THE PASSING WIND
-TheSilentReader-
CHAPTER 13
Touma Sachiko, formally known as Ogasawara Sachiko, the sole heir of the Ogasawara Zaibatsu, the first female heir, fourth generation.
It was not a secret to the elite how Sachiko had been the first female heir—she was a legitimate Ogasawara offspring. However, sex must be a very cruel fate to tinker. Fifty percent of such a chance would please or disappoint a very traditional family, whose legacy passes from the male firstborns of the family. For three generations, there were successions of good luck, but when the fourth came, the patriarch then was a little dissatisfied. How preposterious this game of chance was for Ogasawara Tooru and Sayako. They knew that they would still love their daughter as they would love a son, but the patriarch was not amused. He demanded a male heir.
Tooru and Sayako tried and tried. Particularly, Sayako, who Tooru himself chose to be his wife. Her family was honored to give her away to a very old and powerful family, thus reminded Sayako of how they have been very grateful for marrying up—afterall, the family had proven worthy of giving their most prized possession. Sayako was trained for this moment—the moment that she would be marrying into the Ogasawara and birthed the fourth heir that would continue its name. Yet, in the role that she would have done so perfectly, she failed to give a male heir. In the midst of her hallucination, never-ending pain, and fatigue, she had found out that she gave birth to a beautiful girl. The newly born infant cried loudly, a manifestation of the strength of her character. At first gulp of air, she already had the bearing of the Ogasawara—imposing, confident, and demanding. She cried haughtily, demanding the warmth of her mother. While she was being cleaned, she still wailed for her mother in shrieking demands, only to stop when Sayako reached out her suddenly empowered arms and hold her daughter above her swollen chest. There, the newborn gave her first sound of satisfaction—a sigh—that made Sayako hold the baby tightly, possessively, as sleep was finally seizing her and muttered the name, "Sachiko."
Tooru heard her almost subliminal utterance like sirens of the ambulance, and he proclaimed it their daughter's name, as he watched both women of his life slumbered. Sachiko was like her mother—very quiet at sleep. Tooru was already satisfied and was prepared to live a happy life, when his father knocked three times at the door and stared at Tooru with blank eyes.
He wanted a grandson.
It was hard to produce Sachiko.
Sayako had been very indulging, the perfect bride for Tooru; she was a willing flower as well as a submissive one. He could see his mother in Sayako—a stunning, angelic, majestic woman, whose dark blue eyes shone as she reach for his son and embrace him tightly, as if she wanted him nowhere else than her engulfing arms. Tooru had a brief memory of her, but still, he tried his hardest not to forget her face, scent, and warmth. He found that in Sayako. He thought that she was his first decision that he chose for himself; he did not let his father interfere with matters such as marriage. He picked keenly a girl that fitted perfectly for the role as the next heir's mother. As a man, it was his right to do so. Therefore, when his grandfather found that Tooru's first child was a girl, he gave him a stare that could slice boulders in clean halves. He knew the reason for his father's disappointment.
Again, it was hard to produce Sachiko.
It would have been easier if Sachiko were a sure arrow piercing through the center of a straw butt; it was more of a series of hit and miss. She being born almost labeled a miracle. Yet, as time passed, even with many attempts to hit the red circle of that straw butt, Tooru and Sayako never again were able to produce another child. And concurrent with that was the growing coldness of Tooru's father towards Sayako—an evidence that he should have been the one that picked a more suitable wife for his son. Living in the same roof, Sayako had tried her best to please his father-in-law, but to no avail. He was not able to have the grandson that he wanted.
It was all absurd for Tooru, who considered his father as a dormant lunatic, blaming it all to Sayako. She could never pick out the sex of the child—it should come into the world to love and be loved, regardless of its sex. But with years and years of verbal and emotional torment from his father, he became restless and careless, to the point that he did not want to go home, just to see his father flashing how Tooru disappointed him, like neon lights in a disco. Soon, Sayako and Tooru could not even console themselves and each other. Tooru began to drift his attention away from home; Sayako began to focus more on being the Stepford wife that she used to dread of becoming.
Sachiko knew of all of these. Her mother was successful at first in keeping the harsh nature of the household, and his father doted much of his time with them, as any good father would do. In the days of her childhood, she thought that they were the best, and no one could ever replace them. She loved them both that she would do anything for their sake—all that she had done, she had been told to do, and she would do were to honor her father and mother, as a tribute for their devotion. Yet, as she grew up, her eyes and ears developed more sensitive too; she was now noticing tiny rips of what she thought as an impeccable family picture.
She grew up surpassing more than what everyone expected her to be. Sachiko was perfection, from her manners to her academics. She had flaws too, but they were much understandable as a fraction of the Ogasawara traits. She could be arrogant, selfish. But it was also the Ogasawara way. She could be arrogant, because she deserved it.
Yet, the façade of her happy family was eating her slowly; damaging her soul openly that Tooru and Sayako believed that they were so unworthy of such a perfect child like her. The perfect Sachiko was being blemished by the imprudence of her parents, and the constant criticism of her grandfather. She had one thing in her mind: to be someone worthy of the highest position in the family business, when his father would retire in the far future. She would surpass the past four generations and would make overkill. It was the only way to redeem her parents' confidence, and her revolt against her grandfather.
