Movement 21: F mol
"Kahoko. Kahoko, wake up darling."
"Len," I murmured, without opening my eyes. "I'm here, don't leave me, stay here a little longer until I wake up."
"Kahoko. Len's not here right now. He's still in Kyoto, remember? You fell asleep while practicing. I told you you work too hard. Come on down and eat dinner." I opened my eyes and looked up at my mom. My violin bow was still in my hand, where I had fallen onto the closed key cover.
That's right, Len is still in Kyoto. He said he'd call me when he got back to his hotel. I checked my phone for new messages. Maybe he called while I was asleep.
Why are all these from Misa-san?
"Hey, are you coming? I made sukiyaki tonight."
"Yeah, just a minute. I have to call someone back."
"Okay, but hurry up. Sukiyaki's no good cold."
I yawned and dialed Misa's number. The phone had barely rung by the time it connected.
"Hello, Misa-san? I got a whole bunch of messages from you, but I haven't listened to them yet..."
"Kahoko. Don't you remember our phone call?"
"Phone call?" The dream? What a bad, bad dream.
"Oh, Kahoko, pretending isn't going to change anything." How can that be Misa-san's voice? Shaking, so tired, so hoarse, so hopeless.
"Len...is...dead..."
"Yes," she answered dully.
Realization was there, should I choose to accept it.
"I don't believe it. I can't believe it."
"It's so hard, dear." How can you be saying such things when I can hear from your voice that you're dying inside, too?
"Kahoko? Come down for dinner, please."
I hung up the phone and turned it off and went down for dinner. I wouldn't accept realization yet. I couldn't. It was a dream, and I was still waking.
I couldn't eat. Or rather, I tried a mouthful and ran to the bathroom, where I threw it all up.
My mom put her hand on my back as I knelt, panting, over the toilet.
"Yes, you've been working too hard, definitely," she said, putting a hand on my forehead. "See, you've got a fever. You should head up and get more sleep." Mechanically, I got up and walked up, slowly, to my bedroom. Were there always this many stairs? My feet felt like lead, and I stopped in the middle of the staircase and looked up blankly at a blank ceiling. Was it always so high up there? How long have I lived so high above the ground?
I continued to walk up the stairs and opened the door to my room and went and lay down.
I lay there, in my bed, and looked up at the ceiling again. I couldn't sleep. Didn't want to go back to that dream. Never again. I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face in the pink down comforter. Maybe Usa was right about the color pink. Right now it was just so ugly and cheerful and bright. Who needed that sort of color?
I lay there for what seemed hours, the lights off but the orange glow of the sunset casting dimly across the room horizontally until it faded and the street lights came on.
Len is still in Kyoto. He'll call soon, I just have to be patient. Just a little longer.
At around 10, my mom came in and pulled the blankets over me. I pretended to be asleep.
At two o'clock my legs started to feel itchy, so I got up and walked out of my room, down the stairs, down the hall, outside, with bare feet.
The street lights are on, but the city is sleeping. Who needs lights to be on when nobody's around? The traffic lights are still working, switching from red to green. Nobody is driving. It's three days after New Year's, and nobody is driving to temples or burning bonfires or eating mochi, because we've all burned ourselves out, the last three days. Japan is tired of the New Year already.
My feet are numb. It has nothing to do with the cold.
And Len is gone.
He's gone.
It's not a dream. I'm not awake, I'm not asleep, I'm not anything, I'm just here, in this world that is sleeping but alive, and still moving, still rotating around the Sun. And we're worshipping gods that we don't believe in, but we're afraid that if we stop, they'll be real, and they'll come out and get us.
I don't want to exist anymore. I don't want to die, because I'm afraid that there'll actually be an afterlife, and maybe Len won't be there, and maybe I'll continue on forever in an existence without him. I don't want to live, because I know he's not here. I felt it, from the moment I didn't say I love you but should have, that I'd never see him again.
My brain keeps saying it could all be a sick joke, and maybe I'd go over to see Misa-san and she and Len would both be there laughing, and confused that I didn't get it, but my heart knows the truth, and he's gone.
I can't take it.
