Chapter Sixteen - The Young Girl and the Sea
Upon fleeing her place of birth, young Calliope takes refuge on a faraway mountain shrouded in forested mist. There she lives amongst the animals and other strange creatures which roam this manless domain, never once removing the mask she had fashioned to hide her cursed beauty.
Why do you never remove your mask? Her companions asked her. Why do you hide your face?
There is no mask, Calliope would say. This is my face.
A powerful feeling of inevitability would arrest Homura's heart whenever she reached this part of the story.
The inevitability which gripped those halcyonic summer days in Mitakihara was much the same. Asami did not tell Homura the reason for her tears in the grove that night, nor did Homura ask. Instead the two of them chose to live in willful ignorance of the dark void that had appeared between them, like two blind sailors circling a whirlpool.
Mornings spent laughing over breakfast and long walks by the river. Evenings spent in isolated parks, making up stories to tell one another. Tender nights spent in lovemaking. This was how Homura chose to spend the last summer of her childhood. She did her best to love Asami as fiercely as her young and inexperienced heart would allow. She wanted to need Asami, as much as she needed to want her.
Yet the vacant expression which sometimes arrested Asami's face appeared ever more frequently. The unknown something which had terrified Homura into turning a blind eye grew harder to ignore with each passing day, and it was with conviction that she realized their current arrangement could not last.
Summer ended with a sudden abruptness, and it came time for Homura to search for a new roommate. On an uncharacteristically cool day in August she moved into her new place, a cramped apartment painfully far from Asami's.
There she met Sakura Kyouko, another first-year from Kazamino. The girl seemed rather withdrawn and brooding. An air of unapproachability surrounded her, accented by the shock of red hair covering her head. Homura had a feeling they would not get along.
When the fall semester began, Homura found herself overwhelmed by her new classes and campus life. Mitakihara University was a renowned educational institution; it took all she had just to stay afloat in her studies. Asami was similarly busy with her own responsibilities, so during the week it was typical for them to only speak on occasion.
It was foolish of her, but Homura never took the opportunity to talk to other people or make new friends during her first semester. She was simply uninterested in anyone other than Asami, and saw time spent with others as counterproductive and meaningless. Homura had the urge to stay as close to Asami as possible, possessed as she was by the inexplicable fear that her lover would suddenly vanish.
Asami seemed to slip in and out of her life like sunlight on a cloudy day. Sometimes she was preoccupied with her many friends, or other times her mood would suddenly darken and she would become silent and unapproachable. Occasionally they did not see each other for weeks on end.
Regardless, Asami's disposition seemed to improve as the semester progressed. Homura came to realize it was because the girl was looking forward to her impending semester abroad. Whenever Asami spoke about the United States she had a look in her eye so familiar it was like looking in a mirror. They were the same eyes Homura must have had each day in the old library, the same eyes Asami had when she spoke of her father.
Homura had given up everything she had ever known so she could be with Asami. Nobody in her life had loved her like Asami had, and she had never loved someone as she loved Asami. She did not pursue friendships because she viewed them as a waste of time, both for herself and others. Homura had never thought of herself as someone meant to enjoy many fulfilling relationships, and considered herself fortunate just to have Asami.
So she did her best to turn a blind eye to an encroaching reality. In hindsight, her self esteem and mental soundness were at their lowest during these times. Nearly everything contributed to her anxiety, and it seemed even the gods themselves were mocking her. On one particular afternoon her literature professor referenced The Tale of the Heike, specifically its central theme of mujo (無常), the impermanence of all things.
Homura was sure Asami noticed at least some of her misgivings at the time. But even so the girl never acknowledged them, and Homura was afraid to broach the topic. She could not bring herself to willingly do something that would cause her heartbreak.
But all things must pass, and eventually she could bear it no longer. On a muted day in November the two of them rented a small boat to take along a quiet stretch of the river. Once they were far enough from the shore Homura reached for her lover, and before she could help herself she had spoken.
"Asami," she said, "Who is she?"
