Dear Mr. Uchiha,
I knew it! I knew it was an entire lie that you said you disliked this opera! I'd been totally aware of that since I was back home, sat in my armchair covered by wool blanket, and recalled that you accurately sang a part of it after we got drunk (again), sitting side by side on the riverbank. I don't believe you saying that was because your memory was too good. I know you are a genius. You are definitely A GENIUS. But this was not relevant to your intelligence but your interest, your passion, your love-your love for music, art and life, no matter how you were going to explain it to me. You are too contradicted yourself to convince me something like this. I won't believe you anymore, at least in this case, so don't ever try a word.
It's fantastic (probably except for you lying to me again after you confessed your interest in Wordsworth, you habitual liar) to have your accompany all the time in Venice. I'd appreciate that you made it even you'd clarified that you were engaged with something else. I figured you probably didn't want me to expect it too much (which I didn't, at all). How considerate you were (mark the sarcasm). I should have realized that you intended to make it as a surprise, shouldn't I? I assume you enjoyed my jaw abruptly dropping to the ground when I saw you appearing at the lobby of the opera house. I didn't mind losing some of my manners at that moment so long as you found it entertaining to see me with a surprised look-which I think you did because of your very conspicuous smirk on the face.
I enjoyed the opera very well, especially with you, which made it more special to remember. I like the whole story of this Dutchman voyaging across the English channel, facing with a sea-storm with his bravery, and I was quite impressed by Wagner's imagination of how music could reach such a level of powerful and colourful expression. Somehow I could really see the picture in an actual scenario. I've told you the story about my parents and their adventures to the Columbia and Caribbean Islands after the show. But, what I didn't tell you is that they both died in their last trip to Jamaica, which remained a nightmare of my entire childhood-I even had an issue in boating, once, when I was about sixteen-year-old. It may sound unimaginable for you since I do business across the Atlantic, but it's a truth I've never told anyone else. However, I feel like to tell you somehow. To let you understand me makes me so comfortable and peaceful inside. But that doesn't mean I ask for your sympathy or consolation, so don't be sorry. It's just I want you to know. Don't take it as a burden at all.
I was flattered when you said no one had communicated with you in this way before while I highly doubted that. I've seen you surrounded by fellow musicians when we were in Santiago, not to mention numbers of admirers coming up to meet you after Venice's show this time. I've been observing when you socialized with them, confidently and patiently. You always have your confidence and coolness to take everything under control and You always know how to make people listen to you carefully and concentratedly, including me, which makes me weirdly anxious as well as proud. But I do feel proud of you when everything looks just perfect on you. Have I ever mentioned your good looking? And your dark eyes shining like diamonds? And your pale face always with a glow? And your stylish hair spiking behind? And of course your elegant gestures like your hands holding a wine glass or bowing, or even just the profile of your body when you play the cello or stand still. I can keep on doing this from sunrise to sunset without even a break. Need no asking, I'm not ashamed of admitting something I truly feel, not at all. Quite opposite as you may already notice.
When we separated from Paris, I couldn't help but start to think the last gaze you sent to me. It's just way too complicated for me at that moment to diagnose and comprehend thoroughly. There were some annoyed feelings about the distance between us raising from the bottom of my stomach and made me a bit distracted. I wasn't sure it was my hallucination or the truth that it was slightly longer than usual, as if you'd tell me something but held back for some reason. Tell me I was wrong, otherwise, it will kill me if you are not planning to feed my curiosity.
Your Sincerely,
Naruto Uzumaki
My heart beat a bit faster as I tried to put letters back to each envelopes, so it caused some trouble not leaving any marks on the wax. But I didn't have enough time to erase them. The clock on the low cupboard warned me by its heavy and dull noise when it turned to 8. I, acting like a Cinderella who suddenly lost her whole magics, clumsily rushed out of dad's study and hastily jogged upstairs back to my room. I was panting for a while, leaning against the door after I shut it, but it was not merely about running or the fear of being caught by Joseph-those handwritten lines were still floating in front of my eyes and every word was telling me something other than friendship growing between dad and this Mr. Uzumaki. I knew I'd said I was aware of it, but that didn't mean I could take it in such a direct way-I was astonished when Mr. Uzumaki started to admire my dad with those words. It could be taken either a verbal harassment or flirting. I probably should assume dad chose the latter since they got plenty of letters after that.