It would not be wise to attack offensively and openly. Thus, she did it first with subtlety, with small things. If the first little disobedience agaist the arrogant nature of the Ogasawara ideals could be done, then the next bigger disobedience would be possible. School first, then her grandfather, then the world.
She would never understand why his father had never been able to love her mother completely. She would never understand that. Her mother always taught her to listen intently without turning back, to never look but see, to grieve without crying. In Sachiko's childhood, at barely the age of three, many times Sayako repeated those as if it were her dying wish, particularly at times when Tooru had gone to a faraway land for his job. She would remind her everytime they lie down on Sachiko's four-poster bed, talking about dashing princes and marble-glazed castles. Before she slept, Sayako's words about not looking but seeing, not hearing but listening, and grieving without crying were what she remembered most, not the fairy-tales she read to her. She never understood her mother. Not until she found out, years later, that the Ogasawara men were known to have mistresses.
Tooru, her father, was a kind man. But he was weak . . . weak because he lived with everyone's expectations, leaving Sayako to a nightmare that she had to endure forever. Sachiko hated the men of Ogasawara.
The first time that she defied his grandfather was when she accepted Mizuno Youko's proposal of being her petit soeur. Youko was all a perfect student and a loving and doting Onee-sama, but one thing that made her an abberation to be associated with the family was her social status. She was beneath the family—no, beneath Sachiko's social circle. Youko was as accomplished as she was—excellent in everything that she did, has a cool temperament, a competent and wise leader. It was not at all entirely a problem until Youko suggested that she'd stop all her private tutelage, which was all ordered by the family patriarch. It annoyed him. Her father talked to her about it. Yet, Sachiko reasoned that she had better follow her elders, and that it would be for her own growth—to learn newer things other than ladylike skills. She reasoned that she'd be very limited if she could not experience the other side of the fence. Youko's garden—the rest of the world.
Then came Fukuzawa Yumi, a girl with plain charm, plain social status, and average accomplishments. Sachiko was hoarding friends who are beneath her, and soon, they were beginning to poison the fourth generation with simpletons and exposing her to the vulgarity of the world other than their own. The grandfather had known her little schemes, the reason behind her uncharacteristic actions. He remained silent and unresponsive to those hidden acts of rebellion, because he knew that when an oppurtunity stroke, he would seize it.
Sachiko was beginning to enjoy the company of the Yamayurikai. Soon, she forgot why she was there all along—the acts of rebellion—and turned her mere pawns to good friends. She surprisingly found herself enamored with Youko's resolved elegance, Sei's rough wisdom, Eriko's breezy disinterest, Rei's dynamic femininity, Shimako's unfaltered tranquility, Yoshino's bottled fervor.
And Yumi's brightness. Everything about her shone. She was the antithesis of what Sachiko was. And she was attracted to how Yumi deviate so much in the Ogasawara tradition that she had lived almost all her life. Yet, Yumi shone. There was such a person that could be so angelic, so cheerful, so satisfied, and so happy even without the Ogasawara ideals. She wanted a piece of that. She was thankful that she met Yumi.
And after the freedom she felt inside the Lillian garden, she was once again tormented by her grandfather's orders. She gave up Yumi to be with his grandfather's choice, Touma Ryu.
Yet, with all which she could have experience outside her family's clutches, why did she choose not to rebel entirely—to separate herself from her fate? To love Yumi completely and freely? To fight for her position in the family as the sole heir? What was there that chained Sachiko so well?
What did her grandfather do to Sachiko that made her yield miserably?
Yuuki pondered, as he looked at the picture that Touko gave him when they talked about the Ogasawara family. She knew what was happening inside, for her parents had been kind enough to disclose information regarding their relatives. After all, it was retaliation for what they had done to disgrace the Matsudaira family—they bullied Touko knowing that she was an adopted child. Even with that, Touko's parents were enraged by the insult—even without the ties of the blood, Touko was considered proudly as the heir of the Matsudaira family. And that was eternal.
The detective settled the picture on his table, letting Yoshino have her turn to look. Yet, the agent could not even touch it. Rei was reluctant in exposing what she knew about Sachiko—but the more that she talked, the more that Yoshino realized how sorrowful Rei was in keeping them. She said that she needed someone to talk about it. Yet, when Yoshino asked the reason why Sachiko left Yumi, she said that she did not know. Sachiko did not mention it to her, and dared not to open the topic. Yet, that was what her raven-haired cousin wanted to know the most.
Yuuki and Yoshino had been working on such a complicated jigsaw puzzle, searching for missing information, giving assumptions for the story to make sense. It did, somehow, when Yuuki and Yoshino combined what they knew with Rei's confessions and Touko's statements.
The picture of Yumi, Touko and Sachiko, wearing their Lillian uniforms, standing proudly before a boquet of blood red roses sitting upon a porcelain vase. It was inside the salon of the Rose Mansion, where all of them were tied by friendship, duty for the school, and love. Yumi was grinning brightly, showing ample amounts of white teeth; Sachiko was showing amusement with her wide smile and bright eyes, while Touko was smiling nervously at the center, her brows a little tense.
