“No coach, huh? I thought you were pretty much winging it. You’ve got the timing down OK, but I’d like to see how you’d do with a headwind.”
Now it was just Kiku and the guy in glasses. At 4.75 meters, glasses chose to pass, but Kiku, who never let his opponents bother him, decided to have a go at it. After two misses, he reached down and pulled up a few blades of grass, then tossed them in the air. A breeze had come up as the sun began to set, a light headwind. As he glanced up at the stands, an uneasy feeling came over him: Hashi was nowhere to be seen. Why do I feel so funny, he wondered. Can’t be the stupid wind; must be because of Hashi. But what does Hashi have to do with it? Then it occurred to him for the first time: could I be jumping just so Hashi’ll watch me? Sounds too stupid. He tried to concentrate on the bar, to see himself lofted over it, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t so much that the image was out of focus; it felt as if the plug had been pulled on the projector. Haven’t I done all this practicing by myself? Why should I lose my concentration just because Hashi isn’t here to watch?
He measured the approach and the position of the bar, but his body still felt heavy. Hashi must have gone to get some ice cream, he thought, annoyed that his head should be full of such crap right before a jump. Putting his pole down, he walked toward the main track, empty now that all the other events had finished, and slipping past the officials cleaning up after the meet, he took off on a fast lap. The people left in the stands looked on admiringly as he found his rhythm and allowed himself to be carried along on the wind, forcing himself to stop thinking about Hashi. If he could only drain the blood from his head into his muscles… As he broke into a sweat, the image of himself clearing the bar revived and came into focus. The lap finished, Kiku didn’t so much as glance at the stands. Hedoesn’t mean a thing to me, he told himself. I’m alone like I’ve always been. It’s just me and the bar, nobody else… and it’s time. Raising his hand to signal the judge that he was ready, he started his run-up. The shock from the cleats flashed up through his veins straight to his head, as the image began to crystallize in a haze of speed and churned earth. Once again he could see himself up there over the bar. The pole plant, the mark, his body dipping slightly, and then the explosive snap. But at the very instant of the spring-back, the image ruptured, bursting from Kiku’s pores and dissolving in the air. His knee caught the bar, and he crashed into the pit. Sighs could be heard from here and there in the crowd as Kiku lay motionless on his back, a puzzled look on his face.
As he lay there, however, he wasn’t wondering why he had missed; a new image, something he had never seen before, had appeared to him at the instant he was catapulted skyward, and he could still see it from the pit. He had seen himself vaulting a different hurdle, much higher than the bar, something soft, red, and quivering that he was clearing with ease. What was it, this damp red thing? He pondered the mystery for a while, but then it slipped his mind as another image came into focus, this one of Hashi, smiling and applauding, and licking an ice cream cone.
Kazuyo came running onto the field waving a piece of paper which she handed to Kiku with trembling hands.
Kiku,
Take care of Milk for me. Make sure not to give him anything salty. I’m going to Tokyo. I know you can win at the national meet. You’ll show them. I’ll see you again soon.
Hashi
“What does it mean? What’s happened?” Kazuyo was frantic. “Kiku, do you know anything about this?” She was on the verge of tears. Though he didn’t say so, Kiku, in fact, had a good idea why Hashi had run away: he had gone to look for his mother.
Three days earlier they had been watching an interview program on TV. The guest was a seventy-two-year-old woman, a
Now it was just Kiku and the guy in glasses. At 4.75 meters, glasses chose to pass, but Kiku, who never let his opponents bother him, decided to have a go at it. After two misses, he reached down and pulled up a few blades of grass, then tossed them in the air. A breeze had come up as the sun began to set, a light headwind. As he glanced up at the stands, an uneasy feeling came over him: Hashi was nowhere to be seen. Why do I feel so funny, he wondered. Can’t be the stupid wind; must be because of Hashi. But what does Hashi have to do with it? Then it occurred to him for the first time: could I be jumping just so Hashi’ll watch me? Sounds too stupid. He tried to concentrate on the bar, to see himself lofted over it, but it didn’t work. It wasn’t so much that the image was out of focus; it felt as if the plug had been pulled on the projector. Haven’t I done all this practicing by myself? Why should I lose my concentration just because Hashi isn’t here to watch?
He measured the approach and the position of the bar, but his body still felt heavy. Hashi must have gone to get some ice cream, he thought, annoyed that his head should be full of such crap right before a jump. Putting his pole down, he walked toward the main track, empty now that all the other events had finished, and slipping past the officials cleaning up after the meet, he took off on a fast lap. The people left in the stands looked on admiringly as he found his rhythm and allowed himself to be carried along on the wind, forcing himself to stop thinking about Hashi. If he could only drain the blood from his head into his muscles… As he broke into a sweat, the image of himself clearing the bar revived and came into focus. The lap finished, Kiku didn’t so much as glance at the stands. Hedoesn’t mean a thing to me, he told himself. I’m alone like I’ve always been. It’s just me and the bar, nobody else… and it’s time. Raising his hand to signal the judge that he was ready, he started his run-up. The shock from the cleats flashed up through his veins straight to his head, as the image began to crystallize in a haze of speed and churned earth. Once again he could see himself up there over the bar. The pole plant, the mark, his body dipping slightly, and then the explosive snap. But at the very instant of the spring-back, the image ruptured, bursting from Kiku’s pores and dissolving in the air. His knee caught the bar, and he crashed into the pit. Sighs could be heard from here and there in the crowd as Kiku lay motionless on his back, a puzzled look on his face.
As he lay there, however, he wasn’t wondering why he had missed; a new image, something he had never seen before, had appeared to him at the instant he was catapulted skyward, and he could still see it from the pit. He had seen himself vaulting a different hurdle, much higher than the bar, something soft, red, and quivering that he was clearing with ease. What was it, this damp red thing? He pondered the mystery for a while, but then it slipped his mind as another image came into focus, this one of Hashi, smiling and applauding, and licking an ice cream cone.
Kazuyo came running onto the field waving a piece of paper which she handed to Kiku with trembling hands.
Kiku,
Take care of Milk for me. Make sure not to give him anything salty. I’m going to Tokyo. I know you can win at the national meet. You’ll show them. I’ll see you again soon.
Hashi
“What does it mean? What’s happened?” Kazuyo was frantic. “Kiku, do you know anything about this?” She was on the verge of tears. Though he didn’t say so, Kiku, in fact, had a good idea why Hashi had run away: he had gone to look for his mother.
Three days earlier they had been watching an interview program on TV. The guest was a seventy-two-year-old woman, a
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