Ghostwritten by David Mitchell

think that—”
    “Don’t
think!
Do something!”
    “What do you suggest? Kidnap her? She’s got her life to get on with. She’s going to study archaeology at university in Hong Kong. We met, we enjoyed each other’s company, very much, and now we’ve parted. It happens all the time. We can write. Anyway, it’s not like we’ve fallen longingly in love with each other, or anything like that—”
    “Beep beep beep.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, that was my bullshit alarm going off.”
    I dug out some old big band Duke Ellington. It reminds me of wind-up gramophones, silly moustaches, and Hollywood musicals from before the war. It usually cheers me up. “Take the ‘A’ Train,” rattling along on goofy optimism.
    I looked gloomily into the murky lake at the bottom of my teacup, and I thought about Tomoyo for the fiftieth time that day.
    The phone rang. I knew it was going to be Tomoyo. It was Tomoyo. I could hear airplanes and boarding announcements in the background.
    “Hello,” she said.
    “Hello.”
    “I’m phoning from the airport.”
    “I can hear airplanes taking off in the background.”
    “Sorry I couldn’t say ‘good-bye’ properly last night. I wanted to kiss you.”
    “So did I, but with everyone there, and everything …”
    “Thanks for inviting me and Dad to Mrs. Nakamori’s last night. My dad says thanks too. I haven’t seen him nattering away like he did with your Mama-san and Taro for
ages.”
    “I haven’t seen them nattering away like that for ages, either. What were they talking about?”
    “Business, I guess. You know Dad has a small stake in a nightclub. We both loved the show.”
    “It wasn’t a show! It was just me and Koji.”
    “You’re both really good musicians. Dad didn’t shut up about you.”
    “Nah … Koji’s good, he makes me sound passable. He phoned about twenty minutes ago. I hope we weren’t too gooey at the bar last night. Koji thought we were a bit obvious.”
    “Don’t worry about it. And hey! Dad even implied, in his roundabout way, you could visit during your holidays. He might manage to find a bar for you to play sax in, if you wanted to.”
    “Does he know? About us?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Takeshi doesn’t exactly give me holidays.… At least, I’ve never asked for one.”
    “Oh …” She changed the subject. “How long did it take you to get so good?”
    “I’m not good. John Coltrane is
good!
Wait a sec—” I grabbed a copy of John Coltrane and Duke Ellington playing “In a Sentimental Mood.” Smoky and genuflective. We listened to it together for a while. So many things I wanted to say to her.
    There was a series of urgent rings. “I’m running out of money—there’s something—Oh, damn, ’bye!”
    “ ’Bye!”
    “When I get back I’ll—”
    A lonely hum.
    •  •  •
    At lunchtime Mr. Fujimoto came in, saw me, and laughed. “Good afternoon, Satoru-kun!” he jubilated. “Blue skies, just you wait and see! Tell me, what do you think of this little beaut?” He put a little package of books on the counter, and straightened out his bow tie, arching his eyebrows and acting proud.
    A grotesque polka-dot frog-green bow tie. “Absolutely unique.”
    His whole body wobbled with mirth. “We’re having a disgusting tie competition in the office. I’ve got ’em licked, I think.”
    “How was Kyoto?”
    “Oh, Kyoto was Kyoto. Temples and shrines, meetings with printers. Uppity shopkeepers who think they have a monopoly on manners. It’s good to be back. Once a Tokyoite, always a Tokyoite.”
    I started my rehearsed speech. “Mr. Fujimoto, when I told Mama-san about your kind offer to help me get an interview at your office she gave me this to give you. She thought you and your co-workers might enjoy it at a cherry-blossom party.” I heaved the huge bottle of rice wine onto the counter.
    “Sake!
My word, that
is
a big boy! This will last awhile, even in an office