"I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure in the landscape - the loneliness of it - the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it - the whole story doesn't show."
- Andrew Wyeth
Chapter three:
Sunday was quiet, and Hatori took the opportunity to catch up on the week's work. After dinner at Shigure's and the two trips to the Shiraki bookstore, Hatori found himself terribly behind in paperwork. Usually he would stay up in the night working, but Akito had been running a fever for the first half of the week and requiring every spare moment Hatori had.
Hatori considered having his nurse take care of the majority of the paperwork, but as strict and work-focused as Ayaka Sohma was, she was never as detail-oriented as Kana had been. That wasn't to say that Ayaka wasn't useful—she could quiet the loudest child and cow the most irate patients with only a look. Hatori supposed he had just grown accustomed to Kana's methods.
Hatori was filing away the day's charts in his office when there came a knock behind him.
"I figured you would be in here," said Shigure, opening the door and peering around. "Leave it to you to still find work on a Sunday."
"I fell behind this week, so I'm merely catching up," Hatori replied without looking at Shigure. "How did you get inside, anyway?"
"Yes, well, perhaps you should get another assistant," Shigure said, ignoring the question. He slid the door shut behind him and settled himself in one of Hatori's chairs. "Or make that Ayaka woman help you."
"Like you said, it's a Sunday, and I'm not going to call Ayaka-kun in for something as trivial as paperwork," said Hatori.
"You know it's going to take you ages by yourself?" Shigure said. His voice was annoyingly patronizing.
"And it'll take me longer still with you bothering me," Hatori countered, shooting Shigure a look before picking up a stack of files from his desk.
Shigure ignored the barb. Instead, he was looking at something else sitting on Hatori's desk. He picked up the book and examined the cover. "This isn't the one I ordered for you," he stated, glancing up at Hatori curiously.
"No, it isn't," Hatori replied neutrally.
"Hmm," mused Shigure, flipping through the pages. He looked at Hatori with raised eyebrows. "One of Mayu-chan's recommendations, then?"
"Yes, if you must know." Hatori glanced at Shigure, and was annoyed to see the man wearing an incredibly smug expression. "What?"
"And how is Mayu-chan these days?" Shigure asked, his grin widening.
Hatori was getting irritated. "Don't ask questions you already know the answers to. You've been in the Shiraki's store all week."
"You sound awfully defensive there, Haa-san," Shigure teased, flipping through the pages. Hatori sighed in exasperation. "Is there something you're trying to hide from me?" His eyes widened, and Shigure lowered the book suddenly. "Are you having a secret affair with our dear Mayu-chan?"
"Don't be stupid," Hatori reprimanded. "What are you doing here, anyway? And don't tell me you're out for a stroll to enjoy the weather—it's freezing outside."
"I went to see Akito, but he turned me away," said Shigure, shrugging. He set the book back down on the desk and leaned back comfortably in the chair. "I didn't want a trip to the Main House to go to waste. Besides, you've been holed up in here for weeks, and you haven't answered my calls in days. I had to make sure you weren't dead or missing."
"Well, you've verified your concerns," snapped Hatori. Shigure looked affronted at Hatori's biting tone, and Hatori sighed. Shigure's teasing never got to him so easily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you," he apologized. "I'm just tired. I haven't slept much in the past week." Or at all.
"You're going to get as sick as Akito if you don't slow down," said Shigure, his voice serious now. "No one's going to die if you leave some—" He picked up one of the files from Hatori's desk and glanced at it. "—medication consolidation forms unfiled tonight."
Hatori snatched the paper out of Shigure's hands and filed it away in the correct chart. He sighed, and then to his own surprise, Hatori sank into his office chair and ran his hands over his eyes tiredly. "I feel like I can never catch up," he said. "I only see members of the family, and they still work me to death."
"So is this a bad time to ask for the influenza vaccine?" Shigure asked. "I'm kidding," he added at the dark look Hatori shot him. "I've had enough of you and your huge needles to last me a lifetime." Shigure loosened the tie he wore—he always wore a suit when visiting Akito—and leaned back comfortably in his chair. "Did you hear that Kisa's over? Apparently she's taken a real liking to Tohru."
