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The Two Who Pass Each Other By
His name isn’t important. For now, let’s just call him Hachi, because this particular dog is kept in Shibuya.
Hachi’s favorite things in the world were yakitori and walks. Almost every day, his master would take him on patrol through the streets of Shibuya, once in the morning and once in the evening. His master disliked the bustling crowds around the station, so their walks usually wound through the quieter paths of a residential area set a little way back.
Today was no different. In the crisp morning air, Hachi plodded up a gentle slope toward the park. The chirping of sparrows and the rustling of leaves in the trees filled the air. Through the wire fence, the park’s lush, green scenery was illuminated by the May morning sun, shining with a dazzling brilliance. The people who gathered there often said it was the most beautiful season of the year.
Of course, Hachi is a dog, so he doesn’t think or feel the way a human does. It varies by breed, but according to the books, a dog’s intelligence is roughly equivalent to that of a two or three-year-old. He could understand simple words and experience animalistic feelings like pleasure and displeasure, but he was incapable of complex thought.
Still, Hachi knew.
He knew about the boy he passed on this slope almost every morning.
Until about three years ago, the boy was always on a bicycle, ringing his bell with a cheerful jingle as he coasted down the slope toward the station. During Hachi’s evening walks, the opposite would happen: the boy would be pedaling up the slope, coming from the station. Their schedules often coincided, and without even realizing it, Hachi had come to remember the boy’s scent.
It was about two years ago that a change occurred.
He had always just cycled past, but starting around the summer of that year, the boy would sometimes walk alongside a girl of about the same age, someone Hachi didn’t recognize. At first, Hachi didn’t notice, because the girl and the boy weren’t walking on the school route at the same time.
The girl walked with her back straight, an earphone cord dangling near her ear. Hachi, with his superior hearing, noticed her attention was focused on the sounds coming from them. A dog can supposedly hear sounds from a kilometer away, so he could even pick up the faint voice leaking from her earphones. She was listening to a conversation in a language that wasn’t Japanese.
One day, the boy, who was usually on his bike, was walking right behind the girl as if chasing her. They stopped at an intersection, standing a little apart. The traffic light changed. A car took a sharp turn without looking, and a voice shouted, “Look out!”
In the nick of time, the boy pulled back the girl, who had been about to step into the crosswalk, oblivious to the car forcing its way around the corner. She tumbled to the ground, and Hachi’s sharp ears could even hear her ragged breathing as she sat there, nearly run over.
“That was dangerous, wasn’t it?” his master murmured. “Hachi, you be careful when you cross the street, too, okay?”
Hachi couldn’t understand all the words, but he knew his master was speaking out of concern for his safety. He barked a single, “Woof,” to show he understood.
A short while after that, the boy and girl began to walk side-by-side more often.
When they passed by the park, his polite master would always bow his head slightly and say, “Hello.” The boy and girl would smile and return the greeting. Sometimes, they would approach Hachi, and after asking his master’s permission, the girl would stroke his fluffy fur. Hachi grew to like her, because she petted him so pleasantly.
“He’s a smart one, isn’t he? Very well-behaved,” the boy said one day.
“I know, right?” the girl replied. “He has such intelligent-looking eyes.”
“He barks at me every time we meet, you know.”
“Oh? So he remembers you?”
“Seems like it. He even looks my way when I pass him on my bike.”
“That’s amazing. You really are a smart one, aren’t you?” the girl said, looking down at Hachi.
Hachi could tell she was praising him, but he could only reply with a “Woof.”
“Thank you,” his master said in his place.
And then, about a year ago, another change came.
The boy and girl started walking close together, holding hands. Hachi knew what that meant. It was a behavioral pattern often seen in a mated pair of the species called human. In other words, those two were now in that kind of relationship.
Slowly, the seasons passed.
When spring ended, summer came. Hachi didn’t do well with the heat, so his walks shifted to a little earlier in the morning. When that happened, he didn’t see the two of them as often.
By the time he could meet them again in the autumn, Hachi would wonder in his own doggy way if another change might have occurred between the boy and the girl.