I ran, with no shoes, in a country where outside was dirty and inside was clean, to a place that I didn't know of, because forward momentum was the only way to forget where I currently was.
I stumbled and fell, because my feet were numb and I couldn't feel the bumps along the narrow sidewalks. I landed on my hands and knees roughly and stared down at the ground, ice crystals forming in the cracks of the pavement. I looked up. There was a temple wall in front of my face.
Maybe if I make this petition of Buddha, he will grant it.
I got up and made my way into the temple, passing the bell, staring up blankly at the wooden stairs and closed doors. The doors were shut. Buddha wouldn't listen to me at this hour, because Buddha is only awake when the monks are.
I wandered into the graveyard behind, crowded and upright. The dead slept like the living, just in miniature dwellings. We live with our families, in these tall, close-set houses, row by row, upright and honorable, just like everyone else around us. So unlike the graveyards in Italy, massive grave stones spread out all over the place, to give room for the full, laid out bodies of the dead.
Len was already gone, and soon his body would be, too. Soot and ashes, nothing but powder, and we'd put that in a little tray by a gravestone, and bring things like flowers and left-over sweet-buns to honor the dead. Honor. What did that matter, now? But I thought, One last time. I just want to see him one last time.
I started to run to the Tsukimori house.
.
I rang the door bell, and for the first time I was aware of the cold. I hugged myself tightly and breathed out puffs of visible air. Maybe Misa-san was already asleep. I didn't know where Len's father was right then, but I knew he wasn't in Japan.
A light switched on inside. The door opened, and Misa-san stood there, with the light streaming out into the darkness from behind her, and stared at me blankly for a couple of seconds. Then she grabbed me and pulled me inside and collapsed to her knees, holding me with her face buried in my stomach, just sobbing.
I still couldn't cry.
Minutes passed, to the ticking of the tall grandfather clock, wherever it was, and after awhile Misa-san sighed and sat back, head bent, hands folded in her lap.
"Len is dead."
"Len is dead."
You may wonder, O Reader, who said it first. I don't even remember. It doesn't matter.
"I want to see him before the cremation. Just once, please."
"His body is unrecognizable, Kahoko."
"I don't care."
"Just remember the way he was when you last saw him. You don't want to see the shape he's in now. Besides, we couldn't get in to the undertaker at this hour, and in the morning the process will happen."
I sank down myself, now, onto the floor with Misa-san, and looked at the floor numbly, finally becoming aware that the blood on my knees was staining the white carpet. I looked at my palms; they were in the same condition.
Misa-san suddenly became aware that I was clothed in nothing more than my knee-length skirt and sweater, and grabbed my hands to inspect them. "You fell on the way here, didn't you? You should take care of your hands. Music comes from these hands." I thought to myself, This is where Len's obsession came from. "Come and take a bath with me, and sleep here for the night. Musume-chan."
It's too late for that now, Misa-san. Your son is dead. He had no chance to make me your daughter.
As we sat, knee to knee together in the hot water, the steam rising up and making it hard to breathe, but easy to forget, she felt more like an older sister than a mother. Both of us were completely unable to handle the situation, and so we clung to each other, like two columns that arch together, leaning toward each other lest they collapse. She wasn't even trying to be strong right now, not that I could blame her, and I wasn't even able to get to the point where I could mourn the same way she did.
I lay awake in the guest room, a room that had never been lived in, only slept in, and, at about six am, I got up in the dark and searched each of the rooms in the hall, because I didn't know which one was his. I finally opened a door that led to a large, open room with a fern in the corner and little else except a bed with books on the nightstand, and a music stand next to the window.
I crawled into the bed, under the covers, and sought the last lingering scent on the sheets. He hadn't slept there since we'd left for Europe over a week ago, but it was still there. Thinly.
A couple of hours later, Misa-san came in and sat down on the bed next to me. She was already dressed for the day.
"I knew you'd be in here."
I couldn't respond. The pillow should have been wet, but it wasn't. What was wrong with me?
"The person who caused the accident called and wants to meet us."
I wanted to tear that person apart.
"Can you do it?"
