There was a particular reason for this. Eventually, I entered the room, opening the curtains. As a little light seeped in, I could distinguish the objects in there. The colors of the item I had spied seemed to take on a life of their own.
It was fixed to the wall. I took one step closer, and then another. In those few seconds I forgot all about my little friend, and perhaps even Granny as well.
“It’s so pretty.”
I was too young to know how to write the complex characters of the word kirei—“pretty.” Instead, the word was imbued with all of the images scrawled invisibly on my heart. I had only intended to utter it silently, but my feelings seemed to have slipped out.
It was a painting, a beautiful one, layered heavily with color. It overflowed with such power. I felt it might suck me in entirely. I could not draw my eyes away. Perhaps I had in fact entered the world of that painting, if only briefly. I only realized that Granny had appeared at my side when I heard her soft voice.
“Nacchan.”
Normally, I would jolt in surprise, but I was able to keep my cool as I slowly turned to look at her.
“Where did this picture come from?” I asked. I hadn’t seen it the last time I was in this room.
“My friend made it for me some time ago. I used to have it hanging in the office on the second floor, but I don’t use the office much anymore, so I decided to bring it down here.”
Now that I thought about it, I had never asked what kind of job she’d had. Although I thought about it now, I was more interested in the painting.
“How could anyone actually draw a picture like this?”
My question was not one of suspicion. Although I would only come to learn it later, there was a word for what I was feeling: admiration.
“You have some really talented friends,” I said.
I really did attribute this to talent. I would never be able to draw a picture so splendid, no matter how long I practiced. I could more readily imagine myself a princess or a CEO. Only a person with special hands could create such a magical picture.
Granny, however, shook her head. “It’s not just talent. There aren’t that many people as talented as the man who painted this, but there are others.”
“No way.”
I couldn’t believe it. There were multiple people in this world who could make pictures like this? That was more shocking than if she had told me there were sorcerers among us.
“There are more talented people out there than you think. However, it takes more than just talent to paint a picture like this.”
“What does it take, then? Effort?”
“Of course, but there’s something even more important than that. I’ve never known anyone who loved drawing more than the man who painted this. I’ve lived far longer than you and I’ve met many people, but not once did I ever meet anyone who had art on his mind more than him.”
“So it takes love to make a picture like this?”
“Yes. Only someone who gives their all could make something so truly amazing.”
Although I cannot remember it, that must have been why I was so moved by Minami-san’s story, I thought. Then it occurred to me that there was someone I wished to ask about.
“People who are talented and love what they do shouldn’t be embarrassed about it.”
“You had a friend like that, didn’t you?”
“He’s not my friend. But he does draw. He seems really embarrassed about it, though. Hey, Granny, what is the person who drew that picture doing now?”
“He’s living in another country with his family.”
“I see. For some reason I thought he might’ve been your lover.”
I was still unable to take my eyes off of the painting, so I have no idea how she seemed then, but I could tell by her tone that she was enjoying talking with me.
“And why is that?”
“Because it says ‘love’ right here.”
I pointed to the right-hand corner of the picture. I could not read English, but I could decipher that much at least. The English word that was written there, I was certain, was “love.”
However…
“Hee, Nacchan, that doesn’t say ‘love.’ Love is spelled ell-oh-vee-ee. This is ell-eye-vee-ee. It’s pronounced ‘live.’”
I got as close as I could to the picture and, surely enough, Live was written there. Also, although I did not know the meaning, were the letters em-ee.
“Live…what?”
“Live Me. Me means yourself. Together it means ‘Let me live,’ though actually the grammar is wrong. It’s the artist’s signature. A bit of a joke.”
Not knowing English, I did not get the joke. I could only tilt my head.
“Life really is like a diet.”
“You get results through effort?”
“No, things aren’t any fun when you’re too dense. Not when it comes to fashion or jokes.”
“I see!”
“Yep. So I need to get smarter.”
“You will. Now then, let’s do something that’s just as important as studying. Can I ask you to do a job for me?”
“A job? What is it?” I asked.
She smiled at me devilishly and held something up. My face lit up with joy—I knew exactly what it was for.
“Shave me some ice. In summer, eating shaved ice is an important as doing homework, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely!”
Apparently, she had been up on the second floor, searching for the shaved ice machine. It was no wonder I had been unable to find her.
