* * *
“This summer is the best ever!” said Kyōichi.
“Watermelon is the most delicious thing in the world!” said Tsugumi.
I suppose she meant this as an answer to Kyōichi’s comment.
Soon a sudden boom rippled through the sky. We heard cheers.
“The fireworks have started!” Tsugumi leapt up, her eyes shining.
Looking up, we saw an enormous globe of fireworks blossom in the shadow of the inn and continue to expand, growing wider and wider. We ran for the beach, chasing the booms that began a moment later.
The sky over the ocean was wide open, with nothing to obstruct our view, and it was strange to see the fireworks unfurling way up there, like lights from outer space. The four of us sat in a line on the beach, hardly speaking at all, gazing up at the unfolding sequence of fireworks, enchanted.
Rage
When Tsugumi really gets furious it’s like she turns to ice.
Of course this only happens when she gets really, really mad. Tsugumi is constantly losing her temper over one thing or another, turning bright red and running around yelling her lungs out at everyone within range, but that’s not the kind of anger I mean. It’s when she fixes someone with a look of absolute hatred, like she despises the person from the very bottom of her soul—at times like that she turns into a completely different person. Everything but her hatred fades from her mind, and her whole body takes on the blue-white tint of rage. Whenever I see her like that, I find myself thinking about stars. I remember hearing that, as they grow hotter and hotter, the light they emit shifts from a reddish hue to an increasingly clear blue-white. In all the years I’ve been around Tsugumi, I’ve hardly ever seen her that mad.
I think this must have been just after Tsugumi moved up into junior high. Yōko and Tsugumi and I were all in the same school, each in a different grade. Yōko was in ninth, I was in eighth, and Tsugumi was in seventh.
It was during lunch. Rain was pouring down outside, making everything seem drab and gloomy. We couldn’t go outside, so all the students were fooling around in the classrooms. Sudden outbursts of laughter, the noises of people dashing through the halls, a shrill scream . . . rainwater streaming violently down all the classroom windows, almost like a waterfall . . . The riotous commotion of noise resounded through the claustrophobic darkness, near and distant, like the sound of the ocean.
All of a sudden the sharp whack of shattering glass—
Cra-a-ck-k-crash!
slammed through the uproar. The noises in the room all snapped into silence for a second, but then an even greater commotion broke out. Someone went out into the hall to see what was going on, and shouted in that whatever was happening was out on the terrace. We had all been bored out of our minds, and we were so quick to herd ourselves out of the room that it could have been a race. The terrace was at the end of the hall on the second floor: there was this glass door that led out and then a bunch of little pots for growing plants in science class, a rabbit hutch, a stack of extra chairs, that kind of thing. As I trailed along casually at the rear of the crowd it occurred to me that maybe the crash we’d heard had been the sound of that glass door breaking.
I peered up ahead through the boisterous crowd—and boy did I get a shock! Standing by herself in the middle of a field of broken glass, looking as if she would never budge an inch, was Tsugumi.
Suddenly she spoke. “Did that prove how strong I am, huh? Or do you want me to do some more?” Her tone was almost entirely flat, but you could sense how much strength she was putting into her words. I followed her gaze to a girl standing nearby, her face dreadfully pale. They were in the same class. She was Tsugumi’s worst enemy.
Turning to a girl who was standing nearby, I hurriedly questioned her about what had happened. She said she wasn’t quite sure but that Tsugumi had been chosen to represent the class in some marathon, and when she said she couldn’t run, this other girl had been selected to run in her place. The other girl was really annoyed about being chosen after Tsugumi, and the rumor was that she’d asked Tsugumi to step out into the hall during recess and then made some sort of sarcastic comment. At which point, without saying a word, Tsugumi had picked up a nearby chair and hurled it into the glass. That was the story.
“Try repeating what you said earlier!” said Tsugumi.
