English Translation Page 78 Every day, Miss Hiroko Watanabe lived the same monotonous life. Young Miss Hiroko Watanabe held a simple white-collar job. Like all the other employees, she dressed in office clothes, hurried onto the bus at rush hour, ate the same tasteless workday lunch, and left the office punctually at half past five. Seen in this light, she appeared as ordinary as anyone could be—cut, perhaps, from the same mould as those office women who flashed past you in the street without leaving the faintest impression. But Miss Hiroko Watanabe was not ordinary. An ordinary woman would not make people turn their heads for a second look. She would not draw the gaze of every passer-by who brushed shoulders with her, still less make strangers steal glances at her with flushed faces. Miss Hiroko Watanabe was far too beautiful. Her luxuriant black hair framed cheeks of tender white. Rose-pink lips like cherry fruit, a finely sculpted nose, and a pair of soul-stirring eyes that seemed forever to be murmuring some secret confession—she looked like a famous actress who had stepped down from a poster: beautiful without being seductive, elegant without ever losing her dignity. Though she resembled a rose fallen from a sunlit sky, she gave off the peculiar chill of a Hokkaido December. That icy aura made her difficult to approach and drove away many who had tried to summon the courage to speak to her. Miss Hiroko Watanabe herself had changed, quite naturally, from cherry blossoms blooming beneath a clear sky into a six-petalled snowflake hanging beneath the eaves in bitter frost. The colleagues and acquaintances who swallowed dryly at the sight of her could do no more than yearn from afar. It could not be denied that snow sealed beneath frost was, in its way, even lovelier than flowers. However exceptional her appearance might be, Miss Hiroko Watanabe still did ordinary things and repeated an ordinary life. The endless cycle of work had begun to weary her, and so Miss Hiroko Watanabe started a game. On a bright early-spring morning, the bus drew up beside the platform as it always did. Those already inside were still lingering in the sweetness of the previous night’s dreams, their heads drooping listlessly. Miss Hiroko Watanabe stepped aboard with unhurried grace, entering that expanse of grey silence. Though it was rush hour, the route was remote, and there were usually several empty seats. Her dark eyes swept swiftly through the carriage. Seeming to have found a place for herself, Miss Hiroko Watanabe crossed the bus in the crisp clicking of her high heels and sat beside a dozing man in a suit in the second-to-last row. Page 79 The man in the suit, sleeping soundly, was disturbed by the tapping of her heels as she approached. Slowly, he opened his eyes. At once his cheeks flushed crimson, and every trace of drowsiness fled from him. No longer was there an empty blue seat before his eyes. In its place sat a young woman of surpassing loveliness. Though long accustomed to the ways of society, he found himself suddenly at a loss. He dared only turn his face toward the front, stealing an occasional glance from the corner of his eye. The sleepiness that had possessed him moments before had long since vanished like smoke. Miss Hiroko Watanabe never once looked at the man beside her. She paid no attention even to the heat of his gaze. She merely let her eyes drift half-closed, offering him the perfection of her profile. The twenty minutes that normally seemed so long now became, for the man in the suit, impossibly sweet and painfully brief. He forgot the breeze stirring the trees beyond the window and the swallows returning to their nests. After all, what were such sights beside the beauty of Miss Hiroko Watanabe? The bus released a breath of stale air and stopped beside a vast office building in the suburbs. Miss Hiroko Watanabe had reached her stop. With the same light-footed grace with which she had arrived, she stepped down from the bus, like a breath of peach-blossom fragrance that came without warning and vanished without a trace. Only then did the man in the suit lean toward the window and watch her retreating figure. As for what kind of person Miss Hiroko Watanabe truly was, he knew nothing at all. With her back to the bus door, however, Miss Hiroko Watanabe smiled softly. “He looked at least ten times.