Memory begets memory. In a stream of consciousness, free association links parts of my life which seem to have little or no connection.
Standing in center of the blasted room, surrounded by the charred remains of his brothers, his eyes were embers after a massive conflagration. It went beyond my understanding.
He was beyond my understanding. I had choked at the rare spread of good fortune, and now there was no way trace a way back to the night he had said his life had merit because of me-that he had fallen in love-so I could confess what I fostered for him. Instead, with resolve, I leaned in and kissed him.
There was the sensation of the cold, rounded ridges of his lips. That I recall perfectly. However, it the sweet taste of copper that remained in my mouth for days afterwards puzzled me. Much later, upon recollection of it while I was overseas, one of my earliest childhood memories was unearthed.
I was three, maybe four years old. Crawling on my hands and knees, I had decided to inspect the dining room carpet. The puffs of autumn red in the design of the fabric made me think of the heads of dragons. I found the fringe at the end of the upolstery. Lifting a corner to flap it, I imagine them as golden tassels someone has rewarded the creatures with for good deeds.
Just past the carpet, laid a coin that had been carelessly dropped. I heard the steady clip-clops behind me, and I knew that my mother was entering the room. Before she saw me, I reached for it and placed in my mouth. A funny, sweet taste greeted me. I relished the new sensation.
I looked up in time to see my mother leaning against the doorway. "What are you doing there on the floor?" Her tone was innocuous.
I shook my head and scrambled to my feet. I was unsure if the new plaything which was propped against the side of my tongue would allow me the capabilities of speech. I made an attempt at it, "Nuthin'." It was a reasonable facsimile of my normal voice.
"I haven't vacuumed in here yet. Come here so Mommy can clean up this room."
I took to absently rolling the coin around my mouth with my tongue. I must have looked odd, because she frowned and leaned closer to me. "What do you have there in your mouth?"
Her expression amused me. I hadn't seen her look like that before. I pulled away and begin to giggle, imagining it to be some new game.
"Mitsuko." Her voice lowered, which struck me as sillier still.
I rolled the coin to the front of my mouth, clacking it against my top incisors for entertainment.
"Spit it out!" The commandeering bark jolted me a little, and I drew away from her uncertainly.
She demanded the same of me I think two more times. I was close to a wall, and thought that if I ran, she would catch me. Growing frightened, I shook my head. I saw her grasp my lower leg. The room swirled at a dizzying speed, and I found the dragons directly above me. She was propping me on my head, holding me upside down. Then, a rough smack collided with my backside. At the shock of impact, I yelped, more in surprise than in pain. The coin slipped from my mouth, and clattered onto the hardwood floor.
I wriggled out of her hold, and clambered away from her. From a safe distance, I could look up at her face, and I espied pinkish red around the rims of her eyes.
"Don't you ever do that again!"
I wondered just what I had done that elicited so much fear and sadness from her. Stronger than my self-preservation for escaping punishment, was the feeling of genuine bewilderment. I decided I would try to never make her that upset again.
Years later, I would revisit the taste of copper. And coupled with the bliss of contact, I'd feel a strange sense of rebellion in my actions.
Not every memory I harbor of him is unhappy.
I was involved in myself; I was terribly absorbed in the hurt around me. What drew my away from my misery was a spark- a glimmer of interest I found in Jiro's eyes. There is a joy to new discoveries. I had forgotten what it was like to experience the world as if it were a brand-new creation. He had the innocence of a child, it was familiar to me through Masaru, but he carried with him the maturity of an adult. It was undeniably attractive to me.
I didn't appreciate the brevity of the time we would spend together, but while I was with him, I wanted to show him everything.
One memory I call upon more than others is that of Jiro's backlit form amidst the snow. After he had agreed to return to our home, the gray of late fall began to settle in around us. The trees deposited their colors from their fiery tones into dull brown. The sky and grass were next to follow. The frigid stream of air was inescapable. Jiro noted all of it.
Then, one evening in early December, I heard Masaru calling from upstairs. I put my book I had been reading down, and looked towards the windows. The backyard lights confirmed the overcast sky had erupted; large flakes were steadily falling. He scrambled down the stairs and raced out the back door, jacket unbuttoned. I yelled after him to cover up, but he couldn't hear me over his own whoops of delight. I likewise pulled on my coat in haste, and went to locate Jiro.