Yuuki looked at Yumi, more closely to the confident, goofy grin. Where was that now? When would be the time that he would see her smile, without the bitter leer afterwards?
Yoshino looked away from the picture, thinking of Ogasawara Sachiko, and of how Yoshino watched the sempai with her petit seour during the course of her duties inside the Yamayurikai. The Ogasawara successor had been happy the moment she became a member of the student council, and doubled more when she had Yumi as her little sister. Many wanted to be like her, to experience even for just a single day how to be an Ogasawara. But the truth was no one in the Yamayurikai—those who had known her best—wanted to be like her. Not even Yumi.
How strong Yumi was? She is, and she would prove it wonderfully, and shove it to Kashiwagi's egotistical ass. Yes, that was a challenge that she was irking to get through and done with. It would be like killing two birds with one stone; they were Sachiko and Kashiwagi. She never thought how coincidental everything was, and how they fit in one point of her life where everyone seemed to be drawn close to her once more. Her painting was stolen, then here came Sachiko, who she was trying to avoid (to protect herself), then came Kashiwagi with his commission, who was Touma Ryu's former classmate at Hanadera, who was now Sachiko's husband. Then, there's Yuuki and Yoshino looking for her stuff. How inspiring it was for her to connect all the dots.
He was taking too long—Kashiwagi, that is.
For the first time in many nights, he was not there at his usual spot at the hallway beside her workroom, because he went away early to meet his friend, Touma Ryu, and Sachiko. He would wait for them at the airport; other than that information, she did not ask more. Yet, she wondered where they would be at this hour. The time was close to eight in the evening, and she was getting a little hungry.
Her eyes drifted to the empty hallway, but she mentally snapped herself and proceeded with her job.
No. The truth that she was fucking terrified for all its worth. Can she, even with everything that she had gone through, not spare herself with feelings like that? She is terrified with what she would do, of what she would feel if she would face the couple that she abhored? She was terrified of the embarrassment that she would endure every single damning moment that she'd see Kashiwagi, because if she failed, he won't stop reminding her of how pathetic she was. No confession would ever erase that possibility from her mind. She saw Kashiwagi's approach to help her, she did not even ask for it, or why he was doing it, but she knew what Kashiwagi was trying to impart. As proud as he was, he appeared to her to be innocently cruel. She just couldn't pinpoint where.
It was an hour later and a knock was heard at her door. The old woman in dull kimono stood by the slightly opened slide doors. Yumi stood up to do her a greeting, but afterwards, the old woman said that Kashiwagi needed her to be there at the living area to be with his esteemed guests. She looked at Yumi with straight eyes, and the latter nodded and said, "Yes, thank you. I'll be there after I finish cleaning my hands."
The woman bowed down, and waited inconspicuously outside. Yumi dabbed the paint upon her hands with wet cloth, removing stains but not entirely cleaning it. Then she removed her apron and settled it on her stool and went out of her workroom, and was led by the old woman to the living area. On the way, she could not feel her hands.
Carpal tunnel*, maybe? It felt that way.
When she saw them, a large low table was already set, which meant that there were to eat dinner yet. She felt a little growl in her stomach, for which the thought of food suddenly induced her body be feeling hungry. It was already nine in the evening, and she had not eaten since lunch.
Sachiko was still as beautiful as ever; her long, straight, black hair was shining bluish against the flourescent light and her face majestic. Even if she was considered the devil in Yumi's eyes, devils had their reputations of being so illusionary—they tend to be so easthetically beautiful. That's why artists are said to be attracted to devils and angels at the same time. Touma Ryu was as princely as he could be with his bright smile and expressive dark eyes.
Yeah, yeah, they're a good couple to look at, alright. No doubt about that. Bitterness and sarcasm were fighting for dominance against reason in her brain; she always have both in normal occassions but seeing Sachiko and Ryu and eating with them and the inevitable chance of talking to them were cruel jokes indeed. And she thought that they would already part ways after that party. Releasing her feelings for this moment is a terrible cut through her pride. She won't let that happen. She then bowed to the visitors, saying that she was sorry to intrude into the group. When she looked at Kashiwagi to give him her challenging eye, he greeted it with a smirk.
Bastard.
But she would be lying if she did not feel any pang of hurt as she motioned herself to a seat near Kashiwagi and look directly at the couple sitting in front of her. She almost wished she was in Ryu's place—some part of her feelings still yearned that. But most of it was determined to desensitize her heart, to fucking brave it, as suggested by Kashiwagi. Running away from Sachiko won't make her proud of herself; more so, it was degrading, especially when she found herself opposing Kashiwagi not to meet them.
Coward, he accused her. Why did he have to intrude in her business? She regretted biting the bait, but it was too late now. She already started doing what Kashiwagi challenged her to do.
Sachiko was polite as she should be, smiling at his husband's wit, voicing out her own opinions. Ryu was eager to listen to her, and was not afraid to counter her. He treated her nothing like what Sachiko described men to be years ago—domineering, chauvinistic, cold. In all ways that Yumi judged his character, she found nothing that could harm Sachiko. If a man were unkind to his wife, it would always show in the way he treat her outside—no matter how secretive and watchful he was of himself. Yumi was seeing what she used to be years ago in Ryu. She was seeing her old self before Sachiko broke her heart.
