Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [72]
Of course, there was no fooling Katchan.
“Hey Wataru, why do you always look so angry lately?”
Exactly a week had passed since the Sunday when Grandma Tank rolled into town and blew his world to smithereens. Wataru was over at Katchan’s house, playing in his room. It was a small room, with a big dresser, and laundry hanging outside the window. There was a ton of it, flapping in the breeze.
Wataru looked away from the video game and peered at Katchan. His friend sat with a large mug of soda in one hand, his eyebrows raised in an exasperated look.
Wataru’s mug sat untouched atop a serving tray, sweating in the summer humidity. The mugs were the same exact ones they used for beer and mixed drinks down in the bar. Compared to a regular soda glass, they were huge. If he drank the whole thing he’d be burping the rest of the day.
True to form, Katchan had already downed half of his, and when he opened his mouth to say something more, a loud belch erupted.
Wataru cracked up, and Katchan joined him. Wataru dropped his game controller on the floor, laughing while his computer-generated opponent proceeded to dice up his character.
Katchan suddenly straightened up. “It’s like you’re wearing this angry face all the time.” Wataru was silently surprised. He had no idea it was so obvious.
For the past week, Wataru had been trying to contact his father every way he could think. He just wanted to talk to him once, just once. But it was proving difficult. It was as if Akira had flown to the moon. What Wataru thought would be so simple was turning out to be so difficult.
His dad had a cell phone, he knew, but Wataru didn’t know the number. There had never been a need until now. That Friday night, travel bag bulging, his father had told him to call him on his cell phone, but how could he do that, if he didn’t know the number?
There was no use asking his mother. Kuniko wouldn’t tell him. Since their talk she had been trying her best to cram Wataru into a box labeled “father on a business trip”—for his own good—and she was desperate not to let him think anything else.
Hoping it might be written down somewhere in the house, Wataru had leafed madly through address books and phone books. He could find it nowhere. He wondered if it was programmed into their telephone at home, and one night when Kuniko wasn’t looking, he pulled out the operating manual. There was nothing. Maybe she knew I would look, and erased it? It was more than probable.
His next target was Akira’s company. But, as Wataru realized with some embarrassment, though he knew the name of the company where his father worked, he knew practically nothing else. He didn’t know if his father worked at the main office, some branch office, or even at some subsidiary.
He tried calling the main office’s service centers as listed in the phone book, going from the first to the last. That’s when he encountered a new problem. At a big company such as the one where his father worked, you could call a number from the telephone book (or from directory assistance), and ask for Akira Mitani—and even if he worked there, they wouldn’t just connect you. They always asked for a division or department name, if you were family, or a client, and what your business was. If he couldn’t answer their questions they would probably tell him to stop making crank calls, or ask to speak with his mother. He’d be worse off than if he had never picked up the phone.
I’m really Akira Mitani’s son, I just want to talk to my dad.
Speaking slowly, Wataru told Katchan everything that had happened from start to finish. The whole time he spoke he didn’t tear up once, nor did he get excited. He was calm. Or maybe just exhausted.
Katchan’s round eyes went even wider. He listened without saying a word. When Wataru had finished talking and reached out for his mug, he looked up to see Katchan