“…I died…?”
Where do human memories live?
Are they in the synaptic circuitry of the brain? Do retinas and fingertips hold memories, too? Or is there an invisible, amorphous, mistlike, spiritual collective somewhere, and that’s where the memories reside? Something we’d call the heart or the mind or the soul. Is it something you can take out and stick back in, like a memory card with an OS on it?
The asphalt cut out a while back, and I’ve been pedaling over unpaved mountain roads. The low sun flickers through the gaps among the trees. Mitsuha’s body is sweating nonstop, and my bangs are plastered to my forehead. As I pedal, I wipe the hair out of my face along with the sweat.
Mitsuha’s soul must be in my body right now. After all, my heart’s here, in hers. But… This is something I’ve been thinking for a while.
Even now, we’re together.
Mitsuha, or at least some fragment of her heart, is still here. For example, her fingers remember the shape of her uniform. When I put it on, I naturally know the length of the zipper and the stiffness of the collar. When Mitsuha’s eyes see her friends, I feel relieved and happy. Without even asking, I can tell who Mitsuha likes and who she’s not comfortable around. When I see her grandma, memories I shouldn’t even have rise hazily in my mind, like a projector with broken focus. Body and memories and emotions are bound together inseparably.
Taki.
I’ve been hearing Mitsuha’s voice inside this body for a while now.
Taki, Taki.
Her tone is earnest, pleading, as if she’s about to cry. A voice trembling with loneliness, like the glimmer of distant stars.
The blurry image sharpens. Taki, Mitsuha’s calling.
“Don’t you remember me?”
And then I recall her memories of that day.
That day, instead of going to school, Mitsuha got on a train.
She went to a big terminal station, where the Shinkansen to Tokyo stopped. The local train she took to get there was empty, despite the fact that it was rush hour, when students were heading to school. Since there were no schools along the track, everyone who commuted around here drove.
“I’m goin’ into Tokyo for a bit.”
This had been Mitsuha’s abrupt announcement to her little sister when they left the house that morning.
“Huh? Now? Why?!” Yotsuha asks, startled.
“Um… For a date?”
“Wha—?! Sis, you have a boyfriend in Tokyo?!”
“Uh, well… It’s not my date.” Unsure how to explain herself, Mitsuha breaks into a run. “I’ll be back tonight. Don’t worry!”
Gazing at the scenery flying past the window of the bullet train, Mitsuha wonders:
Why am I crashin’ Okudera-senpai and Taki’s date? It’s not like the three of us can just hang out together. Besides, I’ve never been to Tokyo before. Will I even be able to find Taki? Even if I do, will it bother him that I’m showin’ up out of the blue? Will he be surprised? Maybe he’ll be upset…
With an uncomplicated ease almost inviting disappointment, the Shinkansen slides into Tokyo. The incredible crowds leave Mitsuha breathless, but she tries calling my cell. “…Because the unit is out of range or turned off, the number you are trying to reach is…” She hangs up. Just like the other calls, it didn’t go through.
I’ll never find him, Mitsuha thinks.
Still, after staring at the station information board like it’s a quiz, she heads into the city, relying on her vague memories.
But if I do see him…
She rides the Yamanote Line, the city bus, walks, takes another train, then walks some more.
What’ll I do? It probably will bother him, right? Maybe it’ll be awkward. Or maybe—
She sees the words Comet Tiamat at Closest Point Tomorrow on a big outdoor TV screen.
Or, if I do find him, just maybe, will he—?
Tired from walking, she gazes at the sparkling lights of the buildings from a pedestrian bridge and thinks, almost praying:
If I find Taki, maybe he’ll be just a little bit happy…
She starts walking again, still thinking.
I’ll never find him searchin’ randomly like this. I won’t, but I know one thing for sure. If we meet, we’ll know right away. “You’re the one who was in me. I’m the one who was in you.”
Mitsuha’s certain of this, as if it’s as simple as two plus two.
