A Stormy Summer

II.

So Kiss Me Goodnight

Je n'ai pas de force, pas d'energie, j'attends toujours un peu de santé pour reprendre tout cela, mais . . . j'attends encore.

-Frédéric Chopin.


With a wave, the high-school girl called out to the young man exiting the front gate of Okutsu.

"Kousei!"

"Tsubaki? What're you doing here?"

"Well, I didn't have classes, so I did a little research. I thought I'd go home with you."

"I see. So that's why you were asking me my schedule."

"Yup."

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble. We could've just as easily met at home."

"I just thought we'd enjoy a walk together, and I was lonely," Tsubaki complained. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Of course I am. I didn't mean to sound like I was complaining. It's just that . . . ." Kousei's eyes cast a furtive glance around them.

Tsubaki noticed and laughed. "I get it! You're afraid your friends will see and they'll tease you. Well, I don't mind giving them food for thought." She stood on tiptoe and gave him a peck on the cheek. "There."

"Thanks. You're all heart." Kousei looked like a spectacled turtle that wanted to retreat into its shell.

"Of course I am." She inclined her head. "Shall we go?"

"I . . . can't. I have a meeting I need to attend."

Tsubaki frowned. "Oh?"

"Yeah. They told me only a couple of minutes ago. Can I see you later?"

"Sorry, but mom and dad and I . . . we're going to my aunt's place in Sendai. We won't be back until the day after tomorrow." With the tip of her shoe Tsubaki drew invisible lines on the rough-textured concrete. "That's why I wanted to see you."

"Oh. What bad luck." Kousei mulled it over. "I've still got some time, why don't we grab something at the convenience store?"

"Better than nothing."

- - -oOo- - -

Time came and went; sharing warm drinks in an eating nook in the store, Tsubaki had melon bread while Kousei nibbled on a doughnut.

"You're quiet today," she remarked.

"Aren't I always?" Kousei looked out at the lowering sky.

"I mean quiet quiet. Something on your mind?"

"Not really. Dad left on another business trip. And I was thinking I haven't seen Chiaki-sensei since he helped me orchestrate Garden."

"He did?"

"W-well, I did write the thing, but he's more experienced at orchestration. So when I asked Seto-sensei for help, she got me . . . well, him."

"I was wondering why his name was up front in the score sheet. You must have some clout, Kousei, for him to spend some time paying attention to you."

"Actually, it was Nodame-sensei who pushed him into helping me. She and Seto-sensei had a mutual friend."

"Lucky you!" Tsubaki smiled. "Two successful concerts, creating a name for yourself. I'm glad your star is looking up."

Kousei smiled briefly.

"Hey, you should be happier," said Tsubaki. "Something's got you down, and I think I know who it is." She stared intently at him.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Tsubaki finished the last of her bread, thinking that since Kousei did love Kaori, it was natural that part of him would forever belong to their dead friend. And that part of him will always be denied me, she thought, squishing the bread wrapper and tossing it onto her tray.

"Chiaki-sensei's a busy man, isn't he?"

"I think so. He's always flying to and fro, giving performances around the world. Noda-sensei always goes with him." Kousei took a sip of his tetra-bricked Moo Moo milk. There was a rumor that the internationally renowned conductor was afraid of flying and needed his wife to calm him enough to get though a flight, but Kousei chalked that up to unfounded garbage. He just couldn't imagine the terrifying, talented Shinichi Chiaki being afraid. "Maybe he's gone back to France."

"Anything you want me to get you in Sendai?"

Kousei shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks. How are you feeling?"

"Me? Oh, fine, I guess. Actually, kind of excited."

"Why?"

"It's a secret."

"Oh?"

Tsubaki nodded emphatically. "Except for a couple of minor aches, I feel terrific." She paused. "Well, I've got an itch you can scratch."

"What is it?"

"I want to know about that painting."

"Oh. I saw it in an art shop and decided to buy it."

"Why that painting?"

"I, uh, just liked the look of it." Kousei looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Mmm? Why nervous all of a sudden? I think it's beautiful."

"You do?"

