Chapter 1

Book 1 A Happy, Happy Day for Pippi Longstocking I heard a voice as I passed through the station gates. “Please take me to Hana!” The voice rang eager and strong as it repeated its appeal. “I have to get back to Hana no matter what! Please!” There was a shelf stuffed full of old books tucked into a corner of the train station, the kind from which anyone could freely borrow. I was out running an errand for my mother after school, but following the desperate plea of the charming voice, I paused and slowly approached the bookshelf to pick up one of the volumes. On the cover, darkened with age, was a picture of a girl with freckles and braids, wearing socks up over her knees and big floppy shoes. She held a monkey in her arms. I placed my hands on that girl on warped, yellowed pages and peered at the book through the thick lenses of my glasses. I grinned. Then, in a secretive whisper, I asked, “So you’re the one who was calling for help, huh? Nice to meet you. I’m Musubu Enoki. Perhaps I can be of assistance?” For as long as I’ve been aware, I have somehow been able to hear the voices of books and converse with them. The voices I hear in the local library whisper gently, those in small used bookshops are laid-back and mellow, and books piled up in the new-releases section of big bookstores chatter with excitement as loudly as the chirping of recently hatched birds. Hearing the voices of books is part of my everyday life, not all that different from the hustle and bustle of other people passing me by. However, every once in a while, I stop in my tracks like this, to lend an ear to their stories and talk with them. I was certain that fate had brought me to this book, too. “I’m not really one of the station’s lending books. I belong to Hana. When Hana was seven years old, she went to a bookstore with her father. When our eyes met, we both knew it was fate. She asked her father to buy me, and she took me home with her.” So I ended up taking the book home with me. Back in my room, I set it down on my desk and inquired about its situation again, and the book began to cheerfully tell its story. The title on her (the voice belonged to a girl) cover was Pippi Longstocking. The author was Astrid Lindgren, a Swedish writer of children’s books. She wrote the Children of Noisy Village series and the Kalle Blomkvist series, as well as many other famous books. According to her: “I was the first book Ms. Lindgren published, which means I’m her oldest daughter.” It tells the tale of the greatest girl in the world, who takes her monkey named Mr. Nilsson and a suitcase full of gold coins and moves all by herself into the Villa Villekulla, a house covered in weeds. Chronicling the daily life of a girl with long stockings and oversize shoes, the book is packed with the sorts of adventures children long to have, and it spins a tale that is simply “silly and thrilling.” “Hana was a real crybaby and a scaredy-cat. She cried in her room a lot, like the time she got detention for refusing to eat the tomatoes in her school lunch, or the time she got a nosebleed from getting hit in the face during a game of dodgeball, or the time her mother told her she couldn’t watch TV before finishing her homework and turned off her favorite program, Masked Magical Girl Maids. But whenever she read me, she would stop crying. She’d even smile and giggle. Hana always said she wanted to be ‘just like Pippi.’ Whenever she was feeling lonely, I would sleep in bed with her. When she felt anxious, I would go to school with her. Once, when she passed the exam to get into middle school, she even told me she hadn’t been nervous because ‘Pippi’ was right there with her. That made me so happy! “Hana loved me, and I loved her, too. I thought we’d be together forever—” I sat in my chair and nodded along as I listened to the disheartened book’s narration. The question was, How did Hana’s most precious thing end up on the train station’s lending shelf calling for help? The answer was that one day, when Hana was in her first year of middle school, she had forgotten the book on a station bench. “Hana had been feeling down all morning. There was no school that day, and she packed me and some ginger cookies she had made into a small paper bag and set off on a little trip. But somewhere along the way, she got off the train, maybe because she was sick, and sat on a bench for a very long time doing nothing at all. Occasionally, she would hang her head and let a few tears fall or rub her eyes or blink a lot… I’m sure something sad had happened. Usually, she would read me, and I would lift her spirits, but that day, she didn’t even pick me up. She left me there on the bench, paper bag and