Chapter 5
"I got in through the window," Shindou says, legs stretched out in front of him on the carpet, one hand rubbing behind his head. "Sorry to barge in late at night like this."
The lamplight shines dully against his skin; through his skin.
"Stop pretending," you whisper. "Stop acting like you're…"
His hand falls from the back of his head. His eyes fall too. "What you talking about?"
"You don't know, do you?" There's a sick ache growing in your chest; you imagine that this is what cancer feels like as it grows. "You're… You think you're a normal person. That's why you go to school, and…that's why you can play go like it's nothing." You're not part of this world, but you think you are.
"Hey!" Shindou clambers to his feet, limbs akimbo. "Just because I haven't been playing go all my life like you doesn't mean I'm nothing."
As he moves, the lamp beside him flickers; its light grows gray and cold and wan.
"But you are nothing," you rasp. "Somehow even though you're real, you're also nothing."
Shindou's expression goes a little ugly. His small hands ball into fists at his sides. "Play me right now," he demands. "I'll play you—with my go, not someone else's, and you'll see how real I am."
Someone else's go? You don't know what he means. But you can't think on it long—Shindou has dropped onto the floor again, and in front of him is a goban you are sure wasn't there before.
His eyes bore into you, expectant. The cold is in your lungs now, worse than Ogata's cigarette smoke. Shuddering, you sink to the floor in front of the goban. Your legs, your whole body feels strangely weak. You're so, so cold; you never did get into that hot bath. And your head is light, like there's not enough oxygen getting to it. Must be because of the late hour.
"Nigiri," says Shindou.
Shindou's jouseki is strange. Even this early in the game you can tell. There is no hint of Shuusaku here, nor any sensible pattern at all. It's like playing a beginner.
"Ummm," Shindou mumbles. "I think I'll play…here?"
And yet the pressure bearing down on you is…it's not like when you played him before. Those games felt like a sword cutting you at the neck. Clean and swift. This is different. The air is thick and strange. Your blood is sluggish in your veins.
"Okay, I'm done. Touya? Your turn."
As you place your next stone, you watch his eyes, the way they are fixed so intently on the board. Before, he played well but without any sense of caring or comprehension. Now he plays with the concentration of an adult and the foolishness of a child. You don't know what to make of it. Underneath your bewilderment your blood begins to boil. The anger staves off the cold a little. Is he mocking you? You want to yell, slam your hands on the floor and demand he play seriously. It's on the tip of your tongue. You look up, and you see Shindou…flicker at the edges. It's like a shot of liquid fear in your veins. You remember the goban that came from nowhere.
"That's enough," you say with as much strength as you can muster. "Shindou you have to see that this is…you're not alive."
"No," Shindou says. The look of concentration on his face does not waver, and his body snaps to solidity again. "You have to play me, Touya. You have to see it. My go."
You close your eyes, gasping silently; his words have hit you like a physical force. A spell maybe. You can feel it battering against your will. In your chest the cold blooms like a dying flower. In your hands the stones are too heavy to move. And in your mind there is a dark plane, an endless expanse of emptiness: a universe empty of stars.
Your hands brace against the floor as you try to breathe. This is not a sword cutting clean and pure. This is a slow closing blackness. A child-god reaches out in the dark and you are a fly trapped between its chubby fingers.
Your eyes slit open in defiance. Distantly you see the child-god seize a prize. He surrounds one of your stones and gives a gleeful chuckle. "Hah, I'm going to capture this one! You see that?"
You play a stone, somewhere, and let your eyes close again. Everything feels so solid, real. Everything except you. You're so sleepy…so cold…
Your eyes snap open. Shindou is muttering to himself; that's what woke you. "Yeah, yeah, stop your whining. It's my turn to play today, all right?" You see the brightness in his eyes as he glances at something to his left. "I'm just learning, what do you expect? Geez."
He places a stone on the board: another terrible, terrible hand.
What is happening? you want to ask him. Who are you speaking to? But you can barely make your lips open. "Help," you rasp.
"I know I'm not as strong as you," Shindou continues to mutter, "but I want to get better. The only way that's going to happen is if I keep playing my own games. Lots and lots of games." He pauses. "For a thousand years, like you."
You feel so, so weak. You can't play; the stone in your right hand slips from your limp fingers and skitters across the board. Shindou doesn't seem to notice.
