CHAPTER NINE
夏の煌めき
Natsu no Kirameki
When I was young, I was not permitted to attend to the summer festivals that poured down the streets of Ginza. My mother would look up primly from her knitting; to the window, to my face. Muffled drums, the call of vendors and the high-pitched wailing of traditional song would rattle the windowpanes and echo softly through the air.
"Emi-san can go get anything you'd like," my mother would say. Emi-san was the hired girl.
I knit my lips together and nodded, downcast at my book. All the while, I stole sidelong glances through the curtains, hoping to glimpse anything: the pop of a firecracker, or a demon's mask. A few minutes later, I'd look up again. "Can't I just —"
"No, Rima," Mother would say, in a voice that indicated that I should not ask again. "Think of what might happen, should we lose you in the street."
"But you shan't," I began. "If I bring Emi-san or grandmother with me…"
"You would shake them off in the crowd," she said. "Scamper off to go eat takoyaki, and get caught by bandits, sold to a brothel in Yoshiwara, caught up in the Sumida River's current and drown. You would never find proper burial, and we would despair."
Takoyaki! I often wondered if she knew me at all. Every year, Ginza put on The Love Suicides at Amijima at a makeshift outdoor theater. The Love Suicides, contrary to its name, was a domestic rigmarole about a couple of hilariously unlikable weirdos and a background cast riddled with rational straight-men to offset their strange behaviour. Delightful! I wanted to go, more than anything else in the world. But the shadow of fear always loomed long over the Mashiro house, obscuring the sun.
Seiyo was my emancipation. Amu immediately drifted towards a fortune-telling booth, pulling Nadeshiko in her wake and begging. "You have to come with me, Nadeshiko! Otherwise they'll think I'm desperate and single!"
"Where is their error in judgement?" Utau asked, walking in stride with us.
Nadeshiko took pity. "You really believe in this kind of thing, Amu-chan?"
"Well, that is to say…" Amu fumbled her words, backed into a wall. In an aloof mutter, "This stuff is all fake, probably, but isn't it fun to do if you're already here…?"
I had a sneaking suspicion that Nadeshiko put more in stock by fishwives' fortune-telling than Amu did. She approached the corpulent fortune-teller with the air of someone who did this often. I remembered what Amakawa-sensei had said, about geisha being superstitious.
"Do not be afraid," the fortune-teller announced, in a throaty vibrato; she reminded me of the elderly crones on radio shows and moving pictures, speaking in a voice made for projection. "I can read your fate through the passing stars, and see all of your destiny from the moment of your birth. My name is Saeki Nobuko, passing through this town for only one night."
"How much is it?" Nadeshiko asked, already putting down a five-yen banknote.
"Expensive," muttered Utau. "Count me out."
"Me, too," I agreed, turning towards Utau. "Let's go, I want to see the puppet theatre—"
I tried to leave, but Yaya's arm locked tight around mine. Her eyes were wide, fixed on the fortune-teller's charts. "No, Rima-tan," she said, wowed. "You have to do it with me."
"Really, Yaya?" I said, too late. She hovered around Nadeshiko excitedly.
"My birth date is the tenth day of the fifth lunar month," Nadeshiko was saying.
"And the time?" Saeki Nobuko the fortune-teller asked, in what I perceived to be a rather pompous tone.
"Dawn," she replied. "The first hour of sunrise… so, the rabbit?"
I exchanged a baffled look with Yaya.
"I'm giving the date using the traditional system, for ease," she explained. The fortune-teller shook out a long list of calculations and filled in the table. "This particular method is called tōdō. It combines the Chinese four pillars method with physiognomy…"
I fancied that she used the big words on purpose, to throw everybody off her scent. "So, you think this works, huh?" I commented.
Nadeshiko smiled at me, eyes luminous. "Hmmmmmmm?"
I could see a graph of some kind under the fortune-teller's brush, eight boxes revolving around a center ninth. With nothing but overwhelming joy in my heart, I heard the fortune-teller cluck her tongue.
"No good."
Nadeshiko covered her mouth with her sleeve, daintily. I stuck my head as far out as it would go over Yaya's shoulder, like a gargoyle on the roof of the Notre Dame, and repressed the large grin threatening to engulf my face.
"An ever-changing enigma," the fortune-teller announced, with grave sobriety. "Like toxic mist, the woman born in the year of the water dog is a homewrecker."
"How charming!" I exclaimed. Amu made a gack choking noise in her throat.
"I see a beautiful diplomat gifted in the arts; gentle, hating to step on toes, virtuous lover of peace and stability. Loyal to a fault, they will bend over backwards for their loved ones. They are vivid storytellers..."
Privately, I thought this made him sound more attractive than he truly was. I had always longed to marry a footstool. Toxic mist, however, was apt.
"... But to the innermost people let into their confidence, they are cruel, guarded, difficult to know. Cynical. Master manipulators, vixens of the night, coy and teasing. They will chew you up and spit you out." The fortune-teller sounded vehement, as though her family had been slaughtered by a pack of water dogs. The people, not the animals.
"That's not true!" Amu began, with defensiveness, as though she had been personally attacked. "It is true that Nadeshiko is a little mysterious, but she's a good friend who does her best!"
"Amu-chan…" Nadeshiko false-choked, eyes filling with false tears.
"You have a busy year ahead of you," the fortune-teller interrupted their moment, round glasses flashing. "You will strengthen the bonds of your social circle, and a career opportunity will show itself by intercession of relatives. A fair man from across the ocean will make you an extramarital offer by the time the snow has thawed."
"An extramarital officer?" Amu spluttered, while Yaya cackled with glee.
"What kind of madman foreigner would voluntarily attempt to buy Nadeshiko-san?" I pondered out loud.
"Quite the eccentric, no doubt!" said Nadeshiko, taking my joke in stride. Our group broke out into a fit of titters.
As we sniggered, I could see the fortune-teller rotate the chart suddenly, and with concern. It reminded me of Mother, when she saw a broken string of silk in a long sheet on the looms. Unconsciously, I took a step closer, worried.
"What is it?" I said, in my soft voice.
Her black eyes bored into Nadeshiko's, curt. "You will not live to see your twentieth year."
The villagers chattered around us alongside the distant thud-thud of the matsuri drums, far too close to my ears. Amu froze. I slunk forward, relinquishing Yaya's arm, transfixed.
"You will die in a land far from your home, with blood in your mouth," she rasped, the sing-song voice of prophecy, shaking claw pointing to an upper-right square. Two stars were marked in black. "Your parents have made enemies. The sky will rain metal, and you will drown in the earth's embrace."
Had I less respect for Nadeshiko, I would have snidely remarked that this sounded more fairy-story than fortune. It took all my self-control not to laugh off melodramatic death predictions at the hands of a corpulent old bat.
"My parents?" said Nadeshiko, timidly, but I did not see any fear in her face; only mere interest, as though she was watching a stranger's fortune. "I see."