He was in the study, sorting through old music recordings my father had collected. I grabbed his gloved hand, and pulled him to his feet. "Come with me," I entreated.
Encouraged by the infrequent moment of physical contact, he didn't protest.
My pace was brusque, and I was nearly dragging him by the time we slipped out the back door. The snowflakes were large, and feather-like, as if the land was being showered by the aftermath of a pillow fight. At the rate they were descending, I knew it would only last a couple of hours.
Masaru was spinning several yards ahead of us. He galloped to one of his favorite places on our property, an incline where he could survey a broad patch of land, leaving Jiro and me alone.
He stood puzzled as the flakes alighted upon his face before disintegrating into water droplets and careening down his cheek. His body was cold, and the snow retained its form for longer than expected before shriveling to water droplets on him. "This is snow?"
So he knew the word for "snow." I had noticed that most naturally occurring elements he had some pre-conceived notion of, while human precepts like story-telling or government hierarchies had to be explained to him.
"It's not harmful; it's just another form of precipitation, like rain." I walked ahead, and held out my arms, bare palms upturned.
Turn this into an ecology lesson, why don't you?
After a few minutes, my hands felt numb to everything but raw soreness. I was certain my cheeks and nose had turned ruddy from the cold. I felt mucus leaking from my nose, and sniffled loudly. I kept looking ahead as I encouraged, "Isn't it beautiful?"
I looked back for a reply. His head upturned, a rare smile stretched across his skin. Watching him, I remembered the same sense of reverent wonder seeing snowfall when I was small.
Still smiling, he lowered his head to gaze at me. Into me. "Yes," he finally responded, "beautiful."
I looked away as quickly as I could. To slacken my raging heart rate, I filled my mind with the mundane, really anything but his unconditional acceptance.
Now, the clarity of these visions have begun to fade with the passage of time. Certain details are harder to recall. Mr. Hattori and I each keep a Polaroid copy of his likeness. It has become more of a necessity for me than a keepsake.
Jiro, how could I forget?
Reverend Fuuten called and asked to speak with my father three days ago. They conversed while I washed dishes in the kitchen. From where I was standing, I gained privy to the sum of what Father had to say. I believe their topic of conversation ranged from the weather to ailments acquired in old age. They spoke for about an hour, and they did not once mention androids. The relaxed tone in my father's banter came unexpectedly to me; though I suppose I recall overhearing more good-humored instances with him when I was little.
Halfway through their conversation, I grew pensive as I plunged my already-pruned hands into the grimy dishwater.
Decades later-and they pick up their friendship-just like that, I mused. At least something around me had been restored.
Reverend Fuuten may have remarked on my outburst at his home, because I've noticed how gingerly everyone has dealt with me lately. Etsuko, Mr. Hattori, and my family have been strangely conciliatory. And everyone-everyone is full of advice.
Yesterday, Father asked to speak with me as I perused the morning paper. The cane stomped as he shuffled over to the table.
"Do you think it's odd that we've never done this-sat down and had an open discussion?"
Confounded, I stared at the headlines.
"This is what parents and children do, Mitsuko," he insisted. "They talk about the problems they are facing."
I wouldn't know, I thought silently, but I didn't dare say it out loud.
"Spring's coming. You've always loved spring."
"That's true."
He pressed on with his intent, "What have you been feeling?"
Despite his efforts, I wasn't compliant. I just shrugged in reply.
"You know," considered Father after a moment, "I overheard you with Etsuko a couple of weeks ago. You told her you were searching-for answers to why you've survived. You said that you want a sense of purpose.
"Well," he reflected calmly, "I can't say I've aided you. Maybe if I'd paid more attention; given you spiritual guidance, you wouldn't be having these dilemmas now."
"No, Father!" I interjected. "I have a relationship with you now, that's all I wanted."
"Not because of me," Father smiled. "You brought that about by yourself."
"It was Jiro who saved you."
"Yes, it was." He plucked the newspaper from my hands and set it down on the floor. "But now, I want to tell you something I've kept a secret for too long.