The evening sun sinks through the gap between the station platform roofs, as weak as a dying flashlight.
Mitsuha’s feet are sore from all the walking she’s done, and she plants herself on a bench with her legs kicked out in front of her. She stares absently at the setting sun, which is much paler and less reliable than in Itomori.
A musical chime plays, and a voice announces: “The local train to…Chiba…is arriving on…Track Four.” A yellow train glides onto the platform. The cars kick up a warm wind that ruffles her hair. Mitsuha gazes at the train windows without really seeing them.
Abruptly, her breath catches.
She jumps to her feet as if she’s been stung.
He’d been there, in the window that had just passed in front of her.
Mitsuha breaks into a sprint. The cars have stopped, and she catches up to the window almost immediately. The evening train is crowded, though, and she can’t find him again from outside. With a sound like a giant exhalation, the doors open. The car’s so tightly packed that the people are practically spilling out, making Mitsuha shiver. Even so—murmuring “Excuse me” and sweating behind the knees—she pushes her way into the crowd. With another giant sigh, the doors close. The train begins moving. Repeating “Excuse me” over and over, little by little, Mitsuha works her way forward. Then, in front of one boy, she stops. The sounds around her vanish.
It’s me. The middle school “me” from three years ago.
I can’t go any higher on the bike.
No sooner have I had the thought than the front wheel catches on a root, and I slip.
On reflex, I grab the trunk of a nearby tree. The bike slips out from under me and tumbles down the slope, hitting the ground about ten feet below with a huge racket. The wheels are bent all out of shape. “Sorry, Teshigawara,” I mutter softly, and I take off running up the narrow mountain track.
Why did I forget? Why didn’t I remember until just now?
As I run, I stare at the memories welling up inside me.
Mitsuha, that day, three years ago, you came to see me—
Taki. Taki, Taki.
For a while now, Mitsuha has been silently rolling my name around on her tongue. I haven’t noticed her at all, even though I’m right in front of her. She keeps fretting over what tone she should use to address me and what expression she should wear, so earnestly she seems liable to burst into tears. Then, forcing a bright smile, she says:
“Taki.”
The middle school me is startled hearing my name out of the blue, and I glance up. We’re still about the same height, so her big, vaguely teary eyes are right in front of me.
“Huh…?”
“Um, do you…”
Smiling desperately, Mitsuha points to herself. I’m bewildered.
“…Huh?”
“Don’t you remember me?” asks this stranger, timidly, looking at me through her lashes.
“Who’re you?”
Mitsuha gives a small, breathy shriek, then quickly turns red. She lowers her eyes, speaking in a voice that’s barely audible.
“Oh… I’m sorry…”
The train sways. The passengers all adjust to keep their balance, except for Mitsuha, who staggers into me. Her hair brushes the tip of my nose, and I catch the faint scent of shampoo. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles again.
Weird girl, thinks middle school me.
Mitsuha’s muddled mind races desperately. But you’re Taki, so why…? For both of us, time passes awkwardly.
“The next station is…Yotsuya.” The announcement offers Mitsuha a
bit of relief. At the same time, though, she feels unbearably sad. Still, she can’t stay here any longer. The doors open, and she moves with the rest of the crowd to exit the train.
Watching her receding back, I suddenly think, Maybe this weird girl is somebody I should know. This inexplicable, intense impulse drives me to call out.
“’Scuse me! What’s your name?”
Mitsuha turns back, but the waves of disembarking passengers push her farther away. Hurriedly, she undoes the braided cord tying back her hair. She holds it out to me and shouts:
“Mitsuha!”
Without thinking, I reach for it. It’s a vivid orange, like a thin ray of evening sun in the dim train. I shove my way into the crowd and grab that color tight.
“My name is Mitsuha!”
That day, three years ago, you came to see me.
Finally, I know.
A girl I didn’t recognize spoke to me on the train once. To me, that was all it’d been, and I completely forgot about it. But Mitsuha had come to Tokyo carrying the weight of all those feelings, had been hurt badly, gone back to her own town, and cut her hair.
