She said nothing, making no attempt to participate in our conversation. Even as I glanced back at her, I pretended not to notice anything, carrying on like normal.
When we finally reached the clearing in front of the station, it was already dark out—but there were so many stores there, with brightly lit signs and windows, that it wasn’t actually very dark.
Schools were out, and most offices had closed as well. The station was packed with people heading home. The first floor of the massive station was carved into a square sort of tunnel—the station entrance. People flowed in and out like the building was breathing them.
I said goodbye to Kitazawa Natsumi at the station entrance. She waved and walked away, heading for the ticket machines. She slid through the crowd like a spaceship moving through the enemy fleet in a sci-fi film. There was a long line at the ticket machines, and she took up a place at the back of it.
Morino and I stood against the wall so as not to obstruct traffic. Neither of us really cared for loud, crowded places. Staying here long would give us each a headache.
The wall was a smooth white stone, probably marble. At regular intervals were large posters, advertisements for makeup with female models. Morino leaned against one of them.
“Surprised at how much Kitazawa Natsumi looks like her sister?” I asked.
“More important, doesn’t it wear you out, changing the way you speak depending on whom you’re talking to?” Morino folded her arms. I could see the end of the soda can in her right hand sticking out from under her left arm. I was sure her body heat had warmed it by now.
Morino looked across to where Kitazawa Natsumi stood in line. “I can’t understand how either of you can smile so naturally.”
“I’m not smiling because I’m amused.”
No matter what the conversation, I took no pleasure from it. I always felt like I was standing at the bottom of a dark hole. But I carried on an unconscious performance, making sure no one ever noticed anything wrong.
“And she hasn’t smiled much. She smiled a bit talking to me, but she hasn’t always been like that recently.”
Morino frowned. “She doesn’t usually smile? She seemed pretty cheery to me.”
I explained a simplified version of the friction between Kitazawa Natsumi and her sister: two sisters that looked alike, in an awkward sort of relationship for a long time. She’d been convinced she was hated and had been unable to smile.
Morino listened in silence, interjecting nothing.
“I went to Kitazawa Hiroko’s funeral, for the usual reasons. She told me about it there. But the other day, she found a tape recording of Hiroko’s voice …”
A chance encounter with her sister, whom she had thought she would never meet again.
I didn’t mention the killer or the events of the night before; it would just complicate things. But I briefly outlined the contents of the tape and the transformation it had presumably brought about within Kitazawa Natsumi.
I remembered how she had curled up on the floor, clutching the tape recorder.
I had stood there, knife in hand, wiping the blood off on his clothes. From the description on the tape, I could easily imagine how they had played together as children.
When I’d finished describing those memories, Morino remained leaning against the wall, arms folded. Her eyes turned downward in thoughtful silence. Her eyelids were half-closed, her eyes hidden beneath the shadows her eyelashes cast in the harsh overhead light.
“None of that was in my scrapbook,” she said, so softly that I almost didn’t hear her. She slowly lifted her head, looking toward Kitazawa Natsumi in line at the ticket machine.
The line had moved forward, and Kitazawa Natsumi was putting coins into the machine. She pressed a button and bought a ticket for a nearby station. Then she headed into the crowd, occasionally visible among the flood of people.
Morino unfolded her arms and looked down at the can of soda in her hand. Her back pulled away from the wall. A moment later, her long hair followed. She began walking like still river water that had begun to silently flow again.
It was such a quiet motion that it took me a moment to realize she was moving at all. Not sure what she was up to, I just watched her go. I didn’t begin to follow until she’d vanished into the crowd.
Her gaze was fixed on Kitazawa Natsumi, who had purchased her ticket and was headed for the platform gates. Morino Yoru headed after her, drifting as absently as a sleepwalker. She didn’t appear to be any good at walking in crowds, and she bumped into one person after another. She seemed to be trying to avoid this, but crashed into suit-clad businessmen and young women with unerring regularity. Each time, she bounced backward, clutching her nose, and then forged forward again. I had never seen anyone have this much trouble with crowds before. It was very easy to keep up with her.
Meanwhile, Kitazawa Natsumi passed through the congested gates. There were only a few gates serving a vast number of people, and a crowd had formed, waiting their turn. Their heads and backs blocked our view, and we could no longer see Kitazawa Natsumi. She had moved into the station without noticing Morino’s approach.
