欲求不満(Unsatisfied Desires): REBELLION

Madam Prime Minister:

I humbly beg your pardon for contacting you so informally, considering how long it's been since we've seen each other and also because of the graveness of this letter, but it seemed like the safest way to ensure that this message reached you in its entirety.

I must confess that I know little of the situation currently standing between yourself and Miho, although she has mentioned to me that the two of you have been out of touch for many years. In case you did not know the particulars already, three years ago she became very ill and was diagnosed with cancer; although she did receive treatment, the illness had already spread throughout her body, and her doctors say that she has less than a year to live. They offered her hospice care until the end of her life, but she insisted upon dying in her own house. You may rest assured that myself and many other neighbors have gladly taken it upon ourselves to make her as comfortable as is possible.

Although she has not said so directly, I believe that Miho would very much like to see you again before she passes away. I understand that you have many other issues demanding your time, and again, as I know close to nothing about where your relationship with one another stands, you might not wish to come for reasons of your own. However, should you have the time and inclination, I'm sure your visit would be greatly appreciated.

Yours most sincerely,

Minami Yoshida

I had to have read the letter a hundred times already in the week since it had arrived, and still I felt nothing more than a kind of vague shock, as if I'd been told that an acquaintance's mother had developed cancer and had only months left to live instead of my own. I had half expected, in my hundred rereadings, to find some little detail I had missed before; something indicating that it was another Mrs. Yoshida writing to another female prime minister somewhere about someone else who just happened to be named Miho Kayabuki, and my receiving the message had been one big coincidence-filled accident.

But, well, it wasn't as if my address was easy to mistake.

I scanned the letter again, even though I knew every stroke by heart. My eyes rested on the final paragraph; there was no way my mother had indicated any desire to see me. For her to do so would be tantamount to admitting that she had been wrong about something, and she would die before ever doing such a thing. If she wanted me in her presence it was probably just so she could murder me, thereby achieving the dubious honor of having outlived both her husband and her daughter.

As for me, I'd tried to ignore the letter entirely, and for the first day I'd nearly succeeded. On the second day I'd realized that I'd forgotten to throw it away, and by the third day, tiny whispers of the only mother you'll ever have and it's really not that far of a trip were cycling through my mind with alarming regularity. The worst part was that I couldn't decide whether I wanted to go because I was honestly concerned, or because I knew that few things would bother my mother more than seeing me again and being reminded of how horribly I'd disappointed her; it fluctuated depending on my mood.

There was a sharp knock on my office door, and I looked up.

"Come in."

The heavy door creaked open, admitting Mari, who stood to one side and lowered her head respectfully as my visitor strode past her.

I'd known she was coming and had had ample time to prepare myself, and still my insides were turning in knots. I stood, waiting for her to reach the desk; once she was facing me, she bent forward in a stiff bow.

"Prime Minister."

"Thank you for coming, Major Kusanagi." I gestured to the sofa on the opposite side of the room. "Please, sit down."

She'd always made me a little nervous, ever since the first time we'd met. Everything about her was so strikingly alien to me that I hadn't known how to react, and I'd found myself overpowered by the sheer force of her presence. Her appearance hadn't helped matters; she possessed a kind of indescribable beauty, something that was more an extension of her aura than any reflection of her admittedly unremarkable facial features. It was the sort of thing that anyone would have found themselves attracted to; I had always tried to justify my own feelings by thinking of her as an abstract concept, like a piece of art, rather than an actual human woman, which had seemed to do the trick for a good couple of years.

Then things had gotten complicated. It almost hurt, now, to see her sitting there so nonchalantly, her arms folded across her chest, gazing at me with little more than mild curiosity, although when I gave it another moment of thought, how had I expected her to act? If word got out that Japan's first female prime minister had had an extramarital affair, the public backlash would be disastrous; for that affair to be with another woman was a situation I wasn't even prepared to think about, let alone face. My press team had already destroyed all the evidence of my heritage and my divorce; to saddle myself with another potential scandal, this one completely of my own making, would have been completely irresponsible and reckless.

"So," said the Major, "you have a job for me?"

I took a deep breath to steady myself.

"There's a town called Uchiko about an hour and a half away from Niihama; are you familiar with it?"

I could almost see the circuits firing behind her eyes as she searched for the information.

