The sun continues to shine brightly.
"Nothing," he says to himself. "Next time. If I see it again. Maybe I really did imagine it."
He walks back towards his own entrance. His sneakers scuff against the asphalt. His thoughts are jumbled, now about that window, now about insomnia, now about his mother, who will come back in the evening and ask why he looks so pale.
He approaches the door. Takes out his keys.
And freezes.
Two people are standing by the door to his apartment.
Takamura.
And some guy.
Genzo blinks, rubs his eyes, is he hallucinating again? No, they're real. Standing, waiting.
Takamura, in a black jacket over a white blouse, with a bag over her shoulder. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail. Her thin-rimmed glasses glint in the morning sun. She looks fresh, as if she's slept well, although Genzo knows she often doesn't sleep at night either.
And next to her, a guy.
Tall. Very tall, almost two meters. And thin. Narrow shoulders. Thin legs, prominent cheekbones, a sharp chin. His eyes are big, dark, lively, quick, they dart around, noticing everything. His hair is dark brown. He's dressed in a light T-shirt, ripped jeans with holes at the knees.
The guy, seeing Genzo, literally lights up.
His eyes sparkle like light bulbs. His mouth stretches into a huge smile, from ear to ear, with dimples on his cheeks. His whole thin figure begins to glow with joy, like a Christmas tree.
"You!" he exclaims. His voice is high, ringing, somewhat childish, although he looks about twenty, at least. He sounds as if he's ready to burst out laughing or crying at any second from an excess of emotion. "You're Genzo."
He takes a step forward, then another, a quick, almost running step, and ends up right in front of Genzo. He smells of cheap shampoo and a bit of sweat, but not unpleasant, just human.
"I've been waiting so long," he continues. "I've wanted to meet you so much. I've heard so much about you."
Genzo doesn't have time to say anything.
The guy rushes to him and hugs him.
He hugs him tightly, like family, pats him on the back, pulls him close, even though they're complete strangers. His thin arms squeeze with unexpected force, Genzo feels his shoulder blades being pressed together.
"Hey..." Genzo exhales, freezing like a statue. "Who... who are you?"
The guy lets him go, steps back, still smiling. Adjusts his T-shirt, even though it was already hanging loose.
"Oh, right!" He slaps his forehead, loudly, so that Genzo hears the smack. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Sua. My name is Sua. I'm... well... a friend of Takamura's. And now I'm your friend too." He looks at Genzo with hope. "If you don't mind, of course. If you do mind, I... well... I'll still consider you a friend, but I'll do it quietly so you don't hear."
Genzo blinks. Shifts his gaze to Takamura.
She stands with her arms crossed over her chest, smiling, not widely, with the corners of her lips, but warmly. Nods, as if to say: "It's okay. He's like that."
"Sua," Takamura pauses, choosing her words. "He's harmless. Really. Too loud and too... emotional. But good."
"Harmless?" Sua pouts his lips offendedly, but his eyes are still laughing. "I'm actually a dangerous type. You just don't know. I once... well... I crossed the street on a red light. And nothing happened."
"A dangerous type who's afraid of spiders," Takamura adds casually, adjusting her glasses.
"That's different!" Sua waves his arms so energetically that he almost knocks a flower pot off the railing. "Spiders are... they're biological weapons of nature! They have eight legs! Eight! That's unnatural! No creature with eight legs can be safe."
Genzo watches this circus and suddenly feels the corners of his lips lift on their own. Not that he smiled, no, rather something warm stirred in his chest, where it's usually cold.
"Nice to meet you, Sua," he says, extending his hand.
Sua looks at his hand, then at his face, then back at his hand, and shakes it with both of his. His two long palms wrap around Genzo's, shaking energetically, as if pumping water.
"Very! Very nice! You have no idea how nice it is! Takamura told me so much about you. Well... a little." He lets go of the hand and folds his fingers. "She said you're strong. And that you're honest. And that you're not afraid. And that you fight. And that you have..." He stops, looks at Takamura, who shakes her head negatively. "Well, it doesn't matter. The main thing is, you're cool."
Genzo runs his hand over his face, not because he's tired (although he is), but because he doesn't know how to react to such a flood of enthusiasm.
"Thanks," he says. "But I'm... ordinary."
