Satellite Love

by Genki Ferguson

  I started looking through The General’s sloppy calligraphy. The blind man seemed to belong to an abstract, free-form school of art. There was one piece in particular which pulled me in. He must have completed it recently—some of the ink was still wet. I lifted this sheet as tenderly as possible, as though the slightest movement might shatter it within my impermanent grasp.

  While the other paintings were all similar in their randomness, this one seemed to have its own system. Rather than being open-ended, the unintelligible characters here worked their way into a spiral. Along the outer lines of the circle were a few blotches of ink coiling downwards into a sombre black. Was this a depiction of souls trapped in the cycle of karma, or of planets caught in orbit?

  A little while later The General returned, mouth drawn into a tight grimace. He rushed over, as though he had no time left for what he wanted to say, and addressed me for what would be the final time.

  He grabbed me by the wrist, sending the paper flying out of my hand and onto the woven straw floor. “Anna, you have a good heart. Please never forget this. You have a good heart.”

  I stared at the painting, now far beyond my reach, only vaguely aware of The General’s words. There was something undefinable in his calligraphy, ink splotches that couldn’t be pinned down by mere numbers. I’d never acquired a sophisticated appreciation of the arts, but I was beginning to understand this human phenomenon of beauty. There was a raw energy to what this old man was creating, expressions that belonged to him alone. It seemed to me that there were two Generals: the one standing before me, and the one who painted words with India ink.

  “I’m sorry. It’s for your own safety.”

  He pressed this into my palm, clouded eyes on the verge of tears. Rain falling from a mountain mist.

  At this, the door behind him flung open, revealing two uniformed young men, one tall and one short, donning identical all-black uniforms. Big Dipper and Little Dipper. Following closely behind them was a heavy-set middle-aged woman—a caregiver, judging by the authority she held herself with. Big Dipper carried a police flashlight, clearly to be used as a baton in a pinch, firmly by his side. The General had called the building’s security, believing I was Anna. What exactly had happened between them the last time they met?

  “Where is she?”

  “Did she break anything?”

  “Is she hiding?”

  The matching guards were overly excited by what must have been their first sign of action in years. The one with the flashlight left his boots on as he stepped into The General’s room, trampling a painting underfoot.

  “Miss, we’re here to help you! You’re not in trouble.”

  The nurse began to tap Morse into The General’s hand, at which he became angry, speaking aloud for the first time.

  “No! She’s here.”

  He pulled his arm from the nurse and, gripping hold of his cane, began swinging it wildly in search of me. A couple towers of books toppled, adding another touch of disorder to the scene. Meanwhile, Big Dipper and Little Dipper stormed around the apartment, at times passing through me, searching for imaginary people.

  “I was just speaking to her!”

  It was surprisingly tense watching my own manhunt unfold, considering it was Anna they were looking for. I was glad that they wouldn’t find her. If anything, I felt a kind of sick pleasure watching these two guards nearly tear down the walls at the thought of being outsmarted by a sixteen-year-old. More than anything, though, I was afraid. Afraid of the girl I thought I knew, whose self-destructive streak was expanding to include the outside world. I was afraid of what might happen to her, of what might happen to us.

  As I left the room—the manhunt showing no signs of subsiding—I went to pick up the piece of calligraphy that had interested me so. When I reached for it, my hand passed through the paper, no longer able to take hold. Somehow, the ink still managed to stain my palms. I stared at the painting for a second, saddened by the idea of leaving it behind.

  The General was becoming increasingly frantic, pacing around his room, sending pleas to Anna by driving his cane into the floor. Morse code to shake the Earth. We were linked: only he and Anna could see me in this world. Why this was, I didn’t understand. I had gone numb by then, the chaos around me having lost its meaning. All I felt was a hole, a hollow, growing deep within my chest.

