P RA I SE F O R A M A N“Hirano has continued to grapple with new themes ever since his
debut. In this work, he has arrived at the primal question of what
validates human existence.”—Yoko Ogawa, author of The Memory Police“A riveting examination of desire and identity, A Man patiently unpicks
the nature of unfulfilled aspirations. Keiichiro Hirano has written amultilayered tale of human reinvention, at once eminently readable
and deeply moving.”—Tash Aw, author of The Harmony Silk Factory andFive Star Billionaire“There is no doubt that Keiichiro Hirano is an author with anextremely pioneering and modern spirit. His works have opened up avery imaginative space in analyzing and exploring the spiritual worldof humanity.”—Sheng Keyi, author of Northern Girls and Death Fugue

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, andincidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2018 by Keiichiro Hirano
Translation copyright © 2020 by Eli K. P. William
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, ortransmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Previously published as Aru Otoko in the magazine Bungakukai and then in bookform by Bungeishunju in Japan in 2018. Translated from the Japanese by Eli K. P.
William. First published in English by Amazon Crossing in 2020.
Published by Amazon Crossing, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Amazon Crossing are trademarks of Amazon.com,
Inc., or its aﬃliates.
ISBN-13: 9781542006880 (hardcover)ISBN-10: 1542006880 (hardcover)ISBN-13: 9781542006873 (paperback)ISBN-10: 1542006872 (paperback)Cover design by David Drummond
Printed in the United States of America
First edition

PROLOGUE
The protagonist of this story is someone that I have been fondly calling“Kido-san.” You may be wondering where the fondness comes in, as
using a family name with the addition of “san” isn’t always the warmest
way to address someone, but I think you will soon understand why I
hesitate to call him anything else.
I first met Kido-san on my way back from a talk at a bookstore. My
head was buzzing after having spoken continuously for two and a half
hours and, wanting to settle down somewhat before returning home, I
had stopped in at a certain drinking establishment that I happened tostumble upon. Kido-san was drinking alone at the bar.
At first I listened vaguely as he chatted with the bartender. But atsome juncture, I couldn’t help but laugh and found myself joining theconversation.
The initial introduction he gave me—his name, his background—I
would soon learn was all lies. But as I had no reason to doubt him then,I believed every word.
Wearing square black-rimmed glasses, the man wasn’t what you
would call strikingly handsome, but his face had a certain air of sophistication that went well with a dim bar. I thought to myself that if I had
looks like his, I might remain attractive well into middle age, even if I
were to develop a few more wrinkles and gray hairs. But when I told
him so, he merely cocked his head to the side with an expression ofdisbelief and said, “No, not at all . . .”

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

I told him I was a novelist. He hadn’t heard of me and seemed
embarrassed by that fact, which made me ashamed in turn, an all-toocommon occurrence. But he had a profound interest in my profession,and after interrogating me about various details, something like admiration suddenly filled his face, and he said, “I’m sorry.” I frowned, unsure
why he was apologizing, when he told me that his real name was Akira
Kido, thereby admitting that the name he had just told me was a false
one. He then asked that I keep this secret from the bartender and went
on to explain that he was a lawyer, born in the same year that I was,1975.
Having once been a, shall we say, less-than-studious law school
student, I often feel self-conscious when faced with a bona fide legal
expert. But after his confession, I felt no such drop in stature, as the
personal history he had until then claimed as his own had been unfortunate enough to arouse my sympathy.
His behavior struck me as tasteless, and I asked him what he wasdoing telling such lies. This left him searching for words with a pensive
frown.
“I keep myself together by living other people’s pain,” he said eventually with an indescribably lonesome smile. “It’s like the expression‘the man who goes mummy hunting ends up a mummy himself . . .’Do you understand what it’s like to be honest through lies? I mean, ofcourse, just for brief stints at places like this. Somehow I can’t seem tolet go of myself entirely.
“What I truly want is to think directly about myself, but that justmakes me sick. It’s the one thing I can’t help. I’ve done everything I can.
And I believe that soon enough my need to act like this will pass—I
never would have guessed things would turn out like this . . .”I was put oﬀ by his intentionally mysterious way of speaking but
found the content of what he had told me fascinating. Moreover, I
could not deny my budding aﬀection for the man.
2