"Yes, I did hear," said Hatori, pulling out a cigarette. Hatsuharu had been running around earlier in the week, knocking on everyone's doors in his attempt to find Kisa. It didn't take much for word to travel among the Sohma estate.
Shigure gazed at the cigarette dubiously. "Should you be smoking in the clinic?"
"This isn't the clinic, it's my office," Hatori replied, lighting it. He exhaled, then said, "Like I said, you have this strange habit of taking in strays. I suppose it's for the best, though. Kisa's mother was ready to snap after the girl ran away last week. I think the woman needs a break—it's not easy being a parent to a cursed child."
"The kids at school were teasing Kisa," Shigure commented, pulling out his own cigarettes. "They thought her hair color was funny."
"Kisa's too soft-hearted to stand up for herself," said Hatori. "Not like Hatsuharu—he used to chase the kids around and beat them up if they made fun of him. I think I cleaned up a dozen bloody noses around here because of him. And Ayame, when we were kids, was too confident in himself to pay attention to any teasing." Hatori sighed. "I wonder how Hiro is doing."
"Hiro?" Shigure questioned with a slight frown. "What about him?"
"Hiro has a soft-spot for Kisa," said Hatori. He took a drag on his cigarette, rubbed his temple, then said, "He told Akito about it, and Akito didn't respond favorably. Ever since, Hiro's been avoiding Kisa, hoping he can protect her from Akito if everyone thinks he's lost interest in her. You didn't know? I thought Akito told you everything."
"Even Akito doesn't trust me with everything," said Shigure wryly. "So Akito gave her the old black-and-blue treatment, then, huh?"
Hatori sighed, then said, "When the person you love gets hurt because of you, you feel worthless. Hiro's too young to know what to do about those feelings, so he avoids Kisa and then takes it out on everyone else around him. I imagine Kisa thought Hiro didn't like her anymore—and when she was getting picked on at school…it's no wonder she closed herself up."
Shigure looked thoughtful. "Maybe that's why Hiro doesn't like Tohru."
"What do you mean?" Hatori asked, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray.
"Tohru ran into Hiro on Friday, on her way to work," said Shigure. "Tohru thinks Hiro's adorable, but from the sound of it, Hiro was being a real brat. Tohru wouldn't admit as much, but I did get Momiji to say something. Tohru shows Kisa a warmth and friendliness no one else has been able to—her mother is too fragile, Hiro's too afraid—and so Kisa's latched on to her. Hiro must be jealous of her." Shigure grinned widely, then added, "Our little flower is really something, isn't she?"
"Our?" Hatori repeated, standing up again and returning to his filing.
Shigure sighed contentedly, and he stretched his arms behind his head. "Always so thoughtful and kind. Says exactly what they need to hear, and I don't know if she realizes it. She puts just about anyone at ease."
"Even Akito?"
Shigure pretended to look surprised. "Did I say that?"
"You don't need to, I know you well enough for that," said Hatori. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at Shigure, and he paused in his filing. "You need to stop your meddling before someone gets hurt. I don't know what it is you're planning, but you should really be thinking about Yuki and Kyo, and Honda-kun as well, for that matter."
"Relax," said Shigure dismissively. "I'm not plotting to throw our little flower to the wolves, or any other horrible scenario you've thought up."
"Then what are you plotting?"
Shigure gave Hatori a look. "You really want to know?"
Hatori looked at Shigure for a long moment. "No, I don't," he said slowly, turning back to his papers. "But I hope you at least have sense enough to be careful. You know what happens when Akito gets upset—it would be unfortunate for someone else to get punished in your place."
"Don't worry about Akito," said Shigure, his tone flippant again.
"I haven't slept all week because I worry about Akito," said Hatori pointedly. "And I know you see Akito in ways the rest of us don't," he added, seeing Shigure about to speak. "But that only means Akito's temper will explode exponentially."
"It sounds like you already know what my plans are," said Shigure thoughtfully.
"I have my suspicions." It was Hatori's turn to sound dismissive. "And in all good conscience, I can't help you." He sighed, then added reluctantly, "But at the same time, I won't stop you, either."
Shigure smirked at that. "You worry too much, Haa-san," he said.
