At dawn, I heard movement outside the house.
It was the old man.
When I stepped outside, I caught the fragrant scent of white rice porridge.
"Up already? Have some porridge for breakfast."
He picked up a bowl and served me some.
"I'm curious. You live here alone and don't farm. Where do you get your rice?" I asked.
"There's never any shortage of food or drink here. You might not believe it, but every so often, someone delivers rice, flour, and other things, along with fruit, vegetables, and wine. I've never seen whoever delivers them, though. The supplies just appear in my storage room on their own."
"Oh?" I definitely did not believe his explanation.
If someone really delivered his daily necessities and food, then he should have caught sight of them at least once. No matter how long the intervals were, they could not possibly exceed sixty years. Besides, how large could his storage room be?
I had seen his storage room. It was only a dozen or so square meters. Even if it were piled full, the food would only last him a year or two.
"How often do they deliver supplies?"
"That's hard to say. Sometimes it's after one or two months, and sometimes it takes longer," he answered.
I asked again, "Is the amount delivered the same every time?"
"Not necessarily. If I still have plenty left, they deliver relatively less. But the total amount is fixed. In other words, what gets delivered plus what I have in storage always equals the amount from the first delivery. It has always been that way all these years."
Now that was interesting.
I asked whether he had ever been curious about who was delivering the supplies. Since they could bring so many things in, getting out should