Chapter 3—Words Hidden Ryuto’s assault ended and days went by in peace. When I asked Takeda after school in the library how he was doing, she told me with a distant expression, “He’s drowning in the dumps. “He went to see Himekura again yesterday, and I guess she chased him off.” “… Are you mad?” “No, not at all.” “I think Ryuto wants you to comfort him.” “If you spoil him, you get into the habit of doing it, so I’m going to let him be depressed awhile. That makes things more peaceful for you guys, too, right?” “That’s true…” My voice choked off. “Takeda… what will you do if Maki has Ryuto’s baby?” “I’m not going to do anything. Ryu just isn’t capable of going out with one girl, and I bet he’ll have oodles of babies on the side later on. I can’t let every single one of them bother me.” I felt a little sorry for Ryuto after all. Takeda went back to the checkout desk, so while I waited for Kotobuki, I walked around scanning the shelves for something to read. My breath caught when I found Strait Is the Gate, and unconsciously I came to a stop. My pulse quickened and something deep in my chest squeezed tight. Beside it was a thin volume with the title A Hidden Diary. The author was Gide. I’d been trying not to think about Tohko or the Amanos this whole time. It was better not to get involved any further. And yet my fingers stretched out hesitantly for the book again and again. I took it down with a feeling of shame, as if I were doing something I shouldn’t, and I turned back the drab green cover. “I was thinking about her last night. As I often do, I was having a discussion with her in my mind, more at my ease than when I stand before her in reality. But abruptly I said to myself, ‘But she’s dead…’ ” This… was a novel? “I won’t deny that I have frequently lived at a distance from her for long periods. However, ever since my youth it has been my habit to report to her the conquests of the day and to share with her the sorrows and joys within my solitary breast. So I did again last night, but abruptly I recalled that she was dead.” While I moved to a table to continue reading, I realized that it was a diary Gide had written in the style of a memoir about his wife, Madeleine. When I looked at the explanatory notes, they said the book had been published after his death. Ryuto had said that Gide was a homosexual and that he’d had no marital relations with Madeleine. Had said he was awful for writing down anything and everything in his diaries and novels… But in his diary, Madeleine was the person Gide loved best and he had lamented her death. “Everything has faded and lost its luster.” “Because I have lost her, I have no reason to live. I no longer know for what reason I would go on living hereafter.” Sadness that dug at my chest. Despair. The shriek of a soul that could not set aside its pen—each word that Gide wrote racked my heart. He recorded how he had made Madeleine the point of departure for Alissa in Strait Is the Gate, but that she was not Madeleine herself. She hadn’t appeared to find anything of herself in it, and during her life, she never spoke a word about the book. Still, as I read through the diary, I also realized that things that had actually happened to Gide and Madeleine had been liberally mixed into episodes between Alissa and Jerome. The part where Alissa is hurt when she discovers her mother’s unfaithfulness and Jerome promises to protect her for the rest of his life was identical, and Gide told a story similar to the scene with the cross in his diary. I felt as if Jerome’s psychology in continuing to love Alissa as something saintly mirrored Gide’s feelings, loving Madeleine for being immaculate. “I thought that if I drew closer to God, it would bring me that much closer to her. And while I did so, slowly ascending to heaven, I felt that the land around us was gradually narrowing. I was overjoyed.” Even though he loved her that much, Gide was unable to see Madeleine as a sexual object. That fact brought sorrow and discord into their relationship. “I’ve been so naive, I never even once considered whether or not love without physicality would satisfy her.” “I thought desire was the purview of men. It was more reassuring to think that women were incapable of experiencing that sort of desire; that even if they could, it was only ‘women of the evening.’ ” Gide’s excuse was selfish. I wondered how Madeleine must have felt as a wife whose husband never sought physical relations from her. Plus, in the notes it said that it wasn’t even as if Gide only had sexual intercourse with men; he had a child with a girl who was young enough to be his daughter. So then why was Madeleine the only one he’d been unable to sleep with? Was it because Madeleine had such a saintly role for him? From an old photograph, Madeleine spoke to Gide, who was sunk into melancholy. She told him, “My greatest joys are thanks to you.” “And my greatest sorrows, as well. So both the best and the most painful.” The relationship was suffering as well as joy for both of them—even when he was away from her, Gide sent Madeleine letters. For him, they were special letters. He wrote down “the best of himself” in his letters. His spirit, his joys, changes in his mood, the work of the day: everything. But after Gide left on a trip with a man who was his lover, Madeleine burned all the letters he had sent her. Gide took such a shock from that act that it almost drove him insane, and he slipped into despondency, saying, “The best parts of myself have been eradicated.” But Madeleine experienced such pain that she could do nothing else. She appealed to him. “They were the most important things in the world to me.” “After you left, I knew not what I ought to do nor what would become of me in this huge house you had abandoned, with no one in it I might rely upon. At my most desolate moment… for the first time I thought there was nothing for me but to die.” “I truly suffered… I burned your letters in order to do something. Before I did it, I read them all over again, one by one…” Their feelings gradually drifted apart and the diary grew thick with words of suffering. He suffered when he was with her, but he couldn’t leave her; he was in love—as I turned the pages, my throat tightened and grew hot at the suffocating conflict. Maybe if Gide had been able to love Madeleine physically, too, their relationship might have become something different. Maybe Gide would have been able to build a peaceful, serene household with Madeleine, without having affairs or so often vacating the house to travel. Following Madeleine’s death, Gide’s psyche deteriorated rapidly. “After her passing, I am only playing at being alive.” It had been Madeleine after all who’d been the wellspring of creativity for Gide, and she’d had a special role that was etched into his soul. I was sucked in by their mad, eerie love to the point it made my skin thrum. And as it was happening, Kanako and Fumiharu came to mind. Kanako who’d said that their relationship was a “chaste union.” Maybe Kanako and Fumiharu had been deeply linked by some other element than physical desire between a man and a woman, the way Gide and Madeleine had been. And maybe Fumiharu’s wife, Yui, had suspected… The image of Madeleine burning the letters overlaid itself on Yui. How had Yui felt as she waited for Fumiharu, who was so often out of the house for his work as an editor? I had sunk so deeply into thoughts so bleak it felt wrong to touch them any further that I hadn’t noticed that Kotobuki was there. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Inoue… Inoue?” “Er, oh! You’re closing already?” I quickly shut the book and stood up. I returned it to the shelf, hiding the title and author’s name. “Let’s head out then.” Her white scarf wrapped around her, Kotobuki had been looking at me with concern, but she nodded okay and took my hand. We walked down the dim streets hand in hand. Talking about maybe going somewhere since tomorrow was Saturday. “There’s a movie I want to see.” “Which one?” “Well… don’t laugh.” Kotobuki’s cheeks flushed red, and then in a quiet voice, she told me the title of a romantic movie starring a female pop star. “That’s cool. Let’s do that.” “R-really? If you don’t want to, I can go see it with Mori and them. It’s fine.” “You want to see it, though, right?” “Y-yeah.” “Then I want to see it, too.” Kotobuki’s face bloomed into an excited smile. The ends of her white scarf swayed. “Thanks, Inoue.” “You should come to my house afterward.” “Wha—?” Kotobuki’s eyes widened, and embarrassed, I explained. “I promised I would introduce you to my parents for real. As my girlfriend.” “Uh… I, uh…” “Do you have other plans?” Kotobuki shook her head pertly. “No. Oh, but…” Her face clouded slightly. “If we’re seeing the movie first, I guess I can’t bring any lemon meringue pie…” I laughed. “You could do that next time. Or you could bake it in our kitchen if you wanted.” “Oh… I wouldn’t feel right doing that yet.” She fluttered her free hand in nervous dismissal. Then she tightened the hand that held mine. “N-next time… okay?” “Can’t wait.” I looked her in the eyes when I said it, and she lowered them with a shy, excited expression. “I’ll make some cookies instead. Something not too sweet. Right now I’m thinking salt cookies, maybe…” As soon as she said it, she looked surprised and choked off the rest. When I saw that, I realized what Kotobuki must have associated the salt cookies with. The sharply sweet taste of the cream puffs reawoke on my tongue. “Uh, I-I could also do cocoa flavored or ones with black tea leaves in them, or—” Kotobuki was speaking quickly, desperately. I pretended not to notice and murmured, “That sounds good.” I was sure we were both thinking of the same person right then. I felt as if my emotions would overflow when I saw the white scarf around Kotobuki’s throat. When I averted my gaze, something was fluttering in the spot where my eyes landed. Something thinner and wispier than the