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe thought this with complete satisfaction. There was no question about it: she had won the game. “If the other person looks a second time, I win.” Such were the rules of Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s game. On that fresh and radiant morning, the man in the suit had presented her with her first victory. And so, on every working day, Miss Hiroko Watanabe searched for prey aboard the bus bearing that same route number. The outcome, of course, had already been decided before the game began. Whenever Miss Hiroko Watanabe sat beside someone, those who had been dozing woke at once; those turning the pages of a book let their hands fall still. Miss Hiroko Watanabe was delighted. Each time she stepped off the bus, she would smile faintly to herself. Yet in the end, it was only a brief game played on the way to work. Once she left the bus, Miss Hiroko Watanabe still walked toward the same dark-coloured office building and returned home at the sound of the half-past-five bell. The days continued in this fashion. Before long, March arrived. Along both shores of Tokyo Bay, cherry blossoms opened throughout the city beneath a spring wind that still carried a trace of winter’s chill. By then, Miss Hiroko Watanabe had tested almost every male passenger on the bus. Pretending to search her bag for her commuter pass, she surveyed the carriage with bright and discerning eyes. “I met this one a few days ago.” “That one lost to me ages ago.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe never sat beside the same person twice. She did not wish anyone to become genuinely infatuated with her. She grew increasingly vexed. There was no one left aboard whom she could challenge, and the bus doors were already about to close. “Am I really going to have to sit beside the same person twice?” She thought this unhappily. Just as she hesitated, a boy carrying a shoulder bag stepped onto the bus without the slightest haste. Like a cloud of colour floating through a clear day, he drifted into Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s field of vision. “A middle-school student?” While Miss Hiroko Watanabe was still wondering, the boy had already taken the window seat in the third-to-last row. He rested his schoolbag across his knees and gazed at the many flowers blooming beyond the glass. Miss Hiroko Watanabe had found a new amusement. Once again, she began walking toward the rear seats with her elegant, measured steps. “You may not quite qualify, but I suppose I shall be your opponent.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe was as eager for the contest as ever. “How many seconds will he last?” Suppressing her delight, she allowed a faint smile to gather on her cheeks. Yet the seconds passed one after another. The bus had already reached the next stop, and the boy continued staring fixedly through the window. Not once did he turn his head. Miss Hiroko Watanabe could endure it no longer. “Has he fallen asleep?” As the bus pulled into the station, she stole a puzzled glance at him. What entered her eyes was the boy’s perfectly wakeful profile. For a moment, Miss Hiroko Watanabe could find no words. Like a child whose ice cream had fallen to the ground, she remained frozen in astonishment. Thus, amid the boy’s indifference and Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s bewilderment, the bus arrived at her stop. Before long it carried its passengers away, leaving Miss Hiroko Watanabe standing dazed upon the platform. At half past five that afternoon, Miss Hiroko Watanabe remained bent over her desk, lost in thought. For once, instead of gathering her documents and hurrying home, she sat motionless. Her colleague, Fujii Itsuki, watched her with some concern. Miss Hiroko Watanabe, normally the very model of courtesy, had not greeted Fujii even once throughout the entire day. “Is it that time of the month?” Fujii Itsuki could only speculate. Another radiant morning arrived, and Miss Hiroko Watanabe reached the bus stop early. Page 80 The middle-school boy with the earphones was seated at the rear of the bus just as he had been the day before. Once again, he looked out of the window, scarcely moving, as though he were waiting there especially for someone. The view of Tokyo Bay spreading beyond the glass seemed to make up his entire world. Miss Hiroko Watanabe did not hesitate in the least. She walked straight toward the boy. This was the first time Miss Hiroko Watanabe had ever sat beside the same person twice, but she was convinced that today her beauty would finally break through the distance he had placed between them. Yet the boy remained astonishingly calm. The bus rolled steadily forward, while Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s heart beat wildly. She slipped a glance toward her right. Just as on the previous day, the boy showed no response at all, his head lowered in indolent silence. “I understand.