For a moment, she could not look at him.
It was true, what Sachiko had told before to her back at the rooftop of the gallery; he was a good man.
They talked about current events, which Yumi had no interest but still listened. While politics dominated the discussion—the current workings of the Diet, the prime minister's approval ratings, etcetera, etcetera—she just kept her opinions to herself and let Sachiko, Ryu and (sometimes) Kashiwagi converse to one another. Ryu had been the most animated, which made Kashiwagi roll his eyes, which Yumi found to be his sort of reflex. As if he was still not used to Ryu even though they claimed that they were classmates years back. Sachiko was tolerant as ever. She laughed, and sometimes she apprehended Ryu lightly. It made Yumi think: was this the way Sachiko looked like back when we were together? Tolerant? She remembered Sachiko to be that way when they ate with friends, or with Yumi's family.
Yumi was not sure anymore of how true or real their feelings were back then, but she knew that she had loved deeply. She was bitter, was she not? She hated her, didn't she? She had died years ago; she was certain of that. Wasn't it possible that what was true yesterday could not be true now? She was certain a history professor said that, years ago.
Then, Ryu began to ask Yumi about herself so eagarly that she could not even manage to stay quiet and even produce a scowl to defend herself against the man's wide grin and enthused prodding. Sachiko began to censure him quietly, but seeing her being embarrassed by his husband, Yumi then indulged him. She tried not her very best not to pepper sarcasm and mockery to her every reply, because she cannot just insult a potential sponsor. And he was Kashiwagi's friend; no matter how abnormal Kashiwagi and her relationship were, she would not embarrass his employer. To do that would be ludicrous.
Deep inside, she hated Ryu. Being with him was like being to her past self. She envied him, at his positive bearing and attitute, at the fact that she found him suitable for Sachiko. Someone could actually replace Yumi in Sachiko's heart. She was dispensable, after all. And that her grandfather was somehow right at his decision.
When she realized that, she tried to be as attentive to Ryu's soliloquy of how he admired contemporary Nihonga painters. She felt nauseous. She turned to Kashiwagi to finally signal her failure to accomplish Kashiwagi's challenge, but he just looked at her deeply and without mockery. She understood; there was no room for failure.
She would never allow herself to fail.
All the while Yumi tried not to linger too much on Sachiko's face. When she caught her looking, she just smiled, a bit embarrassed, and afterwards, proceeded to focus on the discussion that Ryu had been optimistically firing up and that Kashiwagi had been trying to quell with his indifferent eyes.
Later that night, when the visitors settled to their room, Yumi decided to go back to her workroom. She was determined to release herself from her self-inflicted angst by working on the second Hinata, but when she noticed that her next task required a very fresh and un-pressured hand, she decided she she'd just stay outside, looking at the stars. Just like Kashiwagi had been doing for the past weeks. What fascinated Kashiwagi here? What made him look at the stars?
She did not realize that she fell asleep. Her head was resting upon the wooden post at his spot. But she noticed that she felt unbelievably warm. Then, she noticed a thick, oversized haori wrapped around her. She bolted out from her sleepiness and found Kashiwagi beside her, two feet away, looking at the stars.
"Why didn't you just go to your room and sleep, instead of being here?" She asked.
"Same goes to you."
She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "How long . . . how long have you been here?"
"Long enough."
She snorted at Kashiwagi's reply. "I hate people when they answer like that. Acting all angsty and mysterious. It's infuriating. Why can't you just give a direct, precise answer?"
"Same goes for you." That same reply gained a scowl and then a smirk from the half-awake painter. "Then again, don't tease a woken snake. I am here, thirty minutes since."
She sighed, getting comfortable with the makeshift blanket. "That long. What time is it?" She asked dazedly.
He looked at his wristwatch and said stonely, "Twelve-thirty."
It had been an hour since she went here to work. She always prided herself that she could sleep anywhere and in whatever position—but sleeping outside in the cold, without any warm clothing to protect her, she was surprising herself, sometimes. If ever she had not felt the sudden warmth of the haori, she might have slumbered away until morning. And catch cold later.
"So, how was your first night in hell?" The devil asked.
She chuckled. Was today like a trip there? She was not so sure. "It's not that hard, my friend." she said smugly.
"You managed. I like that." He grinned at her boisterous claim.
"I'm glad I entertained you." She chuckled, and then yawned again, leaning her head to the post. "I'm in your spot."
"It's all right."
They watched the stars together. Soon, they retired for their room, and Yumi gave back the haori to Kashiwagi.
He saw it. Suguru walking on the corridors of Yumi's workroom and saw him removing his haori to wrap it around the painter's body. Then, he looked at her for a long time, just watching her stir as she adjusted the collar to cover her neck and lower portion of her face. Then, when he thought that the painter finally adapted to her new protection against the cold, he looked upward to the stars.
