Chapter 3 (2,993 words)

I

“How did you like the place, dear?” asked Sendoh’s mom once they reached home. Sendoh staggered out of the car, his face rather green. He should have remembered to keep off the milkshake in the cafeteria of the Turbulent Academy of Turbulence, because milk, when shaken more than once, is a stimulator of reverse-peristalsis. And in the car the milk was shaken more number of times than was possible for poor Sendoh to count.

“Not bad,” replied Sendoh. It wasn’t that the place was appealing- It was just that that was the shortest sentence Sendoh could possibly have thought up at a moment’s notice, because when indefinitely shaken milk threatens to spew out of one’s stomach, it is always wiser to keep the trap shut tight.

“Glad you liked it,” replied Mrs. Sendoh presumptuously, obviously in the dark about her son’s turbulent physical condition. Sendoh managed a brief smile, but even that seemed to encourage his esophagus. He could almost hear his stomach saying to him, “Open up!” He said the same to his mother, who airily sauntered up to the porch and fumbled with the keys for longer than was bearable for Sendoh’s stomach, before opening the door at her own leisure.

Sendoh’s Medulla Oblongata seemed to have taken over his legs, and as soon as the door opened, he darted into the house faster than he had ever before, ran into the bathroom, and with the noise like that of a washing machine getting rid of used water, emptied the offending milkshake into the wash basin. He felt dizzy, but the tightness in his stomach, which, in times of lesser pain, would have been bragged about as developing abs, had left him, and he felt human again.

Upstairs in his bedroom, Sendoh commenced his usual pastime- Talking to himself whilst looking at his reflection. He was a wee bit away from actually conversing with it.

“The Turbulent Academy of Turbulence,” whispered Sendoh absently. Miss Turbulence had told them all about the history of the name. “A decade ago, this place was known as the ‘Musical Academy of Turbulence’, but due to lack of good musicians, it came to be known as the ‘Turbulent Academy of Turbulence.’” she had said.

Sendoh reached out for the telephone and was halfway through dialing Koshino’s number when he replaced the receiver. What could he say to him?- “Hiro, I’m learning to play the piano and violin”? No, thought Sendoh. And then he decided he would talk to the one person who he knew would support him in such times of adversity and conflicting thoughts- Takenori Akagi.

He dialed Akagi’s number without giving his mind enough time to change, and waited for someone to answer the call.

“Hello?” came the voice from the other line.

“Yo!” said Sendoh before he could control himself.

“Eh?” The voice was a girl’s.

“Eh?” said Sendoh stupidly. As smooth as he may seem, he was never a big hit with girls whose faces he couldn’t see while talking to them.

After an uncomfortable silence that knew the two conversers were blushing away in embarrassment, Haruko Akagi decided to take the initiative and initiate intelligible conversation.

“May I know who’s speaking, please?”

“Eh?... Oh, oh! It’s Sendoh here. Hehe...”

“Sendoh-san! Okay, I’ll call big-brother here now.”

Sendoh was so hot under the collar that a physician, if present, would have hospitalized him. From the other line, he could hear Haruko’s voice yell dangerously, “BIG-BROTHER! COME DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW... DON’T ASK WHY!” and he was ever so thankful he was the only child.

“He’s coming,” said Haruko.

“I see...” replied Sendoh.

“You do? You have a webcam, you mean? But we’re on the phone right now, so how could you...”

“No, no, no! I meant ‘ah’.”

“Are you in pain over there? Because I could send some medicine over for you.”

“Oh, no, I’m not in pain anymore! But thanks anyway!”

“I see...”

“You do?”

“No I don’t! What I meant was-”

“-‘ah’?”

“Yeah,”

“Ah!”

“Ah!”

“Oh, here’s big-brother.” And the (presumably) cordless phone was heard being tossed some fifteen feet across the room before being picked up and spoken into by a deep masculine voice.

“Hello?”

“Yo!”

“Sendoh?”

“Yeah!”

“I know why you called-”

“Yay!”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, so as I was saying, I know why you called.”

