The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida

by Clarissa Goenawan

  Standing over her, Fumio swung the stick high, ready to strike. All the anger and rage that had been building within him for the past few months was packed into his swing.

  And then he stopped.

  Hands over her face, the girl was shaking and in tears.

  Fumio threw the stick away and said in a stern voice he’d never known he had, “Don’t you ever mess with me again.”

  And with that, he left her alone on the rooftop.

  For the first time in weeks, he felt free. The invisible burden that had weighed him down was gone. He raised his head. The sun’s rays filtered through the cloud. The sky had never looked so beautiful.

  When Fumio entered the classroom the next morning, everyone averted their eyes. The atmosphere around him had changed. He could feel it as he walked to his seat. His desk wasn’t flipped over, nor was his chair. No one had scribbled anything on either, and his books were also untouched. Overnight, he had gone from the bullied to the delinquent.

  In the end, Fumio Yanagi still didn’t have any friends, but no one ever picked on him again. And to him, that was enough.

  23

  Isn’t

  It Sad

  to

  Force

  Yourself

  to Laugh

  Fumi found Eiji lying on the sofa. He didn’t greet her when she entered the apartment. She took her house slippers off. Both were dirty, and one had a tear now. Pulling up a chair next to Eiji, Fumi sat with her arms crossed and waited for his explanation. She didn’t want to be the first to talk.

  “I suppose you’re angry,” Eiji said. “Will it make you feel better if I apologize, or will it just make things worse?”

  “What do you think?” she asked rhetorically. “Anyway, what else could you have done? It’s not like you could’ve stepped in and beaten up those boys.”

  He smirked. “You’ve got a pretty low opinion of me, Fumi-nee.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

  He nodded. “Come on, entertain me.”

  Taking a deep breath, she looked into his eyes. “You’re dead, Eiji.”

  His expression shifted just slightly—barely visible enough for her to catch, but it was there.

  “You’re already dead,” Fumi repeated. “That’s why you avoid going outside. Because no one can see you but me.”

  Eiji averted his eyes, then started to laugh. “You really should consider that career as an investigator, Fumi-nee.”

  She sighed. “Is this really the time to be laughing?”

  “What do you want me to do? Should I cry instead?”

  Fumi shook her head. “Isn’t it sad to force yourself to laugh when you’re feeling down?”

  He stopped and glared at her. “Don’t pretend that you understand.”

  “I never said I did.”

  Looking away, Eiji shoved his hands into his pockets. “I also have a theory about you, Fumi-nee.”

  She pressed her lips together and frowned.

  “The reason you haven’t gone through with the gender reassignment procedure is because of your brother.”

  Fumi felt a sting. “Who told you that?”

  “No one,” he said. “I figured it out myself. You’re the first son of a priest, aren’t you?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I saw your family photograph earlier when it slipped out of the album. You know, the one in front of the shrine.” He licked his lips. “That boy was you, right?”

  Fumi placed her hand on her neck. “I thought you missed it.”

  “I’ve figured out a lot more than that,” he said. “I think I know why you can see me.”

  She clicked her tongue. “So now you’re the one playing detective.”

  “I reckoned there was something in your lineage that caused you to see spirits. Or rather, your male lineage. You’re worried that the procedure will eliminate that ability, and it will be passed to—”

  Fumi stood and raised her voice. “Stop calling the curse an ability.”

  “I—” Eiji mumbled.

  “Just because you’ve got an explanation for what’s happening, doesn’t mean you actually understand,” she said. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. I saw spirits appear and disappear, roaming among the living. A few of them don’t even know they’re dead. Other times, they’ll take the form of someone else to trick me. Wandering spirits like you are everywhere, and I’m the only one who sees them.” Fumi’s vision blurred with tears. “I’m cursed, but I’ve gotten good at pretending that I’m just a normal person. Even my brother doesn’t know.”

  Eiji stepped forward and tried to hug Fumi, but his arms passed through her body. He stared in shock.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  Fumi started to sob.

  “I’m sorry,” Eiji whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  His gentleness only broke her. She sank to the floor, weeping, as Eiji sat helplessly next to her.

  Fumi lost track of how long she cried, but she remembered crawling into bed. Eiji followed her and sat at the edge, and she fell asleep right away. When she woke up the next day, he was asleep on the floor below her. She stared at the scar on the bridge of his nose until he opened his eyes.

  “Good morning, pretty girl,” Eiji said. “Have you been watching me sleep for a while?”

  “Aren’t you full of yourself.” She turned away from him, feeling embarrassed about last night’s burst of emotions. “Can we forget everything that happened yesterday?”

  “Of course, but I have a favor to ask in exchange.”

  She looked at him. “What do you want now?”

  He grinned. “Let me stay here another few months.”

  “Don’t you have some other place to loiter?”

  “It’s fun being here with you, Fumi-nee. I really like you.”

  His words moved her, but she reminded herself they lived in two different worlds, which had just happened to collide during this brief period.

