Chapter 37: The Middle-Aged Man and Shinobu in Venice... Akina?

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Chapter 37: Uncle and Little Shinobu in Venice... Akina?

Swish~ swish~

The waves were like a tireless street cleaner, endlessly scouring the sand and stones along the beach.

The stones seemed utterly unmoved, merely cooperating by producing a little foam.

A black wooden post stood in the seawater. Perhaps it had not always looked that way, but who would care what it had looked like before? Only the seagulls liked to perch on it and rest their feet.

A barefoot girl came scampering over, making a muffled little sound with her mouth.

The seagull flapped away, crying out several times, as if angrily scolding her: I may not be human, but you... are rather pretty.

Watching the scene, Takeshi Iwata could only shake his head and smile.

The barefoot girl was Shinobu. She wore a floral dress, and when she turned her head, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

“The person who called out to you was Kiyoshi?”

“Couldn’t you tell?”

“It was only for a moment. It happened too quickly.”

“All right, it was him.”

“What about the reporters?”

“Of course I gave them some information beforehand.”

“Oh! So that’s how it was. Then...”

“Mm. I did make a little money from it, too.”

“Haha...”

Takeshi Iwata was still wearing a suit, though he had relaxed considerably. He had no tie, and his collar was completely open.

The outfit was hardly suitable for playing on a beach. Fortunately, he was only there to accompany Shinobu.

Her innocent smile alone was enough.

The Venice Film Festival was held on the island of Lido, one of Venice’s larger islands. Supposedly, it was the only island in Venice where cars could be found.

Shinobu had even complained about that. She had imagined she would see the kind of scenery associated with a water city—almost no land at all, with every building connected by waterways.

Lido Island looked like an ordinary little island. But then again, it was not ordinary either.

Once you arrived, you could feel the full malice of capitalism. Almost everything cost money, and everything was extremely expensive.

Take the beach, for instance. The island was only twelve kilometers long, and most of its beaches belonged to hotels—in other words, they were private beaches. There were public bathing areas as well, but foreigners were truly uninhibited.

Every parasol and every deck chair came with a rental fee.

And the fees were enormous. When Shinobu heard the prices, her eyes widened.

The two of them had originally been perfectly content traveling on an official budget of ten million yen. Now, however, they found themselves thinking that money... was merely average.

So they kept their recreation simple. After all, they had come to attend the film festival, hadn’t they?

Speaking of the festival—

There was a place on Lido Island called the Palace of Cinema. All the competing films were screened there.

The first day Takeshi Iwata and Shinobu arrived was also their busiest. They attended the opening ceremony—in other words, they walked the red carpet.

In fact, there was a red-carpet ceremony every day of the festival. If one wished to walk it, one could come every day.

Some Japanese media outlets were quite clever. The sudden appearance of The Violent Man had been far too abrupt, and since they could not interview Takeshi Iwata in Japan, they naturally decided to intercept him in Italy.

But their preparations had been inadequate, so they could only find Japanese students studying in Europe to serve as temporary reporters.

They were not particularly professional, and their questions made both Shinobu and Takeshi laugh.

As for the photographs, they had no choice but to use those taken by the local Venetian media.

A fierce-looking man in a suit who radiated the air of a yakuza, and an adorable, innocent girl in a dress.

This strange yet harmonious pair made for photographs that were sent back to Japan at the fastest possible speed.

What kind of reaction they would provoke was impossible to know.

Of course, in this era, even wanting to know was impossible. Most people did not yet have any concept of the Internet or anything similar.

After the red carpet, they also ran into Marco Müller.

Takeshi Iwata was very interested in the man, and the two of them soon engaged in an extremely entertaining conversation.

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An Italian and a Japanese communicating in Chinese in Venice.

How could that not be interesting?

There was no helping it.

At first, they had tried English, but quickly discovered that Marco could not understand him, and he could not understand Marco.

As for Italian, Takeshi Iwata genuinely could not speak it. As for Japanese, Marco genuinely could not speak that.

Fortunately, they found Chinese—their wonderful common language.

When Takeshi Iwata began speaking Chinese, Shinobu was naturally astonished. But in those days, with Sino-Japanese relations on friendly terms, knowing some Chinese was not particularly unusual. Shinobu even became somewhat convinced that Uncle really had been a university student.

Of course, Takeshi Iwata could not reveal the true reason. He also had to speak stiffly.

His tongue was exhausted.

Fortunately, Marco could understand him. He quickly expressed his opinion of The Violent Man.

It was a highly unusual, truly distinctive violent film.

Marco even deliberately emphasized that he had not heard any musical score in the film—and that this was wonderful.

Simple, direct violence. There was something good about keeping it pure.

Takeshi Iwata’s face flushed slightly when he heard that...

Had Marco really not heard any music?

He simply had not had the money to make any!

Of course, the film had also been rushed so badly that Toho had not had time to add a score.

But thinking back, Takeshi Kitano himself had often liked using static shots without music to express certain things.

Could it be that this approach gave a film greater artistic prestige?

