Spirits of the Noh

by Thomas Randall

  Wakana was gone.

  Brow furrowing, Mai glanced at the door she had just come through. Wakana must have gone out, locking the door behind her, knowing Mai had a key. It was the only thing that made any sense.

  She went to the window and leaned on the sill, looking out, head cocked and all of her senses wide open. Something wasn’t right. No, more than that. Many things were not right. Her heart began to beat a little faster and the skin prickled at the back of her neck. The sound she’d heard, that tiny yelp—she had not imagined it. Mai might persuade herself otherwise if she let herself, so she fixed it firmly in her memory, pinned it there, confirming for herself that it had been real. And now that she considered it, her nostrils flared as she detected the strangest aroma in the room and just outside the window. The smell was neither pleasant nor unpleasant—or, rather, it was a bit of both, like dying flowers or fruit just beginning to turn.

  Mai peered out into the darkness behind the dorm, where a narrow lawn separated the building from the woods that marked the property boundary at the rear of the school grounds. The wind continued to gust, rustling leaves, but that scent remained unchanged, lingering like the spray from a skunk, though not nearly so offensive.

  Somewhere far off, a bell began to ring, or perhaps had been ringing. She tried to keep count of its tolling but lost track while wondering where the sound originated. Had one of the local churches or temples gotten a new bell? She’d never heard it before.

  She flinched, stepping back from the window. Down in the trees, had she seen something moving? A pale face, darting behind a tree? Her heart began to sprint, now, and Mai tried to calm down.

  The clock read 10:48. Late. Too late for Wakana to have gone out. Maybe she only went to someone else’s room. That had to be it. Relief washed over Mai as she grasped at this simple solution. Chuckling at herself, she let her towel and robe drop and quickly stepped into underwear and pajama bottoms and a yellow T-shirt with a cute monkey on it. She went to the door, thinking she would take a stroll down the hall, and surely she would find Wakana.

  As she opened the door, a hot, humid breeze caressed her, and she remembered the open window, and the humming air-conditioner. She ought to shut the window. When she turned back to do precisely that, however, her gaze fell on something she hadn’t seen before.

  Wakana’s keys, on the little tea table next to her bed.

  Mai’s throat went dry. She ran her tongue out to moisten her lips, thoughts slowing, mind a bit numb. The keys were on the inside, which meant Wakana had to have locked the door from within.

  She hadn’t left through the door.

  Mai stared at the open window, one hand fluttering up to halfway cover her mouth as she shook her head, and thought of Daisuke. Of the police calling him a runaway.

  It seemed Monju-no-Chie school had a second “runaway.” Only this one had left through a second-story window.

  Kara sat at her desk trying desperately to stay awake over her math homework. She spoke Japanese fluently, and could read and write it fairly well, but sometimes mentally translating the instructions on a section of calculus homework made her want to scream. It ought to have been the simplest thing, but the Japanese words describing certain formulas and mathematical theorems confused her, which led to frustration, which led—this late at night—to outrageous boredom.

  It didn’t help that they had walked miles tonight, both before and after their dinner at the noodle place, before taking the train back to the station near Monju-no-Chie school. It was just down the street from Kara’s house, but she had not dragged herself over the threshold until nearly ten o’clock. Her father and Miss Aritomo were out later than she had expected them to be, but this, of course, was a stroke of good luck. Her father couldn’t very well give her a hard time for staying out so late when he, himself, had not yet come home.

  All night, she had been distracted by the question of whether or not to tell her father about Kyuketsuki. She had been emphatic about not doing so when talking to her friends, but inside she had been torn. If he believed her, he would be angry with her for not having told him the truth originally, and he might well pull her out of the school and pack them both back off home to Boston on the next flight. If he believed her.

  Much more likely was option B, in which he didn’t believe a word of it and was either offended or assumed she had lost her mind. In either case, he would have to do something.