A MAN“But to you,” Kido-san continued, “I will tell the truth fromnow on.”Aside from this initial exchange revolving around his lie, Kido-san
was an unaﬀected, aﬀable, collected person. He had a sensitive andreceptive mind, and in his every word one could sense a character ofgreat depth and complexity.
I felt comfortable talking with him. Whatever I wanted to get acrosshe understood well, and his meaning in turn was as clear as day to me.
We also found commonality in our love for music. I appreciated how
rare it was to come across someone like this, and I sensed that there had
to be extenuating circumstances that explained his need to lie.
The next time I visited that bar on the same night of the week,
Kido-san was drinking alone again as I’d expected, and I sat down
beside him at his invitation, in a seat somewhat removed from thebartender’s post. A number of times afterward, we shared each other’scompany in those same seats and grew intimate enough that we would
talk late into the night.
His drink of choice was vodka. Despite his lean build, he could
definitely hold his liquor and would claim to be pleasantly tipsy eventhough he never seemed to change, his tone of voice remaining always
composed.
The two of us became something like friends. Making a new drinking buddy with whom you form a deep connection is surprisingly rarein middle age. But our relationship was limited to the counter of that
establishment, and neither of us sought the other’s contact information.
He probably felt uncomfortable asking. For my part, the truth is that
I was still wary of him. In fact, I have not seen him in quite some timeand doubt that I ever will again. His no longer visiting that bar—nolonger feeling the need to do so—I interpret as a positive sign.

3

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

Novelists, whether consciously or unconsciously, are always on thelookout for people that can serve as models for their novels. That is,
we eagerly await the serendipity of someone like Meursault or Holly
Golightly appearing out of the blue one day.
For a person to be appropriate to serve as such a model, he or
she needs to be highly out of the ordinary while possessing somethingthat might be seen as a kind of template for humanity or for the age
and must be purified via fiction until they reach the dimension of thesymbol.
When I hear the stories of people who have lived dramatic andtumultuous lives, I think to myself that they might work as novels.
Some of these individuals even encourage me by way of subtle circumlocution, as if to say, “You can use me if you want, you know.” Yetwhenever I give serious consideration to writing such ostentatious yarns,
I find myself balking, though I suppose my novels might sell better if
only I could go through with it.
Where I usually find my models is among the people I alreadyknow. Since I try to associate as little as possible with those who don’tinterest me, everyone that I maintain a long relationship with has acertain something. And sometimes I am astonished to discover all of asudden that one of them is the protagonist of my next novel for whom
I was searching all along. Individuals such as these, about whom myunderstanding slowly deepens over time, are ideal for full-length novels,
since the protagonist is together with the reader for the long haul.

Starting the second time I met him, Kido-san gradually began to explain
the reason he had used a fake name, and it turned out to be a very
intricate story indeed. I found myself utterly captivated, often keeping
my arms crossed as I considered what he told me carefully, and soon
grasped why he had wanted to divulge it to me. While he may never4

A MAN

have actually said, “You can use me if you want,” the proposition was
surely on his mind. But my decision to actually do so didn’t come about
until after I happened to meet a lawyer elsewhere that knew him well.
“He’s a great man,” this lawyer said without hesitation, “and incredibly kind to people of all stripes. Like taxi drivers. If they don’t know theroute, he tells them with such warmth and care it’s amazing.”
I laughed, but had to agree that it was an admirable quality in thisday and age—and in a rich man to boot!
The other stories this lawyer related were surprising, involving as
they did a number of moving incidents about which Kido-san himself
had never spoken, and I finally came to understand in full living color
this unmistakably isolated and lonely middle-aged man. It might soundtrite, but he was, after all, a real character.
In writing this novel, I spoke again with the lawyer and other concerned parties, investigated for myself various details that Kido-san had
left vague in the interest of confidentiality, embellished it all with myimagination, and made it into fiction. I doubt Kido-san would haveever disclosed so much of what he had learned on the job to anyone,
but I followed through with what the novel required.