"I recommend you to marry early," said Saeki Nobuko, briskly, "To avoid this terrible fate. A reckless woman is a buoy, adrift in the ocean."
"The man with the extramarital offer, perhaps?" she joked, eyes twinkling through glazed clay skin. Nobody responded. My shoulders eased only just. Surely I was not the only one who thought this all rubbish.
"Thank you very much, Aunty."
White hands resting at her sides, she bowed forward, gently, like a willow-tree bending its boughs under the weight of snow.
"Excuse me, Yaya," I said brightly, elbowing my way around her.
"Hey, Rima-tan!" she whined. "I wanted to be next! You don't even believe in this stuff!"
"Kindly do mine next." I smoothed the front of my borrowed kimono, prettily. "I should very much like to know what sort of unlucky men I am enslaving."
I knew for certain that Amu must be making a very exasperated face as I gave the fortune-teller money from my purse. "I was born the sixth of February, in the eleventh year of Emperor Taisho."
"How fitting," Nadeshiko observed, "To be born as the icy winter wanes."
"How fitting," I shot back, "To be born when bloodsucking insects breed and multiply."
Though my kanji left much to be desired, I could read the upside-down characters for metal and rooster, the animal of my birth year, which Saeki had marked down on a fresh chart. The New Year had come late that winter.
"The time?" the fortune-teller prompted. I felt as though she had several nasty premonitions from me without it; unlike with Nadeshiko, she looked rather disapproving.
I had to pause to remember, peering at my own nail beds. My mother did not speak of my birth often. "The afternoon," I said finally, without conviction. "She missed tea-time."
The fortune-teller stared at me, unimpressed. "Which is?"
"Half past four o'clock in the evening." I recalled Nagihiko's brass-faced clock with its mysterious symbols, slowly. "The hour of the… the monkey."
The fortune-teller seemed to expect this, for she started speaking at once, with a hearty sniff. "The metal rooster, born under yin wood. An elegant girl, no doubt, pretty and soft-spoken…"
"Yes," I replied, matter-of-factly.
"… Difficult to get rid of, stubborn, like weeds choking a garden. Greedy and clinging, smothering mothers, they rely on others to prop them up, to lift them towards the sun. They crave attention, and the material lifestyle."
"Oh," I said.
"They can be insecure, but not you, I'm afraid." With dislike. "You have an acute sense of your self-worth that rises from within. With your competitive acumen, you will use it to trigger a bidding war amongst suitors. For a girl of low birth, your bride-price will be an unprecedented number. Your marriage will bring wealth to both your parents, and accomplishments to your children."
"Inaccurate,"I said, coolly. Were they here to hear it, my family would rejoice for what sounded like the end to financial strains. Yet how did Saeki Nobuko know that I had a bride-price, rather than a dowry? "My family is in business, not peasantry."
Saeki Nobuko raised her voice over me. "Low in circumstance, the poorest of situations, no name, no title. But yin wood, the flower, endures."
My frown deepened.
"It is born in dirt and rises towards the light of the sun, bearing countless trials with every passing season. But so long as its roots remain in the earth, and the rain continues to fall…"
"… It will someday bloom." Nadeshiko's voice chimed over my shoulder. I twisted around to stare. She smiled back at me, prettily.
"It's beautiful," said Amu, easily touched. "And true for all of us, isn't it?"
"I think it a load of waffle." That was me. I was still remembering the metal rain.
Yaya spoke in a deep, tremulous voice. "Such sharp thorns on such a blooming rose, Rima-chan!"
I held my fan in front of my face, demurely. "To keep bugs away."
"I could be wrong," Nagihiko piped up, "But I believe rose prickles are to stop larger animals from eating the flower."
"You are wrong," I said. "It is to keep bugs away."
Nagihiko exchanged a glance with Amu. "Um, alright. Shall Yaya…?"
As the fortune-teller robbed us of our money, the sun sputtered to its end on the eastern horizon. As twilight fell, shopkeepers began lighting the little lanterns strung across their booths and hanging from shop awnings. Sundown was our sign. With reluctance, we made our way back to the pavilion where Sanjō was directing students every which way, like the military dictator she was born to be.
"You three!" she barked, immediately putting a taloned hand on Yaya's shoulder. "This way. You are late."
From the choir, Utau jerked her head at us, a scoffing I told you so. Amu and Yaya shot me a miserable look over their shoulders as I ducked and scuttled away to the koto section, finding this all a terrible bore and hoping it would be over soon. As I squashed my feet under my rear, Yamabuki-san on my left whacked me with the handle of her koto. "Be careful, you oaf!"
"Why bother to tread lightly around an ox?" I said, being friendly and sociable.
Yamabuki's eyes were framed with long black lashes, permanently narrowed in a sneer. She always drew her eyebrows on too high, making her look perpetually shocked. "Don't get so uppity," she said, eyebrows agog, "Just because you happen to be friends with Fujisaki and Hinamori-san. When she sees how well I pluck the strings, our eyes will meet across the stage, and she will surely drop you in an instant, like moldy rice…!"
"Who?" I asked, bemused.
"What?"
"Which one?" I repeated. "You said two names."
She opened her mouth, and then shut it, not knowing whose arse to kiss first.
"Fujisaki-senpai would not do such a thing," a timid voice spoke behind me. "She and Hinamori-sempai are kind."
It was the first koto in our section, a girl younger than us. Something about her straight, shiny hair and very large forehead spurred a memory, but I could not pinpoint it.
"Far too kind for the likes of Mashiro-san, with all her airs!" Yamabuki was brought back to life on the fuel of dissidence. "But then again, Hinamori-san has always liked her projects. It is why she remains at the bottom, while I, Yamabuki Sāya, continue to be a ray of sunlight in this abominable prison of a school…"
"You're the girl from before," I told the timid voice, recalling Nadeshiko's father's fan who had gone to see his show in Ginza.
"Hatanaka-san," she said, at the same time I said "Haganaki."
"Oh," she added after me, glumly. "Yes. Let's all do our best today, for the dancers and festival-goers."
"Alright," I said, oblivious to work ethic bolsters. Yamabuki-san did not take kindly to being told to do her best.
"You have a lot of gall, for a first-year girl!" she huffily repositioned her koto. "It should have been me or Mashiro-san in your place—"
"Please do not name-drop me," I said. "I don't know you."
"—and I have a mind to believe that Sanjō-sensei only gave you the position because your father was rich enough to pay for lessons, or because she feels sorry for you."
"Sanjō-sensei doesn't feel anything," I said, from my vantage point in the peanut gallery. "Her bosoms are made of metal, and absorb all the shock impact."
Marimo shot me a shy look of gratefulness. I raised my eyebrows, not intending to defend Hatanaka in the slightest. Before Yamabuki could retort, a hush fell over the small makeshift stage. Sanjō made a furious hand gesture from behind a curtain. Hatanaka, seeing it, made a sharp twing on her koto, signalling the rest of us.
