Chapter 2 — August 11th (Part 2)
I exited the bathhouse into the long August evening.
“Crap, crap, crap!” I muttered, heading west along Mikage Street.
Let’s go over the events that transpired yesterday. Leaving the bathhouse, I had been on my way back to Shimogamo Yūsuisō when I spotted Akashi going to the used book fair. Thinking, “When am I going to have this chance again?” I pursued her, intending to invite her to the Gozan no Okuribi, but chose in the end to beat a glorious retreat.
All I gotta do now is follow past-you.
That was what Ozu had said as he absconded from Oasis.
At the present moment, 4:30 in the afternoon on August 11th, I was chasing Ozu was chasing past-me was chasing Akashi.
I had to catch up to Ozu at all costs. If I didn’t, he would see me despondently leaving the book fair having failed to ask out Akashi.
That alone was already shame enough, but the real problem was what he would do after witnessing such a human comedy. A man who boasted of feasting on human sorrow for breakfast, lunch, and dinner could not be trusted to observe quietly in the shadows. He was all but guaranteed to forget himself and rashly disrupt the natural order of spacetime.
Blowing stuff up—that was Ozu’s sole purpose in life.
◯
I first met Ozu in the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle.
Judging from the name you might think that this was a gathering of railroad enthusiasts, but this was not your ordinary train hobbyists’ club. The Keifuku Railroad Research Circle was founded upon the hypothesis that Kyoto and Fukui had once been connected by the Keifuku Railroad. The lore of the circle held that the three lines of the Keifuku Railroad—Randen, Eiden, and Fukui—had once been part of a single superline, the seaside Sabakaidōsen, remnants of which can still be found here and there in Kyoto.
This is a cock-and-bull story from start to finish, and I strongly urge my readers not to give it the slightest credence.
The primary activities of the circle consisted of following “old tracks” of the nonexistent Sabakaidōsen and discovering new “artifacts”. The circle members were all keen-eyed, discerning gentlemen capable of spotting artifacts anywhere, whether on the city streets or deep in the woods. After a hard half-day’s work, they would all gather at their favorite bar to recount their finds. By tradition, whoever found the most convincing artifact would be feted with a pint; I had once been the recipient of just such an honor for my discovery of the remains of a depot that had serviced trains carrying seafood from Fukui to Kyoto. Long story short, the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle was nothing more than a bunch of grown men running around letting their imaginations run wild in a sophisticated railroad-themed alternate reality.
In mid-May we had welcomed two inquisitive freshmen into our number. After delving for artifacts in the verdant mountains of Kurama, we headed to a bar near Demachiyanagi to hold a banquet for the new circle members. Once the beer for the Most Convincing Artifact had been awarded and the new members had all introduced themselves, Ozu stood up.
“Gents, let’s make this year one to remember,” he announced. “We are going to publish a magazine and sell it at the cultural festival!”
In other words he intended to advertise the legend of the Sabakaidōsen to the entire world.
From the start some of the circle members were hesitant. The Sabakaidōsen was a railroad that lived in each of our hearts, they said. Each Sabakaidōsen was unique, and beautiful. If we were to put the Sabakaidōsen into a magazine, we would be forced to condense that uniqueness into an objective form, and all of the differences would be laid bare. The spirit of freedom that was this circle’s ethos would be tarnished.
And looking back, those fears had absolutely been warranted.
The esprit de corps in the circle steadily declined through the spring. Obviously, the cause of this was Ozu’s magazine proposal.The proposal put ideas like reality, logic, and profitability into the members’ minds, and these ideas turned into seeds of discord. The gentlemen’s agreement to respect each other’s visions of the Sabakaidōsen was no more, and before long everyone began to complain about everyone else’s ideas.
“That’s not realistic!”
“That’s not logical!”
“That would never turn a profit!”
Sometime around the Gion Festival, Ozu came to visit me at Shimogamo Yūsuisō.
“Things’ve really gone south.”
“Really they have. I wonder what’s gotten into everyone?”
“Like it’s not your fault? The least you could do is own up to it.”
“All I did was suggest what I thought was a good idea,” Ozu said breezily. “People just get a certain way sometimes.”
But heading into summer vacation, the acrimony in the circle showed no signs of fading away, and the magazine was no closer to completion. Nor did anyone pay attention to me when I suggested that we give up on the magazine. Everyone seemed to think that it was too late to turn back now. I tried to smooth things over and bring about a reconciliation, but instead they all insisted that I merely had no imagination of my own.