With all the unique characters that make an appearance, some of you
might wonder why on earth I didn’t pick one of the bit players to be theprotagonist. While Kido-san will in fact become obsessed with the lifeof a man, it is in Kido-san, viewed from behind as he chases this man,that I sensed something that needed to be seen.
There’s a painting by René Magritte entitled Not to Be Reproduced inwhich a man with his back turned is looking into a mirror at the backof another version of himself inside the mirror, who is likewise looking
into the depths of the reflection. This story is similar in some ways. And
5

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

perhaps the reader will spot the central theme of this work in the back ofme, the artist, obsessing over Kido-san absorbed in his own obsession.
What’s more, you may take issue with this prologue and doubt thatthe man I met at the bar was really “Kido-san” to begin with. That isperfectly understandable, but personally I believe he is who he says he is.
It would seem natural to begin the story with him, but before
that I would like to write about a woman named Rié. For you see, thebewilderingly strange and tragic ordeals that she underwent are where
everything in this tale finds its origin.

6

CHAPTER ONE
It was in mid-September 2011 that news spread among the people ofa certain Town S that the husband of Rié from the stationery shop had
passed away.
While everyone in Japan associates 2011 with the Great East Japan
Earthquake, there are some in Town S, tucked away in the center ofMiyazaki Prefecture, for whom this death of no national significanceholds a more prominent place in their recollections. It was not uncommon for those residing in the small, rustic community of around thirty
thousand, Rié’s mother among them, to never have met anyone fromthe devastated Tohoku region.
Looking at a map, one finds a thoroughfare of some antiquity called
Mera Road cutting through the middle of town along its course over the
Kyushu Mountains to its eventual terminus in Kumamoto. Visiting inperson, one discovers a settlement of simple appearance, about a fortyminute drive from Miyazaki City to the southeast.
Town S is undoubtedly a place of many unique qualities. For
ancient history buﬀs, its name reportedly conjures the enormous burial
mounds within its precincts, while fans of professional baseball recognize it as the site of one team’s spring camp and dam aficionados for
its boasting the largest in Kyushu. Like a good local, Rié never had
much interest in any of this. Though she would, nonetheless, develop
a sentimental attachment to a certain cherry tree in the park with theburial mounds.

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

Upon the release of a documentary in 2007 about a secluded
mountain village that was abandoned en masse in the 1980s after severe
depopulation left it diﬃcult to sustain, a certain kind of tourist began
to descend on Town S. Previously unknown in these parts, they would
waltz about with a condescending air, possessive of a perverse fascination with ghost towns.
While the center of Town S flourished after it was redeveloped
during the economic bubble of the Showa era, the combination of a
low birth rate and aging population left many businesses on the main
shopping stretch along Mera Road permanently shuttered, earning it
the rueful nickname “Showa Burial Mound.” One of the few shops thatremained was Rié’s family business, Seibundo Stationery.

Rié’s late husband, Daisuké Taniguchi, moved to town just before thedocumentary began to generate buzz. Wanting to start a career in forestry at the age of thirty-five without any experience in the industry,
he found employment at Ito Lumber, and after working there for four
years with enough diligence to earn the admiration of the company
president, he was crushed by a cryptomeria tree that he himself had
felled and there met his end. His age at time of death was thirty-nine.
Daisuké was a reticent man. As he hardly spoke to any of his
coworkers and had no friends of note, the only townspeople that learned
the details of his past were Rié and her family. One might even call him
an enigma, though it wasn’t unusual for migrants to depopulating areas
to have issues about which they could not speak. What set Daisuké
apart was that, within a single year of his arrival, he had married one of
the locals: Rié from the stationery shop.
Rié was the only daughter of the proprietors of a stationery shopthat had been in the family since her grandfather’s generation and was
known by everyone in town. While somewhat eccentric, she was thought
8

