Chapter Thirty Five – Song For a Graveside

After their return from Germany, after they had organized somewhere to live and started work, things seemed different. This was their life now. And it went on day by day, week by week. The only high points, the only sparks beyond the routine might be when Seiji got some interest from someone wanting to buy a violin (no serious interest yet, sadly) or if Shizuku got anywhere with selling a story (one or two publishers back in Japan made kind comments but again, no, nothing definite there yet either). Other than that they settled into a nine-to-five life (or in Seiji's case an eight-to-seven life some days) very much like the rest of us.

Shizuku even got into the job of running a home with all the enthusiasm only first-time home owners have: the dusting, the vacuuming, doing the laundry, washing up and cooking. Even the ironing (which she hated but did anyway because it had to be done). All skills she'd only played grown-ups at before (she'd smile recalling how Shiho or her mom had had to shout and moan at her just to get her to make her own bed) but now she had to learn these skills for real. She did enjoy it; it was especially nice to have him come home and they'd cook together and wash up together but those days when he worked late and she came back to an empty apartment, she still got a buzz from doing a half hour's laundry before he came in. Because it was new, and fun. And because it was a way of serving him. These jobs might be dull, and tiring but she'd promised on their wedding day to do this and Shizuku took that promise very seriously.

But there was still something about this ordinary life – about the life the rest of us live – that was fresh and exhilarating to them. For one thing they had each other, and this was still new and wonderful. It would remain new and wonderful for years and for that they were blessed with a special relationship; one with such intimate connections, one that not enough of us have the privilege of having. The special thing between them was perhaps because they were aliens in a foreign land and so they leaned more on each other. Or it may have been because they until recently had known only school and had suddenly, at a young age, been brought together and were having to make their way alone in a new and confusing environment. Or it could have simply been the depth of their love. They had always been this close and were growing closer as the months went on. There had always been an intensity to their relationship. It was so deep, it burned so bright and had been forged under the heat and blows of a difficult past – those first two painful months apart in 1994, Cremona in 1995 and the wonderful discoveries then, the death of his grandpa and all the problems and baggage from that that he – and she – had fought to shake off. And of course Kinu's death. While not yet twenty they had endured things that some people haven't by the age of thirty and this gave them a special resilience, a toughness and a closeness that some couples never have.

Some days there was such a burning intensity, an animal aggression in their lovemaking that it scared even them. Seiji would some mornings wake up and his back would be sore. In the shower room mirror he would see blood and scars on his shoulders, bruises on his neck. The scary thing was that Shizuku, when he showed her his battered flesh, wouldn't remember causing the wounds, even though, when she looked under her fingernails, she would find there his dark clotted blood. There were times when the powerful waves of pleasure he caused in her were so intense she would scream. Sometimes what he did to her made her scream more than once before he was still. If it was late at night the people next door would bang on the wall and the two of them would collapse into fits of laughter. On other days they might come together so slowly and gently and peacefully that Shizuku might feel she could go to sleep in his arms before he'd finished. Their passion knew both extremes and they seemed to not be in control of it. They did not understand what this meant. They just knew that these early days of their marriage were special days, days when their bright horizon knew no clouds, no darkness could be seen at the end of this summer day and no shadow took away the heat of the burning sun of their joy and innocence.

-oOo-

Those times were ending though. The change would be gradual and would come slowly over the years, but nonetheless, come it would.

-oOo-

One Saturday late in September they called at the art shop and Anna-Marie was so pleased to see them. She came out from behind her desk, her face painfully alight with happiness. She shut up the shop at once and took them out for lunch. She talked endlessly about all sorts of things; her business, the shop renovation, uncle Anton's garden, a new suit she'd bought. She talked on and on bubbling over the whole time and laughing far too much. Seiji and Shizuku hardly spoke. Afterwards he said to her:

"Why is she so unhappy?"
"Do you think she was?"
"Yes. She spoke all the time, she was hiding something I think."
"Loneliness, I expect. She said to me on the phone, the day her mother died, that she was lonely. I think I need to come and see her more often. Or – why don't we invite her round for dinner one day soon? It doesn't have to be anything special I think she'd appreciate the gesture."
"Fine by me. She definitely needs to be around people more."

