Someone else was there with her, though, and at least at first the meal had simply appeared before her. But with no other witnesses there, such details as whether she had been the one to eat the omurice grew hazy and faded away.
Himari flipped through a fashion magazine, stroking Penguin No. 3, who was always by her side.
“We asked musumeyaku actress Tokikago Yuri, of the East Ikebukuro Sunshiny Opera Company: What is ‘elegance’ for the modern-day maiden?” she read aloud, then muttered, “This actress is so pretty.” The words weren’t meant for anyone’s ears, and she meant nothing more than precisely what she had spoken.
“I’m bored… I wish they’d come home already,” she said to No. 3. Today, a number of hairpins in various motifs were affixed to No. 3’s head. On its back was the numeral “3,” which Kanba had written.
She breathed in the smell of the aged tatami in the parlor.
“Y’know, I’d like to grow some little tomatoes or something outside. I wanna grow strawberries. I wanna eat strawberries.” She set down the magazine and lay back, arms and legs spread out wide, and grinned. “Do you think that tomatoes and strawberries grow vines?”
It was a meaningless question. Himari just thought that plants that grew trailing vines were wonderful. Thinking of them encircling a building, like a castle in a fairy tale or a haunted mansion, made her very excited.
Mimicking Himari, No. 3 rolled around the tatami.
“Oh, it’s Asami-chan,” Himari muttered, turning the page.
What’s inside a popular model’s bag? read the spread. Himari read the page with deep interest. Seeing what other people carried was always interesting. This model is really into the color red, while that model isn’t that fond of brand names. Some walked around with tons of makeup brushes, while the studious types carried around electronic dictionaries or a library’s worth of novels.
“This bag has gotten the most miles with Asami in recent days!” Himari read aloud. “She adores its vivid colors, and that it has plenty of pockets to hold things. Besides her lipstick, she stores a compact, eyelash curler, mascara, and blush in a pouch. Her signature sunglasses are a superior brand, and effective for those with smaller faces.”
For many years now, in Himari’s bag there had been a wallet, lip balm, a handkerchief, and the keys to their home. She often brought her knitting supplies with her as well on trips to the hospital and such, in order to pass the time. But the contents of her bag didn’t show much of what her life was like.
She set down the magazine and headed to her room, lifting her basket of knitting supplies up onto her bed. She plopped down No. 3 onto the bed before climbing up as well.
She first started knitting while she was in the hospital. One year, around Christmas, one of the hospital tutors taught it to any of the children who wished to learn. The first thing that she knit had been a too-short, wonky scarf. Still, she’d been happy. Soon, winter would be here again. She decided to knit something epic this year—though she still was not entirely sure what.
“What do I do if my brothers turn delinquent? Lately they’ve been skipping school, getting angry, and not listening to me at all. Right, San-chan?” Himari had affectionately begun referring to Penguin No. 3 as ‘San-chan.’
No. 3 nodded, seeming to echo her exasperation. It sidled up to Himari, pressing its round body against hers.
“Wait a minute! If you’re with me, San-chan, then it doesn’t count as going out alone!” Himari smiled widely.
No. 3 forced its nonexistent neck into a cramped tilt.
Himari had been forbidden to leave the house by her brothers, who still worried for her physical health. She felt like Rapunzel, locked away atop a tower. Dr. Washizuka told her she could do whatever she liked, and honestly, she’d been feeling pretty fine. She was eating plenty, sleeping plenty, and finally, finding more time during the day than she knew what to do with, napping plenty. She spent her days knitting, stealthily elaborating on the embroidery on the curtains, reading books, doing household chores, and sometimes just staring dazedly into the sunlight.
She adored her room. It was filled with all the things she loved, and her bed was constructed comfortably. Himari herself selected or made the light pink canopy, the sheets, and the many pillows stacked upon it. But she’d crafted all of it in an effort to distract herself from the fact that her body itself was not free.
She was the sickly Princess Himari, passing the days in her own beloved castle.
“Let’s go shopping.” She stood, clearing her thoughts. No. 3 tried to stand up in turn, but its feet caught in the sheets, and it tumbled back onto the bed.
Today, as always, Himari’s little bag held her wallet and lip balm and handkerchief, along with the keys to her precious castle.
Himari and Penguin No. 3 headed to a nearby supermarket and bought ingredients for curry. She couldn’t think of any other recipes whose ingredients she could easily remember and assemble by memory.
“I wonder if making dinner for my brothers will make them happy.” She smiled at No. 3, who nodded back earnestly. “I’m gonna need to get better at cooking!” Her eyebrows pricked up, and she rolled up her sleeves, forcibly flexing her pale, thin arms. No. 3 bounced as if to say, “How splendid!”
Just then, a cat with a fish in its mouth ran out in front of them.
“Whoa!” It was so close Himari staggered back in surprise.
The cat slowly dropped the fish from its mouth. Seeing this, No. 3 ran up to the fish and snapped it down whole.
“C’mon, San-chan! You can’t eat things off the ground!”
Just as Himari scolded the penguin, the cat seemed to pick up on its strange presence. It stood up, let out a fearsome yowl, and flew claws-first at Penguin No. 3.
“Oh, Mr. Cat, stop that! Be nice!”
Himari ran flustered after the cat and Penguin No. 3, who had fused into a scuffling, yowling ball, and were presently rolling away. Apparently, the penguins were visible to any creature who wasn’t human.
Up ahead of the two animals was a T-junction in the road. Himari looked up, wondering what she would do if a car or something came running through, and saw a girl with a clean bob cut, clutching a pot and a furoshiki. It was Oginome Ringo.
“Watch out!”
It had been a long time since she had done any running. It felt good, but Himari was dreadful at it, and incredibly slow. By the time she screamed for the other girl to watch out, it was already too late.