"Ordinary people don't win illegal fights," Sua parries, raising his index finger. "Ordinary people don't break the jaws of those who bother them. Ordinary people don't..." He stops again, catches Takamura's gaze. "Okay, I'll shut up now, or I'll say too much."
Takamura sighs, but without irritation.
"We didn't come just to chat," she says, shifting her gaze to Genzo. "I wanted to check on you. You weren't answering calls. We were worried."
Genzo pats his pocket, his phone is there, on silent.
"Sorry, I forgot to turn on the sound. And anyway... the night was rough. I didn't sleep."
"I can see that," Takamura looks at his face, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. "You look like a zombie."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"Don't mention it. Will you invite us in? Or are we going to stand in the hallway?"
Genzo snaps out of it, takes out his keys.
"Yeah, come in. Just, it's a mess. Warning you."
"We're not picky," Takamura says and enters first, carefully stepping over the threshold.
Sua follows, and immediately nearly trips over the doormat because his long legs don't obey him. He grabs the doorframe, balances for a second, then straightens up and looks around the entrance.
The apartment is small, even tiny. An entrance hall cluttered with shoes, sneakers, trainers, winter boots that nobody puts away. In the corner,a broken, dusty umbrella. A coat rack with two jackets, one Genzo's, one his mother's.
"Cozy," Sua says, and it sounds sincere. There's not a hint of mockery in his eyes, only interest. "A homey atmosphere. You can feel that people live here, not just sleep here."
Genzo leads them into the room. The kitchen is combined with the living room, small, but has everything: a refrigerator, two burners, a sink, a table for three. A TV , old, with a cathode-ray tube, takes up half the nightstand. A sofa, which Genzo sleeps on, because the bed is small and old, sagging. On the walls, posters of bands that nobody listens to anymore, some magazine clippings, a calendar from last year.
On the chairs, socks, magazines, empty water bottles.
"Sorry for the mess," Genzo sweeps the things off the chairs, throws them onto the bed. "Sit down."
Takamura sits on a chair by the table, puts her bag on her lap. Sua plops down onto the sofa, it sinks under him, the springs creak. He bounces once, testing it, and smiles.
"Good sofa. It's got character."
"Twenty years in the family," Genzo replies. "Just like me."
He goes to the kitchen and puts the kettle on.
"Tea? Coffee? I also have instant coffee and some cookies."
"Tea, please," Takamura takes off her glasses, wipes them with the edge of her blouse. "And don't worry, we won't stay long."
"We'll stay forever," Sua jokes, but immediately corrects himself: "No, we won't stay long. Just a couple of hours. Or three. However long you can stand us."
Genzo pours the boiling water into the mugs. His hands tremble slightly, the insomnia taking its toll. He puts the mugs on the table, takes out a pack of cookies from the cupboard, oatmeal, in a yellow package, already opened but not yet stale.
Sua takes the mug, warms his palms, takes a careful sip, and closes his eyes in pleasure.
"Good tea," he says. "Strong. Just how I like it."
"Cheap," Genzo admits honestly. "But hot."
"That's what matters."
Takamura takes a small sip, puts the mug down on the table.
"Genzo," she says, looking at him over her glasses, she's already put them back on. "Are you okay? Not in the 'how are you' sense, but in the... real sense. You look exhausted."
Genzo sits down opposite, leans back in his chair.
"I can't sleep. For days now. Three? Four? I've lost count."
"Insomnia?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Genzo shrugs. He doesn't want to talk about the window, it sounds insane. He doesn't want to talk about the fights, Takamura already knows about them. He doesn't want to talk about his father and mother, too personal.
"It's just... my head won't switch off," he says. "Thinking about all sorts of things. About nothing. All the time."
Sua, who had been happily crunching on cookies, suddenly becomes serious. He puts down his mug and looks at Genzo with a long, steady gaze.
"I can't sleep sometimes either," he says quietly. "I think. About what was. What can't be brought back. About people who are gone. About whether I did the right thing."
"And what do you do?" asks Genzo.
"I watch TV. Or go outside. Or just sit and listen to the silence. Silence speaks too, if you know how to listen."
Genzo nods. Not because he agrees, but because he doesn't know what to answer.
Sua smiles again, wide, open, like a child who's been given a puppy.
