A Curious Day

In a taxi from Akasaka to Okachimachi, the driver, who said he’d come up to Tokyo from Aomori only three weeks earlier, began telling me about his hometown with great fervor.

“Tokyo has so many people—wherever you go, it’s like a festival, isn’t it. Compared to that, in Aomori there are days you don’t meet a soul even in the shopping street in broad daylight. But the sake and the rice are delicious, you know.” Sketching a simulation of my next job in a corner of my mind, a little absentminded, I gave noncommittal nods—”Is that so.”

In no time we reached Okachimachi, and I set about a job: a magazine conversation with a certain photographer.

The talk got off to a smooth start, and when the photographer opened with, “Tokyo has so many people—wherever you go it’s like a festival, isn’t it,” I couldn’t help laughing inwardly that it was the very phrase I’d just heard.

What a coincidence. When I told the photographer, “The taxi driver I rode with just now said the very same thing,” he replied, “People who’ve come from the provinces all feel that way at first.” For a while the pleasant talk continued, and I left his studio.

Next was a dinner gathering at Shiba Park.

Glancing at my watch, there was little time until the appointment, so I raised my hand and hurriedly hailed a taxi.

What a coincidence—it was the very same taxi I’d ridden earlier.

The driver was startled too, and I, my heart dancing at the fateful reunion, laughed with him in the rearview mirror—that in this Tokyo so full of people I could have such a rare experience; today I’m happy.

In the car our conversation, too, was lively, and I got out saying, “It’d be nice to meet again.”

Today’s events seemed to me not coincidence but a precious person I was meant to meet, and ever since, every time I hail a taxi, I find myself hoping to be reunited with him.