Madoka was waiting for Junko when she rose from her sleep. Junko entered the kitchen and found her daughter seated at the table, a cup of black coffee at the ready.
"Good morning," the girl said. "Do you have some time today?"
The two of them climbed into the car and left the house. Junko asked Madoka where she would like to go, but her daughter appeared indifferent. Rather than decide on a destination arbitrarily she opted to drive steadily uptown, trusting an interesting place would show itself in due time.
After a while they left behind the towering skyscrapers that formed Mitakihara's silhouette. The buildings became smaller and more sparse, giving way to a large grove of cherry trees that stood by the river. Junko parked near the entrance of the grove and the two of them exited the car, tasting the warm morning air.
Their shoes crunched against dry summer grass as they entered the trees' embrace. This time Madoka led the way forward. Soon enough they were surrounded by dark green leaves and outstretched branches, as if the outside world had become but a memory. Occasionally they happened upon a family or a young couple enjoying a stroll through the grove, but Madoka always made sure they kept their distance.
"I came here in the spring," her daughter said, without turning to face her. "With a friend, to see the cherry blossoms. I wish you could have been there. They were so beautiful, it took my breath away. I might have fallen in love that day, just a little bit."
Junko smiled. "What's this? Has my daughter finally started to become interested in boys?"
She caught the ghost of a smile on Madoka's face. "I wasn't with a boy."
Junko blinked, but Madoka was already walking ahead. She hurried to catch up.
"I wanted to talk to you about something," Madoka said. "But now that we're here, I'm not sure how I should go about it. I can't seem to find the right words."
"You know you can tell me anything."
"I know," Madoka said. She turned to face Junko. "I know. Mama, I…" her voice trailed off then, and she seemed arrested by a sudden emotion. In the end she said nothing more and continued walking through the grove.
Soon they reached the river that ran alongside the trees. From there they could see the pier they had visited together not too long ago. They sat side by side on the riverbank and watched the boats dart across the water.
"So what is it you wanted to talk about?" Junko asked.
Madoka stared at the grass beneath her feet. "I wanted to talk about us. About Papa, and Tatsuya. About everybody. I…"
"Yes?"
Their eyes met. Madoka tried to continue, but the words would not come out. After a while she shook her head and lowered it, hiding her face.
Junko touched Madoka's shoulder. When the girl looked up again, tears had formed in her eyes. Her breathing had become labored. Junko reached out and held her daughter tightly, stroking her hair.
"Madoka...Madoka, what's wrong? What's gotten into you?"
But Madoka abruptly rose to her feet, pulling herself from Junko's grasp. Her mother watched as she fled to the edge of the water, so close that the tips of her shoes became wet. Junko stood up herself and waited as her daughter stared at the boats for a while longer, taking deep shuddering breaths. The summer wind played with Madoka's hair, longer than it had been in years. For a moment she seemed much older than Junko remembered.
Then the wind died down, and all was quiet. The boats in the distance danced like mayflies over a pond. And the sun, high above and all seeing, felt awfully cold for summer.
At last Madoka found herself able to speak.
"I saw something several months ago," she said. "And I've been agonizing over it all this time. I thought about saying nothing. I think I just didn't want it to be true. But if I did that, nothing would ever change."
She turned to face her mother. Hot tears, heated by the agony burning in her heart, streamed down her cheeks. Junko recalled thinking she had never seen such an expression on her daughter's face, not once in the eighteen long years they had known each other.
The riverside held its breath as Madoka spoke her next words.
"I know, Mama. I know you're cheating on Papa."
Asami's decision to depart for Mitakihara was one born of desperation. She thought that perhaps by throwing everything away and moving to a faraway city, she could become a new person with a new life.
She put her utmost into making friends upon entering university, and soon found herself surrounded by many people. Despite this, she felt dissatisfied and unhappy. She came to realize her current life was no different than the one she had led back in her hometown. Having left everything behind, she felt anxious to find something to show for it. She did not want it all to have been for nothing.