To make matters worse, the man who led the charge in criticizing me was the one who had raised concerns about the circle losing its freedom in the first place. He’d turned into a machine that pumped out criticism 24/7; everything that came out of his mouth was venomous. It got so bad that early in the fall he was practically chased out from the circle, striking out on his own and setting up the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle – Fukui Branch. But the infighting in the circle didn’t stop. The remaining members split into the Randen and Eiden factions and continued their furious struggle, while the cultural festival was all but forgotten.
In the end the warring factions went off to set up the Randen Research Society and the Eiden Research Society, leaving only me and Ozu in Keifuku. But by that time I’d already gotten so sick of the infighting that I’d cut off contact with the other members and holed up in Shimogamo Yūsuisō.
Near the end of November, when the cold really started seeping into my bones, Ozu came aimlessly wandering into my room, where I was morosely cooking a fishburger on my electric grill. We drank all night until the sun came up.
“They’re all gone now, huh?”
“There’s nothing to do now, especially not with you. Let’s just end it.”
“Welp, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.”
Thus the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle ceased to be.
But that was not the end of this soap opera.
In mid-December, the Fukui faction, which had quietly continued to pursue its excavations around Fukui, extended an olive branch to the Randen and Eiden Research Societies. The cultural festival was long past, which meant that there was no point now in feuding over the contents of the magazine.
Responding to the call, the ex-circle members gathered at a pub at Hyakumanben, smiling as if they had all been freed from a curse. For the first time in a long time, they all ate and drank and talked to their heart’s content, and during the course of their conversation they realized that Ozu had been discreetly fanning the flames of the conflict all along.
After combing through the history of the conflict, it became clear that it was Ozu who had expelled the Fukui faction, Ozu who had instigated the conflict between the Randen and Eiden factions. And hadn’t it been Ozu’s magazine proposal that had started this whole thing in the first place?
“So he planned all that from the start?”
“A real demon if I’ve ever seen one.”
“But Ozu’s gone. There’s no reason to fight anymore.”
Thus, the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle – Fukui Branch absorbed the Randen and Eiden Research Societies, and the New Keifuku Railroad Research Circle was born. Coming out of the disastrous civil war era, their bonds of friendship were forged anew, stronger than ever, and the members swore an oath that never again would they fall victim to the lies of one such as Ozu ever again.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Ozu informed me of this epilogue shortly after New Year’s when I ran into him at the co-op bookstore.
“So that’s that.”
“Are you kidding me?”
I’d been left out of the happy ending.
Though it’d been quite painful, the civil war had been an invaluable experience for the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle. That which does not kill you only makes you stronger; the tale of the folly that nearly drove the circle to extinction would be passed down to future generations, as a cautionary tale for those who would protect that spirit of freedom. All’s well that end’s well—or so I would have liked to say. But how did any of this end well for me? Still, at this point I wasn’t eager to return to the Keifuku Railroad Research Circle.
That winter, I holed up in my room and huddled close to my heater. “After all I did to try and patch things up!” I grumbled. None of them had lent me an ear, only upbraided me for not having any ideas of my own, and yet after the madness was over they had just foisted all the responsibility on Ozu and gone around preaching about harmony and friendship. It really pissed me off.
“I might consider forgiving them if they got on their hands and knees and begged for forgiveness!”
But none of them ever came.
Only Ozu remained.
◯
“You and I are bound by the black thread of fate,” Ozu had once said.
The first two years at university had passed quickly, yet all I had to show for wandering the wilderness of the 4½ room was this inseverable entanglement with the demented Ozu.
How had this happened? Had I somehow gone wrong? Was I the one at fault? Couldn’t I at least have gotten someone who was more of a kindred soul, if not a raven-haired maiden?
I caught up with Ozu just past the Mikage Bridge.
A strange cat-and-mouse chase was unfolding on Mikage Street near the Tadasu Forest. Bringing up the rear was Ozu, hiding in the shadow of a lamp pole; in front of him, clutching a wooden basin, was past-me; and walking in front of him was past-Akashi. Past-Akashi turned right onto the road into Shimogamo Shrine, and without hesitation past-me followed her in.
“Hue hue!” Ozu chortled with delight as he watched it all unfold.
I snuck up behind him and grabbed his shoulder. He jumped and twisted around. “Wagh! How’d you get here so fast!?”
“Come on, time to go back.”
“Hold on, just gimme a minute!” He wriggled away. “It’s about to get interesting!”