A MAN

to be sensible and trustworthy. So, although her decision aroused universal surprise, everyone assumed that a woman like Rié would only
have decided to tie the knot after thoroughly sussing Daisuké out andconcluding that he presented no harm. This was enough to bring all
prying into his past to an indeterminate hiatus.
Ito, president of Ito Lumber, was pleased by the development, as itraised the likelihood that Daisuké, who had far exceeded his expectations, might stay permanently. At the same time, oﬃcials in charge of
migration between urban and rural areas at the town oﬃce treated theunion as an ideal case study.

In part due to his being Rié’s husband, no one ever had bad things
to say about Daisuké Taniguchi. On the contrary, even hinting at illintentioned gossip would provoke disapproval, and most of the townspeople were quick to defend him. One might even go so far as to call
him cherished.
Better described as introverted than standoﬃsh, Daisuké wasn’t thetype to go out of his way to socialize, but if someone struck up a conversation with him, he would engage them with surprising cheerfulness.
He had a distinctive, laid-back air about him, and Ito would often crosshis arms and say, “Now that man is going places.”
While Daisuké was never angry, sulky, or otherwise in bad temper,
he wasn’t afraid to speak up, albeit gently, about ineﬃciency and danger
in his work. Occupational accidents are an all-too-frequent occurrence
on logging sites, and talk has an unfortunate tendency to be gruﬀ anddire. Somehow, the mere presence of this newbie reduced conflict.
They say it takes approximately three years for a forester to comeinto their own, beginning with chainsaw felling and moving on to theoperation of processors and grapples. Daisuké was a reliable hand within
a year and a half. A prudent judge of circumstances, steadfast, and both
9

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

physically and psychologically healthy, he poured himself quietly into
his work, whether under the scorching sun of midsummer or the sleetof a chilly winter day, and completed his tasks so utterly without complaint that experienced site supervisors would often advise him to pipe
up if he was uncomfortable.
It can be hard to predict the capabilities of a new hire until they are
actually put to the test, but Ito bragged on a number of occasions toothers in the industry about what a find Daisuké turned out to be andtended to attribute his exemplary performance to his university degree.
In the whole history of Ito Lumber, going back three generations, there
had never been another employee like him.

After Daisuké’s death, neighbors who had known Rié for many years
expressed their sympathy by saying of her, “That girl is badly marked . . .”To be “badly marked” means to be unfortunate. Apparently, this issomething of an anachronism, but the phrase remains in use in the
Kyushuian vernacular. It is often intoned by elders with intense commiseration derived from reflection on their long life experience. Noneof which is to imply that the people of Kyushu have exceptionally badluck or that they are especially fatalistic.
Misfortune can visit itself upon anyone. But when it comes to serious misfortune, we have a tendency to presume that, if it happens atall, it can only happen once in a lifetime. The fortunate imagine this tobe so out of a certain kind of naivety. Those who have actually experienced misfortune pray for it to be so as a desperate wish. And yet, thesort of major misfortune for which once is plenty, sadly, has somethingin common with the stray dog that persistently chases the same person around, twice and then thrice. It is in the midst of such recurrent
misfortune that people visit shrines for purification ceremonies or havetheir names changed.
10A MAN