"You must really miss Kao-chan."

"I . . . well, I did when I decided to buy that painting."

"So you don't now?"

"I still do."

"How does that painting remind you of her? Do you remember the times you performed on stage with her because of it?"

Kousei nodded. He was getting troubled by all of Tsubaki's questions.

Tsubaki picked up her tumbler of moccachino. "She must've looked so beautiful, standing there in her white dress in all those swirling petals."

"Yes, she was beau—what did you just say?" Kousei blinked and pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. He squinted at Tsubaki.

"Nothing. When did you first learn that she had . . . passed on?"

"Why are you even asking? When you and Watari told me after the performance." Part of his heart had told him to run as soon as he crossed the threshold to backstage, but he knew he couldn't just leave Seto-sensei to deal with the mess it would make. So he waited, sitting, standing, pacing, shaking so badly Emi and Takeshi, who had returned from the audience, where they had been watching the rest of the field perform—and fall short of Kousei, in their sympathetic judgment—had taken it upon themselves to sit with him. Then he had been called out again onstage, where he grasped the plaque of First Place, a cheque, shook hands with the contest organizers, and had several pictures taken. For form's sake he tried to look composed, but as soon as he entered his assigned waiting room, he saw Watari and Tsubaki standing there, looking miserable, and he knew—he knew it would be fruitless to hurry to Totsuhara. That tiny spark of hope, that he was wrong and Kaori would be waiting for him in the post-op recovery room, or was even still in surgery, had been snuffed out.

"I've always wondered—when we found you backstage, you didn't break down and cry when we told you what had happened to Kao-chan. You had already started crying." Tsubaki blew on her coffee, remembering Kousei's tear-stained face. "Why is that, Kousei? How did you already know?"

"I was . . . I was crying because I was worried about her," Kousei answered. "No one had told me yet. What are you insinuating? If you want to say something, say it directly."

"If I'm going to compete with someone who's already dead," said Tsubaki, "I want to know how alive she still is. I want to know the tiniest thing about her."

- - -oOo- - -

An uncomfortable silence descended on the pair.

"Look, Kousei . . . I apologize. She makes me jealous. I know there's no way I'll ever beat her memory. Part of your heart belongs to her and will stay that way forevermore. I'm nothing special—I'm just an ordinary girl who likes physical stuff, that's all."

"Don't say that. Believe it or not, you're my best friend and you're special to me. I'm just a guy who can't move on from the past."

"What you've accomplished these past years is the way one moves forward, I think. It may never be easy, but I want you to remember that I'll always be here."

Kousei gave a faint smile. "Thanks."

With peace between them somewhat restored, Tsubaki decided to change the topic of conversation.

"Kousei . . . what can you tell me about Maurice Ravel?"

"Ravel? Oh, he was a French composer in the 1920s. Why?"

"Is that all?"

"Well, he was a contemporary of Claude Debussy, and a kind of rebel," explained Kousei, adopting the air of know-it-all curmudgeon. "Many people in the Paris Conservatoire, a top-ranked music school in France, disliked him and his music. After the First World War, however, he became one of the premier French composers, especially after Debussy's death. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I'm trying to educate myself," Tsubaki answered blithely. "You know, so you don't have to be talking to a wall when you're with me."

"You don't need to do that," Kousei protested. "You've got other things to worry about."

"It's no worry, I'm not studying him or anything, just curious. I heard his most famous work is something entitled 'Bolero.'"

Kousei nodded. "Yeah, that's very popular among his works. He himself didn't like it, though."

"Why is it popular?"

"Pardon?"

"Why do people like it?"

"Well, for the rhythm, I guess. It starts with a single drum, then it keeps on repeating, and Ravel adds more and more instruments until at the end you have this whole texture, the orchestra playing dum dudududum dumdum, dum dudududum dumdum, taaa, taaraaraaraara raraaraa raaraaa . . . . fine, I hope you were pleased with getting me to do that."

"Sorry!" Tsubaki said, stifling a giggle. "You just looked so funny! It seems to have a nice rhythm."

"Yeah. I heard someone call it sexy, and I understand what they mean."

