Mireille in Japan, Chapter 4
Mireille's tears made round pools in the dust on the floor. She pressed her fists against the floor, giving way at last to the helpless rage of tears that she had kept bottled up inside her heart for five years now.
"Kirika. . . why did you leave me?"
Slowly she raised her tear-stained face and looked around. Kirika had evidently not returned since she had left for Paris with Mireille six years ago. Mireille stood up slowly and stepped over to the short wooden table. Its surface was dusty and unused, but the short, thick little wooden legs still held it up. Six years ago, they had sat at this table-each kneeling on the floor, and Kirika had told Mireille all she knew about herself.
Mireille had not trusted her then. Today she would give her life for the girl she had come to love.
She sniffled, then pressed her right hand into the sheet of dust, creating a small cloud of dust around her fingers. Carefully she repeated the action with her left hand, then above the handprints, wrote her name in cursive with the tip of one finger. It was something she had done many times as a child-something she had loved to do whenever she had encountered any dusty furniture in Corsica or Sicily. Today, however, the handprints seemed weak and pathetic. Mireille swept her fingers across it, destroying the image.
Crystal came to her side and mewed expectantly, but Mireille ignored her as she rose to her feet. She had never seen the rest of Kirika's home before. Just beyond the main room, there were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a tiny bathroom. Kirika's family, or whoever had pretended to be her family, had not been very luxurious, although every room was well furnished. The photographs of Yuumura Fusai and Kirika with her supposed parents still stood high up on a shelf.
Mireille wandered into the first bedroom. This had evidently been the one that whoever had pretended to be Kirika's guardian had slept in. The walls were a bland off-white and the sheets were white. The rest of the furniture consisted on a desk and a dresser. There was a closet built into the left wall, which Mireille opened. Not surprisingly, nothing was there, not even empty clothe hangers.
There was nothing in the drawers of the desk either. Mireille left the room, closing the door behind her.
The next room was clearly Kirika's room. Mireille could hear Kirika's voice as if it were yesterday, saying, "When I woke up. . . I was already here."
In the far left corner, Kirika's bed, made of a dark colored wood, was pushed tightly against the wall and the gray blankets were folded carefully. Mireille strode to the window beside it and threw open the curtains, coughing in the dust. Sunlight poured into a room that had been blue with loneliness for years.
Mireille turned around and gasped in surprise, although it was only her reflection. A large oval mirror stood by the door and a coat rack beside it still held Kirika's school uniform.
There was a dresser by it. Mireille took a breath and opened it. There was nothing there, only a layer of blue-green satin where Kirika's gun had once rested beside the pocket watch. Mireille sniffled and a tear fell onto the satin, making a dark, wet spot. She closed the drawer and walked briskly to the kitchen.
She found paper towels and detergent and soap, and went to work at once cleaning the entire apartment. Mireille didn't quite know why she was doing it, but this place wasn't Kirika anymore, and she'd come to Japan to find Kirika. Somehow, she thought, as she scrubbed the counters, if she cleaned it up, it might seem like the home Kirika had lived in. Mireille squeezed the bottle of soap and squirted it onto her towel.
She worked all day without stopping to eat or rest. Only Crystal's desperate mewing drew her out of her frenzy at sunset.
"You must be hungry," said Mireille, without looking at her. An angry meow drew her attention away from the windowpane. "What? I said-oh."
Mireille stood up and threw the rag into the sink, pausing only briefly in front of the refrigerator. There couldn't be anything edible in there. She picked up Crystal and scratched her ears. "I'll get something to eat," she said. "Don't go anywhere."
Outside the apartment, Mireille closed the door and muttered, "Why am I talking to her like I would Kirika?"
She picked up two loaves of bread, a sack of potatoes, and a jug of milk at the closest supermarket she could find. Unfortunately she didn't know the words for "cat food" and had a hard time trying to explain to the clerk. In the end, she picked up a bag of buns and paid for her purchases
"Crystal? I'm home." Mireille let herself in and shut the door. "Crystal?"
A faint mew came from Kirika's bedroom. Mireille stepped in and found her curled up on the bed, lashing her tail around gently. She laughed and tore a bun in half for her to eat, then stepped into the kitchen. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't even know if there was electricity, but if there was water, there should be. She rinsed a couple of potatoes and put them in the oven to bake.
She was exhausted. Mireille returned to Kirika's room and stretched out on the bed, stroking Crystal, but fell asleep immediately.
