(2005) In the Miso Soup Read Online Free PDF

posture in silhouette. He gave off this overpowering, almost tangible loneliness.
    All Americans have something lonely about them. I don’t know what the reason for that might be, except maybe that they’re all descended from immigrants. But Frank had taken it to a whole new level. His cheap clothing and slovenly appearance had something to do with it: shorter even than my 172 centimeters, he was fat, his hair was combed forward and thinning, and right now he looked very old for his age. But it wasn’t just that. There was a falseness about him, as if his whole existence was somehow made up. That’s what I was thinking, anyway, when I noticed something that made my scalp crawl. Just ahead was a trash collection site cordoned off with yellow tape, and a cop was standing guard. This was where the schoolgirl’s corpse had been found.
    Things that had been tugging at my brain merged with the trickling chill. Something in that newspaper article about all the cash having been removed from the murdered girl’s wallet. The bloodstained ¥10,000 note Frank had whipped out at the lingerie pub. And the fact that Frank had said he imported Toyota parts and yet hadn’t shown the least interest in the rows of Toyotas we’d just passed.
    I told myself these were just random, unconnected blips, but I couldn’t shake my suspicion, and before I knew it I was getting all worked up. I had to keep telling myself to calm down and be reasonable. It’s crazy to suspect a guy of murder just because he lied about his job and has a bill stained with something that looks like blood. And maybe he wasn’t lying about his jobbut only cares about the parts he imports, not the whole car. That’s what I kept telling myself, but I wished I could hear it from someone else. If someone would tell me, even over the phone, that I was letting my imagination run away with me, maybe that would be enough to pull me out of it. The only person I could think of was Jun.
    “Um, it’s almost eleven o’clock,” I told Frank, showing him my watch. “We agreed on three hours, right? Till midnight?”
    “Oh, that’s right. But we’re having so much fun, and I’m just getting warmed up. What do you say, Kenji? Would you mind going a couple of hours extra?”
    “Well, actually,” I said, “I kind of promised my girlfriend . . .”
    Frank furrowed his brow, and I could see the light going out of his eyes. Shit, I thought, here comes the Face.
    “But, then again,” I said, “work comes first! I’ll just give her a call.”
    I marched toward a phone booth across from the Koma Theater. I didn’t want to use my mobile. I was pretty sure Frank didn’t understand any Japanese to speak of, but I still didn’t like the idea of him standing beside me listening. It was a relief to get the glass walls of the booth between us. Jun was generally in my room around this time of night. Not that she was waiting for me to get back—she likes to spend time there by herself, reading or listening to music, because she doesn’t have any private space at home. Jun’s parents divorced when she was small, and she lives with her mother and little brother. She tells her mother she’s been studying at a friend’s house, and as long as she gets home by midnight no questions are asked.
    “Hello? Oh, hi, Kenji.” I felt another wave of relief just hearing her voice, which is pretty low and husky for a sixteen-year-old girl.
    “Hi. What’re you doing?”
    “Just listening to the radio.”
    Jun’s mother works in the sales department of an insurance company, and I know Jun loves her a lot and appreciates everything she’s done for her. The apartment the three of them share in Takaido has only two rooms and akitchen, but with her mother working late every night just to make ends meet, Jun can hardly suggest they move to a bigger place. I met Jun in Kabuki-cho. She wasn’t selling it, but she was doing some compensated dating in those days. Going with middle-aged guys to