I sat up and grabbed my hair with both fists, curling my toes under the sheets, drawing my knees up and burying my face in them to hide the fact that I hadn't shed a tear all night long.
"Yes."
.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
"Yes." My voice was like a recording of a windup doll. I'd always been a windup doll, anyway, painted smile and cheerful catchphrases.
"I called your mother this morning. She was just about frantic to find you missing, but she understood when I explained to her. She said you could stay here as long as you needed to, or go home when you needed to."
I sat on the couch and looked blankly at the picture of little Tsukimori-kun behind the glass doors of the CD case.
I'd never thought about it before, but if we'd had children someday, they would look like that. Tiny and adorable, with serious eyes.
I heard a taxi drive up outside.
The door opened, and Len's murderer entered the room.
My hand, trembling in Misa-san's hands, squeezed impulsively, and I hardened my senses against pity or forgiveness.
She closed the door behind herself, looked around for a minute to take in her surroundings. Her eyes, almost closed by wrinkles, sparkled brightly behind her glasses, already starting to well with tears, maybe from the cold wind outside. Her stout, stooped form, clothed as it was in her best dress, carelessly chosen for long wear when she'd bought it, now carefully chosen as the most appropriate thing she had for the occassion, shook gently, and she steadied herself on her cane. Against her chest, she held, like a baby, Len's violin case; from her elbow dangled a large, thick purse.
This could be me in fifty years.
She crossed the room to our inquiring gazes and silence, and, reaching the couch, lowered herself slowly, then falling all at once. She took a deep breath and set the violin case and purse onto the couch next to her, and then finally looked me in the face.
"I...I'm so sorry," she began. "This...this horrible thing that happened...I...I can't tell you, how awful it was, and how awful I feel now..."
She sighed deeply and clasped her gnarled and mottled hands together to stop their shaking.
"My name is Wasahara Rumiko. I was at Kyoto Station last Tuesday, waiting for the two o'clock train to Inari. I'd promised to meet my grandchild, Yumi, at the fox shrine, and..." She shook her head, stopping her hand from automatically reaching into her purse to take out what was probably a picture of her grandchild. The elderly do that, you know. It's what they've built their lives around, their families, so that there's nothing more important to them, and they forget that it's not the most important thing to other people, or maybe they think that their age permits them to indulgence, I don't know yet.
But Rumiko caught herself, because the moment wasn't right, and she continued with what I wanted to, needed to, hear about.
"The station was so crowded, you know, two days after New Year's and all that. You forget, at this age, how many people will be there. You forget to be careful. I'd set down my purse for a minute while I was waiting for the train; it was so heavy, full of souveneirs and gifts for family, you see. The train started to pull in. I thought I was lucky that I'd gotten there so early, because if you're at the back of the line, you might miss the train. It takes so long to get everyone on, so not everyone can, you know. Why are people so impatient? Life doesn't go anywhere fast." She stopped, as though waiting for a response, but I still couldn't say a word. Misa-san, in response for us both, nodded quietly, and she continued.
"The train started to pull in, and I bent over to pick up my purse. When I straightened back up, somebody behind me pushed forward strongly, and I lost my balance. The young man was very close to the front, but if I had only bumped him a little, it would have been okay. But I'm old, and slow, and heavy. I pushed him..." She broke off, choking on her words, and covered her face with her hands.
We waited, Len's mother and I. The imported grandfather clock ticked loudly in the background, the minute hand audibly shifting into place, several times. At last she looked up again, cheeks wet, not meeting my eyes.
"I pushed him..." She broke off again, recovered herself, and looked up straight at me. "Right over the edge. I tried to grab onto his bag, he was clutching it as if his life depended on it..." she turned and touched the violin case next to her, "but the handle popped right off, and he continued to fall, and the train, it came in so fast, and..."
I felt my chest start to swell even more, but the tears wouldn't come. Biting my lip, I released Misa-san's hand and leaned forward to grab both of Rumiko's hands in mine. The four of them trembled together like autumn leaves.
"I never even saw his face," she said.
And then the tears came at last, hot and furious, and I buried my face in our hands and just screamed. My heart came out through my voice, and ragged sobs, and another scream, and Rumiko leaned her forehead onto the top of my head and we cried together.