= = = = = = =
Spanish music played outside her window and the singers, wearing large straw sombreros, sang along loudly. She paid no attention.
Kirika had left the United States several days ago to treat herself on a vacation to Spain. In addition to Madrid, she had also visited Avila and Arevalo, and was now on her final stop in Segovia.
She'd spent the last couple of days touring Segovia. The aqueduct had proved to be of most interest to her, before. Built of stone in ancient times by the Romans, the ancient aqueduct had been used to transfer water from the mountains until a few decades ago.
In two days she would fly back to the USA, where Spring Break was almost over.
Kirika had become a Japanese teacher at a local high school in Providence, Rhode Island. Her English was fluent and her Japanese still in top shape. She had been the perfect candidate for the job.
But now she was here in Spain, and as much as she tried to kill the thought, it just wouldn't die. She was so close to Mireille in France. The hurt of Mireille's rejection had never faded. It had been a hasty and perhaps not well-thought out idea to leave France, but Kirika had never regretted it. Either she would have to live with Mireille as part of her, or she would have to leave everything she had ever known and start all over again.
Kirika's eyes darkened as she wondered again if Mireille ever thought about her anymore. She imagined Mireille married to some wealthy French gentleman and raising her own children at home. Mini Mireilles. She could easily do that, thought Kirika, with her wonderful looks and build. She had wanted to fit in as a normal person, after all.
Kirika imagined Mireille's expression if she just showed up at the door. Would Mireille be shocked? Angry? Happy?
Kirika buried her head in her pillow, drowning out the singing. I might never get another chance to see Mireille again, she thought. She picked up the phone and called the airline to change her flight schedule.
= = = = = = =
A loud bang woke Mireille. In addition, Crystal had fled the sanctuary of the bedroom and ran to the kitchen, where she was now hissing at the oven. Another pop ensued.
"The potatoes!" Mireille jumped out of the dusty bed and ran to the oven, quickly turning it off. Ten minutes passed before she was able to get the three potatoes out of the oven, two of which had exploded. She opened the window to let some of the hot air out.
Her potatoes were ready to eat but she was going to need something to put them on. Warily Mireille eyed the stack of plates and sighed. More washing.
Before she knew it, Mireille Bouquet was beginning to make herself at home here in Tokyo, Japan.
Mireille's tears made round pools in the dust on the floor. She pressed her fists against the floor, giving way at last to the helpless rage of tears that she had kept bottled up inside her heart for five years now.
"Kirika. . . why did you leave me?"
Slowly she raised her tear-stained face and looked around. Kirika had evidently not returned since she had left for Paris with Mireille six years ago. Mireille stood up slowly and stepped over to the short wooden table. Its surface was dusty and unused, but the short, thick little wooden legs still held it up. Six years ago, they had sat at this table-each kneeling on the floor, and Kirika had told Mireille all she knew about herself.
Mireille had not trusted her then. Today she would give her life for the girl she had come to love.
She sniffled, then pressed her right hand into the sheet of dust, creating a small cloud of dust around her fingers. Carefully she repeated the action with her left hand, then above the handprints, wrote her name in cursive with the tip of one finger. It was something she had done many times as a child-something she had loved to do whenever she had encountered any dusty furniture in Corsica or Sicily. Today, however, the handprints seemed weak and pathetic. Mireille swept her fingers across it, destroying the image.
Crystal came to her side and mewed expectantly, but Mireille ignored her as she rose to her feet. She had never seen the rest of Kirika's home before. Just beyond the main room, there were two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a tiny bathroom. Kirika's family, or whoever had pretended to be her family, had not been very luxurious, although every room was well furnished. The photographs of Yuumura Fusai and Kirika with her supposed parents still stood high up on a shelf.
Mireille wandered into the first bedroom. This had evidently been the one that whoever had pretended to be Kirika's guardian had slept in. The walls were a bland off-white and the sheets were white. The rest of the furniture consisted on a desk and a dresser. There was a closet built into the left wall, which Mireille opened. Not surprisingly, nothing was there, not even empty clothe hangers.
There was nothing in the drawers of the desk either. Mireille left the room, closing the door behind her.
The next room was clearly Kirika's room. Mireille could hear Kirika's voice as if it were yesterday, saying, "When I woke up. . . I was already here."
In the far left corner, Kirika's bed, made of a dark colored wood, was pushed tightly against the wall and the gray blankets were folded carefully. Mireille strode to the window beside it and threw open the curtains, coughing in the dust. Sunlight poured into a room that had been blue with loneliness for years.