I was proud of Yaya and Amu more than I was of Nadeshiko, if truth be told, because I knew that such things came naturally to Nadeshiko. Indeed, there was a rather empty, dull look in her eyes through her smile as she wove in and out of the dancers, as though she could do this in her sleep. I studied her face curiously in between koto notes, what little I could glimpse. She was smiling, but her chin was moving ever-so-slightly on a rhythm off from everyone else's. She was rehearsing another dance in her head simultaneously.
Yaya's face was alight with joy. Hands aloft; her eyes passed mine, and I raised my eyebrows in a snooty impression of Yamabuki next to me. Her grin widened before she turned again, her back to me.
When the simple rotation finished, there was uproarious applause. "More!" a voice called. This was expected, of course, because every matsuri worth its salt had music enough to fill the entire night. We obediently started a second time, from the top. My eyes moved from person to person, bored and seeking stimulation.
Hatanaka-san looked more in her element than Yaya did. Where I found the koto strenuous, she handled it like a friend she could never tire of speaking to. She was no less than thrilled to be playing a second repetition. Her eyes were on the dancer's feet, but Nadeshiko's most of all; but this made sense, I thought to myself, with some humour, because Yaya had jumped off-step once at the beginning, and had caused Hatanaka to be a beat late. There was something steady about Nadeshiko, for those who didn't know her, comfort in her consistency and competence.
The fourth applause was smattered, and more than enough for me. Placing my koto in the rest position, my entire row shuffled back slightly on our knees. The four bon-odori dancers dispersed in a row, bowed, and took several steps back to seat themselves further up the stage— all except Nadeshiko.
The last reverberating strings of Hatanaka's koto faded into the lone sound of a single drum, which continued to patter out a steady rhythm. Nadeshiko was alone. An anticipatory prickle began at the back of my neck. Ah! So this was the performance Nagihiko had been talking about. The one he was so sure I would like.
She turned to face the world with the rotating, precise grace that only a buyo dancer could have, opening the wooden wings of her fan away from her body slat by slat. Two chords sounded from Hatanaka's koto, sharp and tanging in the still air. In confluence, the music was the characteristically bare, eerie. I thought of lonely mountain passes, or wide expanses of desolate moors.
The fan cast a shadow over her glinting eyes. She gazed out into a point beyond all of us, with the air of a sailor's wife watching the sea. Her wrist lost its strength, and her hands came to life, like rock turned to water.
The fan was a single leaf falling from a tree. It grew to a whooshing gale that picked up Nadeshiko's dangling sleeve in its wake, and then the safety of a sliding door, lovingly closing in front of her face. I watched, mesmerized. The fan slipped behind her back as she turned, sleeve covering her mouth, concealing a secret. Her eyes slid to the side, as though she was meeting a secret lover. She took one, two, three tentative steps towards my side of the stage.
Hatanaka looked elated, and although I saw her fingers pluck the koto strings with precision, her eyes were full of Nadeshiko. I felt rather embarrassed looking at all.
"Why is she even looking at you?" Yamabuki hissed in my ear, with vitriol. I turned my attention back to Nadeshiko's face too late, only to see the tendons of her neck and the grey shadow of her jaw. She swung back around, fan outstretched mere feet from me— in a quick, fluid movement, she tossed the fan from one hand to the other in an arc over her shining head.
The audience barely contained their thrilled gasp; a few of the savvier observers applauded. Evidently, this was a show of technical skill. I leaned forward ever-so-slightly, sucked in by flashy acrobatics. I believe the entire stage held a collective breath as she turned the edge of it from hand to hand, waiting for it to happen again.
She used the fan to shield her eyes once more as she gazed out upon the audience. It was so self-aware when Nadeshiko did it. She was wearing a faint smirk now, alien on the mask. I felt small, and deeply grateful she was not looking my way. As she extended her fan forward to flutter down in front of the audience, I saw her right hand slip behind her back, imperiously.
Amu, seated just behind her trailing hand, took the folding fan from her obi and proffered it forward. Two? She brought them both out to view, mirroring each other, like sisters; they both fell from the same tree before meeting again, flush to each other. She flipped one in front of the other, now with a jaunty little smirk indeed, flipped one over the other mid-air, falling perfectly into her waiting hand. The audience ohhhed, and there was a few claps.
Together, the fans were back to being falling leaves; they fell discordantly, Nadeshiko twirling them both on her index fingers. Her kimono glowed bloody under the red lantern-light, and the shadows made her look menacing. I was frightened, and the slightest bit taken.
She flipped one fan back over the other again, and then the other— turned, and then threw her first fan in a spin up towards the overhead lanterns, catching it with the other fan that lay flat. I had never seen Japanese dance move quite so fast before. Like before, in the dormitory, she was a moving picture, fluid, taking the boldest and mannish steps I had ever seen her take outside my company. How dare she?
I grew to regard the two fans as extensions of her hands, like the rippling fins of a betta fish moving fluidly with every exhale of the water's current. They swayed every which way, like the reeds at the bottom of a riverbed, like the breathing of a great beast. So much that it surprised me when she carelessly tossed it back behind her. Her wild movements stopped, as though she had been caught.
I would later learn that in this part of the kabuki play, the character Nadeshiko was dancing sees her audience of samurai retainers fall asleep under the influence of drugged wine and realizes that it is safe to reveal her true self. But at the time, I only saw Nagihiko's face turn over Nadeshiko's sloping shoulder, like the sun rising over the mountains in an ugly grimace, eyes red-rimmed and full of hatred. I felt a sick thrill, and checked the faces of everyone around me, paranoid that anybody would notice. They did not. Of course they wouldn't.
He flicked the fan away from his face, as though a bothersome fly. If I thought some of his movements mannish before, he was most certainly a man, now; he strode downstage like a calculating villain, tail-end of his kimono slithering like scales on the floor, and my heart fluttered to the beat of the drum. If Nagihiko's secret was safe, surely there was no harm in indulging in a bit of my own dramatic irony. It was strangely exhilarating, to see Nagihiko show an emotion that was not placidity.
The drums stopped. Hatanaka's koto screamed hollowly against the silence. Nagihiko's shoulder joint cracked audibly, fan flung away from his body like a warrior's sword. Several classmates sitting on the edges of the stage who looked rather horrified. Had I not known what Nagihiko was like out of the public eye, I might have been taken aback, too. As it was, I was only surprised that Nagihiko— secretive, reclusive as he was— chose to air this part of himself to everybody, hidden in plain sight.
His lips pressed together, cold and furious. He swept towards my end of the stage, soft-footed. It was the first time I noticed the silk pattern in the weave of his kimono— alternating diagonal triangles, glimmering under the light. Reptile scales, hidden under the floral embroidery.
