Chapter 187

Surrounded by people I didn’t know, having them come at me one after another, my breathing grew ragged. Not knowing what to do, I shouted, “I’m sorry, please let me through! I’m in a hurry,” my voice choked with tears, and I forced my way through the ring of people. No longer caring whether I hit anyone, I ran in a daze and finally reached the door. I moved to open the door when someone behind me grabbed my arm. My heart shrank, and just as I was about to shout out, someone called my name. “Inoue, wait!” The person looking down at me, out of breath and dressed in a suit, was Mr. Sasaki. “I got a message from Ryuto. I was surprised to hear you would be at the party. I’m glad I found you so soon.” In my terror, Mr. Sasaki led me out of the ballroom and took me to the hotel’s lounge. There was space between our seats and others so no one would hear our conversation. The soft lighting and the potted plant next to the couch seemed to hide us, which reassured me, and my tense emotions started to unwind. “I brought you this.” He set my cell phone and the ticket for my coat on the table. I suspected that in the end I had behaved exactly as Ryuto had planned, and I felt even more drained. At the same time, I felt a bottomless terror of Ryuto for being able to maneuver the woman he knew and even Mr. Sasaki and to draw me to the party. I felt a chill. “Do you think Ryuto did something this convoluted just so I would run into you, Mr. Sasaki?” Mr. Sasaki’s face clouded over. “Now, that I don’t know. But don’t you think Ryuto wants you to write another novel, too?” I hung my head. Did Ryuto want to make me write because that was what Tohko wanted? Because that was what Ryuto’s “special person” wanted? Something deep in my heart ached, as if something were scraping at it. “… You knew Ryuto and Tohko, didn’t you, Mr. Sasaki?” Mr. Sasaki’s face wrinkled again, troubled. “Tohko told me that I need to write, too. She knew that I’d seen you.” My voice was a hoarse whisper as I squeezed my phone. Mr. Sasaki gazed at me with a pained, remorseful look. “Actually, the reason I went to see you is because Tohko contacted me. Tohko told me she thought you’d be able to write a new novel now.” All that did was tighten my chest even more. So Tohko really had known that I was Miu Inoue from the very beginning. She’d gotten close to me in order to make me write another book. “I won’t write anything.” Mr. Sasaki sighed. “I told Tohko that, too. I told her you wouldn’t write. I think she took it very badly.” Sweat coated my hand as it squeezed my cell phone. My throat hurt and a pungent smell filled the back of my nose. Without lifting my head, I asked, “How do you know Tohko and Ryuto? Ryuto’s mother is that author, Kanako Sakurai, right? Is that the link?” “There is that. But Tohko’s father was a colleague of mine.” “Tohko’s… father?” “That’s right—Fumiharu Amano, an excellent editor.” Tohko’s father had been an editor! When I looked up, Mr. Sasaki’s eyes were touched by a nostalgic smile. “I don’t know any editors who love books, who love authors, or who extract their potential as much as he did. The books he made were filled with the love of a creator even in the details of their binding. There were a lot of authors who teamed up with Amano and became best sellers. That was the sort of thing that got him an overblown reputation as an editor of legend.” There was fondness in Mr. Sasaki’s tone. His eyes had been clouding over, but they began to sparkle visibly. I watched the transformation with an odd feeling. Mr. Sasaki went on talking effusively. How all the authors had wanted to work with Amano. How among them there had been authors with problems, who were selfish and constantly missed deadlines, but that Amano had dealt with them skillfully. He had fearlessly told people what they needed to hear, had expended all his intelligence and all his power when they needed help, and had built relationships of trust with authors. He had been young, easygoing, and kind with a polite demeanor, but in his job he’d been more passionate than anyone. Mr. Sasaki sounded as proud as if he were speaking of himself— “Before a manuscript was finished, he would stay cooped up at the office so long you wondered when he slept, and yet no matter how tired he was, he never got irritable or dismissive of other people. “In fact, when everyone was on edge, he would tell them, ‘It’s all right; we’ll get through this; keep at it,’ and he would give them a low-key smile. With a calm face that said he didn’t even know he was doing it! “Then, when the final proofing was done, he would drop onto a couch in the office all of a sudden and sleep right on through to the next day. “His wife would often bring little Tohko or Ryuto along to visit him with a change of clothes or other provisions. I can still remember how, when he was passed out on the sofa the morning after final proofing, Tohko would shake him and shout at him in the most adorable voice, ‘Daddy, wake up. Let’s go home.’ Tohko started wearing her hair in braids around that time. She really was so cute.” It was obvious that Mr. Sasaki and Tohko’s father shared a lot of good memories and they were welling up in his heart in an unstoppable torrent. I listened to him as if he were speaking of a distant land, without any of it feeling real. “Her mother, Yui, was ethereal and cute, too. She was originally in a lower grade at the same college as Amano, and she submitted a novel to him. She was a book girl and she dreamed of being an author. Although at some point, Amano seized his opportunity and made her his personal author.” “When my dad proposed to my mom, he said, ‘I want you to be my author. Just mine.’ ” The sweet yearning that had come into her clear eyes. Tohko with a contented smile like a violet. But the more I heard of Mr. Sasaki’s story, the more I felt a pang, as if a thing that had been nearby until now was drawing away. I didn’t know anything about Tohko. I wanted to, but I didn’t. Not about her family. Not about her childhood. Nothing… “Tohko resembles Yui in a lot of ways. The way she smiles is exactly like her. And the way she speaks and acts makes it seem that Yui is right there with you. “That’s probably why Amano loved Tohko so much. He was focused so entirely on his job before she was born that people joked that he got his mail at work, and yet he would practically run home when evening came and help Yui out. That was the only time his work got put on hold. It was like he couldn’t stand to be away from Yui, he was so worried about her. He was fidgety even when he was at work, and I think everyone used to tease him.” “… How is Tohko’s family now?” I asked in a low voice. Mr. Sasaki shut his mouth abruptly and lowered his eyes sadly. “They both passed away when Tohko was about eight years old. They were in a car and… there was an accident.” I gasped slightly. Why was Tohko living at Ryuto’s house? I had always wondered. And also why Tohko’s voice was very warm when she talked about her parents and yet occasionally it was mixed with some melancholy— Tohko’s parents had died a long time ago! Mr. Sasaki didn’t go into any more detail than that. He closed his mouth, clasped his hands together on the table, bowed his head slightly, and sat in pained silence. He, too, had lost an irreplaceable friend in that accident. Once the heavy mood had drawn out for a bit, Mr. Sasaki sluggishly lifted his face. Then he gazed at me, and in a voice filled with gravity, as if he needed to tell me this at least, he said, “Tohko was your earliest fan, Inoue. “I doubt there was anybody who read your book who was waiting for Miu Inoue’s next novel as much as Tohko was. When I was still your agent, Tohko often nagged me about when the next book would be. Two years ago when I told her that Miu Inoue might never write again, Tohko looked like she was going to cry.” I couldn’t say anything. Each time I remembered how sad she had looked or how her voice had caught, it tore at my chest and my throat squeezed tight. My arm grew achingly hot where Tohko had grabbed it— The desire to see Tohko. Colliding in my heart with the thought that I couldn’t see her… “Club time, Konoha!” Tohko pulling my hand and leading me out of the room despite my protests. I wrote snacks for Tohko every day in the soft light of the western sun. Tohko had always been excited when I handed over the paper. A gentle smile. A cheerful voice. I wanted to hear her voice, but it was growing distant. Her shape and her eyes were growing hazy, too. “Are you sure you don’t feel like writing another book?” I couldn’t manage a response to Mr. Sasaki’s question as he gazed at me. My lips stayed firmly shut. Mr. Sasaki told me he would send me home in a taxi, so he asked me to wait in the lobby. “I’ll take the train home.” “So much has happened today, you must be exhausted. Let me get you a cab.” Mr. Sasaki was right; even though I hadn’t exercised or anything, my limbs felt incredibly heavy and my temples ached. I thought I might get sick if I had to deal with the crowds on the train, so I accepted his offer. “Thank you.” “I’ll be right back, so have a seat on the sofa while you wait.” With that, he went back to his colleagues. Mr. Sasaki must have been busy as a host today, too. I felt awful for monopolizing him despite that. I went up the escalator to the first floor, then handed in the ticket for my coat and schoolbag at the front desk. I put my coat on, then sat down on a sofa in the lobby, holding my bag in my