He chuckled as he headed back to his and Sachiko's quarters. Kashiwagi-san surely had weird tastes. He did not even remember if the former vice-president of the Hanadera Student Council ever had interest with girls. Maybe, due to his reputation back then, students were often afraid or intimidated by him. But seeing him like that with an employee of his made Ryu bring back a question that had been bothering him ever since he met Kashiwagi: was there ever a person that could make Kashiwagi fall apart? Because he never saw a man as latent as he was.
Ryu had no idea how he became fond of stargazing; in fact, he never thought of that of Kashiwagi. Never since high school. He was never that kind of guy.
She would be lying if she were not hurt by Yumi's sudden indifference to her. Coming to Kashiwagi's home, she expected that she would be greeted with lukewarm tea splashing to her face—her most intense imagery of the moment she would meet Yumi again. She expected silent rage, the bottled simmering of her temper when they see each other face to face.
Yet, when she looked at Yumi's face the night that they'd first met after the party, it was serene, almost contemplatative. It was such a long time since she saw her face that way, and before, it never felt so natural. But now, seeing it once more, it gave her the desire to know what Yumi was thinking. In the past, whenever she saw Yumi having an expression like that, she never hesitated to ask her, as she was curious and at the same time worried of whatever that bothered her. Although, in many faces that she produce in the course of their time being together, her serene one always clouded her mind in confusion. In such a face, even she, the person who once had Yumi's heart, could not read her.
That night, Yumi was first to excuse herself from the group, reasoning out that her work needed to be attended—she dismissed herself with a low nod to us, thanking to Ryu for his fervent support for Nihonga and her works, then to her employer, which took more than the appropriate time in a bowing position. When Yumi looked levelly at Kashiwagi-san's eyes, it was as if Sachiko was intruding a very personal—no, intimate conversation. Kashiwagi's stare was very palpable; Ryu was smart enough not to comment, for which Sachiko was thankful. Then, Kashiwagi dismissed her, with a bow of his own. She went outside the corridor and to her said workroom. The room became quiet all of a sudden.
Ryu then tried to extract from Kashiwagi-san the particular commission Yumi was doing, but the latter just gave him a sigh and muttered a phrase close to none of Ryu's business. Ryu chuckled at him being too stiff, but Kashiwagi-san just rolled his eyes. Soon, they separated to go to their chambers. It was already twelve when Ryu told her that she should go first in the bathroom, so she did. Sachiko left for the late bath and was there for almost thirty minutes. When she was heading back, upon the hallway, she saw where Yumi's workroom was. As she walked on, she saw Yumi sitting, covered with haori, and watching the sky. Sachiko felt that this moment was an oppurtunity to talk to her privately, without her husband or Kashiwagi-san's presence. But as she got nearer, Kashiwagi-san appeared to her view, sitting beside Yumi, watching the stars with her. He looked at her with a smirk on his face, and Yumi smirked back, as if he told her an inside joke.
She moved away from the view, and back to her chambers.
She felt so wrong, being jealous.
She dreamt again.
She was not sure why she woke up so calmly; when she opened her eyes she felt that she had not moved the moment she slept. Groggily, she searched for her alarm clock (she could not just leave it in her apartment at Musashino) and found once more that it was "5:59. Maria-sama," she breathed out; a simple, inanimate alarm clock was enough to rattle her senses, the first thing in the morning. "Always a minute early."
She turned it off before it could anymore annoy her.
She stayed lying down for more than ten minutes, trying to remember the dream, and as she calmed herself, she began to tie cut strings and untangle knots. Her dreams were always . . . so visionary, especially when she successfully recalled the dream. Now, what was it?
It was Kashiwagi, staking her with an ex-acto knife through the chest. And she was expecting it, opening her arms wide to welcome his attack. His face was very vivid to her; his face was always blank. It was not as if she would not move at all, but she just couldn't; she was inside a painting. Her painting, the painting that she had almost forgotten—Sachiko's portrait—she was in that picture; instead of Sachiko, she was the woman in a red, opened kimono, leaning on the paper sliding door, eyes looking at her attacker. When Kashiwagi, in his yukata, pierced her exposed chest, she woke up.
Ex-acto knife. Always with the fucking stabbing. In the chest. Always like that, to kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.
During breakfast, she was met by the usual early bird, Kashiwagi, who was sipping his morning coffee. The visitors were quite late in going to the dining area, and once more, they had the room for themselves. Shimata-san was at the far-end corner of the room, on his usual formal wear. Kashiwagi was taking turns from eating his breakfast and reading the newspaper. Yumi noted Shimata's presence as she took two eggs from the serving plate and greeted him. "Shimata-san."
Shimata's reply was courteous. "Good morning, mistress."
This made Kashiwagi sneer and take a sip of his coffee longer than usual. Yumi was amused by Shimata's way of addressing her, as if he just mentioned a good joke that made the usual stoic Fukuzawa Yumi laugh with uncontrollable glee. "Really," she said with a sleazy grin, and asked Shimata if she could be considered as an Ojou-sama. Shimata remained calm and detached from her ministrations, but Yumi deadpanned, saying, "I don't think a woman who's very difficult, erratic, and baffling as I am could be considered as one." Then, she laughed for the sake of it. Shimata offered a concerned brow to Kashiwagi, and the latter looked away.
"Are you all right, Yumi Ojou-sama?" Shimata inquired.