The girl couldn’t reply. All around me people were holding their breath, gulping nervously. No one even went to get a teacher. Tsugumi seemed to have cut herself slightly when she broke the glass—there was a little blood on her ankle—but she didn’t seem to care. She kept gazing straight at the girl. And then I noticed how terrifying the look in her eyes was. The fear you felt looking into them wasn’t like the feeling that came over us when we saw the tough guys at school, it was like she was insane. Her eyes glittered quietly as if she were staring off into some space that had no limits, that went on forever.
Thinking back on that incident now, I kind of get the feeling that Tsugumi changed after that day—maybe this was when she started keeping her true self hidden at school. This was to be the last time Tsugumi ever made a scene in public. But I bet that for the rest of their lives, none of the people present will ever forget the way she was then. The intense light that radiated from her body, an energy in her eyes that rose from a hatred so deep you felt sure it would drive her to kill the girl, or herself.
I shoved my way through the ring of people and stepped into the clearing. Tsugumi’s gaze shot briefly in my direction—the look in her eyes made it clear she saw me as nothing but an interference. For a moment I felt something within me hesitate, yearning to retreat.
“Tsugumi, that’s enough. Let it go,” I said. I figured she probably wanted someone to make her back away—even she had no idea what to do next. The spectators got even tenser when I appeared, making me feel like a matador dancing out in front of a bull. “Come on, Tsugumi. Let’s go home.”
I reached out and took Tsugumi’s arm in my hand, and felt a wave of shock shudder through me. Her eyes stared back into mine very coolly, but her skin was burning up. She was so enraged that she had actually started running a fever. The shock made me fall silent. Suddenly, with a quick, harsh movement, Tsugumi shook off my hand. A burst of anger shot up inside me and I made an effort to grab hold of her arm again, but just then the girl she was fighting with whirled around on her heel and fled.
“Damn you, wait!” cried Tsugumi.
I fought to hold Tsugumi back and she struggled to get away, and it began to seem as if a new fight was about to break out, this time between the two of us. But just then Yōko made her entrance at the top of the stairs, walking slowly toward us. “Tsugumi, what on earth are you doing?” she asked.
Tsugumi must have decided that there was nothing she could do anymore, because all of a sudden she stopped thrashing. She used one of her hands to push me slowly back. Yōko glanced around at the shards of glass and the circle of people, and then let her eyes play over my face.
“What’s been happening here, Maria?” she asked, her face registering a complex mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and annoyance.
But I couldn’t answer. It seemed like no matter what I said, I would end up wounding Tsugumi. The fight had started as a result of some comment the other girl had made about her body, and I could understand how desperately, humiliatingly angry that must have made her.
“Well, you see . . .”I mumbled. But Tsugumi cut me off.
“Shut up,” she said quietly. “It’s none of your business!” Her voice was terribly barren. She seemed as if she no longer held even a fragment of hope. She quietly kicked at a few pieces of glass, sending them scattering. The dull tinkle echoed down the hall.
“Tsugumi—” began Yōko, but Tsugumi clutched at her head and shook it back and forth as if to say, Would you shut up already! and she kept doing this with such ferocity that it almost seemed as if blood would start streaming from her skin, so Yōko and I made her stop. Tsugumi abandoned her struggle an
d went into her classroom, and then emerged again, carrying her backpack. She walked right down the stairs and went home.
The students who had been watching dispersed, the glass was cleared away, and Yōko went to apologize to Tsugumi’s teacher. I headed back to my own classroom, the bell rang, and class started just as if nothing had happened. Only my hand still felt hot, burning with a steady pain as if it had fallen asleep. It was Tsugumi’s fever, still burning in my hand. It was a strange sensation. The heat didn’t seem at all inclined to leave, but kept burning on and on like some afterimage, an echo, oddly bright. I sat very still, gazing at my prickling palm, and thought for ages and ages about how Tsugumi’s anger had a life of its own, how anger streamed through her body like blood.
“Gongoro’s gone. I think someone’s taken him.”
Kyōichi had only asked if Tsugumi was home, but the voice that came over the phone was so urgent and grim that I had asked him if anything was wrong. An image of the guys we’d run into at the shrine—the ones who hated Kyōichi so much—slid briefly, nastily through my mind.