Hatori slid his last chart into the shelf. "You don't worry enough."
Come Monday, Hatori was glad that he spent his weekend locked up in the clinic, trying to catch up.
Weekday mornings were reserved for appointments, and the last several hours were spent in open-clinic, where most of the family—too lazy to make appointments—dropped in with complaints of various ailments. Many times family members dropped in during off hours, insisting to see the doctor. Hatori usually had pockets between appointments where he could fit someone in at the last moment, but Monday had been booked full. Everyone seemed to have the cold or the flu, and those who didn't insisted they did, anyway. The small sitting area just outside the clinic was unusually loud, and even Ayaka was too busy to silence them with one of her looks. After numerous antibiotic prescriptions, orders to rest and to stay home from work, and culture collections, Hatori stopped looking at the clock and resigned himself to staying at the clinic forever.
It snowed on Tuesday, which was unusual for the time of year but not unheard of.
"Maybe it'll keep everyone away during clinic hours," said the old woman from whom Hatori was collecting a blood sample. "People don't like to go out in the snow and ice."
Hatori and Ayaka knew better, of course, and spent every down moment catching up on the previous days' paperwork. Snow had a tendency to draw people into the clinic like a magnet. As if on schedule, a more distant family member brought her three young children into the front room of the clinic, looking frantic and yelling at her kids.
"They had a snowball fight," she told Hatori breathlessly, who looked from one bloodied face to the other. "And they decided to fill those snowballs with rocks, and then the snowball fight turned into a fistfight."
"Stop your crying," Ayaka commanded the youngest child, pulling him forward and examining his bloody nose.
Hatori took the middle child, who was holding a fistful of cloth to his brow. "You might need stitches," he told the child, examining the injury. The boy—barely nine, by the looks of him—turned to his mother fearfully.
"Well, that's what you get for throwing rocks," she said, rubbing her temple.
Hatori went into the back storage room and re-appeared with something in his hand. "Here, hold this to your eye while I look at your brother," Hatori told the child, holding out an icepack. "It's easier when there's less swelling."
The boy took the ice from Hatori, and gingerly brought it to his face, wincing at the contact. Last was the oldest boy, who looked defiantly back at Hatori.
"I don't need anything," he said, crossing his arms. "I'm fine."
"Hiroki!" the woman scolded. "That's no way to speak to Sensei!"
Hiroki shrugged stubbornly. "Whatever, it's true."
"He's right, Ayaka-kun," said Hatori, eyeing the boy's face. There were a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious. "Can you clean him up while I take the other boy into the back?"
Ayaka didn't look up from the youngest child, whose face she was cleaning mechanically, ignoring his tears. "Of course, Hatori-san."
Hatori beckoned for the middle child to follow him to one of two examining rooms. The boy followed, but stood frozen in the doorway until Hatori turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. As if snapping back to life, the boy put on a brave face and climbed onto the examining table, ice still held over one eye.
"Who started the idea of throwing rocks?" Hatori asked, shutting the door and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. It was usually easier to perform any tasks requiring needles if the patient was kept distracted. For some reason, children were usually easier than adults.
"No one really started it," said the boy, watching Hatori slowly pile the tray with terrifying-looking tools. "Some of the snowballs were just really compacted, like ice." He shrugged.
"And the fist fight?" Hatori asked, opening packets of gauze.
The boy grimaced at that. "I told Fuyuki to stop throwing the rocks, because he'd already hit someone's car. He got annoyed and threw one at me, but he missed and hit Hiroki. That's when Hiroki threw a punch."
"If your brothers were fighting, how did you end up being the one who needed stitches?" Hatori asked, pulling the boy's hand away from his face and examining the cut again.
The boy shivered under Hatori's touch. "I was trying to stop them," he said. "They're always fighting."
"This will sting a little," warned Hatori just before he began cleaning out the wound. The boy winced slightly at the touch, but was otherwise still. There were several long minutes of silence while Hatori worked and the boy sat with his eyes squinted shut, knuckles white against the edge of the table.
When the cut was clean, Hatori picked up a syringe of anesthetic. The boy's eyes widened.
