Part Fourth – Summer – Chapter Nine
The coolness of spring was receding in the face of summer. The skies were bluer, the sun brighter. Soon it would be the holidays – one year ago, those holidays had brought so much change to all of our lives.
I scrawled all over the book on my desk, swinging my legs. I could feel the sun on my neck, and counted the drops of sweat on the nape of the person in front of me, but I wasn't hot myself. The last lesson of the last day of the last week of the term – nobody was paying attention. There was anticipation in the air, and I fidgeted impatiently, waiting to get out of class.
Finally, the bell rang, the faithful, loyal bell. The teacher smiled, and wished us a good holiday, and there was a massive scraping of chairs as we all jumped up. Time to go.
I hurried along with the rest of the school to the exit, where I burst out into the afternoon. The holidays stretched out before me, the days and endless days of nothing and relief. I didn't know what I would do. I didn't have plans. I didn't have things to attend to. I sighed, blissful.
As I started out of the school gate, Mikagami fell into step beside me. I looked at him, and frowned slightly for his benefit. He often approached me and lectured me tirelessly on my eating habits. I loathed and loved these incidents. I didn't want anyone to stop me. But I wanted to spend time with him. And I could imagine that he did it because he cared for me.
When we sparred, tossing back and forth reasons why – why not – to eat, he pulled me apart and dragged his questions over my heart. We met, faced off, and debated. He knew that secret part of me, knew why I ate and why I didn't. He knew what motivated me and what scared me. He heard everything, except what I didn't tell him, because I couldn't tell him what I didn't know. There were so many things I didn't understand, and maybe he knew more than I did even. He was so perceptive. There were so many things I didn't tell him that he understood. If he could see that part of my soul that I could not, I thought, perhaps it was because he had the same soul. But who was I kidding.
"Please… Not today. Don't do this to me."
"Fuuko. Then stop it."
I sighed again, theatrically. "Why are you doing this? Why can't you just leave me alone?" Unconsciously I was trying to force him to say he cared, to say I mattered to him. At the same time I hated myself for doing it.
"Doesn't what I think mean anything to you? I… I'm begging you. Take care of yourself. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Which meant more to me? This – this obsession, or him? My heart twisted. Mikagami, that proud, remote warrior, humbled himself for me. And yet, maybe pride meant nothing to him. Maybe he was above even that, and his touching words, though they had the ability to move me, were to him just a means to an end. Suddenly I had an overwhelming sense of farce and travesty. All that mattered was beauty. Not the circus of relationships and all that sham.
"No. It doesn't. Go away, will you? Leave me alone. I don't want to go through this again. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I'm tired of hearing about this, this, this all the time from you. I'm sick of it."
He raised his eyebrows for a second. "Fuuko – "
"Go away! Just go away!" I was so mad. Even as the anger came I could feel it was illogical and unwarranted, but I let the redness wash over me. "Leave me alone!"
There was a moment of tenseness as my scream died off, echoing through my head. Mikagami's countenance was severe.
"Certainly," he said gravely. He slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out an envelope, handing it to me formally.
"I will be travelling to my summer residence at Nagaoka soon and will be remaining there for the duration of the holidays. In this packet is a train ticket; it is yours. But I will not wait. If you are coming, be at the station on time."
He flicked his ponytail and was gone.
"I…" My irritation deflated, leaving in its place a vague shame. "I don't understand you," I whispered, bewildered. "I don't understand you."
[Mikagami Tokiya]
She had yelled at me; I was pleased. With anger comes resolution, and I could believe I was getting through to her. So I passed her the extra ticket, knowing she would be there. I couldn't put the trip off any longer – I hadn't gone, the previous year – and I wanted to keep an eye on her. I admit, though, that it seemed a rather far-fetched reason to spend months alone with her.
I didn't know what she would think. That I felt for her perhaps, the way she felt for me.
I knew. Of course I knew, though she did not say. I would have been a fool not to notice, not to see the way she looked at me, not to hear it in her voice or in the gossip of others. And I was not a fool. I didn't care if she thought I liked her too, though I had no feelings for her.
Long ago I had decided that, if I loved someone, I would do it unreservedly, completely, and without question. It was the one event I would allow myself where I would not suppress my instinct and my emotion. First, though, I had to love someone. I thought I had loved Yanagi, but I didn't. Just as Fuuko thought she loved me but really didn't.
There was one thing I couldn't understand though. When she spoke to me, it was with the manner of a subordinate. Often I called her by her first name, while she never called me anything but the formal surname. Even the jesting 'Mi-chan' appellation had disappeared. Did she feel she was not good enough to speak to me as an equal, as a friend? I sensed there would be so much more she could tell me if she felt me an equal.