"I want to play lots of games with Touya," he says in a low voice. You wonder how he can speak in that way, with so much passion in his voice, when he is speaking to the air. "And after that I want to play that guy with glasses too, and then Touya's dad—but maybe I'll let you have that one, okay?" His voice gentles. "I know you really want to play him. But I need to play too, okay? My own games. I need to show you my go is real too. I need to."
There are bursts of white light in your vision. Tears collecting at the edges of your eyes. There's something like tears in his eyes too. But his are solid and yours are not. You are fading. Slumped over like this, you can see how your legs have gone translucent. You think you might be dying.
Touya Akira, says a voice without sound.
You swallow. With a monumental effort, you lift your head and look at where you thought the voice could have come from. There's…a presence behind Shindou. You don't know what it is. It's a gaunt, deathly thing. White and cold, like you. You think it knows how you feel. Maybe that's why you can see it now. It bows its head sadly in greeting.
"Help…" You don't know who you're talking to, but it's not Shindou anymore.
Distantly, you hear another voice calling your name. A voice from below. Your mother.
"Akira? Why is it so cold up here?" Footsteps, muffled, heading upstairs. "Akira?" A knock on the door. "I didn't know he had a lock."
"He doesn't," says another voice. Another parent.
"So noisy," says Shindou.
You can hear fear in the voices outside. "He couldn't have just jammed a chair behind it. The knob won't turn."
"Akira! Let us in!"
Shindou is staring at the door. You are staring at the thing behind Shindou. It opens its mouth and speaks a silent command, as if to say, now, now, you must act now.
"Be quiet," says Shindou with an irritated flick of his finger. The yelling and pounding behind the door suddenly cease. There's a thump, like a body has fallen to the ground. That's bad, you think vaguely.
There is no strength left in you. You can't help the people behind the door. But the ghost behind Shindou nods, and you feel a little warmth seep into you. The ghost fades a little. You see your own hand turn a little more solid. You inch your fingers forward and it's agony, but look, there's the wood grain of the goban shining through your half-faded skin. You breathe. The smell of kaya wood surrounds you, invigorates you. You are alive. You lean forward, arms outstretched, reaching across the goban until you are close enough to cup your hands around Shindou's face. His skin feels so warm against your icy fingers.
Shindou's eyes, those unearthly grey eyes, snap onto your face.
I'm sorry. You mouth the words soundlessly because you cannot speak. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
Shindou opens his mouth to reply. There are still tear tracks on his cheeks. You can feel the salt against your fingers. You rub gently. You don't have strength for much else.
The ghost behind Shindou nods again.
"I'm sorry," you say with your real voice.
"Touya," Shindou tries to say. But when he speaks your name, a ball of white light, a will-o'-the-wisp overwarm with life, drifts from his lips. Now the ball of light pulses lightly, silently. It floats into your own mouth, down into your lungs, gentle as a kiss.
It's like a dam bursting. Blood gushes hot through your veins. Your heart thumps audibly once, twice. You gasp at the feeling of life returning to your fingers, burning too hot now against Shindou's cooling skin. Your hands fly to your throat. For a moment all you can do is sit there, panting with relief.
But Shindou coughs harshly. He covers his mouth with a hand and it comes away stained with blood. "Touya," he says again. "Why did it get so cold? There's something wrong with your house."
Wordlessly, heart aching, you watch that round, boyish face scrunch up in confusion.
"Why is there blood here?" He's not looking at you. He can't seem to stop staring at his hand. "I remember seeing bloodstains. But it wasn't my blood. I was… I was with Akari. There was a goban. It wasn't my blood."
He looks to his left. His bloodstained hand rises, grasping at the air between him and his ghost, like a child reaching for its parents.
"Sai?" he says.
You can't bear to watch. You can't bear to look away. It will be frozen in your mind, this portrait of a boy who could have been.
The portrait starts to fade.
Shindou is slumped forward in utter dejection. You can barely see him now. You can't see the ghost behind him at all. Behind you, you think you hear movement behind the bedroom door. You sense the imaginary lock click open.
"Akira!" your mother cries out, rushing into the room. Your father stands at the door, staring at the spot where Shindou's ghost should be.
"Who are you?" he says.
"Touya," Shindou whispers one last time.
Your father steps into the room just as Shindou disappears.