The Suffering

by Rin Chupeco

  “I’m not so sure, Tark,” Dad says uneasily. “Every time you’re in Japan, strange things happen to the three of you.”

  “You’re not going to stop us from visiting, are you?” That’s the last thing I want. “This isn’t Kagura’s fault, and you know what they say about Aokigahara…”

  “I know. I’m not blaming Kagura, of course. I just feel terrible not to be there to help her. The local police should restrict access to that forest. If even an experienced film crew can get lost in there, there’s no telling what could happen to the average tourist. It doesn’t feel right to not even be in the same country with you when something like this is going on.”

  “You worry too much, Dad. I’m almost eighteen, remember? I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you’re more than capable, Tark.” I can hear him smiling. “But that won’t stop me from being a worrywart. You’re my son.”

  “I know.” I’m smiling too. “I guess I’m just going to have to live with that.”

  I dream of Okiku that night—of happier times together, all the little things I took for granted. I miss our hunts, the long silences when we had no need to talk, and sitting in our special field of fireflies. And then I wake, and the knowledge of what I lost returns, stronger than ever. There’s something else I’m missing. Something I’m forgetting.

  I replay what the kannushi said to his daughter before she…

  I lug out all of Kagura’s research materials from the trunk and dedicate myself to rereading them. I still can’t do much with Kazuhiko’s books that Kagura hadn’t translated into English, so I go through all the notes I can decipher. I tackle Hotoke’s diaries, analyzing every detail and looking for anything that feels out of place.

  I slog through the research I’d glanced over before our trip to Aitou—the herbal properties of belladonna, various traditions of ritualized marriages, silkworm farming, the use of bridal dolls. I look through them so many times that I’m sure I’ve committed the documents to memory, but I’m still at a loss, and I’m frustrated.

  Auntie senses that this kind of insanity is a lot better than the anguished madness I’d been wallowing in. She says nothing about this new obsession and instead brings me meals and tea without prejudice.

  I tackle Kagura’s notes on The Book of Unnatural Changes next, and it takes me two more days to find what I’ve been looking for.

  ***

  Kagura and Callie finally arrive home a few days later. A few eager reporters are still trailing behind, hoping to score an exclusive interview, and for the first time, I see Auntie transform from considerate innkeeper to protective she-wolf. Whenever one of the journalists or cameramen venture onto her property, the normally quiet old woman goes marching out, waving her broom—or in a few humorous instances, wielding a long garden hose turned on at full blast—and shrieking Japanese invectives that even the mostly foreign correspondents have no trouble interpreting. They’re quick to hurry away before she can soak their perfectly coiffed hair and their equipment.

  “Are you okay?” is Kagura’s first question to me. Other than the sling over her arm and the faint bruises on her face, she looks the same as ever.

  I force a smile. “I think I should be asking you that question.”

  “You should have said something, Tark,” scolds Callie. Kagura must have told her everything in the hospital, because Callie is clearly sidestepping around the Okiku issue when she would normally be asking me for details. “It’s okay. I’ll survive. Auntie’s got a feast laid out for all of us. She’s really excited that you’re home, Kagura. She’s been cooking all day, and she even talked me into helping out.”

  Both women look mystified by my change in attitude, but they’re wise enough not to comment on it for the moment. I make a show of ushering them to the dining table, where Auntie is waiting. For once, Auntie has forgone the traditional meals. Instead of the typical kaiseki fare, she’s cooked up a storm of Japanese street food—fried takoyaki dough balls with bits of octopus, yakisoba noodles literally made from scratch and hand-pulled, and grilled chicken and beef skewers with sweet, green bell peppers and spring onions in her specially made sweet sauce, as well as plump green-tea mochi cakes. She’s also prepared an assortment of sushi with flying-fish roe and slices of fatty tuna and finished it off with bowls of steaming rice topped with grilled eel—a favorite among Japanese schoolchildren but also Kagura’s, Auntie explains, as the miko reddens.

