Editing Hyouka:Volume 6 6 (section)

=== 6. ===

Jinde was an area encircled by rows of rolling hills just to the northeast of Kamiyama City. On paper, it was included as a part of Kamiyama City in district administration matters. But in reality, the two were merely connected by narrow mountain roads, the residences of each entirely separate from each other.
 
Emotional distance aside, though, there wasn’t that great of a distance between the two in reality—Chitanda making the commute to school every day was proof of that. Going up and down the mountain road was arduous, but you could cover the distance in less than 30 minutes if you flew along it by bike. I checked my watch and it read a couple minutes till 4:30. There was no time to waste.

Right as I stepped out of the cultural center, assuming that I would have to make the trip by bike, the bus pulled up in front of me and the door opened as if it were a chauffeur coming to pick up a celebrity. I was completely dumbfounded. Like a deer in headlights, I was unable to move for a moment. Not only would the ride certainly be faster than going by bike, I wouldn’t have to take the time to find the bus stop once I got there. Still, what unbelievable luck I had for a bus that only came once every hour to show up just when I needed it most. This had to be a trap, right?

Oh, and what a trap it must be! The route direction must have been different. If I were to board this bus of fortune, I would end up trapped in a pit, being whisked away in the opposite direction, wouldn’t I? How smart was I to realize that ahead of time? I took a peek at the signboard to see where this huge detour would have taken me: “Heading to Jinde.”

“Ah, ok. I’m getting on.”

Other than my initial moment of shock, my mind had been racing the entire time. Without realizing it, I ended up saying this aloud to the bus that looked as if it was only moments from departing. I jogged up to it and got on, sitting in a nearby seat while sighing deeply. At that moment, I heard a sound like a deflating inner tube, and the bus door closed.

“The bus will start moving.”

It began to slowly inch forward with the announcement. It was the kind of bus where you paid when you get off.

I wanted to briefly search for Ibara before going to Jinde, but the unexpected bus arrival forced a change of plans. “Don’t be late for the bus!” said some commentator I had seen on TV at some point. After settling in, I wondered if I had money on me. I was fairly certain that I had brought my wallet with me. I searched my pockets for my wallet and confirmed that I did—in fact—have a single 1,000 yen note. While I managed to narrowly avoid a future in which I’d be forced wash dishes to compensate for not having paid the bus fare, I’d have to put off buying the book I’d wanted for a little while longer. I cursed the heavens, but—well—I guess that’s life.

There were fewer than 10 people in the bus, including me. After having left the cultural center, it took us a while to finally reach the older districts. Thanks to the narrow streets, the roads couldn’t support lots of traffic, so they were doomed for congestion. I absentmindedly peered outside the windows and a flurry of familiar scenery flowed by: the confectionary shop with delicious <i>yomogi dango</i>, the bookstore with empty top shelves because its elderly owner could no longer reach them, the drycleaners who used to sell kimono fabric when I was still young, the convenience store that put the tobacco shop out of business...

The next bus stop was announced over the speakers, and someone pressed the button to get off. Two left and one got on. The next stop was flagged as well. I was about to look at my watch, but I forcefully pulled my eyes away. Regardless of how many ways there might have been to reach Chitanda, I had already chosen the bus. I’d probably just panic if I saw the time and that’d do absolutely nothing to get me there faster.

The bus finally cleared the old district. It passed through a crossroads with a gas station the size of four tanker aircrafts on one side and a hamburger joint complete with a drive-through on the other. We finally picked up speed as the bus pulled onto the bypass.

I rested my elbow on the window frame and started to think more about the case as I gazed outside.

At first, Yokote-san referred to Chitanda as “the Chitandas’ daughter.” Only after while did she start calling her “that child.” I couldn’t say anything for sure, but I thought that she made a strong effort to not call her “that child” in front of Danbayashi-san. Some might pass it off as her simply minding her manners around others, but I felt like it was expressing something more complex—something that she couldn’t talk casually about to non-relatives.

Yokote-san had called Chitanda “the Chitandas’ daughter,” “the successor to the Chitanda estate,” and then—only after everything else—she finally revealed that she was her niece. I don’t know any of the details, and I’m not sure I should, but when I thought about the Eru Chitanda that I knew—the president of Kamiyama High School’s Classics Club—being enveloped and encircled by that title, I couldn’t stop my endless waves of nausea. I couldn’t even determine what was causing them.

Chitanda had gotten off the bus.

Why did she do that? I had nothing in particular to do while I waited to reach my destination, and the same thoughts continued to circle round and round in my head.

