Sacrificed: My sister gave me

her voice. So now

it is my honor to speak for her.

---Yureiko Tsuruta Crane.


I set myself a goal for the day: that when Jun-san returned I would greet him in English and tell him how glad I was he was home without simply parroting the phrases. I was determined to understand what I was saying, if not his reply and to that end I applied myself. However, English seemed to me to be a very poorly organized language. One should be able to determine plurals from the context without changing the words according to treacherously inconsistent rules. Why should the plural of 'cat' be 'cats' while the plural of 'fox' was 'foxes'? Once I had learned that the rule to pluralizing a word which ends in 'x' was to add 'es' then along came 'ox', the plural of which was 'oxen'. 'Goose' became 'geese' according to another rule, and once I had accepted that all plurals are different from the singular, I tripped over 'sheep', which serves whether there was only one or a whole flock. Why have rules if there are more exceptions than adherences?

I feared the only easy way to learn a language was to start in the cradle. It was a great pity that my powers as a kami did not include universal understanding. I could have used it.

Yet I persisted. I promised Jun-san I would begin seriously studying English while he was out, but even if I had not done so, I would still have given my whole attention to it. What other choice did I have? Anywhere I went in the world I would be a foreigner, and nowhere more so than in Japan, for it was not my Japan and had not been for centuries. Here in Gotham City, people would make allowances for my differences because, after all, I had not been born here. In Tokyo everyone would know I was a stranger--or at any rate, they would think that I was very strange... This house was so quiet when Jun-san wasn't there. I had never, in my former life, been alone, not physically alone. Emotionally alone, very much so, especially on Kokomun-to, but even when I was confined to my futon there was always a servant within vocal range. Jun-san's house was set up so there was little or no need for a servant in terms of labor.

Yet a servant is not merely a machine for washing dishes and getting clothing clean and dry. A servant is a person, someone to talk to. I had not realized until now how isolated I was in this house. Of course, unless by some miraculous chance a servant could be found who spoke Japanese, I would not be able to talk to her, and I did not know if Jun-san's means would extend to hiring a servant.

But if not a servant, then what company could I find here? I could not befriend the neighbors for lack of a common language. Best of all would be a baby, a baby who would fuss and coo and wail and babble--and someday learn to talk, if it lived. Yet even if that were possible, a baby would be many months in coming.

A pet, perhaps? Jun-san had brought home those goldfish. While beautiful to look at, they did nothing to break the silence. I had seen people walking their dogs up and down the street, and a cat sunning itself in a neighbor's window, but even a little bird in a cage, a bird that would flutter and chirp as I studied or cooked, would brighten the long days while he was gone.

A cup of tea would make my mental exertions more bearable. I got up, went to the kitchen—and stopped, for someone was knocking on the front door. I melted into the air, soundlessly went to see who it was, and I was not surprised to see Kemp. Had I not predicted as much? Near him, Naomi-san's ghost hovered, a grim and silent shade, helpless in her rage, awaiting a time that might be many years in the future.

He knocked and called greetings in both Japanese and English. Of course I did not answer him. He tried again, but when he got no reply after his second attempt, he left the porch and went around the side of the house to the kitchen door. Issuing through the cracks, I followed him, as unseen and unpercieved as Naomi-san. He peered in each window he passed--it was a shame that in this form I had no more substance than air, for I would have liked to bounce a pebble off his ear, to teach him what came of peeping in people's windows. At the back door he knocked and called again. Eventually he gave up, and I thought he would leave, but I was wrong. He fetched a bag he had left behind a bush, and returned to crouch on the garden path beside the bench where I had brought him refreshment the day before.

The first item he removed from the bag was a blanket, which he folded into a kneeling pad. The next was a soul tablet with my name on it, my full name, except that he had spelled my milk-name wrong. My godparents saw fit to burden me with 'Lovely Child of a Hundred Spiritual Perfections', but he had written the kanji for 'Ghost Child'. Admittedly they are very similar in sound, 'Yureiko' and 'Yū-reiko', and perhaps a person who was not Japanese born would not know the difference, but--when I thought about it, it was actually quite appropriate.