"Sexy classical music? I've never heard of such a thing. Sad, happy, epic, maybe. But not sexy."

"Listen to it, and you'll understand what I mean," Kousei said, unconsciously listening to Ravel in his head, and remembering play-dancing with Kaori to its beat. He totally missed the small smile that fleeted across Tsubaki's lips.

- - -oOo- - -

Kousei accompanied Tsubaki to the station. There, he had waved goodbye to her as she stood inside the train and doors closed.

"See you in a couple of days, Four-Eyes," she had said, continuing to smile and wave as the Metro express pulled away. Kousei watched the train clickety-clank to the next station, then turned and started walking.

He was lucky he had brought an umbrella. This is going to be disaster for those going flower viewing, he thought. The cherry blossoms had started to open a few days ago; a lot of buds would be stripped from the trees if the drizzle continued. No cherry blossom viewer wanted such an occurrence. Amayadori, yaezakura, somei yoshino, all varieties would suffer casualties due to the strangely inhospitable weather.

The rain continued as he met everyone at Matsuo Hige's house. When the meeting was over, they looked despondently out of the windows. Emily had tsked and complained along with everyone else.

"Oh, for the love of truffle-flavored ice cream," she said in English, not caring whether the people around her understood what she said or not. "Now I can't go to Sumida Park and party with my friends."

"You can come with us, if you like," said a girl named Sayumi. She played guitar and sported a stud through her nostril.

"Can I? What'll you be doing?" She shifted in her seat beside the dining room table.

"Nothing much, just hanging out at my dad's club in Roppongi."

"Okay. We can use my mother's car. You coming, Piano Man?" Emily turned and raised wide, feathery brows at Kousei.

"Not tonight, thanks. I've got something to do at home."

"Boring!" said Emily loudly, waving a hand. "How will you ever get a girlfriend, I wonder?"

"Hey, he's doing fine," said their clarinetist, a girl with long black hair in twintails.

"How would you know, Chieko?"

"'Coz I saw him with a girl who sometimes hangs out at our school. She's got brown hair and a toned body." Chieko Watanabe's hands described a slight hourglass figure. "And they were acting like more than just friends, if you know what I mean."

"Hmm! So who is this girl of yours, Kousei-kun?" Matsuno Hige asked. "Where have you been hiding her?"

"She's my next-door neighbor, and I haven't been hiding her."

"Oh, look, he's blushing!" said someone.

"Awww!" chuckled everyone else.

"Will you quit it?" Kousei snapped, nettled by the teasing.

"He's angry!" his friends shouted. "Run for your lives! Flee! Flee!" Only one actually scampered; the others simply stayed where they were and laughed. Emily apologized, but she also pinched Kousei's cheeks until he got totally fed up. He stood abruptly and gathered his things.

"I'm sorry," he said, remembering his missed opportunity to spend time with Tsubaki was caused by these very people. "If you don't need me anymore, I'm going home."

"Please, Kousei, don't be angry. I was just having a bit of fun." She put her hands together and bowed. "I'll play you something as an apology. Don't go."

Kousei stopped and glanced sidelong at her. "What will you play?"

"Promise first."

"Okay, I promise."

Emily went into the next room, dragged her cello out of its case and set it up. She sat down on a chair and did a few scales.

"Now here's something to relax to. Ready?"

"Okay," Matsuno said.

"Tiger Hunt in India!" she exclaimed, and began playing the dissonant staccato notes that brought forth a wail of dismay and laughter from those who had heard the piece before. Emily was . . . different. Every now and then she would punctuate her playing by saying things like "Haha! There it goes!" and "Eeow!," playing grating jete notes that ruined the mood by sounding like elephants blowing reedy piccolos but brought tears to everyone's eyes. Matsuno and Sayumi ended up on the floor, clutching their bellies in laughter. Emily kept on looking Kousei's way, locking eyes with him, and when she played those glissandos he actually felt himself pulled towards or repelled from her, depending on whether she was playing ascending or descending.

When it was over, she wiped her forehead, hugged her cello, and addressed Kousei. "Did that calm your nerves, Piano Man?"