When my calm finally came back to find me, I figured out my way to the desk, lit the lamp and settled down with a book in hands. Usually, it was about time to read my favorite Allen Poe. I'd been addicted to his tales of mystery for a quite long time while I realized that dad didn't agree with me reading fictions instead of literatures and poems. Yet he didn't judge it or say a word about it either. That's dad too. He didn't comment on anything he wasn't really familiar with or didn't fully understand. But, it became a little difficult today for me to concentrate. I didn't spare a look on which one I was taking in hands until Joseph knocked at the door, bringing me some hot herbal tea for good sleep.
When he stopped at my side table, gently putting the tea pot and cups there, he paused for a moment before he left.
"Is there anything wrong I could help, Miss?"
"No," I answered, with eyebrow furrowing, "Why're you asking?"
"Your book, Miss," Joseph reminded me with his genuine tone, "It's upside down."
I flushed abruptly. I immediately shut the book down to pretend nothing happened until Joseph thoughtfully left me behind in a silence. No wonder I couldn't recognize a word on it. I was so retarded as an Uchiha shouldn't be.
I put the book (eventually I found out that I'd finished this collective short stories before) back to the shelf and dropped myself on the bed, face buried in the pillow. I just couldn't stop thinking the words from this Mr. Uzumaki. How he described what happened between he and dad, how he felt and reacted at dad's intentionally holding back, and how he truly perceived those subtle but meaningful signals dad delivered (whether consciously or unconsciously, I didn't know). What he revealed between those lines was a dad I'd never thought he could be like, which made me curious about what dad was thinking, like, when he wrote to this Mr. Uzumaki that he probably wouldn't be there with the fact that he actually decided to go. I couldn't agree more with this Mr. Uzumaki that dad was a man full of paradoxes (and just don't call me a traitor, thanks) but I somehow understood why. Uchihas don't spit out instantly what and how we feel at the moment, totally opposite to this Mr. Uzumaki. It's a long-term habit or a matter of principle that we just can't let ourselves exposed to anyone as a protection. Family's history told me about it.
Nonetheless, it still didn't make any sense dad acted like a mischievous teenage boy hiding the truth on purpose, for the amusement seeing someone surprised by his appearance. It was almost like...he was trying to please this Mr. Uzumaki in an unpredictable way, wasn't it? I'd never thought dad would do something to make someone happy. His neutral expression and sometimes indifferent look made it more incredible. Most of the time, it was someone else that brought pleasure to him, to impress him, to get his acknowledgement or instruction, for chasing his reputation as well as his knowledge and skills in cello. I know you might want to ask: what about dad's performance? Well, so far as I could tell, music was dad's own thing, very personal, even a bit soul-related that no one was allowed to reach. He didn't really play the cello for somebody. It was more like, he shared what he experienced in playing music and made a living from it. Indeed he would be delighted if someone felt the same way as he did, but it was something he wouldn't ask for. In Mr. Uzumaki's words, I almost felt dad received something over his expectation that he had to do something to return the favor. By a surprise, so on and so forth.
I wondered how dad could take it that this Mr. Uzumaki exposed himself so transparently that he even shared a secret of his past. Dad had his past, too, something made him suffer quite a lot in teenage years, which I'd secretly heard from Uncle Itachi once. I couldn't put it up in front of dad, need no explanations, though my bold guess was dad returned this Mr. Uzumaki some of his stories as well. Telling it was my gut. Dad sometimes could be surprisingly (for someone out of family to consider) and scrupulously fair when it was about give-and-take. I knew I could find the truth so long as I kept reading those letters. I was eager to read. But there were hell lot more other work to do before I continued it tomorrow evening. It was the first time I hated the principle of Uchiha always keeping their words.
