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his house and take a look. In the end, I didn’t accept his father’s job. My own father wanted me to spend more time on my studies. But soon afterward, Kenzo began to speak to me at school and we became good friends.”
    “Is that the same time you met Sachi- san ?” I asked.
    Matsu shook his head. “Sachi was already the best friend of my imto, Tomoko. They were very popular. Most of the time they were off whispering and laughing, never paying much attention to me. It must have been hard for anyone to believe that Tomoko and I were from the same ryshin.”
    “I guess you were the strong, silent type,” I teased.
    “I was invisible to them,” Matsu said, softly.
    I looked down and didn’t know what to say. “Kenzo- san seems very nice,” I finally said.
    “Kenzo was smarter than all of us. He should have gone off to the city like the others. He would be a rich man by now if he had.”
    “Why didn’t he leave?”
    Matsu coughed and rubbed his cheek again. “As far back as I can remember, Kenzo’s father was always sickly. Being the only son, he felt it his responsibility to care for his mother when his father finally died. We were about seventeen at the time.”
    I was about to ask Matsu why he hadn’t left Tarumi, when the
panels of blue cloth parted and Kenzo returned carrying a tray. He placed it on the table and carefully distributed a bowl of rice crackers, a large brown bottle of beer for Matsu, and a pinkish colored cold drink for me.
    “Dmo, Kenzo,” Matsu said, with a nod of his head. Then Matsu gestured for him to take the seat next to me.
    Kenzo took the towel from his shoulder and wiped up the water beading on the table. He leaned over and arranged the bowl of rice crackers so that it was exactly in the middle of the table. When he slipped into the chair next to mine, he brought with him the oily smell of cooking, mixed with tobacco smoke.
    Matsu had already poured out his beer, quick to drink down half a glass in one large swallow.
    Kenzo pointed to the glass in front of me. “Dzo,” he said, watching me.
    I smiled and bowed my head. The glass felt wet and cold in my hand as I sipped the pinkish drink. It tasted sweet and flowery. “It’s good,” I said, politely.
    Kenzo smiled and turned to Matsu. “You see, the young man has good taste!”
    Matsu laughed. “What do you expect, he’s just trying to be polite.”
    “It’s good,” I said again, not quite understanding what was going on between them.
    “You see, not everyone agrees with what the mighty Matsu- san thinks!” Kenzo said.
    Then, before anything else was said, both Matsu and Kenzo burst into laughter.
    “Kenzo has been trying to get someone to like that drink of his for the last twenty-five years,” Matsu explained. “He has tried everyone in Tarumi, with no luck.”
    “Don’t listen to him,” Kenzo said, as he wiped away a new water mark left by Matsu’s bottle of beer. “He has always been jealous of me.”
    “He’s crazy,” Matsu laughed, lifting his thick fingers to the side of his head.
    I took another swallow of the too-sweet drink. Each sip let me know something new; it tasted more and more like flowers, with a strong scent of roses.
    “What’s in it?” I asked Kenzo.
    But it was Matsu who laughed and answered, “It’s his secret recipe that no one wants.”
    Kenzo made a growling sound in his throat, but didn’t say anything.
    In the dim tearoom, I once again saw Matsu as if for the first time, like someone I didn’t know, light and playful. I imagined they knew each other’s every move. Matsu was always the one who made the water marks, while Kenzo dutifully wiped them up.
    I listened while their low, rough voices filled the open room.
    “Did you hear our troops have captured Soochow? Muramoto- san just came to tell me the news,” said Kenzo. “Shanghai is as good as taken!”
    Matsu looked over at me and then answered abruptly, “In times of war, there are always rumors.”
    My heart sank