I Could Hear the Fireworks but Not See Them: An Imaginary Fireworks Display on a Rainy Night

For a while now, I have been hearing a deep booming sound that seems to resonate in the pit of my stomach.

“Boom… Boom.”

Tonight is the Tokyo Bay fireworks festival.

My home is probably about ten kilometers from Tokyo Bay in a straight line.

Outside, however, it is raining.

“Are they really holding a fireworks festival in weather like this?”

I found it hard to believe, but I checked the date and it was definitely today. The deep booms also continued intermittently.

Apparently, they really were launching fireworks.

Even under normal conditions, I cannot see fireworks from my home. Countless high-rise buildings stand between here and the bay.

Yet I could hear them.

Once that happens, it becomes impossible to relax.

Then I remembered something.

There is a 20-story ward office near my home.

The top floor has a free observation deck that normally offers a fairly impressive view.

Perhaps I could see the fireworks through a gap between the buildings from up there.

And it was free.

The word “free” severely impairs human judgment.

I picked up an umbrella and immediately headed for the ward office.

What I Learned After Going Up 20 Floors

I took the elevator to the top floor.

Full of anticipation, I approached the window.

Then despair set in.

I could see nothing.

Not only were there no fireworks, but even the cluster of Shinjuku skyscrapers normally visible from there had disappeared.

Rain and fog had left nothing but darkness outside the window.

When I thought about it, this was obvious.

If I could not see Shinjuku a few kilometers away, there was no possibility of seeing Tokyo Bay ten kilometers away.

I had gone all the way up to the 20th floor merely to confirm that simple fact.

And I could still hear the fireworks.

“Boom… Boom.”

It was extremely irritating.

Surprisingly Many People Had the Same Idea

What made the experience interesting was how many people had thought exactly as I had.

Even though it was not yet 7 p.m., one family after another arrived at the ward office.

They all went up to the observation deck and looked out of the window.

“Oh. You can’t see anything at all.”

Then they trudged back home.

Watching them gave me a strange sense of kinship.

There were apparently this many people in the world whose judgment was no better than mine.

As I was leaving, I passed another family entering the ward office.

“Excuse me, but you won’t be able to see anything from up there because of the rain.”

I considered telling them that.

Then I reconsidered.

If an unfamiliar middle-aged man suddenly said something like that at the entrance to a ward office, he would obviously seem suspicious.

Besides, I would be confronting a family that had come full of anticipation with a hopeless reality before they had even entered.

I walked past them in silence.

Some things people cannot accept until they see them with their own eyes—even when they already know that there will be nothing to see.

Are Fireworks More Beautiful When You Cannot See Them?

In the end, I did not see a single firework.

All I could hear was the distant rumble.

“Boom… Boom.”

Each time I heard it, a firework launched itself inside my imagination.

Perhaps that one was a huge aerial shell.

The next might have been a weeping willow.

Since I could not actually see anything, I was free to imagine any fireworks I liked.

They could be red, blue, or gold.

There was no limit to how many could be launched.

After all, I could not verify a single real firework.

Viewed that way, it was a remarkably luxurious fireworks display.

Today’s Results

I walked through the rain to the ward office, went up 20 floors, confirmed that I could see nothing, and came home.

The result was zero.

There was, however, one thing I gained.

I discovered that many other people had the same idea, went up the same 20 floors, suffered the same disappointment, and went home just as I did.

I did not see a single firework, but I found plenty of kindred fools.

Apparently, the thing I saw most clearly that night was human folly.