  The mood is equally festive. With Auntie around, we don’t talk about what happened in Aitou. Kagura fends off most of Auntie’s questions, leaving out mention of the village completely. Instead, she talks about wandering around the woods for days after being separated from the rest of the group, relying on her survival skills to forage for food and ration the provisions she had the foresight to bring. She found me, and then Riley, shortly before the search party located us. It’s enough to mollify Auntie, and I’m relieved we don’t have to explain further.

  Callie is not as trusting. Once the table has been cleared and Kagura and Auntie have retired to their rooms, she pounces. “Kagura told me everything.” My cousin is becoming teary-eyed again. “Oh, Tark, I’m so sorry.”

  I force a smile. “You’ve always been after me to de-possess myself, Callie. Now that I have, it sounds like you’re actually wishing I hadn’t.”

  “Don’t take that tone with me, Tark. I wanted it to be amicable for the two of you—not like this.” Callie sniffles. “What’s going to happen next? Where did she go?”

  My voice catches in my throat, and I can’t speak right away. I think about the fireflies and the bridal ghosts in the meadow, happy and free. But Okiku was different. She hadn’t rejoiced at achieving the peace she deserved. I do not want to, she said. But I must.

  Was I biased? Am I trying to convince myself that Okiku didn’t want to pass on so I can justify what I am going to do? The thought haunts me, half convincing me that I’m putting my selfishness over her happiness.

  But I remember the sorrowful look on her face and the lingering way her lips pressed against me. I can believe that she would accept her fate, but I know with sudden certainty that she hadn’t wanted it to end like this. Not like this.

  “I’m sorry, Callie, but I need to see Kagura. It might be important.”

  I find Kagura in her room, looking over her father’s research as she carefully packs the notebooks and parchments back into the large trunk. Her eyes are sad.

  I stand by the doorway, not sure if it is right for me to enter and break the moment. But Kagura speaks.

  “I saw him too,” she says. “I saw my father for a brief moment. For all that happened in Aitou, at least it was closure.”

  “Sometimes, you try to forget about the pain in your past,” I say, sinking to the floor beside her, “and you run as fast as you can, thinking you can leave it behind if you run far enough. But it has a way of sneaking back when you least expect it. Sometimes, the only way you can escape is to turn around and confront it.”

  Kagura smiles wanly. “It sounds like you’re talking about more than just my father.” She holds up the photo of a younger Kagura with Kazuhiko. She sets the picture aside; the rest she adds into the trunk. “But I think you’re right. At least now I understand why his work filled up his life, so that at times, there didn’t seem to be any space for me or my mother. I hope he’s at peace now.”

  I remember the last time I saw Kagura’s father, in that quiet meadow with Hotoke and the other spirits. “He is.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Tark? I know you might not want to talk about it, but…”

  “Actually, that’s what I came here for.”

  The miko looks up at me, startled, and I pull The Book of Unnatural Changes from the trunk, placing it before her. I open the heavy volume and turn it to the page containing the ritual I had in mind. “I wanted to talk to you about this.”

  Kagura’s eyes widen. “Tarquin. Are you…?”

  Immediately, she is on her kne
es, her hand touching my forehead while her eyes look into mine, trying to sense what I already know. The darkness inside me responds to that touch, heat erupting from my forehead, and she jerks her hand back as if she’s been electrocuted.

  “Kami-sama,” she gasps, falling back. “I knew there was something odd, but I never thought…”

  “I’m sorry, Kagura.” I can feel the energy swirling inside me—energy I took into myself when I closed the hell’s gate, the power the kannushi so desperately wanted. “But I think you’re going to have to teach me everything you know about the Hundred Days ritual.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Mourning

  I’ve got ninety-three more days to go.

  Callie and I are back in the United States—her in Boston, and me in DC. We only spent a week in Japan, but it feels like a lifetime has passed. Leaving was hard, but I know the hardest is still to come.