“There’s nothing interesting about any of it. Hurry up, we’re going back to the future!”
“Nope, you can’t fool me. That’s Akashi walking up there, isn’t it. And you’re following her. Now what could that mean?” Seeing me fumble for an answer, a wide smile appeared on his face. “This I’ve gotta see!”
Ozu dodged aside, slipping right through my fingers. My outstretched hand grasped nothing but air, and losing my balance I fell right on my ass. Ozu took the opportunity to take off down Mikage Street, chortling all the while.
“Wait!” I shouted, but taking no notice of me Ozu disappeared into the Tadasu Forest.
Darkness had already crept into the trees. I turned aside from the path that leads to Shimogamo Shrine and entered the long horse-riding grounds that run north and south, where a vast multitude of white tents lined the sides of the field. The crowds had already thinned out, and a voice over a megaphone rang out announcing the impending close of the fair. But Ozu was nowhere to be seen. I hastily moved from tent to tent, searching amongst all the books.
It was quite simple to find past-Akashi and past-me. Akashi blew like a whirlwind from shelf to shelf while past-me desperately tried to keep up, like some nameless thug being lassoed and dragged around by a mounted cowgirl in an old Western flick.
I’d thought I was being casual about it yesterday. But now that I had an objective view, past-me just looked like he was up to no good. He was constantly rushing around without a moment’s rest, picking up a book only to put it down seconds later and run off to hide in the shadow of a bookshelf. The other customers gave me strange looks, and the booksellers were openly watching to make sure I wasn’t going to steal anything. But once they realized that I was chasing Akashi, they all nodded and smiled knowingly.
Watching past-me from the cover of a bookshelf, I ripped at my hair in agony. I wanted to run over, whack him on the shoulder, and tell him, “Just give it up already!”
Finally, past-me slowed, letting the gap between him and past-Akashi widen, until at last he came to a halt. There he stood in the center of the grounds between the rows of tents, a rueful smile on his face.
Someone slapped my back. “Now I get it. So this is how it played out,” Ozu said, looking towards the center of the grounds. “What’s going through his head, eh?”
I remembered exactly what was going through his head.
I could never talk to Akashi
I don’t want to bother Akashi
It’s not like we were ever going to get close to each other anyways
Strangely, when I looked at past-me despondently giving up the chase, a scathing fury welled up within me, a fury that screamed, Why give up now?
I wanted to run over, whack him on the shoulder, and tell him, “Just keep going after her!” Past-me didn’t realize that once he committed the error of this tactical retreat, there would be no fixing it. “That’s enough for today,” he was frivolously thinking. “There’s always tomorrow.” But that tomorrow would never come.
“Huh?” frowned Ozu. “Looks like he’s turning around.”
Past-me had turned and started trudging towards the south. Seeing that pathetic figure walk off, Ozu slipped out of the tent and ran to the middle of the field, watching past-me in disbelief. He turned to the north and looked at Akashi dashing around. Back and forth his head swiveled, like he was watching a tennis match. He started to run south, but I stood in his path.
“Hold it right there. What are you doing?”
“You’re not just going to let him go off thinking ‘that’s enough for today’, are you?”
“We’re done here,” I spat.
Ozu’s eyes grew round. “Now just one minute. Are you the one who invited Akashi to the Gozan no Okuribi?”
“Wasn’t me.”
“Then who was it?”
“How would I know?”
Ozu looked up at the darkening sky and sighed dolefully. “You were telling yourself ‘it’s just a tactical retreat’ and ‘there’s always tomorrow’, weren’t you? And in the end some rando just slipped right in…now don’t you feel ashamed?”
“Stop with all the logic already!”
“You should be furious with yourself!”
“What good would that do now? What’s done is done.”
“Now, now. That’s not true at all, is it?” Ozu’s lips twisted into a smug grin, like he was a shady merchant slipping a coin to a crooked official in one of those period dramas. It was almost scandalous seeing such an impious smile here in the sacred woods of the Tadasu Forest.
“Since past-you didn’t get it done, why don’t you ask her instead?” he said. “What else is a time machine good for?”
“You just don’t get it. That’s completely out of the question!”
Sure, we had a time machine. But if even the slightest change to the past risked the destruction of the universe, what could we do? Since my tactical retreat at the used book fair was already in the past, Akashi being invited had happened in the past as well. Just like the Cola Catastrophe, what was done was done. Practically speaking, time machines were useless. They were just too dangerous to be used.
