Silence.
Mari asks, “Is it supposed to have some kind of moral?”
“Two, probably. The first one,” he says, holding up a finger, “is that people are all different. Even siblings. And the other one,” he says, holding up another finger, “is that if you really want to know something, you have to be willing to pay the price.”
Mari offers her opinion: “To me, the lives chosen by the two younger brothers make the most sense.”
“True,” he concedes. “Nobody wants to go all the way to Hawaii to stay alive licking frost and eating moss. That’s for sure. But the eldest brother was curious to see as much of the world as possible, and he couldn’t suppress that curiosity, no matter how big the price was he had to pay.”
“Intellectual curiosity.”
“Exactly.”
Mari went on thinking about this for a while, one hand perched on her thick book.
“Even if I asked you very politely what you’re reading, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?” he asks.
“Probably not.”
“It sure looks heavy.”
Mari says nothing.
“It’s not the size book most girls carry around in their bags.”
Mari maintains her silence. He gives up and continues his meal. This time, he concentrates his attention on the chicken salad and finishes it without a word. He takes his time chewing and drinks a lot of water. He asks the waitress to refill his water glass several times. He eats his final piece of toast.
“Your house was way out in Hiyoshi, I seem to recall,” he says. His empty plates have been cleared away.
Mari nods.
“Then you’ll never make the last train. I suppose you can go home by taxi, but the next train’s not until tomorrow morning.”
“I know that much,” Mari says.
“Just checking,” he says.
“I don’t know where you live, but haven’t you missed the last train, too?”
“Not so far: I’m in Koenji. But I live alone, and we’re going to be practicing all night. Plus if I really have to get back, my buddy’s got a car.”
He pats his instrument case like the head of a favorite dog.
“The band practices in the basement of a building near here,” he says. “We can make all the noise we want and nobody complains. There’s hardly any heat, though, so it gets pretty cold this time of year. But they’re letting us use it for free, so we take what we can get.”
Mari glances at the instrument case. “That a trombone?”
“That’s right! How’d you know?”
“Hell, I know what a trombone looks like.”
“Well, sure, but there are tons of girls who don’t even know the instrument exists. Can’t blame ’em, though. Mick Jagger and Eric Clapton didn’t become rock stars playing the trombone. Ever see Jimi Hendrix or Pete Townshend smash a trombone onstage? Of course not. The only thing they smash is electric guitars. If they smashed a trombone, the audience’d laugh.”
“So why did you choose the trombone?”
He puts cream in his newly arrived coffee and takes a sip.
