F-0013 A private letter about the seat by the window

To M,

Sincerely,

The cold days continue. I wonder if the plums have already started blooming over there. Here, since moving to the Hamamatsuchō office, the color outside the window has been the same every day, and only in the morning do I feel a little as though I can smell the sea.

It may be strange to write so suddenly, but an email would remain, so I chose this. I’m starting to lose track of whether it is better for something to remain or not.

It’s about that multifunction machine. It was a paper-jamming machine even back when you were here, but since around the end of last month, there have been mornings when a sheet of paper, like a meeting handout, is left in the output tray. At first I thought someone had printed something at night and forgotten to take it. But then, the words written on the paper are the same words we end up saying later that morning.

I’m making it sound more dramatic than it is, so I haven’t told anyone exactly as it is. In truth, not everything matches. It’s just little phrases like, “Oh, I’ll go get tea first,” or “Is it all right if we do that part this afternoon?” On some days, even a cough was written down. There was even a line where the sound of a chair being pulled out was written simply as “chair.”

Once, I folded it into an envelope unread and put it away in my desk drawer. And then, at that morning’s staff briefing, the words someone would normally be sure to say never came out. It was the kind of thing that would bother no one, and yet without it there is just the slightest pause. The next day’s paper had blank lines continuing just there. Even though they were blank, it looked as if something had been written there, and my eyes drifted downward on their own.

It is always odd only at 9:17. Odd, though perhaps it is just a quirk of the machine. The same line is printed twice, one over the other, and one of them has the abbreviation for the seat by the window attached to it. It is the same seat number you used last. Now it’s just a place for storing bags, and no one sits there. Yesterday, an old pack of copier paper had been left there. It seemed to have been taken from the back of a shelf, and only the wrapping paper had yellowed a little.

Everyone said it had stopped after we switched to the new machine. But on the morning when that old paper was put in, another sheet came out again. Only times were listed, and all the speech fields were blank. When I saw it, for some reason I felt as though I were reading a letter from you that would never be answered.

If this reaches you, please tell me, as much as you remember, what you were usually doing at that seat by the window around 9:17. Before you quit, I seem to recall you often looking outside at that hour. It may be my mistake.

And then, this is a strange request, but after reading this letter, if possible, please do not send a reply right away. While I am waiting for your reply, I want to see what will be printed here. I know it is rude to ask such a thing.

I am enclosing two sheets. Please read only the top one. If possible, discard the lower sheet without opening it. Someone said, half in jest, that the lines you do not read remain darker. If it’s a joke, then that would be a relief.

Respectfully,