all.” After that, the book had been picked up by one of the station attendants. At first, Pippi was unfazed, certain that Hana would come back for her soon. But Hana never reappeared, even when her ginger cookies had gone totally stale. “That wasn’t a train station Hana usually used, and she seemed spaced-out and sick that day, so she must not have even known where she lost me… If that’s not it, then maybe something happened to her…” She didn’t know why Hana hadn’t returned. Eventually, it became clear that nobody was coming back for her. The cookies were thrown out, and she was placed on the lending shelf, where she drifted from place to place in the hands of unfamiliar borrowers. The book couldn’t say exactly how much time had passed since then. Her pages were yellowed, and her cover was quite worn. “I waited in that place day after day, calling out to everyone who passed me by, asking them to take me to Hana. You’re the only one who ever answered, Musubu. Thank you.” “I hope you’ll be able to see Hana again.” “Me too.” Her voice brightened and became cheerful again, like a burst of light. I pictured the girl with the freckles and braids breaking into a smile, and I felt myself grinning right alongside her. Ah, she really loves Hana. I’d like to get her back to her owner. Okay then, I’ll do what I can to help her. After all, I am a friend to all books. The first order of business was to write down all the information that Pip (as I decided to call her) could give me about her previous owner: The girl’s full name was Hana Higuchi. She was in her first year of middle school, or maybe older. She was part of a three-person family with her parents. She commuted to her private middle school by train. Her school uniform was a gray blazer with a checkered skirt and a dark-red ribbon. I looked up the uniforms of nearby private middle schools and had Pip take a look at them, but we didn’t find any matches. “And you don’t even know the name of the station near Hana’s house?” “…No, sorry.” Hmm, this might be a tough one. I crossed my arms in my swivel chair and mulled over the situation. Fine. I guess I’ll try asking the one upperclassman I can always count on. I went to see him the next day during lunch. “Again?” He opened his eyes wide. “Musubu, you’re really nice to books, huh? How about setting up a one-stop shop for them, instead of helping them individually? I can’t think of too many high schoolers who have your ability, so you’d probably do good business, don’t you think?” “I’ll consider it as soon as you can tell me how to get the books to pay for my services.” “Got me there.” There on the leather sofa sat third-year student Haruto Himekura, smiling in amusement. Haruto was tall, handsome, and so cool that people called him the Campus Prince. In actuality, his mother was not only the head of the school board, but also the head of the wealthy Himekura clan, one of Japan’s foremost families. Haruto was her oldest son and a resplendent aristocrat. Normally, someone like him would have nothing to do with a plain, bespectacled commoner like me. It was that “special skill” of mine that got us talking in the first place. Haruto was the only one in school who knew I could hear the voices of books. We were chatting in the luxurious conference room in the music hall, which towered over the rest of the school grounds. The hall was a modern-style building with a domed roof, used mostly by Seijou Academy’s Orchestra Club. The club was known for counting many professional musicians among its alumni, as well as prominent politicians and businessmen. Haruto had been serving as the orchestra club’s director since his first year at the school, as is apparently tradition among the eldest sons of the Himekura family. Once, Haruto told me his mother had said he could join any club he desired and that she wanted him to do something he liked. But Haruto had been set on orchestra from the start. His mother’s atelier occupied the top floor of the building, and as a child, Haruto visited often, so he developed an attachment to the place. He had never missed a single concert and always aspired to be part of the orchestra—that’s what he’d told me anyway. He had seemed so cool as he smoothly rattled off the story. We truly were from different worlds. The reception area of the music hall really was incredible. Parts of it split off to form private lesson compartments, while the rest was dedicated to the impressive conference room. Beside the leather couch stood a marble table and an amber-clad sideboard lined with endless rows of medals won in various orchestra competitions. It might have been even more impressive than the principal’s office. Though I’d never actually