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Not Just Living
Somewhere in the mountains of Japan, a blizzard raged in the dead of winter. A lone tent was tucked away in a small alcove, shivering bravely as the gale threatened to pluck it off the mountainside and fling it into the chasm below. Inside the tent, a girl with long, dark hair tended to a small pot that bubbled over a small gas stove, occasionally tasting the contents and adding seasoning to her liking.
When Mana was satisfied, she put her spoon back in one of the two bowls she had set out by the pot. The wind was still fierce and tugged on the flaps of the tent that, despite being lashed shut, still let in ribbons of freezing air that pierced through her thick winter coat as if it were made of silk. It had been nearly five years since she left the mermaid village, so she was more accustomed to hardship now, but enduring a storm like this was nothing like she had ever experienced.
The fire in the portable gas stove stood in the middle of the tent, and there was only room enough for their traveling bags and bedding, which was strewn about on either side. Even though the space was small, the fire barely warmed the tent, and that was on a good day. Hunching her back against the cold, she dragged Yuta's blankets to her side and wrapped them around herself until she looked like a woolen cocoon with a head of long hair. He could have them back whenever he decided to come back. Earlier that day, Mana noticed that they were running out of firewood, so he ventured out to find some more. Of course, that had been before the storm began.
Mana reached into her bag and pulled out a battered red-and-gold paperback. The corners of the glossy cover were curling up and the spine was worn with white creases at the parts that she read over and over again. It was a novel about vampires. It was her favorite book, the only one she owned, other than a dictionary. When Yuta asked her why she liked it so much, she responded by saying that the vampires reminded her of themselves.
"Is that so?" he said, with a smile of amusement. "The last time I checked, we didn't go around drinking other people's blood."
"No, no, that's not it. The vampires in this book…they're like us. Once they're bitten, they become immortal, until they're exposed to sunlight. And it's not like they have to drink blood, it's just that some of them like to do that. Otherwise, they're just like us."
That was part of the reason, anyway. The real reason was that the vampires in the story made her think of Yuta. The main character, Louis, was a lot like him; during the three hundred years since Louis became immortal, he had loved and lost many people, both human and vampire. But after all the years of joy and hardship, only he was left, and he lived on alone.
Yuta would tell her tales of eras that were now only remembered in dusty books of the past and of people who have long since returned to the earth. Mana would listen intently as he relived the past, watching as his eyes gazed far into the distance and seemed to age a hundred years. Sometimes she would catch him looking lost in thought while in the middle of doing something. At those times, he never said anything, and she never asked. That was how things were.
It was not until she started to follow Louis in his adventures that she began to understand, even if just a little, about how Yuta might feel. Louis was three-hundred years old, not quite as old as Yuta, but life already hung like a tired weight shackled to his feet. Reading this book sometimes made her feel as weary as Louis did. He often wished he could die, and she wanted him to die, too—not because she disliked him, but because she didn't want him to be so sad. It seemed that the longer he lived, the sadder he became.
How a normal, mortal human being could write a story about a person who had lived for hundreds of years was amazing to Mana. Amazing and—what was the word?—ironic. Yes, ironic. That was a new word for her; she had just learned it this month. It was in the dictionary that Yuta had bought for her when he first taught her how to read. It was ironic that a normal person could write so believably about someone who was immortal. Mana wondered if the author wasn't mortal after all. Maybe the author had eaten mermaid's flesh, too.
Mana curled up closer to the fire to soak in its meager heat, and the light of the flame flickered weakly on the newsprint pages. The blankets warmed her like hot chocolate on a bitterly cold day, and her eyelids began to droop. What on earth was taking Yuta so long? Mana had heard before that people sometimes died in cold weather. He'd better not die out there, she thought sleepily. If I have to go look for him, I'm going to make him buy me a mug of hot chocolate when we get back to town.
It was not long before she was fast asleep.
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A loud noise and a sudden gust of frigid air jolted Mana out of her slumber. She blinked as a flurry of snow whipped against her face, and she saw that the tent flap had come undone. At her feet was a snow-covered heap of clothing and hair, and it took her a stunned moment to realize that it was Yuta. Clutched in his gloved hands and scattered on the floor were several lengths of freshly split wood. The axe was nowhere to be seen. She scrambled out from under the blankets and shook him by the shoulders.
"Yuta? Yuta!" She pulled his hood back and recoiled when she touched his face. Even ice never felt this cold. Was he dead? People were normally warm to the touch, and only became cold when they died. In her experience, anyway.
Snowflakes stung her face as the wind howled through the entrance of the tent, and what little warmth there had been was now completely extinguished. Mana grasped his pants at the waist, which had crusted over with a light coat of ice, and pulled him the rest of the way into the tent. Gritting her teeth against the biting cold, she tried to haul the tent flaps together, which proved to be as easy as playing tug-of-war with a polar bear. After much flailing about, however, she managed to lash them shut. She let herself flop to the ground and crawled over to Yuta, who had not moved from where he had fallen.