In the fall of her first year, Asami was visiting an art museum with her friends when she was separated from them by the crowd. After escaping from the crush of people, she decided to wander on her own until she found them.
A woman sat alone on a bench inside a chamber hidden away from the main hall. A single large oil painting was displayed on the far wall, which she seemed to be analyzing intently.
Asami sat at the far end of the bench and observed the painting. It was a landscape of a young girl staring out over the vast expanse of the sea. The canvas was dominated by short, powerful brushstrokes, the sea a brooding gray. And yet surprisingly, not a single cloud resided in the sky. The young girl's hair, swept up by the wind, hid the contours of her face.
After a while the woman leaned over to her. Do you think the girl is thinking about leaving on a journey, she asked, or is she waiting for someone?
Asami remembered this question very vividly. But for the life of her she could not recall what she ultimately told the woman sitting beside her. It was such a glaring hole in her memory that she was convinced she had forced herself to forget it.
Their first meeting was rather brief. They spoke fleetingly about art, a subject in which the woman seemed well versed, before one of Asami's friends happened upon them. Before they parted, the woman introduced herself as Sunako.
Sunako was a third year at Mitakihara University, two years ahead of Asami; an exchange student from the United States, she had come to study business finance in preparation to succeed her father's enterprise. While on campus the two of them would cross paths on occasion, until Asami finally decided to formally invite her upperclassman for coffee.
It was not atypical of her to do so at the time. One did not make many friends by standing idly by, after all. But she was not so naive as to pretend this was an ordinary invitation. She felt herself inexplicably drawn to Sunako, in a manner so powerful it startled her.
Sunako was well studied, as well as extremely knowledgeable about the arts, books, and especially music; she wrote her own compositions on her own time, and had even published a few. She seemed to listen to everything, from Chopin to Matsubara Miki to the Beatles. Though when Asami asked why Sunako did not pursue a degree in music instead of finance, Sunako simply smiled and said it was not so simple.
Her upperclassman seemed the type to only say what she thought necessary, and only do what had to be done. Sunako never appeared stressed or lacking for time. In fact she seemed to live life at whichever pace she preferred. If Asami were pressed, she would be willing to describe her senior as a bona fide genius. She was simply that remarkable.
As a result, Sunako had a great many admirers; several of the women on campus fawned over her, particularly in Asami's year. And yet Sunako was almost always alone. Asami could only conclude that it was because her upperclassman preferred solitude, for she had no shortage of opportunity for companionship. She appeared content to be by herself.
Sunako seemed to live in her own far off world. Occasionally she would become so wrapped in thought that she did not seem to notice Asami at all. Sometimes she would reply to messages at the most bizarre hours (five in the morning on Christmas, for instance), or otherwise disappear without a trace for weeks. In one particular instance, Asami was between classes when she saw Sunako dozing beneath the peach tree that grew outside the literature department, evidently unbothered by the frigid winds sweeping across campus.
But perhaps those oddities were what gave the woman a certain charm in Asami's eyes. Sunako was, after all, celebrated for her strangeness rather than derided for it. And she certainly did not care in the slightest what others thought of her. Asami was sure that even if Sunako were hated by all the world one day, she would live her life as if nothing had changed.
As time passed, she came to admire Sunako's unwavering nature. Part of her thought it may have been fate that they met at an art museum; perhaps they shared a reverence for things that had stood the test of time.
And so it was not long before Asami fell deeply in love with Sunako, her senior who possessed with a simple grace all that Asami wished she was. But with her admiration for her upperclassman came a feeling of inadequacy, that she would not be able to keep Sunako for herself. After all, the woman had so many suitors, and her father's enterprise in the United States beckoned.
Because of this Asami began to feel a desire to possess Sunako, for fear of losing her. For the first time, the prospect of saying goodbye to someone terrified her. As a result, Asami confessed her feelings at the close of the fall semester. A knowing look crossed Sunako's face when the words left Asami's lips, who thought her confession would surely be rejected.