  * * *

  *    *    *

  On the train back to Sakita, I caught my reflection in the window. It was my first time seeing my own face—I hadn’t thought to look until now, yet somehow, my appearance was already familiar. It was the uncanny sensation of recognizing your face on someone else’s body. Or rather, instead of seeing a doppelgänger of yourself in public, realizing that you are, in fact, the doppelgänger. No one ever tells stories from the mimic’s point of view; surely realizing you are the clone is just as alarming.

  I moved my tongue self-consciously over my missing tooth, wondering why Anna had given me a cleft lip in the first place. As the train passed through a tunnel, the darkness outside sharpened my reflection, and I recognized with a shudder where I had seen my face before. It was weeks earlier, on a school roof covered in snow that might have been clouds. Anna had created me in the exact image of Soki.

  SOKI

  WEIRD THINGS HAD BEEN happening. It was the beginning of January, but there were still cicadas everywhere. They should’ve all died by then, but they wouldn’t leave. Not to mention all the snow. That winter was the first time in years any had fallen in Sakita.

  When I told Dad all of this, he shook his head. “The natural order has been disturbed,” he said. “Something bad is going to happen.”

  We were eating breakfast—egg-toast and coffee. The radio forecast had just predicted more snow. A cool wind from the north.

  “ ‘Natural order?’ ” I repeated. It was painful, hearing him talk like a priest again.

  He swallowed a bite down. “It’s just an expression. Doesn’t mean much.”

  I thought about this for a second. He had said those words so quickly, as if out of habit. “But you meant it, right?”

  “That the weather is abnormal, yes.”

  I finished off my toast. “That’s not what you said. You said, ‘The natural order has been disturbed.’ ”

  He sighed. “It never ends with you. Go get dressed or you’ll be late.”

  At that he stood, and took our empty plates to the kitchen. I followed him in.

  “Were you talking about kami? Because I’ve been thinking the same. They seem upset at Sakita. Maybe the people here have ignored them too long.”

  He closed the dishwasher—hard. “It’s just a saying.”

  “But it’s not ‘just a saying.’ I’m talking about the gods.” I could tell I was being annoying, but I didn’t care. Hearing him repeat those words made me wonder if maybe he still believed. If maybe he hadn’t quite let everything go.

  “Do you want me to drive you or not?”

  In all honesty, I didn’t. Most of my classmates walked to school on their own, but my parents insisted on driving me because “it’s safer” somehow. Guess Mom thought I’d get lost or run over even. It was embarrassing. But that morning, she was at the dentist, and since my dad had the day off, he said he’d drive me. So I shut my mouth. I could ask him about my theory again on the way to school.

  But when we got into the car, it wouldn’t start. Thousands and thousands of kilometres, and our silver two-door decided to die here. We’d been using it since Hokkaido, and it’d gone through much worse. Felt like an omen. Dad told me there wasn’t any gas left. I said he should fill it up more often, but he said he had just gone to the gas station the day before.

  We found some weird tube in the driveway. Dad laughed and said that someone must have siphoned the fuel while we were asleep. I didn’t get why he was relieved, but he told me it was be
tter than having a leak in the gas tank. I don’t get him sometimes.

  “Go get your coat, you’ll have to walk to school,” he said. Then, as an afterthought: “You think your kami emptied the tank?”

  I didn’t like how he called them your kami, and I shook my head. “Nope. Just a thief. A kami wouldn’t harm us like that.”

  I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was saying, to be honest. I’d gotten used to sending lines back at my dad this way. But as we walked back to the house, I could tell something was bothering him. He had this weary look on his face, one that I remembered from purification ceremonies in Hokkaido.

  I put on a thicker jacket and was just out the door when he stopped me.

  “I was joking about the kami,” he said. “Spirits wouldn’t steal gasoline, but be careful with that line of thought—that kami can’t hurt you.”

  If I didn’t leave soon, I’d be late. I turned to look at him, saw him standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching me curiously.

  “Kami aren’t evil, Dad,” I said.