.
I started to blame the circumstances.
Why couldn't Len just buy a new case ages ago? I'd already told him it was practically falling apart. He'd fallen with just the handle, but if it was newer, he would have held onto it, gripping it firmly in those strong hands, and he wouldn't have fallen.
Why did he have to go at such a crowded time of day? Surely it would have been fine to go a few days after New Year's, when everyone had already paid their dues and were sitting at home waiting for blessings to rain down from the kami for all the five and ten yen pieces they'd dropped off carelessly at the shrines.
Why was he standing so close to the platform? It's not so bad to have to wait a little while. The train comes in, you try to shuffle to the head of the line, but there's not enough room so you wait another fifteen minutes for the next one. Big deal.
Why couldn't the accident have happened on the Karasume-Oike line, just two stops down and a transfer away from where he was? There were double doors on that line, doors on the train and doors on the platform, so this thing couldn't have happened. He had to go back to his hotel by that route, anyway. Why hadn't they already built those doors down at the route to Kyoto Station, which was so much more crowded, anyway?
Why hadn't I been with him? I should have been there. I shouldn't have left him.
Blaming the circumstances doesn't change anything.
It didn't stop the funeral from happening two days later. There was no viewing of the dead before the cremation, because, as Misa-san had said, there was nothing left of who we used to know. Len's father was there, and he and Len's mother stood still, side by side, as the Buddhist monk chanted, and the incense smoked, and the gravestone that was still decades and decades too early took its place among the Tsukimori family plot, along with his grandparents who had died together while we were still in high school. Of natural causes, after having lived a lifetime together, having accomplished a lifetime's amount together.
He had only gotten started in life. His sonata had only begun, and it was already over. Our relationship had consisted of days that could be counted on both hands.
The papers were full of it, here and abroad. I didn't read them. They made me sick. Here, have your one day of excitement, herald the loss of a brilliant musician with a promising future suddenly cruelly cut off by a tragic circumstance. Sell your front pages.
And tomorrow they will be recycled, or used to wrap fish, or burned up. And you will forget him, for all your eloquent, mournful words, because he is nothing more than a headline to you, you bastards.
I heard, "I'm so sorry, Kahoko" by so many well-meaning friends and relatives that it made me ill.
Usa called once, but didn't say anything, and I didn't either, and we wasted twenty minutes of phone time just not talking to each other.
Hihara-sempai called from the States and told me he was on his way back to Japan. I didn't want him to come. I knew what he'd say, and I didn't want to hear it.
Yunoki-sempai and Keiichi-kun both called briefly, but Yunoki-sempai just quoted a haiku by Bashou, and Keiichi-kun played for me on his cello.
Aoi-kun tried to be cheerful by not-so-subtly hinting that now that Len was gone, my heart was free again. I knew he meant well, but I was so furious that I hung up on him.
I haven't heard from Tsuchiura-kun yet. I wonder if he's heard about it yet. I don't even know where he is right now. Australia, perhaps?
The day after the funeral, I picked up my violin for the first time since the day of Misa-san's phonecall, and held it up and waited, waited for the bow to pull itself across the strings.
I just couldn't. It wasn't there. Because no music I could make could possibly describe how I was feeling.
Author's Notes:
I know! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! But you can't say I didn't warn you...
Also, I purposely didn't answer any reviews this week, just to be mean. Did it work?
I'll just say this now, though: The idea for the entire story was centered around this from the beginning. Because there's so much emotion available, so many unanswered questions, from this type of plot, and these characters. Though I may be imperfect at conveying them, I want to try.
So! I know you're all angry at me, but fortunately you don't know my true identity (I hope) so any death-threats are in vain! (And also probably not funny at this point...)
At this point, you really do have to keep reading. To end it here would be really depressing. Deshou?
To note: eijilover18 brought up the "condom issue". Rest assured, they were used. Part of the point of that chapter actually is that Len has the sense to be able to tell between a moment of passion and "when it's right". Not that it's 100% security, but Kahoko WILL NOT be pregnant. I, the author, have decreed this.