"No."

"Good," Emily declared, winking at him.

"You know that kind of music was never meant to relax anyone. It's kind of like Chopin's Wrong Note etude, a demonstration of technicality and virtuosity. You didn't tell the truth, Emily-san."

"You're right, Professor Arima. I lied because it's so hard to get your attention sometimes. Alright, here, this won't be a trick anymore." She paused for a minute, gathering herself and recalling things. Then she played a slow, uplifting piece that caused everyone to fall silent. The full-bodied, solitary voice of the cello evoked in Kousei images of geese rising from a brown, sparse field, calling to each other before setting off in Vees on a journey towards wintering grounds in some faraway land, waiting, waiting for an opportunity to come back when the world was reborn.

As Emily played the last passage, extending the final note in a wavering tremolo, unwilling to end the piece, Matsuno was heard to comment "Wow."

Chieko sighed and looked past the blond-haired girl, out the window at the fading rain.

"What's the title?" asked Sayumi in a quiet voice.

"Memory." As she lowered the bow, Emily asked, "Is my apology accepted, Kousei?"

The pianist with the affectionately rumpled hair nodded. "Twice over."

- - -oOo- - -

With the soulful sound of the cello still playing in his mind, he paused at a convenience store to buy something to eat before going home. He didn't mind eating ready-made. With Tsubaki gone and Kaori unreachable in her little fortress, tonight promised to be a solitary time, and he wasn't that interested in food just then.

- - -oOo- - -

Kousei unlocked the front door. A few motion sensors switched on some floor lamps and strip lighting, welcoming him to his empty domicile. Donning slippers, he deposited his bag on the sofa and went into the kitchen to heat his omelette and vegetablesin the microwave.

After finishing his food, he trudged upstairs, bag in hand, thinking of finishing what little schoolwork he had left before practicing some and going to bed. As he was sitting down and writing, he heard the doorbell ringing.

Kousei put his pen down. Who was that? Maybe it was Dad, come back home early. Or maybe Tsubaki. Or Watari, though his visits had become rarer over the months.

He bounded down the stairs. "Who is it?" he called, peering through the peephole.

"Kousei? Hey, it's me."

"Kaori?" Kousei flung the door open. There stood a five-foot-four-inch waif in the incandescent entrance light, dressed all in black: black sweater, black vest, black-framed glasses with black patch, black pants, black sneakers, with a black hood covering her face. She stood there expectantly, hands behind herself, a smile playing around on her face.

"I didn't expect to see you," Kousei said in wonder, ushering her in.

She pulled a small package from her vest. "Happy birthday."

Kousei smiled. "And here I was thinking everyone had forgotten it." Then he smacked his forehead with his palm. "But I didn't prepare anything . . . ."

"It's okay. I anticipated that and bought a little something." Kaori stepped outside for a moment and came back in with a long cardboard box.

"Here, let me have that." Kousei took the box from her. "What's with the getup?"

"Hmm? Oh, this?" Kaori gestured at herself. "Nothing, I wore it just in case."

Kousei shut the door. "Just in case . . . ?" he prompted, raising an eyebrow.

The girl with the pale hair laughed nervously. "Just in case I had to break into your house."

"What? Are you crazy?"

"I know, I know, it sounds bad. I didn't know if Tsubaki was here, so I was going to sneak upstairs and leave this in your room if she was."

Kousei eyed her warily. "Y'know, I was going to ask how you planned to reach the second story and open the door, but maybe I don't want to know."

"Oh, that's easy. Johann came with me." She said it like it explained everything. "He'll be back in a couple of hours. Aaand I got permission from my parents to come over." Kaori grinned. "So I'm legit."

Except for planning a bit of breaking and entering, thought Kousei. He mentioned it to her.

"Well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm," Kaori said contritely. "If you think that was bad, I'm glad you don't know what else I've had to do these past three years."

"I'm listening," Kousei said coolly.

"Why are you being so judgmental?" she asked, folding her arms and looking at him.

"I'm not trying to judge you." He turned and looked at her. "I just realized that I know nothing of how you spent those years."