Mireille turned around and gasped in surprise, although it was only her reflection. A large oval mirror stood by the door and a coat rack beside it still held Kirika's school uniform.
There was a dresser by it. Mireille took a breath and opened it. There was nothing there, only a layer of blue-green satin where Kirika's gun had once rested beside the pocket watch. Mireille sniffled and a tear fell onto the satin, making a dark, wet spot. She closed the drawer and walked briskly to the kitchen.
She found paper towels and detergent and soap, and went to work at once cleaning the entire apartment. Mireille didn't quite know why she was doing it, but this place wasn't Kirika anymore, and she'd come to Japan to find Kirika. Somehow, she thought, as she scrubbed the counters, if she cleaned it up, it might seem like the home Kirika had lived in. Mireille squeezed the bottle of soap and squirted it onto her towel.
She worked all day without stopping to eat or rest. Only Crystal's desperate mewing drew her out of her frenzy at sunset.
"You must be hungry," said Mireille, without looking at her. An angry meow drew her attention away from the windowpane. "What? I said-oh."
Mireille stood up and threw the rag into the sink, pausing only briefly in front of the refrigerator. There couldn't be anything edible in there. She picked up Crystal and scratched her ears. "I'll get something to eat," she said. "Don't go anywhere."
Outside the apartment, Mireille closed the door and muttered, "Why am I talking to her like I would Kirika?"
She picked up two loaves of bread, a sack of potatoes, and a jug of milk at the closest supermarket she could find. Unfortunately she didn't know the words for "cat food" and had a hard time trying to explain to the clerk. In the end, she picked up a bag of buns and paid for her purchases
"Crystal? I'm home." Mireille let herself in and shut the door. "Crystal?"
A faint mew came from Kirika's bedroom. Mireille stepped in and found her curled up on the bed, lashing her tail around gently. She laughed and tore a bun in half for her to eat, then stepped into the kitchen. It suddenly occurred to her that she didn't even know if there was electricity, but if there was water, there should be. She rinsed a couple of potatoes and put them in the oven to bake.
She was exhausted. Mireille returned to Kirika's room and stretched out on the bed, stroking Crystal, but fell asleep immediately.
= = = = = = =
Spanish music played outside her window and the singers, wearing large straw sombreros, sang along loudly. She paid no attention.
Kirika had left the United States several days ago to treat herself on a vacation to Spain. In addition to Madrid, she had also visited Avila and Arevalo, and was now on her final stop in Segovia.
She'd spent the last couple of days touring Segovia. The aqueduct had proved to be of most interest to her, before. Built of stone in ancient times by the Romans, the ancient aqueduct had been used to transfer water from the mountains until a few decades ago.
In two days she would fly back to the USA, where Spring Break was almost over.
Kirika had become a Japanese teacher at a local high school in Providence, Rhode Island. Her English was fluent and her Japanese still in top shape. She had been the perfect candidate for the job.
But now she was here in Spain, and as much as she tried to kill the thought, it just wouldn't die. She was so close to Mireille in France. The hurt of Mireille's rejection had never faded. It had been a hasty and perhaps not well-thought out idea to leave France, but Kirika had never regretted it. Either she would have to live with Mireille as part of her, or she would have to leave everything she had ever known and start all over again.
Kirika's eyes darkened as she wondered again if Mireille ever thought about her anymore. She imagined Mireille married to some wealthy French gentleman and raising her own children at home. Mini Mireilles. She could easily do that, thought Kirika, with her wonderful looks and build. She had wanted to fit in as a normal person, after all.
Kirika imagined Mireille's expression if she just showed up at the door. Would Mireille be shocked? Angry? Happy?
Kirika buried her head in her pillow, drowning out the singing. I might never get another chance to see Mireille again, she thought. She picked up the phone and called the airline to change her flight schedule.
= = = = = = =
A loud bang woke Mireille. In addition, Crystal had fled the sanctuary of the bedroom and ran to the kitchen, where she was now hissing at the oven. Another pop ensued.
"The potatoes!" Mireille jumped out of the dusty bed and ran to the oven, quickly turning it off. Ten minutes passed before she was able to get the three potatoes out of the oven, two of which had exploded. She opened the window to let some of the hot air out.
Her potatoes were ready to eat but she was going to need something to put them on. Warily Mireille eyed the stack of plates and sighed. More washing.
Before she knew it, Mireille Bouquet was beginning to make herself at home here in Tokyo, Japan.