"Just try to relax," ordered Hatori, tapping the syringe to remove any air bubbles. Methodically, he moved towards the boy's brow and injected the anesthetic. "Give it a few moments, and you won't feel a thing," Hatori said, glancing at the boy, who looked like he had been fighting to keep a straight face. The boy nodded once, jaw clenched shut.
Hatori opened up the suture kit while he waited for the anesthetic to kick in. He was threading the needle when the boy spoke again.
"I heard a story from one of the other kids. She said it was true, but I don't know if I believe her."
"What story is this?" Hatori asked without looking up.
"That there's a curse," the boy whispered. Hatori hesitated for a split second, but kept his features perfectly schooled. "They say that members of the family turn into animals."
"What do you think?" Hatori asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.
The boy shrugged. He gingerly reached to touch his brow.
"Don't touch it, or I'm going to have to clean it all over again," Hatori warned.
The boy's hand dropped. "It's weird," he said. "I can't feel my face." They were silent for several minutes while Hatori worked, then the boy spoke again. "Is there a curse? That turns people into animals?"
"Why do you think I would know?" Hatori asked blandly, tying the last suture.
"Because you're a doctor," said the boy knowingly. "You see everyone, and do their check-ups and stuff."
Hatori set down the suture tools. "If there is a curse," he said indifferently as he taped a piece of gauze over the site. "then they've done a good job keeping it secret from me."
"Yeah," said the boy, a little disappointed. "I thought it sounded pretty stupid, too."
"You're all finished," said Hatori, removing his gloves with a snap. "You can go back out, now."
The boy slid off the examination table and walked into the front room, where his mother and two brothers were waiting. Hatori followed, and was relieved to see that the youngest had finally stopped crying. He had a headache forming, and he didn't need it aggravated any further.
"You'll need to come back in four days to get the sutures removed," Hatori told the mother as he removed a notepad from his coat pocket. "The anesthetic is going to wear off soon, so be sure to give him some ibuprofen to help counter the swelling. Ayaka-kun can set you up with an appointment."
Hatori picked up the chart that Ayaka had already pulled from the office and paper-clipped his notes to it before tossing it into the basket he would go over at the end of the day. He sighed at the size of the stack, and had a sudden urge for a cigarette. Hatori checked his watch for the time.
"Is it just me, or is this family getting sicklier and into more trouble?" Ayaka asked as she slid the door shut behind the boys. "I know you think you can handle all the family's problems on your own, Hatori-san, but you should really consider getting another assistant. That Kana we used to have around here—things were never smoother with her around."
Hatori looked at the towering stack of charts on the desk, and sighed. After Kana left, Hatori never considered getting a new assistant. In fact, he had been grateful to take on all the work himself, because it kept him distracted almost every minute of every day. But now, two years later, it was starting to wear Hatori down. Maybe it was time to get a new assistant.
The rest of the week passed with slightly less drama. Akito's health was improving as much as could be expected, the cold weather had regressed into a damp 50 degrees, and Hatori and Ayaka had finally caught up on paperwork.
Of course, Ayaka took every opportunity to hint that they needed a new assistant. It wasn't that Hatori was against the idea—he had just never really considered it, and had no idea where to look. Kana had been easy—she was a member of the Sohma family and wanted some experience before graduating medical school. Her position in Hatori's clinic started out as an arrangement more than actual need. Maybe Ayaka was right—Hatori was sure the clinic had never been this overwhelmed before.
However, if Hatori got an assistant, he would need Akito's approval. Kana was a member of the family, and so Akito hadn't worried too much about what would happen if she found out about the curse. But as far as Hatori knew, there were no aspiring doctors in the family, and he would have to find someone from outside.
Akito wouldn't be happy about that.
Finally, by Friday, Ayaka stopped her hints and cornered Hatori in his private office, which was situated across the hall from the clinic.
"We need an assistant, Hatori-san," she said, sounding like she was giving an order. She was rather short and squat, but managed to look intimidating with her crossed arms and stern expression.
Hatori looked up from his desk in slight surprise. Ayaka was never so direct with him—he suspected that, despite Ayaka's own fearsome reputation, she was a little afraid of him. But whatever fear she had, Ayaka kept it well hidden under her patronizing gaze.