His fan was raised as though to slap his invisible enemy. Like a fool, I picked that moment to lock eyes with him: wide, brown, still brimming with brutal animosity. Knowing full well he was trying to frighten me, I clutched my koto and maintained eye contact. Was he succeeding? My heart pounded like he was, and I had the violent itch to stagger to my feet and stamp him out tooth and nail, as though he was a spider in the bathtub and not my arrogant classmate inwardly having a laugh.
My lip curled. His teeth bared, and for a minute, we were directly opposite each other; a snake that was and was not a woman and an invisible pinprick, separated and united by a fourth wall of observation.
The koto's notes puttered off, and he dragged himself with a weary grace back to centre stage in a way I had only seen when he woke up tired in the mornings. He seemed to compose himself, settling back on his knees, fans poised. The koto's notes stretched out to a tremble, before stopping.
Silence. Yamabuki Sāya looked aghast. Hatanaka, enamored. Similar expressions were mirrored around the edge of the stage. I realized I was still clutching the neck of my koto nervously, and relinquished it.
The applause began slow, unsure. It grew to an overwhelming roar.
"Nadeshiko, that was amazing!" Amu gushed afterwards, face alight.
Yaya made a murmur of agreement. "You looked like an ogre."
"Apt," said Nadeshiko, smiling. "I was dancing as one."
"Eehh?!" Amu squawked.
As we walked, Nadeshiko leant forward eagerly, so that we could all hear her. "The character is a princess named Sarashina," she explained, "Who lures a young nobleman into drinking with her during an autumn foliage-viewing. He convinces her to dance for him, but when he and his courtiers fall asleep, she reveals herself to be the ogre of the mountain pass and comes close to killing them. It is an unusual role, most agree, in that one must alternate the demure movements of a woman with the male, aggressive stance of a monster..."
"Does one, now!" I said, with fervent interest. "I suppose art imitates life."
Nagihiko's eyes were dark and intense, and I often got the impression that they were staring right through me. I raised my eyebrows back, relishing in the shared secret.
"Does Rima-chan fancy me so violent? How hurtful!"
"I liked it," I said, bemused, "There is no need to be so hysterical."
She hit me, a playful sock to the arm that hit like a hundred bricks and rang of panic. Stoic in my pain, my arms went limp as noodles.
"Nadeshiko, don't hit her!" Amu exclaimed, exasperated. "She's only trying to tell you her true feelings from the heart, isn't she…?"
"Yes, Nadeshiko," I nickered. "My true feelings."
"Rima has higher standards than the rest of us," Amu explained, plaintive. "So if she says she liked it, it must have been really good!"
I caught myself half-nod, before becoming cross with myself. Back when we were younger, Amu would often force us into situations in which Nadeshiko and I were forced to interact and then attempt a balancing act, seeking out things we had in common. She failed in every regard, but now, to her delight, it seemed that she had found ways to get us to triumphantly reach concord.
"I mean to say, I am not nearly so prideful as to not admit when somebody has done a right job of it," I said, stiffly. "I liked it, and I shall say nothing more on the matter."
"You flatter me," said Nadeshiko, softly. "In saying so. I'm happy."
I fell into an embarrassed silence. The crunch crunch of our sandals on the earth was an ephemeral sound, punctuated quickly by Yaya's piercing voice, saving me. "A tanabata tree! Look!"
I followed her finger to the towering bamboo plant, already tied with endless bunches of paper. A little boy was carefully tying a slip of paper to one of the highest branches of the bush, held up in his father's arms. I recognized three Seiyo academy students, Hatanaka among them. Her friend was a bright red, and it sounded as though she was getting egged on.
I zig-zagged closer to an adjacent hydrangea bush, as though I meant to admire the flowers. Their conversation drifted over to me on the hot summer air, clear as crystal.
"… It's still technically tanabata, you know? The festival of lovers. If you write it down, Orihime and Hikoboshi will surely hear your prayers, and make Souma-kun notice you. After all, they're in the same situation, aren't they? They can only meet under these specific circumstances…"
"What are you wishing for, then?" Hatanaka's voice.
"Better sewing," came the response from Sentimental Sentinel, glumly. "My stitches are all crooked and my parents aren't real pleased with me after the letter they got from the teacher last autumn… What about you, Marimo-chan? You haven't filled out your slip."
Marimo mumbled. I moved closer around the edge of the hydrangea bush, and pretended to be inspecting the blue-and-pink mottled colouration a little more closely. Marimo? In my mind, those fuzzy balls of moss one finds in freshwater lakes rose to the surface of my mind. I imagined Marimo's huge forehead rolling along the bottom of a lake, hair swishing every which way in the currents.
"What are you looking at over here, Rim—AH," Amu cried out, as I stepped on her foot. Hatanaka Marimo and both her doltish friends turned to us, surprised.
"Mashiro and Hinamori-senpai!" Hatanaka said, kindly, and bowed— overly-formal, and just right, in my opinion.
Sentimental Sentinel hissed, "You know them?" Sometimes I forgot that Amu was a bit of a Florence Nightingale celebrity healer, and that everybody knew her name.
"Hi," said Amu, clearly uncomfortable.
"I liked your O-bon performance," said Hatanaka, politely. There was no fanatic fervor in it, but it was meant nonetheless.
"Thanks…" Amu mumbled, embarrassedly. "Um, you did well, too. I guess."
I chose to stay silent, but it was me that Marimo turned to, tentatively. "Mashiro-senpai, um, I know you're busy with your friends, and all… but I have to go on for choral in a few minutes, and I was wondering if I could ask your advice on something?"
Amu turned to stare at me. So did Yaya and Nadeshiko, who were over by the tanabata tree, fussing with their own little slips of paper.
"I'm not an Agony Aunt–" I began, huffily.
Amu shoved me forward, hurriedly. "We'll wait up for you at the goldfish booth, O.K., Rima?"
I looked helplessly ahead as my friends skipped into the distance, hooting and hollering. The two of us stood in front of the sky-high bamboo plant, muffled drums in the background. The stars twinkled. Marimo played with a strand of her stick-straight hair, looking at the ground. I stared at my own cuticles, picking at a hangnail.
"Um…" Hatanaka began, nervously. "I don't mean to be so forward, but…"
Silence was my territory; I would let her struggle if she wished.
"I know this is very rude, and I don't mean to imply anything, but, in regards to you and Fujisaki-senpai…"
It suddenly occurred to me that Hatanaka-san might be attempting to guess the very secret that I was supposed to keep. My face hardened even further, stoic, stubborn. She would get nothing from me.
"Are you… are the two of you lovers?"
A cicada screamed, and a mosquito buzzed right by my ear. I tried to slap it, and hit myself in the head. "Huh?" I said, stupidly.