Philosophy is so funny a subject. It is formulated by observations on the nature of life, but itself affects the lives of those who subscribe to it. Was it then philosophy, if the life it was derived from was the life it affected? Was it valuable then? I believed so strongly in some things. But maybe, just maybe, what I believed was worthless, because only my belief gave it virtue. So was it meaningless, or otherwise? I struggled for an answer, for myself and for Fuuko.
I walked by a park, my route taking me past a large pond. For a moment I stood there, unmoving, watching the reflection of the trees in the water. A feeling of calmness came over me as I looked at the still movement. The water was a mirror that echoed the surroundings over and back into themselves, creating a corridor of endless symmetry. The scene was beautiful, despite the reflection, or perhaps because of it.
I reached down and picked up a pebble, and threw it into the middle of the pond, destroying the picture.
However, as I resumed my walk home, the shattered pieces shivered and reformed into reflection, unseen by anyone but the impassive sky.
[Kirisawa Fuuko]
The next few days passed as in a dream. I remained at home the whole time, persistent in a lyrical solitude. I was conscious of a rarefied sort of beauty; every movement I made, every thought I had, down to the minutest details, were charged with poetic exquisiteness. The gentle expressive sweep of my arm as I slid doors open, the soft light that played on the morning floor, the poignantly sweet melancholy of the books I read: all were charming, romantic, elegiac.
Even when I had accidents, like when I dropped a bowl on the floor, I was moved by the strange profound loveliness of the event: it was meant to happen, I felt, it was intended by the heavens and all that live beneath them to happen, simply because it was beautiful. It was beautiful; all was beautiful. I felt more spirit than flesh. And since all was beautiful, there was no beauty, though it existed in everything; there was only truth. Beauty only comes with the appointment of human emotion and rationale. Devoid of men, all things cease to have beauty, for only the perception of humankind bestows explicit items with aesthetic value.
Some strange joy had come over me; it was joy and sadness both. It was as if I had come out from depression over to the other side and found happiness, or passed over from happiness into sadness. It was all the same. It was as if I had been baffled in an endless muddle, but had now freed myself and burst out into the bright clarity of a new day.
I was floating, but not in the way of before, when I had merely hovered over experience: now I was flying through life, distilling only the finest and more exquisite senses of being. I was filled with verve, and the lack of it, and my eyes twinkled incessantly. I felt as if I had surpassed the mundane needs of humankind. I needed no sleep, no food, nothing. Even the moments where I felt restrained by depression were curiously profound. I needed nothing. Not even food.
He was behind me as soon as I paid the taxi driver, offering to help with my suitcase. He was polite and indifferent, every bit the cultured gentleman. Tipping the porter, he led me to the first-class lounge of the train station: I was impressed. As we waited for our departure he read a newspaper, holding it up rather than placing it flat on the table as I did, and crossed his legs.
I sipped a glass of water, watching people through the tinted glass windows. Sunlight fell blackened into the room, colouring all the corners with its subdued light.
This should be a vacation to look forward to. The two of us, alone and together for such a long time – it was a dream come true. Still, I was vaguely uneasy, for a corona of displeasure and disapproval radiated from Mikagami – the aloof posture, the stilted civility, the dignified manner. I knew I should have to apologize for shouting at him, but it seemed wrong, at this juncture anyway. Or maybe I was just too proud.
The trip would be fine, I told myself. It would be wonderful. I would see Nagaoka, a province I had never before been to. It was a lovely place, I was told, and steeped in history. It was the bastion of the Nagao samurai family, whose famous son Uesugi Kenshin had allied with the clans – the Hokage included – opposing Oda Nobunaga so long ago. The Kirisawa family had, in fact, been retainers to the Uesugi*, as had the Mikagami. But that was all really long ago and didn't mean a thing today. Most of all, though, I would be with Mikagami. I would get to know him better. And maybe, just maybe, we would…
"Fuuko." He stood above me. "Let's go."
Outside of the lounge, the station was much less pleasant. It was noisy and hectic, and the combined heat of the early summer and the press of people made it hot and uncomfortable, despite the air-conditioning. I had to hurry so as not to lose Mikagami.
Fortunately, he was familiar with the place, and confidently navigated the platforms, getting us onto our train without incident. I settled back in my plush seat for the ride. There was no fanfare, no long shrill whistle, to mark the moment when the carriage changed from stillness to motion, only a slow realization of movement. North, north, the tracks muttered as they passed beneath the train. North, further north than you have ever been. Though, I told myself, it was not actually that far north.
