Goodbye Tsugumi
Banana Yoshimoto
Language: English
Pages: 186
ISBN: 0802139914
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
simply because I'd turned it in one minute late, and as I was walking back home, shaking with rage, glaring at the sunset, it suddenly occurred to me that there was another reason. It's Tsuaumi'sfault-or rather, it's thanks to Tsuaumi. Everyone gets annoyed about something at least once a day, me included. But I noticed that there was something I did when ever this happened to me-that there was a sentence I would start chanting over and over deep down inside, like a sort of Buddhist chant,
as close as your average cousins are. "Yeah, I'm studying all right." "Your old man isn't having a fling with some girlie, is he? They say that when stuff like that happens twice it'll happen a third . " time, you know. "Sorry to disappoint you, but he's not." "No? Well anyway, I think the old hag on this end is gonna give your rna some kind of formal notification later on, but the word is that we're closing down the inn next spring." "What! You mean it'll be gone?" I cried, startled. "You got
a little different. His gaze was strangely deep, and there was a light in them that made it seem as if he knew something huge, something extremely important. Perhaps you could say that, unlike the rest of him, his eyes were old. He strode over to where I was still sitting, right in the middle of the storm of barking that had marked the renewal of hostili ties between Pooch and Gongoro. The latter was jumping around like crazy, making an awful racket. Even so, Kyoichi scooped him up lightly and
book Heidi we read when we were kids? I'd feel kinda like that friend of hers with the bad leg." Tsugumi chuckled sheepishly. "Literary classics seems to be the topic of the day." I laughed. Just then, I spotted a familiar-looking dog trotting along the road that passes by the front of the inn. I shouted. "Oh my God! That was what's-his-name! Gonnosuke ! . . . no, that's not right . . . That dog from the other day!" Tsugumi leaned out over the railing. "It's Gongoro! " she cried. Then, in a
overlapping brilliance. In this season each tiny glimpse I get of the ocean calls up an ache so tender it's like having ropes bound around my heart, cutting into the flesh. But this year the pain stabbed at me more ferociously than I would ever have expected. Without even realizing it was happening, this farewell of theirs had me pressing my fingers to my temples, kicking scraps of bait that lay scattered on the pave ment at my feet down into the water, fighting to hold back tears. Because even