THE CASE FILES OF JEWELER RICHARD - Volume 13, Extra Case: A Short Vacation (SPOILERS)
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"Um... Richard... Well, we're here... but what are we actually going to do?"
"That's a good question. I was just wondering the exact same thing."
We're in the 20th arrondissement of Paris. Both the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower are quite a long way from here. The closest historical site is the Père Lachaise Cemetery.
Richard and I were at a loss.
We had agreed to take a vacation and enjoy Paris together. It was great that we’d agreed on that. The problem was, we were both so buried in work that we forgot to actually "plan" the specific details of this "vacation." It's not a business trip, so using the word "plan" might be strange, but let's set that aside. In short, we had no idea what we were going to do.
Lately, moments like this make me a little uneasy. I've had so much work and been so busy for the past few years that I actually feel almost awkward not having to think about "what I have to do tomorrow."
We unpacked, rested up from the flight at a café, and decided to go see the Jardin des Plantes, the Parisian botanical garden. It wasn't far, perfect for a walk. The Père Lachaise Cemetery was closer, and it's the final resting place of famous figures from the past, but we wondered if that was really what we wanted to see first thing on our vacation.
The classic botanical garden, which was called the "King's Garden" before the revolution, is known for its paths that crisscross the lawns. They are arranged like a French formal garden—stretching out straight and seemingly endless. Rare plants are neatly planted in greenhouses. It's a garden sculpted by human hands; you can feel the sense of "order" in the Western sense of the word.
We walked around for about an hour.
"You don't have to say it. I know..."
Unfortunately, something else was running through my mind. Thoughts like: I could have written five emails in this time. To business partners, jewelry firms, the wholesaler in Japan I'm indebted to, retailers, and one to Ms. Ma. They weren't urgent, more like obligations—but old habits die hard.
But I had decided I wouldn't do any of that right now. That's why I took this vacation.
"Relaxing... is surprisingly hard."
"You could say our brains have gotten too used to 'work mode'."
"Hmm... want to play a word-association game? Non-work stuff only. I'll start. 'Botanical garden'!"
"The only thing those have in common is 'hunter'."
"Come on, it's just an association game! No, this isn't working, we're looping back to work. Again. Um... If you say plant hunter, then... 'England'!"
"...That's a gemology qualification."
We fell silent, looked at each other, and gave a wry smile.
"I guess we should stop. It's not good to force it."
"Agreed. It's time to eat."
"Right, so I'll... oh, wait, this hotel doesn't have a kitchen."
"We agreed that your cooking skills would get a vacation this time, too."
A tourist should act like a tourist. But given that Paris hasn't been particularly safe lately, we quickly searched our phones for a nearby bistro. Not many restaurants were open during the day, so we looked for cafés too.
We found one that looked good and headed over enthusiastically.
On the way, we tried to hold hands, but we quickly exchanged an embarrassed glance and let go.
The café we arrived at had a great atmosphere. It looked like a relaxed, local bakery and restaurant combined. Huge baguettes were disappearing at a dizzying pace; you could tell everyone knew what time they came out of the oven. We had clearly stumbled upon a good spot. I mentally congratulated myself.
I tried asking the clerk, "This is a great place. What do you recommend?"
The clerk, a man of African appearance, looked a little surprised. But he immediately said they had excellent sandwiches and quiche. When the clerk himself tells you their sandwiches are excellent, it probably means they're damn confident about the ingredients they put in them, right?
We each ordered a giant sandwich (the kind that would make even the biggest Ehomaki roll look tiny) and I got a café au lait to go with it.
After I paid, the clerk glanced around quickly and then asked me, "Are you in Paris on business?"
"So you don't live in France. That's strange. You don't have the tourist aura."
"What kind of aura does a tourist have?"
I've wondered about that so many times. It's not the first time I've heard it; for some reason, it's become a regular part of my business trips around the world. So I've decided to think about it differently. Instead of worrying about how to answer, I just try to understand what they're really trying to tell me. If you treat it like a game, the vague, scattered feeling I get is a little easier to bear.
The clerk shrugged. "It's obvious. You seem... uneasy."
"Oh, I see. You mean like, excited?"
"Yeah, yeah. You're a bit... distracted. Like you're completely absorbed in Paris, or maybe just the joy of spending time here with your friend. There are a lot of pickpockets. You're a visitor, so I want you to be safe. You can't think it won't happen to you. They're everywhere."
"That's true. I'll be careful, I swear on my grandmother's name."
"You're a joker! What are you, eighteen?"
"Hmm, about one-and-a-half times that."
"No way! Tell me your secret to youth."
"Daniel!" someone called from the back. He shrugged. Apparently, his name was Daniel. He gave me an apologetic look: "Sorry, they're calling me," and disappeared into the back of the shop. A new batch of baguettes must have been ready.