There’s a lump in my throat. Still, there’s nothing I can do about it now, so I just keep running, hell for leather. My (Mitsuha’s) face and body are smeared with sweat and dirt. The next thing I know, the trees have ended, and I’m in a rocky, mossy area, with clouds like a golden carpet below me.
I’ve finally reached the peak.
I suck in a huge chestful of cold air. Then, as if I’m expelling all my emotions from the pit of my stomach, I yell at the top of my lungs.
“Mitsuhaaaa!”
I hear a voice.
I lift my head. I stand, looking around.
I’m up on the rocky area surrounding the body of the god’s basin. The evening sun is almost gone, and all the shadows are stretched and elongated. The world is divided sharply into light and darkness, but there’s no one around.
“…Taki?” I murmur.
I draw in a deep breath of cold air. Then I shout, using Taki’s throat:
“Takiiii!”
I hear it.
She’s here. Mitsuha is here.
I set off running, climbing the slope up to the mountain’s peak.
I do a complete 360 scan of the area, but no one’s there… She has to be here, though. I feel it in my core.
“Mitsuhaaa! You’re here, aren’t you? In my body!”
It’s Taki!
I’m sure of it. I shout a question into the empty sky:
“Taki! Taki, where are you?! I can hear you, but I can’t—!”
I start sprinting around the rim of the basin.
I can hear a voice. Just a voice.
I don’t really know whether it—my voice, Mitsuha’s voice—is actually creating sound or whether it’s just echoing in something like my soul. After all, even if we’re in the same place, we must still be three years apart.
“Mitsuha, where are you?!”
Even so, I shout. I can’t not shout. I sprint around the edge of the basin with everything I’ve got. If I do—
If I do, I’ll catch up to Taki. I run, spurred on by that delusion.
“Oh!”
Crying out in spite of myself, I stop.
I stop, hastily looking back.
Just now, I’m positive I passed her.
There’s a warm presence in front of me. My heart is leaping in my chest.
I can’t see him, but I know Taki’s here, very close to me.
My heart is racing.
He’s here. I reach out my hand.
She’s here. I reach out my hand.
…But my fingers touch nothing.
“Mitsuha?”
I wait for a response. Nobody answers.
It’s no good, then? We can’t meet? One more time, I look around. I’m standing stock-still, up on the mountain, all alone.
At my wits’ end, I lower my head and let out a long, thin breath.
The wind blows gently, softly lifting my hair. My sweat has dried completely. Sensing a sudden drop in the temperature, I glance at the evening sun. While I was distracted, it slipped below the clouds. Released from direct sunlight, light and shadow melt together, and the world’s outlines grow soft and vague. The sky is still bright, but the Earth is enveloped in pale shadows. The air is filled with pink, indirect light.
That’s right. There were names for this time of day. Twilight, tasogare. The time when the outlines blur, when you might encounter something not of this world. I murmur its old name.
Half-light.
Our voices overlap.
It can’t be.
Slowly, I shift my gaze away from the clouds to the space right in front of me.
Mitsuha’s there.
She’s watching me, eyes wide and round, mouth hanging open.
That lame expression strikes me as funny and lovable. The emotion is stronger than my surprise, and, slowly, I start to smile.
“Mitsuha.”
When I call to her, Mitsuha’s eyes rapidly fill with tears.
“…Taki? Taki? Taki? Taki?”
As she repeats herself like an idiot, her hands find my arms. Her fingers tighten, squeezing.
“Taki, you’re here for real!”
Her voice sounds hoarse and tight. Big tears roll down her cheeks.
We’ve finally met. Really met. We’re facing each other, Mitsuha as Mitsuha, me as myself, in our own bodies. I feel deeply relieved. A sense of profound peace wells up inside me, as if, after being abroad for a long time in a country where I didn’t know the language, I’ve finally come home. A calm joy fills me.