Probably because my fervour (for those letters) was so strong that I had dream that night, in which I was reading those letters, when dad appeared out of the blue with his terribly cold glare at me. I was suddenly awake, inhaling sharply as if I ran nearly out of breath. Truth to be told, it cooled my mind in such a wicked way and helped me at least focus on the practice of the second day.
The dusk painted the sky in a beautiful orange-purple mixed color and some extra sprays of sunset made the outline of clouds almost golden. When I'd done with the soup, cancelled the dessert and made my way to dad's study again, the sky outside was exactly the way I described. With the frames of french windows, it looked like an Flemish landscape oil painting, of those which dad took me to see several times in the National Gallery. I liked Vermeer very much, by the way. Both his light and shade were so subtle and vivid in a way that you couldn't capture it in the nature by merely your eyes. It was like a magic. Not to mention his way of designing a dramatic plot in each frame, like there was a story behind. Dad would like to encourage me to dig into all kinds of artworks, for expanding and extending my sensitivity and intuition in music-I presumed that was how it worked for himself, except for life experience, to deeply understand what Haydn or Bach was thinking when they composed those masterpieces.
Perhaps, that was also how he and this Mr. Uzumaki comprehended each other, by sharing the experience combined with art.
Ok. With my whole hypothesis on their situation, I started the fourth, not too much later than the third one-only five days, precisely, which made me wonder if he'd received dad's response or not.
Dear Mr. Uchiha,
I couldn't wait another second to write you back and tell you how fortunate I felt about meeting you, getting to know you, and building a constant relationship with you, no matter what it would come out at the end. Especially after you told me this story about yourself and about your parents. I've guessed once, when you mentioned the irreversible destiny of every individual in the flowing history (though at the beginning I thought it was you reading in philosophy that made it that way). Believe it or not, I had a feeling that it should do something with your past to come up with an idea of 'redeem' and 'regret'. You sounded like ready to devote and sacrifice yourself to some higher omniscient power, which I would strongly be against in case you really went that far. Before we discussed it, I just want you to know, your openness means a lot to me, a lot more than you can ever imagine, though it's not my initial purpose to share a secret with you. I was so thrilled by your willingness to tell me more about yourself that when I started to write the first letter, my hands just couldn't stop shaking (Please forgive my paw-like calligraphy this time).
I won't be presumptuous of thinking myself fully understand what was happening on you. It's way too arrogant to take someone's pain as something common and ask him to forgive everything. I'm not pretending myself a priest to persuade you everything could be forgiven on behalf of god. Not at all. It's just what you were saying reminded me of something I intended to forget. I'd like to share it with you.
When I had a job on a ferry about eighteen years old, the first mate was always telling me that good things never happened twice but bad things happened all the time. At that age, I couldn't get it. I couldn't accept it either. It's way too pessimistic for me to absorb, as if we could change nothing but our attitude against unfairness or misfortune. I somehow self-unconsciously feared thinking his words. Maybe it was my subconsciousness that alerted me to avoid the truth that every sailor had their fate facing with their unpredictable but unavoidable death in the sea. If I really considered his words then, I should have realized that it was not simply pessimism, or giving up on fighting, or maybe it was, part of it was, but in the rest, it was just their choice to live a life in this way. To make merry while the sun shines. Or say, follow your heart, carpe diem. I'd blamed Mom and Dad for their enthusiasm in adventures when I was a child instead of being proud of them. I'd blamed them for many years, for abandoning me to follow their passion in voyaging, for choosing such a way of life instead of keeping me company. I even evil-mindedly thought it was the guilty of not paying me enough attention that finally pushed them to the edge, to the death. But, after so many years, it turns out at the end, they didn't owe me anything. Not at all. What they chose was the destiny they themselves had to deal with. You are so smart to get my point, aren't you? I don't think what your parents chose, to take the risk of sickness while having the possibility of healing millions of lives out there, should end up a burden or a sin of your life. We had our sadness and sorrow, inevitably, and perhaps it will take many years to finally alter those angst into peace. Just don't blame yourself, and don't blame them either. I wouldn't like to see if you punish yourself or exile yourself. You deserve better than you think.