“What makes you think that?” I asked.
I felt a sense of panic welling up through my chest.
“His leash was cut,” Kyōichi said, trying to sound calm.
“Oh no!” I cried. “Listen, I’m going to come right over, okay? Tsugumi’s not home right now, she’s at the hospital for a checkup, but I’ll leave a message with someone here before I go. Where are you now?”
“The pay phone at the entrance to the beach.”
“Okay, just stay put! I’ll be right there!” I said, and hung up.
I asked Aunt Masako to tell Tsugumi what had happened, then went up to Yōko’s room and dragged her out of her futon, where she’d been sound asleep. I explained the situation as the two of us ran out the door. Kyōichi was standing by the phone. His expression softened just a little when he saw us, but his eyes remained hard.
“Okay, let’s split up and search different areas,” said Yōko.
The sight of Kyōichi must have made her realize how serious this was.
“All right then, I’ll head into town, so why don’t the two of you go around the beach,” said Kyōichi. “If you should run into any of the assholes who took Gongorō, just come right back here without saying a word to them, you got that? Man, he was barking like crazy, you know, and I thought it was kinda strange, but by the time I got outside, he was gone. It’s pretty fucking annoying, let me tell you.”
Kyōichi ran off down the narrow road that leads to town.
Yōko and I split up and hurried off to the right and the left, using the long concrete dike that stretches out into the ocean midway down the beach as our marker. Already night was closing in. A few stars had started twinkling in the sky, and with each passing moment another layer of blue cloth joined the pile that tinted the air. My sense of panic grew stronger, and I started shouting Gongorō’s name. I ran and ran, calling him again and again, from the top of the bridge at the end of the river, from inside the little thicket of pine trees, but no barking ever answered my shouts. I wanted to cry. Every time I stopped and stood struggling to catch my breath, the world around me would darken, and I’d see the enormous ocean stretching hazily away into the distance. Even if Gongorō were out there drowning, I’d never know it in this dark, I thought, getting even more desperate than before.
By the time we returned to the dike at the middle of the beach, Yōko and I were both completely exhausted, dripping with sweat. We agreed to split up and search once more, but before going we went and stood at the tip of the dike and yelled out Gongorō’s name in unison. Both the ocean and the shore were dark now; they had been reborn as a single space of darkness, and it felt as if this vast dark had enveloped our tiny arms and legs in its enormous folds, swallowed them down in a single gulp. The beam of the lighthouse swept around in our direction at even intervals, then swung back out over the ocean.
“I guess we’d better have another look,” I sighed. But then, glancing over in the direction of the shore, I caught sight of a single dot of light, so strong it seemed almost like a searchlight, pressing through the dark haze of the evening, heading our way over the bridge. Slowly, surefootedly, it cut across the beach. “You know, I have a feeling that’s Tsugumi,” I murmured. But my voice was lost amidst the sound of the waves.
“What?”
Yōko’s hair tangled in the wind, glinting in the dark, as she turned.
“See that light over there, coming this way? I think it’s Tsugumi.”
“Where?” Yōko squinted. She focused on the spot of light on the beach. “I can’t tell if it’s her or not. It’s too far away.”
“I bet it’s Tsugumi.” I really did have that feeling. After all, the light was headed straight for us—what else was there to think? With no sense of doubt at all in my mind, I shouted her name.
“Tsugumi!”
I waved vigorously in the dark.
And off in the distance the flashlight traced two circles. Just as I’d thought, it was Tsugumi! Soon the beam turned slowly out onto the dike. When she made it to the bend, we finally succeeded in making out her small form.
Tsugumi remained silent as she approached. She marched powerfully on in our direction, so alive with energy that she almost seemed to slash through the darkness. The flashlight’s beam glimmered vaguely across her pale face. She was biting her lips. Then I saw her eyes, and realized how angry she was. Her left hand held the inn’s largest flashlight. I saw Gongorō squirming about under her right arm. He was drenched, and looked a size smaller than usual.