  “They aren’t good, either,” he replied. “If you want to believe in Shinto, that’s up to you. But you have to take responsibility for your faith. You can’t pick and choose what you believe in.”

  I said nothing back. It was rare for him to talk to me like this. He wasn’t scolding or making fun of me. He was treating me like a junior priest and not his son. Giving me guidance in something he no longer believed in.

  “If you want to believe that a religion will protect you, you have to accept that it could hurt you, too. You have to accept that if you worship poorly, if you neglect the kami, if you lose your respect, it’ll harm you and the people around you. If you can’t assume that responsibility, don’t believe at all. Do you understand?”

  I nodded, and after a second, he just stepped back into the room. I slipped on my shoes and left.

  Dad’s words stuck in my head. If the natural order was disturbed, was it the kami’s doing? And if I believed in the kami, was I responsible? Apparently, these strange events started happening after we arrived in Sakita: the snow, the cicadas, and now the gas. Maybe my family had brought some low spirit with us from somewhere else in Japan.

  I mulled over what my dad had said. There were responsibilities with belief. You can’t just accept the blessings. If you believe your faith can save the world, you have to accept it can ruin it, too.

  The entire time, the sweet smell of gasoline kept following me. Reminded me of the smell of incense. Mom used to hand-make sticks of it, but she lost her kit a few cities ago, so we don’t burn it at home anymore. I miss it, though. It smelled a lot better than gasoline. She used to tell me that appreciating incense is an art of its own. I never got the hang of it—most of it smelled the same. Only thing I remember is that there’s different kinds of fire. Different sticks have different expressions. Kind of like people. If you took all of someone’s life and burned it, what would their fire be like?

  Outside the school gates, I passed by a statue of Jizo. Someone had already started a pebble pile. I took a moment to add to it anyway. On the off chance that child spirits really do stack stones to escape the underworld, I figured it’d be best to help.

  When I arrived to class, I was a half hour late. Ms. Tanaka was annoyed, and told me she was just about to call my family. She thinks I’m abnormal, and that my roaming childhood was “improper.” Doesn’t bother me, though—my class is filled with weirdos. Anna wasn’t there that day—she rarely was, anymore—but she’s the biggest weirdo I know. The only time she’d show her face was when there was a test to write. The teachers had mostly given up on her. They probably thought she was just going to drop out.

  Whenever Anna decided to show up to school, she kept to herself. My classmates had stopped calling her Anna-terasu. They just called her “the alien,” instead. She didn’t seem to mind, just sat there staring at nothing. Sometimes it almost looked like she was talking to herself. I’d heard lots of rumours about her, about her family, but I wasn’t sure what to believe. I got the feeling she avoided me sometimes. After we talked about kami on the rooftop, she didn’t seem interested in talking to me, or anyone else for that matter. Wasn’t sure why. I thought we got along. To be honest, a part of me was impressed that she was so independent. Maybe a little intimidated, too.

  Right as Ms. Tanaka was about to continue her lesson, Fumie entered. It was rare for her to be so late—she was always at her desk right on time. We went out for a little bit, but I guess she got bored of me. We hadn’t really spoken since we dated. My dad always told me I should talk more, but I think I talk just enough.

  Fumie started whispering to Ms. Tanaka, explaining why she was late. Somehow, she was talking even faster than usual. I wasn’t trying to listen in, but I caught something. The words car, empty, and gas.

  “What happened?”

  I blurted this out, not even realizing I was interrupting a private conversation.

  Fumie looked at me strangely, like she wasn’t sure whether to reply. Glanced around at our classmates, who were all staring. I could tell she was self-conscious about speaking in front of everyone.