Morino slammed into someone again, a large middle-aged man; it was like seeing a tricycle crashing into a dump truck. She bounced away, staggered, and almost fell backward into me. As it was, her head slammed into my jaw. This was the single greatest damage I had taken over the last few months, despite everything that had happened. She didn’t appear to notice, all her attention focused on the direction in which Kitazawa Natsumi had vanished. She straightened up, gulped hesitantly, squared her shoulders, and called out, “Natsumi!”
I had never heard her voice that loud. It was like there was an amplifier hidden somewhere in her slender frame. All the noise and bustle of the crowd was instantly silenced. A lot of people stopped walking and talking, all turning to stare at her.
Morino began walking again, directly toward the gates through which Kitazawa Natsumi had vanished. Everyone who had heard her shout stepped out of the way, letting her pass. I followed.
Noise returned to the station, and everyone started moving again. Morino was already at the gates. She didn’t ride the train to school every day and so had neither ticket nor train pass, which prevented her from passing through the automated gates. They closed in front of her, and she stopped.
“Morino?”
It was Kitazawa Natsumi’s voice. She stepped out of the flood of humanity, appearing on the other side of the gates. She must’ve heard Morino’s shout and come back. She jogged over to us, looking surprised, and stopped with the closed gate between her and Morino. With Morino blocking one of the gates, the congestion around us had increased dramatically. Morino didn’t seem to care.
“Natsumi, this is for you,” she said, holding out the can of soda.
“Th-thanks,” Kitazawa Natsumi said, hesitantly taking it.
“I apologize for my bad temper earlier. I should’ve talked with you longer. I hear you were able to make things right with your sister.”
A lot of people were glaring at us, unable to get through the gate. Station attendants had noticed the commotion and were pushing toward us. I tugged Morino’s arm, trying to drag her away, but she resisted, refusing to move.
“I was also fighting with my sister, when … well, the circumstances weren’t exactly … I wanted to congratulate you, that’s all.”
And with that, she allowed me to pull her away from the gate. She was really light, like she was weightless. A flood of people passed around us. Kitazawa Natsumi was instantly swallowed by the crowd; but just before she vanished, I saw her smile, thanking Morino.
Morino followed my lead listlessly, as if exhausted. She’d lost her bag somewhere.
I looked around and found it sitting against the wall where we’d been standing earlier.
I pulled her hand until we were standing in front of the picture of a foreign lady again. It was hard work pulling her through the crowd. I had to keep a firm grip on her to keep us from being separated. She stared at the ground, never looking where she was going. Her lips were moving, muttering something, but I couldn’t make it out over the noise of the crowd—not until we left the crowd and had reached the spot where she’d left her bag.
“I think you’re my opposite, Kamiyama,” she was whispering, over and over. She was going to have to get home alone from here. I had to take the train, so she would have to walk by herself. But it seemed highly dubious that she could manage that in her current condition.
“At first, I thought you were like me. You reminded me of my sister. But you aren’t. We’re nothing alike.”
Morino’s bag was a simple black one. I picked it up and put it in her hand. It fell to the ground a second later.
I picked it up again, putting her fingers around the handle, but it was useless: She was too out of it to hold on. Her fingers couldn’t stand up to the weight of the bag, and it slid right out of her hand.
“Sometimes I think you’re smiling with nothing inside you at all, Kamiyama. I’m sorry if you take that personally, but that’s what I always think when I see you acting happy around everyone else. And sometimes, I feel really sorry for you.”
She said all this without looking up at me. Her voice was trembling, like a child about to burst into tears.
“But I’m the reverse.”
She looked up now, looked me right in the eye. I was taller than her, and from this distance, she had to look up at me. Her expression was as blank as ever, but her eyes were a little red, and they seemed damp.
“I know,” I said.
For a long moment, she stood in unmoving silence. Finally, she lowered her head and nodded. “Okay then. I’m sorry I babbled on like that.”
I held out her bag, and she took it like nothing had happened. This time, she held it firmly and didn’t drop it.
She looked at the crowd passing by, people heading to our left and to our right. I didn’t know exactly what she was looking at, but there was nothing in front of us but the crowd.
She opened her mouth and said quietly, “I’m genuinely glad for Natsumi. And I envy her.”
Morino was herself again, no longer needing my guidance. We moved in opposite directions, without even saying goodbye.