Good news I'd like to share with you is that I've started with the recruitment of musicians for meeting the demand of enough memberships to open a conservatoire. I plan to situate it in Vienna but too early to make any decision. Document issues came along with it-you know how the bureaucratic system works don't you? As you may notice, a form of confirmation is attached with the letter. I wish you to be the very first one to sign it. I've already assumed you'd like to. Not that I was too full of myself. It's you who build me the confidence about everything on you, remember? I won't miss any tiny little pieces of you trying to convince me that anymore, from now on. I'd highly noticed your 'special' way of encouragement, which easily both shakes my self-assurance and boosts my ego. In this case, my tolerability seems to be a good thing for both of us. At least, when you're denying something, it happens to me realizing what your true feeling is. Just admit it, I'm not as that oblivious as you think I am.
Your sincerely,
Naruto Uzumaki
I didn't put back this one immediately after I finished reading it. I looked at the third paragraph, eyeing it back and forth like I was searching for something else, something deep in this Mr. Uzumaki's heart, in his mind. I stared at that one single Latin quote-'carpe diem'-for a quite long time that there'd be a hole if my eyes were laser. It almost shook the hardcore of my heart-I didn't even think much about dad at that moment. As a second reader of this letter, I could instantly found tears in my eyes, although I held it back and burst out a laugh at the end. It was nevertheless so touching.
My grandparents were both doctors majoring in microbial disease before they passed away twenty-five years ago. What I've learnt from Uncle Itachi was that there'd been a chance dad could have been a doctor too, because he respected my grandfather very much. But after they died in the plague of Birmingham, dad closed himself and changed his mind, working hard on music instead of any other thing.
I knew the feeling of trying to get away from some feeling you couldn't get rid of-I used to be an orphan, wandering through the streets and fearing the hunger and death happening everyday in the slum. Every night when I closed my eyes tightly, lying under some newspaper, I forced myself hard to dream of at least a full meal there. We had no choice but accept what we have, which was nothing. My luckiest day of whole life was the day dad picked me up on the street, asked if I love music or not. I said 'Yes', not because I knew who he was, which I didn't at the moment, but because I really did love music-I could listen a piece once and hum it accurately without a pause. That's I was born with, you could say that. And that's why I ended up here, having the access to dad's letters.
Even though, it was hard imagining dad's reaction in many ways. I mean, how could you possibly imagine something that'd never happened, not even once? I was thinking dad might be grinning, for getting some comfort, or he might be knitting his brows, for those words that'd never come into his mind. It was odd but I just couldn't think of dad dropping tears, or shaking, or burying his face in his hands, or vice versa. His cool shell was so perfect with not even a crack on it. It was a tough task for little me to get a chance finding some butterflies he truly had inside.
Funny thing was (which was also what made me laugh about), this Mr. Uzumaki had a sarcastic sense of humor, especially when it came to describe dad's contradiction. How hilarious it was to find someone teasing dad's indirect expression! I wondered whether dad would be upset or embarrassed reading it, knowing that someone knew him so well and was not going to pretend he didn't realize it. Perhaps, in other way, dad would be very glad to have someone so warm-hearted and open-minded to know what he was thinking, to have someone he could trust, to have someone he could be a real himself in front of him.
I was trying to hide my big smile by pressing my lips together when I realized dad must comment on this Mr. Uzumaki 'oblivious' many times. I put back the letter while figuring that dad did really enjoy letting this Mr. Uzumaki read his mind and perhaps take it as a puzzle game, or as a way of returning Mr. Uzumaki's feeling. It became more interesting to think if you knew how dad used to hide himself away from Uncle Itachi's sharp eyes, although it appeared to be in vain every time.
to be continued