  Kara hated not being completely honest with her father. Their relationship had always been open, especially after her mother’s death. They had drawn strength from each other, and the truth was a big part of that. But if she told him the truth, one way or another, he would have to act on it.

  No, she had decided while reading from her biology textbook, attempting to study. If anything truly weird or scary happened, or if she had reason to believe Daisuke’s disappearance had anything to do with the curse, she would tell him. Otherwise, there would be no point. All the truth would bring either one of them was stress, and unhappiness.

  For what felt like the thousandth time, she tried to focus on the directions for the third section of her math homework. Her eyes felt itchy and dry and exhaustion caused her chin to start to dip toward her chest. Her lids fluttered as she struggled to stay awake.

  Maybe she did actually fall asleep, just for a few minutes, before voices outside her window woke her. Kara inhaled sharply, blinking, and for a moment only sat there, reacquainting herself with the waking world. Only then did she realize what had caught her half-conscious attention, and zero in on the voices.

  Her father and Miss Aritomo were back from their dinner date at last.

  Once again, she found herself in conflict, with new thoughts only adding to the mental turmoil. If she told her father, and he believed her, who would he tell? Miss Aritomo? The principal, Mr. Yamato? The police? Even if Kara could persuade her father that she and her friends had not imagined the wild things she would be telling him, once he spoke of it to others he would be subject to ridicule. No one would believe him, any more than they would have believed Kara, Sakura, and Miho. Perhaps he could convince Miss Aritomo, but in the end, it would mean dishonor and humiliation for him, and for what purpose?

  Kara took a deep breath and rubbed grit from the corners of her eyes. No. She’d been right the first time. Talking to her father about any of this had to be kept as a final option. Right now, they had only their own fears to report. For all they knew, they were in no danger.

  Sitting up straight in the chair, she focused intently on the instructions for the final section of her math homework. Half a dozen problems and she could go to sleep. This time, for whatever reason, she managed to decipher the directions in fairly short order. That’s all? She smiled. This would take twenty minutes or less to complete.

  But as she took up her pencil, she heard voices again and realized her father and Miss Aritomo were still outside. If they were saying good night, they were sure taking their time about it. God, she thought, they’re probably totally making out, right there, where anyone driving by could see them.

  Perhaps they had been, but now they were talking. For the first time that day, she managed to calm her thoughts and just listen.

  “—tell you how much it’s meant to me, spending this time with you,” her father was saying, his voice low. Didn’t he know she could hear him? Or maybe, since the only light on in her room was the little one on her desk, and she’d been so quiet … did he think she was asleep?

  “It’s been a wonderful surprise for me, too,” Miss Aritomo replied sweetly.

  “Ever since Annette died, I’ve worried almost every second. Was I doing the right thing for Kara? How could we start our lives over? Would coming to Japan make that easier, or more difficult? Always doubting myself. But whenever I’m with you, I feel such a sense of peace.”

  Kara smiled sadly, there in the glow of her one little lamp. If her father had really been that anxious all the time, he rarely let it show. He’d done an amaz
ing job of keeping their world steady, and the two of them had taken care of each other. If Miss Aritomo brought him peace of mind, how could she begrudge him that?

  “I’m glad,” the art teacher said, voice dropping even lower. “I feel that peace, too.”

  A pause, a hesitation, and she knew they had to be kissing. Kara wanted to talk, to knock something over, click off the light, do something to let them know she was there and could hear them. They were being so quiet, but not quiet enough, and she didn’t want to hear, because the truth was, she did begrudge him the happiness Miss Aritomo gave him. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop it from hurting. Every longing glance or sweet word between them was a reminder to Kara that her mother was dead.

  “Yuuka,” her father said, his voice a rasp, obviously breaking their kiss, “I believe I’m falling in love with you.”

  Kara’s mouth fell open, her chest tightening with grief. The pencil fell from her hand. Fair or not, hearing the words hurt her deeply. Her ears burned, face flushing, and she reached out and turned off the light.