"I'd had limited success with designing a Conscience Circuit during the years I licked Gill's boots. The more I brainstormed ideas to help me break free of him, the more I began to distance myself from you and Masaru.
"There was," he confessed, "a time I thought I couldn't find a key to this perfect resistance to evil. The way to simulate the human experience alluded me. I was close to quitting on the dream. I felt weak. And worse, I was sure I'd killed off the best part of my children.
"After years of shutting you up in this old house without proper care, I thought I'd find no life in here." Here he broke off and shook his head at my stock-still face. "You're looking at me oddly. Well, I don't mean that you were under lock and key or trapped in the basement. But I did confine you, and you, of course, held it against me.
"And then-do you remember this? You ran up to me one evening. You said you'd decided to study Biology, that you wanted to become a scientist. When I heard it, it was like clarity had come all at once. That was what these androids needed-life!
"So I modeled Jiro's Gemini after the genetic code. His blueprint was the blueprint of all life."
We spent a moment in comfortable silence, the past few months having granted us access to nonverbal cues of communication. He split the newspaper, extracting the technology section and passing me the rest.
"Whatever it is that you feel you need to find, I have faith that you'll come to it. You've always had that kind of strength."
We stalled our respective agendas for the day for the sake of enjoying each other's company. Our breakfast prolonged to the mid-morning, as our conversation met the satisfaction of dwindling to nothingness.
That afternoon, I hesitated with the material Reverend Fuuten gave to me.
Even after all this digging, there doesn't seem to be a bottom to this trove of secrets, I silently ruminated.
I picked up the disk of Mieko and Rieko's memories.
And you, you were kept as secrets, too, weren't you?
I laughed mirthlessly. No need to shut Pandora's Box now; I should know everything. I placed the disk in the computer.
The first image I saw was a boy. He appeared to be in his late teens; eighteen or nineteen, perhaps. Old enough to evade the inquiries of adults, but still young enough to not be taken seriously by authority figures. It was a good age if one wanted to be ignored. His dark hair was forced into a windswept cowl in front of his face. This one loved the sound of his own voice.
"Which one are you?" I asked the screen out loud.
As if in reply, I saw him respond when someone said, "Ichiro." I drew my knees toward my chin in my chair and watched, enthralled.
Ichiro seemed to suffer an imbalance in his emotional programming. His emotions were his prime motivator for his actions; he held no forethought to their consequences. While it seemed he could easily express how he felt, remorse, and its ability to improve upon past errors, would have taken much longer to develop. His vocabulary was an impressive mix of erudite learning and street slang. His aptitude for language rivaled, or perhaps even surpassed, that of Jiro's. He was witty, to the point that I caught myself laughing at some of his retorts.
One remark he made to someone off frame stuck with me, he said he was glad he didn't have a Gemini like Jiro did to make him hesitate.
That's right, I concurred silently. You don't. And those emotions you deal with, less frequently than Jiro's, are not related at all with having a Gemini. The acoustics of the study where I had this encounter of sorts amplified my laughter.
Jiro must have loved him…
Rei was next for my scrutiny. His hair was shorter than that of either Ichiro's or Jiro's, and his skin was of pale olive. His gait indicated a dispassionate confidence that comes through the acquisition of knowledge. He was still, and his eyes held back a momentous force, like a dam walling a fulminant river. His cool, unperturbed affectations seemed to reflect not only his combative skills, but his personal beliefs, as well.
Ichiro seemed fun, but Rei-he intimidated me.
It was late by the time I emerged from the study. I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast, and I wandered to the kitchen. As I entered, I saw an onyx, starless sky from the window. Etsuko was giggling into the phone, twirling the extension cord around her finger. She placed her hand over the mouthpiece when she noticed me.
"Where's Masaru?" I asked.
"He got in about a half an hour ago. I sent him straight to bed." She rested the receiver on her shoulder. It's Hanpei. He's on his way back from questioning some people in the city. He wants to know if you'll join him tomorrow."
I disclosed the obvious with a smile, "I hardly have plans."
"Then we'll all three of us go." She started to resume her conversation, then thought better of it, and strained the cord to open the refrigerator. She selected a pear, and pressed it into my palm.