scarf… A white ribbon tangled around the branch of a tree that jutted out over the wall of someone’s home. It looked like the ribbon from a school uniform, and my eyes widened. “… Inoue, what’s wrong?” “There’s a ribbon up there.” “What? No. That’s a strip of plastic.” “… So it is.” Why had I thought it was a ribbon? “Speaking of which, did you know that if you tie a ribbon to a tree at school, your wish will come true?” My heart skipped a beat at Kotobuki’s question. A scene rose in my mind’s eye. A bright, sunny sky after a spring shower. A tall tree thick with green leaves. Tohko desperately scrambling up it. They said that if you tied a ribbon to a tree at school without anyone seeing you, your wish would come true. It was a trick with absolutely no scientific basis that girls seemed to love. Tohko must have been giving it a shot herself. She’d untied the turquoise ribbon on her chest, and just at the point that she was tying it around a branch, her hand slipped and she almost tumbled out of the tree. I’d rushed over to her, and the ribbon that had slipped from her hand fluttered down right in front of me. Tohko had turned bright red at having her underclassman witness her in such a pathetic state. “Ack! Why are you here?!” “I came to school early because I’ve got hall monitor duty. What were you doing?” “What?! Uh… a baby bird fell out of its nest, so I was putting it back!” Making up excuses, she climbed down, tears in her eyes as she told me, “Don’t look up my skirt.” “If someone sees you, it doesn’t work. That’s a lot harder than it sounds.” “Oh… yeah, it is.” “Have you ever tied up a ribbon, Inoue?” “Wha—? No, uh, I don’t really…” “R-right. Magic tricks are so childish, right?” Kotobuki said, flustered. My heart was racing almost painfully. Melancholy and guilt that seemed to stab at my heart spread out from within my body. When she saw my face stiffening, her expression grew fragile. I saw it happening and squeezed Kotobuki’s hand tightly again and smiled. “What time should we see the movie? Earlier is better probably.” “Y-yeah.” Strength came into Kotobuki’s fingertips, too. She squeezed my hand firmly, as if injecting it with her determination to never let go. But instead it seemed to reveal her uneasy state of mind. The wind grew a little cooler. Her white scarf fluttered. As each of us pretended not to notice the other’s anxiety, we went on talking in cheerful voices. I walked Kotobuki home; promised, “I’ll call you later,” with a smile; and then left. I had reached my limit. The instant I was alone, the darkness enveloping my body increased its hold. I could no longer ignore the heartbreak that constricted my chest. I hadn’t seen Tohko for several days now. I hadn’t heard her voice, either. I was trying to forget about her, but I couldn’t. She was always present deep inside my heart, and she reappeared on me like this at the slightest provocation. My throat grew hot and my chest hurt, as if it were about to rip apart. I’d managed to put the memory of Miu, whom I’d loved so much, behind me. At some point I would be okay. A time would come when I could forget about Tohko. A time when her image would be hazy even if I played it over, like an old and broken videotape—a time when I would be able to accept that fact with only a tiny bit of sadness—I knew that day would come. All I needed to do was wait for the time to pass. Forgetting the pain and sadness: that was the most effective way. There wasn’t anything I could do but that… The wind grew even stronger. The ends of my hair hit my cheeks. I bit down on my lip and bowed my head, then followed the dark road feeling gloomy. On Saturday morning, the sky was a little cloudy. I checked the chance of rain on the Internet, then put a collapsible umbrella in my bag and got myself ready. I’d told my mom the night before that Kotobuki was coming over after the movie. “We’re going to eat lunch here. Would you mind making it for us? That and dessert. Something a girl would like this time.” “Kotobuki is the girl who went home so early last time, isn’t she? You know, your mother has been giving this a lot of thought, and I have to ask: Are you, Kotobuki, and Ryuto in a love triangle? I was so sure you and Amano…” My mom came out with something Mori might have said. I flatly denied it. “No, we are not. Ryuto has his own girlfriends, and Tohko… is just my club president. I’ll reintroduce Kotobuki the right way tomorrow. Get Dad to be here, too.” My mom wore a complicated expression. At noon my mom asked me if a paella and strawberry Bavarian cream would be all right. “Yeah, thanks. I think she’ll like that,” I answered, then left the house early. The wind pricked at my skin. It was already March, but apparently spring was still a little ways off. The news even said that the cherry blossoms would be early this year. As I walked, I opened my cell phone and sent Kotobuki a text. Morning. I just left. That was when my phone rang with an incoming call. I jumped at the