I wasn’t sure what to do then, either. Could I be a matchmaker? Even though Sarashina was actually Konishi?!
In elementary school, I saddled her with a false accusation, cornered her, and drove her crazy.
I heard that her parents’ divorce stemmed from that incident. It was as if I was the one who had broken Konishi’s home.
When I started high school and ran into her again, I felt like my heart would stop. She didn’t talk about what had happened, so I didn’t either. But just being in the same room with her was torture. I felt like I was being punished.
So really, I wanted to refuse Igarashi’s suggestion. But he asked so many times I knew he was serious, and since I respected him as a person, I invited Sarashina to the match and introduced her to Igarashi. It was also a mistake to let her confide in me that he had been stalking her and to agree to act like I was her boyfriend. Igarashi quit the team because of that, and she slowly started to get crazier and crazier.
In the end, I was tied to my past crimes: I couldn’t escape them, no matter how I struggled. I felt like I still needed to atone for what I’d done, as if Konishi and Kanomata still hadn’t forgiven me for the mistakes I’d made in the past.
I was desperate. I worked hard to make amends for my crime, to be smarter so I wouldn’t make a mistake this time. But it didn’t work. The actions I took, the path I chose, all of it, everything—it was all wrong.
How can I apologize to Kanomata, to Konishi, to Ms. Momoki, to Igarashi, to Sarashina?
I’m just going in circles in a dark, impenetrable maze. My ears are roaring, my body feels like it’s burning, and my head feels like it’s going to split. I can’t even stand up straight.
Mother, if you can’t help me, at least judge me. I want you to decide for me. Even if your judgment is death, I will obey.
Please, Mother: Answer me. Mother! Mother!
Chapter 6–A Fool’s Labyrinth
An ambulance took Sarashina to a nearby hospital where she was treated. That was three days ago.
If the cut had been just a little farther to one side, it would have all been over for her, but she was treated quickly enough. The cut wasn’t as deep as it had looked, so she wasn’t in any danger, and they said she would be able to go home in a week. Maki was the one who came to tell us all this.
That day, Tohko had gone with Sarashina to the hospital. The rest of us went to the principal’s office to explain what had happened; then we waited on a sofa for news from the hospital.
That was when Maki appeared and told us, “Tohko called me. The girl’s all right.
“And there was that bloodshed just the other day, too. Unbelievable. How can so many problems be cropping up at a school? It’s not easy to hush things up so they don’t reach the students. Still, I’m sure my grandfather will handle it just fine. You can all go home now. I doubt you’re in the mood to go to classes or your clubs. I’ll have you driven home.” Looking over at Akutagawa, she said, “That boy there in particular seems like he wouldn’t make it home. How would it look if he threw himself off a bridge on the way home?”
I didn’t think that was very funny.
But that was how worn out and ragged Akutagawa was. After a temporary descent into madness, he had become as mute as a stone and only barely responded to even the teachers’ questions. His twisted face and strained breathing told me that he still blamed himself, and I worried about what he would do to the point that anxiety squeezed my chest. If the worst had happened to Sarashina, it would have destroyed his mind.
That night I got a phone call from Tohko. Sarashina had mostly calmed down, and Tohko had been able to talk with her a little.
But even hearing that didn’t cheer me up.
Three days passed after that, and the culture fair was closing in next week.
Rehearsals for the play had been on hiatus the whole time. Tohko and Takeda had been busy helping out with preparations for their classes’ events. I’d seen Tohko yesterday, scampering down the hall, her hair in weird, uneven braids.
Kotobuki wanted to know why Akutagawa and I had left class during lunch and then gone home early three days before, but I only told her that I hadn’t felt well and didn’t talk about what happened.
“Then I’ll ask Akutagawa,” she had said in a huff. But shock broke over her face when she saw how wasted Akutagawa looked when he came to school, and she hadn’t said a word about it since.
Though I doubted that he spared even a moment for comfort during his self-recrimination, Akutagawa dutifully attended classes, never missing school and always on time.
When Miu jumped off the roof, I’d shut myself up in my room. But it looked like Akutagawa had shut himself up in a room inside his heart.
If I talked to him, he would answer, but he always looked pained, as if he was thinking about something else.
Tohko came to our class during lunch.
“I was thinking we need to start rehearsals back up again soon. How do you feel about that?” she asked Akutagawa gently, considerate of his feelings.
“All right. I’ll be at the auditorium after school today,” he answered indifferently.
For the first time in ages, we began dress rehearsals, but the mood was strange.
Everyone was thinking about Akutagawa, wondering if he was all right, and our voices had a tendency to fall into monotone.
Akutagawa went through Omiya’s lines with a dark expression on his face. There was none of the tension that had been in his voice before, and he had almost no inflection when he spoke. But he continued to recite the lines, as if he was carrying out a duty he had been charged with.
During the climactic exchange of letters between Omiya and Sugiko, Akutagawa suddenly broke off in his dialogue.
In the scene, Omiya has gone abroad, and Sugiko has been sending him letters confessing her passion and begging, “Please accept me.” Omiya has always responded, “Please, love Nojima, not me,” but he inadvertently reveals his true feelings and accepts her.
