“Are you sure it’s not a misunderstanding? I don’t think Akutagawa’s the type to cheat on a girl. If it’s bothering you, maybe you should ask him about it?”
Sarashina’s eyes teared up even more when I said that, and she fixed her gaze on at me.
“Could you ask him for me, Inoue?”
“What?”
“I’m too scared to ask him myself. And you’re his friend, so he’ll probably tell you the truth. Please, Inoue? You’d be doing me a huge favor.”
I caved. How did I always get dragged into things?
After classes ended, I was struggling with how to broach the subject with Akutagawa.
“Bye, Inoue.”
Akutagawa was leaving the room. Oh no! I rushed after him.
What else could I do? Better to get bad stuff over with quickly. I would just ask casually, so things didn’t get all serious.
Akutagawa, are you dating anyone right now? A girl I know wanted me to ask you, so…
But as he strode ahead, I couldn’t close the distance between us at all. Akutagawa belonged to the archery team and had been first-string at the practices since his first year. I thought he was going to the practice hall, but then he turned into the library.
He went past the front desk until coming to a stop in the dimly lit corner at the very back, where they kept the Japanese literature, and began rummaging through the books. He would take a book off the shelf, riffle through the pages, then put it back.
He seemed intent on choosing the right book, but maybe he was looking for something?
Maybe it was my stress that made the area seem oddly quiet to the point that I was sure Akutagawa would hear me gulping. I hesitated to call out to him, squelching my breath and standing behind a shelf. Just then, Akutagawa took a fold-up box cutter out of the book bag slung over his shoulder.
Wait, what?
He pulled the blade open with his fingertips. My eyes caught the gleaming edge.
What was he doing?
I realized he was acting strangely, and my palms started to sweat. I held my breath and didn’t even dare blink as I watched him. His expression grim, Akutagawa rested the tip of the blade on the book’s center fold.
He wasn’t—
My heart skipped a beat.
He drew the blade down the page with a practiced motion, and I flinched, as if the blade had pierced my own skin.
The image of Tohko pouting and holding Tomb of the Wild Chrysanthemum out in front of me yesterday came vividly to mind.
The pages that weren’t where they were supposed to be and the mark of a knife…
Was Akutagawa the one who’d damaged the book?!
I grabbed hold of a shelf. My fingers brushed a book and knocked it into the book beside it, making a slight sound.
Akutagawa turned around, his eyes wide, and he stared at me blankly.
I stared back at him in disbelief.
Akutagawa’s brow furrowed in pain.
My head was numb with heat, my thoughts utterly mired.
“Akutagawa, why are you…”
I managed to get the words out somehow.
Just then, the sleeve of a girl’s school uniform reached past me and a fist boldly caught the hand in which Akutagawa held the knife.
“I got you! Caught in the act!”
The school uniform belonged to the book girl, her long braids swaying like cats’ tails as she leaped out, her breathing wild—it was Tohko, president of the book club.
Ever since that day when I was made aware of the fact that I’m a contemptible, inferior person, I’ve worked hard to be honorable toward the people around me.
Ever since that evil day when everything was torn apart, drenched in blood, and passed away to a place I couldn’t reach, I’ve tried to act diligently to avoid making foolish choices again.
I hoped I would be able to face your wish with sincerity.
Whenever I think of what you must have felt, what it must have cost you to write this letter, my heart feels like it’s on fire and I feel compelled to do whatever I can.
But your demands are too cruel. I pushed my sincerity to its limits as best I could and gave the best response I was capable of, but even so, I doubt you were satisfied.
I can’t give you what you wish for. That would be the insincere act of a demon and would lead to the ruin of everything.
“Now then, why were you cutting up library books? Start explaining yourself.”
Back in the book club room, which was overtaken by old books, Tohko was trying to act threatening, like the bad cop in a TV show. A book of stories by Takeo Arishima lay on the rough surface of our wobbly oak table with the pages that had been cut out arrayed next to it.
Akutagawa was sitting in a chair, hanging his head in silence.
Yesterday, Tohko had gotten sick after eating my snack and had declared the investigation open. She had been keeping watch at the library in order to catch the slasher right after classes.
“It looks like my gut was right. The guilty always return to the scene of the crime. Skipping out on cleaning duty and battling hunger while I hid behind that shelf for thirty minutes paid off.”
She sounded so self-important, I felt myself getting a headache.
Tohko had dragged Akutagawa straight back to the club room.
“The part you cut out was a scene from ‘A Bunch of Grapes.’ The boy has stolen the art supplies of a classmate, and his deed is revealed in front of everyone. The teacher takes him aside, and just as he feels ready to burst with shame, the teacher places a bunch of grapes on his lap and comforts him—it’s a famous, heartwarming scene! It’s the most delicious scene in this story! Have you ever imagined the pain and the sorrow of the person who’s forced to just eat the skins of grapes without anything inside them?”
Tohko’s voice was shaking, as if this situation was utterly unprecedented.
“I don’t think your average high schooler has thought about that, actually,” I interjected, and she glared at me.
“You stay out of it, Konoha.”
