“What about this photo?”
“His left hand.”
“What?”
“Junya’s hand. If you look closely, you’ll see that he’s holding the pen in his left hand.”
Hastily, she took another look at the photo.
He’s right.
The soapy sponge was in his right hand. His other hand was the one with the ballpoint pen.
“He appears to have been extremely flustered. Would anyone instinctively take notes with their nondominant hand at a time like that? In other words, Junya’s dominant hand was originally his left.”
“It can’t be. That’s not possible! He always used his right hand in class and during chores.”
“He must have been trained to do so when he was young. Because he behaved as if he were right-handed for all intents and purposes, no one around him picked up on it. His parents’ ‘unfair discipline’ may have been a prejudiced attempt to correct his left-handedness.”
Junya had said that his parents had hit him without mercy in the name of “discipline.” Could that really have been to train him to stop using his left hand?
“When I heard about the mirror writing, something tugged at the back of my mind. Characters that are flipped horizontally are easier for left-handed people to write. As a result, many of them pick up mirror writing naturally at a young age. Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, is said to have been able to write backward because he was born left-handed.” At that point, the boy held up his index finger. “And that leaves us with a problem: When a left-handed person strikes someone who’s facing them, the other person’s right cheek is the one that’s hit. However, when Junya struck you, it was your left cheek that was swollen, correct?”
“…What are you trying to say?”
“In short, that you staged the assault. You slipped the silver ring off Junya’s hand while he was sleeping, put it on your own finger, and hit yourself in the face. Mixing an over-the-counter medication from the drug store into his drink would have been enough to ensure that he fell asleep.”
“Th-that’s a lie! I’ll sue you for defamation!” The intensity of her shout was like a slap across the face, but there was an edge of hysteria to her voice.
Still smiling, the boy raised his white porcelain cup to his lips. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m trying to save you from misfortune.”
“You better not be joking! What exactly do you know about me?!”
“As a matter of fact, I had Beniko—the young woman who showed you in—research your family today. You lost your mother when you were in middle school, didn’t you? She hung herself, just as Junya did.”
“So? What about it?” There was a note of sharp disgust in her voice.
“According to the neighbors, your mother had a tendency to sigh and complain. She compared her fortune to others at every turn, envying, resenting, lamenting the people around her. She was unhappy right up to the moment of her death.”
“Yes, my mother and I are polar opposites.” She could feel her lips curve ironically.
The boy shook his head quietly. “No. You’re just like her.”
“What?”
“For both of you, your happiness is based far too heavily on others. You can’t define ‘happiness’ on your own terms. For that reason, you are more unhappy than anyone.”
It’s not true. Satsuki shook her head.
A happy marriage, life as a happy couple… In order to have it all, she’d worked twice as hard as anyone else. She’d practically coughed up blood to get this far.
Just a little further. I’m almost there.
She was already carrying her long-awaited first child in her womb. Once she had this baby, she’d have everything the world envied. This time, she was sure she’d find happiness.
“You see? The fact that you keep pursuing happiness is proof that you aren’t happy.” The boy chuckled deep in his throat. Then, with the eyes of a cat toying with a mouse, he told her, “Due punishment awaits those who sin. That is the law of karma. However, as children can’t choose their parents, there is room for sympathy in your case. If you wish to escape Hell’s punishment, go to someone and confess your sin. If you don’t, you’ll fall into a living hell.”
Satsuki didn’t even have to think about it.
Immediately, she stood up, speaking as if she were wringing the words from her throat.
“I’d rather die!”
A moment later, her vision seemed to dim.
The sun had just burned out; night had fallen. It was as if the only candle in a dark room had been extinguished.
The boy’s face turned toward Satsuki. Even in the gloom, it was far too pale.
“Then to Hell you must go.”
A mocking smile curled the boy’s lips.
“What?” she asked, but his hands came together sharply, and then—
“Huh?”
The next thing she knew, she was standing on a street she recognized: a narrow lane about ten minutes’ walk from her apartment. She must have started home without realizing. She couldn’t remember leaving that house, though.
Could it all have been a dream? That European mansion towering beyond the green tunnel, the boy in his white kimono that reminded her of a burial robe… Maybe it had all been a nightmare.
Yet unease clung to her heart like a black mist. It felt as if something irrevocable might happen at that very moment.
“Oh, why me, why me?”
Catching herself muttering the words, she bit her lip.
Oh, why me, why me…
It was what Satsuki’s mother had always said. The woman had been one big ball of grumbles, complaints, and grievances. No matter what she happened to be doing, out of nowhere she’d start muttering, “Why me, why me?” If she heard that the neighbors had taken a trip to Europe or a relative had remodeled their kitchen, she’d say, “And look at us…,” and give a deep, dramatic sigh.
“Oh, why me, why me? Why am I so unhappy?”
When Satsuki was in fifth grade, she’d bought her mother an apron for Mother’s Day in an attempt to make her happy. It had cost a whole ten thousand yen. Putting all the New Year’s money she’d managed to save up into her wallet, she’d gone to a faraway department store to buy it, transferring between several different buses to get there.
She’d thought her mother would be glad.
She’d hoped her mother would smile for her.
She was supposed to laugh and tell Satsuki how happy she was.
But…
“For goodness’ sake, an apron? What, are you telling me to work even harder around the house?” Her mother let out a deep, dramatic sigh. “Oh, why me? The woman next door got a bouquet of carnations.”
When Satsuki heard that, she felt something in her heart explode. “I’d be better off if you were dead, Mom!”