arms. Sitting down made my body feel like it had grown even heavier. It was dinnertime and I still wasn’t home, so I was sure my mother was worried. Kotobuki, too… Just as I was opening my cell phone, I could see a slender woman in a vivid royal-blue dress walking toward me. She made my heart pound hard. Keeping my grip on my bag, I gulped. Just like when she’d stood at the microphone, the woman gave off a frigid, regal air that seemed to reject all else. I stared at her, my entire body tense, my eyes never straying. She picked up an expensive-looking fur coat at the front desk and slipped it on in an elegant motion, then started moving toward the revolving doors at the main entrance. My throat was bone-dry. I couldn’t even blink, and my eyes hurt. Just then, she turned around. Her eyes, empty of emotion, colder than absolute zero, met mine. In that instant, I felt as if her look had become a crystal arrow that pierced my heart. We stared at each other, standing at a distance. Unable to breathe, unable to look away, I wonder how long we stayed like that. Breaking under the tension, I stood up and crept over to her, utterly her inferior. “You’re Kanako Sakurai, right? Um, my name is Konoha Inoue. I go to Seijoh Academy. I’m in a club with Tohko. We met once outside your house.” It was impossible to believe that this woman was someone’s mother. Her limbs, the line of her neck, her hips, they were all surprisingly slender and her skin was white and smooth as wax. I wondered how old she was. Since she was Ryuto’s mother, it wasn’t out of the question for her to be in her late thirties or early forties, but she looked as if she had transcended mere age. There was no sense whatsoever of warmth or vivacity in her glossy, chestnut-brown hair, which was styled in a short cut, or in the sharp line of her nose, or in the red blush of her lips; she was incredibly cold, her features graceful, and almost oppressively beautiful. She looked at my face in silence. “I’m sorry for being there unannounced last time. And, um… I had no idea Ryuto’s mother was the author Kanako Sakurai.” “Are you writing something at the moment?” The sudden question in her clear, cold voice left me with nothing to say. Without any expression on her face, she went on. “You’re Miu Inoue, aren’t you?” My cheeks burned like fire. She knew who I was! When I thought about it, though, I realized that if Tohko and Ryuto both knew, there was no way Kanako didn’t. Plus she’d been a judge, and my real name and address and a brief history had been written on my submission. “… I stopped writing novels. I’m an ordinary high school student now,” I murmured as I tried desperately to stop my voice from shaking. The searing fire in my chest was humiliation and anger. Was she going to tell me to write like Tohko and Ryuto had? But Kanako Sakurai, the author, pronounced in a cold, disinterested voice, “It’s better that way. You could never be an author.” Blood rushed into my head. “There is some question as to whether this author will be capable of producing another piece.” My whole body was assaulted by a burning shame. While I struggled to take a breath, her words went on indifferently, as if she were looking down from heaven. “I know someone who writes novels very similar to yours. Their spirit was weak. They never could have been an author.” Standing stiffly, I couldn’t say anything in response. I was utterly outmatched. If she were a magnificent moon shining in the heavens, I was a cowardly cricket hiding in the shadows of the grass. “Inoue.” Mr. Sasaki ran up to us, looking frantic. Kanako gave Mr. Sasaki a slight nod, then turned her back on me without a word. With an alluring rustle of the hem of her royal-blue dress, she disappeared through the revolving door. “Did Kanako say anything to you, Inoue?” Mr. Sasaki asked me worriedly as I quailed, looking miserable. “… She said… I could never be an author.” “I believe being an author is a lonely line of work that asks you to pass through a narrow gate quite alone.” Her majestic voice had shot through me, and it resurfaced in my mind along with the words she had just hurled at me. I was filled with bitter thoughts. Mr. Sasaki frowned. “Kanako is extraordinarily exacting about the work she does and she can be easily misunderstood. So, uh… I hope you won’t let her get under your skin.” “… I’m not.” As soon as I’d said it, my brain burned. He was right; there was no reason to worry about it. Because I wasn’t going to be an author. So then why had it shocked me this badly? Why did I ache like my chest had been hollowed out? Mr. Sasaki rested a hand on my shoulder consolingly. “I’m sorry I took so long. Let’s go.” “Amano debuted Kanako, you know. She’d been best friends with Tohko’s mother, Yui, ever since