But no matter how I explained this, Ozu just had this look on this face like I was reading a poem to a horse.
“So that means you’re just going to give up?”
“What choice do I have?”
“Very good. Let’s take a stroll.” Ozu pushed past me and started walking south.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“You’re giving up, so that means I’ll just have to convince past-you.”
“Didn’t I tell you that could destroy the universe!?”
“Only one way to find out!” Ozu said cheerily as he set off.
I sprinted after him. “What’s going on?” people gasped as I sideswiped them. Coming up behind Ozu I tackled him to the ground.
“They’re fighting! It’s a fight!” rose a cry around us. A sudden electric tension raced through the air of the festival, and from all around men came running towards us.
“Hey, cool it you two!”
“What’s the matter with you?”
Yells went back and forth, but no one tried to separate us. Our scuffling was so feeble that no one was sure whether we were actually fighting, yet at the same time they couldn’t just pretend nothing was happening, so they all just stood around awkwardly.
My arms wrapped around Ozu’s waist, I yelled, “It’s not like I don’t want to do it over too!”
But yesterday’s failure at the used book fair had been my responsibility alone. It had been me who, too afraid to settle things one way or the other, had run away, telling myself, “There’s always tomorrow.” How arrogant I had been, to put the universe in danger for the sake of papering over the mistakes of the past. As charming as Akashi was, if the universe was destroyed it would all come to naught. In order to protect the universe which she inhabited, I had to come to terms with the stupid decisions of the past. That was the essence of youth—the essence of life.
All these thoughts going through my head made me want to burst into tears. Shoving Ozu away, I threw myself down on the damp earth in front of him.
“Please, I’m begging you! Just come back with me!”
Ozu pushed himself off the ground on his elbows, silent in amazement. The surrounding crowd held their breath. Finally, one of the booksellers stepped forward. The nametag on his lanyard said “Gabi Bookstore”. His bald, flushed pate made him look like an octopus.
“Look, kid. I don’t know what this is all about,” he said kindly to Ozu. “But look at the guy. Cut him a break, huh?”
◯
I dragged Ozu back through the Tadasu Forest.
“Look, it was a joke. I didn’t think you’d take it so serious.”
“I swear, you are just the biggest pain!”
“Come on, it’s not like you didn’t know that all along, eh?”
We were both covered in mud from rolling around on the ground.
Akashi should already have sent Higuchi and Hanuki back, so once Ozu and I returned to the future everything would be in order. Once we got back I would send Tamura packing to the future, and then I would never set foot near a time machine ever again.
Shimogamo Yūsuisō was as still as a deserted ruin.
It was just past 5. It looked like everyone from the Misogi Movie Circle had gone home.
We cautiously slipped through the front door. The dusty corridor leading inward was eerily dark. When we came out onto the second floor corridor, I saw a lone figure sitting on the sofa, lit by the pale light coming in from the balcony.
“We’re back,” I said. No sooner had the words left my mouth than Akashi immediately sprang to her feet.
I quickly noticed there was something off about her. Her face was even paler than usual, and she was clutching her hands to her chest. Something else must have gone awry.
“The time machine hasn’t come back!” Akashi cried, running towards us. “They promised when they left, the Master and Hanuki. They said they’d send the time machine back here once they arrived. But it’s been fifteen minutes, and nothing. And plus…”
“It’s okay, Akashi. Just calm down.”
“But…”
“It’s alright. Everything lines up now. The danger to the universe is past. Even if the time machine doesn’t come back, we can just get back ourselves.”
“No, that’s not what I mean!” Akashi shook her head in frustration. “The AC remote is gone!”
“The remote’s gone? How?” It felt like the floor had just fallen out from under me. “I took it back from Ozu and gave it to you!”
“The Master took it with him to the future!”
While Ozu and I were tussling at the used book fair, Akashi had taken Hanuki and Higuchi back to Shimogamo Yūsuisō. The first thing she did was place the remote I had given her on top of the fridge in the corridor, where it would await its doom by cola. After that, they dragged in the time machine from the balcony.
“Please send the time machine back as soon as you arrive there,” Akashi had directed them.
“You got it!” Hanuki assured her.
Just as they were about to depart, Higuchi suddenly thrust out his hand. “Ah, I had nearly forgotten. Akashi, the remote if you please.”
He said it so matter-of-factly that Akashi automatically complied. “Here you are,” she said, taking the remote from atop the fridge and handing it to him.