I climbed the brittle staircase and approached Masaru's room. I rapped my knuckles lightly against the door, in case he had fallen asleep.
"Come!" he called cheerfully.
I entered. Masaru was in bed, but he was quite awake. His bedside lamp was on, and there were a few action figurines and books splayed across his quilt. He had matured past the baby blue shades that used to decorate his walls. Now, the room was dominated by burgundy and navy stripes. With the exception of the clutter over his bed, the room was relatively clean.
"I haven't seen you very much lately." I sat by the foot of his bed while I tore into the flesh of the pear.
"Yoko and her father are building a tree fort," he murmured. "Are you upset?"
"The house has been quieter, but it makes me happy when I know you're making friends. That doesn't upset me."
"Friend," Masaru corrected, "I don't have friends."
I groaned. It seemed too late at night to begin a conversation about his social habits. "Give it time, Masaru. You're so impatient."
He caught the edge in my voice, and sat up a little. "What have you been doing, anyway?"
"That's why I wanted to talk to you." I reached over and smoothed his crow's black hair. "I've…discovered things."
"Yeah."
Almost casually, I said, "Mother might have had another child."
His brow furrowed, considering. "A boy or a girl?"
"A boy, I think. He'd be almost four."
"Where is he?"
"I'm not sure. He was taken away."
He began chewing on his lower lip, a habit he had formed when he became distressed. "Do you know his name?"
"It's Akira. It will be easier to find him once things settle down," I reassured him. "The city's still in a state of emergency."
"Uh-huh." He tapped my arm. Veering to another subject entirely, he queried, "Mitsuko? May I paint on Jiro's guitar?"
"You can ask him when he comes back." If you know anything about physics or the way sound waves carry, you know that a crack in a specific area of a guitar will render it useless. The guitar had been smashed by a sophisticated android named Saburo, a Hakaider type, the night my mother perished. Weeping, Masaru had broken free of my grasp, and had run towards the billowing smoke, snatching up fragments of the guitar as he went. I had already discovered what I needed: a small black fleck surrounded by wood shards: the final component of Gemini.
Masaru had gathered as many pieces as he could find; however, there were still splinters and slivers that he couldn't detect in the feeble glow of the flames. Quite unknown to me, he reconstructed the instrument using two bottles of Superglue. The form of the reconstructed piece is sturdy; however, there are cracks, and even entire chunks of wood missing. It will not play properly. Instead of viewing this limitation as discouraging, we know it as a tribute to Jiro, and a testament of Masaru's efforts and devotion. A guitar, after all, can always be replaced.
"What were you going to paint?" I inquired.
"Mostly clouds. The sky."
"Jiro had other siblings, as well. They were very good, but they didn't have a conscience circuit."
Masaru looked aglow at the revelation.
"They died in the explosion of that big machine-The Armageddon God. But one them, a female, is still alive."
Masaru bolted up into a sitting position, "Take me to her. I want to meet her."
"Masaru," I sighed, "You can't-not yet."
"Then when?" he demanded.
When…?
"When she remembers herself."
His breathing came so fast, he was snorting. He narrowed his eyes. He was clever enough to know when there was more to a story.
"Sweetheart, Professor Gill put a circuit in her that made her very confused. She goes into rages, and then feels guilty about it."
"Then fix her!"
"Masaru,"-
"Take it out of her!"
"I can't!" I snapped defensively. The snorts of indignation continued. I counted five seconds silently before I let myself explain to him, "If I were to remove or tamper with a circuit that controls emotion, it would be very likely that all of her memories would erase. It's like a 'reset' button. That's why Father's program said destruction was the only option for a faulty Gemini. The person, as we know him or her, would cease to exist.
I resumed smoothing his hair. It seemed to calm him. "The android woman, Meiko, or Bijinder, loved Akira. She doesn't want to lose her memories of him. Jiro didn't want his Gemini fixed for the same reason. She'll have to come back on her own."
"Gill," Masaru growled with malice. He'd found another target for his frustration. "He's…" He mentally perused for a suitable noun. "He's vermin. Slop that belongs in the sewer."
