The Miracles of the Namiya General Store Page 2

  I haven’t told anyone the specifics of his illness. We’re planning to get married once the games are over, but neither of our families knows yet.

  I’m really at a loss for what to do. I’ve just been going through the motions. If I try to practice, I can’t focus. I obviously don’t perform well. I keep coming back to the idea that I may as well quit training altogether, but when I imagine the pain it will bring him, I know I could never go through with it.

  As I was struggling on my own with these thoughts, I heard some rumors going around about the Namiya General Store. I know my chances are slim, but I’m writing on the off chance that you might be able to help me figure things out.

  I’ve enclosed an envelope for your response. Please help me if you can.

  —Moon Rabbit

  2

  Upon finishing the letter, the three guys looked at one another.

  “What the hell?” The first to speak was Shota. “Why’d she chuck this in the mail slot?”

  “She doesn’t know what to do,” offered Kohei. “Says so right there.”

  “I can read,” Shota said. “What I wanna know is what would possess her to write a letter asking for advice to a general store? An abandoned store, at that.”

  “Don’t look at me. I don’t have the answers.”

  “I’m not asking you, just thinking out loud. I mean, come on, what the hell?”

  Atsuya stayed out of their conversation as he peeked inside the envelope. There was a return envelope folded up inside, with Moon Rabbit written in black marker in place of an address.

  “What’s this all about?” he finally asked. “I don’t think this is some elaborate joke. She’s actually asking for help. For a pretty serious problem, too.”

  “She probably got the wrong store,” Shota guessed. “I bet there’s another one that gives out advice, and she mixed up their names. Yeah, that’s my guess.”

  Atsuya grabbed the flashlight and stood up. “I’ll go check.”

  He went out through the back door and around to the front of the store, where he lit up the dirty sign.

  He squinted. The chipped paint made the characters hard to read, but he was fairly certain it said NAMIYA in front of the words GENERAL STORE.

  Back inside, he told the others.

  “Guess she was right.” Shota shook his head. “But why would you expect a response from some deserted shop?”

  “Maybe she got the wrong Namiya,” postulated Kohei. “Maybe the right Namiya is somewhere else, but since the names are the same, she came here by mistake.”

  “No way. You can barely read that sign. She had to know what she was looking for. Hey, wait a second.” Atsuya picked up the magazine again. “I feel like I just saw this somewhere.”

  “Saw what?” asked Shota.

  “The name Namiya. I think it was somewhere in here.”

  “Huh?”

  Atsuya flipped to the table of contents and skimmed the page. He found the spot in no time: “The General Store That Answers Your Woes.”

  “It’s a pun,” he said. “Namiya and nayami, the Japanese word for problems, woes, whatever.”

  He opened to the page.

  This neighborhood store has developed a reputation for being fully stocked with answers to life’s toughest questions.

  If you come by the Namiya General Store in XX city after hours and slip a letter through the mail slot in their shutter, an answer will be waiting for you in the milk crate around back in the morning.

  The owner, Yuji Namiya, a cheerful man of seventy-two, gave us the backstory:

  “It started off as a joke with some neighborhood kids. They kept mispronouncing the store name, ‘nayami, nayami,’ as in ‘problems, problems.’ There’s a line on my sign that says, ‘Need to Place an Order? Inquire Within.’ So these kids started coming by and asking, ‘Hey, Gramps, can we inquire about some of our problems?’ I said, “Sure. Ask me anything.” And what do you know, they actually started coming by with questions.

  “At first, they were fooling around. ‘How can I get straight As without studying?’ and other stuff like that. But when I took their questions seriously and tried coming up with actual solutions, the questions got more and more personal. ‘How come Mom and Dad never stop fighting?’ That sorta thing. For the sake of their privacy, I decided to have them drop their questions through the mail slot and pick up my answers in the milk bin. That’s when adults started leaving letters, too. I don’t know why anyone would want advice from some boring old geezer like me, but I do my best to think each problem through and come up with an appropriate solution.”