“Ah!”

“Are you in pain over there, because I could ask my sister to send over some medicine-”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no! You don’t get it. People say ‘ah’ when they get it.”

“And what do they say when they’ve lost it?”

“Dunno,” replied Sendoh, blacking out for a moment or two, in deep thought.

“I thought as much... Hello?”

“Yeah, I’m here.” replied Sendoh.

“So why’d you call?”

“Huh? I thought you knew!”

“I was just... never mind. So tell me, why did you call?”

“Uh, I don’t know how to say this, but... Have you ever played the piano?”

“Piano?” And then Akagi’s mood seemed to have risen considerably. “I can play the piano with my eyes closed. I can play the piano with anybody’s eyes closed. And apart from that I can play the guitar, the cello, the trombone, the saxophone, the violin, the flute, the harmonica, the banjo, the accordion and even the pipe organ!” said Akagi proudly.

There was no reply from Sendoh’s side for a little while, and when he spoke, he sounded as though he was convalescing from a tornado-attack inside his head.

“Whoa!” said Sendoh rather breathlessly; “And you play basketball?”

“Yup!”

“Woo hoo...” said Sendoh dully.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“I know something’s wrong with you, Sendoh-”

“- Congratulations...”

“I swear, tell me what’s wrong, and maybe I can help you.”

“How can you help me, you... you... you... know-it-all?”

Akagi’s fuse was running a wee bit short, but he managed to contain himself. “And what do you mean by that?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Must be so fun, right? Being able to do so many things while others are not half as fortunate...?”

“What do you mean?” barked Akagi.

“... And then laughing at them because they don’t have enough brainpower to manage all these things at once?”

“SENDOH!” yelled Akagi.

“That’s me.”

“What is the meaning of this? I demand an explanation and an apology!”

But Sendoh had hung up already, completely burying Akagi’s mood, and thus signing the Shohoku Team’s death warrant for the next day.

“Why can’t I do both?” Sendoh said despondently, slumping onto his bed; “Why can’t I learn to play the piano and violin and play basketball at the same time? Why, why, why?”

II

“Hi-ho, hi-ho, it’s off to work we go...” hummed Koshino as he maneuvered the cart through the aisles in the labyrinth-like supermarket, picking random items off the shelves and dropping them discourteously into the cart. He loved grocery shopping. That was one field of expertise where Sendoh could never best him. And speaking of Sendoh, Koshino wondered what on earth he was doing, the importance of which transcended his love for basketball. “That wanker’s up to no good,” said Koshino merrily, picking up a jar of peanut butter from the shelf and tossing it into the cart behind his back, creating an unpredicted crashing noise that seemed to shake the ground.

“Holy Mother of Jesus!” yelled Koshino at the top of his lungs; “Fuck my wrinkled ass!” he went on, causing the customers to pause in their shopping and stare affrightedly at Koshino, and dutiful mothers to cup their hands over their progenies, who were overwhelmed with curiosity (“What does ‘fuck’ mean, mommy?”). He was used to shopping with Sendoh, and so had impulsively tossed the jar behind him, where Sendoh was usually to catch. But now, there was no Sendoh- Just a big glass encasement that stored perishable items- A refrigerator in other words. Or at least... It used to be a refrigerator. Now it was more of an air-conditioner.

A respectable looking man in a black suit came walking in a stately gait toward Koshino. He was apparently the store manager, and was the literal example of one walking ‘with their nose turned up.’ “I would request you, sir, to not yell like that and use such odious language that is deemed opprobrious and almost blasphemous in polite society, such as this. You are experiencing issues regarding your physical and mental development, which, for your information is termed as ‘puberty’. You are going through that phase in puberty where in your body androgens shall abound and your presently rudimentary reproductive organs shall mature to their fullest. You will be subject to certain unspeakable phenomena, of which nocturnal emissions and hormonal attractions are only a few. You will develop into what we know as a ‘wanker’ and will spend your life sitting in a corner of your room and masturbating to reveries of your best friend. If you wish to lead a normal life free of such mental abnormalities and social degradation, you will follow me to the back of the store, now.” said the gentleman, who seemed to have been inspired by P.G. Wodehouse’s Jeeves in mannerisms and speech.

