‘What – is that no good? There’s self-service water too – so provided it isn’t crowded, we can sit as long as we like.’
That sounded like just the kind of detail a housewife might share, as opposed to a university student like Mihochan – and yet he sensed that it was completely in character for her too.
‘I’ve been meaning to try takoyaki, since it’s a Kansai speciality … but, uh, that isn’t very romantic for a first date, now, is it?’
‘No, it’s fine – I haven’t tried takoyaki yet either since I came to Kansai.’
Kei’ichi was already hoping that the experience of eating fried octopus with the octopus-red Miho-chan would be an unforgettable one.
The train departs from Takarazuka, taking on and letting off passengers before it arrives at Nishinomiya-Kitaguchi, where it will again welcome aboard a new cast of characters.
The rumble of the arriving train signals to passengers to hurry to the platform and the ringing of the bell announces the train’s impending departure, as the last few stragglers make it on board just before the doors close.
Then the train slides away from the platform. As the Imazu Line reverses course from Nishinomiya-Kitaguchi to Takarazuka, what stories will its passengers carry with them? Only they can know for sure.
The train sets off on its finite journey, transporting as many stories as passengers.
AND THEN BACK AGAIN
Bound for Takarazuka
Nishinomiya-Kitaguchi Station
The Imazu Line is a commuter railway and so peak hours are – not surprisingly – the morning and evening rush to and from work and school.
In the morning, trains bound for Nishinomiya-Kitaguchi are jam-packed, and then from the afternoon into the evening, the crowded cars are those running in the opposite direction. On weekends, as the time comes for the last train, the throngs can rival those of the weekday morning rush.
That wasn’t the case, though, on a Saturday after the university’s second period had ended. Misa had just crossed over on the upper-level concourse from the Kobe Line platform and come down to the Imazu Line platform, bound for Takarazuka.
Perfect timing – a train had just arrived so there were plenty of seats available. In these circumstances, you opted for the best and most comfortable place to sit. On an empty train, the majority of passengers were likely to select a seat on the end of a row. These choice spots were available in the second car, so Misa settled in. She had been the first, but a steady stream of people continued to file in after her, and the bench seats were now filling in from each end.
Then came a voice.
‘Itoh-san, Itoh-san, over here! There’s still some seats left!’
Shrill and cringe-inducing, the woman calling out belonged to a group of older ladies wearing frilly and flamboyant dresses. Each one – there were four or five of them – was also bedecked in garish jewellery and, it being winter, they had on fake-fur coats in a spectrum of colours. Their handbags were all designer brands, just the kind that female college students pined after.
Itoh-san had apparently still been wandering around in another car, looking for a seat and, upon being summoned so loudly, she arrived looking slightly startled. The lady who had called out was already occupying the seat across from Misa, along with the rest of her group.
As Misa was thinking this, a young woman was about to take the seat next to her. She was strikingly attractive, dressed with the sophisticated air of a professional.
But, just as the woman bent to sit down, something unbelievable happened.
‘
The same woman who had shouted for Itoh-san had launched her own handbag onto the seat next to Misa, right before the young woman sat down.
Both Misa and the woman stared in shock at the bag that had been flung onto the seat.
The older lady’s companions chuckled, murmuring things like ‘You’re too much!’ and ‘Wow, incredible!’ But it didn’t take long to realize that, even amid their laughter and pretend disbelief, they didn’t think anything was wrong with their friend’s behaviour, that it was an inside joke to them.
The designer handbag on the seat next to Misa had been tossed across the aisle in order to prevent the young woman from sitting there first and to save it for Itoh-san.
‘Chop, chop! I bagged a seat for you!’
Itoh-san came scurrying from the carriage ahead. She too wore a frilly dress and carried a designer handbag, though her coat differed from the other ladies’ in that it was a more discreet beige wool.
Misa opened her mouth, incensed enough to say something rude, but the woman from whom the seat had been stolen silenced her with a nonchalant wave of the hand.
‘What a waste of a nice handbag,’ she whispered, even managing a smirk before Itoh-san arrived.