But instead Sunako smiled, and accepted her feelings.
Their romance was brief and tumultuous. In spite of her erratic tendencies, Sunako always set aside time for Asami and put forth genuine effort to love her. It was from Sunako that Asami learned all she knew of sex and intimacy. And like Homura, she too wondered who had loved Sunako before her, who had been the one to begin the cycle they all found themselves trapped in, if it even had a beginning at all.
Spring arrived and disappeared like a tired sigh. On a gentle morning in March the two of them visited the grove of cherry trees uptown, where Sunako took the photo that would be included in that month's letter to Homura.
When summer came, Asami could hardly bring herself to pick up her pen at all. Her mind was occupied by thoughts of Sunako's impending departure. Having completed her education, she would be departing for the United States before the cherry trees began to shed their leaves. And given the nature of Sunako's commitments there, Asami did not imagine they would ever meet again.
Yet it was not their separation which harrowed her, so much as the thought that Sunako would be no different for it. She did not feel, after their short time together, that their relationship had changed her upperclassman in any meaningful way. Sunako, she was sure, would continue straight onward like an arrow. And she was like the wind, struggling to cling to that arrow even as it split her in two.
A powerful feeling of inevitability gripped those halcyonic summer days in Mitakihara. Part of her wondered why, if all she had wanted was a forever person, she had allowed herself to fall in love with Sunako in the first place.
On the morning of Sunako's departure, when they reached the airport gate, Sunako turned and placed a warm hand on Asami's cheek.
With a knowing expression she wished Asami goodbye, and told her to become her own person.
They were the very same words Asami's father had said to her years ago. She could not describe why, but her heart broke upon hearing them from Sunako. It was the last thing her upperclassman ever said to her.
And then she was alone. Sunako disappeared from Asami's life as suddenly as she appeared in it, like sunlight on a cloudy day. She would spend the following year living the life she had led before meeting Sunako, now more dissatisfied than ever. She passed that year applying herself diligently, hoping to become someone worthy of standing by Sunako's side.
Yet even as she submitted her application to study abroad for her final semester, Asami knew that all her efforts could be for naught. And she became afraid that she would return to Mitakihara empty handed once more.
It was under such circumstances that she finally opened Homura's last letter, and came to learn of the girl's intention to apply to the university. For a moment she thought that she ought to throw the letter away, or else call Homura to dissuade her, to free the girl to live her life as she pleased. But she then felt that doing so would be meaningless, as it was a choice Homura had made of her own free will, just as Asami had chosen to love someone beyond her reach.
After Sunako had left, Asami wandered the city and ended up at the art museum where they had first met. Once she was inside she sat on the bench across from the oil painting hung on the wall, where the young girl continued her diligent observance of the sea.
Junko was stunned into silence. It lasted long enough to become uncomfortable, and after several moments she found herself chuckling awkwardly.
"What? What are you on about?" She said, unconsciously squeezing the pack of cigarettes in her pocket.
"I saw you with him." The wind scattered Madoka's tears across the riverbank. "First outside the salon, then at the Terrace. Sasaki Arata. That's his name, isn't it?"
Junko met Madoka's eyes. A depth resided in those pink irises that hadn't been there before. She did not know when or how it had happened, but her firstborn was no longer a child.
She remained silent for a long while, using her thumb to slowly count the cigarettes left in her pocket.
Madoka raised a clenched hand to her chest. "Please, Mama. Be honest with me."
Those words seemed to break the mask covering Junko's face, and at last her expression became stricken. Her form shrank as she slowly took a seat on the grass, resting both arms on her knees.
She watched the river for a long time, eyes slowly tracking the spine of the horizon. In the reflection of Junko's irises Madoka could see the sun, casting stark shadows across the woman's face.
Finally, Junko closed her eyes.
"Yes," she said. "I am."
The riverbank was so quiet the two of them could hear the breath of the earth. A softly colored bird, smaller than the palm of a hand, alighted upon a tree nearby and watched them.