Koshino was so red-faced that a new shade of red would have to be invented to describe it visually. Never had he been subjected to such humiliation before, and before people he didn’t even know. When Sendoh and he used to go out in public, it was Koshino who was regarded as the politer of the two. And now his social status and dignity was ground to the dust under the foot of this He-Man, who was the manager of this cruddy store. All Koshino wanted to do was to shop in peace, and it seemed almost as though those few little invectives he had used against Sendoh on account of the latter’s departure from the team had come back at him in the form of this little incident.

The little girl still harassed her mommy to tell her the meaning of the word ‘fuck’. “Mommy, tell me what ‘fuck’ means or I’ll ask grandma!” she demanded. The mommy in question was staring unblinkingly at Koshino, and if she had a son instead of a daughter, she would doubtlessly have pointed to Koshino and said to him: “I don’t want you to become like that when you grow up, understand?” and the son in question would doubtlessly have nodded.

“Sir, do come along, I beseech you, I have not much time. If you haven’t noticed, you have disturbed the pleasant ambience of my lovely store with your boorish, rustic behavior and condemnable choice of words, so if you do not consent to what I say, I’m afraid I will have to call in the police.” said the manager irately.

The police was the last thing Koshino wanted to face for having accidentally said ‘fuck’. Those hypocrites, cursed Koshino under his breath; I’ll bet they say fuck to every other civilian behind their backs, and this old geezer wants to get me apprehended for having used that on nobody in particular?

“Sir,” repeated the old manager in a higher tone, and Koshino followed mechanically, ignoring all the eyes that seemed to him to be burning into him, and he had never felt so ashamed before in his life. Koshino, having read the bible twice over, chose the correct time to cite from it. “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” he cried.

“Excuse me?” said the manager, looking up the ceiling where Koshino was staring when he spoke the line, and seeing nothing, he shrugged and continued the walk to the back of the exceptionally large store. His suspicions of Koshino being an incorrigible case of schizophrenia had been confirmed. On revision, he said it was merely a case of retardation.

On reaching the back of the store, Koshino decided he would use his opportunity to the fullest and redeem himself elaborately and truthfully before the geezer could have another go at his anatomical happenings. “Look, old man,” he began, his choice of words not quite the kind that would prove very efficacious when one aimed at redemption, “I’m sorry about all that ‘fuck’ stuff, okay? I was just fucked-up about that fucking peanut butter jar hitting that motherfucking glassware and smashing those sons of bitches, and crushing a carton full of motherfucking eggs, okay? So I’m still fucked-up, and I know you know how sorry I am and that in my fucking heart, there is true remorse. So, ya fucked-up ol’ geezer, I’ll be on my way, then! Cheerio!” And Koshino dashed out of the store faster than he had ever run in his life.

“I would have called the police under conditions like this,” said the manager of the store qualmishly, “but I’m too fucked-up- Hell, what am I saying?- I’m too muddled up right now to think properly.”

Koshino was, meanwhile, strolling down the street, a broad smile on his face, as he pictured mentally the probable mental state of the poor old manager. “Works every time!” he said jubilantly.

And then he focused his mind onto more pressing matters.

“Sendoh...” he whispered spitefully, “I will have my revenge.”

III

“So what did Sendoh want, big-brother?” asked Haruko of her brother, who was studying, as he always did at night.

Akagi grunted in reply, not taking his eyes off the book on Quantum Mechanics he was reading, as though a thousand pages of senseless numbers and technical words sparked the same level of interest in him as an Agatha Christie book would in a mystery-freak.

“Huh?” asked Haruko, although she was fairly used to the animalistic sounds her brother often produced as reply when the rest of his brain was focused on exploring the scientific mysteries that Einstein might have abandoned. She could understand and interpret every one of his grunts and snorts and growls, and a grunt in that particular intonation meant, “He was up to no good,” and “He picked a fight with me.” But Haruko wanted to pull her brother’s leg.