solemn, oppressive tune that reminded me of a Mass and my heart shrank in on itself. I looked at the name displayed on the screen, and a chill went through my spine. Ryuto! Why was he calling now? I hadn’t heard a word from him ever since he’d gotten so stinking drunk and weepy at my house. A chill crawled up from my feet. Was he planning to do something again? “Hello?” When I answered clumsily, I heard sniffling. “Konoha, you gotta help me.” “What’s going on, Ryuto?” My pulse quickened at his peculiar manner. It sounded like he was crying. “Tohko’s—” “What about Tohko?!” “You gotta help. I can’t do it. You gotta come here right away. If you don’t, Tohko’s gonna disappear! It’s gotta be you. I mean, you’re Tohko’s—I’m beggin’ ya. You gotta help Tohko.” The call ended there. What had happened to Tohko?! Blood rushed up to my head, and the skin prickled all over my body. Calm down; this could be another of Ryuto’s traps. The same thing had happened before. He lied and told me that Tohko had been poisoned and made me go see her. But his tone was more desperate than last time, and his repeated begging, “Please, please,” had been in a voice wet with tears. Besides, even that other time, Tohko might not have been poisoned, but she’d had a terrible fever, which had left her bedridden. If I hadn’t gone, she might have suffered all alone in her frigid house. Bitter saliva built up inside my mouth. I was so conflicted over whether I should go to Tohko or whether I should continue on my way to the place I was meeting Kotobuki that my vision blurred. If this was a trap set by Ryuto, Kotobuki might be in danger. I recalled what he’d done in the basement storage room, and my brain flared with rage. I wasn’t going to let him act like that ever again with Kotobuki. I wouldn’t let him lay a finger on her. I’d decided to protect her. But if Ryuto was truly looking for my help—if something had happened to Tohko— I broke out in a sweat as a variety of scenarios tumbled through my mind. With trembling fingers, I called Kotobuki’s cell phone. A message played saying it was unable to connect, maybe because she’d left her house, too. What should I do?! It would have been perfect if I could have torn myself in two and gone two different places. But that wasn’t possible. My vision blurred even further, and my head felt like it was going to split open. What should I do? What should I— In a daze, with a sheet of sweat on my fingers, I dialed Akutagawa’s number. “What’s wrong, Inoue?” The instant I heard his honest voice, the blockades on my strained emotions shattered. “I have a favor to ask, Akutagawa! I can’t make it to the place I’m supposed to meet Kotobuki anymore. Could you go for me?” I explained the situation quickly, my throat aching as if I was being strangled, unable to breathe, and my chest threatening to rip apart. My feet were already carrying me to Tohko. That fact became a wave of pitch-black despair and crashed over me. I’d sworn that I would protect Kotobuki. And yet, in my ears a voice accused that when the time came, I’d chosen Tohko again. Each time I took another step forward, it was as if I were being struck by biting whips. No! It wasn’t true! I hadn’t chosen Tohko! But when I thought that I might never be able to see Tohko again, my body felt like it might tear itself to pieces. I couldn’t bear it. If Tohko really were to disappear—! If she stopped existing in this world—! No matter how I argued that there was no chance of something like that happening, I couldn’t keep myself from going to her. Because deep in my heart, I’d been thinking about Tohko this whole entire time. Because I missed her more than anything. I couldn’t stop my heart from going to her. The happy hours I’d spent with Kotobuki, the warm, ticklish conversations and smiles, the sensation of our hands intertwined had blown away in an instant! My head filled with Tohko to the point of despair. The way Gide had returned to Madeleine, no matter how many lovers he had—the way Madeleine had been the only person with whom he could share his honest feelings, no matter how far apart they were— I, too, understood then that wherever I was, whoever I loved, whoever I belonged to, if anything happened to Tohko, I wouldn’t be able to help but throw it all away and run to her. In the midst of an extremity that would not allow retreat, Ryuto always prodded at me with merciless force—with merciless cruelty. Made me realize. What Tohko’s life was like! That I would never be able to forget! I didn’t know if Ryuto had deliberately created this situation and forced me to choose. But if so, then you win! The Sakurai home, which I was visiting for the third time, was wrapped in the brooding air of winter. Even though I rang the bell repeatedly as white breath spilled from my mouth, there was no answer. And there was no sign that anyone was home. The blinds and curtains I could see from outside were all pulled shut. Like the last time I’d come, the front door wasn’t locked. I