Instead, Kashiwagi answered for her. "Don't mind her," as if he were saying that she was not herself today. And she was not. She just diverted her attention to Shimata-san, to avoid Kashiwagi and his weird stares. She wanted none of it for now. Thankful was she when she found out that the Touma's were not there yet. But then, a consumed egg and toast later, Sachiko and Ryu walked in; Yumi noticed Shimata's posture to be all stiff and strained than before. That made her wonder; was he having stomach problems or something?
"Shimata-san, deliver my letters to my study." Kashiwagi ordered abruptly, urgent to remove his butler away from the vicinity.
Yumi was a little surprised by the order—usually, this was the moment when butlers were required the most, so as the visitors be attended by the best man in the household staff. But Kashiwagi dismissed him anyway, not even noting Shimata's reluctance and his somewhat constipated face. The butler did not even give a formal dismissal speech like he used to. It was weird, indeed, yet Kashiwagi shrugged it off like the breadcrumbs on his fingers.
Two toasts, an egg and a black coffee later, Yumi dismissed herself from the table. She rather leave than comment on Sachiko being able to remove herself from bed before her usual wake-up call, which Yumi knew by heart ever since the first time she took a week with Sachiko in the latter's summerhouse back in second year high school. She noticed that she had long passed her morning anemia. Yumi ate efficiently, refusing herself to talk, barely nodding to agree whatever Ryu was saying, just to get out of everyone's way. For the first time in many years, she became disinclined in pushing buttons of anyone adjacent to her.
How capricious she was, being so uncharacteristingly cheeky at the start, then turned grouchy the next. Kashiwagi was right; she was erratic.
Evening came, and as usual, she made it through just like yesternight. She ate, entertained Ryu's stories of the couple's business trip downtown, and gave Sachiko polite yet detached civility. The dinner did not last very long, but something was different from the first night.
"Kashiwagi-san, could you let me see Yumi-sensei's commissions?"
Yumi knew that her employer's answer, yet, something in her wanted to know how Kashiwagi would react to that. "No, definitely not." It was not a gracious reply.
She found Kashiwagi once more at his spot outside her workroom with his tea set. She noticed another empty cup besides her own. Enticed by the scent, she fought the urge to go out and ask for tea. That would be too rude—no, shit . . . she was not herself again.
Kashiwagi broke the silence. "Aren't you getting tired?"
"Of what?"
"Of hating her."
The evening was quiet, supplementing the eerie feeling of gloom between the employer and the employee. Kashiwagi's voice did not suggest confrontation, but rather a simple question that made Yumi want to answer him without inhibition. Being away from Musashino—from Sei, Touko, and even Yuuki—made her a little sentimental about herself. Even with commissions like the Kinomoto paintings, these did not make her forget the one who was just rooms away from her. "I . . ." She gulped as she stopped working, "I don't know. I do hate her, but at the same time, she makes me want to . . . it makes me live, I guess."
He poured tea to the other cup. She sat beside him, taking the cup of tea from the tea set that separated them, and drank.
She asked quietly, holding the cup with both hands and settling them to her lap, and looked at him. "What's with you and the Kinomoto?"
A moment too long, he answered sullenly. "Same as your answer. It makes me live." He looked to her eyes.
"I don't understand."
"I know."
Their lips touched; by some means, she expected it. He leaned to her, and she did not move away, neither got closer. It was too long since she was kissed by a man; for her, this was no different from a woman's. Fundamentally, both were just the same; it was all a manner of method, of intensity. Of how badly you want your lips to explore the other. Kashiwagi was unsure—that was what she read from his kiss—tentative, but warm. She even sensed the tea.
He broke the kiss gently. He leaned back and looked away to the direction of the night sky. She gazed downward, to the tray of tea set that separated them.
"Bastard." She taunted, albeit without conviction.
"Coward." He accused, but understanding.
Sachiko never saw Yumi with someone else, not ever. She could not breathe, as she watched Kashiwagi leaned over and plant a kiss on her lips—his eyes closed, his hands almost reaching out to Yumi's shoulder, but never touched it. Yumi's eyes were closed too.
She just could not breathe, feeling nauseous as her chest constricted.
The members of the Ogasawara were weak. Having the blood of her grandfather, her father, and her mother, she realized how the same she was.
On the third night, she was catatonic with her surroundings, that she had not realized that Sachiko was already at her doorstep, looking at her back as she worked her way in a tore part of second Hinata piece. She was too engrossed to it that it took at least twenty minutes for her to sit stiffly and to hold a very small brush just so she could finish a delicate inch of the ground. Not until Yumi broke out a heavy sigh, stretched her back and arms that Kashiwagi broke the silence and announce Sachiko's presence. He was there, sitting on his usual spot, drinking his tea. When Yumi heard the name, she hastily turned to Sachiko's direction. Kashiwagi then said, "I'll be in my office," and walked away, bringing the tea set with him.
Now, Sachiko and Yumi were alone. Sachiko closed the door of the painter's lit workroom.
"Yumi . . . –san," Sachiko greeted reluctantly.
The painter bowed, and looked at her directly, her face blank. "You don't have to do that, Sachiko," she said, noting on the presence of polite honorific. "Adding it won't change anything."