After that he brought out a small incense holder and a stick of incense, lighting it with some odd device before putting it in place. A dish of tangerines followed, and then a plate upon which he arranged some moon-cakes, the kind that are filled with sweet red-bean paste. Now I knew what he was doing. He was making a spirit offering to my soul, which I found disturbing, considering that he was obsessed with me. Next he brought forth a small flask of sake and a jade vessel which looked to me like a water container from someone's writing set. Moreover, I suspected I knew whose writing set it was--my honored ancestor, the authoress Lady Shikibu Murasaki. However did it come into his possession? I burned to know the answer.

He filled the container with sake and placed that before my soul tablet as well. Putting his palms together in an attitude of prayer, he spoke.

"Suzume Murasaki, most exalted and noble lady, this wretch implores you to hear the entreaties of one who has spent his life in adoring you. In the mythology of the Greeks, the god of love shoots divine arrows into the hearts of the unsuspecting, causing them to fall in love with one another. Your embroidery needle must have been made of that same metal, for when I read the words you sewed into that jacket which you gave the scholar Junaemon, they pierced me, transfixed and transfigured me. Since then I have sought you everywhere, and found only echoes and traces of you, in the autumn leaves of Kyoto's temples, in the brocade of an obi, the curve of a tea-scoop. Desperate as I was, I even thought I had met with your reincarnation, but Naomi Miyabe was no more you than the reflection of the moon in a pond is the heavenly orb above."

Tears spilled out of his eyes to course down his face. "Now, though, I sense your presence. You are here, near me, within that house, within your dowry chest. I plead with you to come forth, to come to me. If you must haunt this earth, I beg you to haunt me. Whatever form you take, whether you be violent or calm, I welcome you. Abide with me in this life, and bring me the joy I can find in no other presence."

I was revolted, even nauseated by this obscene worship he was vomiting forth in words, but--it was sincerely felt. I could not, would not, would never requite him, yet I was moved almost to pity him.

Then Naomi, who I had momentarily forgotten, put her lips to my ear--I felt her--and said, 'Elder sister, before you pity him, please hear me---!'

She melted into me, and she/I/we remembered...

How happy I had been only a few weeks ago, because I was attending college at Oxbridge in England, England, the home of Shakespeare and Thomas Hardy, Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte and Arthur Conan Doyle. Fish had fins, birds had wings, and human beings had obsessions. All through the lonely years of growing up, the only girl in high school to be cursed with plantar warts, adenoids and ineradicable dandruff, secretly I had been Irene Adler, Elizabeth Bennett, Jane Eyre. Persuading my family to allow me to come here had been difficult, but now my glorious, hard won freedom was no longer bright with autumn colors, but changed into something like the dead, dull brown leaves torn from the oaks by the winds which bore a hint of winter's blighting breath. I had no freedom, for a smiling jailor dogged my every step. Kemp, who had seemed a fatherly friend in those first days of homesickness, when I knew no one, when I was just 'that Jap girl', who spoke such perfect Japanese, and was so understanding--

memories

memories of crossing the campus and rounding a corner only to bump into him, of going to a movie with friends, only to see his face in the flickering light several rows behind wherever I went, there he was I could not sleep for fear I would open my eyes and he would be there Icould not eat because he was somewhere nearby watching every bite I put in my mouth and I did not know what he wanted except I thought of ancient fertility rites where a priest flayed a young woman and then put on her skin

no help

no help anywhere

then confronting him whatever you want of me you can have only leave me alone

I want to show you my collection Come to dinner we'll talk about art and antiques

that's all you want?

that's all I want

And you'll leave me alone then?

you'll never see me again

The meal was disgusting, too heavy and rich, and I knew I would be sick later. He showed me some small art objects, mostly from the Edo period. Do you recognize any of these things?

that's a tea scoop, that's an obi, and that's a water container

no I mean do you remember having seen one of these exact pieces before?

No

Have another serving of rabbit.

Then stumbling to the toilet to splash water on my face, sitting down on the edge of the tub feeling my consciousness slip away.

Later.

white flash of light, soft pop. A flash bulb.

someone's taking pictures?