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe smiled helplessly to herself, as though she had arrived at some profound conclusion. “He must be shy.” Excited by her own discovery, she crossed her legs and gently drew down the neckline of her dress, arranging herself in an irresistibly alluring pose. Even a lecherous middle-aged man across the aisle began stealing glances at Miss Hiroko Watanabe. The middle-school boy, however, remained utterly unmoved. To him, Miss Hiroko Watanabe seemed no more than an almost invisible wisp of blue smoke—coming without a trace, departing without a mark, of no importance at all. And so, for the second time, the bus left a bewildered Miss Hiroko Watanabe behind. At the office, Miss Hiroko Watanabe sat facing her desk in thought for so long that she scarcely noticed the reports lying before her. Fujii Itsuki, seated nearby, could make neither head nor tail of Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s recent behaviour. “Has she been rejected in love?” Curiosity spread through Fujii’s mind, and the direction of the speculation shifted accordingly. On Wednesday morning, a university graduate who had only just found employment stood before a bus-stop sign. He was concentrating on finding the stop nearest his new workplace. A clear breeze rose, carrying cherry petals and a rich fragrance with it. The young man enjoyed the spring wind and the rain of blossoms that filled the city. Yet the scent beside him, so unlike anything he had known before, possessed a sweetness he had never experienced. Unable to resist, he turned his head. Amid the drifting cherry blossoms stood the graceful back of a woman whose hair had been swept up. Every movement of hers seemed filled with charm and elegance. Miss Hiroko Watanabe was brimming with confidence that day. With a perfume she had never worn before, she wove a net of fragrance that ensnared gazes from every direction. The boy was still seated in the third-to-last row, no different from the previous two days. “When did he get on?” Miss Hiroko Watanabe was faintly surprised. She had expected him to arrive later. Yet the question existed in her mind for no more than a breath before passing away. To her, using the fragrance upon her body to capture this unusual little lamb was the far more exciting prospect. Miss Hiroko Watanabe walked toward him once again and sat down beside him with practised ease. The perfume spread throughout the rear of the bus. At such close range, it was almost overpowering. At last, the middle-school boy’s eyes freed themselves from the window. His head turned through the smallest of angles. Miss Hiroko Watanabe felt a thrill unlike anything she had known before. How desperately she longed for the boy’s gaze—even if it lasted for only a second. His head continued to turn. He was close now, very close. Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s figure was about to enter the clear depths of his eyes. She thought she saw astonishment gathering in his expression. His lips parted slightly, as though the perfume had guided him to behold the beautiful Miss Hiroko Watanabe for the very first time. Miss Hiroko Watanabe was about to win. All she needed was for the boy to turn his head a little farther. Only a little. At that moment, the middle-school boy drew his brows together. He raised a hand to cover his mouth, coughed softly, and turned his head away again. Miss Hiroko Watanabe widened her clear, flawless eyes like a child watching a kite break its string and disappear into the sky. Only an instant before, victory had been within her grasp. The fine weather continued. A woman wrapped from head to foot concealed herself behind a pillar at the bus stop. Her head was crowded with protective articles: sunglasses, a mask and a baseball cap, everything one could imagine. Even beneath such brilliant sunlight, it was impossible to make out her appearance as a whole. Amid the roar of the engine, the mysterious woman hurried aboard the bus. She seized a seat near the very back. As she walked, her appearance flashed briefly before the other passengers, yet no one paid attention and no one cared. Once she had sat down, however, a closer look at the soft dark hair beside her cheeks would have betrayed her. She wore neither an office skirt nor a uniform, but she was unquestionably Miss Hiroko Watanabe. After all, nowhere else in the imperial capital could one find a profile more beautiful than hers. Miss Hiroko Watanabe had taken the morning off. She had hidden her devastating beauty behind a mask not because of a cold or an allergy to pollen, but because of a curiosity that was almost childish. “What will he do if I do not sit beside him?” Miss Hiroko Watanabe wanted to know the answer. She wanted to know desperately—so desperately that she had taken half a day of sick leave for it. Yet the bus doors had already closed, and the middle-school boy had still not appeared. Miss Hiroko Watanabe removed her sunglasses and looked out of the window. “Is he late?” That was what she thought. Mountain cherry blossoms were still floating through the air, and Miss Hiroko Watanabe began to grow anxious. Then, on the far side of the slope, a peculiar scene appeared. The boy for whom Miss Hiroko Watanabe had waited so bitterly was pedalling a bicycle forward without expression. He sped away, leaving the slow-moving bus—and Miss Hiroko Watanabe with it—far behind. Page 81 Miss Hiroko Watanabe stared after him in stunned silence. Quietly, she leaned back against her seat. “That’s right…” She thought for a while. “Perhaps I really am rather unpleasant.