  When asked what kind of questions he gets the most, Namiya said romance is the most popular topic.

  “But for me, they’re the hardest ones to answer.” Maybe that makes the whole process a problem of its own.

  The article included a small photograph, an interior shot of the shop. A small old man was standing in the foreground.

  “This magazine wasn’t left behind on accident. They saved it ’cause they’re in it. But—I’m surprised,” Atsuya whispered. “A general store that gives advice? And people are still coming here with questions? I mean, it’s been forty years.” He looked at the letter from Moon Rabbit.

  Shota picked up the pages. “She says she heard the rumors about the Namiya General Store. Sounds like she only found out recently. In which case, it’s still a thing.”

  Atsuya crossed his arms. “Yeah, I guess so. Hard to believe.”

  “She must have heard about it from some old fart who’s going senile,” ventured Kohei. “Someone who has no idea what happened to the store but told this Moon Rabbit to come here for advice.”

  “Nah, no way. Even if that was the case, she’d realize something was up the second she saw the place. It’s obvious the building has been abandoned for years.”

  “All right, then Moon Rabbit’s the crazy one. All that worrying made her totally neurotic.”

  Atsuya shook his head. “I don’t think this was written by some nutjob.”

  “Okay, fine. Let’s hear your theory, then.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out, okay?”

  “Or maybe,” Shota suddenly said, “it’s still happening.”

  Atsuya looked at him. “What is?”

  “This whole advice thing. Here.”

  “Here? Explain.”

  “Meaning someone’s still answering letters, even if no one lives here anymore. The old man could live somewhere else. Maybe he comes by every now and then to pick up letters and leave his answers in the box. Then it’d all make sense.”

  “Logically, sure. But you’re assuming this old guy’s still alive. He’d have to be at least a hundred and ten by now.”

  “Maybe he’s passed down the business.”

  “Still no sign that anyone’s been coming by.”

  “That’s because they don’t need to come inside. They can pick up the letters by lifting the shutter.”

  Shota’s theory was plausible. The three guys trudged out into the storefront to investigate. The shutter was welded shut from the inside, impossible to open up.

  “Shit,” cursed Shota. “How the hell is this happening?”

  They returned to the tatami room. Atsuya gave the letter from Moon Rabbit a closer read.

  “What do we do?” Shota asked Atsuya.

  “Eh, just don’t worry about it. We’re out of here first thing tomorrow anyway.” Atsuya put the letter back in its envelope and dropped it onto the tatami floor.

  For a moment, it was quiet. They could hear the wind whistling outside. The candlelight ducked and shivered.

  “Well, what’s she gonna do?” Kohei whispered suddenly.

  “About what?” asked Atsuya.

  “You know, the Olympics. Is she gonna quit or what?”

  “Who knows.” He shook his head.

  “She can’t do that,” said Shota. “Right? I mean, her boyfriend’s dream is to see her in the games.”

 
; “But the man she loves is gonna die,” argued Kohei, in a harder voice than usual. “How’s she supposed to practice at a time like this? It’s better for them to be together. I’m sure that’s what her boyfriend really wants.”

  “I’m not so sure. He’s fighting to stay alive so he can see her perform at her peak. Even if he doesn’t make it past that day. If she just up and quits, he’ll lose his reason to live.”

  “But look, it says right here she can’t keep her head straight. How’s she gonna make it to the Olympics? She can’t make his wish come true because they’re apart. It’s a lose-lose situation, I’d say.”

  “That’s why she has to practice like she’s the one running out of time. There’s no time for getting worried. For both of their sakes, she’s got no choice but to train like crazy and land that spot on the Olympic team.”

  “I dunno,” Kohei said with a grimace. “I could never do that.”

  “Nobody’s asking you. We’re talking about Moon Rabbit.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t tell someone to do something I wouldn’t do myself. What about you, Shota? Could you do that?”

  Kohei’s question disarmed Shota. Instead of answering, he made a sulky face at Atsuya and asked, “What about you?”