“I don’t care if he is your friend. As a book girl, if food is desecrated at his hands—I mean, if he damages the sanctity of the written word, I can hardly overlook such an act. Why would you do something like that?”
“Well—”
As Akutagawa opened his mouth to answer, Tohko’s voice suddenly grew louder.
“This is my theory. To come right to the point, you are a devotee of naturalism. Your favorite book is The Quilt by Katai Tayama.”
At this preposterous declaration, Akutagawa and I both turned and gaped at Tohko, whose nose was thrust confidently into the air.
“ ‘A Bunch of Grapes,’ which you rendered incorporeal, was written by Takeo Arishima, one of the literary men who congregated in the artists’ group called the White Birch Society, and was published at the turn of the century. The counterpart to the White Birch Society, which loudly extolled humanitarianism and idealism, was the naturalists—literature which sought to describe reality objectively and which was personified by Katai Tayama. The White Birch Society actually arose from a rejection of naturalism. So it came to me: This is the reckless act of youth and love by a person who supports naturalism from the very bottom of his heart.”
Tohko’s imagination was what was reckless.
I slumped, but Akutagawa spoke up calmly beside me.
“You’re mistaken, actually.”
“What? I… I am?” Tohko blinked in wonder.
“Yes…”
An awkward silence filled the cramped room.
“So then, why did you cut up those books?”
She tilted her head in timid curiosity, and her long, thin braids spilled over her frail shoulders.
Apparently Tohko’s confusion set him at ease, because Akutagawa sat up straighter and began to tell his story with an honorable set to his face.
“My midterm grades weren’t what I was hoping for, and I was annoyed. I’ve had this desire to hurt somethin
g—to cut something up for a while… I thought that maybe cutting up a book would satisfy that urge, and so I tried it.”
His grades weren’t what he was hoping for? Hadn’t he been fifth-highest ranked in our grade? And if you were participating in club activities at this school, wasn’t that good enough? But maybe for Akutagawa, fifth was a failure that made him cringe in pain?
Tohko, who regularly bragged (?) that she had never gotten more than a thirty in math, also looked like she was having trouble believing him.
“You cut up a book because you got a bad grade?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“It really has nothing to do with naturalism?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
Tohko’s face drooped in disappointment, and she fiddled with the ends of her braids.
Akutagawa stood up, back still straight, and bowed his head deeply to us both.
“I’m sorry for causing you all this trouble. I’ll go to the library to apologize and pay for the books I cut up.”
He moved to leave the room, but Tohko called out to him, “Wait! If you regret what you did, there’s no need to tell anyone it was you.”
She smiled easily at Akutagawa as he turned back around, trying to break the tension.
“You’ll still make it up, of course. Luckily, I have some pull with the library staff. I’ll say some bugs chewed them up and the book club’s alums donated new books, and they’ll switch them out. It’ll make the book club look good, too, so we both win.”
I quickly nodded my agreement.
“Yeah, that’s good. Let’s do that, Akutagawa,” I said.
Tohko could come in handy sometimes after all. I was just thinking about writing her a super-sweet story later when she continued.
“But! That isn’t going to solve the problems you’re facing. You need something more in order to free you from all your troubles, so you can savor your time in school with sunshiny feelings. And what you need is to throw yourself body and soul into a project with your friends. The vigor of youth will banish your stress to another world!”
There were some ominous signs developing. Akutagawa also frowned suspiciously.
Tohko flashed a grin at him.
“So, Akutagawa, why don’t you participate in our play for the culture fair?”
After Akutagawa asked for time to think about this, looking utterly dumbfounded, and left the room, I rounded on Tohko.
“What are you talking about?! You never said anything about putting on a play for the culture fair!”
Tohko hugged the back of the fold-up chair and looked up at me joyously.
“But I already filed a request with the event board and got hold of a stage.”
“You what?!”
“Well, Maki made a crack about how the orchestra is putting on a concert in their personal music hall, but the book club isn’t doing anything again this year. And it hurt my feelings. Last year we didn’t put out a single newsletter, and all we did was an exhibit of classical literature… And then nobody came, and all you did was goof off and do crossword puzzles.”
Somewhere in there she started glaring and pouting at me. I was fed up.
“The reason we didn’t have a single newsletter was because you ate them all.”
“Are you sure? Well, anyway, I can’t lose to the orchestra this year just because they have more people. Besides, someone might see our play at the fair and find out how amazing we are and join the club.”
Given those choices, the latter was probably the more urgent problem. Tohko had been worried for a while about how few people were in the club and had told me, “You’re a good-for-nothing, Konoha, so the club could fall apart once I graduate. How could I live with myself?
“Listen, Konoha. This is an order from your president. As a member of the book club, you’re going to make the club look good at the fair and bring your A-game to ensure we get at least one new member.”
And there it was! Tohko’s “presidential order.” I didn’t want to draw attention to myself—all I wanted was to live my life in peace.
“Can we really put on a play when there’s just the two of us?”
A smile flashed over Tohko’s face.
“That’s why I asked Akutagawa, of course. Ever since I decided that we would perform in the culture fair, I’ve had my eye on him. I figured he would draw in the female crowd. I was going to get you to talk him into it, but he saved us a lot of trouble. One more benefit of my innate virtues, I guess.”
