No sé quién eres. Te amo.
Whoever you are, I love you.
--Pablo Neruda (trans. Ben Belitt )
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(Yami~2)
Yami no Kotoba
In the white moonlight the boy was pale and beautiful. His chest rose and fell slightly with every inhalation and his face was calm in the repose of sleep. To the room's other occupant his peace was enviable, and the still figure sitting at the end of the bed watched the boy for a long time in silence before descending to the floor.
Ken stirred and murmured in his sleep, as though aware that something had changed.
The figure standing in the grey darkness was tall, slim, and elegant, and like Ken his face was pale beneath a fall of steel-black hair. Unlike Ken the moonlight did not fall on his face, but the light of the computer monitor did, and it was a blue-white electric light that gave his skin an ethereal, alien cast.
The figure stepped away from the bed, toward the screen, reached out, and without looking turned it off. The light faded and the room became darker. Shadows grew on the walls, reared up toward the ceiling and toward the sleeping boy. The figure became blurry, less defined, and when it whispered the whole room whispered, all the darkness making sounds like dry branches rubbing together, like dead leaves falling to earth. The figure faded but the shadows remained, and only when the darkness had deepened entirely around the sleeping boy did words take shape. Ken did not wake, and the words faded into darkness without the boy ever being aware of their presence.
I want what belongs to me.
**
The world is defined by language.
Miyako stared at the computer screen.
"I hate this Godamned class," she said to the empty room.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, twitched a little of their own accord, but despite her prowess with all things techinical the girl had never mastered the art of the college term paper. Beyond those six words laid down in black text on her screen, she could think of nothing else to say.
"Hate it!" She shouted, and stabbed viciously at her taskbar, summoning up the IM box. Mimi was online. Mimi would understand.
She typed :Mimi? Hello? carefully in English before turning her attention to her books, desperate to find some research she could 'paraphrase.' When she heard the welcome ding! of a response her hands flew to the keyboard.
~**Sexxypink**~ says hi
She typed, Hi Mimi. Again, carefully, in English. Miyako prided herself on her testing proficiency in the language, and had been severaly disappointed to learn that even a perfect score on the Entrance Exam did not make her able to actually speak one word of the language. Mimi was helping her as much as she was able, but Miyako had noticed that the girl's increased proficiency in the language made it far more difficult for her to empathize with a person still struggling with the subtle differences between 'a' and 'the.'
~**Sexxypink**~ says whats up
Miyako sighed. That particular term was one the girl had gotten into the habit of using in the last six months or so, and of which Miyako had yet to make the slightest sense. She found that she could usually ignore it altogether and it it wouldn't affect the conversation in the slightest.
I am working.
~**Sexxypink**~ says you work?
I mean I am doing school work.
~**Sexxypink**~ says oh
~**Sexxypink**~ says how is it?
It's hard!
~**Sexxypink**~ says why? arent you in all computer classes?
It is not computer class. I don't know word for what class it is.
~**Sexxypink**~ says is it like philosophy?
I don't know. It's hard.
~**Sexxypink**~ says what are you doing now?
I am writing in computer for term paper.
~**Sexxypink**~ says i c
~**Sexxypink**~ says i guess it must be a philosophy class or something. those are hard! :( i'm sorry
I'm also sorry. I want to stop this class.
~**Sexxypink**~ says whats it about?
It's about language.
She stared at the screen. It was impossible to described what kind of class she was taking in English; she had no idea what the words she should use would be. Instead she wrote:
What are you doing now?
~**Sexxypink**~ says staying up late. i should be studying. i want to talk to my bf and mom and dad are asleep.
Why are they asleep?
~**Sexxypink**~ says b/c it's 4 in the morning! :p
Oh.
Why are you awake?
~**Sexxypink**~ says mom and dad get mad if i talk to my bf
Why?
~**Sexxypink**~ saysthey don't like it b/c im dating a black guy!! ^_^ but he is soooo hot!!!!!
Miyako bit her lip. Japan was still a nation where xenophobism was a strong cultural undercurrent. She considered herself to be unusually worldly and tolerant, and was ashamed at the jolt of surprise that ran through her on reading Mimi's words.
Very carefully she typed, I didn't know you had boyfriend.
~**Sexxypink**~ says i love him!! he is so sweet and romantic.^_^_^_^_^_^
~**Sexxypink**~ says we met at school.
Miyako couldn't help it. She wrote: He likes Japanese?
~**Sexxypink**~ says he likes *me*
~**Sexxypink**~ saysthats all i care about
~**Sexxypink**~ saysbesides ive been here so long nobody cares im japanese. but i still like to cook japanese sometimes. i want to make him sukiyaki.
Does he like sukiyaki?