  “It’s up to you, Eiji,” Fumi said. “You can’t stay here forever, anyway.”

  He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

  She rubbed her neck. “After you’ve made peace with your past, you’ll be reincarnated.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll be reborn. You didn’t think you’d remain a wandering soul forever, did you? If that were the case, the world would be overcrowded with lost spirits.”

  He paused. “Makes sense. How much longer do I have?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t know how you died or why you’re still here. Or what might have happened in your previous life.”

  “I committed suicide,” he answered right away. “After I killed someone.”

  Fumi stared at him. She couldn’t tell whether he was making it up, but who joked about such things? Yet coming from Eiji, it was hard to believe. He seemed so easygoing and cheerful. What kind of reasons could he possibly have had for making such choices?

  “You can go to places of worship, like shrines and temples, to speed up the cleansing process,” she continued. “I’ve heard it’s because of their positive energy. I’m not entirely sure it’s true, but it’s worth trying.”

  Eiji didn’t respond.

  “Why so quiet?” Fumi asked. “Do you have more questions?”

  He turned to her with downcast eyes. “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

  “Why would I be?” she said. “You’re dead. You can’t physically harm me. And if I decided to stop acknowledging you, unless you found someone else who could see you, you would basically cease to exist.” As soon as the words came out, Fumi regretted them, but she couldn’t take them back.

  Eiji glanced
sideways. “You must think I’m a terrible person for killing someone. Have you ever wished for anyone to die, Fumi-nee? Just . . . felt that the world would be better off without that person?”

  Fumi recalled the girl who had bullied her in high school. Had she ever hoped the girl would just disappear? Yes, all the time, but actually wiping out her existence had never crossed her mind.

  “Why did you kill this person?” Fumi finally asked.

  Eiji didn’t answer at once. Eventually, he mumbled, “I thought I knew, but recently, I’m not so sure anymore.”

  “No matter what, everyone has someone who will miss them,” she said, “a child or sibling or parent or lover or friend. I’m sure someone misses you right now.”

  He nodded slowly. “Are you trying to make me feel guilty?”

  Fumi forced a smile. “Trust me, it’s a good thing to know you still have feelings.”

  “When you put it that way . . .” Eiji sat at the edge on the bed. “Fumi-nee, why are you so against having your brother inherit your ability? I’m sure he’ll manage, just like you and your father.”

  “I told you, it’s a curse,” she said. “Not an ability.”

  “Fine.” He shrugged. “Whatever you prefer.”

  “About my brother.” Fumi paused to pick her words carefully. “He seems mature, but I worry about him a lot. He always puts up a strong front. When our parents died and we were sent to the orphanage, he never shed a single tear. He’s the type who keeps everything to himself.”

  Eiji leaned in toward Fumi. “Aren’t you the same?”

  She ignored him. “Ryu shouldn’t inherit this curse, especially after Miwako’s death.”

  “Who’s Miwako?”

  “The girl my brother loved,” she said. “Even now, he’s still in love with her. He certainly won’t admit it, but everyone we know sees it.”

  “Do you think a wandering soul might take Miwako’s appearance to manipulate him?”

  “It may even be simpler than that,” she lamented. “I suspect the girl is still roaming somewhere in this world. I haven’t seen her, but I doubt she’s left yet.”

  He pressed his lips. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Well, like you, Miwako committed suicide. Cutting a life short, even your own, is essentially murder. Coming to terms with whatever led you to it isn’t easy.”

  A silence descended upon them.

  Eiji cleared his throat. “How did she die?”

  “She hanged herself,” Fumi said. “What about you?”

  “Motorcycle crash. Just your standard traffic accident.”

  “It’s not an accident if you crashed it on purpose.”

  “I know that,” he said. “Of course I know.”

  Fumi stared at the calendar on the wall. It had been two months since Ryu had left Tokyo. If he were to turn up right now, would he notice that his sister was harboring a wandering spirit? Fumi sighed. Even though she missed her brother, she was glad he wasn’t around for Eiji’s visit.

  “Are you done vacuuming yet, Fumi-nee?” Eiji asked. “You’ve been working on the same spot for quite a long time.”

  Fumi turned off the vacuum cleaner. “Stop complaining. You’re distracting me.”

  “You really love housework, don’t you? You would make a great wife.”

  “You never learn, do you? Empty flattery gets you nowhere.”

  “Hey, these are sincere compliments.” Eiji laughed and curled up on the sofa. “By the way, a girl came by and delivered a bag of mail this morning.”

  “A girl?”

  He nodded. “Short hair with freckles. She came when you were in the studio. She left the bag next to the front door, which I didn’t think was very safe. Anyone could just take it. Didn’t you see it when you got back?”

  Fumi went out to retrieve the bag and brought it to her room.

  Even though she and Ryu had left the orphanage years ago, from time to time, mail would arrive for them there. Once in a while, a staff member from the orphanage would drop it off in bulk at their apartment.