  Atsuya looked them each square in the eye. “Why the hell are you two taking this seriously? None of this is our problem to worry about.”

  “So what do we do about the letter?” asked Kohei.

  “Do? There’s nothing left to do.”

  “But we need to say something. We can’t just leave it.”

  “What?” Atsuya glared back at Kohei’s big round face. “You planning to write something?”

  Kohei nodded. “I think we should,” he said. “We opened it without permission, after all.”

  “Listen to yourself. No one’s living here. It’s their own fault for leaving a letter at an abandoned shack. Of course no one’s gonna respond. Right, Shota?”

  Shota stroked his chin. “I guess when you put it that way.”

  “Right? Forget about it. Don’t waste your time.”

  Atsuya disappeared out front and came back with a few rolls of paper. He divvied them up.

  “Here, you can sleep on this.”

  “Thanks,” Shota murmured.

  “I appreciate it,” said Kohei.

  Atsuya rolled out his tube and laid himself down gingerly. He closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, but he noticed that the other two hadn’t stirred at all. He opened his eyes and raised his head.

  Shota and Kohei were sitting cross-legged, hugging their bolts of paper.

  “Maybe he could go, too,” whispered Kohei.

  “Who could?” asked Shota.

  “Her boyfriend. The guy who’s sick. He can stay at the dormitory or wherever she’s staying. That way they can be together all the time, and she can practice and play in her events.”

  “That won’t work. This guy’s really sick. He’s only got six months to live.”

  “Doesn’t say anywhere that he can’t walk. You never know. If he could use a wheelchair, why couldn’t he go, too?”

  “If he could do any of that, she wouldn’t need advice. I bet he’s bedridden, or can’t move at all.”

  “You think?”

  “Probably.”

  “Yo!” Atsuya yelled. “How long are you two gonna keep that shit up? I said drop it.”

  The pair shut their mouths and hung their heads for a brief moment.

  Shota’s head shot back up. “I know what you’re saying, Atsuya, but I can’t just let it go. Ms. Rabbit seems real worried. I want to do something to help.”

  Atsuya snorted and sat all the way up. “You? Do something? Gimme a break. What could any of us possibly do? No money, no education, no connections. The most we can ever hope to be is small-time crooks, breaking into some abandoned houses and shit, and we can’t even do that right. Just when we steal stuff with value for once, our getaway car breaks down, and we end up sleeping in this pigpen. Who the hell are we to give other people any kind of advice?”

  Atsuya’s diatribe made Shota look down again.

  “Just go to bed,” Atsuya said. “In the morning, the streets will be stuffed with commuters. We’ll blend into the crowd and make our getaway.” With that, he lay back down.

  Shota finally began unrolling his tube of paper, but his fingers moved at a crawl.

  “Hey,” said Kohei hesitantly. “Want to write something? Anything.”

  “Write what?” asked Shota.

  “Geez, what do you think? A reply. We can’t just leave things hanging.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Atsuya snapped. “Why are you still hung up on this?”

  “Anything’s better than nothing, I think. I’m sure she’ll be grateful to have someone listen. Who wouldn’t be? I bet she’s having a hard time because she can’t confide in anyone. Even if we can’t give her good advice, the least we can do is say we got her message and we’re rooting for her.”

  “Fine,” Atsuya spat. “Do whatever you want. Man, how stupid can you be?”

  Kohei stood up. “Is there anything we can use?”

  “I think I saw some stationery over there,” Shota said.

  The two of them went out front, puttered around for a while, and stepped back into the tatami room.

  “Find anything?” Atsuya asked when they returned.

  “Yeah,” answered Kohei. “All the markers were dried up, but we found a pen that works. Some paper, too.” Looking thrilled, he went into the kitchen, set the pen and paper on the table, and pulled up a seat. “Okay! What should we say?”

  “Didn’t you just say it? ‘We got your message; we’re rooting for you.’ Write that.”

  “I dunno—isn’t that a little blunt?”