~**Sexxypink**~ saysi don't know. i hope so! maybe i will bring him to meet you sometime. :)
But your parents don't like him.
~**Sexxypink**~ says who cares? they cant control me!
~**Sexxypink**~ says it my life anyway!
Miyako leaned back. This didn't sound much like the Mimi she knew. In fact it didn't sound much like anyone she knew.
~**Sexxypink**~ saysin america ppl do things they want to do. i like that. i can decide for me.
Miyako's eyes flicked back to the Word application open in the other window. She chewed on her lip. then she wrote, You don't care about parent's feelings?
~**Sexxypink**~ says my parents can go to hell.
Miyako's mouth dropped open. She could not imagine a time in her life where she had ever felt or thought such a thing. Yet in a way, seeing it in English there on the screen, it seemed distant somehow. Although it was Mimi talking, it wasn't really Mimi, because the girl she knew would never say such things. The Mimi she knew was cute, sweet, gentle...she tried to picture the girl on the other end of the conversation, sitting in her room in America looking like every other American girl, tall and pretty and perfect, and tougher than any Japanese girl could ever hope to be. Not even afraid of her parent's opinion. What would that be like?
After a while she looked at the screen and realized she had missed the girl's next three correspondences.
~**Sexxypink**~ says miyako? hello?
~**Sexxypink**~ says are you there?
~**Sexxypink**~ says miyako? miyako?
She yelped and hastily wrote, I'm sorry! But I have to go.
~**Sexxypink**~ says oh. ok. well bye.
Mimi, she typed carefully, terrified suddenly that the girl was already gone, I hope to meet him soon. ^^
~**Sexxypink**~ says i hope so too. bye!
Bye.
She closed the box. Her eyes fell almost of their own accord to the pile of books by the desk. One was lying open and her eyes traced the quote someone had underlined in red the last time it had been checked out. She picked up the book, balanced it in her lap, and copied the words carefully.
Language creates perception, she typed. Then, Perception creates reality.
She leaned back and stared at the screen.
**
Daisuke shrugged into his jacket.
"I'm going to visit Ken," he said to Shindou.
The boy looked up from his bunk. He was engrossed in some on-line game, or had been for several hours, but at Daisuke's words he sat up and closed the computer sharply.
"Why?"
"Because I was thinking about him. And...it's been a while since we talked."
Shindou raised an eyebrow.
"Didn't he make it pretty clear last time he didn't want to talk to anyone?"
Daisuke shook his head.
"He's confused. And anyway a responsible friend doesn't always do as he's told. Sometimes you just have to do what's right."
He started to open the door and stopped at the snort of laughter that came from behind.
"You haven't spoken to him in months. Now you're going to pull this self-righteous 'friendship' bull because you got a bug up your ass about seeing him? Daisuke, please tell me you're not going to walk in there and say to him what you just said to me."
He leaned against the doorframe.
"I haven't been ignoring him..." he said, a bit lamely.
"Come off it. You've been busy, everyone has. And Ken said he didn't want to see or talk to anyone. I think you're justified in doing what you did--you have to live your own life. It's only fair, right? But don't expect him to be the same person he was the last time you saw him."
Daisuke's eyes widened.
"Well, God, I hope he's not. Anyway I have talked to his mother a few times, and she says he's doing much better."
"I'll bet. You know, the few things you've told me about this guy makes me think maybe you should just stay away from him altogether. Sounds like he's pretty, hmm, odd."
"Odd?" It was Daisuke's turn to laugh. "You don't know the half of it."
He made it halfway out the door before Shindou stopped him a second time.
"Hey."
"What? I said I was going already!"
"Do you still have all those pictures of him?"
"I--no," Daisuke lied, too taken aback to tell the truth. "No, I...I got rid of them a while ago."
Shindou smiled but didn't say anything else.
**
He sat on the bed and stared at the white wall.
The music was gone, and he missed it desperately. He wanted it to come back. It wasn't fair that the world should be so silent. It made his head hurt, the emptiness. The loneliness. He could feel it behind his temple, above his ear, a sharp stabbing pain.
He stared at the wall until his eyes started to burn and sting and he had to squeeze them shut. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. He shivered, felt the warmth squeeze onto his lashes, felt a droplet quiver on the edge of his lid and splash down and away. When he opened his eyes again the world was blurry behind water and light sparkled. Silver light flickered in front of his vision, in front of the white wall, and his mouth worked for a moment without the slightest sound.
"Stars...you gave me...stars...." He managed, reaching out. Of course he knew they weren't really there, the shining lights on the wall, but they were so beautiful he couldn't help it. He closed his eyes again, imagining that they were real. If he could touch them, if they would be real, then maybe everything would be alright again.
"It's so beautiful," he whispered. He didn't turn his head to look at the computer, silent on the desk, or see the way a program opened itself, words scrolling across the screen in stark black and white.