  Fumi opened the bag and went through the mail. Most were advertisements. A company selling plastic containers, a charity soliciting donations, a religious sect offering a way to find peace and happiness. There were a few letters for Ryu, too, but none seemed urgent.

  Among the letters, Fumi recognized a logo. It was from her alma mater. She tore open the envelope. Inside was an invitation to her high school reunion. She gripped the letter tighter.

  Could she bear to face those six girls again? What would she say if she saw them?

  Fumi put the invitation down. It would probably be wise not to go. No point in reopening old wounds. What was in the past should remain in the past, even if she had never really made peace with it. But all these years, she had never learned the reason she was bullied, and at times, the question continued to nag at her.

  She sat at her dressing table and found herself rubbing her neck again. The woman in the mirror stared at Fumi as if challenging her.

  You’re now a different person. Don’t be afraid. Seek the answer you’ve been looking for.

  Fumi stood, still looking right at her reflection. “You’re right. I must go to the party.”

  24

  Even

  If

  I

  Wanted

  To

  The reunion was at a typical three-star business hotel, the kind of establishment with reasonably priced rooms and basic amenities. Classy and adequate, but not fancy enough to impress a date.

  Fumi’s crystal-studded heels clanked against the glazed tile. The marble was polished to a sparkle, and the air-conditioning was blasting. She adjusted her shimmering silk shawl to cover her bare shoulders.

  “Good evening.” A hotel employee in a sleek dark suit greeted her. “Are you here for the reunion?”

  “Yes.” She flashed her invitation.

  He stretched out his hand. “Please go straight and take your first left onto the corridor. The party is in the main banquet hall.”

  Fumi thanked him and followed his directions. It wasn’t hard to locate the massive hall. A huge framed poster announcing the reunion was perched on a wooden easel, and a short queue had formed at the reception table. Fumi joined in and waited for her turn.

  Because of her heels, she towered above everyone. She had purposefully overdressed for the occasion. Most of the other guests had turned up in officewear, probably coming straight from work since it was a Friday night, while she stood tall in an elegant, stylish pearly white evening dress.

  “Excuse me,” the girl waiting next to Fumi greeted her. “You look so familiar. Are you an actress?”

  Fumi shook her head. “You must be mistaking me for someone else.”

  The girl turned red. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Then it was Fumi’s turn to sign the attendance book. She signed her name next to “Fumio Yanagi,” while discreetly glancing at the young man manning the registration counter. He wasn’t paying attention, so he didn’t notice Fumi was signing in on the men’s registry instead of the women’s.

  Stepping into the hall, Fumi was greeted by large pillars and sparkling crystal chandeliers. Waitresses in black vests and satin bowties made their rounds with fizzing champagne flutes and glasses of wine on trays. Fumi reached for a glass of champagne and strolled around the hall. She tried to spot a familiar face, but she didn’t recognize anyone.

  Well, twelve years had passed. Everyone had changed. She certainly had.

  But those girls, especially the one who had started it all—there was no way Fumi wouldn’t recognize her. But what if they hadn’t come? It was possible. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Fumi had dressed up for them. If they weren’t here, then all her efforts were for naught.

  Fumi wondered why she had bothered to doll her
self up so much for her adolescent enemies. She smiled wistfully, disappointed in herself. And then she saw her. The person she had been looking for, the one who had made her dread school every day, who tormented her for no apparent reason and made her the school’s trash.

  Looking at this woman now, no one would suspect she had once committed such atrocious bullying. She looked harmless, not unlike any other housewife in her neighborhood. On the short side and slightly plump, the woman wore a long, flowy beige dress with gold flower embroidery and a white fur shawl. Judging from her non-businesslike attire, she wasn’t a working woman. Fumi remembered rumors that the girl was from a well-to-do family, so she had probably married money. Her soft brown leather handbag—designer, of course—seemed to corroborate that, but the expensive accessory did nothing to change the fact that she was unremarkable looking.

  Fumi waited for the crowd around her to disperse before inching closer. Their eyes met, and the woman smiled. Her unguarded expression made Fumi furious. Tightening her grip on the champagne flute, she considered throwing it into the woman’s face. She almost wished she’d asked for red wine instead.

  Before she could reach the woman, an arm circled her waist.

  “Fumio, it’s been a while.”

  She turned around to see a man in a gray suit. His face was angular, and he had prominent dark bags under his eyes. He gave Fumi a grin that made her uncomfortable. It took her a while to recognize him as her high school classmate. He was actually a year older, but he had been held back into her year, and he had also been Fumio’s first boyfriend.

  He used to take Fumio to his house when his family wasn’t around. He’d ask Fumio to put on women’s clothes before they had sex. Fumio never asked whose garments they were.

  “It’s really you, isn’t it?” he said, his breath reeking of alcohol. “You’re so beautiful, I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “Quit it.” She moved away from him. “Also, my name is Fumi.”