I had never heard Masaru sound so vindictive before. It frightened me.
I withdrew my hand and clapped it over my mouth. After a moment, I put my hand down long enough to say, "Never speak ill of the dead, Masaru." My voice wavered. "I don't care who he is or what he's done-you never talk like that about anyone again!"
I anticipated more opposition. Instead, he flashed me a timid and shaken look before burying his face in my stomach. "Sorry," he muffled his regret into my shirt.
I allowed my arms to close around him. "I know what you think about Jiro. How you felt ignored when we were together. You told me, and wouldn't listen."
"Hm."
"I guess you and I were both wrong," I admitted. "The truth of the matter is that he doesn't have to choose. His heart is big enough for the both of us."
"Yeah." He broke his steely grip on me, and fell back towards his pillow. "Okay, yeah."
I nudged him over, so I would have room to lean back. "You know, Reverend Fuuten gave me a disk when I visited him. It has memories on it, and I got to see Jiro's brothers, Ichiro and Rei. I learned quite a lot about them."
Masaru's eyes widened, "Tell me."
So I began a story, like the one Bijinder told her Akira. In it, there was the Pinocchio toy. He made new friends, friends that were as siblings, but he was not satisfied. He was not finished growing, or learning about himself. As a toy, was he as real as everyone else? Did he deserve to exist?
The day came when Pinocchio knew he had become much braver and stronger, because he had his friends to help him when he was unsure. They, all of them, had to face That Which Was Not Real, their greatest fear. The monster consumed, instead of created. The city was a sea of doubt, and the monster plowed through the waves like Monstro. So, That Which Was Not Real came to be named Monstro Armageddon.
The toy and his friends knew what had to be done. They lured the beast, and allowed themselves to be swallowed by it. There, in the belly of Monstro Armageddon, they made smoke from explosions, so that the beast strained its skin to the breaking point, and at last blew apart. Monstro Armageddon's last attempt at survival was to expectorate the toy that had caused it such agony.
The toy was freed, but his friends were not spared. The toy was very sad, but he knew he carried their good will by defeating the monster. Without his fear, the toy could live a brand new life. The whole world was safe now, and the toy had made itself strong and wise. And…
"And Pinocchio became a real boy," Masaru mumbled, eyes closed, half asleep.
I ceased my narration.
That was impossible. Jiro's spirit was just as real as mine, it had grown to be like mine or anyone else's, and a flute or whistle couldn't control him anymore. But I knew his body would never turn to flesh.
I looked over at my sleeping brother. I couldn't tell him otherwise; I didn't have the heart to.
I understand how strange all of these circumstances must seem. If people knew of my pursuits, they would wonder, why do you chase after something that lasted a few brief months of your life? You can't bring time back. Why are you so focused on the past?
I'd like to be the rational person everyone expects me to be. But I can't let go of the memories of him.
I know if I choose this, there will be some wants I will have to forgo. With Jiro, I will never satisfy my desire to have children, save for raising Masaru.
My late brother, Ichiro, taunts me with facts in my dreams. What if everything you hope for comes true, Mitsuko? If you find him, what sort of a life can the two of you forge? Marriage?
After everything he's gone through, what do see for him? A desk job somewhere?
"You're not my brother," I coldly tell the charming young man standing before me, "you're just my insecurities."
Is that so? Then why am I here? Think about it!
Dream Ichiro is right; possibilities are the true crux of my problem. Jonathan, though oblivious and ill-suited for me, is not a villain. I repulse him not for who he is, but for what he represents to me. I am actually terrified of becoming lulled into this life, associating with young single males, and listening to them. I am afraid that if I let my guard down, I'll begin to forget, and Jiro will fade away.
I can't let that happen. And I only have to hold on for a little while longer. I still seem fine, but I know I am not well, entertaining such thoughts.
If I'm to blame for anything's that's happened, I want to experience the full consequences of it.
The night Masaru and I had spoken about the androids, I dreamed again of Ichiro. It was quite unlike the recent strand of others. In it, I found him standing on a boardwalk, staring at the sea. He did not notice me until I was standing next to him. He quoted Shakespeare, "Time is out of joint." Then I woke up.