Little Tiger

K. Kuza

For the first time in a long time, I watched the seasons carefully. I cherished every day that I got to see the leaves on the trees, fading from their vibrant green to yellow to orange, sometimes red, and eventually brown. Autumn was great. Sunny mornings in Shigure's room, drinking coffee while I studied his bare back at his desk. Breezy afternoons where we left the salon door open and heard the tinkle of wind chimes, the papers on the front desk gently lifting up at the corners then settling down softly again like they were taking a pleasant nap amongst each other. Evenings with Yaps on my lap and the sky coloring itself in pretty shades of blue, pink, purple, and vibrant orange. Colder nights spent around the chabudai, drinking tea and eating soup. Midnight walks with Shigure to jolt him out of his writer's block.

My book had been published under the pen name K. Kuza. I read it cover-to-cover between two afternoons at the bookstore. I didn't want to buy my book, because I was afraid it would leave less copies for the consumers, but I did want to read it from their perspective.

I got my first royalty check in the mail. I had sold twenty books. It was exciting until I realized, entirely on my own, that Shigure had bought all of them. He had hidden nineteen of them in the shed, but kept the twentieth to show me his "small" offering of support. I found them when I needed a new lightbulb in my bedroom and went out to the shed to hunt one down. There they were, stacked into a tower, covered in a thin blanket.

But then I got another royalty in the mail. I had sold one-hundred books, and this time it wasn't Shigure who had bought any of them.

In November, I received my first fan letter from an anonymous sender. The words meant a lot, but the concept of fan mail meant even more.

By the end of the month, I had sold two-hundred copies, then libraries were purchasing my book, then universities. Even my very own Tohoku University purchased my book. I imagined a lonely freshman pursuing the library, their eyes landing on my work. I remained hopeful that the bits in my book that pertained to my time at Tohoku (I didn't actually use the school's name) would make them feel less alone. I knew that was all I wanted when I was there.

In December, I had sold four-hundred books. Shigure shared with me that "K. Kuza's book" had been put on display at a small bookstore Shigure once frequented. I knew that bookstore well, but hadn't been to it since Shigure was in school.

"Come on," he said, "I'll take you there." He wrapped his arm around my shoulders, reaching up to ruffle my hair. "I want a picture of you standing in front of it, K. Kuza."

I smiled, a bit bashfully to my surprise, and looked away. "I don't need a picture..." But I did, I really did. I was trying to be modest about my achievements, but I was bursting at the seams to bring up my book or have my book brought up without my help.

We had to take a cab to the old bookstore. It was farther away from Shigure and I now than it was years ago. In the back of the cab, Shigure reached over and slid his fingers underneath my palm, curling them around my hand and pulling it into his lap. With another firm tug, he pulled my arm towards him so that the rest of my body followed suit and my head fell against his shoulder.

"There," he murmured, bringing my hand up to his mouth and giving it a kiss. Then he got a mischievous look in his eye, opened his mouth, and bit my first knuckle.

Hissing, I took my hand away from his but he grabbed it again and placed it in his lap once more.

"I was just showing you how much I love you," he explained innocently, patting my hurt knuckle with his free hand.

The bookstore was in better condition than it used to be, at least from how I remembered it. The red brick was bright, as if it had been scrubbed, and the climbing vines were a bright green, almost reaching the roof. The sign above the door was fresh with white and black paint and there was a neon sign in the front window that said "OPEN". A cat sauntered lazily across the polished wooden floor inside, a woman was dusting the shelves just behind it. I never remembered faces well, but I could sense that the woman dusting was Shiraki.