Lady Joker, Volume 1, Kaoru Takamura [best affordable ebook reader TXT] 📗

the horse he had initially chosen, and if he happened to win it would be all good. If not, all he could do was apply himself better in the next race. Monoi never had much attachment to the bets he made, and perhaps that was why both his interest and his money had lasted for more than thirty years. “Erimo is next,” he said to himself, and though he had not intended to, he moved through the crowded passageway to see the horses warm up on the main track. A throng of men, unable to go out onto the field by the main track due to the rain, had already gathered by the exit from the grandstand, and Monoi could barely get a clear view by craning his neck. There, he waited for the horses moving in from the paddocks to line up, and from a distance he stared at the almost otherworldly movements of the horses’ legs for more than ten minutes. He turned to the clock as he thought to himself that it all came down to potential.

Only fifteen minutes left until the start of the race. He had a few bets he had been tasked with by an acquaintance, so he hurried to the ticket windows. There was no sign of Yo-chan at the foot of the pillar where Monoi had seen him before—where had he gone off to? Gathered in front of the betting windows all he could see was a long line of heads jostling each other. As he stood there being pushed and shoving back over the course of ten minutes, habit induced his excitement and made him think, “Yes, Erimo it is.” When he reached the window, he slammed down five thousand-yen bills and heard himself shout, “Number two to win!” He grabbed the ticket that appeared and quickly pushed forward three more thousand-yen bills and barked, “One-two. One-five. Two-five!” These were for his friend. As he came back out to the passageway with the tickets in hand, the bell signaling the two-minute cutoff before the start rang above his head, followed by the reverberating sound as the chain of ticket windows closed.

On his way to the second floor of the grandstand and with the fanfare as the horses entered the starting gate ringing in his ears, Monoi ran into Nunokawa, who was clutching his daughter under the arm with one hand while carrying a folding wheelchair in the other as he ran down the steps.

“She messed her pants,” Nunokawa mumbled and gestured with his chin at the girl.

When Monoi’s eyes fell upon the girl, he saw that a stain had spread over the crotch of her blue pants. Aha, he thought to himself, troubled by the sudden image of a mare’s ass that came to mind again.

“First time?” he asked.

“I think so . . . No, I don’t know.”

“What is your wife doing today?”

“Shopping. I think she’s probably home by now.”

The two men awkwardly lowered their voices beside the girl, who groaned, “Ah, ah, ahh,” as if to say something, throwing her arms and legs around, her neck wobbling. She was in a foul mood. Nunokawa looked down at her blankly as if his mind had gone off far away, then in the next moment, a blue vein at his temple quivered as his expression registered extreme irritation. However, each expression was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“She’s a lady now,” he let out roughly.

If she had gotten her period, the girl had indeed become a lady, starting today. Thinking that was one way to look at it, Monoi muttered in agreement but could not find the right words.

“I could place you a bet for the eleventh race,” Monoi finally said.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Nunokawa replied, “Ten thousand yen for Lady-something-or-other to win.”

Monoi again puzzled over how he should respond. “There are two horses with the name Lady.”

“Then five thousand yen each.”

“Better make it a place bet.”

“That’s none of your concern.”

With the hand that was holding his daughter, Nunokawa struggled to fish out a ten-thousand-yen bill from his wallet and hand it over. Then, for the first time in the six years that Monoi had known him, he left without a parting word. Flanked by his daughter in one arm and the wheelchair under the other, he disappeared into the crowd of people in the passageway.

Monoi, on the other hand, ran up the stairs and wedged himself into the crowd of people that was now packed as far back as the passageway. He craned his neck, turning the right half of his face toward the track. The tenth race had taken off from the south side, the eight horses dancing into the sea of rain.

The black sash of the dirt track stretched out before them. The horizontal line of horses edged back and forth as if cutting into a sand dune and, in the blink of an eye, they approached the third turn, the competition still neck and neck. Far beyond the mist, the colorful helmets of the jockeys blurred into one another and wavered. In the second block, Erimo’s black cap appeared to have started a little behind. The horses were now breaking into three groups as they ran past the screen in front of the finish line. The rumble of hooves on the ground grew closer. Erimo was still in last place.

With two horses taking the lead, the remaining six rounded into the fourth turn, only a nose or a neck between them, and entered into the five-hundred-meter homestretch. The cheers that erupted from within the grandstand swelled into giant waves. The eight horses were now edging back and forth in a frenzy as Inter Erimo came surging up on the far outside. Erimo was quickly gaining. Will he pull it out? Will he? Monoi wondered as his own neck stretched forward. He watched as Kita Sunline at the top broke away, followed by Saint Squeeze half a length back, and then Erimo, another half-length behind. The cheers and