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe raised her head, revealing the full beauty of her face. “Sitting beside the same person for three days in a row, making all those strange movements, wearing such overpowering perfume… However one thinks about it, that must count as harassment.” Sunlight poured down, and a bitter smile appeared upon Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s flowerlike face. Miss Hiroko Watanabe sat at her desk once more, just as she always did. “Hiroko, didn’t you take the morning off? Are you unwell?” Fujii Itsuki asked with concern. “I had a slight cold, but it has already been cured. Thank you.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe gave the familiar smile that everyone around her had seen countless times and answered with practised courtesy. It was the first time in three days that she had spoken to Fujii Itsuki. “How shall I put it?” Fujii Itsuki still could not set the matter aside. “Hiroko, you’ve been acting strangely lately. You finally seem to have returned to your old self, and yet somehow you feel even more like a stranger…” Miss Hiroko Watanabe froze. Fujii Itsuki’s words had pierced directly through the veil of her pretence. Only then did she realise that, during those three days, she had failed to notice the very thing that had once tormented her so greatly that she could neither eat nor sleep in peace. “I have always been so bored.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe thought absently. At some unknown moment, tears had begun to cloud her eyes. “Now I feel terribly lost.” She repeated the words in silence, and the crystalline drops came close to slipping from her eyes. The cherry blossoms of Tokyo had reached their fullest bloom. Miss Hiroko Watanabe changed back into her office clothes and, for the first time, sat alone beside the window. She turned her eyes toward a view she had scarcely ever taken the time to admire. The wind stirred the cherry trees; the blossoms fell like rain. “That boy must have been looking at this same view.” In the tranquil morning light, Miss Hiroko Watanabe seemed suddenly to understand. This strange urban vision might truly be many times more beautiful than she herself was. “Where did all these blossoms filling the sky come from?” She smiled through the window. Life was filled with the unexpected. The middle-school boy appeared on the platform. Carrying his shoulder bag, he entered Miss Hiroko Watanabe’s sight once again, like a coloured cloud floating through a clear day. Without knowing why, Miss Hiroko Watanabe felt an extraordinary blush rise across her face. The boy boarded the bus and sat beside Miss Hiroko Watanabe. There was no particular reason for it, yet Miss Hiroko Watanabe did not dare turn her head. She fixed her eyes stubbornly upon the window. Then, suddenly, she became aware of something. The glass—like the surface of a mirror—reflected the person beside it with perfect clarity. The boy’s eyes met those of Miss Hiroko Watanabe in the glass. A smile he could not suppress spread across his face. Miss Hiroko Watanabe understood all at once. She avoided his gaze, lowered her head and asked shyly: “Have you been looking at me all along?” “What?” Perhaps her voice had been too soft, for the boy did not seem to hear her clearly. “When did you begin looking?” Miss Hiroko Watanabe repeated the question more loudly. “From the time you started sitting beside all those men, I suppose.” The boy considered his answer. Miss Hiroko Watanabe grew even more embarrassed. She lightly cupped her burning, crimson face in her hands. “And what about yesterday?” she continued. “Weren’t you riding a bicycle yesterday?” “Huh?” The boy looked startled. “Were you on the bus yesterday?” The middle-school boy burst out laughing. “Me? I normally cycle to school. I only take the bus when I see you at the bus stop.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe lowered her head still farther. “Now,” the boy’s lively voice reached her ears, “look at me.” Miss Hiroko Watanabe covered her face and found herself utterly unable to raise her head. For some reason, the mountain cherry blossoms beside Tokyo Bay seemed that day as though they would swallow the entire city. They bloomed with a beauty more extraordinary than ever.