  Atsuya clicked his tongue. “Suit yourself.”

  “How about what you said earlier?” asked Shota. “The idea of getting her boyfriend to come with her.”

  “Weren’t you the one who said she wouldn’t need to ask us for advice if she could do that?”

  “Yeah, but maybe we should check, just in case.”

  Kohei picked up the pen, but he looked over at Atsuya and Shota instead of writing. “What’s the best way to start a letter?”

  “Oh yeah, the salutation or whatever,” said Shota. “You could say ‘Dear Ms. Rabbit.’ Or maybe ‘Greetings, Ms. Rabbit.’ Honestly, though, I don’t think you really need to. She didn’t say anything like that, right? Just pretend you’re sending her a text.”

  “Like a text. Got it. Okay. ‘We read your text’— I mean, er, letter, right? ‘We…read…your…letter…’”

  “You don’t need to read it aloud,” advised Shota.

  Atsuya could make out every stroke Kohei executed with the pen. He was really bearing down.

  A few minutes later, Kohei announced “Done” and brought the piece of paper to the tatami.

  Shota had a look. “You’ve got some really ugly handwriting.”

  Atsuya glanced over from beside him. It really was a mess. Plus everything was in lowercase.

  thanks for the letter. it sounds like things are tough. i can see why you would be upset. i was thinking you could bring your boyfriend with you when you go away? sorry i couldn’t think of something better.

  “Good?” asked Kohei.

  “Yeah, that’s fine,” Shota confirmed. “Right?”

  “Whatever,” Atsuya said.

  Kohei neatly folded up their letter and slipped it into the return envelope that Moon Rabbit had prepared for them. “I’ll go drop it in the bin,” he announced and went out back.

  Atsuya heaved a sigh. “What the hell is he thinking, giving advice to a person he’s never even met? And you, Shota, why the hell are you going along with this?”

  “Lay off. Why shouldn’t we be able to do this once in a while?”

  “‘Once in a while’? What the hell does that mean?”

  “When was the last time someone came to us looking for advice? Oh
, that’s right, never. And it won’t ever happen again. This is our first and only chance. We may as well take it, just this once.”

  Atsuya exhaled sharply through his nose. “Don’t forget who you are.”

  Kohei came back. “The lid of the bin was shut super-tight. Whew! Must not have been used for a pretty long time.”

  “No shit. It’s not like the milkman is gonna…” Atsuya cut himself off. “Hey, Kohei, where are your gloves?”

  “My gloves? Right there.” He pointed at the table.

  “When did you take them off?”

  “When I was writing the letter. I mean, with gloves on, it’s really hard to—”

  “You jackass.” Atsuya stood up. “The paper’s probably covered with your fingerprints.”

  “Fingerprints? What did I do wrong?”

  Atsuya was ready to smack Kohei upside his clueless fat face. “Eventually, the cops are going to figure we were hiding out here. What happens if this ‘Moon Rabbit’ lady or whatever doesn’t come to collect our response? When they process the fingerprints, you’re done. They have your prints already, right? From that speeding ticket.”

  “Oh… You’re right.”

  “That’s why I’ve been telling you to leave this crap alone.”

  Atsuya snatched the flashlight and strode across the kitchen and out the back door.

  The lid of the milk bin was shut tight. Super-tight, like Kohei had said, but he managed to yank it open.

  He scanned around inside with the flashlight, but there was nothing there.

  He poked his head inside the back door and yelled, “Hey, Kohei, where’d you put it?”

  Kohei came over, pulling on his gloves. “What do you mean, where? In the bin.”

  “It’s not there.”

  “Huh? No way.”

  “Maybe you thought you got it in there, but it slipped out.”

  “No way! I’m positive.”

  “Where’d it go, then?”

  “Dunno.” As Kohei cocked his head to the side, footsteps scrambled to the back door. Out came Shota.

  “What?” Atsuya asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I heard something out front, so I went and checked, and underneath that little slot, I found this.” Shota held out another envelope. His face was pale.