Never mind. Either way, Marco was right.

Takeshi Iwata’s refusal to argue had something of Master Jin’s style about it. His martial-arts novels had been interpreted in every possible way, yet he rarely came forward to dispute anyone’s claim that they had gotten something wrong.

As for Marco Müller...

The man Takeshi remembered had graduated from Liaoning University in the northeast of China. He had studied abroad during a very special period, and perhaps for precisely that reason, his understanding of Chinese and Asian cinema was entirely different from that of ordinary Westerners.

It was also thanks to him that the Venice Film Festival was so friendly toward Chinese cinema. Indeed, after Marco stepped down as festival president in 2011, Chinese films did not enter the main competition for the next ten years.

Takeshi Iwata’s plan to make an impact in Venice had, in part, been a wager placed on this man.

Only someone who genuinely understood Asian culture could provide a relatively welcoming environment.

As things stood, the wager had paid off.

As for whether they could win an award afterward...

“What are you thinking about, Uncle?”

“Oh, this...”

“You’re thinking about winning an award, aren’t you?”

Shinobu’s innocent voice echoed beside Takeshi Iwata’s ear. Honestly, as long as the girl did not sing, everything about her was wonderful.

“How could I be? We don’t even know yet whether we’ll make it into the main competition.”

Takeshi Iwata answered truthfully.

Shinobu smiled. “What’s that?”

Did she truly not know what the main competition was?

Takeshi Iwata laughed. “Actually, the fact that we made it here already means we’ve succeeded.”

Shinobu was delighted to hear that. She had never cared all that much about awards, but she pretended to be displeased and said, “My sister is coming.”

That...

Miho Nakayama had done them a great service at the airport, but how could she possibly let this opportunity pass?

Back to Venice!

She had also benefited from the earlier interview.

During her phone call with Shinobu, she had sounded unbearably pleased with herself, as though the Nakayama family were about to produce two superstar actresses.

But it was obvious that Shinobu intended to... avoid her sister.

Takeshi Iwata could not help laughing. In later years, people would speak of “dodging men.” Shinobu was “dodging her sister” right now—a remarkably fashionable thing to do.

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Just as Takeshi Iwata had said, he had already won. He was not particularly concerned about awards.

So...

When Miho Nakayama arrived in Venice full of anticipation, she did not find the little sister she had been longing to see. All she found in the hotel was a note.

“I’ve gone sightseeing around Italy with Uncle.”

That wretched girl!

She made her sister so furious that one Buddha seemed to rise to heaven while another emerged from the earth.

But what could Miho do?

“Are you Miss Miho Nakayama?”

“Could we have an interview?”

“What direction will your younger sister, Shinobu Nakayama, take in her future career? Will she debut with the agency where you work, Miss Nakayama?”

Fortunately, Miho soon discovered that reporters were far more lovable than her little sister.

...

They claimed they were touring Italy.

But where would they get that kind of money? So they decided to explore the areas around Venice instead, returning to Lido Island in time for the closing ceremony of the film festival.

Their first stop was naturally the “Venice” shown in the tourist brochures.

The waterways connecting the entire city.

The Bridge of Sighs.

And the pigeons in front of Saint Mark’s Basilica.

“Coo-coo~ hahaha...”

Carrying a large handful of food, Shinobu was warmly welcomed by the pigeons. They were probably old veterans by now and were not frightened of people in the slightest.

Naturally, what they cared about most was the food.

Takeshi Iwata was still wearing his suit, but he had worn a smile throughout their entire visit to Venice.

He was genuinely happy. Seeing the girl smile was enough.

But...

“I’m hungry.”

Perhaps influenced by the pigeons, Shinobu rubbed her stomach.

What else could Takeshi Iwata do?

He smiled and took the girl to find something to eat.

The girl fed the pigeons, and he fed the girl. The logic formed a perfect circle.

Fortunately, there were plenty of restaurants around Saint Mark’s Square. Otherwise, what would be the point of a tourist attraction?

Takeshi Iwata and Shinobu casually chose a restaurant. They were experienced enough by now, so they ordered seafood pasta, pizza, and a salad.

As they waited for their food, Shinobu suddenly tugged at Takeshi Iwata.

“Uncle, look over there.”

“Hmm?”

Takeshi Iwata followed the direction of her finger and saw a beautiful woman.

Yes, she was definitely beautiful. He had seen only her profile, but that alone was enough to make the judgment.

Thick hair, milky-white skin, an elegant, upturned nose, and brows and eyes touched with melancholy. Her slender fingers held a fork wound with a swirl of pasta.

Yet she seemed lost in thought and did not bring it to her mouth.

“She looks like Miss Akina,” Shinobu said in an especially quiet voice.

Takeshi Iwata nodded. She did not merely look like her...

Acknowledgments to Meng Miao, Book Friend 7116, Suibian X, and everyone else. Thank you for your generous rewards, your recommendation votes, your monthly votes, and your support.

I still have to ask for votes—truly, please do vote. Thank you, thank you.

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