iii. "don't die." (—but he did anyway)
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:
The room was dim, shadows consumed the corners in the way it was almost suffocating. Kaminaga leaned on the back of the chair Miyoshi was sitting on, peeking over his shoulders to the book laid open before them. It was hardbound, unpretentious, and laden with Pre-Raphaelite paintings. He did wonder sometimes, why would such books end up sitting on the shelves of D Agency's library—he thought they were supposed to be the Greater East Asia Cultural Society or something, and the books were ought to be more nationalistic—but oh well.
"Millais' Ophelia, huh?"
Was it right before he departed for London, or was it long before that? Years after the event took place, Kaminaga could no longer recall when exactly had it happen. It was rather strange, how he had forgotten about the time but not the room, not the lights, not the sounds and the exact words that left Miyoshi's lips. Perhaps because he replayed the scene so many times in his head; that it didn't matter anymore when it actually occurred, that if the memory was a tape it would've had already been broken and he would've fixed it and try to play it, again and again and again.
"Is she still alive, or is she dead; which one do you think it is?" He remembered Miyoshi replied with a question. By that time he had already moved to the man's side, and Kaminaga could see his eyes leering at him. Nothing came to his mind at first, but after a certain winter, he came to berate himself for not realizing that it was a bad premonition.
But no one was able to tell exactly what would happen in the future; not him, not even Yuuki, and especially not Miyoshi himself… right?
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;
As one incapable of her own distress,
He had watched Hamlet over and over—in theaters, in films, in that school performance in which Amari's adoptive daughter took part in—he had seen images of Ophelia dying as Queen Gertrude told the audience how she drowned, many more times than he wanted to. But arguably to him, Ophelia chose to kill herself, whereas Miyoshi never did. None of them did; not to die is in their motto. The spy wouldn't have gone to where he went or taken the train he took if he knew he would die right there, in a freak accident no one could ever hope to predict.
As much as Kaminaga hated to call it, Miyoshi's death was the work of fate. It said so in the report he surreptitiously read; Miyoshi was a perfect machine, he made no mistake, what happened to the train he boarded on was pure coincidence, just like the debris that pierced through his chest and took his last breaths away.
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be
If he could be honest to the question he didn't answer, Kaminaga didn't know whether the Ophelia in Millais' painting had died or not. To tell the truth too, he couldn't even say for sure if Miyoshi had really been dead; Kaminaga only ever saw his grave once or twice, but he'd never seen his corpse. No one could tell him that Miyoshi wouldn't someday, just appear at his front door, with the smile he missed so much and the voice he longed to hear, greeting him softly as if he'd never been declared deceased in almost the past two decades.
But it's a sad excuse. That Shakespeare guy even said it himself, didn't he? That the miserable has no other medicine but hope, and yes indeed he was miserable, hoping and wishing and yearning for some empty fantasies. Kaminaga knew at least that much, and therefore whether it's in this world or on the other side (if the afterlife really did exist), he never expected they would ever meet again.
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay
Maki Katsuhiko was dead, but the Miyoshi he knew was still alive—with that condescending look and his sarcastic remarks, in an eternal room that was Kaminaga's memories. Hence, until his hair turned grey and his hands wrinkled, Kaminaga would keep on playing it, like a tape, like a montage of an unfinished film, again and again and again—
To muddy death.
* The lines in italic are taken from Hamlet, Act IV, Scene VII.
Anyway, as the Joker Game fandom archive is getting less and less entry, my friends and I are holding a fanfiction event to encourage us all to write more. (´・ω・`) Everyone is welcome to join! Please check [bit . ly / 2lH0Hxr] (omit the space please) for info and contact me in twitter at allitheia for more inquiries. We'd be very happy if you could participate. Happy Valentine's Day! /o/