An odd apprehension faced me. We had just left the cold winter and spring months, and now it seemed I was heading back into them. Up north it was still chilly, and somehow I had become so much more sensitive to the cold.
I didn't quite know what to expect from the trip. It would be lovely to spend it completely with Mikagami, but I knew he had to study, and much of the time I would have to entertain myself. I was fine with that – he had given me a holiday, it was too much of me to expect any more.
In a way I felt embarrassed at accepting this enormous favour he extended to me. I was imposing on him, on his studying, on his home, on his time, on his life. It was a nuisance I shouldn't have become. In fact, I had almost declined his offer, but at the last moment, something – I know not what – made me accept it. And now that I had, I was determined to make the most of it.
I gazed out of the window in silence as the scenery raced by. The time dragged on, and we pulled into station after station, so many I could not remember their names. Each place we stopped at was an area with its own character and significance. Yet though I passed through them, I knew nothing of the lands I travelled. It was meaningless. It was as if I had dreamed them up, for they didn't seem real to me.
By the time we arrived at Tokyo station, dusk was falling. The dying sun drenched the city in deep hues of red, making it look as if each building were painted against a salmon sky. I could hardly breathe – it was absolutely gorgeous.
I was completely exhausted. There were so many things I felt I should think about – how I should behave towards Mikagami on this trip, consider why he invited me at all in the first place, ponder on the significance of travelling and all that – but I was too tired, and I didn't care. It didn't seem important. Philosophizing would not change the fact that I was there, with him, and what good would it do to think too much?
I seemed to be moving in some sort of half-conscious state as I lugged my bags from one platform to the next, all the time keeping my eyes locked on Mikagami's back, the one thing that kept me from getting lost in the busyness. I was drawing myself into the silent private places of my heart, uncaring of the things that were going on around me. An unheard music played in my head that was of the depths of my soul, a tuneless lyricism that nobody, not even I, could hear. My mind was still and quiet. It was right, it was meant to be, I kept saying to myself, as I settled down in the train for the journey to Nagaoka. But what was it that was right? What was it that was meant to be? I could not tell.
[Ishijima Domon]
The three of us that were left sat quietly in the park. Nearby, the voices of happy children chased the waning dusk. Hanabishi took Yanagi's hand and squeezed it in a gesture of comfort and reassurance I had seen many times the last summer break. She looked at him with an unspoken question in her eyes.
I knew what it was, because I wanted an answer too. (But Hanabishi did not squeeze my hand. Thank goodness for that.)
We all wondered about Fuuko. We each of us loved her in our own right. She was more than an acquaintance, more than a sister. She was part of us, and we all felt a closeness that was forged of fear and death during that tournament.
It hurt that she had shut us out of her life. She had shrunk into her soul, and sometimes she looked at us like we weren't even there. It was as if she didn't see us. In her world, we had ceased to be.
I think we were all a bit scared of her. We never knew how she would behave. Would she be outgoing and gregarious, as she was at times, or would she be silent and diffident? Why was she so cold to us? Had we done something to anger her? But we dared not ask.
I wanted her to reach out to me. I desperately wanted to help her. So many times before had we struggled together to overcome some adversary, but now she turned from me. I didn't understand her any longer. She was a different Fuuko from the strong, robust girl that played with me in my sandpit days. I couldn't recognize her.
What was happening to her? It scared all of us, because we could not understand it. We begged Mikagami to take her with him on his trip; he seemed to be the only person she would listen to. He agreed, not as reluctantly as we expected: he too was worried.
For once I hated that thing that was me, slow, boorish, stupid. Maybe if I were smart like Mikagami or something I would be able to help Fuuko. I couldn't understand her, or know what she was going through. I didn't know what was happening. I never knew what to say around her. That part of me that was sensitive wanted to take away all that sadness that I saw in her face. But I never said anything, because I didn't know what to say. I wanted to sit by her when she slept and guard her from herself. I wanted to give her courage and hope and friendship. But I was too stupid, and I couldn't do anything.
All I could do for now was hope. That Mikagami would be able to take care of her. That he would help her where we could not. That she would return smiling at us.
That she would find herself again.
[Kirisawa Fuuko]
I leant my head against the window of the train. The sun had slipped beneath the black earth, and the darkness turned the glass into a dim mirror that reflected the car in itself. I stared into my eyes, getting lost in the mix of light and darkness. Where was I going?
After the long journey from the suburbs up to Tokyo, the ride seemed mercifully short, being only about an hour and a half long. Mikagami sat straight-backed beside me, reading a magazine. Once in a while he would glance at me, but otherwise left me alone.