"Why?" Madoka murmured.
"Why?" Junko echoed. "Why...I'm not so sure."
She fell silent, picking at the grass beside her. A boat sounded its horn in the distance.
"You're not sure?" Madoka repeated. "Mama, do you know how difficult these past months have been for me? I had to pretend, every time I saw you, to pretend nothing was wrong. I thought if I said something, I'd tear our family apart. And then Tatsuya, he'd be all alone. Have you thought about that at all?"
She did not shout, but Junko flinched at her daughter's words. The woman's fingers dug into the dirt beside her, scoring deep lines in the earth. "I have. I've thought about that, and so much more."
"Then why?" Madoka begged. "What makes that man so special? Do you not love Papa anymore?"
"I do!" Junko burst out, raising her head. "Madoka, I still love your father. And I love you, more than anything else in the world. But Madoka, my love, it isn't that simple. Even if I explained everything to you...no, you wouldn't accept it. You wouldn't understand."
"How can you say that? You haven't even tried." Madoka shook her head, wiping the tears from her eyes. "You always shut me out like this. Saying I won't understand. Things can't stay this way, Mama. It has to stop. You have to tell Papa the truth."
She approached her mother and grabbed her by the hand, pulling the woman to her feet. Junko shook her head and tried to break free, but Madoka's grip was firm.
"I'll go with you," she said desperately. "Papa will understand. Even if he doesn't, we'll talk it out until he does. You can't give up on him. Mama, I'm sure, if we just try to understand one another, we'll find a way."
"No. No, Madoka, that won't happen. Let me go."
"It doesn't have to be like this. I-"
"I said no!" Junko tore herself from Madoka's grip and retreated toward the line of trees behind her. The small bird that had been watching them took off in a panic. Madoka was left standing alone by the water, her hand still outstretched. After a moment it fell limply to her side.
Junko's fingernails were dirtied from when she had dug them into the ground. In her hand she held her pack of cigarettes, which she had subconsciously grabbed without her noticing. Her chest heaved slowly as she shoved them back into her pocket.
"Your father won't understand," she said. "He's never understood me. And I have no one to blame but myself. I know that, but even still, I can't do it. I'm sorry, Madoka. I'm not who you think I am."
Junko's mallow colored eyes glinted as they watched Madoka from beneath the shadows of the trees. In the shallow morning light her form was nondescript, as if her existence were merely a trick of the light; the woman before her wore her mother's face, but a foreign expression possessed those beloved features.
Behind them, the boats started to leave the river one by one.
Asami wordlessly turned the boat around and returned it to the shore. She led them both back to her apartment, where she carefully closed the door behind them.
And then she told Homura everything. About her early days in Mitakihara, about meeting Sunako and their subsequent relationship. She revealed it all in slow and careful detail, as if reading from a book held open in her hands. And so Homura came to realize that in all the time they had spent together, Sunako had not once left Asami's mind.
After she was finished, Asami knelt on the floor before Homura. She bowed her head low to the ground and begged forgiveness for her weakness. But then, she said, she knew she did not deserve even that.
Homura did not know what it was. Perhaps it was the fact that Asami saw their entire history as something to apologize for. Regardless, she felt an unfathomable rage awaken within her that night.
She did not remember clearly what happened afterwards. There was much shouting, and at many points they both shed tears. The pent of tension that had built up for the last two years released itself all at once. Occasionally they would fall into muted silences again, punctuated only by soft spoken words. Asami told Homura that she loved her. Homura told Asami that she loved her too. But whether that was before or after they tore into one another with the intention of inflicting as much pain as possible, Homura could not be sure. To her it felt like they were reliving the full spectrum of emotions they had ever shared together, not unlike the way one's life flashes before their eyes in their final moments. For this was, as she had no choice but to accept, the end for them.
The ordeal lasted a number of hours. By the end of it they were both exhausted. Homura sat at the coffee table with her head in her hands while Asami stood against the wall, her expression vacant. They had reached a point where saying anything more would only be a repetition of what had been said before. It was quite a strange feeling to realize there was truly nothing more to be said.
