She was outside! It was fantastic. She wanted to whoop with pleasure but knew she’d better keep quiet.
There was nobody in the alley. She walked over to the apartment block where Hiroshi lived and then stopped in front of the intercom panel, baffled: of course, all the doorbells were labeled in Japanese. What was she supposed to do now? She wondered whether she should just press all the buttons at once and then say sorry if she had to. After all, most people might not even be at home. Just then she heard a sound behind the door and it opened—and there stood Hiroshi.
“I saw you come,” he said instead of hello.
Charlotte looked at him. He was bigger than she remembered him. “I thought I could come visit you. If you like.”
“Yes, of course,” Hiroshi said, opening the door further. “Come in.”
They went upstairs. The staircase was dark and stiflingly narrow—so this was what real life was like for the Japanese. The apartment they went into was just as small—not much bigger than her bedroom. Through the gap in an open sliding door, Charlotte caught sight of a tiny room with a mattress on the floor and a wardrobe piled high with various things: suitcases, blankets, and so on. The front half of the main room was taken up by a low table, where you would have to kneel to eat, a TV, and a kitchen counter. Then there was a folding screen of white paper stretched over a frame of black wood, and behind that was Hiroshi’s realm: film posters on the wall, a narrow bookcase, and a couple of boxes. One of them was open, and she could see his tools and spare parts. On the windowsill were the pieces of what might once have been a radio.
“I’m trying to repair that,” Hiroshi explained. “But it’s not easy. I haven’t got the right parts.”
Charlotte looked around. There was a set of shelves on the wall across from the window; a rolled-up mattress and, above that, a folded set of bedclothes were tucked onto the lowest shelf.
“Do you have to clear your bed away every morning?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “That way I have more room during the day. I don’t always do it during the school year, but certainly during the holidays.”
“How long are your holidays?”
“Till the end of August. I think school starts again on the twenty-fourth. It’s a Tuesday at any rate.”
Charlotte ran her hand softly over some of the furniture. So many feelings…“And what do you do during the holidays?”
“Nothing. Build stuff. Read. Think about things.” Hiroshi sighed. “My mother sometimes scolds me for not joining any of the school clubs like the others do, but I just don’t feel like it.”
“School clubs? What are those?”
“Oh, they’re for sports. Football, basketball, karate, that sort of thing. Or extra tutoring.”
“Are you good at school?”
He shrugged. “I get by.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Technical books most of the time. How things work and so on. I can borrow them from the library.”
It was only then that Charlotte realized what all the film posters on Hiroshi’s wall had in common. Every single one of them featured a robot. One was the golden robot from Star Wars ; another showed a little machine standing on a high cliff being struck by lightning from the dark and stormy sky above.
“You like that sort of thing, don’t you?” Charlotte asked. “How things work.”
“Yes,” said Hiroshi, pointing at the Star Wars robot. “Do you know that one?”
“Of course. That’s C-3PO.” She knew about him from Brenda, who had seen the film on video and told her all about it.
“That’s right. Protocol droid, third class. He’s really just an actor in a costume, though.” Hiroshi pointed at the other robot, the one with the storm cloud. “That’s Number 5. He’s much more interesting. A real robot. He’s supposed to be a military robot, but after he gets struck by lightning, he turns pacifist, and
There was nobody in the alley. She walked over to the apartment block where Hiroshi lived and then stopped in front of the intercom panel, baffled: of course, all the doorbells were labeled in Japanese. What was she supposed to do now? She wondered whether she should just press all the buttons at once and then say sorry if she had to. After all, most people might not even be at home. Just then she heard a sound behind the door and it opened—and there stood Hiroshi.
“I saw you come,” he said instead of hello.
Charlotte looked at him. He was bigger than she remembered him. “I thought I could come visit you. If you like.”
“Yes, of course,” Hiroshi said, opening the door further. “Come in.”
They went upstairs. The staircase was dark and stiflingly narrow—so this was what real life was like for the Japanese. The apartment they went into was just as small—not much bigger than her bedroom. Through the gap in an open sliding door, Charlotte caught sight of a tiny room with a mattress on the floor and a wardrobe piled high with various things: suitcases, blankets, and so on. The front half of the main room was taken up by a low table, where you would have to kneel to eat, a TV, and a kitchen counter. Then there was a folding screen of white paper stretched over a frame of black wood, and behind that was Hiroshi’s realm: film posters on the wall, a narrow bookcase, and a couple of boxes. One of them was open, and she could see his tools and spare parts. On the windowsill were the pieces of what might once have been a radio.
“I’m trying to repair that,” Hiroshi explained. “But it’s not easy. I haven’t got the right parts.”
Charlotte looked around. There was a set of shelves on the wall across from the window; a rolled-up mattress and, above that, a folded set of bedclothes were tucked onto the lowest shelf.
“Do you have to clear your bed away every morning?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “That way I have more room during the day. I don’t always do it during the school year, but certainly during the holidays.”
“How long are your holidays?”
“Till the end of August. I think school starts again on the twenty-fourth. It’s a Tuesday at any rate.”
Charlotte ran her hand softly over some of the furniture. So many feelings…“And what do you do during the holidays?”
“Nothing. Build stuff. Read. Think about things.” Hiroshi sighed. “My mother sometimes scolds me for not joining any of the school clubs like the others do, but I just don’t feel like it.”
“School clubs? What are those?”
“Oh, they’re for sports. Football, basketball, karate, that sort of thing. Or extra tutoring.”
“Are you good at school?”
He shrugged. “I get by.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Technical books most of the time. How things work and so on. I can borrow them from the library.”
It was only then that Charlotte realized what all the film posters on Hiroshi’s wall had in common. Every single one of them featured a robot. One was the golden robot from Star Wars ; another showed a little machine standing on a high cliff being struck by lightning from the dark and stormy sky above.
“You like that sort of thing, don’t you?” Charlotte asked. “How things work.”
“Yes,” said Hiroshi, pointing at the Star Wars robot. “Do you know that one?”
“Of course. That’s C-3PO.” She knew about him from Brenda, who had seen the film on video and told her all about it.
“That’s right. Protocol droid, third class. He’s really just an actor in a costume, though.” Hiroshi pointed at the other robot, the one with the storm cloud. “That’s Number 5. He’s much more interesting. A real robot. He’s supposed to be a military robot, but after he gets struck by lightning, he turns pacifist, and
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