"I know, I know," said Hatanaka, miserably. "I know the two of you are girls, but you know, I-I had to ask… I hear that some girls… well, Nadeshiko especially…" Marimo's ears went bright red. "I wasn't really sure, but the two of you are so close, and she speaks so highly of you!"
Was Hatanaka trying to make fun of me? I jerked my chin up, arrogantly. "No," I said.
"Oh," said Hatanaka, struggling to make something of my laconic response. "In that case… well… you see, I kind of admire her a lot. I never gave much thought to Fujisaki-senpai before, I suppose… not as much as other people… I mean, she is my upperclassmen, and she's very beautiful. I never thought much more than that. But when I saw her dance, it surprised me." Her eyes widened. "She's so… mysterious at Seiyo, but when she dances, I feel as though I can understand her feeling, exactly. Her body is a type of music, in itself."
I did not know why I was listening to this blather so closely.
"In fact, it made me really want to work hard at being a musician so much more. I was hoping you knew a way to have my feelings reach her?"
I pretended to think about it. "Say them," I suggested.
Marimo paled. "I tried! You saw me, Mashiro-senpai!"
I did not remember this.
"I congratulated her, and tried my best to tell her how much I admire her family's work. But somehow, it never comes out right, and she never acknowledges anyone seriously. I'm not used to saying my feelings so much, so I don't think talking is going to work at all… could it be…" she looked down at her tanabata slip, and back at me, delighted. "Of course! I should write a letter, shouldn't I? If it's so formal as a letter, she'll have to understand me. You're good at this, you know, Mashiro-senpai? Thank you!"
I stared at her, as though she had pronounced me Royal President of the Duck Committee. Finally, I managed, "Much obliged."
With love, she smoothed out her slip, and began writing in looping syllables. Shyly, she did not stop me from looking over her shoulder. I wish my feelings will reach Fujisaki-senpai!
There was something about the wholesome way she went about it that made me feel like a nasty, world-hardened person. While I was here, I might as well ask Orihime and Hikoboshi myself for something— although I was not the superstitious type, there was something inspiring about Marimo's overarching piousness that made me believe it would come true if I put my wish to ink.
I thought of Nadeshiko— of the Nadeshiko that Hatanaka must see, the laughing sylph with a song in her heart, a skip in her step and a story in her heart. I thought of the Nagihiko I knew; the sulky, stubborn boy, reptilian and rash. I looked up at the bamboo, and saw the closest slip of paper at eye-level. In the earnest kanji of a young man's hand: Hikoboshi-sama, bring me a wife as radiant as a goddess! I stifled a snort. Hikoboshi's name was spelled with the same hiko as Nagihiko's, and the hoshi of Utau's surname. Male star. No identity: just sex.
I thought my father, and his letter. I thought of the headlines, and Yaya, and the island of Taiwan.
Peace, I wrote. I meant it.
"There you are!" Amu said, as Yaya tried and failed for the umpteenth time to scoop one of the goldfish. "What did that girl want?"
Yaya, net splashing noisily in the water, did not see the irony in teasing me. "Has your fanclub expanded, Rima-tan? Do girls want to confess to you as well?"
I was not skilled at lying on the spot, and my eyes unconsciously drifted to Nadeshiko's aristocratic profile, reflected an eerie blue from the light of the water. "It was… koto… stuff."
" 'Koto stuff?' " Amu echoed, a little suspicious. "Isn't she really good, though?"
Amu was normally not so quick to catch me in a fib. As I cast around for a backup, perhaps the gods were smiling on me after all. An excuse manifested itself in Yamabuki Sāya, sauntering by, flanked by her cronies.
"Yamabuki said some nasty things to her in the koto section," I said, without feeling. "Money can't buy class. I told her as much."
"Oh, I thought I saw that," Amu sighed, giving Yamabuki's retreating back a bit of an exasperated look. "It was really nice of you to comfort her, though. Yamabuki Sāya used to intimidate me, too, before I realized that her… how do they say it? Bark is worse than her bite."
"That may be so, but I still do not care to have her teeth in my neck," I said, peering over to watch the colourful goldfish twist through the water, like glittering orange coins. "Yaya, even if you catch one, how will you take it home with you on the train?"
"In a milk bottle," suggested Yaya, making another vain swipe.
"Catch it, and set it free," Nadeshiko suggested. "A goldfish may remain beautiful in captivity, but in a river, it may one day become a fearsome dragon."
"Is this a metaphor, or are you just that delusional?" I asked, caustic.
Nadeshiko gave me a soft smile, and, with a jolt, I realized it was slightly mournful, pained. Did she know Hatanaka's feelings? Was that why she smiled so sadly?
I was interrupted by a piercing shriek. "I got it!"
Yaya held her net aloft; a golden fish flopped in it, splashing water onto my nose.
"Oh, well done!" the shopkeeper said, clapping his hands. "That will be… two thousand yen in total!"
Goldfish swimming in a cup, Yaya's savings depleted in their entirety, I took pity on her and paid for her chilled noodles. We all sat on the town wall and slurped loudly, legs swinging— all except Nadeshiko, who somehow managed to absorb the noodles via osmosis. I watched two little boys chase each other in oni masks with amusement, while some older boys strode past the booths, chatting idly.
Amu suddenly sat up, cheeks red. "Hey… a-aren't those guys from Kouen?"
"Wha?" Yaya said, noodles falling out of her mouth.
"You know, from the boy's school, the next town over!" Amu cast her eyes all about herself, suddenly self-conscious. That was nothing on Nadeshiko, who hopped off the fence like a twirling maple seed, fan open and in front of her face. "Oh," she said, more high-pitched and breathy than usual, "I just remembered, I dropped my purse somewhere earlier."
"Don't look at them, Yaya, they'll see you!" Amu whispered loudly, flustered.
"Hi!" Yaya said, waving.
I slunk off the wall like a kicked cat, leaving my bowl. "I'll help you look for it," I told Nadeshiko, glad of an excuse to get out of socializing with Neanderthals. "I think it was back at the goldfish booth."
We did not linger long enough to see whether the Kouen boys made first contact. Nadeshiko turned to cut between a takoyaki booth and an advertisement for a local business, and I followed without thinking.
Between the slats of wood and canvas, I caught her sleeve in the darkness. "What was that all about?"
"I know them," said Nagihiko, breathing audibly. His voice was timbrous again, reverberating in the small space. "We're friends."
"Do they know?"
"One does," he admitted. "The others don't. I decided against letting the others know in such a context. Wouldn't you agree?"
"A safe move," I said noncommittally, inching around him. Our obis rubbed against each other, cotton twill on silk. "But you should have known there was a chance you would see them, in coming out here in the first place."
"I know." He turned in tight circles, red dim and glimmering in the low light. I wondered if this goldfish would ever make it up the river to become anything, never mind a dragon. "But Mother thinks nobody knows me as a man. How could I say no?" He grabbed my shoulders, eyes wild, fierce. "I won't cloister myself like a nun out of fear that something might happen! I have a right to enjoy myself as much as any other."
