Title: Yourself
Published: 8 August, 2012
Author: Ribbon
Target: Tezuka Kunimitsu
Default Name: Shui Fujika
I. YOURSELF
Two: Maybe
Tezuka Kunimitsu wasn't an assumer. If anything, he was a noticer—an evaluator. He made educated guesses about people based off their mannerisms, the kind of personality they had, the way they spoke, and other fine intricacies that weaved a human personality.
And he was both humble and subtle in the way he went about it. He didn't tell me what my interests were; what I liked to do in my spare time; or how I came to work in this place, even though he might have been able to accurately guess. Instead, he asked me.
"In my spare time?" I echoed when he asked what I liked to do in my free time. "I...don't know. Reading, I suppose." There were more things I liked to do than just reading, but even without mention, he seemed to be able to guess what other hobbies I had. It was a strange...skill.
"I see we share something in common." He said, lifting his copy of The Ringmaster's Daughter. "No Jostein Gaarder, I suppose?"
"Not quite." I said, smiling. "F. Scott Fitzergald? The Great Gatsby?"
His eyes gave me a subtle once over, as if he were trying to match the book to his observations of me. The warped pursuit of happiness, the desire for wealth, and the cynicism the book was written in might have been things he didn't expect a person like me enjoyed.
I thought he might comment about it. Instead, he said, "Perhaps you'd care to take a seat."
The surprise on my face was acknowledged by a smile on his. It might have widened in the second that I looked back to check if Tsuwabaki was watching me.
I didn't see her. "Are you sure? You don't mind?"
He blinked at me. "Not at all."
A rule of the café was to do what it took to satisfy a customer—within reason. I suppose in some ways, I didn't have a choice whether or not I wanted to sit down.
But I wasn't complaining. I took a seat across from Tezuka.
"Tell me." He said. The two words were cue enough.
"Well... it was a novel that really showed what happened to the American dream." I told him, recalling off the top of my head what I remembered from the last time I read it. "It was meant to be about individualism and the pursuit of happiness, but it ended up as greed for affluence and the empty pursuit of pleasure."
He listened... intently. It was strange to, for once, feel like someone took a genuine interest in what I had to say; what I saw in a book; and what I made of it. Tezuka had his arms folded, coffee cup pushed to the side, and his book closed. "Go on."
"After the war, the distortion of more noble goals and the way the American dream became so different from what it should have been... it really brings up a reality for you to question. I like that in books."
Then I nodded at The Ringmaster's Daughter.
"What draws you in about that book?" I asked.
For a moment, he paused. The reply that came was, "The reunions."
Those words were something I didn't think I would ever understand.
Then he moved on from the conversation. "Would you recommend The Great Gatsby?"
I eased into a smile and nodded.
So did he. "I'll make sure to add it to my list."
- x -
The next day, Tezuka didn't come in with The Ringmaster's Daughter, nor did he with any other book. He told me he'd finished it.
Conveniently enough, I'd brought my copy of The Great Gatsby to work, should he have happened to stop by as he usually did at seven in the morning and lend it to him.
When I went to pour his coffee, I tucked the book under my arm. He saw it instantly.
"Oh. You noticed." I said, laughing as I set the coffee pot down and took the book out. I extended it towards him. "I thought you might want to borrow it for a read."
He took the book up and pored over the cover. In contrast to the cover of The Ringmaster's Daughter, he mightn't have been impressed by the appearance. But I could not make such an assumption; he gave no sign of his emotions, nor a hint of what he was thinking. He merely said, "Thank you. I'll be sure to read it."
- x -
When Tezuka came in regularly for a coffee, my copy of the The Great Gatsby in his hand, I would ask where he was up to and he would tell me. We would converse for a short while, until Tsuwabaki demanded I get back to work that instant.
He smiled at me whenever she caught me out.
Sometimes, he finished the coffee by the time he would finish talking to me. When Tsuwabaki called me back to work, he tilted his empty cup towards himself, peering at the empty contents. Then he looked up to me and said, "Perhaps I'll go for another one."
I didn't fight the oncoming smile.
- x -
Tezuka finished the novel more quickly than I expected.
When I walked over to him out of routine and asked where he was up to in the book, he told me as I poured that he had finished the book.
I looked up at him, blinking.
He looked down at pot, blinking.
Then he reached out, and gently touched my hand. "That's enough." He said, noticing that I was about to pour right over the edge of the cup. He gently grasped my hands and tilted the pot back up, either paying no mind or deliberately turning a blind eye to the stunned look on my face.
Did he just...
In my distraction, he took up the book and extended it towards me. "It was a worthy read."
I accepted the book back, hoping I didn't appear too mystified.
His hands free, Tezuka scooped up the handle of his nearly-overflowing cup and gestured with it. Somehow, he managed to effortlessly keep all the coffee inside the cup rather than splashing it over the sides in doing so. "Would you care for one?"
If he was amused by the way I was fighting a smile, he didn't show it. "Are you asking to buy me a coffee?"
He motioned for me to take a seat. Then he called for the nearest waitress—who unfortunately happened to be Tsuwabaki at that time of the morning. It was hard to decide between laughter and a melancholic sigh when she approached, knowing what I would be getting later on from her.
Tsuwabaki took Tezuka's money, gave me a look, and then left. When she did not come back, I retrieved a cup for myself and poured it full of coffee.
Then I smiled at Tezuka. "Thank you."
He returned it. "Not at all."
For some reason, it tasted very sweet.
Princo & Ribbon
August 8, 2012.