We started preparing for the Easter bazaar at the beginning of the new academic year.
Most missionary schools and churches have events in April, when Easter Sabbath typically falls. However, our academy celebrates Easter and Pentecost in the middle of June in order to avoid the chaos of the new school year.
Last year, I only visited Mr. Shiraishi at his residence a few times to report on committee activities, but, after I became head of the committee, our meetings became more frequent. I would ask for his opinion on my rough draft of the Easter poster, and gave him price quotations for and a final list of the tentative shops for the bazaar.
Even though Mr. Shiraishi surely knows “time is money,” he spent his time on his students, instead of on hobbies or vacations, and I was grateful for that. He inspired me to dedicate all of my time to studying and perfecting the festival preparations, no matter what it took. I became more enthusiastic with every conversation and often found us talking in his library for three hours at a time.
Since most of these meetings and preparations took place after school, I wasn’t able to attend most of the Literature Club meetings. I’m sure they also had daily meetings about the Easter festival arrangements. I couldn’t assist them like I did last year, when we baked two hundred cakes, so I imagine that they were much busier obtaining the ingredients and cooking utensils than they had been before. Maybe that’s why I never ran into Itsumi when I visited her father. She must have been constantly running around like crazy. At any rate, Itsumi was, like her father, hot-blooded and persistent.
✦ ✦ ✦
“What would you think of a bunny dance?” Mr. Shiraishi suggested one day, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Bunnies…?” I asked.
“You know, Easter Bunnies. We’ll have the students wear bunny costumes and do a little dance as they walk around. Like they’re in a make-believe land. Don’t you feel excited just thinking about it?”
He had a point. It certainly would feel like a fairytale if we had Easter Bunnies dancing in front of the academy’s European Middle-Age style architecture. It was hard to picture that this man—a cold rationalist whom many fear, who expands his businesses by aggressively acquiring other companies—would have such an innocent idea. “It sounds great,” I replied, holding back laughter, trying my best to show that I agreed. Despite his silly idea, I really did enjoy talking to him and listening to his various suggestions.
So I borrowed the laptop in his library and started searching for costume rental companies.
There is a logical explanation as to why Mr. Shiraishi let me borrow his laptop. Last year, when I visited Mr. Shiraishi to talk about my progress report, I walked in on a telephone conversation between him and his secretary. He was trying to send urgent instructions to his branch office when his computer suddenly shut down and wouldn’t restart. As a child, I used to disassemble and reassemble computers for fun, so I am actually quite the tech-whiz. He ordered his secretary to have his computer repaired immediately and then angrily hung up. That is when I asked if he’d like me to take a look at it. Even if I wasn’t able to fix his computer, I figured I’d be able to extract some data out of it.
My hypothesis was correct. I was able to restart the computer in safe mode and put the necessary information onto a flash memory stick before the repairman rushed in with a replacement computer. Mr. Shiraishi thanked me for loading the data onto his computer, and for doing it so quickly he didn’t have to waste time waiting for his files. He was so profuse in his thanks I started to feel embarrassed. From that point on, Mr. Shiraishi put his trust in me.
I am not only confident with computers; I also know that I’m good at getting things done. I ran as many errands as I could while Mr. Shiraishi dealt with the incessant calls he’d receive during our meetings. On this occasion, I had finished negotiating prices with the costume rental company and ordered ten bunny suits by the time he had hung up the phone.
“That’s incredible, Sonoko. Listen, how would you like to be my assistant when you graduate?” he suggested then.
I could only take this as the highest compliment. I was delighted. If only my father were still alive. If only I had a father like Mr. Shiraishi, I thought—and yes—I felt jealous of Itsumi.
“It would be an honor,” I said.
“I’m serious. I mean, you’re better than my secretary. I hate when people mess with my things. I’ve never even let my secretary enter my library. In fact, you’re the first person I’ve ever allowed to handle the library computer,” Mr. Shiraishi admitted. When he grinned, his eyes crinkled. “But I know you want to be a doctor. Well, after you get your degree, I’d like you to work at my hospital,” he offered.