A couple of weeks later Shizuku phoned her and asked where her mother was buried, and would she mind if she visited the grave. Anna said she would take her to the cemetery herself. She went every two weeks or so and would be going again Saturday, if she'd come to the shop in the late morning? Seiji was (again) at the workshop that morning but she asked him if he'd like to go with them and he said yes, he'd be there at the shop in time.

When he arrived he was carrying a violin case.

"Why did you bring that?"
"All finished. Last night. But this morning I did a final check and tried her out."
"Number twelve?"
"Uh-huh."
"Seiji, you've made a whole violin since you've been here – in six weeks?"
"Mm. I won't do that again for a while, it was too much hard work but I wanted to do this to see what I could do."
"All those early starts and late evenings were because of this?"

He had hoped she'd be pleased. He had poured so much of himself into this one, these past weeks.

"Hm. I know what you're thinking."
"Please don't do that again unless you have to. I want to see more of you. If the Signore insists then that's different but volunteering our time away is something I don't agree with."

Her words deflated him. He opened the case and showed her the instrument. She still wasn't experienced enough to know what to look for in a good violin, to her it looked pretty but it was just a violin.

"Shizuku. She is my first Italian violin. I made her under his instruction, this is made in ways, using techniques I didn't know in Japan. And I'm getting better. I know she's good."

She was unimpressed. Had she known then how much he would eventually sell it for, she would have been less hard on him.

The cemetery was a huge municipal one, stretching acres across a low hillside a mile or two outside the city. There were well tended lawns, fruit trees and hedges to break the space up into more intimate sections. But that didn't disguise how vast the field was. The dead in their thousands lay under here and whenever she was near the dead she was reminded of grandpa and of Kinu. Anna parked the car and led them fifty yards to a grave marker exactly like many of the others. Shizuku was shocked to see the lady bend down and clear away some grass and leaves, lay fresh flowers all the time talking to the lump of stone in the present tense. Like you'd talk with a friend when you popped next door to borrow some milk. She could hear her telling her mother how the plants in the garden were doing, what her cat had been up to and about a picture she'd sold the day before. This wasn't right and Shizuku thought of Seiji years ago unable to move on after grandpa had gone. Anna had no friends, no-one to get her to move on. Shizuku decided it would have to be her. She didn't begrudge that, it would be an honour to help this lady who had been so kind to her, but she thought again how lucky they were to have each other to lean on when things didn't go well, when here was a person who had no-one. It had been sixteen months since Luisa had died and Anna should not be like this.

She looked at the grave stone. They were all there, all four of them: Waltrun, Leopold, Rinaldo, Luisa. There was a blank space lower down the stone. Enough space for Anton and Anna-Marie, she thought. This was depressing, she didn't want to be here. Anna stood up and now Shizuku knelt and laid her flowers on the grave. She found she had no emotion in her at all. This was just a lump of rock under which was just earth, and things returning to earth. There were no people here. Their spirits were elsewhere. Anna was silly to talk to them here. She could talk to them anywhere, at any time of the day or night. Fixating on this place wasn't healthy.

"Excuse me Anna, can I have the car keys? I left something in there."
"Of course, Seiji. Here."

