Eyes That Don't Reflect

Chapter 001

Jinde was an area encircled by an array of undulating hills: various shades of green and blue that made it an eye-catching spectacle. Rare though tourists were in this region of Japan, few failed to be mesmerized by the mountainous terrain.

On paper, Jinde was included as a part Kamiyama City in all district administration matters. However, in most other areas, their differences were apparent. The two regions were connected only by narrow mountain roads, which until recently had been treacherous paths of travel. As such, the houses—and more importantly, the people—of each had lived separately for most of the recent past, sharing only the fertile soil and fresh air of the region.

The emotive and cultural differences aside though, the physical distance between the two wasn't as massive—Chitanda's daily commute from the Chitanda residence to Kamiyama High was an indicator of this. The trek up and down the mountain road made for an arduous journey, but one could manage it in less than thirty minutes by bike.

I read my watch: it was only two minutes till half past four. There was no time to waste.

I stepped out of the cultural centre, assuming I would have to make the trip by bike. Just then, a bus pulled up in front of me, and its doors slid open; not unlike a chauffeured car arriving to pick up a celebrity. I was dumbfounded, imitating (as I later came to realize) a deer in headlights. Not only would the ride certainly be faster than going by bike, I also wouldn't have to take time to find the bus stop once I got there.

What unbelievable luck I had. For a bus that came only once every hour to show up just when I needed it most. This certainly had to be a trap, didn't it? Oh, and what a trap it must be! The route direction had to be different. If I were to board this bus of fortune, I would end up trapped in an aluminum cage, reinforced by steel and societal convention, and whisked away in the opposite direction, wouldn't I? How smart was I to realize that ahead of time? I peeked at the signboard to see where this huge detour would have taken me: 'Heading to Jinde'.

"Ah... well... I guess I'm getting on."

I had (without intending to) said this out loud to the bus, which now seemed to be only moments away from departing. I jogged up to it and got on, took a nearby window seat, and sighed deeply. The customary sound like a deflating inner tube was heard as the bus door closed, before an unassuming female voice rang from the speakers, "The bus will start moving."

It began to slowly inch forward with the announcement. It was apparently the kind of bus where you paid when you got off.

I had wanted to briefly search for Ibara before going to Jinde, but the unexpected arrival of the bus had forced a change of plans. "Don't be late for the bus!" said some commentator I had seen on TV at some point in the distant past.

Having settled in, I wondered if I even had money on me. I was certain that I had brought my wallet with me. I searched my pockets for my wallet and confirmed that I did in fact, have a single 1,000 yen note. Having narrowly avoided a future in which I would be forced to wash dishes to compensate for not having paid the bus fare, I wondered whether I'd have to put off buying the book I'd wanted for a little while longer. I cursed the heavens... but—well—I guess that's life.

Including me, there were fewer than 10 people in the bus. After having left the cultural centre, it took us a while to reach the older districts. Thanks to the narrow streets, the roads couldn't support a lot of traffic, so they were doomed to congestion. Alas, even as the residential buildings became more and more three-dimensional in spread, the roads remained a two-dimensional entity. I absentmindedly pondered a fanciful future with bridges and extensive, underground tunnels being the networks of transportation.

I peered outside the windows as a flurry of familiar scenery flashed by: the confectionary shop with delicious yomogi dango, the bookstore with empty top shelves because its elderly owner could no longer reach them, the drycleaners who used to sell kimono fabric when I was still young, the convenience store that put the tobacco shop out of business ...