I went back to Richard, who was waiting in the dining area.
We both bit into our sandwiches and our eyes widened in unison. Incredible. The crust was crisp, the inside soft. Just... perfect.
I wanted to eat that sandwich forever. We finished the sandwiches almost without a word, then looked at each other and nodded.
"...Let's just buy the baguette and go. We'll buy ingredients at the market nearby. What do you think?"
And so we walked the streets of Paris with a baguette over a meter long, the very picture of the Japanese idea of a "Parisian." We bought some good fish pâté and a bottle of white wine to go with it, and a simple dinner was ready.
In this mood, we decided to head out to the Eiffel Tower.
"We're on vacation, after all."
The Eiffel Tower is beautiful not just by day, but at night too. The searchlight at the top circled the night sky like an ancient lighthouse. And then the famous "Champagne Flash," which starts at a set time.
Back when I was in university, I think I had some interest in this sort of thing. But honestly, it wasn't because I truly wanted to see world landmarks. It was more that my college friends were interested, so I figured I should be too. Maybe it was really just a calculated social maneuver.
Well, and then I met Richard—a person who had already "seen the world's landmarks." As we grew closer, my life took a different turn. I threw myself into business and work trips, and I started to view these cultural things from a distance. And I've basically been in that mode ever since.
In a way, things had come full circle, I thought, as I blended into the crowd of tourists and watched the Champagne Flash from beneath the Eiffel Tower. A golden light enveloped the entire tower, its twinkling bulbs sparkling like New Year's Eve sparklers. It was beautiful. The tower that nobody liked during the World's Fair now proudly looked down on guests from all over the world, as if to say, "This is Paris. What do you think?"
For safety, to avoid any risks, we mixed in with the tourist crowd. There were all kinds of people around us. A group of Korean girls complaining that they couldn't shoot a video and that they shouldn't have bought a new phone. An older married couple in a wheelchair, speaking American English, saying "It's beautiful," "I'm glad we came," and holding hands, surrounded by their children and maybe grandchildren. A group of Japanese people focused only on selfies—maybe YouTubers? A profession that didn't exist in my childhood. And then, couples kissing. I didn't know where they were from, but they were two people in love. They looked happy. As if the world around them didn't exist, only the two of them.
I looked at Richard beside me and asked.
"...Um... should we kiss?"
"That was the single worst invitation for a kiss I have ever heard in my entire life. Thank you."
"Ah, sorry, really sorry! I didn't mean it like that..."
Richard smiled and kissed my cheek. On the cheek. Not on the lips.
When the Champagne Flash ended, I realized I was slightly relieved.
On the way back to the hotel, we tried holding hands again, but as expected, we let go again halfway through. Holding hands always felt like someone was telling us, "This is what you're supposed to do." It felt like following an order, and that made me resist. And if I had to say who that "someone" was? It was me—the one who had decided we should go on this vacation in the first place.
Still, this was the first time I had consciously tried to give our relationship a bit of... substance.
I took the food we'd bought at the market out of the fridge and tried lighting a candle the hotel had provided. Although the room had a smoke detector and the staff had assured me, 'If it falls, it'll extinguish itself, so no worries,' I had purchased a small, shallow bowl at the market just in case. I set the candle in the water-filled dish and lit it with a lighter the hotel had lent me.
As the flame burned, a golden glow reflected on the water's surface—as if the moon had descended to earth.
And in that light stood Richard.
"...This looks like a painting by La Tour."
I mentioned La Tour because he was French, a painter who masterfully captured people illuminated by just a small candle flame. His paintings are realistic and often have religious themes, but he wasn't just interested in the religious message; rather, he captured the psychology of people in troubled times. He was a painter of inner strength. I like his work.
But more than anything, I loved the sight of Richard illuminated by the candle. Not even the best painter in the world could have captured him like this. This image probably couldn't be painted.
He asked, tilting his head, looking like an otherworldly saint. I mumbled without thinking.
"The light show was nice, but... you're still the most beautiful. Not even a hundred Eiffel Towers can compare to you."
Richard gave a slight nod, as if to say, "That's sweet of you." It wasn't a rejection, just a habit. And I was glad for that habit of his. A habit of receiving compliments. And of me.
There had already been so many of these moments. Watching the sunset in Kenya after work. Pushing a bike down a country road in Provence. Enjoying a strawberry parfait at the Shiseido Parlour in Ginza. I had loved those moments.
And I love this moment, too. I love it and I cherish it. With all my heart.
Regardless of whether our relationship has changed or not, this is real.
Richard noticed I had frozen and moved closer, concerned. I smiled instinctively.
"...No, I just realized I'm the type of person who doesn't dive headfirst even into things I quite like."
"I think I've known that for about ten billion years, but I agree."
"But I really like you. I really love you."
