“That’s why you should have been let in on it the very first day you came to school, Sakakibara. You should have gone along with everyone else and treated me as if I was ‘not there.’ Because otherwise the talisman weakens. But then at lunch that day, you just came up and started talking to me.”
When Mei mentioned it, I recalled again the scene on that day.
H-hey! Sakakibara!
What are you doing, Sakakibara?
The dismayed sound of Teshigawara’s and Kazami’s voices. As they watched me hurry over to where Mei sat on the bench in the shade of the trees, the two had thought: “Uh-oh.”
No question, they’d thought “Uh-oh” and had panicked because they had to stop me from what I was doing. But then, it had been so sudden that there was nothing they could have done…
Why?
Mei had asked me that then.
Are you sure about this?
And that.
It was only now that I felt I understood what she’d meant, and what the things she’d said next meant.
You should be careful.
You…should be careful. It might have started already.
“If it was such an important ‘decision,’ why didn’t anyone tell me about it sooner?”
I’d said it half to myself, but Mei replied, “They probably couldn’t find the right moment. Maybe they thought it was hard to bring up for some reason. I already mentioned this, but I don’t think anyone had thought about it that deeply.”
“It’s because I ran into you in the hospital before any of it had even happened…So I was surprised when I saw you in the classroom. That’s why I just went up to you that day. Nobody knew I’d seen you before, so they probably couldn’t have anticipated that I would reach out to you that fast.”
“…Yeah.”
“And after that, I ended up being the only one in class who kept on interacting with you, never knowing what was going on. And that stirred up everyone’s anxiety a little bit more every time…”
“That’s what it was.”
This also explained Yukari Sakuragi’s odd reaction during gym that day. In fact, hadn’t she been obsessing over whether or not I had heard “something” from Teshigawara and Kazami?
Teshigawara had, in fact, probably tried to tell me “something” during lunch. Yes, I’d spotted Mei right as he was bringing it up by telling me “There’s actually something we—” after the three of us had gone toward Building Zero, talking about nothing in particular…
…And then.
After art class the next day.
I’ve been meaning talk to you about this since yesterday…
Teshigawara had said that to me, but Mochizuki, who’d been with us, had stopped him.
I don’t think you can do that anymore.
I felt as if I even understood the nuance behind him saying “anymore” now.
I had already had contact with Mei, so talking to me in a way that might inadvertently acknowledge that “a student named Mei Misaki exists” wouldn’t be all right anymore. That was the sort of apprehension Mochizuki must have felt then.
And then their reaction when I’d gone into the secondary library, where Mei was, right after that.
H-hey, Sakaki. You’re not really…
S-Sakakibara? What are you…?
And it wasn’t just them.
At the root of the conflict/dismay that the class as a whole had shown in all kinds of cases ever since I’d transferred here, there must have been constant anxiety and, after all, fear and dread. Not toward Mei Misaki. Toward the “disasters” for this year that might start because I was interacting with her.
3
“I got a call from Teshigawara on my cell phone out of nowhere, trying to warn me. He told me ‘Quit paying attention to things that aren’t there. It’s dangerous.’”
It had been the week before the midterm exams. When I had run up to the roof of Building C looking for Mei.
“I guess from his point of view, he was making a decisive move to stop me from messing with the talisman anymore.”
“Probably.”
Mei gave a small nod.
“He told me something else that day, too. He said he’d tell me about what happened twenty-six years ago once June started. But then even after June started, he never told me a word. He said things had changed.”
“That was because Sakuragi had died.”
“…But why?”
“You interacted with me and violated the ‘decision’ they’d gone to so much trouble to uphold. I don’t think they could help being nervous that the talisman wasn’t going to work anymore. But what if nothing had happened in May, despite what you’d done?”
“You mean…if no one had died?”
“Right. If that had happened, that would mean this year was an ‘off year’ after all. So there wouldn’t be any need to keep the talisman going…That’s why.”
“…I see.”
If that had happened, then there wouldn’t have been any need to keep things so unnaturally concealed from me anymore. They’d be able to relax and explain the situation. And they’d be able to dump the weird “strategy” of treating one of their classmates as if they were not there…Speaking of which.
“So then when Sakuragi and her mother died like that, that forecast bombed? It made it obvious that this year is an ‘on year’ and that the ‘disasters’ had already started, so…”
So Teshigawara had told me “Things are different now than they were when I said that.”
…Putting everything together like this, the alienness and doubts that had dug at my heart were clearing bit by bit, but…
“Can I ask you something?”
It was a vague issue that had been nagging at me ever since I first talked to Mei at school.
“It’s your name tag.”
“…Huh?”
“It looks so dirty and tattered. Why is it like that?”
“Oh…Did I look like a ghost wearing an old name tag?”
Her cheeks softened slightly at the joke.
“I had an unfortunate accident,” Mei replied. “I dropped my name tag in the laundry and didn’t notice, so it got washed. It’s a pain to get a new one, so…”
Urk. That’s all it had been?