“I wondered whether to send this letter or if I had better not. I think it would be better not to. However—”
No matter how many times Akutagawa and Kotobuki did it, it was the same. Like a broken CD, as soon as he reached that line, his voice broke off.
It happened again the next day and the day after that. It was too painful to see him struggle to force the line out, his brow deeply knit and his eyes narrowed. I couldn’t watch.
So it went, until the last day before the culture fair.
When I got to the auditorium, Kotobuki was onstage, practicing her lines by herself.
“Please don’t be angry, Mister Omiya. It took all of my courage to write to you.”
She faced the audience with an intent gaze and pleaded ardently. She looked remarkably vulnerable, nothing like her usual self.
“I await your reply, but still it has not come. I begin to worry. Are you angry, I wonder? Please have pity on me and write back.”
She jumped when she noticed me and blushed.
“G-geez. Why didn’t you say something when you came in?”
“Sorry. You were just so wrapped up in your rehearsal. Where’s everyone else?”
Kotobuki looked away and muttered an answer. “I guess they’re busy with their classes… The performance is tomorrow, though. Will Akutagawa be all right?”
Her face looked suddenly timid again as her eyes darted back to me.
My face gloomy, I answered, “He said he would go on, but…”
I knew why he stopped during that line. He could see his love triangle with Igarashi and Sarashina in Omiya’s situation, and even if it was only a play, Akutagawa was afraid to betray his best friend Nojima and accept Sugiko, the woman Nojima loved. It frightened him because by betraying Igarashi and listening to Sarashina’s plea, he had driven both Igarashi and Sarashina into a corner.
Was this the right choice? Wasn’t this wrong? That anxiety made him stumble over the line.
Should we be for
cing Akutagawa to go onstage in that case? I wondered. If he froze up during the show, wouldn’t that just add to the indelible wounds he already had?
Kotobuki was probably worried, too. She looked away and hung her head.
I set my bag down in a seat without a word.
“… Hey,” Kotobuki murmured, still turned away. “Practice with me until everyone gets here. Can you read Omiya’s lines for me? I want to get a feel for the last scene.”
I nodded and climbed onto the stage.
“Okay. Let’s start from the part where they’re exchanging letters,” I said.
“… Right. What about your script?”
“I’ve pretty much got it memorized.”
“… Oh.”
We stood at either end of the stage.
Kotobuki gazed at me with vulnerable, dewy eyes.
“Please don’t be angry, Mister Omiya. It took all of my courage to write you.”
Was she acting? Her voice was trembling slightly.
The slight upward turn of her eyes, the way she held her hands clasped in front of her, she was the exact image of an innocent young girl summoning all her courage to tell the person she liked how she felt. I felt strange.
For some reason, my heart started pounding.
Was it beating faster because of Kotobuki?
It couldn’t have been that, but an anxious, tender feeling welled up inside me.
“I await your reply, but still it has not come. I begin to worry. Are you angry, I wonder? Please have pity on me and write back.”
It wasn’t only Kotobuki’s voice that was trembling. Her laced fingers, her lips, her eyelashes—all wavered faintly.
“I am yours, sir. I am yours.”
Kotobuki looked straight at me, her face rapt.
“My life, my honor, my happiness, my pride—all are yours, sir. All are yours.”
Her voice became more and more charged with emotion, tinged with excitement, and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
“By becoming yours, I will for the first time become myself.”
For some reason, at that moment, I recalled the day Kotobuki and I had talked alone at the hospital.
“You may not remember it, but I… in middle school, I…”
Had she looked like this then? Been this close to tears?
Suddenly, she hung her head and stopped reciting her lines.
I was just wondering what had happened when a clear bead slid down Kotobuki’s cheek.
Was—was she actually crying?!
“Wh-what’s wrong, Kotobuki?”
I hurried over to her.
“Did you just get too into the part? Or are you still worried about Akutagawa and—”
“No!” Kotobuki sobbed, shaking her head. “It’s not because I’m worried about Akutagawa. I’m an awful person. Akutagawa’s in pain, and everyone’s so worried about him, but… I’m so wrapped up in something else it’s driving me crazy.”
She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.
I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to do.
“What’s bothering you so much?”
Kotobuki gave several childish sobs. Then, her hands still covering her face, she said in a feeble voice, “Y-you… You’re always late or leaving early or ducking out at lunch… or whispering with Tohko and Takeda… I, I figured it was… something about Akutagawa, that you guys don’t want other people to know. I can tell that much at least. I… I’m not usually like this… I hate being so spineless, and usually I’m not. B-but… I think Takeda knows… But you hate me. You won’t be open with me.”
My heart clenched intensely.
She must have been upset because she felt like she was being left out. She may have put on a brave face, but inside she had been hurt.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see how you felt. But I don’t hate you, you know.”
“You… you jerk.” Kotobuki choked up tearfully, looking up again. “Jerk! You’re unbelievable! Just… you jerk…”
She railed at me, her face a total mess. I couldn’t tell if she was being aggressive or weak, if she was angry or crying.