"Yes," she said. "Why?"

"I'll need an escort there and back this coming weekend."

She nodded. "For one day or two?"

"Only one; Sunday. I don't think I'll be there more than an hour."

"I see. When do you want me to come get you?"

"Around seven in the morning would be best; plenty of time to get there and back. And you'll be well paid, of course."

"Of course," she said, her sculpted lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. "Don't worry; I trust you. Is that all?"

"I believe so," I said.

Just as I'd hoped, she hadn't asked any unnecessary questions. It was why I'd fought past my nerves and called her about this in the first place instead of simply entrusting the matter to my security staff. Having Mari take me had also been an option, but recurring past events had taught me that it was always worth it to travel with decent protection.

"All right, then," she said. "I'll take it. You can transfer the funds to me electronically over whatever period of time seems least conspicuous to you; I'll leave instructions for doing so with Mari on my way out."

"Thank you," I said, getting to my feet. "I know this must seem like little more than a minor inconvenience to you, considering the work you're used to taking on..."

"Not at all, ma'am" she said, and it was impossible to tell whether she was humoring me for the sake of manners or whether she was being sincere. I'd spent the last decade in politics and never before had I seen such a perfect mask.

"I'll see you on Sunday morning."

She stood, bowed once more, and then left the room.

Sunday came more quickly than I would have liked; it was one thing to convince myself that going to see my mother was the right thing to do, and quite another to actually do it. There were reasons we hadn't spoken in over a quarter of a century, and I was honestly more than a little afraid of the reception I was going to find when I arrived home.

Home. There was a word I hadn't been able to apply to my own life for quite some time. I was surprised that I even connected it with my mother's house anymore.

I shifted restlessly as I waited on the steps leading to the rear entrance of the building; I'd skipped my usual morning jog to agonize over my clothes for an additional fifteen minutes. I was going to have to put my closet back together this evening, as I'd torn out almost everything I owned in an attempt to find something to wear that wasn't red, black, a double-breasted suit jacket, or some combination of the three. I'd hoped that if I went far enough back into my wardrobe I'd find something more casual that had made its way back there simply because I had no occasion to wear it anymore, but all I'd turned up were an odd assortment of formal gowns and kimono that I couldn't remember ever having worn in my life. Ultimately I'd settled on a plain gray sweater and the only ankle-length skirt I could find, with a blue silk scarf pinned around my neck for some color.

I had tried to forgo makeup entirely, but my own reflection had looked so odd to me without it that I'd given in in the end.

At precisely seven o'clock, an unfamiliar car swept around the curved drive, stopping neatly in front of me, its engine rumbling to a halt. Major Kusanagi emerged from the driver's side, walking swiftly to where I was standing. She was wearing a trenchcoat over a sleeveless black top and ash-colored dress pants, and I couldn't help but wonder if she'd spent even half the time I had fussing over the ensemble.

"Good morning, Prime Minister," she said, opening the passenger door for me.

"Good morning," I replied as I got in, tucking my skirt underneath me. "Did you get a new car? This isn't the same one you had during the summer..."

She shook her head. "It's not new; it's just been in storage for a few years, and now I'm taking it out into my regular rotation again." She slid into the driver's seat and pulled the door closed, then turned to me.

"Do you still have the thermoptic camo driver installed from the last time?"

"Yes, although I doubt we'll encounter any situation where such a thing will be necessary..."

"It never hurts to be prepared," she said, putting on her sunglasses. "That's why you called me, right?

"I suppose."

She started the car's ignition, then guided the vehicle out to the main driveway and onto the road.

The trip passed more quickly than I would have liked, partially because of Major Kusanagi's habit of driving at nearly twice the posted speed limits, but mainly because I was dreading my arrival and wishing I'd decided not to go in the first place. What was I going to say? What could I possibly say that would be appropriate for the situation? And this was all dependent on whether or not my mother would even acknowledge my presence.

I felt sick. I wanted to turn around and go back to my office.

It only got worse when we finally reached the town; no matter where I looked, I saw memories. The places I'd wandered, the stores I'd frequented (although many of these now had different names on their awnings)...even the elementary school to which I'd walked every morning, my hand tight in my father's as he took me there on his way to open up his shop for the day, was still there, exactly the same monolithic block of windowed concrete I remembered.

