at the counter of the Robin’s Nest, passing the time. I read books, glancing every once in a while at the front door. But she didn’t show up. I was afraid I’d said something wrong, something I shouldn’t have, that upset her. One by one, I reviewed every word we’d spoken that night. But I couldn’t come up with anything. Maybe Shimamoto was disappointed. A distinct possibility. She was so beautiful, and her leg was all fixed. What in the world would a woman like that find in me?
The year drew to a close, Christmas came and went as did New Year’s. My thirty-seventh birthday rolled around. And January was suddenly over. I gave up waiting for her and only rarely made an appearance at the Robin’s Nest. Being there reminded me of her, causing me to search the faces of the customers in vain. I sat at the bar of my other place, flipping through the pages of books, lost in aimless musings. For the life of me, I couldn’t concentrate.
She’d told me I was the only friend she’d ever had. That made me happy and gave birth to the hope that we might be friends again. I wanted to talk with her about so many things, hear her opinion. If she didn’t want to say a thing about herself, fine by me. Just to be able to see her, to talk with her, that was enough.
But she didn’t come. Maybe she was too busy to find time to see me, I mused. But three months was way too long a gap. Even supposing she couldn’t come to see me, at least she could pick up the phone and call. She’d forgotten all about me, I decided. I wasn’t so important to her, after all. That hurt, as if a small hole had opened up in my heart. She never should have said that she might come again. Promises—even vague ones like that—linger in your mind.
But in early February, again on a rainy night she appeared. It was a quiet, freezing rain. Something had come up, and I was at the Robin’s Nest earlier than usual. The customers’ umbrellas carried with them the scent of the chilly rain. A tenor saxophonist had joined the usual piano trio to play a few numbers. He was pretty well known, and a stir ran through the crowd. As always, I sat on my corner stool at the bar, reading. Shimamoto sat down quietly beside me.
“Good evening,” she said.
I put down my book and looked at her. I couldn’t quite believe my eyes.
“I was sure you weren’t ever coming here again.”
“Forgive me,” she said. “Are you angry?”
“I’m not angry. I don’t get angry at things like that. This is a bar, after all. People come when they want to, leave when they feel like it. My job’s just to wait for them.”
“Well, anyway, I’m sorry. I can’t explain it, but I just couldn’t come.”
“Busy?”
“No, not busy,” she replied quietly. “I just couldn’t come here.”
Her hair was wet from the rain. A couple of strands were pasted to her forehead. I had the waiter bring a towel.
“Thanks,” she said, and dried her hair. She took out a cigarette and lit it with her lighter. Her fingers, wet and chilled from the rain, trembled slightly.
“It was only sprinkling, and I thought I’d catch a cab, so I just wore a raincoat. But I started walking, and ended up walking a long way.”
“How about something hot to drink?” I asked.
She looked deep into my eyes and smiled. “Thanks. I’m okay.”
In an instant that smile made me forget the three months.
“What are you reading?” She pointed to my book.
I showed it to her. A history of the Sino-Vietnam border conflict after the Vietnam War. She flipped through it and handed it back.
“You don’t read novels anymore?”
“I do. But not as many as I used to. I don’t know anything about new novels. I only like old ones, mostly from the nineteenth century. Ones I’ve read before.”
“What’s wrong with new novels?”
“I guess I’m afraid of being disappointed. Reading trashy novels makes me feel I’m wasting time. It wasn’t always that way. I used to have lots of time, so even though I knew they were junk, I still felt something good would come from reading them. Now it’s different. Must be getting old.”
“Yes, well, it is true you’re getting older,” she said, and gave an impish smile.
“What about you? Do you still read a lot?” I asked.
“Yes, all