Mitsuha just keeps sobbing.
“I came to see you,” I tell her.
Her tears are as clear and round as little marbles.
I smile and keep going. “Seriously, it was a rough trip! You’re way out here.”
That’s right: way, way out here. Somewhere even the time is different.
Mitsuha looks at me, blinking.
“Huh? But… How? Back then, I…”
“I drank the sake you made.”
As I tell her, remembering how much I’ve gone through for this, Mitsuha’s tears stop dead.
“Huh…?”
She’s speechless. Well, sure she is. Anybody would be really moved by that, right?
“Y…y…”
Slowly, Mitsuha backs away from me… Hmm?
“Y…you drank that?!”
“Huh?”
“Idiot! Pervert!”
“Huh—? Wha…?!”
Her face is bright red. Apparently, she’s mad. Wait, is that something to get mad about?!
“Oh, and—! You touched my chest, didn’t you?!”
“What?!” I’m completely rattled. “H-how do you know about…?”
“Yotsuha saw you!” Mitsuha plants her hands on her hips, talking as though she’s scolding a child.
“Uh, yeah, sorry… I just…” Tch! Rotten little blabbermouth. My palms are getting sweaty. An excuse. I’ve gotta give her an excuse. On the spur of the moment, I blurt out, “Once! It was just once!”
Like that’s any kind of excuse! I’m a moron!
“…Just once? Hmm…”
Huh? She’s considering it. So “just once” is okay? I might actually get through this. However, as if correcting herself, Mitsuha’s eyebrows come down.
“No, it’s the same no matter how many times you do it! Idiot!”
So it’s not going to work. Giving up, I clap my hands together and duck my head in apology. “Sorry!” I really can’t tell her that I actually felt ’em up every time.
“Oh, that’s…”
Mitsuha’s expression changes abruptly. She points at my right hand in surprise. I glance at my wrist.
“Oh, yeah. This.”
It’s the braided cord. The one she gave me three years ago. I undo the little metal fastener that keeps it in place and unwind it from my wrist, talking to Mitsuha as I work.
“Listen, don’t come visit me before we meet. How was I supposed to know it was you?” I hand the cord to Mitsuha. “Here.” Remembering what she felt on that train, a softness fills my chest. “I’ve had it for three years. This time, you hang on to it.”
Mitsuha looks up from the cord in her hands and smiles happily. “Uh-huh!” When she smiles— I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s like the whole world is happy right along with her.
Mitsuha wraps the cord around her head vertically, like a headband, and ties it into a bow over her left ear.
“How’s this?” She blushes, looking up at me through her lashes. The braided cord bounces at the side of her bob, like a ribbon.
“Uh…”
It doesn’t really work, I think. It’s sort of little-kiddish. And she didn’t have to chop off that much hair. First she shows up without asking, then she gets traumatized for no reason… I like long black hair, all right?
That’s my immediate reaction. In cases like this, though, compliments are the best move. Even I know that. Even the Conversation skills for the person who’s never, ever been the tiniest bit popular! link Mitsuha sent me said it was always safe to compliment women.
“…Well, it’s not bad.”
“Wha—?!” Mitsuha’s expression immediately clouds over. Huh?
“You don’t think it looks good on me!”
“Huh?!” How’d she know?!
“Ha…ha-ha… Sorry.”
“Honestly! You’re such a…!”
She turns her face away, thoroughly disgusted. What is this? Talking to girls is friggin’ impossible…
Then Mitsuha bursts out laughing. She holds her sides, giggling. What’s with her, anyway? Crying and getting mad and laughing… Still, watching her, the urge starts building inside me, too. I look down, put a hand over my face, and chuckle. Mitsuha’s cracking up right along with me. For some reason, we’ve started enjoying ourselves. We laugh out loud together. In our corner of the softly shining, half-lit world, we giggle and titter like little kids.
Bit by bit, the temperature is falling. Little by little, the light is fading.
your name. Page 11