It was only after the time machine vanished that Akashi realized what an egregious blunder she had just committed.
Akashi looked miserable after telling us what had occurred. “I’m so sorry. How could I be so stupid!”
“Higuchi just didn’t get it at all, did he…”
“Akashi falls on her face right before the finish line! The universe is kaput, and it’s all your fault!”
At Ozu’s pointed criticism, Akashi hung her head like a discarded puppet. “I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, before turning and banging her head against the wall over and over. “People of the universe, I am so sorry.”
“It wasn’t just your fault. All of us who got in the time machine are to blame,” I said to her. “And there’s still time. Don’t give up now!”
We did have time, but there wasn’t much. Past-Akashi would be coming back from the used book fair, Higuchi and the others would be returning from the bathhouse, and Hanuki would be dropping by after getting off work. After a wounded past-me returned from licking his wounds on the bank of the Kamo River to find everyone gathered here, the Cola Catastrophe would take place. If we didn’t get the remote back by then, the universe was finished.
“For now, let’s just wait until the time machine comes back.”
It was a taut, frustrating wait.
Akashi sat on the sofa not moving an inch, her hands tightly clasped together. As the light coming in from the balcony faded, her downcast face sank into shade, as if she was sinking into the watery depths. It seemed as if being responsible for the entire universe was crushing her. In my head I assured her that none of this was her fault. It was my fault for wanting to use the time machine to get the remote. And Ozu had been the one who spilled cola on the remote. It was all Ozu’s fault.
The dusky light coming from the balcony really made it feel like the world was ending. Our universe was facing annihilation all for the sake of the remote control for an air conditioner. My only consolation was that Akashi was with me, though that consolation was spoiled by the fact that Ozu was with me as well.
Ozu didn’t seem terribly fazed by this end-of-the-universe business. “It’ll all work out somehow,” he claimed. I found that unfounded optimism terribly annoying.
“By the way, Akashi, I wanted to ask you something,” he said out of nowhere. “Who’re you going to the Gozan no Okuribi with? Not that I mean to butt in or anything, but I really wanna know the answer to this one.”
“Is this really the time for that?”
“What are you talking about? This is about the fate of the universe, here.”
Akashi was looking at Ozu, faintly puzzled.
“You are going?” Ozu pressed her.
“Yes, I’m going. But…” Akashi’s gaze flickered briefly to me, and then she sealed her lips.
“And?” Ozu insisted, but Akashi didn’t say anything. What could her mysterious silence mean? Unable to hold myself back any longer I joined in.
“Please, Akashi. Tell us.”
Akashi looked at me in disbelief. “Why would you—”
At this very instant, a blinding flash lit up her face. A whirlwind howled up, and the wind chime jangled violently.
The time machine was back.
◯
We never learned with whom Akashi was going to see the Okuribi, for we had to deal with the arrival of a rather troublesome group of individuals from the future. It wasn’t just Higuchi and Hanuki in the time machine when it showed up in the corridor; Jōgasaki was there, in spite of his previous refusal to get in, as well as the lame time traveler himself, Tamura.
“Everybody off!” Hanuki announced, and suddenly the hallway burst to life.
“What are all of you doing here!?”
“Calm yourself,” Higuchi said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I must apologize for imposing this ordeal on you and Akashi. We failed to grasp the danger of the time machine. But fear not, for now we understand what is at stake.”
“Glad to hear it, but you didn’t all need to come.”
“The more the merrier!”
“Ha, I just wanted to see if I could help,” grinned Tamura. “I feel responsible for this too, being from the future and all.”
“If you want to feel responsible, you can start by not touching anything.”
I thought Jōgasaki was being awfully quiet, until I saw him laid out on the ground with time machine sickness, just like Akashi.
A happy reunion with dependable comrades, this was not; on the contrary, my apprehension only increased. Not only did none of these people have the restraint you’d needed to go time traveling, our past selves would soon be gathering here at the apartment. If these two groups ran into each other, they’d be high-stepping and chanting, “Party on, dudes!” in no time at all, and then the universe would be done for.
Ozu looked at Tamura. “Hey, don’t I know you?”
“Ah, right, I never introduced myself properly. I’m Tamura. I’m from the future.”
“Oh, that’s what it was. Kinda lame for someone from the future, don’t ya think?”
“Haha, I get that a lot. Gosh, people from this era are pretty rude, aren’t they?”
Akashi pushed past the two up to the time machine. “Where’s the remote?”