  “I mean, like, my mom was going to drive me to school, right?” she started saying. “But the car wouldn’t start, or, actually, we didn’t even try to start the car, because when I sat down something smelled funny and, well, the tank was actually empty, and the entire car was covered in gas—”

  I felt a chill pass through me. “Someone poured gasoline over your car?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not even the worst part. Someone wrote a bunch of nonsense all over the windshield, like a crazy person, and we couldn’t even read what it said because it was in a foreign language or something. But it gets even worse because it wasn’t even paint that was on our windshield, but lipstick. But not even normal lipstick either. It’s actually the shade I use, so now I’m worried that someone has it out for me, like a pervert or a stalker or…”

  At some point, the classroom went quiet. Fumie was still speaking, and Ms. Tanaka was trying to get her to sit down, but I couldn’t hear a thing. There was a low hum in my ears.

  Before I came to Sakita, everything was normal. No snow, cicadas, or missing gasoline. But then we arrived. Had the kami sent us to Sakita as punishment for leaving the shrine? Or were the kami punishing Sakita by sending us here?

  If I asked my dad, he would say it’s just a coincidence. That there was a serial gasoline thief on the loose, and Fumie and I were unlucky. But he can say that because he doesn’t believe. I have to take responsibility.

  Up until then, I thought that kami only protected people. That if Dad believed in them just a little more, we would be all right. Problem is, I was picking and choosing. I didn’t realize what believing meant.

  Ms. Tanaka started her lesson, but I couldn’t read what she was writing. I was too busy trying to pray. Trying to purify the city I lived in. But I didn’t know what words to use. How do I take responsibility for something I wasn’t sure I’d caused?

  SATELLITE

  THE SUN HAD NEARLY set by the time I arrived in Sakita, navigating through streets and back alleys I only knew from space. While daydreaming on the train I’d missed my stop and ended up having to walk all the way back home. Some days I miss flying.

  I should have been worried about how Anna would react to my returning empty-handed, but all I could think about was the true nature of her relationship with The General. What had happened between the two of them? What else was she hiding?

  I let myself into Anna’s room, only to find that she wasn’t there. She had left a note directing me to Lucky Ginseng, a Chinese medicine shop somewhere downtown. I allowed myself a brief moment of weakness and complained to no one in particular about having to travel even farther. I’d never been there before, and I was impressed by her confidence in my ability to find my way alone. Or maybe it was just fa
ith in my satellite GPS.

  On my way out, I paused briefly in front of that mysterious mound, a surge of temptation compelling me to stay. For the first time, I was alone with this foreboding object. I could pull the tarp off without Anna ever knowing. I approached it uneasily, floorboards creaking underfoot in warning, and eventually placed my palm against its side. Rather than feel my curiosity build, however, I felt only an unexplainable dread. Whatever was underneath that tarp felt eerily familiar, unnerving enough to make me pull away. I wiped my palm against my pants, as though contaminated by some unknown contagion, and fled Anna’s room. Down the stairs, out the door, into the hastening night.

  I found Anna standing in front of Lucky Ginseng’s shuttered storefront, alone, staring up into the sky. The sun had long gone to rest over the horizon, a layer of frost covering the city like silver foil. The apartment buildings jutting out of the skyline from the surrounding neighbourhood reminded me of stalagmites, mirroring the stiff pose she held as she gazed into the heavens. The store’s neon signs cast a multicoloured glow around her, filling me with a loneliness I couldn’t understand.

  “You’re even later than I thought you’d be,” she said, watching me cross the street towards her.

  “I wasn’t able to find the books you wanted. The General’s place is a mess.”

  “That’s fine. I didn’t need them anyway. I finished earlier than expected,” she said, before falling into a brief silence. She was measuring her words, making sure nothing unintended came out.

  “How is he, by the way?” she asked. “Does he seem okay?”

  She had yet to look me in the eye. The way she was talking was hurried, almost paranoid, as though she was afflicted by some kind of dangerous exultation. To top it off, an odd smell clung to her, sickly sweet and metallic at the same time. I was struck by the thought that Anna was losing control, that she was falling down, down, down.