  Outside, low voices dropped to nearly silent whispers.

  Ignoring the rest of her homework, Kara crawled onto her bed and pulled her knees up to her chest, staring wide-eyed at shadows. A few minutes later, when her father rapped softly at her door and spoke her name, she remained silent and did not invite him in.

  6

  On Thursday morning, Kara’s father woke her before her alarm could go off. She drew a deep breath, only vaguely aware of the conscious world, eyelids fluttering, and then she felt his grip on her shoulder, jostling her.

  “Kara, get up,” he said.

  Even in that blurry, not-quite-awake state, she noticed the edge in his voice. Not anger, but concern—a little fear, perhaps—and she forced herself to open her eyes. Her father sat on the edge of the bed, barely seeming to weigh the mattress down, and for the first time, she noticed that he had become even thinner since they had arrived in Japan. Local cuisine didn’t really allow for a lot of extra weight. Her mother had called her dad “the stork,” but now he looked even more like a bird than ever. Tall and thin, sometimes awkward, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stared at her.

  “You awake now?” he asked.

  “Define ‘awake.’”

  Rob Harper didn’t even crack a smile. That was when Kara knew the morning had brought trouble. And even as that thought entered her mind, she remembered the night before, listening to her father and Miss Aritomo outside as they said good night after their date—hearing her dad tell the art teacher that he loved her. Her own smile vanished, and now they regarded each other with mutually grim expressions. Last night, he had knocked as if to ask her permission to enter, though he hadn’t. This morning, it seemed any reluctance he might have felt about confronting her about her eavesdropping, and about his feelings for Miss Aritomo, had passed.

  “We need to talk,” her father said.

  “Dad,” Kara began. “It’s not like I was eavesdropping. You guys were hardly even whispering, and my window is right there. I couldn’t help—”

  But he frowned, waving away her concerns. Anything she might have to say about the prior evening would apparently have to wait.

  “You need to get up, honey. We’ve got to get you over to the school right away.”

  For the first time, Kara bothered to look at the clock, and realized he had woken her nearly an hour before she normally would have gotten up. The light coming through her window had seemed dim when she had opened her eyes, but she had assumed they were in for another overcast day. Now she realized that it was only the hour that made it seem gloomy in her bedroom.

  “What is it?” she asked, searching her father’s dark eyes.

  “Mr. Yamato wants to speak with you,” he replied.

  Which was when she realized that her brain wasn’t translating. She cocked her head to study him. “You aren’t speaking Japanese.”

  He gave a small shake of his head. “Not this morning, I’m not.”

  Startled, she flinched. “Wait, are you angry with me for something?”

  “Not now, Kara.”

  “I didn’t do anything. I already said—”

  Irritated, he sighed and stood, throwing up his hands in surrender. “Could you please just get in the shower? If you saw or heard something you didn’t want to last night, that’s going to have to wait until later. Right now we have more important issues to deal with.”

  More important than you falling in love? she wanted to say, but didn’t. Obviously, as far as her father was concerned, this—whatever it might be—was more important. That started her thoughts churning.

  Kara threw back her sheets. The sun had started to brighten outside and the breeze that came through the window felt almost too warm. Judging by the morning, Thursday was shaping up to be an absolutely brutal day.

  “Fine,” she snapped, climbing out of bed.

  Her father blinked, a glimmer of regret in his eyes, perhaps reminded by her tone that they were supposed to be allies, not enemies.

  “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just an ugly situation, and we’re supposed to be there in forty-five minutes.”

  Frustrated, Kara cocked her hip, staring at him. “What is an ugly situation? You’re talking in riddles!”

  His expression turned darker still. “It looks like we have another runaway.”