Including Daisuké, Rié lost three of the people she most loved one
after the next.
Rié was raised in Town S and lived in her family home until leaving after high school graduation to attend university in Kanagawa
Prefecture. There she found a steady job and, at the age of twenty-five,married her first husband, an assistant at an architecture firm. Their firstson was named Yuto, and their second, Ryo.
At the age of two, Ryo was diagnosed with a brain tumor and diedsix months later. This was the first deep sorrow Rié had ever experienced.
Rié and her husband fought over Ryo’s treatment, and she wasnever able to put the hurt she suﬀered in the process behind her. At
her husband’s insistence that they forge onward as a family, she could
only shake her head. Their divorce mediation lurched from argument
to argument, and it took eleven months for them to reach an agreement. Thanks to the eﬀorts of a capable lawyer, Rié managed to secure
custody of their remaining child, which had been a sticking point forher husband in the negotiations. Then a vitriolic postcard arrived fromher in-laws, with whom she had always been on good terms, denouncing her as “inhuman.”Just as the dust was settling, her own father suddenly died, prompting Rié to return with Yuto to her family home in Town S.
Her predicament aroused great pity as the townspeople had all been
fond of Rié since she was a child, remembering her as a well-behaved
little darling. A lovely, subdued, petite girl with the sort of eyes thatseem to harbor idiosyncratic thoughts, her friends would often tease
her about the faraway look that appeared on her face whenever her
mind wandered.
While she wasn’t exactly an overachiever, Rié had good grades, andwhen her friends learned that she would begin commuting to a university prep school in Miyazaki City an hour away by bus instead ofto their local high school, they took it as a matter of course. Despite
the fact that she wasn’t the most talkative student, there were two or
11

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

three boys every school year, in both junior high and high school, whowatched her in the hallways or classroom, nursing a secret crush.
Her parents were immensely proud of their only daughter, who had
graduated from university in the big city of Yokohama, married a manon track to be an architect, and even been blessed with children. One
would have been hard pressed to find anyone who looked upon thatjoyful face of hers with anything like bitterness or contempt.
In other words, Rié’s life fell far short of how everyone imagined it
would turn out. No one—not the grown-ups, not her old classmates—
had doubted for a second that she was happy, so when the townspeople
heard that she had lost a young child, gotten a divorce, and returned
home, their reaction did not stop at mere sympathy; they were profoundly disturbed by the injustice of it all. That the world in which
they lived was the sort of place where such things could happen was an
unsettling idea. When on top of all this she lost her second partner after
only three years and nine months of marriage, it’s hardly surprising thatthey would say nothing to demean the memory of Daisuké, if for noother reason than that he was Rié’s husband.

When Rié met Daisuké, she had taken over management of the stationery shop from her mother. Delivering oﬃce supplies to her old middle
school, the town oﬃce, local corporations, and other customers; seeing
to the checkout counter; and fulfilling the various tasks required, Riéwatched each day pass in a blur. While she found some consolation infamiliar faces, it was less stressful to deal with new clients. Of these they
had no shortage, thanks to their serving as a distributor for a mail-ordercompany since the days her father was in charge.
As soon as Rié was alone, she thought of the son she had lost andoften cried. She could never forget the time, perhaps one month before
he died, when she’d left his ward to talk with the doctor and returned
12A MANto find him staring quietly at the ceiling. What could he be thinking andfeeling? she wondered as she studied him in profile. The capacity forthought he had been endowed with was supposed to have served him
in leading his life for many decades more. Instead it was functioning
merely to recognize his impending doom. But there was just no way hecould possibly understand the terrible process occurring in his body, noteven at the bitter end . . . Whenever Rié recalled Ryo at that moment,
she lost even the power to stand, sitting down wherever she happened
to be and covering her face.
Inevitably, her thoughts would turn to Yuto, the growing son that
had been left to her, and she would remind herself to continue on as
cheerfully as she could. Lacking the maturity to be troubled by his
brother’s death, Yuto had grown into an unexpectedly energetic boy
since Rié’s return, and this was her one solace.
She also remembered her father. Not once in his life had he everraised his voice to her or stopped loving her with everything he had.
Rié had no faith in any particular religion. Her family were socalled “funeral Buddhists,” belonging to the Jodo sect only insofar as
they employed its funerary services. Nevertheless, she often imagined
her father as a kindly old man watching over Ryo in heaven, and thisnever failed to bring her a touch of relief.
“Father only went to heaven a little bit early to keep Ryo company,”
drawled her mother, who truly believed such things. “He followed afterthat boy so as he won’t worry till you’re ready to go yourself. That’s
Father, alright.”