Collecting myself, I went on to ask one more question. “What about how your desk is the only one in the class that’s old? Is there a reason for that?”
“Oh, that,” Mei answered with a serious look this time. “That’s part of the custom. The student who’s ‘not there’ gets assigned a desk like that. There are still old desks and chairs in the classrooms that we don’t use anymore on the second floor of Building Zero. They brought it over from there. Maybe it has some kind of meaning as part of making the talisman work.”
“I see. Y’know, I looked at the scratches on that desk.”
“You what?”
“The one that says ‘who is “the casualty”?’ You wrote that, didn’t you?”
“…I did.” Mei lowered her eyes and nodded. “I know that I’m not ‘the casualty.’ So then who in our class could it be this year? That’s what it means.”
“Ah. Oh, but—”
It was then that a kind of mean question slithered into my mind. I voiced it thoughtlessly.
“So you can be sure that you’re not ‘the casualty,’ huh?”
Mei didn’t answer.
“Before, didn’t you say that the ‘memory modification’ affected even ‘the casualty’ themselves? So then how could anyone be sure it’s not them?”
At a loss for words, Mei shut her mouth and blinked her right eye to hide her discomfort. I do believe that was the first time I’d ever seen her react like that.
“I’m telling you…”
When at last she began to speak, Mei shut her mouth once again.
It was then that the door to the room opened. Mei’s mother entered. The doll maker of “Studio M,” Kirika.
4
She must hav
e been working in the studio on the second floor until that very moment. Kirika’s wardrobe had a rough look. She wore black jeans with a black shirt just like Mei, and a marigold-colored bandanna over her hair.
She was tall for a woman, and since she wasn’t wearing any makeup, the fundamental attractiveness of her features was easy to see. She had a certain resemblance to Mei, certainly, but she seemed to be cloaked in an air far colder than Mei’s; I can’t say why. When we’d spoken on the phone, the whisper of uneasiness I’d detected in her responses had projected a different image.
At first, she looked at me as if she’d beheld some mythical beast.
“This is my friend Sakakibara. He’s the one who called.”
When Mei introduced me, her mother let out an “Oh,” and her expression changed. She had been doll-like and expressionless up to that point, but then pretty much in the space of a second, an unnaturally broad smile came over her face.
“Welcome to our home! I’m sorry you have to see me like this.” As she spoke, she pulled the bandanna off her head. “This is a rare sight, my daughter bringing a friend over. It’s Sakakibara, right?”
“Uh, yes.”
“She never tells me how school’s going. Are you a friend from class? Or maybe the art club?”
Art club? Was Mei in the art club? So then she and Mochizuki had been…
“Sakakibara is also a visitor at the gallery downstairs. He happened across it and came in, and I guess he really liked it. We’ve been talking about dolls all day.”
Mei spoke to her own mother in a stilted way. It sounded completely routine, not as though it was something special she was doing for this moment.
“You don’t say!” Kirika’s smile became even more buddy-buddy. “That’s unusual for a boy. Have you always liked dolls?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I replied, feeling beyond tense. “Oh, but, uh, this was the first time I’d ever seen dolls like you have here up close…So, um, I was really surprised.”
“Surprised?”
“Uh, I mean, I don’t really know how to explain…”
In the overly air-conditioned room, in a complete reversal from earlier, sweat was threatening to break out all over my body.
“Um, the dolls here—did you make them in the studio on the second floor, Kirika? I mean, ma’am?”
“That’s right, I did. Which of the little darlings did you like best?”
When she asked me that, the first thing that came to mind was the doll of the little girl in the coffin, resting in the back of the basement display room, but…
“Oh, um…”
I was far too self-conscious to just up and tell her that, and I let my voice fade away. It probably would have seemed pretty comical to a bystander.
“You should get home soon, Sakakibara,” Mei cut in then, thankfully.
“Oh…yeah.”
“I’ll walk him part of the way,” she informed her mother, then got up from the sofa. “Sakakibara just moved here from Tokyo in April. He doesn’t know his way around yet.”
“Did you really?”
The smile that had been there a moment before vanished from Kirika’s face. It was the same doll-like expressionlessness she’d worn when she came into the room. Still, her voice retained its friendly silkiness.
“You come over whenever you like.”
5
I walked side by side with Mei down the darkened streets, where night had fallen completely. Mei was on the left and I was on the right. That way, the eye that wasn’t a “doll’s eye” could see me easily.
A warm, wet wind was blowing, bringing the promise of the rainy season. It was sodden with humidity and should have felt clinging. But right now I found it strangely pleasant.
“Is it always like that?” I asked, breaking the silence that had drawn on into an awkward tension.
Mei returned the question curtly. “What?”
“How you are with your mom. You talk so politely to her…like how you would talk to a stranger.”
“Is that weird?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it weird, but I guess I was just wondering if that’s how mothers and daughters talk to each other.”
