Nine
I cry. I cry and I cry.
And then—
I stop crying. Not by choice, but as a function of my physiology. I lift my head and see her mother still with me, waiting.
She hands me a blue handkerchief. Hesitantly, I accept the cloth and dry my tears as I catch my breath.
She says, “You can keep it. It’s Sakura’s. She’d be happy for you to have it.”
“Thank you.”
I finish drying my eyes, nose, and mouth before putting the handkerchief in my pocket.
I shift position on the tatami mat and sit up straight. My eyes are red now, too.
“I’m sorry for breaking down like that,” I say.
Immediately, she shakes her head and says, “No, it’s fine. Children should be allowed to cry. She cried a lot, too. She was always something of a crybaby. But after she met you, and you started spending time together, like she wrote in her journal, she stopped crying. Not completely, of course, but a lot less. Thank you. The time you gave her was precious.”
I have to hold back the tears for a moment to make sure I don’t start crying again. Then I shake my head and say, “She gave me something precious.”
“I wish we could have all shared a meal together, as a family. She never said anything about you to us.”
She smiles at me sadly and I waver again.
I let myself waver as I begin talking a little about my memories of her. I tell her mother about things that weren’t in the journal—leaving out the game of truth or dare and how we shared a bed. She nods along as she listens.
As I speak, the weight of my emotions slowly begins to lift. The important joys and sorrows remain, but the parts I don’t need to hold onto seem to fall away.
I begin thinking the mother is listening to me for my sake.
When I’m ready to stop, I ask one more favor.
“Can I come back to visit again?”
“Of course. I’d like for you to meet the rest of our family. You could bring Kyōko-chan, but… Ah, but from the sound of things, you’re not on very friendly terms.”
She laughs softly, just like her daughter.
“Yeah, you could say that. The way things happened, she hates me.”
“Someday, if that ever changes, I hope you both can come over for dinner together. Partly because I want to thank you, but seeing the two people she most cared about getting along would make me happy as her mother.”
I say, “That’s more up to Kyōko-san than me, but I’ll take it to heart.”
After we exchange a few more words, I promise to come back another day, then stand up. She strongly insists I take Living with Dying, and I do. She refuses the 10,000-yen my mother had me bring.
She walks me to the front door. I put on my shoes, thank her again, and have my hand on the doorknob when she says, casually, “You told me your family name, but not your given name. What is it?”
I look over my shoulder and answer, “It’s Haruki. Shiga Haruki.”
“Oh,” she says. “Isn’t there a novelist with that name?”
I’m taken by surprise, and I feel a smile come to my lips. “Yeah. Although I don’t know which one you mean.”
I thank her one last time, say goodbye, and leave the Yamauchi’s house.
The rain has stopped.
When I get home, my mother is already there. She sees my face and says, “Good man.” My dad comes home during dinner, and he slaps me on the back. I guess I should stop underestimating them.
After the meal, I close myself back in my room and read Living with Dying again. As I turn the pages, I think about what I should do from here. I end up stopping to cry three times, but I still think. What can I do for her, for her family, and for me?
Now that I have her book, what can I do?
Sometime after nine o’clock, I make a decision and act on it.
I retrieve a printout from my desk drawer and flip open my cell phone.
Looking at the paper, I dial a number I thought I’d go my whole life never dialing.
When I go to sleep, I dream I’m talking with the girl, and I cry again.