I stared up at him, trying, again, to see what Hatanaka must see. It did not work with his jaw set mannishly and shoulders up; all I saw was a serpent with a thorn in its side, thrashing on itself. I did not let go as quickly as I should have. "Calm yourself," I told him, evenly. "Nobody saw a thing. And anyway, nobody would think you a nasty boy who breaks-and-enters with a waist like that."
It was difficult to see in the darkness, but the mask might have smiled. "Even so, I can't hide from everybody all evening."
I squared my shoulders, letting go of his hands to brush a loose curl off my shoulder. "You won't have to." Simply. "You are with me."
He tilted his head. "Even more so, then."
It was warm in here. I suddenly did not know what to do with my hands; I fixed my hair further, and felt like Amu spotting a bloody Kouen boy.
"Your mother was so focused on making you appealing to creepy old grandfathers that she never bothered to teach you anything a real woman learns." My voice had transparent disgust; I could not help it, every time I was faced with the luxury of Nagihiko's upbringing. "Any gentleman worth his salt can read the atmosphere and see a woman whose heart is closed. Watch me."
I squared my shoulders, raised my chin haughtily, and let my eyebrows fall into their natural rest position. I regarded Nagihiko coldly, arms crossed.
"What am I supposed to be looking at?" he asked, with a smile.
"An unapproachable woman," I replied, without inflection. "Keep watching."
I squeezed back out from between the booths, and strode unblinkingly towards the takoyaki stand, where the tangles of octopus' legs were being rolled in sticky batter. I stared at a boy perhaps a few years older than the two of us, thinking murder. "Excuse me."
The boy only caught a glance of my face, before looking away in a hurry. "Sorry, go ahead."
Men could not abide by a frozen-looking woman, I had learnt very quickly. They liked to look at pretty faces that were open to their fantasies; they wanted blank slates, like Nadeshiko, an ornamentation that would laugh without prompt.
My face melted, and I smiled, voice syrup. "Thank you."
"You look awfully young to…"
I held up a hand, and stopped the conversation. I returned to Nagihiko's hidey-hole between the stalls with a skewer in my hand, and proffered the end with nothing short of smugness. "Any comments?"
"Many," he said, amused. "That poor man fell for you in an instant, and you let him crack his head open on the rocks below."
I expected him to take an octopus ball off the end with his fingers, but he leant over and bit it off with his mouth, canines sharp, grinning.
"Nagihiko!" I said, a little loudly. The takoyaki maker froze, confused. Nagihiko pulled me by the arm, deeper down the line of stalls, chewing.
"You are asking me to make myself emotionally unavailable," he said, wisely. "I might not have believed it to work, but with undeniable evidence…"
"The minute I spoke nicely, he thought he could talk to me," I added, scoffing. "Me! Unbelievable. You see?"
I coaxed him into easing half into the light of a lantern and dropping the smile for me. It was not easy. Even when at rest, he had a natural, friendly curve to his lips, and his eyes were half-shut, as though smiling.
"You are still raising your eyebrows," I said, finally. "Why?"
"They sit heavy," he said, hesitantly. He relaxed his face and allowed them to drop over his eyes, and immediately looked hardened and determined. I could see why he had been trained him to hold them higher, where they did not look as masculine.
Carefully, I put my two index fingers to the deep corners of his mouth, and tried to turn them downwards. I checked over my own shoulder, even though it was innocuous; instead, I felt his lips pull up against the current.
"Stop it," I told him. "Be emotionally unavailable."
"I'm trying," he said, mouth opening in a laugh. "Do it again!"
His mouth froze where I set it this time, and he opened his eyes at my request. The whites of his eyes grew larger, and I could not help but look pleased with myself. I folded open my little compact, pleased. "Look."
His heavy eyebrows furrowed together like caterpillars again, mimicry of a woman's sadness. "I look like Princess Sarashina!" he said, in disappointment. "The beast, not the woman."
I thought this very delusional and stupid of him to say, being blessed with good bone structure and skin like ceramic. Even with an icy countenance, he looked a little like Utau: beautiful, but untouchable. I decided against saying anything to the contrary, and instead only shrugged. "Shall we?"
"Where are we going?" He tilted his head, cutely.
"Head straight," I admonished, with a glower. He began walking in a straight line, gazing at me in incomprehension.
"Head—" I said through grit teeth, grabbing his jaw and forcing it upright. "— straight! We are going to enjoy ourselves, boys or Frog Choir be damned."
"Frog Choir?"
The way Nagihiko acted, one would think enjoying himself was an alien activity. As we walked down the bustling, lantern-lit street, shoulder-to-shoulder, I caught him staring at me nervously like a dog who wondered if he was misbehaving.
"Would you pretty misses like to have a look at these?" a nearby shopkeeper called to us, mistaking my careless glance for interest. Nadeshiko jumped, skittish.
I elbowed the cardboard padding of her obi, hissing. "Why are you so jumpy? You've gone on jolly romps all over the countryside, if Kouen is anything to judge by."
Nadeshiko hunched her shoulders up and played with her own fingers mournfully, like a woman strumming a harp. I reached to disentangle them, but consoled myself by slapping her hand instead.
"I was hardly acting a woman while sneaking out, was I?" she said, in a low voice. It blended into the men's murmurs around her. "And that aside, I was alone."
I took her sleeve and leaned over the shopkeeper's wares with mild interest. It was full of different types of seals, from official documents to simpler motifs, such as teapots, and family crests.
"The best in Kansai," the shopkeeper said, proudly. "Not only men use them, nowadays. Even women can be artists and sign bills."
"Don't act like I'm the obstacle, here," I whispered, pretending to admire a seal with a man's name on it. "Just admit you're terrible at having fun."
"I can have plenty of fun," Nadeshiko informed me in a stage whisper.
"Looking at something for a man, Miss?" the shopkeeper inquired, noticing me looking. I put the stamp down, quickly, but Nadeshiko grabbed the bait before I could hurl it back into the sea.
"She's trying to find a gift for her boyfriend," Nadeshiko said.
"It's for my creepy uncle," I said, loudly.
"See how shy and filial she is about it! Uncle, indeed!" Nadeshiko said proudly, tittering behind her sleeve. I stared at her, aghast. A snake's beady eyes stared back at me, teasing.
"Does he need an official seal, or is this for personal use?" asked the shopkeeper briskly, rifling around in a drawer underneath his stall.
"I think I'll look around some more," I said, without emotion. Fire-hot bugs crawled up my neck.
"No, I think this is a good idea," Nadeshiko said, earnestly. "You said he needed one, and it will demonstrate that you are a businesswoman of taste, who thinks about his future."
"The young lady is right," the shopkeeper said, angling for the sale. "A seal is a gift that lasts forever, and a man will need several throughout his lifetime. They are works of art in themselves."