"I'm not trying to overstep my authority," she continued, as if trying to explain her sudden bravery towards Hatori. "But this is getting ridiculous. Every time I come to the clinic early, you've already been here for hours, and when I leave late, you're still working. It isn't good for your health, Hatori-san."
She's worried about my health? Hatori thought with surprise. I thought she was just annoyed about being over-worked.
"I have a friend whose niece is in medical school," Ayaka continued. "Her last year. I'm sure she will be grateful for the job."
Hatori opened his mouth to speak, but was saved the task of answering when his cell phone suddenly rang. "Excuse me," he said, pulling it out of his pocket and answering. "This is Hatori Sohma." There was a pause while he listened. "I'll be right there," he said quickly, jumping out of his chair and grabbing his keys from his desktop. He hung up the phone and turned to Ayaka. "I'll be back in half an hour," he said as way of an apology.
"Don't worry, Hatori-san," she said, stepping out of the way. "I've already closed up the clinic and did the charting. Take your time."
"Thank you. Have a nice weekend, Ayaka-kun," Hatori said before rushing through the dim hall that separated his office and the clinic, and out the front door. He made his way around the drive towards his parked car, and got inside. He couldn't believe he had forgotten to pick up Momiji from violin practice. Hatori collected the boy every Friday evening at seven o'clock, but had somehow managed to forget it entirely tonight.
Fifteen minutes later, Hatori pulled up in front of the music store, where Momiji was waiting inside.
"I'm sorry about being so late," said Hatori as Momiji opened the car door. "I lost track of the time. Though—" Hatori checked his watch. "Why did you wait for almost an hour to call me?"
Momiji buckled his seat belt. "I figured you were busy, and just running late," he said, shrugging. "I didn't want to bother you. Besides, Papa called and we talked for a bit."
Hatori shook his head as he pulled back into traffic. "Next time, please bother me. It's rude of me to promise to pick you up and then forget about it."
Momiji leaned back in his seat, uncharacteristically silent. Hatori stole a glance at the boy's face, and saw that he looked unhappy. Was he angry that Hatori had been so late?
"Well, you don't have to worry about picking me up anymore," mumbled Momiji.
Hatori frowned. Was Momiji really so upset with him that he didn't want Hatori picking him up anymore? "Momiji, you're being unr-"
"Papa says he wants me to stop violin lessons," interrupted Momiji, determinedly looking out the window. "Momo just started, and he doesn't want us in the same class, in case Mama sees me."
The car was silent for several minutes. As they were stalled at a red light, Hatori turned to look at Momiji, who was staring gloomily out the window. As if sensing his gaze, Momiji turned around and sighed. "Papa says Momo wants to start violin lessons, too. And he said normally it wouldn't matter, but Momo's really curious about me. We ran into each other at Papa's work a while ago, and Papa says Momo talks about me sometimes. He doesn't want her or Mama to see me, in case Mama starts to remember."
Hatori's brows knitted together as traffic moved again. Finally, he said, "If he's afraid Momo's getting too interested in you, then forcing you to stop lessons isn't going to help. If anything, it'll just make the girl more curious—she'll wonder where you've gone."
Momiji stared out the window and didn't respond.
"I'll give your father a call tomorrow and talk to him," Hatori said, taking the exit that would lead to the Sohma estate. "At the very least, you can switch days. There's no real reason why you should have to stop altogether."
Momiji brightened at that. "Would you, Ha'ri? Oh, that would be wonderful, because my teacher's really good! The best in Tokyo! And we've got another recital coming up soon. I brought the flier with me," he said, pulling a folded piece of paper out of his coat. He handed it to Hatori, who pocketed it without tearing his eyes away from the road. "I hope you can make it! We're doing solos this time!"
"I will if I can," said Hatori. The street—previously lit by lamps and buildings lights—was now dark and surrounded by trees. They were reaching the city's outer limits, where the Sohma estate was situated.
"And maybe Tohru can come, too! She's never heard me play before," continued Momiji, straightening up in his seat a little. It seemed Hatori's promise to speak to his father put Momiji in a much better mood.