Living in her hometown for the first time since high school fourteen
years earlier was the source of some comfort for Rié. But sometimes,
when idling at her desk in the shop, she was beset by a feeling of emptiness so powerful, she worried for her own well-being. Her moorings
13

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

to the world came loose, time slipping by insensibly around her. Thensuddenly, like long-sunken garbage bobbing up inexplicably from thebottom of a pond, the thought would come to her that maybe death
wasn’t that scary after all. I mean, if such a small child as Ryo could go
through it, then why not her? And wasn’t her father waiting patiently
with him on the other side . . . ? Whenever she caught herself thinking this way, the core of her body would fill with the luminous chill of
dread.
For the first while after her return, Rié looked with envy at thesocial media pages of her friends from her university days. But after
taking a break for a week, she was surprised to find that her interest in
the interplay of text and photos was gone.
Visitors to the shop were scant. It was their mail-order clients that
supported Rié’s life with her son and mother. The future of the familybusiness was not looking bright.
She had seen the main street lined with shuttered stores on her
annual visits for New Year’s and the Obon Festival. But it wasn’t until
she resettled permanently that the town began to make her feel lonesome, as though she had been abandoned alone in a big, empty, dilapidated house.
On the second floor of a building across the street from the shop
was the piano studio where she had studied for eight years. It was now
deserted, the building utterly neglected. The town lacked even theyoung people to spray-paint it with graﬃti.
Once a week, Rié had crossed the street for her lesson and thenreturned to the shop, where she did homework while waiting for her
father to finish work. The ride back to their nearby home, with her
sitting shotgun while her father drove, just the two of them, she now
looked back on with fierce longing . . .
Could I start fresh in Yokohama or another area around Tokyo? Or
how about somewhere closer like Hakata? Maybe I could go look for a new
job there? Such thoughts crossed her mind from time to time. She could14

A MANnever be bothered to even reach out and touch them, leaving theminstead to simply fade away.

It was in the February of the year after Rié’s return that Daisuké first
visited Seibundo Stationery.
That winter, Rié and Yuto had both come down with colds twice.
Although Town S was supposed to be much warmer than Yokohama,
Rié had gotten used to living in a modern condo, and her drafty family
home was simply too much for her, especially the frigid bathing room.
It had been up to her mother, the only one in the family who remained
well, to take care of them on both occasions.
Rié had just recovered from one of these colds when Daisuké
stepped into the shop alone. It was evening, around the time that children come to buy pens and notebooks on their way home from school.
Darkness had fallen already, and Rié was just then considering letting
her mother take over so she could go home to make dinner.
Especially given the dearth of customers, it was hard not to notice
an unfamiliar man around Rié’s age. Also conspicuous were the sketchbook and watercolor set he brought to the counter along with a planner.
Skinny, he was just tall enough that Rié with her small stature had tolook up at him slightly and, dressed plainly in a navy-blue windbreaker
and jeans, he gave the vague impression of not being from around there.
As she was peeling oﬀ the planner’s price tag for him, Rié imagined
this man starting a new life in the town and wondered what would compel him to do so. Any of the townspeople surely would have been just as
curious. When he left the store, she said thank you for the second timeand, with her eyes on his back as he walked away, inexplicably sensed alife teeming with stories that needed to be told.

15

KEIICHIRO HIRANO

Before a month had elapsed, Daisuké visited the store again. It had beenraining torrentially since morning, and an old acquaintance of Rié’smother’s, Okumura-san, had just stopped by, carrying some bamboo
shoots to while away the time.
“Go ahead,” said Rié, as Daisuké was making his way timidly
toward the counter to buy a sketchbook and a small amount of paintas before.
“Oh, I’m very sorry, young man,” said Okumura-san. “Looks like
I’m in your way.”
When she stepped aside, Daisuké gave a slight bow and put his
items on the counter.
“That is some storm,” said Okumura-san, trying to makeconversation.
“Yes.” Daisuké gave a faint smile. His white car was parked in frontof the store.
“Do you need a receipt?” Rié asked.
“Um . . . I’m fine,” Daisuké replied, lowering his head. Then, withpalpable self-consciousness, he straightened up abruptly and looked Rié
straight in the eye for a moment.
Rié opened her eyes wide, as though she had just been addressed.
But Daisuké merely averted his gaze without a word, gave another slightbow, and left the shop, driving oﬀ into the downpour.