"I could be wrong, but I think he needs one for mid-level documents, such as bank signatures…" Nadeshiko stood on her tiptoes to look at the selection. "Help me out, Rima-chan, which one…"
"What is the gentleman's name?" the shopkeeper asked me, winking.
"Nagihiko," Nadeshiko responded, without missing a beat.
"Is it, now?" I asked, through gritted teeth.
"Oh, yes," said Nadeshiko vaguely, fingering the seals. "Wouldn't a round one be nice?"
I stared at him, for several moments.
"Maybe," I said, slowly.
"Go on, you know what he'd like better than I would," Nadeshiko said, taking my shoulder. I raised my eyes, surprised. There was no sardonicism, or private joke. She meant it.
"… Round…" I agreed, softly. "I like this one."
My fingertip touched the black side of a lacquer seal. A crane in flight was enameled on its side, wings spread. There was calligraphy on it, too, though words I could not read.
"A nice choice," the shopkeeper said, admiringly, although with a wink. "Is the lady angling for marriage? A crane represents…"
"Longevity," I interjected, flat. "I'm in a hurry. How much?"
I could see Nadeshiko cramming her hand down her obi (uncouth) for her purse, although in her overelaborate joke, she had not given herself an out to do so. I began stacking coins on the counter, smug, before I realized I was financing his double life. Dammit! Foiled again, by Fujisaki machinations—
"Nagi, like a calm or lull, that so?" asked the shopkeeper, taking the seal from my hands. "Unusual name, that boy of yours."
"For an unusual fool," I demurred, staring at Nadeshiko. We could both take joy in a charade. Nadeshiko loved the mask, and I loved the farce. What a pair, I thought, with a bite of something acrid. Two liars.
In these days, the makers of seals would carve them right there, before our very eyes. The seal-maker did so, knife glinting in the light of the lantern, before carefully wrapping it up in brown paper and tying it with twine. When it was done, Nagihiko tucked it into her obi, like a secret. "You follow me, this time."
I followed without thinking, one foot after the other. I had to trot to keep up with his long stride. "Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
We wove our way in and out of a rapidly-thickening crowd of people. In the distance, the chorus of the Seiyo girls' choir drifted over us, cutting in and out as though through faulty signal. I could only catch snatches of chorus, amid flutes:
… The rainfall moon, hidden by clouds
When I must go to be a bride, who shall I go with?
Alone, I hold a paper umbrella
If I don't have an umbrella, who shall I go with?
I nearly bumped into the back of a man's haori. Nadeshiko put a concerned hand on my shoulder. "Oh!" she said— with sadness. "We've only caught the end."
"What is it?" I hissed, standing on my tip-toes. "I can't see– this clod is blocking my view."
I moved in front of Nadeshiko. There was nothing in front of me but a thicket of tall people. I could hear the drums, and the piercing voice of a narrator. It was the puppet show.
I turned to Nadeshiko, eyes shining. He remembered? "It's–"
"The Love Suicides at Amijima," we said, together. I stopped early, embarrassed. Contrary to its name, both the characters were hilariously unlikeable weirdos, and the background cast riddled with rational straight-men to offset their strange behaviour. I had never seen it. I would not be spared the hilarity of their death scene.
"Pick me up," I said, imperiously. "I wish to see."
Nagihiko leaned forward. In shadow, his face looked roguish. "Oh? And what will Miss Mashiro give me in return?"
"A debt repaid," I sneered, putting my arms around his neck. His attempts at cowing did not faze a stone-cold woman such as I. "Up."
Although willowy, I correctly identified a quiet strength to Nagihiko. He put one arm under my knees and another against my back and picked me up quickly, like a limp doll. He was careful to keep my legs pinned together, as to spare anyone a flashing by merit of being carried like a corpse.
"The poor seal-maker will be so confused," Nagihiko murmured, leaning me comfortably against his shoulder. I sat ramrod straight in his arms, one leg crossed daintily over the other. "We look like…"
I stared pointedly at the puppets, face pinched and angry.
"… A father lifting up his troublesome toddler… ow."
I flicked his face. "Shhh!"
I watched at rapt attention as the two lover puppets trundled over bridge after bridge after bridge. The workmanship was exquisite, although the narrator a little shrill for my taste. It quickly became clear that Nagihiko had seen it before. His eyes did not wander, but he mouthed the words to the narration silently, and his face shone with expectancy.
The two puppets bounced along, looking for a place to kill themselves. Finally, the man-puppet removed its little scarf, alongside a painted stream
"No matter how far we walk," a man's lone voice cried, "there'll never be a spot marked 'For Suicides.' Let us kill ourselves here."
The female puppet's voice said something incomprehensible across the murmuring crowd— something to do with the plot details we had missed, of debt and obligation and someone's wife.
" 'We may die in different places', " Nadeshiko mouthed— and to my surprise, her eyes were wet with tears, despite us missing all the lead-up. " 'Our bodies may be pecked by kites and crows, but what does it matter as long as our souls are twined together? Take me with you, to heaven or to hell.' "
I was placing the safety of my fragile body in the arms of a sentimental mawk. I could not help it; I stifled a giggle, burying my face in the soft silk of Nagihiko's shoulder. Warm, alive, he moved with every breath.
"You're missing the suicide," he quietly informed me. I looked up, just in time to see the puppet dastardly miss its lover's throat with the katana. I snorted.
I paid for the snort after the bunraku show's finale in the form of a lighthearted spat. If Nagihiko took a snort during a lover's suicide so personally, I would hate to see his mother's reaction.
"It's romantic—" Nadeshiko took pains to explain to me, face screwed up as though she was trying not to cry. "It is cruel because they are two parallel lines, destined never to touch. Yet it always ends on a note of hope, that Amita Buddha will allow them to be together in the next life."
"You're a real conservative, you know that?" I said, snidely. It was dark over our heads, and neither the moon nor lanterns lit our path back up to the school. I narrowly missed tripping over a rock. "The writer himself wrote it as a black comedy. The two leads are dolts, and the entire cast a load of straight-men. He can't even stab her proper, for God's sake."
"Because his hand is shaking!" She buried her face in her kimono sleeve. "He is seized with emotion—"
"I feel right sorry for his wife," I said. "Imagine getting dumped for a shallow trollop with no spine."
"Mashiro-san."
"Do not presume yourself superior to me, Fujisaki-san, for all your highbrow tastes," I continued, with disapproval. "The love interest is a glorified call-girl."
"Mashiro-san." Nagihiko shook the metal bars of the school fence. It rattled in place. "We're locked out."
We stared at the gate glumly for several moments, as though it would open with our sheer force of will. "How did this occur?" I finally said, very slowly, searching for blame.
