The Morning Sun
As it's chilly inside, it's bitterly cold outside, something not helped by the fierce shore side wind, by the sand that comes up to hit him on the face, by the soft sea foam that makes his face and hair damp. Toya adjusts his scarf and his coat collar to soften the blows of the wind, his shoes crunching against the beach sand.
When outside, Toya doesn't mind the cold. It's odd, but the cold of a clear winter's day, spent outside, is far less piercing than the cold of a windless, silent house. Out here, he can feel the pulse of the earth, and that is warmth enough; cut off from it inside of a manmade house, that's the most piercing cold in the world.
Enough with this weird philosophical mumbo-jumbo, Toya thinks to himself, quirking a thin twitch of a smile. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and casts his eyes out towards the sea.
The morning is still dreary gray; the sun has yet to break through the thick canopy of clouds. There's no trace of rain on the horizon, no smell of coming water, no telltale rumble of distant thunder or flash of distant lightning. In all likelihood the clouds will break come midday to reveal a dazzling pale blue winter's sky. For now, though, it's gray.
Toya stares out at the sea. Without a blue sky to reflect, the choppy surface of the water is all gray and white. There are moments when a little bit of the cloud cover will clear and the crest of a wave will catch a brief glimpse of sunlight. In those moments, the water glimmers silver instead of gray, sparkling as though the waves are made of precious metal in place of water. It's just a hint Toya catches, but enough for him to long to see a blue sea again, in place of gray.
"It's interesting, sometimes, to go take a walk out in the beach in the early morning. Just to see if there's any shells or debris that stands to your eyes, or to smell the air before the sun's risen too high. I think it has a different smell at night and in the early morning than it does during the day. The sea, I mean."
Ikuko had said that sometime back, leaning absently over a pot of Mother-in-law's tongue, examining the blade-like leaves for any sign of damage. Bernkastel had accidentally knocked the pot over—though Toya's not entirely sure how the cat managed it, considering how heavy that pot and its plant is, and the fact that Bernkastel, though a fairly big cat, isn't really big enough to knock over a thirty-pound-plus pot. Ikuko, after righting the pot and lightly swatting her cat in reprisal (Bernkastel hissed and stalked off somewhere to sulk), checked over her plant to make sure it hadn't sustained any damage.
Toya had been wondering aloud whether it would be nice to walk around on the beach at this time of year. Just a simple question, muttered aloud. He hadn't even meant for Ikuko to hear it. "The beach is fine, even at this time of year. And are you going to let something like cold weather keep you inside? I should think that no one with self-respect would let a simple thing like "winter" keep them from venturing outside of their house."
Of course, directly after this little taunt, just as though she had never said it at all, Ikuko had started going on about the Mother-in-law's tongue. "You know, I asked Kaname-san, and he said that this plant is more than twenty years old. Can you believe that? I suppose it goes to show what can be accomplished with the combination of a hardy plant and a diligent gardener."
All this, from the advice to the taunting to the random comment about a house plant, Ikuko said without ever looking up at him. It really is remarkable how she can transition like that so smoothly—and without even looking at the person she's advising, taunting, or commenting to. She must have started that young, Toya muses, to be so skilled. Must have driven her parents crazy.
All told, though, Toya's glad he took Ikuko's advice. I guess if you like the ocean, it doesn't matter what time of year you find yourself on the beach.
A lonely seagull, all alone out here, darts back and forth away from the waves on webbed feet a few yards away. The thin twitch of a smile turns to a full-bodied one as the spray comes up to hit his face yet again.
By Ikuko, Toya is supposed to have washed up on this shore from some unknown place. If all life sprang from the ocean, then he supposes that he was born there too; his body came from the sea and he has no memories prior to waking up. I guess you could call me the child of sea spirits. That sounds more exciting than being human, to be honest.
People who suffer a fall from a great height sometimes develop a fear of heights. Those who have been in car accidents might be reluctant to ever set foot in a car again (And maybe this is why Toya doesn't like cars). Toya supposes that, after the experience of nearly drowning in the sea, he might have been forgiven for acquiring an aversion to the great expanse of salt water out before him. But he doesn't.
How exactly is he supposed to be afraid of the ocean if he never remembers having nearly drowned in it? Toya woke up in a hospital. All he has to know that he washed up on this shore is Ikuko's assertion that she found him here. That's all he has, and for all Toya knows, she could have hit him with her car and covered it up to avoid criminal charges—though Toya likes to think that Ikuko wouldn't have done that, and that he would have had some pretty different injuries if he'd been hit by a car.
He has no need to fear the waters lapping now at his shoes, and no inclination to. If anything, were it not for the unkind coldness of the winter season, Toya might just strip off his coat and shirt and shoes and dive into the water. In place of fear, he feels close, dear kinship, imagining a siren voice at night when the moon is high in the sky and all the sea gulls have gone to rest.
Or maybe that's just Toya developing an overactive imagination.
"Toya!" Toya turns around to see Ikuko walking towards him, her skirt billowing out behind her. "Wait a minute." He raises his eyebrows as she nears. Ikuko's face has the sort of strained color in it that comes from still being tired.
"I hadn't thought you were awake yet," Toya says when she catches up to him. He cracks a grin when he gets a good look at the hat she's wearing—white canvas, broad-brimmed and adorned with a dark purple ribbon that streams out like twin flags caught in a gale. It looks like something more suited to being worn in spring or on Valentine's Day. Or maybe White Day. Who knows. "Nice hat."
Ikuko takes a moment to rake her hair out of her face primly and straighten said hat. "Should've gotten some hatpins," she mutters. "Thank you," she responds, deliberately ignoring the ironic tone in his voice. "And I'm not that late of a riser."
"You heard me leaving, didn't you?"