With the smell of that wonderful drawing still lingering in my nostrils, we decided to move to the cool living room and make our shaved ice there. We retrieved a square-shaped block from the bottom shelf of Granny’s freezer, and I shaved with all my might. Granny prepared the syrup and spoons, while Miss Bobtail circled around in amusement, as though she had never seen shaved ice before. Finally, she plopped down on her behind, looking around.
I poured bright red syrup onto the mountain of fresh, snowy ice. I loved every flavor, but today I felt like strawberry. Granny seemed to be of the same mind, and the two of us ate together, dyeing our tongues red. As for my golden-eyed friend, although I had gone to the trouble of pouring syrup for her too, she only seemed to be interested in the parts without it, and so I shaved some more off the block onto a plate. Soon, she was happily licking the heap, lost in her own satisfaction. Perhaps she merely wished to avoid staining her little tongue.
As we ate our ice, I told Granny all about everything that had been happening, including what Skank-san had told me. I thought that Granny might be able to give me some answer, but she only said the same thing as Skank-san.
“Hmm, well, let’s see… I think this really is something that you have to think about on your own.”
“I know that. That’s why I came to ask you for a hint.”
“A hint, hm?”
Granny sipped the tea she had prepared to settle her stomach. I thought about it, wondering what sort of hint I should ask for. Meanwhile, my sun-basking friend lay beside me, thinking of nothing at all.
“Say, Granny. Your friend, the one who painted that picture. What kind of person was he?”
“Hm?”
“My classmate, the one who hasn’t been coming to school? He likes drawing pictures, too. I figured you might know a lot about people who draw.”
“I see.” She smiled, even more warmly than Skank-san. “Like other artists, this friend of mine was an incredibly delicate person. Artists hurt easily, and are weaker than others in many ways.”
“I know plenty about that.”
“But they are also kinder and more pure than almost anyone else. People who make art can see the world clearly. The good and the bad things come to them more directly than to anyone else. The pictures they draw aren’t like photos. When you look at them, you see how the world looks to them.”
I tried thinking of the pictures I had seen in my life, and of Kiriyuu-kun’s drawings. They were like magic. I certainly did not see the world that way. Still, if the painting in Granny’s bedroom reflected the true shape of the world, then the world might truly be a beautiful place.
“There could never be pain or sadness in such a beautiful world,” I said.
“Yes, that’s true. And yet, there are pain and sadness in this world, aren’t there? In truth, such places could never exist in our world. Artists know that. That what is why they feel pain and hurt so much more strongly.”
I thought of Kiriyuu-kun’s face when he was being ridiculed. Somehow or other, I think I understood just what Granny was saying.
“Even if that wasn’t true, it’s only human nature that the bad things linger in our hearts longer than the good.”
Indeed, what I witnessed at the supermarket and the sight of Kiriyuu’s eyes were etched deeply into my heart, more so than all the wonderful things that had happened in the days since.
Then I thought of Minami-san’s tears. “Is it the same for people who write stories?”
“Yes, probably. However, I think that people who draw are even lonelier than people who write. Stories are made of words, aren’t they? Words are far easier to convey than images.”
“I think I’ll go for the stories, then. I want to be able to share what’s in my heart directly… Yep, there’s no other path for me.”
As I stood up, holding my shaved ice dish and filled with determination, Granny gave an elegant laugh. “Did you find something?”
“Yeah. I promised Hitomi-sensei that I’d be the ally of that cowardly artist. First off, I’ve got to tell him that.”
“If that’s your decision, then I approve. However, there’s a chance that boy might be less cowardly than you think.”
“Hitomi-sensei said the same thing. He really is a coward, though. Spineless, too. He can’t even say how he feels.”
And yet, when he looked at me, I felt like his eyes were conveying his true emotions.
That evening, after I returned home from Granny’s, I could not get Kiriyuu-kun off my mind, even as I ate dinner, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed. There’s no way to know everything about someone else, so you have to think about it. But no matter how hard I thought, all I could think of was our differences. I could not find one single way in which we were the same, as Skank-san had implied.
Besides, there was still one thing that I desperately needed to consider: How should I tell him that I was his ally? By letter? By phone? I couldn’t text him, since I did not have a cell phone.
And so…