It should have made me so pleased to sit next to him, but for some reason it didn't. I was too tired to care, I think. I was just too tired. I longed for a bed, and warm soft sheets. I wanted to sleep.
I couldn't understand myself. For so long, for no reason, I had become immersed in a desperate despair. I was swimming through deep water it felt like. I was dancing through a sea that was cold and black and so familiar to me. The chill was seeping into me, into my skin, into my bones, into my heart. I wanted to escape and yet I didn't. I couldn't understand. What was this depression?
I felt my eyes start to prickle and water, so I closed them. I didn't want to cry and pity myself, it was weak and egoistic. Yet something in me was breaking, and it hurt, and I couldn't even put a name to it.
The movement of the train was slight, and I hardly realized that we had stopped. Mikagami folded up his magazine and stuffed it in his bag: time to go.
Suddenly I was aware that something was missing. It was that nagging feeling that I had forgotten something, or that I was going to leave something behind. I flung open my carry-on and rummaged through it; felt in the crevices in and between our seats, and searched the carpeted floor.
"What is it?" he asked.
" I lost something."
"What did you lose?"
I froze. Slowly I straightened.
"Perhaps I could help you find it. What did you lose?" he asked again.
I was stunned. "I don't know," I said.
What had I lost? I didn't know. I didn't know what it was, or how much it was, or how significant it was. I didn't know when I lost it. Was it any one definable moment, or was it a gradual fading away? I couldn't say. All I could tell was that it was gone, and that I felt empty without it. And I couldn't find it again.
I didn't see much of the city as our taxi swung through its streets but the flash after flash after flash of the street lamps. I was so exhausted, I could only rest my head against the glass and stare unseeingly out into the flying buildings.
Something like a fear passed over me. A fist in the pit of my stomach twisted, digging into my body. I was far from home, far from my family, far from everything I was used to. All I had was him. And yet I could feel safe with him, because of that unspeakable bond between all of us that faced death together at the tournament. I remember reading that soldiers who fought together in the great wars were driven to fight by their loyalty to their comrades rather than to their country, and that, having survived, there existed incredible love between them. When I felt alone I was comforted to believe that there were people who, though they may not understand me, loved me.
We stopped before an apartment building in what seemed to be a respectable area. Mikagami explained that the apartment was rented out most months of the year but summer, which was when he used it.
I struggled with my things down an endless corridor, and almost fell asleep as he unlocked the door. Tired, so tired, every fiber of my body weakly cried out. Let me rest. Even after Mikagami had disappeared with our bags, I still leant against the frame of the door, trying to find the energy to move away.
"Kirisawa – "
"Coming," I sighed, propelled to motion by the external voice. It was dim within the flat, with only a few lights turned on. All I got in my exhausted state was an impression of neatness and order and shining metal classiness, like a show flat. That, and the sparkle of the city lights spread out below the window.
Half-asleep, I have no idea how I managed to undress and wash up, but it was not a moment too soon that I flopped onto the lush bed and pulled the covers over me.
It was a mystery I never solved how a high-school orphan like Mikagami was able to own and maintain a residence such as this one, or how he had come about an income as large as his. Rich grandparents, perhaps, or an immense inheritance. I would never know, and it did not matter. He was more attractive as an enigma than he was explained.
I woke up that first morning long after the sun had risen. I was excited, and at the same time rather embarrassed that I had behaved so poorly the night before. But no matter.
The curtains were closed, like at the beginning (or the end?) of a stage performance. The room was cool and dark. Slowly I drew the drapes open, letting the summer sun in ray by ray. The view of the city in the morning was not half as breathtaking as it was at night; daylight was so much more cruel than the gentle orange glitter of the night-time city lights. The unfamiliar sprawl was dusty and grimy, the dullness broken here and there by grubby patches of greenery.
I wondered why I had come. Mikagami would be busy with his books the whole while, and I would have nothing to do and nobody to do it with. And of course there was that problem about eating. I couldn't eat in front of him. I just couldn't. Although he knew of my obsession, and had seen me abstain from eating in school, it was a totally different thing altogether to live with him, because it was as if he started to play a more integral part in my life. It was as if I had to share my eating – my not eating – habits with him. And it was something I was so selfish about.
On the other hand, it was perhaps good that I was staying with him, because I would feel more pressured to "keep up appearances" and not binge so often. I wanted to show him that yes, I did not eat, that yes, I had self-control, and that I was actually good at something.
*This is true. Except the Mikagami family bit.