"I was already awake," she maintains, with all due dignity. "I was surprised to see you up this early, though. It's barely eight; you're usually still asleep."
"I'm allowed to get up earlier than usual once in a while, aren't I?"
"Of course you are, Toya." She flashes her thin-lipped, catlike smile, and Toya gets the distinct impression that Ikuko is trying to make that smile as knowing and as eerie as she possibly can. He'd long suspected that she was doing that on purpose, and here, here is the proof.
Their voices drop to silence, and the waves lapping against the shore fills in the quiet for them. Ikuko keeps a hand constantly planted on her hat to keep it from flying off, and Toya just keeps an eye out, waiting for it to fly off, because he gets the distinct impression that if that happens, Ikuko will force him to go chasing after it. He just can't picture Ikuko going running off across the dunes or into the water after her hat. The image of Ikuko running, for any reason, just isn't something Toya can wrap his mind around.
If that hat blows off, it'll be just my luck that it lands in the water. Ikuko will probably just beg me to go after it, and if I don't she'll pull the old guilt trip routine. I can just hear it now: "Who's feeding you? Who's allowing you to sleep in the spare bedroom? Who took you in? Is this how you show your gratitude? Be a man, and go save my hat!"
After that, I'd have no choice but to go in after it; my honor as a man would have been at stake. Then, I'd come back soaked, and she'd probably just sniff and say "About time."
Then I'd get pneumonia and die.
Just like in the movies.
"So I guess you took my advice," Ikuko says softly, "and didn't let the cold scare you off after all."
Toya's lip twitches; a sea gull passes overhead, crying raucously. "Who doesn't like the beach? Even in winter?"
"It was part of the appeal when I moved here," Ikuko remarks, smiling a somewhat different smile than what Toya's used to—gentler, significantly gentler than that sharp-edged cat's smile. But there's something guarded in her voice, keeping the inflections from revealing too much. If the eyes are windows to the soul, Ikuko usually keeps the blinds drawn over them so no one can see what lies within, but those eyes are even more unreadable than usual.
Huh, that's weird. Why does she think she needs to do that?
Before Toya can work up the nerve to ask Ikuko if there's anything wrong, she turns her gaze on him, and she's back to wearing that cat-smile he's so used to. "I'm going to take the movie back some time today. Do you want to come with me?"
All mention of the movie makes good cheer fly from Toya's mind like rats off a sinking ship. He stares so hard at the sand that he's amazed it doesn't heat up and turn to glass. "No thanks," he mutters. She just had to bring that up again.
As much as Toya tells himself that he forgives Ikuko for renting that incredibly tasteless (under the circumstances) video, he would rather avoid anything resembling discussion about it. Ikuko, for someone who is seemingly quite intelligent, your sheer lack of tact is really quite amazing sometimes.
"What, are you still afraid of the way the car shakes when it hits the gravel?"
Any potential audience (two seagulls and a lone crab) should probably be excused while Ikuko further confirms to all the world that she possesses all the tact of a hailstone.
Toya shakes his head, grimacing and wondering just how to phrase it. May as well be direct. She'll probably start teasing me if I try to beat around the bush. "It doesn't sound very pleasant, no. …Ikuko," he says gingerly, "please don't get a movie like that again."
Ikuko's eyes widen in an almost-convincing facsimile of innocence. She did get it on purpose. Okay Ikuko, that was just mean. Even so, I suppose I probably should just forgive her and let it slide. After all, Ikuko is absolutely, completely tactless. "Didn't you like it?"
"No, I didn't. Ikuko, didn't it occur to you when you saw that movie on the shelf in the movie store, that it might hit just a little too close to home for me?"
Her purple eyes remain as wide open as a cat's in stalker mode, her hands laced behind her back. Oh God, please don't let the wind pick up. Her hat'll go flying. "It didn't really occur to me until after you went to bed. Your rather abrupt exit gave me time to think."
Something tells Toya that it had occurred to Ikuko long before he stepped out on movie night, but he lets that slide too. It really isn't worth picking at small details with Ikuko, especially since he's pretty sure that in arguments of any kind, if Ikuko gets on a roll, Ikuko will win. She just seems like the sort of person who wouldn't be able to stand losing an argument, unless she lost on her own terms.
Despite himself, though, he quirks a rueful smile. At least she shows consistency about something; she certainly knows how to keep me on my toes. "Whatever. Just… Just try, the next time you decide to rent a movie, to make sure that amnesia doesn't feature in the plot at all, please?"
Mercifully, Ikuko goes back to gripping her hat with one hand. A particularly sharp gust of wind makes her hair whip about like a ship's sail in a gale. "I'll do my best. However, Toya?" She takes a moment to make sure he can hear the almost singsong rise of her words. "If you don't come with me to the rental store, I can't guarantee that I'll come back with movies you would like. In fact, chances are I'd be more likely to come back with movies you would absolutely despise."
Given that the choices are either being bored to tears by an atrocious movie or scared half to death by being in a moving car when it's going over gravel, Toya doesn't have a hard deciding what he prefers. "I'll just have to take that chance."
Still singsong, Ikuko replies, "It's your choice."
Toya shakes his head and smiles. Typical Ikuko; definitely nothing out of place with her. It's comforting, sometimes, to have things he can count on.
Out over the water, the clouds clear enough to allow a sliver of the morning sun to be seen, painting the gray sea silver.
The plant Sansevieria trifasciata, better known in the U.S. as Mother-in-law's tongue, is a popular house plant native to West Africa. I know that in Japan, it's more typically called "Tiger's Tail", but I figured that, even if it was a bit inaccurate, calling the plant "Mother-in-law's tongue" might allow those who haven't seen it before to have a better idea of what it looks like. And yes, if you take care of them right, they do last for a very long time; my mother has a couple that are alleged to be more than thirty years old.