Homura left Asami's apartment that night without saying a word. She spent the next several weeks confined to bed without the will to leave. And she began to wonder, in the depths of the darkness that had infiltrated her mind, what this had all been in service of. Never once had it occurred to her that the girl would fall for someone else while they were apart. But in hindsight, it seemed only natural that such a thing would occur. Asami was always chasing that impossible dream of hers. Whenever Homura caught up to her, she was already several steps ahead. It seemed all she ever did was chase her upperclassman, first across the country, then in heart and soul.
A deep agony would always return to her at this realization. But what else should she have done? How was she to know that someone like Sunako would exist? Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more her hatred for this mysterious Sunako grew. She hated Sunako with the very fibre of her soul. To Homura she was nothing more than a nebulous being, a nefarious concept that had destroyed everything Homura had ever held dear. If not for Sunako, none of this would have happened. If not for Sunako, Asami would be hers.
But on occasion, when she was exhausted from her grief and the sun was beginning to rise outside, Homura would admit to herself that none of this was Sunako's fault. In fact, in such moments she came to admire and idolize someone such as Sunako, who could captivate Asami so thoroughly. If only she could be like Sunako. If only she could become Sunako. Indeed, at the time she would have given up her very name and identity if such a thing were possible.
And despite it all, she still loved Asami. It felt like a curse, so that on some days Homura even came to hate how much she loved her upperclassman. On the day Asami left for the United States, Homura could not keep herself from going to the airport. She saw Asami off without a word, standing by the departure gate with her eyes fixed on the floor. And Asami, her face stricken with guilt, did not feel at liberty to do anything more than wish her goodbye.
Even once Asami was gone, her presence lingered in Homura's day to day life. She was no longer content to be in her own company as she was before. She became withdrawn and apprehensive of other people, afraid of what could potentially come to pass. Homura felt herself slowly becoming cold and distant from the world around her. It was not who she wanted to be, but she lacked the will to correct herself.
Time passed, and with it came the inevitable acceptance which was necessary for one to continue living. In Homura's case, she achieved this by convincing herself that she was at fault for what had happened. Asami had used her and thrown her aside because she was someone who was easily used. Such people existed in this world, and no amount of indignation would change this. She had a responsibility to herself to ensure it would never happen again.
Theirs was a world where people used one another to their own ends. Asami had been made to understand this from a young age, which must have been why she could not trust her father, could not trust Homura, or Sunako, or even herself to stand the test of time. Homura realized that she too had only used her mother and father until she found greener pastures to chase after, taking flight as soon as it became remotely feasible.
In truth, Homura deeply understood Madoka's pain at her mother's betrayal. She understood it so well that it disgusted her. She saw her old self in Madoka, someone naive and easily exploited. It occurred to her that this was how she must have appeared to Asami; immature, clumsy and predictable.
So Homura decided to harden her heart and take advantage of Madoka, because she believed at the time that it was simply the natural order of things. Or perhaps that was not really true. Maybe she had been hoping, deep inside, to find some justification for Madoka's naiveté, and by extension her own. In writing Madoka's story, perhaps she had been searching for a way to forgive herself, or at the very least confirm the lessons Asami had taught her.
But in the end, she was unable to go through with it. She had no choice but to admit to herself that she did not wish to lead such a bleak and pointless existence, where nobody could be trusted and everyone possessed the capacity for treachery. Even if this were an unavoidable truth of their world, she still wished for someone to show that there was a way to live at peace with it.
Maybe it was too much like a fairy tale, but she had always hoped Madoka would save her one day.
A/N
First off, apologies for the long delay. It seems even a monthly upload schedule is too much for little old me to handle.
This chapter concludes the "Asami arc," and begins the final stretch of the story. We are finally within spitting distance of the end.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and look forward to any thoughts you may share in the reviews. I do read them all, and I really do appreciate them.
-Banshee