gone to the principal’s office. From where I sat, Haruto, who was relaxing in this opulent hall as if it were his own bedroom, seemed as though he could get everything and do anything he desired. While he would counter that there were lots of ways in which his family obligations constrained him, I imagined he had connections just about everywhere. He could undoubtedly gather valuable information simply by being in the right place with the right people. In other words, I was sure that if anyone could find Hana Higuchi’s whereabouts, it was Haruto. The best I’d managed was looking up her name online, and I hadn’t found anybody who even seemed as if they might be a match. “Well, I think it’s going to be difficult with only her name to go on,” Haruto said. “It would be hard enough to find her if she were a celebrity or a criminal, but you said she’s just a normal middle school girl. And the name Hana has been in the top twenty most-popular baby names for a while.” “I’m sure I can figure something out with your help, Haruto.” My glasses slipped down my face as I pressed my hands together in supplication. Haruto flashed a cheerful smile that would have thrilled any of our female classmates. “All right, but I’ve got a request for you in return, Musubu.” “So I heard that first, he was just touching their arms and tapping on their shoulders, but eventually he moved on to rubbing backs and running his hands across hips!” “Right, yeah, those areas are kind of borderline, so even the girls getting touched wonder if they should let it go.” “Mm, that’s the really sly part about it. But he’s definitely toeing the line. It’s almost criminal. That teacher is a pervert.” After school, I found myself in the social studies reference room, listening to the chronological tables and glossaries lined up on the conference table. There was a rumor going around that Mr. Takekawa, the Japanese history teacher, was sexually harassing his female students. He often conducted private tutoring sessions in this reference room, so I had been tasked with questioning the books that resided there about what was really going on. Haruto always asked for something in return whenever I needed a favor, with a bright smile to boot. I didn’t mind much, though, since I felt awkward about always requesting things from him. I was having difficulty hearing the books, who had all started talking at once. Their voices were blending together, and I couldn’t make out a word they were saying. “One at a time, please.” I tried to lead the discussion forward, but— “All right then, I’ll go!” “Okay, listen to what I have to say!” “I’m first!” —they all started talking over each other again. “That jerk Takekawa likes girls who seem inexperienced. He gets extra turned on by serious girls who bear his assaults in silence.” “His tastes are so obvious. He only brings skinny girls here, the kind without any meat on them at all.” “You’d think it would be more fun to touch girls who were a little plumper.” “Mm, like the world history teacher, Mr. Obana, who gets excited by voluptuous older women. Other men’s wives, in particular. They’ve got to be great.” “Agreed. Ieyasu Tokugawa’s stable of concubines was full of divorcées, you know. Leave it to the man who united the country to have taste.” “Nobunaga Oda also showed favor to the widows of the Ikoma clan and their servants. He even made them bear his children.” “In comparison, Hideyoshi Toyotomi only went for young virgins. But he liked rich girls. He said there was nothing better than the ones who lacked refinement.” “Hang on, I thought all of Hideyoshi’s concubines were also hostages?” “So they were other men’s wives!” “Ieyasu also went for young girls later in life.” “And we can’t talk about Nobunaga without mentioning Ranmaru Mori.” Ah geez, this conversation is getting off track. “Excuse me! Could we leave this discussion about the concubines from the Warring States period for another time and get back to the sexual harassment allegations regarding Mr. Takekawa, please?” “I’m telling you, he’s guilty!” “He’s a handsy old man!” “He starts out by patting them on the shoulder, then goes around rubbing backs—” “Please don’t all speak at once! I’m taking notes—slow down!” They went on and on. It was evening by the time I made it home. “Whew, I’m wiped.” I dived onto the bed, still holding my schoolbag, and buried my face in my pillow with my glasses still on. How should I report this to Haruto, I wonder…? Can I just say Mr. Takekawa is guilty of harassing those girls and leave it at that…? While I was thinking it over, the clear voice of a girl called out to me, filled with concern. “Are you all right? Musubu, you look exhausted!” From where I was lying, I turned to face my desk and smiled. My glasses slipped down my nose again. “Yeah, an upperclassman just asked me to handle something for him,” I replied. “Oh, and I’m doing my best to find out about Hana.” “Thank you. But don’t work too hard. If it looks like you’re making yourself sick, I’m going to have to do a handstand and walk around backward, you know.” “Ha-ha, I’d like to see that.” “All right, let’s give it a go!” “Wait, you can do that?” “Put me on the floor, then do a handstand and walk backward. If you do that, it’ll look like I’m walking on my hands, too, right?” “Uh-huh… Yeah…” “Hana also used to do handstands and play around, ‘just like Pippi.’ But one time, she fell on her head and got a bump.” “Hmm… It seems like I might get a bump, too, so I’ll pass.” “Oh, too bad.” Pip mumbled with seemingly genuine disappointment, then quickly returned to her bright, bouncing voice. “Hey, I’ve got an idea—you should try reading me. Hana would always stop crying and cheer up when she did! C’mon, Musubu, read me!” I smiled as I pictured a cheerful girl with freckles and braids, wearing long socks and big, floppy shoes, her eyes sparkling as she spoke to me. It really seemed as though my mood would improve if I gave her a read. “Thank you, but—” I can’t read you here. I was about to tell her that, when— “Cheater…” —I heard a voice so cold that it instantly raised the hairs on my neck and sent icicles down my spine. “I won’t forgive…infidelity…” Cherubic but clear as ice, the voice wound its way to my ears from inside the bag I had tossed aside on my bed. “Cheater…cheater…cheater…cheater…cheater…cheater…” Oh crap. I meant to leave my bag in the living room, but I was so tired, I forgot. “Huh? What? Who’s there?” Pip asked in surprise. “Uh, well—” As we spoke, I could hear the other voice growing even colder, chilling me to the bone. “Cheater, cheater, cheater… I’ll curse you, I’ll kill you, I’ll dance on your grave—” “Sorry! Pip, you wait here!” I flew out of the room holding my bag and ran downstairs to the living room on the first floor. My mother stuck her head out of the kitchen. “What’s wrong, Musubu? You’re making a racket. Dinner’s almost ready.” “Got it.” Brushing her off, I opened my schoolbag. Peeking out from between the textbooks was the slim paperback I always carried around with me. Dressed in an artsy cover, it was elegant, charming, and terrifying— “Musubu, I won’t let you cheat on me… I’ll burn that book and sprinkle her ashes from a tall building. That’ll teach her for speaking with my Musubu. Or maybe I’ll chop her up page by page and boil her down to pulp in a cauldron, or stick a needle through each of her letters, or scribble over all her words with a red ballpoint pen, or punch holes through each of her corners and thread string through them and have horses tear her to pieces by pulling in four different directions. Or perhaps I’ll pour sulfuric acid all over her cover, make her fall apart so you won’t have a chance of reading her. Or throw her to some goats and have her chewed up and eaten alive. Or what about cursing you so that acid falls into your eyes? If I did that, you couldn’t stray from me again. That’s how grave a sin infidelity is. I absolutely cannot sanction the turning of another book’s pages right here in our home. So I curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse, curse upon curse, absolutely curse you! I won’t let you cheat on me!” “Wah! I’m not cheating! I’m sorry—I’ll come apologize later, so just wait here for a little while.” Cold and cute and ruthless and extremely jealous—Princess Yonaga continued to curse me feebly behind my back as I set my precious copy of her on top of a sofa cushion and rushed up to my room. “Musubu, who was that? Is she angry you brought me up here?” Pip seemed worried. I scratched my head in embarrassment and fixed my glasses. “Uh, well…she’s like how you were to Hana. She’s the book I’m destined to be with… We can’t ever be separated… Frankly, she’s my girlfriend.” “Wow!” she exclaimed in surprise. “This is the first time I’ve ever met someone whose sweetheart was a book!” I don’t doubt it. There were plenty of people who loved books, maybe even more than was healthy. A few might have said they were married to their books or something. But not many humans were in a monogamous relationship with a single book. There’s a long story behind my relationship with Princess Yonaga. But that aside, thanks to the envious princess, I couldn’t take any books other than textbooks into my bedroom. “I think she loves you a little too much, Musubu. She seems like she would kill you and the other book if you were unfaithful to her. Her murderous rage made me shiver!”