"It's no big deal," Kuji said. "You know, I figured you and me, we're alive because we happened to get lucky. And that's enough to be thankful about."
The hand on his head lifted.
"It's funny, hearing someone like you talk about getting lucky." Nango's tone was gentle in spite of his brash remark. "So, what are you gonna do now?" he asked, after the doctor had excused himself from the room.
"I'll live apart from my mom and sister. Being the bad guy that I really am, you know."
Nango's eyes bulged. "You're not telling me you're...."
"No, stupid, I'm too old to be dicking around," Kuji retorted. "I'm going to become an organist."
"Good," Nango said brusquely, turning aside. "I have one more thing to tell you," he said. Nango went on to say that Song had been placed under protection as an important witness, and had been granted a pardon from the president of his country. His life was no longer in danger. Nango added one last message at the end.
"This is the last time I'll ever see you."
It was Kuji's third summer after that night, and the day after being discharged from the hospital, he was headed towards the certain church in Roppongi. It looked much the same as it had before. The gate and entrance were new; Kuji supposed it was because they had burned down that night.
The door was flung open much in the same way as it had when Song was here. Kuji stepped inside. When he approached the organ, he was greeted by an elderly priest who appeared from the back. The top of his head was balding like a friar, and he was wearing round spectacles.
"Um, is it okay if I play the organ?" Kuji asked.
"Please go ahead. But avoid pop and rock if you can," said the priest, his eyes crinkling in a gentle smile. Kuji, of course, played that song.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
When Kuji finished playing, the elderly priest gave a loud clap.
"Um, would it be all right if I came to play once in a while?" Kuji asked hesitantly. The priest nodded.
"I don't play very well myself. I'm sure the organ would appreciate it."
After that, Kuji came to the church every Sunday to play the organ at Mass. When the elderly priest spotted members of the congregation saying, "Welcome back," to Kuji, he brought in linens to the attic room so that Kuji could stay there. Kuji decided to accept the man's gracious gesture.
The end of summer was followed with a hasty progression from autumn to winter, and once spring came and went, it was summer again. That was when Kuji received a letter.
There was a newspaper clipping in the envelope and nothing else. It was a regional paper from Nagasaki Prefecture. The article was circled with a red pen, and beside it was a familiar scrawl that read, "You can thank me later for it, you fag."
The article itself was small, and simply stated that there was a blind priest who gave Mass to the elderly on a small island in the Goto Islands archipelago of Nagasaki Prefecture.
The ocean of the Goto Islands shone beautifully like emeralds, and the sunlight made even the pebbles sparkle like golden ore. Kuji got off the ferry and was greeted by the overpowering scent of summer grass.
The island had a population of about one hundred and fifty, most of them elderly. The woman who showed Kuji his way was also nearing ninety, and repeatedly told him how thankful they were.
"After all, it's hard work just to arrange to take a boat to the nearest island with a church," she said. Although their church did not look like much of one, they said they would work together to have a proper building built someday.
"We don't even have an organ," the old woman said. "But we are definitely planning to buy one."
The people of the Goto Islands had been buffeted by a turbulent history which was contrary to the mild climate, and it was this environment in which they continued to develop a deep connection with religion.
Eventually, a small building appeared - a kuri, which usually functioned as a living quarters for a Buddhist temple. Tall grasses grew thickly even in front of the entrance, and a man in work clothes crouched as he cut the grass.
Kuji approached and saw that the man was wearing sunglasses. He grasped at each handful of grass and cut it with a sickle. There was a white cane at his feet. Although Kuji was tempted to talk to the man right away, he didn't want to startle him and make him hurt himself. Kuji waited until the man put the sickle down on the ground. Eventually, the man exchanged his sickle for his cane and stood up slowly to turn his face towards Kuji.
"Why did you do this?" Kuji burst out. At a loss for his next words, Kuji burst into tears. He stood there and wept for what must have been about fifteen minutes. In the end, he finally stopped when he almost heaved from crying too much.
Song reached out to pat Kuji's shoulder gently. "Are you all right now? You're still like a child, Masatake."
"Why did you do this?" Kuji asked again hoarsely.
"Masatake, I told you that I didn't have anything left to give to you, but I did. That was why."
"But that's..."
While Kuji was waiting to receive his transplant, he had asked his sister to look up what the transplant process was like.
"Your eyes..." Kuji trailed off as a finger was pressed to his lips.
"From dust we came, and to dust we'll return. But for that short time until I return to dust, I figured God would allow me to lend you my eyes."
Kuji sniffled as he squeezed Song's hand. It was warm and exactly the same as he remembered when he first held it. He felt more tears stream down his face - but this time, they were tears of joy.
"Starting tomorrow, I'll cut the grass instead."
"I'll be counting on you, Masatake."
And someday, when the church gets an organ, I'll play again. He already had his heart set on which song he would play first. That song, of course, he thought to himself.
THE END　　　
Amazing Grace: Yaoi Novel Page 10