had dinner at a nearby twenty-four-hour coffee shop, and returned to my apartment. Then I settled down on the sofa with one of the beers I’d bought on the way home, and restarted the video.
—Sorry about that. I’ve had a really bad cough lately. Anyway, shortly after resigning from publishing, I spent about a year in New York. No great objective. Just wanted to get out of Japan. Acquaintances there helped me find an apartment, and I relied on friends to show me around, just like when I showed you around Tokyo. But in my case, I wasn’t a student anymore, so I was probably a real pain in the ass. Of course, I don’t mean to suggest that you were, because you weren’t....
When Matsumoto smiled, his dried-out-looking face filled with wrinkles. His bluish yellow complexion, however, might’ve been due to the poor lighting or video quality.
—Anyway, I guess I need to stop jumping around and get to the point. A guy I’ll call Jay lived two floors above me. He was a white guy in his