they were in middle school.” Mr. Sasaki spoke sporadically in the taxi. “Have you ever read one of her books, Inoue?” “… No.” “If you read one all the way through, you’ll feel a shock, as if the world you’ve lived in your whole life has been turned on end. Her pen drags out the taboos and the fear lying beneath the surface of a peaceful, everyday life without reservation and depicts them almost clinically. There are people who criticize her work as confessional novels typical of a female author and say that they simply explore her lived experiences, but they’re wrong. Kanako Sakurai is a true author.” Within his calm tone was an unshakable admiration. The things Kanako had told me still ached deep in my chest. So that was what her novels were like… Unhesitating, clinical. The exact opposite of the way I felt lost about everything— “Since her descriptions are so realistic, there was a big stir that suggested Arisa, the protagonist of her book The Immoral Passage, was Kanako herself, but that was just something made up by the weeklies…” “Alissa?” A chill shot through my chest and the question slipped out of me. The heroine of Strait Is the Gate was named Alissa, too. And the title The Immoral Passage evoked Strait Is the Gate. “Did the character resemble Kanako?” Mr. Sasaki started, and he became suddenly evasive. “Well… of course any character will have some things in common with the author. But she’s hardly an exact duplicate. And of course not all of the things she wrote in that book are true. A book is never more than fiction after all, unlike a newspaper article…,” he murmured hesitantly, then changed the subject. “Konoha, where have you been? Why didn’t you call?” When I reached home, my mother came out to the front door looking worried. “I’m sorry, Mom. I decided to go to the movies with a friend. My phone’s battery died and I couldn’t call. I looked for a pay phone, but I didn’t see one…” “You should have borrowed your friend’s phone, then.” “They don’t believe in cell phones.” Fighting back the throbbing pain that cut through my chest, I added to my lies. I wonder what kind of face my mom would make if I told her that I’d been with Mr. Sasaki. If I told her that he’d made me that offer—“Won’t you write again?” Would it end with her saying I was better off not writing? Or would she reply that I should do what I wanted? Either way, my mother would probably suffer like she had two years ago. If I weren’t Miu Inoue—if I hadn’t written a novel—my mom and dad could have lived in peace as the parents of ordinary high school student Konoha Inoue. “What about dinner, Konoha?” “Thanks. I’ll have some. I’m gonna go change first.” I climbed the stairs and headed to my room. The heater hadn’t been turned on, so the room was freezing cold. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and listened to Kotobuki’s voice mail. “Um… it’s me. Did something happen?” And to the next two. “I didn’t see you in the book club room, either. Where are you? You can just text me, but let me know.” Kotobuki’s voice was hoarse with uncertainty. Her last message was a text. I’m going home now. Still waiting to hear from you. As I gazed at the words on the screen, my heart was crushed and my throat and eyes burned. The time stamp on the text was when the library closed, an hour later. Had she waited for me all that time? Just as I was about to call Kotobuki’s number, a solemn ring tone started playing all of a sudden and I nearly dropped the phone. A call! Kotobuki? No, Kotobuki’s ring tone was the theme song from Beauty and the Beast, so it couldn’t be her. It was someone else. I checked the caller and a shudder prickled the back of my neck. Ryuto! My cold, trembling fingers pressed the talk button and I put the phone to my ear. I held my breath until I heard a low voice accompanied by a muffled laugh. “Good to be home, huh, Konoha?” A chill went through me, as if I’d been slashed by a pointed chunk of ice. How did he know I was home?! Thinking about it calmly, I realized Mr. Sasaki could have called Ryuto after I’d left, or Ryuto could have checked with him. But just then I had the feeling that Ryuto was somewhere nearby keeping an eye on my movements, and even the line of darkness I could see between the curtains made me shudder. “Did you enjoy the party?” “How could I enjoy that? Getting stranded somewhere like that in my school uniform?” “It’s good you stood out, though. What exactly are you afraid of? At a party like that, you shoulda been soakin’ up more accolades than anyone, shoulda gotten more jealous looks than anyone, and been able to shine. And yet you snuck around and then ran off. Do you ever get sick of yourself?” “What are you getting at?” Was he trying to make me mad? Or was he just mocking