Flash

Trying to move. Stiff heavy clothing. A kimono?

but I was wearing a sweater and a skirt what am I doing in a kimono? It's not mine I've never seen it before.

flash

Trying to talk trying to protest and Kemp puts down the camera, putting a glass full of something icy cold and sweet to my lips

no I don't want a milkshake no thank you

Unconciousness again.

Later still: looking down on Kemp from the ceiling is this my bedroom what's he doing here who's that on my bed?

Oh.

Oh. It's me

I'm dead

Suddenly I was once again Suzume on the garden path behind Jun-san's house. There was a much older Kemp praying to me, and beside me hovered Naomi-san's ghost.

That was what he did to me. Elder sister, you are strong and I am weak. Help me. I have given you the only gift I can--in return, deliver him to me so I can rest. Her shade faded and dimmed, as though she were exhausted by our communication.

But what gift had she given me? Her memories?

I could not stand the sight of Kemp any longer. He defiled the bright day with his presence, polluted the garden with his foulness. I leaned over and hissed in his ear. 'I know what you did!' Although I was only air, air can make noises.

He started and looked around, wild eyed. He could see no one. "Su-Suzume? Beloved?"

'Get out. Get away from here. What do you imagine you are? Murdering, decayed, unclean--Do not dare to say my name again!'

"Suzume?" he asked, faltering and falling as he tried to stand.

"I told you not to say my name!" I mustered the greatest shout I could. Scrabbling to his feet, he gathered up that perverted spirit offering of his, shoving it back into the bag haphazardly before hastening away. I went back indoors, not bothering to look behind.

In the living room I stopped, because I could not believe what I saw--.

Jun-san's books.

I could read the words on their spines. I was looking at English and it made perfect sense to me. Applied Chemistry. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The Collected Works of William Shakespeare---. I took down the massive book of plays and turned to Romeo and Juliet. Reading aloud, I said, (the words sounding strange in my ears) "'Two households, both alike in dignity. In fair Verona where we lay our scene--." I could read English, I could speak it, I could understand it! This was Naomi-san's gift to me!

Now I really couldn't wait until Jun-san got home. He was going to be so surprised...


A/N: So, is it a cop-out or does it work? I apologize to those I haven't replied to at this time and especially to Beowulfwulf and Lauralot whose chapters I haven't reviewed (but I have read) Right now my surge protector is sizzling and I'm sure it's not supposed to do that so I am going off line until I can get another tomorrow. Took a few liberties with Suzume's milk name. See you all tomorrow unless my place burns down.

Update with an explanation: I should really have explained what a milk name was, but I was distracted by the crackling sound coming from my surge protector. (I've replaced it and the new one isn't making a sound so it's all okay now.) Brace yourself, because it takes some explaining:

The infant mortality rate in Edo Japan was very high. Something like two or three out of every ten babies born did not live out their first year, and it wasn't much better after that until a child was five or so. You may have noticed that Suzume, when she's thinking about having a baby, adds 'if it lived.' A lot of babies didn't. That was reality.

If they lived long enough to be weaned off breast-feeding, (they breast-fed much longer than we do, since they didn't have infant formula and bottles to fall back on) the chances were pretty good that they would live to grow up. So the first name a child was given was their milk name.

So why did they change the name after that?, you may be wondering. Names were held to be extremely important, especially in the upper classes. They reflected who the family was, and where that person stood in the birth order, and they incorporated part of the grandfather's name--it was a complicated formula they used to come up with a name.

Rather than give a frail newborn baby son the name that meant he was the firstborn and heir, only to have him die three weeks later, they would wait until they were pretty sure he would live. That was why they had milk names, and why they changed them later.

Some people changed names several times through their lives for various reasons. A samurai might change his after a famous victory in battle, to reflect where it took place or what he did. Artists would change it as their styles developed and matured. The artist we know as Hokusai (you're probably familiar with his picture 'The Great Wave'), toward the end of his life, called himself 'The Old Man Who's Insane About Painting' Hokusai means 'Artist of the North Star', an earlier name he went by.

Then people did have nicknames and names that only friends and family used. So there you have it.