“I think it’s usually different.” Her reaction was incredibly dry. “That woman and I have always been like that. What’s it like in your family? How does a mother talk to her son?”
“My family doesn’t have a mother.”
All I knew of how mothers are supposed to behave with their children, therefore, was information I’d gathered from the outside.
“What? I didn’t know that.”
“She died right after I was born. So it’s always been just me and my dad…And my dad had to go abroad for a year this spring, so all of a sudden I had to come here. I’m freeloading with my mom’s family in Koike. So all of a sudden, my family’s twice as big.”
“…I see.”
Mei walked several paces with her mouth shut, and then said, “My mother and I can’t help it. I’m one of her dolls, see. Exactly the same as the little darlings in the gallery.”
She didn’t sound obviously sad or despondent or anything like that. Her tone was detached, like always. Still, I was a little taken aback and the word “No…” escaped my lips.
“That can’t be…You’re her daughter, and you’re alive.”
She was nothing like a doll. Before I could tell her that, Mei replied, “I’m alive, but I’m not the real thing.”
Naturally, I couldn’t help being flummoxed by that.
Not the real thing? Meaning—
What? I wanted to ask, but the words stuck in my throat and I swallowed them, hard. Because it seemed wrong to trespass that far. So I nudged the conversation back to “our problem” a little.
“Does your mom know about that stuff we talked about today? About what’s been going on in class since May?”
“Not a thing,” Mei replied promptly. “We’re not allowed to tell our families, anyway. Even if we could, I don’t think I could talk about it.”
“Would your mom be mad if she found out? About the crazy thing the class is doing to you?”
“I’m not sure. It might bother her a little. But she’s not the kind of person who’d get mad and complain to the school, either.”
“What about how you’re out of school so much? You didn’t come today, either…You were at home, weren’t you? She doesn’t say anything to you about that?”
“You can chalk that up to her being the hands-off type. Maybe it’s more indifference than just hands-off. She’s shut away in her studio basically all afternoon, anyway. It’s like she forgets about everything else when she’s got a doll or a painting in front of her.”
“So she’s not worried, then.” I stole a glance at Mei’s face, in profile beside me. “Not even right now…”
“Now? Why now?”
“What I’m saying is, you’re walking home the first boy who’s ever come over to your house, and it’s dark already, so…like that.”
“I dunno. That stuff doesn’t really bother her, either. She’s told me before ‘That’s because I trust you,’ but I don’t know if that’s true. It could just be that’s what she wants to believe.”
She stole a glance back at me, then, but she quickly turned her eye ahead again and went on, “Just…aside from one thing.”
“One thing?”
…I wonder what.
I looked at Mei’s face in profile again. She nodded, “Yup,” then blinked slowly, as if to say she didn’t want to talk about it, and suddenly sped up her stride.
I called out pretty loudly, “Hey, Misaki!” trying to stop her. “Now that I’ve heard your explanation, I feel like I have a pretty good idea about ‘the secret of third-year Class 3,’ but…are you okay with that?”
“What are you talking about?”
Again, her question came back harshly.
“I mean, how you have to act, for this talisman…”
“Nothing I can do about it.”
This time, Mei’s pace slowed suddenly.
“Someone has to be the one who’s ‘not there,’ after all. It just happened to be me.”
Her tone was just the same as always, but somehow I found her words hard to accept. She said “there’s nothing I can do about it,” but it didn’t seem as though she had very strong feelings about “doing it for everyone’s benefit,” for instance. I also didn’t get the impression “self-sacrifice” or “devotion” really jibed with her behavior…
“You mean you’d have been fine with whatever?” I tried. “Like, you were never very attached to hanging out with the kids in class or to your connection with them?”
Was that why she could be so detached even when she alone out of the class was being treated as if she didn’t exist?
“Connections with people and connecting with people…It’s true, I’m not very good at that stuff.”
After she said that, Mei was silent for the briefest of moments.
“How should I put it? I kind of wonder whether these things that everyone seems to want are so important. They seem a little unsettling sometimes…Ah, but maybe the bigger issue in this case is that—”
“What?”
“Suppose they hadn’t picked me to be ‘not there’ and they’d picked someone else instead. Then I would have had to stand next to everyone and go along with them and treat that kid like they didn’t exist. Isn’t it way better to be cast out by everyone than having to do that? Don’t you think?”
“Hm-m-m…”
I could only give her an ambiguous nod. Mei moved suddenly away from me. I hurried after her and saw that ahead on the left, beside the road, there was a small playground. Mei was heading into it all alone, her feet seeming to glide beneath her.
6
There was a tiny sandy area in a corner of the empty park, and beside it stood two iron bars at different heights. Mei grabbed onto the taller of these—though higher, it was still a low bar meant for children—and lightly flipped herself over it, then rotated and landed solidly on the ground. In the dusky light of the streetlamp, the silhouette of her black shirt and black jeans seemed to flutter and dance.
Another, Volume 1 Page 23