There were several mountain roads that connected Jinde and Kamiyama, and the road that the bus took was different than the one I normally took when going by bike. At first I was alarmed, thinking that the bus was starting to go in the wrong direction, but I soon realized that this was another viable path and sunk back, deep into my seat, as I continued to wait.

The bus finally neared the mountainous area. As we passed through a series of cleared hills, the curves starting swaying sharply left and right, and with them, my body. The carsick feeling resurfaced memories of when we were on the hot springs trip that Ibara planned around this time last year. I’m not sure if it’s true or not, but I heard that some cases of carsickness are purely mental; so, as I ascended the slopes, I came up with a song called “I’m Not Afraid of No Carsickness” and let myself be cradled  by its melody.

The growling sounds of the clearly laboring engine started to fade away, and the bus entered a straight stretch of road beyond the curves. We stopped at a traffic signal, something I felt I hadn’t seen in a long time, and a female voice called out an announcement.

“Next stop is South Jinde. Next stop is South Jinde.”

I pressed the button to request the stop. Just as the bus had started to move with the green light, it began to slow down to yet another halt, the doors eventually opening. This time, the driver himself called out in a hoarse, yet strangely rhythmic voice, “We’ve arrived at Sou—th Jinde.”

I paid the fare and got off the bus, and my first action was to take a deep breath. I thought I would’ve been okay, but I guess I ended up getting a little sick after all, and the fresh air felt wonderful. It was supposed to have rained in Jinde, but I didn’t see a single trace of water on the road’s surface. I guess it was July, after all, so even if the sun had only been out for a little bit, that would’ve been enough to quickly dry small amounts of water. Although, looking at it now, the previously blue sky had become completely filled with dark clouds. There seemed to be indications of rain lurking in the air. This wasn’t good. I didn’t have an umbrella.

I scanned my surroundings and noticed that the road the bus had taken was built along an incline. The land on its right side sloped upward, and the land on the left went gently down. Below were fields that were efficiently constructed, sparing no inch of land, and they radiated a deep green fostered by the warmth of the summer. The many houses were built far apart, dotting the scene before me as if they played a supporting role. I couldn’t get a grasp on the actual distance, but some ways off I could tell that the landscape started to slope up once more. Beyond those green hills towered the Kamikakiuchi mountain range with its remnants of ancient snow.

“The storehouse...”

As I muttered this, I looked around once more. Yokote-san had told me that I would be able to see it on the right side of the road when going into Jinde. That meant it was on the hill’s incline.

I quickly spotted it. I was anxious at first, wondering what I would do if there were multiple storehouses, but I could only see the one after scanning the area; it wasn’t too far away, either. From where I was standing, the bottom half of the storehouse was hidden from view by a wooden fence surrounding it, so all I could confirm was that it had a triangular roof, what looked to be plastered white walls, and a set of double doors on the second story for ventilation and lighting. It didn’t look like there were any buildings bordering it; the sight of the lonely storehouse on the slope presented an almost bizarre image.

I briskly made my way across the street and was about to head straight for the storehouse when I recalled what Yokote-san had told me; I should make my way there in a manner that didn’t attract attention. I was a little annoyed by how she said it as well, but I couldn’t ignore a request from the woman who told me where Chitanda was. Just as I was told, I began to search for the house with hedges.

A few dozen meters away from the storehouse, I noticed a home that seemed to fit the bill. It was built on a level foundation and had a tile roof; through a gap in the hedges, I could see a gatepost next to a large tree. It couldn’t compare to Chitanda’s estate, but it was still an impressive sight.

“I have to go there, huh?”

Although I had permission to enter, I still felt nervous about the whole ordeal. Maybe it was all a set-up orchestrated by Yokote-san, and the second I entered, I’d be apprehended on breaking and entering charges. I really didn’t think that would be the case, though. 

I checked my watch: it was 4:50. I guess the bus ride took about 20 minutes, then. I suppose what Yokote-san said leaving at 1:00 and arriving at 1:30 was just an estimate. The pamphlet said that the next bus for the cultural center was scheduled for a 5:10 arrival.

“This should work out then.”

There were 20 minutes until the next bus came, so all I had to do was pull Chitanda out of the storehouse. If she wasn’t there, well, I did everything I could have. Ibara probably wouldn’t blame me, either.

I felt something cold hit my cheek. I touched my face, only to realize it was wet. Black spots began to litter the street. It had started to rain.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

It’s all too common for these evening showers to escalate into heavy downpours. I had really tried my hardest today, but it looks like the heavens weren’t going to grant me even a moment of relief. I let out a long exhale and sprinted over to the house with hedges.