I walked over to Richard and hugged him. Richard hugged me back lightly. If I hugged him with all my strength, Richard would return it with equal force. That's the kind of man he is. Incredibly gentle, considerate, and understands the word "restraint."
And wasn't that exactly what bothered me?
And wasn't that why I had agreed to this vacation?
I steeled myself. Still in the embrace, I lifted my face and leaned in... only for us to spectacularly knock our foreheads together. There was a loud "thunk!" as our skulls collided. We stumbled back, each leaning against a wall. We couldn't help but crack pained smiles.
"Seigi... you are clearly lacking... a certain amount of practice..."
"Sorry. I want to try again. This time, I'll be a little..."
"Let's just stop. You're not really interested in it, anyway."
I looked up. My head was still spinning a little, but I didn't mind.
I took off my jacket and tossed it on a chair. Richard just smiled. I felt like crying.
As I stood there, at a loss, Richard came up and quietly hugged me from behind. I really did feel like crying, but they were tears of regret. I thought I could do better.
"...I'm sorry. I wanted to do something... I wanted to. I didn't want you to hold back or be restrained."
"You're thinking the same thing I am. I don't want to force you into something you don't want, or make you feel like you're lying to yourself."
"I know," Richard repeated. In a very gentle voice.
Really. This man knows me better than I know myself.
I was silent. Richard's warm voice continued.
"It doesn't have to be now. It can be in the future, or even in the 'next life,' if you like. Japan has a cultural tradition over a thousand years old that indulges in such concepts."
"I'm Japanese, but believing in a next life... that's a bit much..."
I felt exhausted. At the very least, I felt I wouldn't be trying anything else tonight. Angelic hands were comforting me, so it was hard to rally myself at this moment. And tomorrow? Would I be more determined? I didn't know. I didn't trust myself.
I remained leaning against the wall, in a sort of numb daze.
Richard's phone suddenly vibrated. That was surprising. He hadn't turned it off, but I'd assumed he had silenced all low-priority calls. Our high-priority list included Mr. Henry, Jeffrey, and Miss Octavia, and others, but we had let them know we were on vacation, so they should call later.
Richard muttered a rather unintelligible French curse, grabbed the phone from the table, and pressed the answer button as if he wanted to crush it.
"Hello? - Jeff? I'm hanging up."
"I told you that if you called me this week, 'I would make you regret it.' You broke your promise, so... What?"
Richard's eyes went wide.
Suddenly, he looked at me.
"Huh?" I said, pointing at myself.
Jeffrey was talking about me? To Richard? Urgently?
Richard switched the call to speakerphone, apparently so I could hear, too.
What followed exceeded anything I could have imagined.
Our departure from Paris was rushed and a little chaotic. In the taxi on the way to Charles de Gaulle Airport, I grabbed Richard's hand. I squeezed it tightly. Richard returned the squeeze gently.
"...We'll take another vacation. Next time... maybe... next time we'll go to Amsterdam."
"That sounds interesting."
"I'll buy you so many flowers at the flower market, I'll completely shower you in them."
"I would be delighted. But I doubt their fragrance will be sweeter than your compliments."
I laughed, but it felt hollow.
And what I was about to do would affect Richard, too—how much, I had no idea.
But for me, there was no other path. At least, I believed that of all the paths I had, this was the only choice. Because I wanted to help my brother. With all my heart.
Richard smiled and swung my hand, as if to reassure me.
"I'm looking forward to it."
"I'm looking forward to meeting your wonderful brother. Thank you for introducing me."
"What are you talking about? I don't even know if I'll be able to properly meet him myself."
"I find that situation hard to imagine."
The walls of the Père Lachaise Cemetery receded outside the window. I had wanted to go there during our vacation, to walk around, but we never made it. Will the two of us ever get another chance to visit that cemetery? The cemetery where Marie Curie-Skłodowska and Edith Piaf rest.
I held Richard's hand tightly and looked straight ahead. The streets of Paris were disappearing behind us. The place I was heading now was Japan, Yokohama. It would be different from Paris, different from Kandy in Sri Lanka. Different from Ginza, where Richard and I first met.
I will do everything I can.
That's all I want to do right now.
But because of this, I was about to expose Richard to troubles that could affect his entire life. The thought made my heart ache beyond words. I didn't know what the best thing to do was. And Richard forgave me. That hurt even more. But it was a needless pain, because Richard didn't want me to suffer.
On the one hand, I wanted to help my brother, but on the other, I thought—unwaveringly: If my life, the life of someone like me, has any meaning at all... Then it is to live for Richard.
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I’m sorry that there haven’t been any new translations here for some time. At first, I thought I would have more free time, but it didn’t really happen. So I decided to work on shorter parts or extra chapters that I can finish faster.
Please be patient if you find some mistakes — English is not my first language, but I try my best to make the translation clear and correct. 😊✨
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