"And I also eat sunflower seeds," he says, pulling a transparent bag of black seeds from his jeans pocket. "It's my cure for all sicknesses. Want some? Help yourself."
"Don't mind if I do," Genzo holds out his hand.
Sua pours a handful into his palm. Genzo takes one seed, cracks it with his teeth, his tongue finds the kernel. Old, familiar, from childhood.
"Thanks."
"Anytime," Sua leans back on the sofa, crosses one leg over the other, but his legs are so long they don't fit, so he just stretches them out in front of him, almost reaching the table. "You know, Genzo, life is like sunflower seeds. First you have to crack the shell. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes you might break a tooth. But inside, there's always something good. Even if it's small. Even if it's a little bitter. But it's there."
Genzo looks at him. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't feel like closing his eyes and falling asleep, but just... listening. Just sitting and listening to this strange, lanky, thin guy who talks about seeds as if it were philosophy.
"You're a poet, Sua," says Genzo.
"No," Sua shakes his head. "I just survived. And those who survive always appreciate the small things more."
Takamura, meanwhile, is blinking more and more slowly. Her head tilts to the side, her eyes close, her fingers loosen on the mug. She tries to fight it, takes a sip, then another, but her eyelids grow heavy.
"Takamura, are you asleep?" asks Sua, not raising his voice.
"No," she replies. Her voice is sleepy, slurred. "I'm just... processing information. It's faster this way."
"Yeah," Sua nods. "Process, process."
A minute later, Takamura is asleep. Really asleep, vulnerable, childlike, her head resting on her arms folded on the table. Her glasses have slipped to one side, her hair has fallen over her forearms. She breathes evenly and quietly.
Sua looks at her with a tenderness written all over his face. He covers her shoulders with his light cardigan, takes it off, remaining in just a T-shirt.
"She's tired," he whispers to Genzo. "She's barely slept this past week. She's working on a tough case. About a girl who... well, you know. Things like that wear you out more than fights."
"I understand," Genzo nods.
Sua turns on the TV, quietly, barely audible, almost at zero volume. Some old black-and-white movie is playing on one of the channels. The actors open their mouths, say something, but there's almost no sound, just the whisper of voices, like a distant surf. Sua pours some seeds into his palm, cracks them, crack, crack, crack, and stares at the screen with eyes that see something else, not the picture.
Genzo lies down on the bed, his narrow, sagging bed, with a pillow whose stuffing is coming out. He puts his hands behind his head, stares at the ceiling.
The thought of the window won't let him go.
Fifth floor. East side. Blinking light. He walked through the building, knocked on doors, looked at the numbers, went up to the seventh floor, went down to the basement. But he never found it.
"Idiot," he whispers at the ceiling. "Imagined it. Overtired. Insomnia. Hallucinations. Soon I'll start talking to the kettle."
But something inside, somewhere in his chest, under his ribs, in that place called the soul, if it even exists, stirs. Anxiety. Or hope. Or just curiosity. Or the fact that he's slept too long at night and now his body has decided that sleep is unnecessary, and that he needs to look for meaning where there is none.
"Next time," he decides. "If I see it again, I'll go. I'll check every building in the neighborhood. Knock on every door. I'll find it."
He rolls onto his side, looks at Sua.
He sits on the sofa, cracking sunflower seeds, moving his lips, he seems to be repeating the actors' lines from the movie. Sometimes he chuckles quietly, sometimes he grows sad. He's not at all like the people Genzo has met in his life. There's no aggression in him, no falseness, no desire to prove anything. He just is. Just sits. Just enjoys the fact that he's sitting here, drinking tea, and watching an old movie.
"Sua," Genzo calls.
"Mm?"
"Thanks for coming."
Sua turns around, smiling so widely his eyes turn into slits.
"Thanks for letting me in."
Genzo closes his eyes.
Sleep doesn't come.
But at least he's not alone.
The room is warm; it smells of tea, oatmeal cookies, and sunflower seeds. Takamura is softly snoring at the table. Sua cracks seeds in time with the inaudible music. The TV shows the black-and-white face of an actress smiling at someone who's been gone for a hundred years.
Genzo lies with his eyes closed, thinking.
He sighs. Opens his eyes.
Sua holds out the bag of seeds to him.
"Want some more?"
"Yeah," says Genzo and takes a handful.
The kettle boils again.