From then on, this nameless customer visited the shop about once amonth, usually in the evening. Invariably he purchased painting supplies and sketchbooks, only the large A3 size at first, then the little A5
ones as well. They were the sorts of items that hardly anyone but highschool art club students wanted, so whenever Rié stocked up on inventory, he began to pop into her head.
16

A MANOne of his visits was on another day of pouring rain about six
months later, when Yuto’s summer break was coming to an end. Thickturbulent clouds blanketed the town, and Rié was repeatedly startled byground-rumbling booms that followed close behind lightning.
He opened the door of the shop around three o’clock. The sound of
cicadas—buzzing from the lush sidewalk trees in spite of the weather—filled the room, along with sultry air, before both were cut oﬀ as thedoor closed.
Okumura-san was sitting in a chair eating a steamed bun, absorbed
in conversation with Rié’s mother. She had stopped in not long before
to blather away while taking shelter from the rain.
“I take it art is your hobby?” Okumura-san asked Daisuké in thelocal dialect as he approached the checkout counter with his usual
sketchbook and paint.
Startled, Daisuké paused before replying yes with a faint smile.
“A customer of mine says he saw you painting outdoors. On thelawn by the Hitotsuse River? Bet you’ve built up some collection by
now, huh?”
Daisuké gave only a slight nod, still smiling.
“Next time you could show them to us. What do you say? You want
to see his paintings too, don’t you, Rié?”
Rié could tell that Okumura-san wasn’t making this request purely
for curiosity’s sake. She was trying to ferret out information about thisunknown repeat customer. It reminded Rié why she’d spent her adolescence desperate to escape this country town, as tranquil and close to
her heart as it was supposed to be.
“Okumura-san, you’re putting him on the spot,” said Rié. “Sorry
about that. Forget what she said and please come again.”“Oh . . . It’s fine. I mean, they’re not really worth showing to anyone . . .” Saying this, the man nodded and made his usual abrupt exit.
Okumura-san looked to Rié and her mother, giving them each a
sly smile in turn.
17

ACKNOWLEDGMEN TS

In addition to the various sources I consulted and quoted, this bookwould not have been possible without the cooperation of many people
with my interviews and investigations. I would like to take this opportunity to give them my sincere thanks.

ABOUT THE AUTHO R

Photo © Mikiya Takimoto

Keiichiro Hirano is an award-winning and bestselling novelist whose
debut novel, The Eclipse, won the prestigious Akutagawa Prize in 1998,
when he was a twenty-three-year-old university student. A cultural
envoy to Paris appointed by Japan’s Ministry of Cultural Aﬀairs, hehas given lectures throughout Europe. Widely read in France, China,
Korea, Taiwan, Italy, and Egypt, Hirano is also the author of At theEnd of the Matinee, a runaway bestseller in Japan, among many otherbooks. His short fiction has appeared in The Columbia Anthology ofModern Japanese Literature. A Man, winner of Japan’s Yomiuri Prize for
Literature, is the first of Hirano’s novels to be translated into English.
For more information, visit en.k-hirano.com and follow Hirano on
Twitter at @hiranok_en.

ABOUT THE TRANSLATO R

Photo © 2019 Alexander O. Smith

Eli K. P. William is the author of the Jubilee Cycle, three novels set ina dystopian future Tokyo: Cash Crash Jubilee, The Naked World, andA Diamond Dream. Originally from Toronto, Canada, he has lived inJapan for over a decade and has spent most of that time working as aJapanese translator. A Man is his first full novel translation to be published. For more information, visit www.elikpwilliam.com.