Memorial(63)

One morning, I drove the truck out to the dock for a supply run. When I handed Hikaru the list, he smoked, blowing everything just above my face. He didn’t ask about Eiju. Acted like he wasn’t even a factor. And once Hikaru stepped inside, he didn’t come back out again. But then Sora emerged to help me load boxes, groaning the whole time about his knees. Afterward, the kid handed me two beers, and we drank them on the back of the pickup again, not saying a fucking word about anything.



* * *





I served the beer, I mixed the drinks, I cooked the rice, I washed the dishes.



* * *





It does a funny thing to your head, realizing the moment that things begin to change.

At first, there was a pause, while the regulars acknowledged that this was their new reality. That I was their new reality. They were a little slower to ask for refills. A little more considerate with their conversations. They only had one person to deal with now, two feet running behind the bar instead of six.



* * *





One night, Natsue asked me how it was going, and I told her things were fine.

Really? she said.

Really, I said.

Okay, she said, and she rose her finger for another beer.



* * *





Eventually, their expectations returned. The scenery shifted.



* * *





It only happened once: one day, Hiro asked for stir-fried pork with kimchi, and it came out the way my ma made it, the way I’d been cooking it for Ben. Which was entirely unlike Eiju’s. Or Kunihiko’s. And Hiro opened his mouth to say the words: This doesn’t taste the way Eiju would’ve done it.

Natsue and Hayato twitched. All I could do was nod.

But, said Hiro, it’s not that bad. I can live with this.



* * *





One night, Mieko leaned across the bar and tapped my shoulder.

You didn’t hear this from me, she whispered, but I have the perfect boy for you.



* * *




? ? ?

One afternoon, after a checkup, I asked Taro what to expect going forward. By then, he was visiting Eiju as a daily courtesy. We’d had the hospice conversation exactly once, and when I suggested more help, Eiju asked why the fuck I thought he’d been keeping me around.



* * *





After his check-ins, Taro and I talked outside on the railing. He’d purse his lips before he answered, considering everything.

What now, I said, and I swear to god he almost shrugged.

Nothing, said Taro.

I mean what can I do, I said.

I know what you meant, said Taro.

Everyone thinks there’s more they can do, he said. The truth is that, sometimes, you’re already doing it.



* * *





Of course Eiju didn’t want to hear that shit.

He was slow to get out of bed now.

He was slow to take a dump.

He was slow to sit on the fucking sofa.

He was slow to stretch on the fucking patio.

Now, when I made it back from the bar in the mornings, I cooked breakfast for us both while he watched from the sofa. Sometimes, he’d take a single bite. Sometimes, he’d make it through his portion. Sometimes, he’d throw it all up afterward, and Eiju usually made it to the toilet, unless he accidentally, absolutely didn’t.

But he always tried to eat what I made him.



* * *





When Eiju asked about the bar, and how it was going, and how his patrons were, I told him I was still adjusting. That I wasn’t him.

No shit, he said. But that’s not what I asked you.

It’s fine. Still learning.

It’s easier when you’ve got some help. Kunihiko’s a good study.

I hadn’t told him about Kunihiko, that I hadn’t seen him since he left.

You’ll get used to it, said Eiju.

And, despite everything, I told him I would.



* * *




? ? ?

When things start to go, they leave all at once.



* * *





The next time Eiju falls, it’s an event. He descends, spectacularly, in the kitchen, knocking over the cutting board and the ladles on the way down.



* * *





After that, his body’s collapsing is a quiet, natural thing. He simply falls.



* * *





If I was around when it happened, then of course I helped him up.

Who knew what happened when I wasn’t.



* * *





One morning, in the kitchen, I asked him. I’d just gotten back from the bar. We were eating on the floor, where he couldn’t fall, and Eiju made this face.

Getting up gives me something to do when you’re gone, he said.

Don’t be stupid, I said. We should get you an emergency button.

So we can have more people fucking around in here? Get the fuck out of here.

I think you meant to say more help.

No, said Eiju. I’m fine. Your mother would say I’m returning to the earth, he said. And it’s entirely too early for this conversation.