pulled it open without even announcing myself and called out, “Tohko!” “Tohko! Tohko!” I yelled until my throat was raw, but the book girl with her braids never appeared. And I never heard her bounding voice. The interior of the old house was eerily silent. I yanked my shoes off and headed straight to Tohko’s room. As soon as I slid her door open, my eyes landed on the scattered shreds of a uniform. The heart-stopping shock sent my mind momentarily blank. A carpet was laid in the center of the woven mat floor and scattered on top of it like torn-up paper were the sleeves, the collar, the skirt of a school uniform. Even the turquoise ribbon that fluttered against Tohko’s chest had been torn in two and thrown aside. Beside it, much like a bouquet set beside a grave, was a basket holding a huge number of Casablanca lilies. My chest tightened and I grew dizzy, and in the moment when I stumbled, I reached a hand out. It struck a bookshelf, scattering the books on the middle shelf across the woven mat floor. The books collided with one another, striking my ears with a sharp sound. A makeup box covered with pale violet rice paper tumbled from the shelf along with them. The lid came off and a huge number of letters spilled out. The pastel tones of the envelopes—rosy pink and sky blue and others—spread out in a fan at my feet. I crouched down hurriedly and gathered them up with shaking hands and saw that every one of the envelopes was still sealed. On the front was an address and the name “Kanako Sakurai” and the return address was “Yui Amano.” Letters that Yui had sent to Kanako? Why this many? And none of them were open? Had Kanako refused to read them? I couldn’t reach a logical conclusion. Looking at the strange letters, my anxiety swelled even more. Where had Tohko gone? My shoulders heaving as I breathed, I stacked the fallen books up on the floor, then returned the letters to the box, set it beside the books, and stood up. “Tohko! Tohko!” The shouts that flew from my convulsing throat were nearly a shriek. I ran down the hall and opened every last one of the doors. “Tohko! Where are you? Tohko!!” A sloppy room that looked like it belonged to Ryuto. A room with a woman’s mirrored vanity table in it, the kitchen, the bathroom, the living room—Tohko was in none of them. I called Ryuto on my cell phone. But he didn’t pick up! The sweat that had broken out on my skin chilled, robbing my body of its heat. My head was burning hot. It was when I was standing frozen, trembling, in the middle of the living room that I caught sight of a torn-up letter lying on the floor beside the table. When I picked it up, I saw the message written on it. “Aunt Kanako: “Welcome home. I hope you had a good day at work. “The publisher mailed you a lot of boxes and papers, so I put them over there. “Now I’m going to do as I’ve been planning and—” The rest had been torn away, so I didn’t know what it said. I crawled around on the floor hunting for the rest of the letter, but I couldn’t find it. What had she planned?! Ryuto still wasn’t picking up his cell phone. But Kanako—she might know where Tohko was! If I explained the situation to Mr. Sasaki, would he be able to tell me where Kanako’s office was? Actually, the letter had said that packages had arrived from the publisher. There were papers and postcards and small packages sitting together in a pile on the table. When I looked through their addresses, I found an invoice from a flower shop and a printed card among them. It looked like a thank-you note from someone who’d attended a seminar Kanako had appeared in, and it said they would be sending flowers. The recipient was Kanako, but the return address belonged to an apartment building in the city. I remembered the bouquet of lilies in Tohko’s room. Kanako might have had them delivered to her house since she couldn’t take them at her office! The recipient’s phone number was noted on the invoice, and I called it without any hesitation. I was transferred to an answering machine and the introduction played. No one home—? No, maybe they just weren’t answering. I spoke quickly. “This is Inoue, Tohko’s underclassman. There’s something very urgent I’d like to speak to Kanako Sakurai about, so if you’re there, please pick up. Please.” I heard the sound of the receiver being picked up. In a haze, I yelled, “Is this Kanako?!” “… What do you want?” Her voice was as cool as ice. My spine flashed cold, and I shrank in on myself in instinctive fear of someone who was unquestionably superior. I swallowed thickly and then asked, “Do you know where Tohko went?” “You called here to ask something so stupid?” Her voice was tinged with irritation. “I’m sorry, but it’s extremely urgent.” “She went to be with Yui, if you must know.” The call cut off. Kanako had hung up. What did that mean, to be with Yui? Yui was dead! I tried calling back, but no matter how I yelled for her, Kanako didn’t pick up. It felt as if my body was caught in a hot wind, and it was hard