He was face-down on the floor, so she turned him over. She touched his face again. Still cold. She lowered her ear to his mouth and put a hand on his chest. His breath rasped softly as his chest slowly rose and fell. She waited for the next breath. The seconds ticked by, and it wasn't until the next one came that she realized she was holding her own. He was still breathing, so it would not be long before he completely recovered. Dying really was very inconvenient, because it always took either of them a good half of a day to come back to life.
But she couldn't understand why he was so cold. Even when he was dead, he was never this cold.
Mana's breath came in misty puffs, and, shivering, she pulled the blankets she had hurriedly discarded around her shoulders. Then she looked at Yuta, who was lying on his back with an arm across his stomach, his face ashen. It was probably wasn't fair of her to hog all the blankets—and he would probably call her on that later, anyway—so she shuffled over to cover him with her body, blankets and all.
Some time later, he warmed up a little, but he still was not awake. Mana put a hand on his chest and shook him gently. "Yuta, you need to wake up. I made lunch for us, and that was hours ago. I'm getting pretty hungry." She grabbed his hand and impatiently swung it back and forth. She had taken off his gloves and coat earlier, because the melting ice made his clothing—and hers as well—uncomfortably damp. Even though he was warmer than before, his hand was rather clammy. "Come on, who's the one who always calls me lazy for sleeping too much?" she teased. "Get up!"
But he didn't get up. He continued to lie beneath her without moving, the same as he had been hours ago. Mana put her head on his chest, and listened. There was no heartbeat.
Mana was perplexed. Was he dead? But he was breathing only hours ago. He wasn't as cold as before, either. There was no way he could be dead.
She listened again. Silence, again. She listened a little longer. He was not even breathing anymore.
This time, she was sure. Yuta was dead.
Suddenly Mana felt cold, and not because of the blizzard. Yuta had been alive when he came back. How could he possibly be dead now? Even the most gruesome injuries healed, as long as he was alive. And he had been alive. He even warmed up quite a bit. He couldn't be dead.
Unless…
Unless this time, he wasn't coming back.
Mana clenched his shirt in her hands in disbelief. Then all strength left her and she collapsed to the ground, clumsily pulling Yuta's body to her and clinging to him as if he were the last bastion in the storm. Like a small child, she buried her face in the cool skin of his neck. "Yuta…" she whispered brokenly. Tears blurred her vision and streamed down her face. This was the second time she had ever cried, and now she understood why people cried when they were sad.
"YUTAAAAAA!" she wailed, and she sobbed, clutching him all the while, until there were no more tears left.
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Yuta blinked and opened his eyes. It was difficult to see in the dark gray of twilight, but it seemed that the dark, cylindrical shape in front of him was the gas stove, which was lying on its side. No, he was the one lying on his side. The floor of the tent appeared surprisingly bare, especially since it had been covered with blankets and pillows before he left. Looks like I made it back ok after all, he thought. Then he noticed that he was unusually warm, given that the last thing he remembered was stumbling through the blizzard, half-blind and half-frozen. Mana was lying next to him and had her arms around him, with one draped over his body and the other cradling his head. Every blanket they owned was covering them both. She must have been trying to keep him warm and probably fell asleep while waiting for him to come around. How thoughtful of her, he thought with a small smile. She's learning.
Not wanting to disturb her, he remained as he was. The storm still raged outside, and he was just happy to be warm and out of the bitter cold. He really should have listened to the radio earlier today for the day's forecast. The air was rather chilly, in spite of the gas stove, and as he took a deep breath, he began to cough uncontrollably. With a start of surprise, he realized he must have recently come back to life. Breathing always took some getting used to when he hadn't used his lungs for several hours.
Mana finally stirred against his neck, and he put his hand on her shoulder. She froze and, with a loud sniff, disengaged her arms and pulled back to stare him in the face. Dark hair matted in thick strands to her cheeks, and even in the dim light, he could tell that her eyes were puffy from crying.
"Yuta…" she said slowly, sounding slightly croaky.
"Hey, now, why are you looking at me like that? It's not like you've never seen me come back to life before."
"Yuta," she said, her voice tearful, "I thought you were dead."
He looked at her quizzically. "Yes, I think I was."
"No!" she protested with such ferocity that he was taken aback. "I thought you were dead for good!"
"Dead…for good? What do you mean?"
Mana proceeded to relate, with an occasional hiccup, what had happened since he had come crashing into the tent, barely moving and barely alive. She was so endearing in her concern that Yuta couldn't keep himself from chuckling a little at her anxiety.
"What's so funny?" she demanded. Her usual imperious manner was beginning to resurface, now that Yuta was obviously fine.
"Nothing…except that's what happens when people get hypothermia. If they stay cold like that too long, they'll die. Even after they're dead, their bodies will still warm up as long as it's warm indoors. It's happened to me before."