  Everyone’s still talking about McNeil after spring break is over and school starts. As selfish as it sounds, I don’t think I’ve spared a thought for him since leaving for Japan, and all I really want to do now that I’m back is hole up in my room and let the days pass. Dad doesn’t sense anything wrong, mainly because I keep up my usual flippant attitude whenever he’s around. I don’t want him to worry any more than he ought to.

  A lot of students give me the evil eye during class and when they pass me in hallways. They’ll always blame me for Keren McNeil’s death, but I’m beyond caring at this point. I walk past a place in school where some of his teammates had erected a small altar in memory of the football jock, strung with flowers and handwritten notes. Someone had placed his jersey beside a large photo of him. I resist the urge to give in

  we are power

  to my baser nature and remind everyone just what kind of guy their hero was. I turn away instead. He’s dead, and despite everything he did, it no longer feels like he should matter to me.

  I used to worry that being with Okiku brought out my darker, more depraved instincts. Now I realize it wasn’t her. The darkness was in me all along, and maybe that was what drew her to me in the first place.

  True to her word, Kagura taught me everything I needed to know before we left. “I’ve never done this before, Tarquin,” she warned me. She was reluctant all throughout our lessons, but she knew that I had no choice. “I cannot guarantee that any of this is going to work.”

  “It’s still better than nothing,” I pointed out.

  Hanging on to hope is the only thing keeping me from going crazy, and I don’t want to think about what might happen if nothing comes out of the ritual I’m about to do.

  But I know it will succeed. Because I am sure of the malevolence residing inside me, I know that the ritual is real. Whether or not I’m strong enough to perform it is a different matter.

  Some days, the malice lies heavy inside me—restless, demanding to break free. On occasion, it takes every ounce of my self-control not to let it out. Some days, it’s almost as if it’s not there. Those are the days I worry I’ve lost my hold on it and it’s found someone else to hibernate in.

  Because if it’s gone, I’ll never be able to bring her back.

  So instead of brooding on it, I force myself into a conventional pattern: go to class, go home, do my homework, meditate, go to sleep. Go to class, go home, do my homework, meditate, go to sleep. Some days, I can’t help myself; when the loneliness is at its worst, I wait for her to come to me, though I know it’s useless to hope.

  Some days, I still wake up expecting to feel the weight of her hair on me.

  “I wish you’d tell me what’s bothering you,” Kendele says when I have fifty-four more days to go. She’s the only one I make room for nowadays, because I feel that I owe her that. Despite my reputation, she continues to be a good friend, dismissing what other people say about me. I wonder if, despite her popularity, she ever gets shunned because of me. If she does, she doesn’t admit it.

  “Nothing’s wrong really,” I say. We don’t just frequent food trucks anymore. Sometimes, I bring her to an actual restaurant or take her to a movie we both want to see. I’m not exactly sure what the status of our relationship is. We haven’t promised mutual exclusivity. I know that she goes on other dates but isn’t serious with anyone else and that she wouldn’t mind if I did the same, if I wanted to. She’s not pressuring me to put a label on us. And for what it’s worth, I do like Kendele, and I appreciate her sensitivity.

  We caught a movie earlier, and we’re having dessert at an Italian café just around the corner from the theater.

  She pokes a spoon at her toffee-nut gelato. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. But, you know, on the off chance that you do want to get what’s bothering you off your chest instead of being such a growly, brooding alpha male about i…”

  “You’ve been reading way too many romance novels,” I tease. Miles apart from everyone else who knows about it—Kagura, Callie, Auntie, Saya—I don’t have anyone to talk to about what happened over spring break. “Remember the girl I told you about? The one who…ah…”

  “The one you punched McNeil for,” she supplies, smiling. “I do.”

  “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Kendele looks startled. “She didn’t die, did she? You look so grim all of a sudden.”

