The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida

by Clarissa Goenawan

  The orphanage mural wasn’t the only project Miwako and I had worked on. My sister’s policy was more or less to accept any job that brought in money. Thanks to that, we had taken all sorts of random assignments, sometimes from other artists. Once, we were tasked with framing a photographer’s works for his solo exhibition.

  “This warehouse is huge,” Miwako had said as she fixed a photograph into a black frame. “Isn’t the rent expensive?”

  “We’re not renting,” I said.

  Her eyes widened. “Fumi-nee owns this place?”

  I laughed. “No, she isn’t that rich.” Otherwise, she wouldn’t have to work so hard. “Someone agreed to lend it to her until he came back, but at this point, his absence feels pretty indefinite.”

  Miwako stared at me, waiting for me to say more.

  “He just disappeared one day,” I said. “Left a note saying he’d be gone for a while, and to use the studio however we wanted as long as we didn’t touch the bicycles.”

  “How strange.” Her eyes lit up. She glanced at the two rusty bicycles in the corner. “This owner, who is he?”

  I paused. “Why?”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” She picked up another photograph to frame. “It’s just that I’ve got plenty of time to listen to your story, and he sounds intriguing.”

  Hearing that, I envied Kenji a little. I knew it was a silly, petty jealousy, and that I was reading too much into her curiosity. And Miwako was right. We had plenty of time. So I told her about Kenji Ishihara.

  4

  A

  Strawberry

  Field

  on a Warm

  Summer

  Day

  Kenji had lived at the same orphanage as me and my sister.

  “My sister says an orphanage is like a pet shop,” I said. “The youngest puppies have the highest chance of being bought. But the older they get, the lower the probability anyone will want them.”

  Miwako stared at me. “That’s pretty harsh, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but it’s true. The younger children are usually adopted quickly.”

  When our parents were killed in that car accident, my sister was fifteen and I was seven. She was almost too old to be in the orphanage. Nobody would adopt her. Some couples expressed interest in me, but only me. He’s a sweet, well-behaved boy, the pastor in the orphanage told prospective parents. We’ve always wanted a son just like him, they replied. Come live with us, Ryusei. We’ll be your new family.

  But I didn’t want to leave without my sister, so I turned all of them down. I wouldn’t exchange the only real family I had for a group of strangers. It wouldn’t be fair to her if I were the only one who found a new home.

  “I didn’t realize you were so thoughtful,” Miwako said.

  I stared off into the distance. “You’re wrong. I wasn’t being thoughtful. I was being a burden. If I had considered things properly, I would have realized my sister was better off without me.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because I wanted us to be together, she took me with her once she was a legal adult and had to leave the orphanage. If she hadn’t had me dragging her down, she could’ve had a better life. Instead, she had to work day and night to support me.”

  Miwako was silent for a moment. “But that was the decision she made. I’m sure she wanted to be with you too.”

  I said nothing. I didn’t tell Miwako I used to wake up in the middle of the night and see my sister sobbing silently, hand over her mouth to stifle any cries. Or how she would stare intently into an empty space sometimes, seemingly lost in her own world. What weighed on you so much? Do you regret taking me with you? Do you wish you had abandoned me? These questions constantly floated through my mind, but I could never bring myself to ask them. I was too afraid to hear her answers.

  “What about Kenji?” Miwako asked.

  “He’s originally from Okinawa. He told us he used to live near the beach. I never asked when or how his parents passed away, but he came to Tokyo to live with his uncle, the owner of this studio. They stayed together for a couple of years, but eventually his uncle passed away from illness. None of his remaining relatives were willing to take him in, so he ended up living with us in the orphanage. Kenji said his uncle used to be a bicycle repairman.”

  Miwako gestured at the two rusty bicycles in the corner. “Did those belong to his uncle?”

  “One of them. The other is Kenji’s, but he never used it after his uncle’s death.” I glanced at the bicycles, which had stood against the wall for ages. “He said it would be too sad to ride it alone.”

  “So this studio was his inheritance when he got a little older.”

  “Yeah.” I stretched my neck. Sitting down for so long to insert the photographs into the frames had made my whole body stiff. “Kenji is around the same age as Fumi-nee. The two of them were the oldest children in the orphanage. Maybe that’s why they got along so well.

  “After my sister and I left the orphanage, we were low on cash. We couldn’t afford to rent a place in Tokyo, but my sister was adamant about not moving out of town. She didn’t want us to live too far away from my elementary school. Thankfully, Kenji let us stay in the studio.”

  “You used to live here?”

  “Yeah, sleeping bags and all that. It was really cold at night,” I said, laughing. “Later on, my sister received more commissioned work, so we moved out to our current place. But she still comes back here to do her work. She says she’s more productive outside the house.”

  “And she probably needs the space. Her paintings are huge.”

  I nodded. “That too.”

  “Where’s Kenji now?”

  “He vanished,” I said. “He used to joke that once he saved up enough money, he was going to visit all the best surf spots in the world. Maybe he’s doing that right now? Riding the waves in Bali, Hawaii, the Gold Coast. Who knows?” I shrugged. “He’s a little crazy. I could never tell whether he was joking or not. But he’s quite resourceful, and tough, so I’m sure he’s fine wherever he is.”