"That's the way to learn, then, bad things first?"

"No, no. Forget I said that. I'm . . . happy enough you're with me today."

He continued into the kitchen, where he opened the box and began to slice the cake inside. Kaori caught his hand.

"Hey, let me do that. Go and sit in the living room."

After a few minutes, Kaori emerged, carrying a tray of chocolate cake slices and little saucers of candy and fruit jellies. "Couldn't find your tea," she remarked. The saucers trembled a little as she set them on the table.

"It's in the cupboard—I'll be right back."

Kousei returned bearing two steaming cups of brew.

"Hope you like houjicha," he said.

"That's fine." Kaori turned the volume of the TV down. "Please open your present first."

Kousei picked at the tape holding the giftwrap together. He ended up with a video disc in a jewel case.

"Am I supposed to guess what's in this?"

Kaori smiled. "Read the label."

"Oh." There was something printed on the disk, in transfer letters so small Kousei had to move and catch brighter light to read them.

Contestant Performances, Eastern Japan Piano Competition

"Is this what I think it is?"

"Probably." Kaori looked pleased with herself.

"I hate to burst your bubble, but I already have this."

"Not this one. Trust me. There were three cameras set to record on that day. You folks—Takeshi Aiza, Emi Igawa, and everyone else—were only given a compilation made from two. No footage from the third was included."

"Why?"

"Watch that, and you'll see."

Kousei's father had installed a media player under the TV. Into this went the disk. Then he pressed the play button.

"Fast forward to your turn," said Kaori.

Kousei did as she instructed, and there he was, seated in front of the Steinway Model D grand piano in his blue suit and black tie. Screen-Kousei began to play Ballade No.1. Without taking his eyes off the TV, real-Kousei began casting around for Kaori's hand. He used it to pull her toward him.

"Kousei?"

"Just stay where you are, okay?"

"Oh." She squeezed his hand. "Don't worry."

Kousei made a noncommittal noise.

To his own ear—and every artist knows that the most severe critic of all is usually one's own self—he sounded acceptable. Then it came to bar 106, the moment when Kaori joined him in playing.

There was no violin. He played the entire piece by himself, and it came to him as somewhat of a shock, as it did when he watched it before. Back then, he felt like reality was mocking the final, beautiful memories of her on stage with him, so he shelved the video and didn't look at it again.

But something queer was happening on stage . . . . At first he attributed it to a fault with the TV, or possibly the videocam, which would explain why its footage was never used in the compilation. At times blue flashes would flicker in front of his on-screen persona, obscuring his seated figure and sometimes even the piano itself. At one point the blue flashes were replaced by a cascade of pink. Then the stage lights returned and highlighted his upturned, tear-streaked face.

"You are cruel, Kaori Miyazono. Why would you give me a copy of this?"

"But . . . didn't you see? I was . . . sorry, I was careless. Didn't you notice anything strange?"

"All I see is something funky going on with the lights and . . . and some of the saddest moments in my life, recorded for posterity . . . ." He looked at Kaori. Her eyes were wide open and staring at him, unblinking indigo-blue, and except for her paler visage and the lack of the flower hairclip, she looked just as she did back then . . . .

"I think . . . I think I'm beginning to understand." He glanced at the empty jewel case on the low living room table. He cleared his throat. "Thank you. Speaking of gifts, why don't we take a pic of ourselves?" he suggested.

"Nice idea! But you could get into trouble," Kaori cautioned. "Be sure to hide it well."

"I will. Just a sec, there's a good camera upstairs."

Kousei dashed upstairs and came back down with a full-size digital SLR and a camera bag. He set up in short order, making sure he had his own blank memory card in the camera, and took several pictures with Kaori.

After stowing the camera, they returned to the table and their meal. Kousei rewound the video and paused at Emi Igawa's playing of Etude in A Minor Op.25, No. 11, better known as Winter Wind.

"How'd you find out about this recording?"