The silence that came afterwards was palpable. Yumi, not wanting quiet, silently hoped that Kashiwagi was still outside his spot, drinking tea. She then reached out for her brush and palette, and turned around. She felt weak, cowardly.
"You're right," she breathed, as she dabbed the brush repeatedly on her palette. "Ryu-san is a quite a nice man."
Sachiko found her voice just in time to make a reply. "Yes, he is. He," she smiled guiltily, "does love me."
Yumi shook her head, a quick reflex. She put down the brush and palette at the table, turned away from the painting and looked once more at Sachiko, who was still standing by the slide door. "Everybody loves you, Sachiko. Everybody loves to kiss the ground you walk on. I did. I was your secret fan, right? Back at Lillian. I would probably remain a true fan if we did not become sisters. Or lovers, perhaps."
"Don't say that."
"Yeah, I dare say," Yumi bit her lips as she tried not to swallow her tongue. "It's true. When you told me you loved me, I was very happy. But I knew, even before, even the time you kissed me at that playground, I know it won't last long. Yet," she breathed, "yet you promised so convincingly. You look so determined back then. You told me to trust you. I did, very much, without any doubt."
"I'm sorry." Sachiko tears were flowing down her cheeks.
"You should be." Yumi could not glare at Sachiko anymore; she was now slowly peeling off her heart in front of Sachiko. "You lied to me. You cheated me. You betrayed me. You . . . you de . . ."
Three strides and Sachiko was now holding Yumi firmly in her arms. Yumi was still sitting on the stool; she was using all the energy left in her just to break away, but Sachiko's hold on her was stronger than she was. "Get away. Why are you even here? Didn't I tell you to back off?" She did all her best to stand up, and she did, pushing Sachiko away from her.
"Do not get touchy, woman." Yumi gritted lowly. "I don't need consolation, maybe years ago, but not now, and not ever. It was really hard to hate you, you know? I could not hate you when you dumped me, not even when you tried buying me out. But when you lied to me about your grandfather's illness, and married off to Ryu-san, that I could not forgive. Months and months of you seeing him under my nose, you kept the whole thing from me. I hated you. And I hate you still."
"I'm sorry."
"I know what you want," she said, still standing rigid. "You want me to forgive you. To move on, right? To move on. It's funny," she clenched her fists as she fought the urge to cry. "It's funny, how we tried to move on, from everything. I tried hard to forgive you. Still, when I see you, with him . . ." her voice faded.
Once more, Sachiko tried to embrace Yumi; the painter did not move.
"Me too."
Tears flowed freely now from Yumi's eyes, as she forced against the urge lift her ams and hug back. She clenched her hands—her ams were straining, almost in pain. The older woman embraced her tighter.
"I told you not to touch me." Yumi tried to be defiant, but it was spoken faintly.
"I'm sorry."
"This will not change anything." Yumi's voice was muffled by Sachiko's clothes. The painter stood stiffly still. She repeated, now with force. "This will not change anything."
The painter lately realized that she was the one who opened the topic in the first place. She had dug her own demise.
Ryu tightened his hands onto the haori until his knuckles turned white. He should have not stayed outside the painter's door, listening to the confrontation. He should have delivered the thick clothing for Sachiko. He should have not worried.
It was not enough for her.
It was not the first time Touma Ryu went to Lillian Academy for Girls. During his first year, he was curious of the Yamayurikai, the renowned Student Council of the sister school of Hanadera Academy for Boys. Her mother graduated there, just like the other women of the family. He had seen a photograph of her mother when she was eighteen, wearing the dark green sailor uniform, with his father—also eighteen—donned the ash gray Hanadera uniform. Their smiles were so geniune that even by just looking at the picture, Ryu's heart burst with joy. He wanted to meet her—someone like his mother—here, in what they called the "Garden of Maidens", as many a Hanadera student called girls from this school.
He was with the president of the Hanadera student council as an apprentice. He followed him as instructed, to learn the ways of the student council and its relationship with the Yamayurikai. He met the Rose Triumvirate, their boutons, and the boutons' petite souers. Being first year, he talked more comfortably with Rosa Chinensis en bouton petit souer, Mizuno Youko, who was eternally hospitable, and sometimes to her Foetida counterpart, the inscrutable Torii Eriko.
Memorizing their titles—all nine of them—it was not an easy endeavor. Kashiwagi-kun once told him that it was one of the reasons he did not attend the joint meeting was because he did not want to deal with them. He could, but he chose not to. Therefore, all diplomatic relations were assigned to Ryu. By the time he took over the presidency in his third year, dealing with the new Roses was never a problem.
During his second year, when they went for Lillian Academy for a joint meeting for the Hanadera Festival, he noticed the addition to the Yamayurikai, Hasekura Rei, who stood tall behind the current Rosa Foetida en bouton. This made him ask Mizuno-san if she already had her little sister and she admitted that she had; only that she was absent. Two Hanadera and a Lillian school festival went by, and still, he had not seen Mizuno-san's little sister. But he did not mind—it was as if the Hanadera council (and the Yamayurikai) would crumble if she did not attend any joint meeting.