It's so beautiful.
"Give me stars. Please. Let me see."
And there were stars.
He felt them before he saw them. Heart-breaking in their beauty, their distance and perfection. They called him, he heard his name, felt them speak without voices, sing without music. He felt their light shining on him. When he opened his eyes it was the same, the same lights on his lashes, fading now, but he could feel the presence of the stars, of the sky overhead, of blackness and shining light, and that was what really mattered. Not what he could see but what he knew was real.
"Please..." he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, could feel the excitement in him, the joy. The exultation in his heart. He was so happy. The world was so beautiful.
The world is beautiful.
Beautiful.
The sky is shining for you. I love you. I love you.
He wiped his eyes and tilted his head back and as he moved the world swam, the whiteness blending into water, into ocean spray, into blackness. Of course the wall was still white but he could see the blackness too, the pure frostiness like a winter's night, and one by one the stars came out.
Look, isn't it perfect?
He fell, backward onto the bed, felt the mattress and covers give beneath his weight. His hair flew up and fell down around him and he stretched his arms up, letting his fingers play, tracing designs against the sky he could see over the white ceiling. The sunlight was spilling in over the paint but that didn't matter, none of it did, all that mattered was what he could see, which was more beautiful than anything that was merely real.
It won't be like this forever.
Come back inside. I want a picture of you.
He smiled and shut his eyes. Dreams were what he needed. The sky stayed in the darkness and he couldn't remember ever feeling so happy. So empty and so happy.
He wanted to float away into the darkness.
**
"Mrs. Ichijouji?"
The woman behind the door smiled. She looked pretty much the same as Daisuke remembered her, a little older, perhaps, and more worn, and he didn't remember the significant grey streak that ran from the part in her hair all the way back to the bun being there before. But other than that she was the same.
"Motomiya." The woman smiled tiredly. "I haven't seen you in a while."
He didn't know Ken's mother was rebuking him, in her own quiet way, but even if she wasn't he felt himself suddenly assailed by guilt. He shuffled his feet.
"Yeah, I uh...school's kept me busy, I guess," he mumbled, trying to ignore the memory of Shindou's words that rose up suddenly in his head. He bit the inside of his cheek.
"Is Ken home?" he asked, to forestall any questions about what exactly had kept him too busy to visit his former best friend.
"Yes...." the woman turned her head and peered back inside the apartment. Daisuke craned but couldn't see around her; Ken's mother had grown adept at shielding her son from unwelcome gazes.
"Let me just ask him. Wait here, please."
"Um, sure..." He fidgeted as the door clicked closed, leaving him alone in the hall.
On the other side of the door Mrs. Ichijouji turned to face her son. Ken was sitting on the couch reading a magazine, apparently oblivious to the conversation taking place less than ten feet away.
"Ken, dear," she began, stepping toward him slightly. "Ken."
He looked up.
"You have a visitor."
She saw his face go blank.
"Ken."
His eyes flicked to the door behind her, then back to her face.
"It's Daisuke."
He leapt to his feet and tossed the magazine onto the table. It slid over the others and fell to the floor, but Ken didn't notice. He walked out of the room.
Mrs. Ichijouji sighed, and turned back to open the door.
"I'm very sorry, Motomiya," she said with a sad smile. "I tried. It's just," she shook her head, "It's not his fault."
"I know." Daisuke shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess...I'll try coming back again, soon. Will that be alright?"
"Yes of course. But you shouldn't trouble yourself--"
"No," he interrupted the traditional Japanese niceties, "No, I want to."
He turned and started to walk away.
"Motomiya?" The woman's voice forestalled him before he'd taken three steps. He turned.
"Thank you," she said, before closing the door.
He stood facing the door for a while, but it didn't open again.
**
"Ken."
The young man looked up. He was sitting on the floor in the corner with his knees drawn up and his arms over his head. When he raised his eyes to his mother his hair fell across his face.
"Mama," he said.
She came and lowered herself onto the floor beside him, and put her arms around him. He made a small sound.
"This isn't working, Ken," she said gently.
"I know."
"Maybe it's time you reconsidered...the other thing."
She felt him stiffen.
"You want to send me away?"
"No, Ken."
"I--I'm trying, Mama. I really am."
"I know, sweetie. I just think...maybe going to stay with your father might be good for you. Just for a little whi--"
"I don't want to go to England! I don't want to go away!" She felt him shudder. It broke her heart. She drew him in closer, let him put his head in her lap.
"Maybe some time away from Japan, that might be what you need."
"No, Mama," he whispered, "Please. I'm...I'm trying."
She looked down, and smoothed his dark hair out of his face.
"I know, Ken," she said quietly. "I know."
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