"How was I supposed to know if it was hyp—hypermia—whatever it is!" she said, glowering at the difficulty of saying the word and at Yuta for acting so nonchalant. "I was scared!"
Yuta gazed at her wonderingly. Tough, prideful little Mana admitting she was scared? His death must have shaken her badly for her to say something like that, and he regretted laughing so at her so thoughtlessly. He ducked his head in apology and said, "Mana…I'm sorry."
They both lay next to each other, under the blankets, and there was no sound except for the faint whoosh of the gas stove and the whistling of the wind outside. Then, after a while, Mana said, "Do you remember Masato, Yuta?"
"Masato?" he mumbled. "Hmmm…Masato…"
"He was like us. You know. He ate mermaid's flesh, and lived for eight hundred years as a little boy."
"Oh yeah, I remember him. He went around feeding mermaid flesh to any woman he could find. That bastard killed me, too, I think."
"He did kill you. Almost for good. Out of everyone we've met so far, he is the one person I can never forget." Her characteristic expression of unreadable stoicism never changed, but her voice grew softer. "He almost took you away from me. I—I couldn't stand it. I've never been that scared before."
I wonder why she's bringing up Masato? Yuta figured the scare he gave her was probably bringing back memories of that time. But still, he didn't quite understand; freezing to death and having one's head almost chopped off were two entirely different things.
"What if…what if you could die? Like anyone else?" Mana asked quietly. "What if you became mortal, Yuta?"
Now what was going through that head of hers? "Mana. We both know that's not possible, unless we can find a mermaid who can help us."
"We might not need to find a mermaid."
"What are you talking about? Don't be silly."
"Masato's mother—rather, the woman posing as his mother—she died, didn't she?"
"Yeah, she did. What are you getting at?"
"She ate mermaid's flesh, and she became immortal. But when we met her, fifty years later, she was having trouble healing her wounds. Just like any other person. She became mortal, and she died."
"But Masato said that the mermaid flesh wasn't totally effective—"
"Fifty years, five hundred years, what's the difference?" Mana interjected, as though he had not spoken at all. "So it took her fifty years for the effect of the mermaid flesh to wear off. For some people it might take longer. Maybe you have a hundred years left to go, and maybe I have three hundred. It doesn't really matter. What if it wears off, Yuta? What if you stop coming back to life?"
"What if I stop coming back to life?" Yuta said, echoing her words. That was preposterous. But what if it were possible? Mana had a point; if it could happen to one person, it could happen to them as well. In theory. She was young and lacked the experience he possessed, but she could be surprisingly astute at times.
"If I stop coming back to life..." he mused. "I don't know. I haven't really thought about it…that it could happen on its own. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad."
Mana stared at him intently. "It's what you've been searching for all this time, isn't it? It's your dream."
"Yeah."
"If you stop coming back to life," Mana said, suddenly averting her gaze, "then what…what'll happen to me?"
"Mana…" So that was it. Masato, the woman who had died, Yuta's seemingly paradoxical death from exposure; it was all starting to come together. Yuta's greatest sorrow and fear was now beginning to insinuate itself into Mana's thoughts and memories. It would prove to be a relentless specter for both of them, as long as they lived. And she was still so young. At least he had the chance to marry and live for a few decades without needing to worry about such things.
Yuta took her chin in his hand and gently tilted her head up. Her eyes glistened in the dim interior of the tent, and her irises were like dark marbles. His dream was to live and die like an ordinary man, that was true. But a man could have more than one dream, a dream within a dream.
"You know, Mana, that will probably never happen. Even if it did, we'd be able to tell, like with Masato's 'mother.' But it's not going to. And if it turns out that I'm wrong, it's going to be you. I've been alive for too long…if it was going to be me, it would have already happened by now." He smoothed her hair back from her face, and smiled. "I'm not going anywhere, so don't worry."
"Yuta…" Mana said, and tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and over her cheeks.
He put an arm around her and pulled her closer. Mana, who was still not used to physical displays of affection, tensed up at first. But after a moment, she relaxed and carefully leaned her head on his chest. "It'll be all right," he said soothingly. "It'll be all right."
It'll be all right. When was the last time that things were all right? Maybe sixty years ago, when being in love with Nae helped Yuta forget about his mermaid problem for a while. But their relationship was bound to have a tragic end, like all the other times he let himself get involved in people's lives. Before that, he had found a companion in Natsume, but she was also cruelly taken away from him. He thought he could have a life with Rin, but fate was only taunting him then as it had with his first wife. When was the last time that things were all right? He really couldn't remember. But as he held Mana, a tension he did not know existed left his shoulders; a tension that had gradually built up over the last five-hundred centuries, slowly being peeled away, layer by layer, simply by embracing another human being.
But not just any human being. Before, it had just been him; now they were two of a kind. He had Mana, and Mana had him. It was going to be all right.