On his third year, he found Ogasawara Sachiko, the Rosa Chinensis en bouton, in a practice meeting at the gymnasium for Lillian's school festival, dancing with a smaller pig-tailed girl into a waltz. Was the beautiful Ogasawara Sachiko really shy? He had been hearing it from other Yamayurikai members—the reason she refused to see outsiders. But then, as he was watching her at the entrance of the gymnasium, Mizuno-san finally spoke, "She's afraid of men."
Afraid? That was not what he saw. When she dismissed her partner away and headed to our direction, her dark eyes were determined and serious. She was not afraid of men, perse; she despised them. It was in the look in her eyes—the disgust, the mortification of someone of the opposite sex touching her. He braced himself, resolute to be different from what she expected of her.
Later, he asked his mother about the Ogasawara family privately, when she was in the library that night, returning a book that she had been reading three days since. She said, at first, that Ogasawara Sayako, the wife of the son of the patriarch, was a very kind person. When he asked about the daughter, his mother looked at him quizzically. He reasoned that he found out that Sachiko was "afraid" of men, and wanted to deal with it without insulting the girl.
His mother just told him: the Ogasawara men are known to have mistresses.
Then, everything made sense.
No, he would not be like that. As he found himself falling in love with her as time passed by, he vowed to pursue her. He would prove to her that he was different.
Yumi went to his office. It was after she left her workroom, brisky walking out with confused feelings.
She knocked on the door and opened it gently. "Yo."
He was on his cushioned seat at the back of his table, holding a paper as he looked at her. The room was only lit by a large study lamp at his side and another at the sofa set at the front. "I assume it went well?"
She closed the door but stood still on the way. "Depends on your perspective. I . . . I considered it futile; she considered it hopeful."
"Your eyes are red." He put down the paper he was holding.
Yumi smiled weakly. "I cried myself back there. Last time I cried was back at that stupid party."
"They say that tears are like rain. It cleanses the world where they fall. I think, the world cried with you at that time."
She grinned at the comment; her eyes skeptical. "That was philosophical, but I heard that before." Then she walked to the sofa set and lie down on the long couch. She looked at the ceiling as she admitted, "But you're right, the world cried with me that night. But that doesn't mean retribution or purification. It's just sympathy, Kashiwagi. I don't need that."
"If that's what you say."
"Can I stay here? What are you doing?"
"It's fine. Pick your favorite spot; I don't care. I'm just reading my letters."
She stayed, looking at the copy of The Scream upon the wall. She closely narrowed her eyes to the hollow mouth of the subject "screaming" and to his empty eyes. Even though he appeared to be afraid, he appreared blank to her. Just not that afraid, not even close. He just did, for the sake of being shocked.
She did not realize that she had slept on the couch; upon waking up, she was searching for the familiar alarm clock that should have been beside her. She tried to feel it with her extended hands but when she touched the low table, she realized then that she was still in Kashiwagi's office, covered with a large, warm blanket.
Kashiwagi was sleeping on a lone couch opposite her, his back slouched, his legs opened.
She should have sprang up and dashed away from the office, but she stayed there, still lying on the couch, sinking deeper into the blanket that she assumed Kashiwagi draped on her. Of course, it was Kashiwagi—he was the only one who knew that she's here. She closed her eyes again—the sun was not yet rising— with Kashiwagi as the last thing she saw.
The man wearing a fedora hat sipped his coffee as he dialled numbers on his cellular phone and placed it near its ears.
"Yes, it's me, President . . . just as you predicted: your granddaughter seemed to have reconciled with Fukuzawa . . . yes, I will . . . yes."
After the conversation, he put his phone in his pockets.
Yumi was still not used to Touma Ryu's optimistic, cheerful disposition even with three nights of drowning to it while dinner. They were to leave the city, and Kashiwagi would deliver them to the station. She just stood there, just to say her customary goodbye. Then, she'd be back to her workroom and resume her work.
Sachiko was showing the result of that night's encounter. Hope, indeed was in her eyes. Yumi tried hardest not to look—seemingly comparing Sachiko to the snake-haired Medusa, fearing to turn into stone. But how ironic it was; whenever they meet, they would always be alone, without another party in watch, and there, they would break each other's hearts again. Either by their words or presence. Then came that night. She looked slightly at Sachiko, her face serene but Yumi could detect optimism. She failed to cringe; not because she would embarrass herself and her employer for being rude to the departing guests, but because . . . she felt no inclination to do it . . . she was not sure.
Yet, seeing Ryu like that, she felt a little sympathetic for him. How shiny he was. He would not be as welcoming if he knew that she was Sachiko's former lover. Knowing that would be quite disconcerting, even for a man. She wondered what kept him like that . . . but after all, it was quite a fact: everybody loves Sachiko. To the point that you forget yourself, the world, the cruel reality of everything else. All you see is Sachiko, and her serene, rare smile.
Just like Yumi used to do.
TO BE CONTINUED
*Carpal tunnel syndrome – n. pain and weakness of hand: a condition of pain and weakness in the hand caused by repetitive compression of a nerve that passes through the wrist into the hand.
This is unbeta-ed. Also, can anyone tell me the [canon] name of Sachiko's grandfather?
A/N: Please review. Please? I beg you.