me? “The reason you’re afraid of workin’ as an author is ’cos you’re runnin’ away from it. You oughta take a stand and face it boldly. Your talent would do the rest. It could push you to the very top. To such glorious heights that nobody’s criticism and no stupid sentimentality would reach you. Where you could look down on the common people from above—if you think about it, a life like that sounds pretty good, right?” “I don’t want anything like that. Not the lonely life of going through the narrow gate alone—” My chest was thrumming with anger and my head was so hot it ached. I spoke in a strong tone. “That’s what your mom called it. She said that’s what it’s like to be an author. That you can’t survive by being spoiled with reliance on your family and friends. I prefer to be with my family and friends! So I don’t care if I never become an author. Your own mother told me to my face that I’d never be able to be one!” “… And that made you give up?” “I don’t have any reason to keep going, do I? What are you trying to accomplish, making Takeda give me Strait Is the Gate and everything? What do you want to make me do? What’s the meaning behind that book?!” “You don’t get it?” Ryuto muttered darkly. “Why don’t you think about it? If Juliette and Jerome got married, how would it have turned out?” “If Juliette and Jerome…?” Jerome was the protagonist who narrated the story, and Juliette was Alissa’s little sister, who had a crush on Jerome. Alissa had wanted Jerome and Juliette to get married, but Juliette stepped aside without ever telling Jerome her feelings. In the book, Jerome sought Alissa so intensely that he loved only her. He didn’t have a shred of feeling for Juliette. If Juliette had been married to Jerome like that? “Do you think maybe Juliette could have been happy? Even though Jerome had given his heart to Alissa?” “What does that have to do with me?” “Don’t you think Jerome is kinda like you? All wishy-washy? Sensitive and yet so stupid he never even noticed that Juliette liked him. Didn’t have the guts to go after Alissa. Nothin’ but excuses.” “Urk—” “That’s why Alissa got snatched away by God. She disappears from Jerome’s life and he never gets to see her again. If you keep up like this, you’ll be the same way, Konoha.” In the cold, unheated room, with my phone pressed to my ear listening to what Ryuto was saying, the air weighed heavily on my body. My fingers tingled painfully with cold as they gripped the phone. “Are you talking about Tohko? Are you doing these things for Tohko, Ryuto? Aren’t you the one who likes her?” There was a brief silence on the speaker. He finally answered in a quiet voice. “You’re right… I like her a lot.” My heart wrenched painfully. So it was true! “Tohko is different from other girls… she’s special. Her mom was the first woman I ever loved.” Tohko’s… mother? I was caught off guard by this unexpected confession, but Ryuto’s voice went on, tinged with melancholy. “I wanted her ever since I was little. I’d think how amazing it’d be if we could be together forever. But… she couldn’t be happy. “She got betrayed in a way that could never be taken back, by someone she trusted. She fell into a black, lonely darkness… and it ate away at her heart.” His voice was transforming into something more and more pained. The words Ryuto had uttered at the planetarium. “I wanna be the kind of man who can protect the girl he’s into to the very end.” Was the person he’d wanted to protect Tohko’s mother, Yui? But Yui had died with her husband, Fumiharu, in a car accident. So was he trying to protect her daughter, Tohko, in her place? “Everybody is just a replacement for her.” Takeda had told me there was “someone special” that Ryuto couldn’t tell how he felt. Was Tohko a “replacement” in Ryuto’s eyes, too? Ryuto’s voice grew strong again. “Alissa told Jerome that if he had a daughter, she wanted him to name her Alissa after her. But do you know what happened to that little girl—to Juliette’s daughter, Alissa?” His voice was so low it made me shudder, sweeping into my ear with a chill breath. “Her existence was erased.” Up until now, Ryu has called Tohko “cousin Tohko,” but as soon as he started elementary school, he started to call her just Tohko and that infuriates her. Ryu says, “Saying cousin Tohko is what babies do. It’s stupid.” “You’re younger than me, Ryu, and you’re my little brother. You don’t get to decide! I’m not gonna call you Ryu anymore, either, then! I’ll just call you Ryuto, like I don’t even care about you! I’m not gonna call you any nicknames anymore!” Tohko must have believed that Ryu would cry at that and start saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’ll call you cousin Tohko. Please call me Ryu.” But Ryu was blasé about it, so she got even