  “Uh-huh.” Miwako wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Do you think he’s in love with Fumi-nee? And that’s why he let her use the studio?”

  I chuckled. “No, that’s not possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s just not.”

  Miwako shot me an intense look. “You know, normally, you’re pretty open-minded, but you’re so overprotective when it comes to your sister. Why are you convinced no man apart from you can sincerely care about her or make her happy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so intent on keeping her from getting a boyfriend. Fumi-nee is smart, talented, and beautiful. It’s only natural for someone like her to date,” Miwako said. “You can’t stop her from exploring her options. She should be allowed to make her own decisions.”

  “She is making her own decisions,” I said. “Her own stupid decisions.”

  Miwako crossed her arms. “You’re just being mean.”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “Oh, really? Why don’t you explain those to me?”

  I said nothing.

  She sighed. “Come on. How long are you going to hang on to your sister?”

  “Forever, if I have to.” I stopped, realizing how controlling I sounded. I took a deep breath and continued. “I’m not trying to hang on to her for too long.”

  “You just said forever. That seems pretty long to me.”

  “What I mean is, I’ll be here to support her until the right person shows up. But only if they’re the right one.”

  Miwako shook her head. “She might have made some bad decisions in the past and still do so once in a while, but she’s not a kid. There’s no need to protect her from everything and everyone. If you want to be
a good brother, just be there for her when she needs you.”

  “I can’t.” I looked up. “Maybe I’m doing it for myself. But as annoying as it is, I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  Miwako averted her eyes. She resumed her work quietly, as if what I’d said disturbed her. Had she somehow misunderstood? True, what I had said could have come off wrong, but I couldn’t explain any further without revealing the truth about my sister.

  I took another photograph and fixed it to a base. We had only gotten a third of the way through the stack.

  “I’m so jealous of you,” Miwako said. “Not only is your sister beautiful, she’s intelligent and kind, and she loves you. I have an older brother, but I always fantasized about having an older sister. Someone to go shopping with and to share clothes with. I’d sneak out from my room at night and go to hers so we could talk about girl stuff. She would even let me try on her makeup.”

  “You have an overactive imagination,” I said.

  She shrugged. “I guess. But you simply can’t do things like that with a brother.”

  I paused. “Have you tried?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then maybe you should.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. After a moment, she asked, “What about you, Ryusei? Do you ever wish you had a brother?”

  Miwako’s words cut me deeply. She hadn’t meant anything by them—how could she possibly know?—but that didn’t make them less painful. I hadn’t planned to say anything, at least not for a while. I’d never told anyone, especially after what had happened to my sister. But this was Miwako. Maybe she would understand.

  I swallowed hard. “Can I tell you something?”

  She tilted her head. “Hmmm?”

  “It’s about my sister,” I said, avoiding her eyes. “She was born as a boy.”

  Miwako scowled. “That’s not funny.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be.”

  “You mean . . .” Her words trailed off as the realization hit her. “I see.”

  “That’s why I don’t necessarily want her to date,” I said. “There might be someone out there who will truly love her for who she is, but that possibility is slim. I don’t want my sister getting hurt over and over. She’s the only family I have.”

  I waited for Miwako’s reply, but she didn’t say anything. There was a long, awkward silence.

  “Do you still think I’m lucky, Miwako?”

  “Yes,” she said. “You’ve had both a brother and a sister.”

  I smiled. Only Miwako would think like that.

  “Actually,” I said, leaning my back against the wall, “I always saw Fumi-nee as a sister, not a brother. I felt it even then. When she turned eighteen and we were about to leave the orphanage, she told me she was going to live as her true self. I couldn’t have been happier.”

  I recalled the day we had that conversation. We were in our room, packing. I was getting ready to move out. It must have been very hard for her to bring it up then, but she was unflinching.

  “That afternoon, she looked into my eyes and said, ‘Ryu, I want to be the best version of myself. Not for anyone else, but for me.’ Seeing her make that decision, I couldn’t help but think, this person is so strong and beautiful. I’m really proud of her.”

  Miwako put her hand on mine. “She must have been proud of you too.”

  I nodded. “I appreciate you not being judgmental about this. It hasn’t been easy. Fumi-nee has been through a lot.” Pausing, I hesitated for a moment. “Besides everyday discrimination, I think she might have been bullied in school. But that was a long time ago and I was young, so I could have been mistaken.”

  “It must have been hard for her.”

  “Yes, but not as hard as hiding who she is.”

  “True.”

  “I couldn’t have asked for a better sister. Sometimes, I feel I don’t deserve her. She works so hard to put me through school.”

  Miwako reached for my hand and squeezed it. “She’s a good person, isn’t she?”

  “Fumi-nee always said she only had two goals in life. One of them was to see me graduate from university and get a job at a good company,” I said. “This has become my goal too, to get a high-paying job in sales or consulting so my sister can stop worrying about money. She wouldn’t need to juggle so many projects anymore.”