“You found him!” I darted over, so thrilled that I almost started jumping. A wide smile spread across Yōko’s face as well.
“Yeah, over on the far side of the bridge,” grunted Tsugumi. She handed me the flashlight, then used her skinny arms to scoot Gongorō around into a better position. “He was in the river, paddling like mad.”
“I’ll get Kyōichi!” cried Yōko, and ran off toward the beach.
“You, Maria, collect some wood,” Tsugumi ordered, still hugging Gongorō. “We’re gonna make a fire and dry this guy.”
“We can’t make a bonfire, Tsugumi, we’ll get in trouble. Let’s just go back to the inn and have someone get out one of the kerosene heaters,” I said.
“Listen, kid, with this much water around I think we’ll be all right. And if you used your head at all you’d realize that if we went back like this the old hag would bawl me out so bad I wouldn’t know what hit me,” said Tsugumi. “Try swinging that light in my direction, darling.”
I obeyed, aiming the beam of the flashlight over her way just as she’d said, and got a very major shock. She was totally drenched from the waist down. Drops of water were raining down onto the concrete.
“Oh great,” I moaned. “What part of the river was he in?”
“A part of the river deep enough that you should be able to tell just from looking at me, you ass,” Tsugumi snapped.
“All right, all right. I’ll go get some wood!” I said.
And I ran off toward the beach.
At first Gongorō was scared out of his wits, and for a long time he just sat there shivering, his whole body stiff, but eventually he calmed down a bit and started padding around the edge of the fire.
“This guy here has no problem with fire. We always take him along with us when my family goes camping and stuff, you know, so he’s gotten used to campfires like this.” There was a tender gleam in Kyōichi’s eyes as he said this. His face was bathed in light from the fire.
Yōko and I nodded. We were crouched down beside each other. The fire was small, but the warmth it gave was just right for a slightly chilly night like this, a night when the wind was strong. Firelight flickered out across the dark troughs of water that hung between the waves.
Tsugumi remained standing, saying nothing. Her skirt had finally started to dry out a little, but even so it was tinted dark and clung to her legs. And yet she didn’t seem parti
cularly aware of this—she just went on staring into the flames, reaching down again and again to toss the broken boards and pieces of driftwood I had collected onto the fire. She has such huge eyes and her skin glimmered so whitely that it was frightening, and I couldn’t bring myself to speak to her.
“He’s gotten pretty dry, hasn’t he?” said Yōko, stroking Gongorō.
“I’ll take him back home the day after tomorrow,” said Kyōichi.
“What? You’re going home?” I asked.
Tsugumi gave a start, and looked up.
“Nah, I’m just gonna go leave the dog,” said Kyōichi. “With stuff like this happening it worries me to leave him at the inn. So I won’t.”
“Why the day after tomorrow?” asked Yōko.
“My parents are away on a trip right now. There won’t be anyone at home until then,” said Kyōichi.
“Well then, I’ve got an idea!” said Yōko. “Why don’t we put Gongorō in Pooch’s doghouse at the house behind the inn? That way we know he’ll be safe until you take him back!”
“Right, I like that idea!” I said.
“It would be a big help if you could do that,” said Kyōichi.
Suddenly all of us around the fire felt better, friendlier, warmer.
Kyōichi glanced up at Tsugumi, who was still standing. “Hey Tsugumi,” he said, “I’ll come get you in the morning, and we’ll go for a walk, okay? It’ll be easier having both dogs in the same place, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Tsugumi replied, and gave a faint smile. We got a tiny glimpse of her white teeth, illuminated by the flickering of the fire. She stood there in the dark with her small childlike hands stretched out over the flames, her long eyelashes casting shadows on her cheeks. And yet even so I had the feeling that she was angry. It was the first time in her life that Tsugumi had gotten angry on someone else’s behalf. Something about her felt sacred to me then. “You know, if this kind of thing ever happens again,” she muttered, “even if it’s after we’ve moved, I’ll come back here and I’ll kill them.”
Goodbye Tsugumi Page 12