"It locks at curfew," said Nadeshiko, with guilt. "This is my fault. If we had not…"
I felt a warm drop of water hit my cheek. Seconds later, another. A quiet thrum began in the distance, growing into the shaa-shaa-shaa of a downpour. Cold points hit my head and shoulders.
I raised my head dourly to the sky, as though silently cursing the dragon that caused the rain, or however the legend went, and stamped my foot. A raindrop fell into my eye. "Agh!"
I sank to my knees in front of the school gate, leaning my head against the cold iron. Something about this seemed too contrived, just too perfect. Of course we were locked out. Of course it rained! I was being punished, for having such a wonderful evening. My mother was right. My body would be washed away by the currents of the Sumida River, never to find burial.
A scarlet shadow crossed over my head. The sound of the rain turned to isolated plinks. I looked up to see a bright red paper umbrella, behind Nadeshiko's mildly concerned countenance.
"Where were you hiding that thing?"
She patted her left rib, below the hard obi padding. I understood. "It was supposed to rain today."
She slowly sat down next to me, paper umbrella balanced on her thin shoulder. I swallowed my pride and scooted closer to her, to avoid the dripping. Nagihiko's body was skinny, but he had layered and tucked enough to seem curvy, comfortable.
"Somehow," I said, and my voice was dense and cloudy with sarcasm, "We are always stuck out after dark."
"You needn't worry, this time," Nadeshiko said with the modesty to look ashamed. "There is a teacher patrol that circles the gate at midnight."
"Delivered into the hands of Sanjō? I am forever in your debt…!"
"You forget," Nadeshiko's eyes glimmered by the light of the moon. The rain pitter-pattered merrily onto the grass, well into its stride, now. "The teachers have all been drinking, no doubt, and shall be sleeping like logs. It will be my mother's secretary who does the patrol."
Shion. I remembered her name. I mulled this over, sneaking glances at him.
"Is this true?" I finally said, coolly.
"I have been attending school here a long time, Rima-chan."
I decided that Nagihiko would not lie to me, just to prolong his inevitable murder at my hands. With no options, I slumped down, pulling my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs. The raindrops dripped off the waxy rim of Nadeshiko's umbrella.
Nadeshiko watched them with me. She began to hum under her breath, softly.
"Alone, I hold a paper umbrella. If I don't have an umbrella, who shall I go with?"
"A stuffed straw-dummy, perhaps?" I said, not taking kindly to the sound pollution. Nadeshiko's voice was high, cloying.
"Shara-shara, shan-shan, rings the bell. The jostling horse will get drenched."
"Bully for the horse."
"Please hurry, horse; the dawn comes. From underneath the reins, you look back; I hide my face with my sleeve. Even if my sleeve gets wet with my tears, I can dry it, and it will dry."
"My sleeve's not wet with tears," I said, snidely. "It's wet with summer monsoon. Let's do something else."
"What does Rima-chan want to do?" She thought it very excessively cute, when she spoke in third-person to my face. It barely squeaked by on tiny, childish Yaya, never mind a five-foot-three snake with a proboscis nose.
I lolled my head back, watching the wooden supports and painted flowers rotate above my head. "Do you remember the story you told me? Of your father's troupe on the boat..."
"Of course." Nagihiko's voice was fondly nostalgic. "It's a memory I cherish close to my heart. I did not have much time to spend with my father."
"I want to hear one of the dirty jokes."
His shoulders sagged, and he turned his face modestly from mine, with the daintiness to feign embarrassment. "You still insist on this!"
"Yes."
"I couldn't," Nagihiko murmured, more to his sleeve than me. "A well-bred young lady like you shouldn't be defiled by things like this."
This was so patently false that I wondered why he bothered to say it at all.
"How lucky," I said, prissy, "That such a weighty decision is not in a pair of hands as low as Fujisaki-san's. That was an order, not a request."
The rain dripped. Nagihiko stared out onto the town sprawled below us, and raised his eyebrows, quietly.
"What do you call someone who can't get enough, no matter how many times they do it?"
I became rigid, staring straight ahead of me. "What?"
He repeated himself. "What do you call someone who can't get enough, no matter how many times they do it?"
"I don't understa…"
"A loose woman – or an old person visiting the cemetery."
I got the general jist, but not the specifics. Did old people visit cemeteries quite a bit?
Nagihiko smiled sunnily back at me. "Someone who gets lucky underwater? A fisherman, or Urashima Tarō. This sort of thing."
Urashima Tarō was a popular children's story, about a man who received a river dragon's wife out of gratitude. I cracked a tiny smile. "Another."
"I don't know," said Nagihiko, lying poorly. "I don't remember any more."
"Another."
He swallowed, and I saw the pale protrusion on his throat bob. "What… what dribbles juice when you press your fingers into it?"
His tone clearly conveyed that he, at least, knew as well as I precisely what this was meant to evoke. I was too frigid to blush, but I did feel something odd twinge inside me— a thrill of foreboding— the sudden realization that nice boys and girls did not speak of such things.
"…"
"A ripe peach."
"Ah," I said, softly. I was too jaded to be embarrassed, but there was a strange lump in my throat. I understood why Nagihiko swallowed so nervously.
"What did you think it was? Rima-chan, I don't know if I wish to see this side of you… it may ruin my becoming image of your gentle personality!"
His face vanished behind his sleeve, coy and female once again. Her eyes twinkled above the swathe of red "You know, in Gion, a geisha-in-training wears her hair in a manner that is called a split-peach hairstyle. And with the red fabric peeking through, it is supposed to evoke the image of ..." and then, deadpan. "A ripe peach, I suppose."
"A ripe peach," I repeated, hollowly. "What did you call it, before… first flower of the month?"
"Peaches," she said, dangerously soft: "Or figs, or shellfish, or caverns."
"Well, perhaps if it belongs to a mountain that is old, rocky and inhospitable," I said, with transparent disbelief.
A strange noise escaped Nagihiko's mouth, halfway between a repeated yelp and a snort. It took a moment to realize that he was sniggering, like a dirty boy in a mud-puddle— there was no sleeve over his mouth now. I could see his teeth and red tongue glinting in the moonlight. "Hahahahaha!"
I had once fancied Nadeshiko humourless, or only a fan of hiragana wordplay; I wondered what that me would say to this wild boy in front of me, laughing at crude body jokes. A wellspring of mirth grew inside of me, like a geyser. I had the modesty to turn my head away when I grinned. However much I stared determinedly at my right shoulder, I could feel Nagihiko's eyes on me.
"You are too much, Rima-chan."
"And you," I murmured.
Perhaps only a few minutes later, I added: "I have one."
"You do?" She sounded surprised.
"What does every woman have, that she may use to get what she wants?"
"Rima!" she said, in mock-scandal. I was too elated to correct her.
"That is not a guess," I reminded her. "Certainly, I use it with you often."
A blush wormed its way up Nadeshiko's slim, pretty neck. There was silence, before she whirled on me, eyes bright.
"Her mouth!"