  Kara froze, icy fingers closing on her heart. The shadows seemed to shift with malign intent in the corners of her room. Outside, the sky had brightened and the air felt close and thick around her.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  “A girl named Wakana something. She lives in the dorm. From what Mr. Yamato said, some of the students are suggesting she was Daisuke’s girlfriend, that it’s likely they ran away together. Her parents live in Tokyo, but he’s a local boy, and his family apparently didn’t approve of him dating. I don’t know. I don’t have all the details, but—”

  “But it sounds plausible,” Kara interrupted.

  “As much as anything.”

  For a moment, she felt relieved. There was some logic to these theories. She could imagine it happening that way, and that made her feel a little better, until she remembered that her father had said Mr. Yamato wanted to see her, specifically.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  Rob Harper regarded his daughter with concern, but she saw other emotions in his eyes and wondered if any of them were suspicion.

  “Wakana’s roommate flipped out, apparently. She’s told some wild stories. She also claims that if Mr. Yamato wants to know what happened to the missing kids, he should ask you.”

  Kara’s mouth dropped open. It took a moment for her brain to start working again, and then she narrowed her eyes, nostrils flaring. “This roommate? Are we talking about Mai Genji?”

  He nodded. “That’s her.”

  “She’s nuts,” Kara said, wondering just how much detail Ume had given when she had told Mai about the events of the spring.

  But her dismissive, angry tone didn’t seem to influence her father. Instead, he appeared troubled by her speaking Mai’s name. Then it struck her just how much damage something like this could do to his standing at the school. Simply to have his daughter called in to see Mr. Yamato was an embarrassment to her father, but if the principal thought Kara had anything at all to do with these students vanishing, it would dishonor him greatly. It might even endanger his job.

  “How bad is this for you?” she asked, switching to Japanese for the first time that morning.

  He hesitated before also changing to Japanese. “Go on,” he said. “Jump in the shower. We’ll talk more on the way over there.”

  Kara did as he had asked, hurrying to get cleaned up and dressed. At first, all she could think about was the missing girl, and what might have happened to her, and what Mai might have said to Mr. Yamato … and the trouble that might cause. But as she wolfed down the little bit of cereal that her father
had poured into a bowl for her, other thoughts and feelings began to interfere, memories from the night before.

  When all of this was done, another conversation awaited Kara and her father, and she wasn’t looking forward to that one, either.

  In the corner of Mr. Yamato’s office nearest the window, a burbling fountain stood on a small round table. Loose, round stones were piled on the edges of a dozen pagoda-like levels, and the water sluiced around them, running down to the base, only to be drawn back up through the throat of the fountain and begin the course again. A single, lovely scroll hung on the wall behind the desk, bearing the image of a crane standing proud among some bamboo, and the kanji for the word “wisdom.” On a simple, three-tiered black shelf sat half a dozen bonsai trees of varying sizes. A smaller shelf held perhaps a dozen books of such age that their spines were worn and cracked, and any titles long since faded.

  Kara had never been in the principal’s office before. In truth, she’d paid him as little attention as he had seemed to pay her since she had started at Monju-no-Chie school. Mr. Yamato had struck her from the moment she’d laid eyes on him—though struck certainly wasn’t the right word—as totally average for a middle-aged Japanese man. Thin and well groomed, a bit of white in his black hair, fussy with his small, square glasses, he was the picture of orderliness, and thus, completely boring.

  Now, though, looking around the office, she wondered if the whole boring routine was just an act. Could anyone really be this bland? This calm? The room screamed “Serenity now!” as though it had been calculated to do exactly that.

  On the other hand, so much of Japanese culture was about the appearance of order and conformity and control. If Mr. Yamato’s ordinariness was a facade, he had perfected it. She glanced at the bonsai trees and smiled inwardly. Her friends only ever called her bonsai when they were teasing her, but students who didn’t know her, or the soccer girls and their circle, still used it as a derisive thing sometimes. Kara liked it, actually. She owned it. There could be no denying the truth—she was a bonsai—and she didn’t feel the need to argue the point. The little trees were beautiful and elegant and proud.