more upset. She looked pretty frustrated. Kana? Doesn’t hearing about the kids arguing over names remind you of middle school when we became friends? When I first saw you reading a book in the library, you were so pretty and mature and majestic that I thought you were in one of the higher grades. I was captivated. When I found out you were a first-year like me, I was shocked and became even more curious about you. Since we were in different classes, I was only watching you from afar, but I was always fascinated. Gym was the only time our classes mixed, so of course I looked forward to it. Seeing it on the schedule the day before thrilled me. I was terrible at exercising and I hated gym class the whole time I was in elementary school. The fact that I could look at you and how pretty you were was enough to make me happy. And so when I got to be in the same class as you in second year, I was so overjoyed I thought my head would explode. I’ll be friends with Kana! I want to get to know her! I want to get closer to her! Cherishing those ambitions, I would practice talking to you over and over at home, dreaming breathlessly of the day I would do it for real. “Sakurai? You borrowed Ogai Mori’s Dancing Girl from the library before, right? I’ve been thinking of reading that, too. How was it?” Actually, I’d already read and reread Dancing Girl and wept at Elise’s sad fate. It had twisted my heart. I was hoping that you would say the book I loved was interesting, but your answer was curt. “It was boring.” “What?” “Elise got on my nerves.” Then you left the classroom. So our very first conversation that should have been so memorable was left at that. I kept employing the tactic of making casual conversation about the books you checked out of the library, but… “Sakurai? What did you think of Schau Penn’s The World’s Will and Portrait?” “It’s The World as Will and Representation by Arthur Schopenhauer. It was fascinating, but I think you’d find it boring, Satomura.” It didn’t work out too well in the end. I loved books and wrote some stories in secret and considered myself a book girl, and yet the books you read were sometimes gibberish to me. Even so, I was tenacious. That’s probably why it happened. Gradually, you started to talk to me, Kana. You were aloof and mature and you didn’t smile at me very often, but when my council meetings ran late, you would wait for me in the classroom, reading a book. That made me so happy! You were also the first person to read something I’d written. You wouldn’t tell me it was interesting, but… “Is there more?” you asked, and I was as thrilled as if I’d gotten a piece of the most exquisite chocolate. I was so excited. “If I wrote more, would you read it?” “… All right.” You telling me that so bluntly has always driven me to write books. Even after we got more familiar and started to huddle at my desk during lunch to eat our boxed lunches and started going home together after school, we still called each other Sakurai and Satomura, remember? I’d always yearned to call you by your first name, so one day I burst out with “Kana—” and you stiffened for about three seconds; then you made a disgusted face and said, “You’re making my skin crawl. Please don’t do that.” I was devastated, but I knew I couldn’t back down now, so I scraped together my courage and kept on calling you—“Kana! Kana!” Eventually you caved and stopped saying anything about it. The first time you said Yui and called me by my first name was at our graduation ceremony from middle school. I’ll never forget it as long as I live, Kana. The high school you wanted to go to was too hard for me, but I wanted to stay with you so I studied really hard. Ultimately I didn’t get in. It hurt so much that we were going on to different high schools and it felt like my heart was being ripped apart, so I said, “You’re going to forget about me once you start high school. I know it. I care about you so much, but you don’t care at all!” like a little kid, tears rolling down my face, and you said my name, “Yui…,” with a serious look on your face. “I won’t forget you, Yui. We may be going to different schools, but we can see each other after school and on our days off. That way I’ll be able to read the rest of your book.” The way the white snowflakes danced around us that day, like petals on the breeze. How perfectly blue the sky was, arching above the branches loaded with snow. How intent your eyes were, Kana, as they stared at me. And the freshness of the breeze stroking my cheek and how cool and nice your fingers felt when you wiped away my tears. And how happy I was and how I thought I might melt away with the snow. I remember it, over and over. Kana. I want to talk to you more, like we did then. Are you still busy with work?