I knew these roads; we were getting close now. The feeling of dread inside me intensified to near panic.

The car turned onto a side street, and I watched the houses scroll by, counting them back from the corner in my mind.

Two...three...four...

"That's it," I said quietly, more to myself than to Major Kusanagi, although she obligingly brought the car to a halt. Her eyes widened very slightly as she noticed the plaque bearing my family name on the gate, but she made no comment. Slowly, I forced myself to open the door and step out into the street.

"I won't be long," I said. "Please wait for me here."

"All right," she said in a disinterested tone. "I'll have a channel open."

I nodded tersely, then took a deep breath and marched up to the front door. I raised my hand to knock, and then took another deep breath.

My hand was shaking.

At last I managed to tap lightly on the door. I was half-hoping that no one would be there to answer, but no, there was the muffled sound of someone hurrying down the stairs. The footsteps drew closer to the door until finally it swung inward to reveal Mrs. Yoshida, who gasped audibly when she saw me.

"Prime Minister...I wasn't expecting that you'd come out here this quickly..."

She bowed hastily, and I smiled and shook my head, bending politely at the waist in return.

"'Yoko' is fine, ma'am."

"Oh, but..." she began.

"Please; I insist."

"Very well, then," she said, looking more than a little flustered. She really hadn't changed much from the woman I remembered having always lived two doors down from us; her hair had gathered its fair share of gray in the intervening years, but then again, so had mine.

"How have you been?" she said as I stepped inside, leaving my shoes at the door. "It's been so long...my goodness, to think that the last time I saw you you'd just graduated high school, and now..."

"Well, I suppose you could say I've just been very, very busy," I said lightly. "How about your family?"

"Oh," she said, "everyone's getting along...Seiji works as an engineer for Poseidon Industrial, and Mayu has her own pottery studio here in town. Mr. Yoshida's retired now, of course, but he still spends more than half the day tinkering with the junk he picks up at the electronics shops..."

Mrs. Yoshida sighed, and I suddenly wondered what it would be like to have such mundane concerns dominating my life.

"Anyway," she said, her voice taking on a subdued tone, "Miho is upstairs...she was up when I went to look in on her only ten minutes ago, and I don't think she'd've fallen asleep since, but I'll go check to make sure..."

"Thank you," I said, and she turned and bustled up the stairs.

While I waited for Mrs. Yoshida to return, I wandered the first floor of the house; it was as if time had stopped since the last time I'd been inside. None of the furniture had been changed or even moved; the tables and couches were in the same places in the sitting room, and my mother's collections of paintings still hung on the walls. The one thing I missed was the potted plants, although those had been long gone even when I'd left home; my father had brought them home from his shop and tended them himself, and after his death my mother had disposed of them. My graduation photos, starting with the first grade and marching steadily on through high school, had also disappeared from their ceremonial place on the shelf behind the corner sofa; it was as if my mother had systematically destroyed all of the evidence indicating that she'd ever had a husband or a daughter.

I heard Mrs. Yoshida on the stairs and moved back out into the hallway.

"She's awake still; you can go on up. I haven't told her that you came to visit."

"Oh...thanks."

This was it.

I moved steadily up the stairs, forcing myself to keep going; I'd already come this far.

My mother's bedroom was the one at the end of the hall; I raised my hand and knocked gently.

"Minami? Is that you again? Come in..."

It wasn't exactly the same voice I remembered; it had grown much harsher, which I didn't think was possible. My breath caught in my throat.

Slowly, I pushed the door open.

The room was exactly as I remembered it; plain and utilitarian, in neutral colors. My mother lay in her bed, propped upright on her pillows, with a light blue shawl draped across her shoulders against the cold. She expressed no surprise upon seeing me; her eyes, sunken deep into the lines of her pale, haggard face, narrowed, and her thin lips pressed together so hard that they almost disappeared entirely.

"Yoko."

I opened my mouth to respond, and found myself incapable of speaking. My mother sighed.

"Well? Why have you come here?"

This was a bad idea. I shouldn't have done it.

"If you're too ashamed to tell me, I think I can at least make an educated guess. Minami contacted you and told you that I was dying, and, in her romantic way, she assumed that I'd want to speak to you one last time. Was that it?"

I nodded.