Taking a sip of hot tea, Kaori said, "Detective work by Hikaru-san and myself. I wanted something of you to keep with me before I left Japan. When she requested a copy of the performance and talked to the people who worked at the Hall, she happened to notice the discrepancy between the camera angles and the number of cameras that were actually in place at the time of the concours. I guessed there was probably footage that was never used. Hikaru had this friend of hers who came up with the missing track—they were going to delete it and reuse the tape. The rest is history."

"Does Hikaru-san know? About you and me, what happened at that time?"

"No. She kept on pestering me why I wanted to see that recording so much—'it's awful quality,' she kept saying—I might have given something away, but I don't think she knows. Or else she'd have dropped me like a hot rock. I don't think she accepts cuckoo clients." Kaori chuckled.

"You know, even now it shocks me to see that I played the entire Ballade alone—it leaves me feeling empty. How was that even possible?"

"Who knows?" Kaori answered, shrugging. "Perhaps you were hallucinating. Perhaps it was all a dream. Perhaps I'm not really here, you know, and you're talking to a figment of your imagination. All I know is that I was there with you."

"And I you." Kousei clasped Kaori's hands together. "Kaori . . . ."

"What?"

"You're really here, aren't you? I'm not going insane?"

"Touch me, Kousei." She took his hand and placed it on her cheek. "Your hand is so warm," she whispered. "Isn't this enough proof that this isn't a dream?"

Kousei brought her hands up—those thin, long-fingered hands—and gently caressed them. "You're right," he said, his breath tickling Kaori's alabaster skin, "it isn't." He leaned closer to her.

Kaori turned her head away. "Kousei, I . . . I'm . . . kind of nervous about this."

Kousei, whose own heart pounded so hard he was sure Kaori could hear it, said "So am I."

"Ah, at least you've had practice kissing. I . . . haven't." Kaori blushed furiously.

"Kaori, I've kissed a girl a total of three times and I've never had practice kissing you. We're nearly even, so you only need to be as nervous as I am."

Kaori laughed uneasily. "To be honest, I want something from you." She snuggled against Kousei. "Something you might not be able to give."

Kousei smoothed her hair. "You've only to name it."

"I want you to help me forget." Her voice was muffled by their clothes.

"Forget what? I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"So many things, Kousei." She looked up at him, her countenance sad. "I always believed the stars should shine brighter at the end of one's road. I'm almost at the end of mine, but all I see around me is the dark." She took a deep breath. "What I'm trying to say is . . . make me yours. Be a light for me."

Kousei felt his heart leap. He felt a strange comingling of joy and sadness surge through his veins. "Are . . . are you sure?"

She nodded, her face still red. "I trust you."

Kousei put his arms around her, and Kaori returned the embrace.

"I've been waiting for this . . . for so long."

"Me too."

"I guess we'll have to endure Hikaru-san's teasing," Kaori said.

Kousei chuckled. "I guess." Then he remembered. "I'll be the one to explain to Tsubaki, okay? I won't mention your name."

"Not alone, you won't. I'll stand by you."

"But—"

"I think I owe it to Tsubaki," Kaori insisted.

They were silent for a while. "She'll never forgive me," said Kousei. "This is the second time I've done this to her."

"Second?"

He told Kaori about the gala concert.

"I already know about that. Still . . . what have I done?"

Still absorbing this new piece of information, Kousei corrected her. "What we've done." He held the pale girl's hands up, pressing them to his chest. "Since we're already in it, let's seal our guilt."

"What do you mean?"

Kousei moved his face closer to Kaori's. She leaned forward slightly. As their lips tenderly met, tears began to well in her eyes.

Just then the front door swung open. "Kou-sei!" a lilting voice called. "Why'd you leave the door unlocked? The trip got canceled—"

Tsubaki Sawabe stopped dead in her tracks at the entrance to the living room. She stood transfixed for a couple of seconds. Then she screamed.


Author's Note: Thank you for the kind words. Again, a difficult chapter to write. Also, I'm sorry I introduced Ravel into the story again. See, this was a much more adult chapter in the beginning, and Bolero had something to do with it. Much thanks to samhain83, AKA the girl from Wien, Austrian prinzessin of the feet of flames, coffee connoisseur, and Viking tamer.