“He was up to no good, and he picked a fight with me.” replied Akagi rather querulously, if a sulky feeling was even possible when the primary adjective of one’s life and lifestyle was ‘gorilla-like’.

“What did he do?” asked Haruko curiously. Over the summer she had gotten to know Sendoh better, and she’ll be darned if Sendoh ever insulted someone, especially her brother.

Akagi stood up and rose to his full height. “Is there anything wrong with my playing pianos, guitars, cellos, trombones, saxophones, violins, flutes, harmonicas, banjos, accordions, pipe organs and basketball?”

“No, of course not!” said Haruko vehemently and implying that whoever the son of a bitch was that said such an ignominious thing could go straight up his mother’s birth canal and brood there once she’s through with them.

“Sendoh thinks there is.” said Akagi, pronouncing ‘Sendoh’ contemptuously.

Haruko pursed her lips, mentally erasing all the offensive things she had said about Sendoh and processing a reply that would side with both. “I think you’re mistaken, big-brother,” Haruko said; “What exactly did Sendoh-san say?”

“He was rambling away sarcastically on how it “must be so much fun” being someone who can do all these and play basketball at the same time, and was very rude to me in that sense.” said Akagi indignantly.

Haruko thought awhile before replying: “Maybe you are mistaken and Sendoh’s dealing with puberty,” she said thoughtfully.

“No, that would be Koshino.”

“Don’t be silly- Everyone has to go through puberty.”

“So do Africans.”

“Duh. Don’t be racist-”

“-But they don’t have pianos, guitars, cellos, trombones, saxophones, violins, flutes, harmonicas, banjos, accordions, pipe organs or basketball, do they?”

“Good point. So maybe it isn’t puberty that’s Sendoh’s problem.” said Haruko thoughtfully.

“You’re darn right, it’s not. I’ll say he’s just been orphaned-” And at this point Haruko let out such a frightfully fierce gasp that a banshee might have coveted such a ‘beautiful’ voice and would have spent many sleepless nights on eBay looking for the recording.

“Don’t you say such dreadful things, Takenori Akagi.” scolded Haruko fiercely.

“I’m sorry,” said Akagi; “So getting back to the point, what do you think Sendoh’s dealing with?”

Haruko went back into her pensive mood. “I’d say he’s having problems with his friends, or his team...” she thought aloud; “Or maybe with pianos, guitars, cellos, trombones, saxophones, violins, flutes, harmonicas, banjos, accordions or pipe organs. Or maybe with basketball.”

“Or both.” added Akagi eagerly.

“Yeah...” said Haruko, nodding; “Or both...” And after a few moments of silence, realization dawned on Haruko. “Hey,” she said in a drawn voice that depicted suspicion; “But you don’t even play basketball anymore!”

“Ah!”

“What, are you hurt? I’ll go get some medic-”

“No, no, no- ‘ah’ means ‘I get it’” explained Akagi.

“Then what do you say if you’ve lost it?”

“Dunno.”

“I thought as much. But anyway, what’s there to get? You’ve been away from the team for like three months now, cooped up in your little corner, reading science books.”

“Haruko!” said Akagi, astonished.

“I’m sorry,” said Haruko.

And just then the telephone rang, and Akagi went to answer the call.

“Hello?”

“Yo!” came from the other line.

“What do you want, Sendoh?”

“First, I want to say sorry-”

“- Apology accepted.”

“Oh, no, you don’t understand!”

“What’s there to understand?”

“Lots. So as I was saying, I’m sorry because I forgot that you don’t even play basketball anymore! I mean, here I was, thinking how miserable my life is, and all the while thinking that you got more privileges than me! But now I’ve realized my life’s a lot better than yours, so I’m in better spirits now. Thanks bro!”

And before Akagi could reply, Sendoh hung up. Muttering under his breath the few swearwords he ever used, Akagi resumed studying.

And all night, both siblings reflected on Sendoh’s peculiar behavior.