“I’d love to!”
“Here, take this. It’s a small reward for your hard work,” said Mr. Shiraishi. He opened his desk drawer and took out a box wrapped in decorative paper. “I went to Paris on business last week. This is a souvenir.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have…”
“Please, take it. It’s a thank-you gift for your diligent work as head of the executive committee.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Open it.”
I opened the chic wrapping paper to reveal a box of Guerlain, my favorite perfume. It’s an exclusive perfume sold every spring.
“I love it! I buy Guerlain every year.”
“I’m glad you like it. But please, don’t tell Itsumi. I could only get one bottle,” Mr. Shiraishi confessed, scratching his head.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
Aware that I’d never receive gifts from my own father again, Mr. Shiraishi must have surreptitiously taken on that role for me.
“I’ll cherish it always…” Dad, I almost said. I panicked and swallowed my words.
✦ ✦ ✦
Classes, tests, Easter preparations, Literature Club, independent studies.
With all the pressure, I nearly combusted with stress. I found it hard to keep going. I tried reading my textbooks at home, but the information wouldn’t stick in my head.
This is no good, I thought.
Finally, I set my study materials aside and decided to go on a hospital tour. It was a Saturday afternoon. I figured the hospital would inevitably be crowded. I quickly switched from one train to the next until I arrived at a general hospital in the suburbs.
Sure enough, there were people everywhere. The lobby, information desk, emergency exit, cafeteria, café, shops, internal medicine, radiology department…I took it all in. I saw doctors and nurses who’d do anything to heal their fearful patients of their pain and suffering. Right, I thought. I have to try much, much harder for my future patients. Someday, I need to be able to save them.
Mission to rejuvenate: complete. Feeling recharged, I walked back down the stairs to the lobby. It was there that I noticed an unusual presence.
Itsumi Shiraishi.
Her beauty stood out in the crowded hospital. Maybe she had also come to mentally recharge. After all, she’d come all the way to the suburbs instead of going to her father’s prominent hospital. Perhaps, like me, she was also burnt out.
“Itsumi…” I was about to say, but stopped myself.
Her expression was so vacant it seemed like she was unconscious. Her skin was sickly pale, and she had lost the sparkle in her eyes. She stumbled around the lobby as if sleepwalking.
✦ ✦ ✦
When she came back to school, Itsumi didn’t seem like herself.
She was morose and hardly ever smiled. She wasn’t her cheerful, lively self.
“Itsumi?” I called to her between classes the following week.
“Whaat?” she answered lethargically.
Her gaze was incredibly listless.
“…It’s nothing,” I found myself saying.
“You’re a strange one, Sonoko.” She smiled, but it was weak. Itsumi was starting to look more like a patient than the doctor she aspired to be. I wanted to tell her I had seen her the previous Saturday, but decided not to.
Even at the salon, Itsumi drooped languidly on the sofa. She was normally inseparable from her books, but now just closed her eyes and listened to a piano piece by Chopin.
“Itsumi, do you feel sick?” Diana, the international student, inquired, sounding worried.
“Yeah, a little. My body feels sluggish.”
“You’re tired. I’ll give you a massage with rose oil. Go change into a robe and come back when you’re done,” Diana said. Once Itsumi came back, she had Itsumi lay face-down. Diana started rubbing the sweet-smelling Bulgarian rose oil onto her arms and back, and then lightly began massaging her.
“How’s that?”
“Really good.” Itsumi started to doze off. I thought she was probably just sleep-deprived. Even if she’d been sleeping well, we still had to deal with the difficult homework assignments we received every day in science class. Perhaps Itsumi was feeling the stress that came with being the chairman’s daughter.
But…
I felt like there was something else at work.
I watched Diana diligently massaging Itsumi. Looking back, I felt like Itsumi had been slowly changing since the spring.
Spring—yes, right around the time that Diana Decheva came to Japan.