Hear The Wind Sing Part 4

...man, that's good...

...nah, I'm good. Just feel like I've gotta hiccup. You worry too much, yeah, you too...

...hey, what's happening with the baseball game? ...are they broadcasting it on another station?...

...hey, wait just a second! You're telling me that in this whole radio station we don't have a single radio?

That should be a crime...

...nah, I heard it. We should drink a beer to that sometime soon. Ice-cold...

...ah, s.h.i.+t, I can feel one coming on...

...*hiccup*...

12

At 7:15 the phone rang.

It happened while I was lying on a wicker chair in the living room, in the midst of gobbling down cheese crackers.

"Hey, good evening! This is Radio NEB's Pop Music Requests. Are you listening to the radio?"

Inside my mouth, the confusion of the moment sent the beer and the remnants of a cheese cracker down my throat.

"The radio?"

"Yeah, the radio. The machine representing the c.u.mulative efforts of...*ahem*... civilization as we know it. More advanced than the electric vacuum cleaner, smaller than a refrigerator, cheaper than a television. What were you doing?"

"Reading a book."

"Tsk tsk, that's no good. You've gotta listen to the radio. Reading books just makes you lonely, don't you think?"

"Yeah."

"Books, those're things you read with one hand to kill time while you're spaghetti's boiling. You got that?"

"Yeah."

"Great...*hiccup*...now that that's straightened out, we can talk. You ever talked to a radio announcer who can't stop hiccupping?"

"Nope."

"Well, we're breaking new ground. It's a first for our listeners at home as well. Anyway, do you have any idea why I called you during a live broadcast?"

"Nope."

"Well, to tell you the truth, there's this girl...*hiccup*...who requested a song for you. Do you know who that could be?"

"Nope."

"She requested the Beach Boys song California Girls, we remember that one, don't we? Got a guess who she might be?"

I thought it over for a moment, then told him I had no idea.

"Yeah...well, that's a problem, then. If you can guess who she is, you'll get a special-edition T-s.h.i.+rt sent to you, so think hard!"

I thought it over once more. I had an idea, but I felt as if there were something stuck, blocking me from getting to the nook in my brain where the memory was stored.

"California Girls...Beach Boys...does that ring a bell?"

"When you put it that way, there was this girl in my cla.s.s five years ago who let me borrow that record."

"Tell us more."

"Well, we were on a field trip and this girl's contact lens fell out and I helped her look for it, so as a reward she let me borrow that record."

"A contact lens, huh? Hmm. Anyway, you gave the record back to her, right?"

"Nope, I lost it."

"That's no good. Even if you had to buy a new one, you should've returned it. A girl lends you something...*hiccup*...you return it, understand?"

"Yes."

"Great! So the girl from five years ago who lost her contact lens on a field trip, she's definitely listening, yeah? So...uh...what's her name?"

I told him the name I'd finally remembered.

"Well, it looks like he's going to be buying a copy of that record and returning it to you. Great! ...anyway, how old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"That's a good age. You a student?"

"Yes."

"...*hiccup*..."

"Hm?"

"What's your major?"

"Biology."

"Mm...you like animals?"

"What do you like about them?"

"That they don't laugh."

"Hm? Animals don't laugh?"

"Horses and dogs laugh a little."

"Wow, when?"

"When they're having a good time."

For the first time in years, I felt myself getting angry.

"Well...*hiccup*...maybe we'll start seeing more canine comedians."

"You mean you're not one of those?"

"Hahahaha!"

13

California Girls Well East Coast girls are hip I really dig those styles they wear And the southern girls with the way they talk They knock me out when I'm down there The mid-west farmers' daughters really make you feel alright And the northern girls with the way they kiss They keep their boyfriends warm at night I wish they all could be California I wish they all could be California girls

14

The T-s.h.i.+rt came in the mail three days later, in the morning.

It looked like this: (ebook editor's note: image not available) 15

15

The next morning, I put on that brand-new, scratchy s.h.i.+rt and wandered around the harbor for a while, when my eyes fell upon a tiny record shop with the door open. There weren't any customers to speak of, just a girl sitting at the counter looking bored as she went over the receipts while drinking a soda. I stared at the record shelves for a while before I came to a realization about the girl behind the counter: she was the girl from the week before, the one with the missing finger who was pa.s.sed out in the bathroom. I said hey. She looked a little surprised when she saw me, looked at my T-s.h.i.+rt, then drank the rest of her soda.

"How'd you find out I work here?" she said, sounding irritated.

"Just a coincidence. I came to buy a record."

"Which one?"

"A Beach Boys alb.u.m with California Girls on it."

Looking deeply suspicious of me, she got up and took long strides over to the record shelf, then brought it over to me like a well-trained dog.

"How about this one?"

I nodded, looking around the store with my hands in my pockets.

"I also want Beethoven's Piano Concerto No. 3."

She was silent this time, coming back holding two records.

"We've got Glenn Gould and Backhaus, which one do you want?"

"Glenn Gould."

She set one record on the counter, then took the other one back to the shelf.

"What else?"

"A Miles Davis alb.u.m with Girl in Calico."

She took a little longer this time, but finally returned with the record.

"And?"

"That's it. Thanks."

She lined up the three records on the counter.

"You're gonna to listen to all of these?"

"Nah, they're presents."

"You're a generous guy."

"Seems that way."

She shrugged her shoulders uneasily, five thousand five hundred and fifty yen, she said. I paid her and took the records.

"Well, anyway, thanks to you, I was able to sell three records before lunch."

"That's great."

She sighed and sat in the seat behind the counter, starting to look through her pile of receipts.