  “That’s really nice. What’s Fumi-nee’s other goal?”

  I averted my eyes. “You should be able to guess.”

  “I’m not a mind-reader.”

  “I know, but . . .” I paused, unsure how to word it. “Well, she used to say that one day, when she had saved enough, she would go in for—”

  “Gender reassignment surgery?”

  I was surprised she had put it so plainly.

  “Yes, something like that that,” I muttered. “That’s why she’s taken on a second part-time job at night.”

  “What does she do?”

  This was another piece of information I hadn’t intended to volunteer, but the words had already slipped from my mouth.

  “Fumi-nee is a hostess,” I said.

  “I see,” she mumbled. “Well, she’s certainly beautiful and charming. She must have a lot of clients.”

  I looked straight at Miwako. Her eyes were clear and bright. “You’re beautiful too, you know.”

  She laughed. “You don’t need to say that just to make me feel better.”

  “That wasn’t why I said it.”

  Her face turned bright red. She continued with the task at hand but nearly dropped a glass case.

  “Be careful,” I said, secretly pleased.

  “It’s fine.” She brushed me off. “So is Fumi-nee close to reaching her second goal?”

  “I don’t really know. After all these years, she should have quite a bit saved up, even after what her ex-boyfriend stole. Sometimes I wonder what’s stopping her. But money is a sensitive topic in our household, as is her situation, so I can’t really bring myself to ask.”

  Miwako lined up the photograph with the frame’s edges. “Maybe Fumi-nee wants to keep things the way they are. Maybe she’s realized she’s perfect exactly the way she is.”

  She rendered me speechless again with that one musing. How could someone who had met my sister no more than a few weeks ago understand so much about her? On the surface, Miwako seemed blunt, never mincing her words. I would never have guessed she had so much compassion beneath. I wondered what had made her that way, and whether I would be the one to find out.

  Kenji’s rusty bicycles were still sitting around in the studio. They looked much worse than they had when Miwako had first come.

  Seeing that they were unlocked, and it was so easy to jump over the barrier, I wondered how long it would be before those bicycles met their end. Would someone eventually steal them, or would they simply break down, left to themselves? They must have been very nice once, but left to the elements, they’d become unsightly. Yet those bicycles gave me a kind of solace. They seemed to reflect the passage of time—how in the end, nothing was permanent.

  “Ryu,” called my sister from the office. “Don’t just sit there. Help me move these canvases.”

  Getting up, I loosened my tie. “What are you looking for?”

  “Those paintings Miwako did.”

  I felt a lump in my throat. “What do you need those for?”

  “Hmm, I don’t know,” she said. “I just want to see them. Will you give me a hand?”

  I hung my suit jacket on the back of the chair and entered the office. It was a small area, partitioned off by flimsy plastic walls. A fan stood in the corner of the room. On one side was a table with two folding chairs facing one another. On the other was a large stack of canvases. I went over and helped my sister shift the paintings around. Most were hers, but there were also a few of mine.
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  “When did you paint this?” my sister asked, singling out a canvas. “I never saw it.”

  I peeked over her shoulder. It was a painting of a strawberry field on a warm summer day. There was nothing else, just a seemingly endless field of red, ripe strawberries. Looking at it brought pain to my chest.

  “It’s beautiful, Ryu. Where did you get the idea?”

  “I copied it from a calendar.” I lied, not wanting to tell her it was a painting of Miwako, or rather, her fragrance. That shampoo she used, I still didn’t know what kind it was. A couple of months ago, I’d gone to the supermarket and sniffed every brand of shampoo on the shelf to catch its scent, perhaps desperate to find a piece of her. But I couldn’t find anything close.

  At that moment, I could still remember the fragrance so clearly. But as the years went by, would it become less and less distinct until I forgot it completely? Would my memory of her warp and rust like those bicycles?

  My sister put the canvas down and we continued to search in silence.

  “Ryu, look. This one is Miwako’s,” she suddenly said.

  The painting Fumi-nee had found showed two headshots next to each other. They were drawn far too symmetrically, and the colors lacked depth.

  “This is the first painting she did.” My sister stared at the canvas with a longing smile. “They’re supposed to be us.”

  “Us?” My chest felt heavy.

  “She was getting better. See here.”

  My sister took another canvas depicting the two bicycles in the warehouse, without the rust. I couldn’t say the painting was impressive, but it was definitely a step up from the previous one. I had never seen Miwako paint, so she probably had done these with my sister when I hadn’t been around.

  I scanned the rest of the canvases. Despite never possessing the slightest desire to be an artist, my sister definitely had the talent for it. Fumi-nee did mostly abstract painting, but there was a peculiar quality that pulled people into her artwork. Her bold strokes gave off a sense of alienation and desperation, but her choice of muted colors conveyed a hidden loneliness. My sister had mastered the application of intricate details to her pieces. At the same time, she took extra care to make sure nothing was overwhelming. I recognized a delicate balance, a sense of equilibrium in all of her pieces. What my sister couldn’t tell anyone, she whispered into her work.