"You'll have to ask her," said Hatori, pulling onto a private, narrow lane that was almost completely hidden by the trees. They passed the drive that led to Shigure's house, and after a moment, were passing the houses that made up the bulk of the "outside." Hatori maneuvered his car through the estate's inner gates, and drove slowly towards the Main House. Momiji lived alone in a small house that adjoined the eastern side of the Main House. The small place was serviced regularly by servants, and Momiji was almost fifteen, but Hatori still didn't feel right dropping the boy off to an empty home.
Momiji noisily collected his things and climbed out of the car. "Thanks for the ride, Ha'ri! And for talking to Papa for me—of course, you haven't done that yet, but thanks in advance! Oh—you have something to eat for dinner, right?"
Hatori tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. Occasionally Hatori would let Momiji stay over, and Momiji had discovered just how bad Hatori's eating habits were on the first night. Ever since, the boy made it a point to ask Hatori if he was eating correctly. "Yes, I still have leftovers in my fridge."
Momiji's eyes narrowed in slight suspicion. "You're eating more than just soba, right? And you're going to sit down and eat it—you won't stand in your kitchen with your charts again?"
Hatori rubbed an eye tiredly, feeling a little embarrassed that a teenager was coddling him. "Good night, Momiji," said Hatori firmly.
"Guten nacht, Ha'ri!" said Momiji before slamming the car door shut.
Hatori waited until Momiji had disappeared inside before turning his car around and heading to his own house. It was his first night in a long while where he was actually free, but Hatori would spend it like any other night—go over paperwork in his office while he ate something relatively tasteless that required little effort or time. He parked his car and walked around towards the back—past the closed clinic—and unlocked the private entrance that led to the upstairs section of the house. Hatori's grandparents had added the clinic as an attachment to the house years ago; Hatori's father had said he speculated they did this in order to cut down on the number of house calls that occurred each day.
Hatori turned on the lights, slid off his shoes, and dropped his keys on the small table near the entrance. He removed his coat and tossed it onto the western-style couch like he did every night, and ambled towards the kitchen.
The kitchen itself was well-stocked with dishes and cooking utensils, but Hatori rarely used anything beyond a single pot or frying pan. Mostly he ate leftovers from the lunches that were delivered to the clinic by the Main House; otherwise it was something instant, like soba with pre-packaged broth. Hatori opened his refrigerator, which was bare except for a few condiments and a single, packaged meal on the middle shelf. Hatori pulled it out and set it on the counter. The maids who cleaned his house everyday had long-since grown accustomed to collecting the leftover lunch from Hatori's office and storing it away for him.
Hatori filled the tea kettle with water, and leaned against the counter listlessly while he waited for it to boil. His nightly routine was dull and predictable, but it was also easy and was the only real quiet time Hatori had. Once the tea was done, Hatori collected his cold dinner and made his way downstairs to his office. He flipped on the lights and set the food down, and was about to grab a stack of paperwork when he spotted Mayuko's book sitting on the desk. Hatori had managed to get through a third of it so far, which was actually quite significant given how little personal time he had. Hatori sat down at the desk and pulled the book towards him—he didn't have anything pressing to attend to, and the paperwork Hatori had been planning to look at could wait a little longer….
It was late when Hatori remembered to check his watch for the time. He had been so engrossed in the book that he lost track of the time. Hatori reached for the stray piece of paper he had been using as a bookmark and cast a dark look at the pile of papers sitting on the corner of his desk. If he was honest with himself, he just really didn't feel like working on them—everything about the clinic and the Sohma estate was exhausting him.
Hatori took the empty lunchbox upstairs to the kitchen, where he tossed it into the trash. He cast a dark look around the spotless kitchen. When Kana had been his assistant, she balked at Hatori's poor eating habits. When they worked late into the night, Kana had always insisted on cooking dinner for them. Now that she was gone, his kitchen had fallen back into disuse.
Hatori turned off the light and headed to his bedroom. He tossed his clothes unceremoniously onto the floor before climbing into bed. Like every night, Hatori set his alarm for six and placed his cell phone on the bedside table in the event that Akito called in the night. He pulled the blankets up past his shoulders, rolled over, and fell into an uneasy sleep.