That had no connection whatsoever to Akutagawa’s problems. It was just Tohko looking out for her own best interests. But Tohko had seized on his weakness and was trying to drag him into this inexplicable play. I felt sorry for Akutagawa.
“Exactly what kind of play are we doing?” I asked warily.
“As befits the book club, it’s going to be a major literary work, of course. Melancholy and delicious and rich with the vigor of youth! I thought it would be neat if the costumes were from just before the turn of the century, so this last week I’ve been scouring the choices.”
And then all she’d read was romances?
Tohko got up from her chair and took a book from the pile and loudly proclaimed, “And so I chose this—Love and Death by Saneatsu Mushanokōji!”
“Mushanokōji?” I asked, remembering something I’d learned in class. “Isn’t he from the White Birch Society, too?”
Tohko nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right! It feels almost fated that Akutagawa cut up a book by Takeo Arishima, who’s also in the White Birch Society!”
I wish she wouldn’t call that fate…
Tohko seized that opportunity to go into greater detail.
“Saneatsu Mushanokōji was born on May 12, 1885—the eighteenth year of the Meiji era—the youngest child of minor nobility. But despite that, his father died young, and as the family wasn’t exactly wealthy, they were forced to live frugally.
“He progressed to an academy, where he met Naoya Shiga, and the two of them published a magazine together called The White Birch. As the key figures in the magazine, they left behind a great many works that forcefully evoke the beauty and goodness humanity possesses. If you think youth, you have to think White Birch Society! Democracy at the dawn of the century!
“Naoya Shiga is called the god of fiction, and he left us famous works like ‘At Cape Kinosaki’ and ‘The Errand Boy’s God,’ written in an intellectual style, which was pared down to its barest elements! Takeo Arishima, who described human destiny and emotion with searing phrases that gushed like blood! Ton Satomi, who used rich psychological description and a rhythmic style to establish a ‘philosophy of sincerity,’ which devoted the body to the desires of one’s own heart!
“If the writing of Naoya Shiga is the ultimate soba made by a famous chef to be both chewy and smooth going down the throat, then Takeo Arishima’s work would be a gooey raw oyster with lemon spritzed over it. Ton Satomi tastes kind of like boiled potatoes that are perfectly smooth on the outside. They’re all tasty enough to make my tongue tremble, and I always eat too much. Arishima’s The Agony of Coming into the World and Satomi’s A Carefree Fellow are must-reads.
“And this is the person who absolutely must not be overlooked! Saneatsu Mushanokōji! For me, Mushanokōji is the White Birch Society. People tend to think that because of his grandiose name and the fact that he’s from a noble family, the things he writes must also be impenetrable and difficult. But when they actually come into contact with his work, they’re shocked at how entertaining and easy to read they are.
“The special appeal of Mushanokōji has got to be how much dialogue he uses and how buoyant it is. He often has long lines that take up an entire page, but there’s rhythm in everything and you can read it all effortlessly! If I had to compare it to something, I would say Mushanokōji’s works are like tofu from a high-end Japanese restaurant. The texture is refreshing and light while the soy flavor brings out an ex
quisite sweetness and depth, and then you get the lingering taste of the coagulant, and the moment you’ve polished off the very last bite, you sigh and think, My gosh that was delicious.”
She closed her eyes, and I thought she really was going to sigh, but then she snapped her eyes open and drew her face closer enthusiastically.
“Out of everything he wrote, the heroine of Love and Death, Natsuko, is one of the loveliest heroines in the history of Japanese literature.
“She’s pure and refreshing like alabaster tofu, delicious even if you eat it plain with no toppings at all! She exchanges letters with the main character, who’s gone to study abroad, and her writing is so artless, it sends a jolt through your heart. Oh, and—and—the scene where she appears is so cute and adorable!! A bunch of girls are gathered in a garden having a handstand competition. Natsuko is famous for her handstands, and she even does a flip. At the celebration for her older brother’s birthday, she executes an amazing flip, and the guests shower her with applause!”
“Hold on a second!”
I forced my way into Tohko’s unflagging discourse.
“A heroine who does a flip? That’s never going to happen! Who’s going to do that?”
“But anyone can stand on her head at least! And Natsuko says that she practiced doing somersaults and then just naturally started doing flips. It’ll be fine.”
Tohko smiled carelessly, but I cut in sharply. “No way. Or at least, no way for someone who gets hit in the face by volleyballs, or gets tangled in the net when she tries to spike, or who hits herself in the head with the bat when she swings in softball, or who tries to show off doing the butterfly in swim class, but her legs cramp up and she drowns in the pool like you do. Totally impossible.”
Tohko flushed bright red.
“How exactly are you witnessing all of these embarrassing things happening to me?”
“Because you’re always doing embarrassing stuff. I just want you to accept that you have zero athletic ability. You’ll never be able to do a handstand or a flip.”
That seemed to infuriate Tohko, and she pouted.
“That’s not true. As long as I have my love for the book club, I’ll be able to do it.”
Book Girl and the Captive Fool Page 2