"But even you're not so shortsighted and stubborn that you'd think she was telling the truth. So why have you come?" She craned her neck, making a show of trying to look around me into the hallway. "I don't see a camera crew, so it can't be for a photo opportunity..."

My eyes narrowed.

"To be honest," I said quietly, "I was hoping you'd actually have something decent to say to me. I suppose I was wrong."

"Oh, right," said my mother. "This is supposed to be the part where we apologize for everything we've ever done to upset each other, isn't it?" She folded her arms across her chest. "You first, then."

"Fine!" I said, taking a step forward. "I apologize for my flawless grades from the time I was six up through college! I apologize for passing my entrance exams on my first try and the bar exam on my second, and for managing to live very comfortably for close to ten years off of my law degree! And I apologize most sincerely, Mother, for being appointed the Prime Minister of Japan!"

My mother gazed quietly at me, waiting for me to finish.

"Your turn," I said.

"I'm sorry," she said slowly, "for not realizing how far you'd go to make yourself unhappy just to spite me."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, why did you go to law school?" she said in the calm tone of someone explaining something simple to a petulantly unreceptive child. "Because I told you you'd be better served finding a job to keep you occupied until you got married and had a family to take care of."

"I went because even my high school principal told me that not going to college would have been a waste of excellent test rankings," I said through clenched teeth.

"But you could have done anything," my mother said patiently. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you didn't choose your career path simply because you thought it would irritate me."

"I..."

I couldn't do it.

"I thought so. Your whole life has been about other people's standards, Yoko; always doing whatever you had to for a kind word and a pat on the head, just so someone would validate all of the misery you'd put yourself through."

"Everyone's standards except yours," I said. "No matter what I did, you never told me that you were proud of me, even once. What was I supposed to do?"

"What did I have to be proud of?" she countered. "A daughter who had no friends, who shut herself in her room with her textbooks every afternoon and only joined clubs because her school expected her to. The piano seemed to make you happy enough, but you even gave that up once it started cutting into your study time too much."

Now that I thought about it, my mother had always loved to listen to me play the piano. It had been decades since I'd even gone near one.

"And now you've got an entire country breathing down your neck. You've made yourself into a slave; why should I praise that?"

I had no answer.

"All I wanted was for you to be happy. If you'd found your own way to do that, it would be one thing, but here you come to me having done the exact opposite, and I'm the one who's supposed to feel ashamed? Really, Yoko."

There was a long silence, and then she sighed heavily.

"In the end, I suppose I'm glad you decided to visit; now that I've said all this to you, maybe you'll stop and think about what you've been doing to yourself all these years."

"Is that all, then?" I whispered.

"Unless you've got anything else you'd like to apologize for before you go."

My eyes narrowed again, which my mother seemed to take in stride.

"Apparently not. Goodbye, then, Yoko; we won't see each other again, I'm sure."

I nodded shortly.

"Goodbye, Mother."

"I can't thank you enough for everything you've done..." I said, bowing deeply to Mrs. Yoshida from the front step.

"Please, don't worry about it," she said. "It's part of being a good neighbor, and Miho has done more than her fair share for us in the past. We only hope that she won't have to suffer too greatly..."

I nodded. "And if there's anything that she should need that's beyond your capabilities, please contact me; I'm sure I can arrange it."

"Thank you," said Mrs. Yoshida, bowing. "That's quite generous."

It was what anyone would expect a good daughter to say.

I thanked Mrs. Yoshida again, wished her well, and then walked back to the car. Major Kusanagi looked up as I opened the door and slid inside.

"Are you all right?"

Something about my facial expression must have given me away.

"I'm fine; take me back to Fukuoka, please."

"Yes, ma'am."

(A/N: It was interesting switching over to Kayabuki for this; she strikes me as the kind of person who would curl up with a glass of wine and a trashy romance novel if she had the time, so I tried to bring a little of that into her voice. It should become more apparent in part 2. Also, I don't know why, but something about her has always screamed "extremely troubled personal life" to me.

also also, GENESIS is not abandoned, and I'm actually really close to finishing the third chapter; my main computer has a virus and is temporarily unuseable (I've already had a very serious talk with my tachikomas about how they could let that happen!), so I'm just writing this on my laptop to amuse myself in the meantime :D

also also also, I don't own any of the characters, etc.)