The Briefcase. Hiromi Kawakami

      “It does not matter if I get dirty,” Sensei replied, shifting his briefcase from his right hand to his left hand.

      “Would you like to leave your briefcase?” Satoru asked.

      “That won’t be necessary,” Sensei replied imperturbably.

      Without further ado, we started to climb the wooded path. Satoru and Toru both wore similar rucksacks on their backs. Theirs were climbing daypacks, about one size larger than the one I was carrying. Toru led the way, and Satoru brought up the rear.

      “The ascent is surprisingly tough going,” Satoru said from behind.

      “Uh . . . Yes, it is,” I said, as Toru said from ahead in the exact same voice, “Easy, just take your time.”

      Every so often I could hear a sound like ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra . Sensei kept a steady pace as he climbed along the path. He wasn’t particularly out of breath. I, on the other hand, was considerably winded. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, ta-ra-ra-ra-ra became more insistent.

      “Is that a cuckoo?” Sensei asked.

      Toru turned around to reply. “No, actually, that’s a woodpecker. Sensei, you must know a lot about birds to recognize a cuckoo’s call.”

      He went on, “That’s the sound the woodpecker makes when he pecks at a tree trunk, looking for insects to eat.”

      “He makes quite a racket,” Satoru said from behind, laughing.

      The path grew steeper and steeper. It was about as narrow as an animal trail. Autumn grasses had grown thick on either side, and they brushed against our faces and hands as we walked along. At the foot of the mountain, the fall foliage had yet to change but up here most of the leaves were tinged red or yellow. The air was cool and pleasant, but I had broken into a sweat, due to the fact that I never exercised. Sensei, however, appeared quite relaxed, carrying his briefcase lightly in one hand.

      “Sensei, do you do a lot of mountain climbing?”

      “Tsukiko, this is not what one calls mountain climbing.”

      “I see.”

      “Look, there’s the sound of the woodpecker eating insects again.”

      I chose not to look, instead keeping my head down as I continued to walk along. Toru called out (or was it Satoru?—I was looking down and couldn’t tell from which way the voice came), “Sensei, you’re doing well.”

      Then Satoru called out (or was it Toru?) in encouragement, “Keep it up, Tsukiko, you’re much younger than Sensei.”

      The path seemed like it would go on forever. The ta-ra-ra-ra-ra was now interspersed with calls of chi-chi-chi, and ryu-ryu-ryu-ryu-ryu, and gu-ru-ru-ru-ru.

      “We’re almost there, aren’t we?” Toru said.

      “I’m sure it’s right around here,” Satoru replied.Toru suddenly veered off the path. We traipsed into an area where there were no tracks of any sort. Just one step off the path, the air suddenly felt dense and thick.

      “They’re around here, so keep your eyes on the ground,” Toru said as he turned around.

      “Be careful not to trample them,” Satoru added from behind.

      The ground was moist and damp. After walking a little bit, the undergrowth became sparse and instead there were clusters of trees. Here it was a gentle incline, and much easier to walk without the grasses catching at my steps.

      “I’ve found something!” Sensei cried out. Toru and Satoru ambled their way closer to Sensei.

      “Well, that’s unusual,” Toru said as he crouched down.

      “Is it a Cordyceps sinensis?” Sensei asked.

      “The caterpillar is still pretty big.”

      “It must be some kind of larva.”

      The three of them exchanged opinions. Under my breath, I muttered, “Cordyceps sinensis?”

      Sensei took a stick and drew the Japanese name in four large characters on the ground: Tō CHŪ KA Sō. “Winter insect summer plant. Tsukiko, you weren’t listening very closely in science class, either, were you?” he scolded.

      Nobody ever taught us that in class. I pouted.

      Toru burst into laughter. “They don’t teach the really important things in school, do they now?” he said. Sensei stood erect as he listened to Toru’s guffaws.

      Finally, he said quietly, “A person can learn all manner of things, no matter where he finds himself, provided his spirit is determined.”

      “Your teacher, he’s hilarious, you know?” Toru said, having himself another good laugh. Sensei took a plastic bag out of his briefcase and quietly put the Cordyceps in it, tying off the top. He put it back into his briefcase.

      “All right then, we’re going in further. We have to, if we want to find enough to fill our bellies with,” Satoru said, stepping between the trees. The rest of us fell out of line, everyone looking at our feet as we moved forward. Sensei’s tweed suit blended in among the trees, providing him with a sort of natural camouflage. Even when I thought he was directly in front of me, if I happened to look away, I would quickly lose sight of him. Wondering where he’d gone, I’d look around to find him standing right beside me.

      “Sensei, there you are, right here,” I’d call out to him, and he’d respond in a strange voice, “I’m not going anywhere,” trailing off in a chuckle. Within the forest, Sensei seemed quite different from his usual self. He was like a woodland creature who had lived among the trees since ancient times.

      “Sensei,” I called out to him again. I felt lonely.

      “Tsukiko, didn’t I say that I’d stay right by your side?”

      Despite what he had said, Sensei—being Sensei—would go on ahead, leaving me behind. Tsukiko, pull yourself together. You always have a bad attitude, he would say as he kept right on moving.

      I heard the ta-ra-ra-ra-ra, much closer this time. Sensei went off into the trees. Idly, I stood and watched him go. What am I doing here, I wondered to myself. I caught a glimpse of Sensei’s tweed coat between the trees.

      “Inky cap modashi!” Satoru shouted from further ahead. “A whole colony of them! Lots more than last year!” Satoru’s voice (or was it Toru’s?) was full of excitement as it echoed throughout the forest.