Shizuku heard his firm footfalls recede down the gravel path. She stood. She wanted to open a conversation with Anna but the names on the grave held her lips closed. Later, talk to her later. The two women stood in a companionable silence. Shizuku looked up at the trees. Their leaves were just beginning to colour brown at the edges. The chlorophyll in their veins was receding back into the branches and the trunks, to wait there as winter came. To wait for the spring. Autumn was coming. Another year over. Seiji returned. She glanced up at him. He carried the new violin. Without a word of explanation he stood a little way from the grave marker, from the two women and began to play. This was another tune she didn't know, another pale, gentle, melancholy sound. She wondered when he had the time to write. He didn't seem to have the time at home and she knew he had worked like a demon in the workshop, so when had he written this? The tune was subtle – when it began it made you think it was a sad one. It dwelt for a while on things lost, things that were over and dead. It ached for love now gone. But part way through the theme changed ever so slightly, it lifted and there was hope underneath, it came gently out, like a young bird first time from its mothers nest. It moved cautiously and then, at the end, it spread its wings, sang with joy and flew across the cemetery. Shizuku looked up again and felt it pass, she saw again the dying trees and this time saw not an ending but the signs of life waiting for rebirth, for a new beginning. She felt calm and even expectant. Luisa had once said his talent was wasted making violins, that he should play. Today Shizuku wondered seriously if he should do neither but should be a writer. There was a sound next to her. Anna-Marie was blowing her nose. The older woman looked at him,

"Seiji. Thank you, that was wonderful. Did you write that?"
"Hm. Some years ago. I've not played it for a long time."
"When did you write it?" Shizuku asked him
"Just after grandpa died. You don't know but a couple of times I went to his grave and played it. That was early on, when I was confused and upset and didn't understand the pain."
"It's beautiful. Thank you for playing it," said Anna.
"It's better now, I've changed a few things and it ends better. It says now what it should have said first of all but my heart wasn't in it the first time. I think…"

he paused, Shizuku rarely saw him like this, with emotion like this on his face,

"I think it works here too. Because they were friends, so I thought I'd play it."
"Thank you," Anna looked at him levelly, carefully, "Did you know that my mother talked about you a lot, Seiji?"
"No. About what?"
"Well, because you were Shirou's grandson. She had an interest in you through him, projecting her wishes and hopes I suppose."
"What did she speak about?"

Shizuku suddenly felt an edge in his voice.

"Do you remember when we came to Tokyo, and we stayed with you for some time after his funeral? I remember you didn't seem to be around much, you were always out. At school, and after school out on your bike, I think. But Luisa spent a lot of time talking to your mother and father. Through me, since she knew only German and Italian. My English is fair and of course your parents know some so we got by."

Seiji was looking carefully at her, his eyes fixed her in his bright gaze. Not that long ago, a few years back, Shizuku thought, this kind of conversation would have been difficult for him. He would have been embarrassed and stared at his feet. But look at him now. A different man. She saw the confidence in his eyes, in the whole way he held himself. Anna went on.

"And when she was very ill, in the hospital, in those last weeks of course we talked about lots of things. She told me she wanted you to hear this. She spoke with your mother and father, particularly with your mother. You see, your mother was close to her father. There were things he shared with her that he didn't share with his son in law, that he didn't share with anyone. So my mother found out a lot about you, your hopes and dreams, your motivations. Your fears. Oh, no need to look surprised," she smiled, "Shirou knew what was going on in your head. He saw your self-denial. So did your mother because he confided in her. They did love you, you know and care about you and talk about you. They didn't want you to be hurt. Luisa told me that when you were here the following year – that would have been 1996 I think? That she was able to use what she'd found out from your mother. Use it to help you. And when she was in hospital mother told me that she wanted you to know. I think it was because she was still in love with Shirou over all those years. She never quite forgot him, or let him go. And in you she saw him. Do you see?"

Seiji nodded at her. He had perhaps worked this out for himself.

"So, well, there you are. She wanted you to know."

For long moments Seiji was quiet. By way of reply all he did was lift the violin to his chin again and play. It was the same tune as before but this time he didn't just play it. He lived it. He believed it. He dug down deep into it and hurled it out so that the young bird of hope this time didn't come out cautiously and uncertainly but soared up with strong wings, with power and grace. And this time Shizuku cried. He finished. Both women now were wiping their noses and had red eyes.

"Come on," he said, "how about some lunch? I'm buying."

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21 & 23 January 2007

For author notes about chapter 35 see my forum (click on my pen name)