to breathe. I took the invoice with the address and phone number of her office on it and ran out of the house. The apartment was on the same train line as the Sakurai house. With the walk, it took nearly an hour to get there, and then I climbed the stairs. It was an old building showing its age and it didn’t have an elevator. Considering that after the murder-suicide of her parents, Kanako had gone on living in the same house, maybe she wasn’t a fan of moving. Or maybe she didn’t much concern herself about where she lived. The room at the home that seemed to belong to her was frigid and had almost no furniture, either. There was no nameplate posted on the corner room on the fifth floor. I stood in front of the door and rang the bell, but there was no answer. I rang it again and again, and finally the door opened. Kanako appeared wearing a simple black knit top with a long black skirt, her eyes cold and piercing. Even under these circumstances, seeing her up close, she was witheringly beautiful and frosty, as if clad in ice crystals. “Why did you come here? I’m busy. Leave.” I stopped her from closing the door by putting my body inside the frame, and I begged, “Please tell me where Tohko went! There was a torn-up school uniform scattered around her room—but she wasn’t there! I found a note addressed to you in the living room. That was torn up, too, so I could only read part of it. What was she planning to do?” Kanako’s response was cold. “What will you do if you find out?” “I’ll go see her.” “You might not be able to, you know.” Her dark voice and empty eyes sent a shudder down my spine. Even though I’d told her that Tohko’s uniform had been ripped up, the woman wasn’t concerned in the slightest. It seemed like she didn’t care what happened to Tohko. Utter indifference. Rejection. This woman scares me. This woman, who declared without hesitation that being an author meant passing through the narrow gate alone, who had put that into practice and wrote down every detail of the deaths of her own parents and her own friends—she was scary. This woman, who in her book calmly murdered the girl who lived in her house with her, the memento of her late friends; this woman, who could treat her as if she didn’t exist—this woman, who lived as an author scared me. She was too unsettling to understand. Just having her stare at me, my spine trembled uncontrollably and I wanted to flee. Even so, I planted my feet and declared, “I’ll go see her, even if I can’t find her.” Kanako turned her back on me and went into the apartment. “Wait, please!” I pulled my shoes off and pushed inside, too. “If you know where Tohko went, please tell me.” Kanako didn’t even turn around. The kitchen was right next to the front door, and her workroom was past that. There was a desktop computer on top of a big, broad desk. In front of it were scattered a bunch of photos showing roads, houses, gardens, school buildings, trees and fields, orchards, art museums, and stuff like that in the area. I suppose it was material for a novel. Besides that, she also had a blue memo book and a silver pen, a flower-patterned teacup, a tart piled with strawberries, and cookies lined up on a white plate with a lace pattern around its edges, and there were several translucent purple spoon rests arrayed with a gold fork, spoon, and knife on them. Was she having a one-person tea party? “Please, Kanako. Her room wasn’t the way it should be! When you said she’s with Yui, where did you mean?! There were tons of letters from Yui addressed to you in Tohko’s room. Does it have anything to do with that?!” “Letters from Yui?” Kanako had been acting uninterested until then, but suddenly her forehead wrinkled and her face grew harsh as she glared at me. “What sort of letters?” “They hadn’t been opened, so I don’t know. But if you know where Tohko is—” When I said that, she grabbed the memo book and pen from her desk with an exasperated motion, wrote something down, then tore the page out and handed it to me. When I accepted it and looked to see what she’d written, I saw an address. Iwate Prefecture? Is that where Tohko was?! I was just about to thank her when Kanako murmured in a frigid voice that made me shudder, “That’s the grave of someone who took poison and died out of weakness. I wish that girl wouldn’t come back. But she will.” When I lifted my face, I met her fierce, hate-filled eyes. It was the first strong emotion Kanako had shown. Eyes like fire, burning insanely— Naked loathing— My mouth dried out and a shiver ran down my spine. So this woman could look like this, too. Perhaps Arisa, the main character of The Immoral Passage, the book that had been modeled on the Amanos, had had these same terrifying eyes when she strangled the infant Toco. She looked possessed. At that thought, my spine chilled even further. Somehow I forced out some words of gratitude, and I left her apartment. I don’t understand, Kana. The joy of being an author and the ordinary happiness of being a