“I’m not really sure why, but… I’m sorry.”
“If you don’t know why you’re apologizing, then don’t do it! I hate that about you. You’re nice to everyone and pleasant and polite, and it infuriates me… It makes me sad. In middle school, it was—you weren’t like that. You used to smile because you were actually happy.”
That surprised me.
“You knew me in middle school? You mentioned something about that in the hospital, too.”
Kotobuki looked at me, taken aback. Her expression was as unguarded as a child’s, and it worked its way into my heart and halted its beating.
The auditorium fell into utter silence.
“I—,” she began in a frail voice. Her cheeks were colored bright red. “I met you once in middle school.”
“I’m sorry, where was that?”
Kotobuki bit down on her lip a little and lowered her eyes.
“I’m sure you don’t remember. But it meant a lot to me. So I went to see you again after that. Over and over, all through the winter. Every day.”
I couldn’t fathom it. Every single day? Where was she? Why didn’t I remember meeting her?
“You always looked like you were enjoying yourself back then. You were always happy and smiling. That girl was always at your side.”
I felt as if I’d suddenly been slashed across the face. Kotobuki lifted her gaze once again.
“You were always, always with that girl. She was the only thing you ever looked at, and you would laugh so happily. But when I met you in high school, you didn’t enjoy yourself at all, didn’t talk to anyone honestly. But you still had a bright smile on the outside and pretended to be having fun. I hated it… I mean, I finally got to meet you, but you weren’t the same person.”
Oh no—I was having trouble breathing.
Her words became frigid chains, coiling layer over layer around my throat. My pulse raced, and my fingertips started to get numb. My mind reeled.
It was happening again.
Oh no, oh no.
Kotobuki’s face crumpled, and she looked even closer to tears than before.
“When Igarashi got stabbed behind the school, and I heard Sarashina screaming ‘It’s that girl’s fault!’ it was like I was seeing myself, and I shuddered. In my heart, I felt like it was that girl’s fault that you’d changed, and I resented her. Like because of her—because of Miu Inoue, you stopped laughing! It’s true, isn’t it? That girl—the girl who was always with you was the author Miu Inoue, wasn’t she!”
The chains coiled around my neck tightened—snap!—against my throat. I felt the pain of them biting into my skin as my mind went white, and all sound was sucked out of the world.
Why was she talking about Miu?!
Kotobuki finally seemed to notice the odd change occurring in my body.
“I-Inoue…?”
I had trouble breathing and could barely stand. My vision clouded over, and I fell to my knees on the stage. At that very moment—
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Hello Konoha, hello Nanase.”
Akutagawa came into the auditorium with Takeda close behind him.
“I ran into Akutagawa right outside so we came together. Heh-heh. Oh—Konoha, are you sweating? You look terrible.”
I pressed hard against my chest, took a deep breath, and answered, “… It was so hot in here. I’m fine now.”
The pulse I felt beneath the palm of my hand was still racing, but sound had come back to the world and somehow I managed to stand up. My brain ached as if I had been punched in the head, and if I wasn’t careful, I felt sure I would have another attack.
Kotobuki must have regretted unleashing her feelings on me, because she bit down on her lip and was trying not to look at me.
“Sorry everybody! The prep work for my class’s curry restaurant ran late.”
With everyone present, our final rehearsal began.
“What a lovely voice.”
“It’s her. I know it.”
“How fortunate for you if that’s true.”
Nojima and Omiya continued their dialogue.
I couldn’t get what Kotobuki had said to me out of my head.
“… I felt like it was that girl’s fault that you’d changed, and I resented her.
“… It’s true, isn’t it? That girl—the girl who was always with you was the author Miu Inoue, wasn’t she!”
I didn’t know why Kotobuki had mistaken Miu for Miu Inoue. But she definitely knew about the two of us.
She knew about how I had been happy and enjoyed myself just having Miu around, how I had been idiotically cheerful, how I had always looked at Miu so affectionately.
If I revisited my memories of middle school, Miu was always there.
In the classroom in the morning, in the hall during breaks, on the road home in the sunset, at the convenience store we went to all the time on the way home, getting food from street vendors, at the park where falling ginkgo leaves filled the air, at the old library, at the pastry shop she forced me to go to with her—no matter the scene, Miu was there. Looking at me, her hair up in a ponytail, then smiling teasingly.
“You’re special to me, Konoha. So I’m going to tell you what my dream is.
“I’m gonna be a writer. Tons of people are going to read my books. It would be awesome if that made them happy.
“The book I’m writing now is almost done. You’re gonna be the first to read it.
“Hee-hee. You’re blushing, Konoha. What’s wrong? What are you thinking about? Fess up. I promise I won’t get mad. Okay? Tell me what you’re thinking. All of it. Tell me every. last. thing. about you, Konoha.”
But then one day, all of a sudden, Miu looked at me with daggers.
She ignored me and avoided me, and with a final smile, she said, “You wouldn’t understand,” then jumped off the roof right in front of me.
Book Girl and the Captive Fool Page 14