  That’s difficult to explain. In many ways, Okiku had—and yet…

  The dark inside me pulses, sensing where my thoughts are heading.

  “Not exactly. She had to go away, and I don’t know if she’ll ever be back.”

  “Oh.” Kendele places her hand on mine. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Tark. How are you feeling?”

  “A little out of sorts.”

  “Do you love her?” The question comes out more tentative than her usual assertiveness. “And don’t give me that crap about not wanting to hurt my feelings. I want you to be honest with me.”

  I couldn’t firmly answer her when she had first posed that question, months ago when Okiku was safely part of me. Now the answer comes naturally. “Yeah, I do.” I can’t classify the feeling as romantic, because it is and it isn’t. It’s everything, and the irony is that I can’t really explain my love for Okiku without sounding crazy. I’m floundering without her. I don’t know what to do without her in my life. She’s the most important person in the world to me, and now I might never see her again.

  Kendele bites her lip and looks down. “She must be amazing for you to care for her that much.”

  I force my dark thoughts away, not wanting to ruin the evening for her. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure that I should say anything, knowing how you feel. But I promised you I’d be honest.” As much as I’m able to anyway, I add silently.

  “Thank you for that. I wasn’t—” Her head snaps up. “Wait. What do you mean by ‘knowing how you feel’?”

  “Knowing that you’re desperately attracted to me, of course.” I grin smugly at her, then inch away when she pretends to dump her ice cream on me.

  “You are the most insufferable, arrogant, and completely obnoxious—”

  I silence her by leaning over and capturing her lips with mine. She gives in almost immediately.

  Dense, my ass.

  “What does this mean for us though?” she asks softly a little later. She’s shoved her chair next to mine so she can burrow under my arm, our gelato all gone. It’s getting late and I ought to take her home soon, but for now, I’m content to have her here, snuggled at my side.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask her.

  “We’re not going to be in the same place for long, are we? We’re going to graduate in a month. You’ll be going to Brown, and I’ll be going to Stanford.”

  “Ah, yes. Stanford. Good to see that all that tutoring I gave you—which you didn’t need—paid off.”

  She socks me lightly in the ribs. “I’m serious. We haven’t exactly talked about this, but I didn’t think you’d be interested or invested in a long-distance relati
onship. That’s why I didn’t ask for something more from you.” Her voice softens. “I would say that I’m willing to make this work, but…I think it will be a lot more difficult than we both want it to be.”

  I know she’s right. We’ll be living in different states on different sides of the country starting this fall and haven’t been officially dating to begin with.

  “I think we should just let things happen as they come. No promises to make, no promises to keep. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company for as long as we’re able to.” I take a deep breath, and the cold night air fills my lungs. “Because if I’ve learned anything these last couple of years, it’s to spend every moment you can with the people you want to be with.”

  ***

  When I’ve got twenty-seven more days to go, graduation arrives. There’s nothing to differentiate it from other ceremonies that have gone before, and I’m sure it’ll be no different from those that’ll come after it. The only thing it marks for us is freedom from Pembrooke High, and that couldn’t come soon enough.

  Afterward, Kendele seeks me out and plants a happy kiss on my mouth, oblivious to Dad’s and Callie’s grins. She’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks to head to Stanford early, and we promised to spend the rest of the time she’s here together. Dad takes us all out for celebratory burgers and milk shakes. I think he’s secretly relieved that I managed to graduate, given all the bumps and false starts we’ve had over the years.

  “So,” Callie whispers to me after Dad engages Kendele in conversation about the Washington Wizards, which both are avid fans of. “Are you guys going to do the long-distance thing?”

  “I don’t think so.” I keep my voice low. “I really like her, and I know she likes me”—Callie rolls her eyes at this—“but I don’t think we’ve got it in us to make it last with thousands of miles between us. She’s not built for that kind of relationship, and I’m not sure I am either.”

  “Aw, that’s too bad. I like her.”