person. Both should be important, but if you had to choose only one, which should I recommend that you choose? Which do you desire? Is a family superfluous to you, Kana? Are children and a life partner an unnecessary weight to you, Kana? Do you hate it that much when little Ryu calls you mom? Is it that much of a hassle for you to smile when Tohko calls you Aunt Kanako? Ryu and Tohko are both waiting for you to speak to them. Even Takumi honestly cared about you. And yet when he died, you didn’t even go to the hospital. And you worked through his funeral. While Takumi was in surgery, as I carried Tohko in my arms, I prayed so hard for you to come for him that it almost crushed my heart. At the funeral, I felt so bad for Takumi that I held Tohko in my arms, and yes, I wept. Can you be happy continuing down that narrow path all alone? Are you content living as an author? I had another fight with Fumiharu—even though tomorrow we have to go to a wedding—even though the children are sleeping in the next room. “Fumiharu, you have a wife in me, a daughter in Tohko, and an author in Kana. You want for Kana to be alone, but you get the joy of having it both ways. You’re not being fair!” When I said that, Fumiharu smiled and said, “You’re right. I’m not being fair.” His smile was incredibly clear, and gentle, and yet sad, and I couldn’t attack him anymore. I’ve looked at the little violet bottle Takumi gave me so many times. I took the bullet train to Sendai, then transferred from there to another line, then caught a taxi after that, so that it took nearly three hours for me to reach the temple whose name was written in the note. The sky was a dark leaden color, and it felt colder than when snow was falling. The air seemed to cut at my skin and bite into my bones. There were fields and rice paddies on all sides, and the exposed earth was a dusty white and looked cold, too. I’d underestimated winter in the north. As I regretted not buying disposable hand warmers at the train station, my teeth chattering, I went into a temple that looked like it might rot away at any moment. “Hello?” I called out, and an aged head priest who looked like he was over ninety years old appeared. I told him that I had come to see Tohko, and in a gentle northeastern accent, he told me to try the graveyard in the back. That she would probably be there, if she hadn’t already left. Running with all my strength, the air scraped at my skin, prickling it. My heart swelled with anxiety over what I would do if she wasn’t there and also with the anticipation of being able to see her in only a few more minutes. My heart was practically exploding. When the graveyard came into view with its smoky black and gray gravestones, my pulse quickened all the more. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t see anyone there. I was too late— Just as disappointment was making it difficult to breathe, a small head with dangling long braids bobbed up beyond a gravestone. Apparently she’d stood up from a crouch. Her head was still bent, gazing at a grave… The familiar profile… The navy duffle coat… The academy’s uniform… The black braids spilling over her shoulders… My throat trembled and a hot lump rose up in it. Bursting with emotions, I called out to her. “Tohko…!” Her braids wavered delicately as she looked at me, her eyes went round, and her face told me that she couldn’t believe I was there. I’d finally found her— The mere fact of our gazes catching made my feelings ease, made the back of my throat swell, and I thought I might start crying. It had been only a brief time that we were apart, but it felt as if we had gone such a long time without seeing each other. My heart fluttered. I felt like if I looked away, Tohko would disappear. I was standing perfectly still, unable even to blink. Tohko was staring at me, not moving a muscle, either. From surprise to melancholy—I saw her expression change slowly, and my breath stopped in my chest. Tohko’s eyes were tearing up just like mine. After the trembling silence had gone on—“Are you a raccoon sprite pretending to be Konoha?”—those were the words she ultimately spoke. “Why would you say that?” “Come on, it takes ten hours to get here from Tokyo.” “It doesn’t take that long. It was only about four hours.” “No way.” “It’s the truth. What did you do to make it take so long?” “I took an overnight bus… and then…” “You should have used the bullet train!” I felt like collapsing on the spot. What were we doing talking about this all the way out in Iwate Prefecture? Why was there no tension in this girl? “Your uniform…” “Hmm?” “Never mind. It’s nothing.” Ryuto had gotten me again. But the rage wouldn’t come. The despair and terror I’d felt when I was yelling Tohko’s name at Ryuto’s house and desperately searching for her had melted away completely, and my heart was clearing, as if being bathed in light. “Did you come to talk about uniforms?” “I’m not that fixated on them.” “Then why are you here?”
Chapter 199
33 min read