The quinella bet was set at 1-5. One of the tickets Monoi had purchased for a friend had won, but looking at the odds, the winnings would be just enough for a cup of coffee. Erimo had not been able to take the lead but, judging from this demonstration of the power of his hind legs, Monoi figured it would be more than worthwhile to continue betting on him. He also wondered why this time, as Erimo charged forward, the exclamation that ordinarily sprang from his lips had not risen up; he assumed his grandson’s death still cast a pall over his mood. Engulfed by the crowd of people for the first time in three weeks, neither his body nor his mind felt back to normal yet.
Monoi gave up on running out to the paddocks as they prepared for the eleventh race and instead lit up a cigarette in the grandstand, where people were already quickly dwindling. The front-row bench where Nunokawa and his daughter had been sitting was completely empty now. On top of it was the solitary umbrella he had forgotten, and the pages of a discarded newspaper were littered everywhere as the rain beat down upon them. Picking up the umbrella, he saw that a losing ticket was stuck to its fabric. As he swatted it away with his hand, suddenly the phrase “Superior Quality, 100 Years in the Making. Hinode Lager” flitted through his mind.
Now, where have I seen those words? he wondered, but could not remember. Superior Quality, 100 Years in the Making. Hinode Lager. A television commercial, a Viennese waltz playing over the backdrop of a photograph of an old beer hall from the Meiji or Taisho era, the tagline appearing in gold letters. The version that aired during the height of summer displayed fireworks over the Sumida River with the words Summer in Japan. Hinode Lager.
Ever since his grandson’s funeral, he felt as if a small object had lodged itself in the blood vessels of his already forgetful brain, and one thing or another would cause it to rumble around in there—he knew now this must be why. Right before the accident, his grandson Takayuki had finished a second round of interviews with Hinode, and had only to wait to receive his employment offer for the following spring. Monoi had heard about it from his daughter and son-in-law at the funeral.
He had married away his only daughter, or rather, she had run off on her own to be with a young dentist in Setagaya, and aside from coming to show him their infant son just after he was born, the couple never stepped foot in her parental home. The few times Monoi saw his grandchild were when he had taken him to Ueno Zoo or Toshima Amusement Park when the boy was young, and after that he sent off a congratulatory gift whenever his daughter called to report that he had gotten into Keio Preschool, then Azabu Middle School, then Tokyo University, and so on. He had figured it was about time for his grandson to graduate from university, but what would happen after that was beyond the scope of Monoi’s concern. Even when he had heard about Hinode Beer, the only vague image he had was of a “large company” that had been around for a while, and Monoi himself rarely drank beer.
Right, it was Hinode. He reminded himself that if Takayuki were still alive, he would start working for Hinode next spring. But when he tried to recall the face of a grandson whose voice he had barely heard in years, his mind came up blank. Monoi had another relative who’d also worked for Hinode before the war, but he had been adopted by another family before Monoi was born.
Nevertheless, the death of someone younger than oneself was a sad thing. When he thought about it, ever since his grandson died, his nerves had bothered him and he couldn’t relax; he constantly found himself dwelling on his past or pondering the remaining years of his life—which at this point barely merited much worry—and often before he even realized it, he found himself lost in abstraction. Five years ago when his wife had passed away, it wasn’t like this at all. Maybe because he himself was five years younger then . . .
After finishing his cigarette, Monoi went off to place his friend’s bet for the eleventh race, and again lost himself for a moment as he was swallowed in the crowd around the betting windows. Resigned to being out of sorts that day, he decided not to make his own bet, but once he had the other person’s ticket in hand, he rushed back to the stands to watch the fourteen fillies as they warmed up for the eleventh race. In these thirty or so years, he had never gone home without sitting through the main race. That habit was the only thing creating the rhythm in his gut. Glaring at the racing column, his eyes drifted to the four-legged creatures as they went back and forth at their respective paces on the main course. How about Ayano Roman, fresh off a break? Sweet Diana, the one Yo-chan had bet on, looked good as she sprinted for about two hundred meters and then shook herself off. She might run a good one. As for the two “Ladies”—the first time Nunokawa had ever placed a reckless bet—Monoi saw one ran with her chin up but he lost track of the other one.
Figuring it must be about time for the horses to enter the starting gate, Monoi was surveying the south side of the track when another acquaintance appeared and uttered a brisk “Hello.” The man had a can of oolong tea in one hand as he crouched down in the aisle beside the already fully occupied benches. It
