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  When the train slid into Atami, Kamiya threw what was left of the dried squid into his mouth. He was still chewing on it when we reached the hotel.

  Apparently, fireworks were held throughout the year in Atami, not only in summer, so in the evening we headed down to the seaside for the show. The corporate sponsors were announced over the loudspeaker before each round was launched, with one burst after another of fantastic fireworks lighting up the winter sky. Every explosion was greeted with applause and oohs and ahhs. We were having a great time.

  After a particularly magnificent round of fireworks, there was a long pause during which everyone sat in a daze while white smoke drifted downward. Then the announcer’s voice—a little nervous, a little more animated—came over the loudspeaker again: “Dearest Chie, you’re the best. Let’s get married.” The crowd, not expecting anything like this, reacted with gasps of delight. As people turned to each other, a burst of fireworks was launched, but it was so lacklustre in comparison to the corporate extravaganza of what had come before, the contrast was ridiculous. It made me laugh out loud —this lesson on the harsh reality of the world, that you don’t always get what you pay for when you put your heart into something. But in the next moment, I was drowned out by thunderous cheering, which built to a volume that exceeded even the boom of the fireworks. It was a collective attempt to congratulate the couple—also to save them from embarrassment. Kamiya and I joined in, clapping furiously until the palms of our cold hands turned red.

  “How about that for human kindness, hey?” Kamiya said.

  After the fireworks were over, we went to the same pub we’d gone to when we first met.

  When the waitress came by to ask for our order, Kamiya looked up at her sentimentally. “You haven’t changed a bit,” he said. “We were here ten years ago. Remember us?”

  “But I just started last month,” she replied with a smile.

  Kamiya was still in high spirits when we got back to the hotel. In the lobby he discovered that CDs were available on loan.

  “Do you have anything by the Clash or the Sex Pistols?” he asked the receptionist in a monotone, thrown perhaps by how incredibly young she appeared.

  “But you never listen to that stuff,” I interjected.

  “What would you know—I’m really into punk now,” he said with a wild look.

  We were out of luck. Most of the CDs had already been checked out, so we had to content ourselves with the leftovers.

  “Strange how so many other punk fans are staying here tonight,” Kamiya said drily.

  Back in our room we ate and drank some more. Kamiya was excited, having seen a poster for an amateur comedy competition the next day. First prize was 100,000 yen. He was determined to enter and wouldn’t listen to me telling him the deadline for entering had passed.

  “I’m gonna work up some gags,” he announced and went off, drink in hand, for a soak in the outdoor tub.

  Once a comedian always a comedian, I thought as I opened up my Kamiya notebook and, as usual, started writing down the day’s events.

  “Oh, hell, it’s the live version!” Kamiya yelled from outside. He must have been talking about the Bob Marley CD he’d just put on.

  I looked up and saw a crescent moon floating high above Kamiya’s head. A miracle of perfect, everyday beauty. Kamiya was here, simply, in this place. Alive and breathing, his heart beating. He was here. Body and soul, he gave himself to life, living it out on his own messy, irrepressible terms. As long as he was alive, there could be no bad ending. The two of us were still in mid-story. We would continue.

  “Everything’s gonna be alright,” the hero of Jamaica kept singing to the world.

  “Hey, I hit on a kick-ass gag,” Kamiya shouted. He was standing there, stark naked against the night, gleefully shaking his beautiful breasts, bouncing them up and down, over and over.

  JAPANESE FICTION

  AVAILABLE AND COMING SOON

  FROM PUSHKIN PRESS

  MS ICE SANDWICH

  Mieko Kawakami

  SPARK

  Naoki Matayoshi

  MURDER IN THE AGE OF ENLIGHTENMENT

  Ryunosuke Akutagawa

  RECORD OF A NIGHT TOO BRIEF

  Hiromi Kawakami

  THE HONJIN MURDERS

  Seishi Yokomizo

  SPRING GARDEN

  Tomoka Shibasaki

  COIN LOCKER BABIES

  Ryu Murakami

  SLOW BOAT

  Hideo Furukawa

  THE HUNTING GUN

  Yasushi Inoue

  SALAD ANNIVERSARY

  Machi Tawara

  THE CAKE TREE IN THE RUINS

  Akiyuki Nosaka

  Copyright

  Pushkin Press

  71–75 Shelton Street

  London WC2H 9JQ

  Copyright © 2015 Yoshimoto Creative Agency Co. Ltd

  English translation copyright © 2019 by Alison Watts

  All rights reserved.

  Spark was originally published in Japanese as Hibana

  by Bungeishunju Ltd, Japan in 2015.

  World English translation rights reserved by Pushkin Press, under the licence granted by Yoshimoto Creative Agency Co. Ltd, arranged with Bungeishunju Ltd, Japan through Japan UNI Agency, Inc., Japan.

  First published by Pushkin Press in 2019

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  ISBN 13: 978–1–78227–591–6

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from Pushkin Press

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