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to buy that, now, are they?ā€

I shook my head.

ā€œThere are actually a couple of people I donā€™t like at all. Guys who really piss me off. My dadā€™s one of them. But when Iā€™m lucid Iā€™m not about to bash my dad on the head with a hammer, am I? Iā€™m able to control myself. But when my memory cuts out, I have no clue what Iā€™m doing.ā€

I inclined my head a fraction, withholding any opinion.

ā€œThe doctor said thereā€™s no danger of that happening. Itā€™s not like, while my memoryā€™s gone, somebody hijacks my personality. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Iā€™m always myself. Even when my memory cuts out, I act like I usually do. Itā€™s just that the recorded part skips from the middle of the second movement to the middle of the third. So itā€™s impossible that during that interval I take out a hammer and smash somebodyā€™s head. Iā€™m always able to control who I am, and act normally for the most part. Mozart doesnā€™t suddenly transform into Stravinsky. Mozart remains Mozartā€”itā€™s just that one part disappears into a drawer somewhere.ā€

He clammed up at this point and took a sip from his biplane coffee cup. I was wishing I could have some coffee myself.

ā€œAt least, thatā€™s what the doctor told me. But you gotta take what doctors tell you with a grain of salt. When I was in high school it scared the crap out of me, thinking I might, when I didnā€™t know what I was doing, bash one of my classmates on the head with a hammer. I mean, when youā€™re in high school you still donā€™t know who you are, right? Itā€™s like youā€™re living in some pipe underground. Add the pain of memory loss to that and you canā€™t stand it.ā€

I nodded silently. He might be right.

ā€œI pretty much stopped going to school because of all that,ā€ my girlfriendā€™s brother went on. ā€œThe more I thought about it, the more frightened I got, and I couldnā€™t bring myself to go to school. My mom explained the situation to my teacher, and even though I had way too many absences, they made an exception for me and let me graduate. I imagine the school wanted to get rid of a problem student like me as soon as it could. But I didnā€™t go on to college. My grades werenā€™t so bad, and I could have gotten into some kind of college, but I didnā€™t have the confidence to go out. Ever since then, Iā€™ve been loafing around at home. I take the dog for a walk, but otherwise I hardly ever leave the house. These days I donā€™t feel as panicky, or whatever. If things calm down a little more, I think maybe Iā€™ll start going to college.ā€

He was silent then, and so was I. I had no idea what to say. I understood now why my girlfriend never wanted to talk about her brother.

ā€œThank you for reading that story to me,ā€ he said. ā€œā€‰ā€˜Spinning Gearsā€™ is pretty good. A dark story, for sure, but some of the writing really got to me. You sure you donā€™t want any coffee? Itā€™ll just take a minute.ā€

ā€œNo, Iā€™m fine, really. Iā€™d better be going soon.ā€

He glanced again at the clock on the wall. ā€œWhy donā€™t you wait till twelve-thirty, and if nobodyā€™s back by then you can leave. Iā€™ll be in my room upstairs, so you can see yourself out. No need to worry about me.ā€

I nodded.

ā€œIs it interesting, going out with Sayoko?ā€ my girlfriendā€™s brother asked me one more time.

I nodded. ā€œItā€™s interesting.ā€

ā€œWhat part?ā€

ā€œHow thereā€™s so much about her I donā€™t know,ā€ I replied. A very honest answer, I think.

ā€œHmm,ā€ he said, mulling it over. ā€œNow that you mention it, I can see that. Sheā€™s my kid sister, blood related, the same genes and all, and weā€™ve been living together under the same roof since she was born, but there are still tons of things I donā€™t understand about her. I donā€™t get herā€”how should I put it? What makes her tick? So Iā€™d like it if you could understand those things for me. Though there may be things itā€™s best not to try to figure out.ā€

Coffee cup in hand, he rose from the armchair.

ā€œAnyway, give it your best shot,ā€ my girlfriendā€™s brother said. He fluttered his free hand at me and left the room.

ā€œThanks,ā€ I said.

At twelve-thirty, there was still no sign of anyone returning, so I went alone to the front door, slipped on my sneakers, and left. I walked past the pine forest to the station, jumped on the train, and went home. It was an oddly still and quiet Sunday autumn afternoon.

I got a call from my girlfriend after two p.m. ā€œYou were supposed to come next Sunday,ā€ she said. I wasnā€™t totally convinced, but she was so clear about it that she was probably right. I must have messed up the days. I meekly apologized for going to her place a whole week early.

I didnā€™t mention that while I was waiting for her to come home her brother and I had a conversationā€”maybe conversation wasnā€™t the right word, since I basically just listened to him. I figured it was probably best not to say that Iā€™d read RyuĖ‰nosuke Akutagawaā€™s ā€œSpinning Gearsā€ to him, and that he had revealed to me that he had an illness with memory lapses. I had a kind of hunch, too, that he hadnā€™t told my girlfriend anything about it. And if he hadnā€™t, there wasnā€™t any reason for me to.

Eighteen years later, I met her brother again. It was the middle of October. I was thirty-five then, living in Tokyo with my wife. After I graduated from college in Tokyo, I settled there. My work kept me busy, and I hardly ever went back to Kobe.

It was late afternoon, and I was walking up a hill in Shibuya to pick up a watch that was being repaired. I was heading along, lost in thought,

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