“Don’t you fret, I’ve got it right here.” Hanuki produced it triumphantly, but the moment Akashi and I laid eyes on it we were speechless. It was bundled up in layer upon layer of plastic wrap and welded shut with tape. “It took us a while to fix this up, that’s why we took so long. But it’s pretty clever, right? Now we don’t have to worry about it breaking when it gets soaked in cola.”
“NO!” Akashi and I yelled at the same time.
“It has to get broken!”
“Why?”
“Because it broke yesterday!”
“It’s a no-go, Higuchi,” Hanuki pouted.
“And it seemed such a good idea, too,” Higuchi lamented, stroking his stubble.
“I warned you not to do it.” Jōgasaki put a hand on the wall and got to his feet. “I kept saying doing that would change the past, but these guys still don’t get it. I can’t risk leaving this in your hands again. From now on all of you follow me!” Here he retched and crumpled to the floor again.
“And where exactly do we follow you to?” Hanuki sounded nonplussed as she rubbed his back.
In any event we had to get the remote unwrapped. Akashi struggled with it for some time, but the remote had been encased with layer upon layer of squeaky plastic wrap with the meticulousness of a craftsman, to make sure not a drop of liquid could get in.
Akashi looked up, brushing aside her bangs. “Without scissors this is hopeless.”
I flew into room 209, rummaged through the desk, and rushed right back with scissors in hand.
Jōgasaki had switched places with Akashi and was wrestling with the remote, his face red with effort. “I’ve got scissors!” I said, but he was so focused on his task he didn’t hear me. “Jōgasaki, use my scissors!”
While we were clustered around the remote yelling, we heard a familiar, reedy voice behind us at the end of the hall say, “My my, we are having fun.”
“Which Aijima would this be?” Higuchi whispered in my ear.
“That’s past-Aijima,” I whispered back, biting my lip. I hadn’t even thought about the possibility that Aijima would turn up. I had assumed he had gone straight home after the shoot yesterday was finished.
“Back so soon?” he drawled as he walked up to us, when his eyes fell upon the time machine. “Well well,” he muttered, peering at it closely. “What have we here?”
We all exchanged silent glances. Aijima squinted at us suspiciously. “Here, this device. It seems to look like a time machine.”
“Well, anyways.” Akashi forcibly changed the subject. “Did you forget something here?”
“Just my glasses,” Aijima said, looking away from the time machine. “I swapped them out for the role, you see. Helps me get into character smoothly. But afterwards when I was going to switch them back, why, my usual glasses were nowhere to be found.”
“Perhaps they’re in my room?” I suggested, opening the door to room 209 without hesitation. “I’m holding onto lost-and-found items here. Please, have a look.”
Just as I’d intended, Aijima walked into room 209, and the moment he did I slammed the door shut and held the doorknob.
“What’s the meaning of this!” Aijima cried from inside.
Gripping the rattling doorknob tight, I hissed, “He’s seen the time machine. Hide it somewhere, quick!”
A flurry of whispering broke out around the time machine.
“What do we do?”
“Just haul it out to the balcony!”
“No, it’ll be found out in no time!”
“Why don’t we send it to another time?”
But if we sent it off by itself it would never come back.
“Allow me,” declared Higuchi, boarding the time machine. “I shall take it somewhere and return when the time is right.”
“Let me accompany you!” Ozu immediately insisted.
I knew this was a horrible idea. Allowing this duo to handle the time machine on their own was tantamount to desecrating the spacetime continuum.
It was Jōgasaki who said out loud what I was thinking. “The hell we’re going to leave it to you!”
Dragging Higuchi and Ozu out, he jumped into the time machine himself.
Hanuki ran up and cried, “No, Jōgasaki! You’re going to get sick!”
“Better than letting these chumps go. All I need is for you guys not to do anything stupid!”
I’d never felt such a kinship with Jōgasaki as I did then. Here he was volunteering his own body that the integrity of the cosmos might be preserved. Truly there is no bond so strong as that between comrades who, though otherwise of differing cultures and creeds, stand shoulder to shoulder against a common adversity.
“Give it about ten minutes before you come back,” I said, to which Jōgasaki flipped a reassuring thumbs-up from behind the control panel.
“I’ll be back. Nothing to worry about!”
As the time machine hummed to life, Jōgasaki scanned the control panel one more time. Suddenly the blood drained from his face, as though he’d made a terrible discovery. “Oh wait, it’s—”
His despairing groan was abruptly cut off, and with a burst of light and wind the time machine disappeared.