A Midsummer's Equation

SIXTY-FOUR

Kyohei paced around the lobby while his father was settling the bill at the front desk. He checked the lounge and the pool, even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. Yukawa was nowhere to be found.

He said we’d talk tomorrow, Kyohei thought, getting angry. Grown-ups were always breaking promises as if it didn’t matter at all. He’d thought the professor was different, though.

“Come on, we’re going,” his father called out to him. “If we leave now, we’ll get to the station right on time. Hurry up.” He began walking toward the front entrance, checking his wristwatch.

Kyohei had run out of excuses. Shoulders slumped, he followed his father.

They got in a taxi just outside the hotel. Kyohei looked out of the window. He could see several boats in the harbor. In the distance, the swimming beach shone white under the sun. He spotted the breakwater where he and Yukawa had launched their water rocket. It seemed like an eternity ago.

The taxi got to Hari Cove Station faster than he’d expected. As soon as he stepped out of the door, he started sweating.

“It’s hot again,” his father said. “Good thing the waiting room’s got air-conditioning.”

The small waiting room was up some stairs, just before the gate. It was cool inside, but that wasn’t what made a smile break out across Kyohei’s face. Yukawa was sitting in a corner of the waiting room, reading a magazine.

“Professor!”

Yukawa looked up and nodded. “Right on time,” he said. “Getting on the next express?”

“Yeah, you too?” Kyohei said, putting down his backpack and sitting next to Yukawa.

“No. I’m going back to Tokyo by bus with the DESMEC crew.”

“Oh,” Kyohei said, disappointed. He had been hoping they could talk.

“But I did come here to see you,” Yukawa said, then he looked up at Kyohei’s father. “You don’t mind if I speak with him a bit?”

“Not at all,” Kyohei’s father said. “I’ll be outside.” He made a gesture of smoking a cigarette.

“First, let me give you this,” Yukawa said, pulling some papers out of his jacket pocket. “The data from when we set off our rocket. You’ll need this if you’re going to finish your report.”

“Oh, right,” he said, grabbing the papers and looking them over. They were covered with tiny, precisely written numbers. Someone who hadn’t been there that day would have no idea what they meant. But Kyohei did. He remembered when the rocket flew right, and when it didn’t fly at all. He could draw a picture in his mind of exactly how the water shooting out from the back of the rocket sparkled in the sun over the waves.

“There are some mysteries in this world,” Yukawa said suddenly, “that cannot be unraveled with modern science. However, as science develops, we will one day be able to understand them. The question is, is there a limit to what science can know? If so, what creates that limit?”

Kyohei looked at Yukawa. He couldn’t figure out why the professor was telling him this, except he had a feeling it was very important.

Yukawa pointed a finger at Kyohei’s forehead. “People do,” he said. “People’s brains, to be more precise. For example, in mathematics, when somebody discovers a new theorem, they have other mathematicians verify it to see if it’s correct. The problem is, the theorems getting discovered are becoming more and more complex. That limits the number of mathematicians who can properly verify them. What happens when someone comes up with a theorem so hard to understand that there isn’t anyone else who can understand it? In order for that theorem to be accepted as fact, they have to wait until another genius comes along. That’s the limit the human brain imposes on the progress of scientific knowledge. You understand?”

Kyohei nodded, still having no idea where he was going with this.

“Every problem has a solution,” Yukawa said, staring straight at Kyohei through his glasses. “But there’s no guarantee that the solution will be found immediately. The same holds true in our lives. We encounter several problems to which the solutions are not immediately apparent in life. There is value to be had in worrying about those problems when you get to them. But never feel rushed. Often, in order to find the answer, you need time to grow first. That’s why we apply ourselves, and learn as we go.”

Kyohei chewed on that for moment, then his mouth opened a little and he looked up with sudden understanding.

“You have questions now, I know, and until you find your answers, I’ll be working on those questions too, and worrying with you. So don’t forget, you’re never alone.”

Kyohei looked up at Yukawa and took a deep breath. It felt like a little light had flickered back on in his chest. The weight he had felt pressing down on him for the last several days lifted. Now he finally understood why he’d needed to talk to Yukawa so much. It was because he wanted to hear this.

His father came back. “Train’s coming pretty soon.”

Kyohei stood. He turned back around to face Yukawa. “Thanks, Professor.”

Yukawa smiled back. “Be well,” he said.

Kyohei followed his father through the ticket gate just as the express train was pulling into the platform. Just before he got onto the train, he took a glance back at the waiting room. Yukawa had already left.

Kyohei sat down in a booth seat across from his father. His father asked him what they’d been talking about, so he showed him the data from the rocket test.

“Wow, that’s too complicated for me,” his father said, handing the papers back to him.

Of course you’re not interested, Kyohei thought. You wouldn’t understand unless you’d done the experiment yourself. That’s what science is all about.

Kyohei looked out the window and watched the scenery going by. The ocean sparkled in the sunlight. Just above the horizon he saw billowing clouds, white like ice cream.

“Don’t tell anyone, okay?”

His uncle’s voice sounded in his mind. It was the night of the fireworks. His uncle had just told him they should put something over the chimney in case one of the rockets went in. “I’ve got this box here. See? The bottom’s damp. That’s to keep it from catching fire. Thanks, kiddo. I’d do it myself, but my leg…”

When Kyohei came back down, they had set off a few rockets. He’d watched each one shoot off into the night sky. When he glanced at his uncle, he saw that he, too, was looking up, but not at the sky. His eyes were fixed on one of the upstairs windows, and his hands were pressed together, just the way he did when he was praying. Except he didn’t look peaceful. There was deep pain in his face. To Kyohei, it looked like he was apologizing to someone.

But who?

And why?

Kyohei shook the memory from his head and looked back out the window. It’s okay, he thought. I don’t need to know those answers right away. I have time, and besides, I’m not alone.