Book Girl and the Captive Fool

by Mizuki Nomura

  The smile Sarashina had given before she slashed her throat in the library mingled with how Miu had looked then, and it had swelled to fill my brain.

  “You finally… gave me your answer.”

  Fresh blood seeping out of her.

  Akutagawa gaping at her in shock.

  “You should have… told me… sooner… I’m not that bright… I didn’t know…

  “… I’m sorry.”

  My chest constricted, and my throat burned.

  I tried to make it go away, but the image wouldn’t fade. I saw Miu’s face, Sarashina’s face, Akutagawa’s face. They all looked sad and disappointed.

  Where had we gone wrong?

  Akutagawa hadn’t meant to hurt Sarashina; all he’d wanted was to make up for his past mistakes. And all Sarashina had done was care for Akutagawa that whole time.

  So why had it gone wrong?

  Had I also hurt Miu without realizing it? Had I made a mistake somehow, somewhere?

  Was that why Miu started to hate me and why she’d jumped off the roof?

  “When you asked me to come watch a match, I was so happy.

  “… Whenever you invited me somewhere, I dressed up supernice and would go to the place we were supposed to meet ten minutes early, my heart pounding the whole time.”

  Akutagawa had always believed that he needed to be smart, he needed to be honorable. He chose his actions torn between the upperclassman he respected and the girl he had wounded in the past.

  When he realized that those actions had only invited more unhappiness, the pain and despair he felt had pierced my heart, as well.

  Onstage, Akutagawa and Kotobuki were rehearsing the climactic correspondence scene between Omiya and Sugiko. I watched them from the wings, my heart wrenching.

  “Please, Mister Omiya, I want you to see me as an independent human being, as a woman.”

  “Please don’t batter my plea with the stones you call friendship.”

  Akutagawa looked pained. His face twisted, and he gritted his teeth, sweat beading up on his forehead.

  If he opened his mouth and accepted her, something would change fundamentally.

  And there was no guarantee that his excruciating decision would be the right one.

  “… It’s always like this! It’s always wrong! I swore I would never get it wrong again!…

  “I was wrong again! It’s just like elementary school. I’m still a fool! Help her—help Sarashina.”

  Akutagawa’s pain blended into Omiya’s conflict, and my own suffering blended into that.

  Why did we hurt people?

  Why did we break things?

  “… Why did you say we should break up, Kazushi?”

  “I don’t think you would ever understand, Konoha.”

  “I tried my best. I always loved you, Kazushi.”

  “I don’t think you would ever understand, Konoha.”

  “I wondered whether to send this letter or if I had better not. I think it would be better not to. However—”

  He stopped.

  Sweat trickled down Akutagawa’s cheek. His dry lips merely trembled; no words emerged. He stood there, unable to move.

  Why did he have to keep performing when it was so difficult for him?

  Why did he have to make such a firm commitment when it sliced him apart?

  What if his decision was the wrong one?

  If he hurt someone again?

  If something broke again?

  My throat twinged shut, and I broke out in a cold sweat. I was helpless in the face of a pain that threatened to rip my body in two, and I balled my fists up and screamed, “Just stop already! Haven’t you done enough? Why do you have to suffer like this?!”

  Akutagawa and Kotobuki looked at me in surprise, as did Tohko and Takeda, who stood in the wings on the other side of the stage.

  The auditorium fell quiet, and the air felt painfully tense. I trembled as I spoke.

  “It’s just a culture fair. I was never into it in the first place. Just forget about it. I’m not going on tomorrow.”

  I felt a searing pain in my head, and a hot lump rose in my throat. I got down from the stage, picked up my bag from the seat it was on, and walked toward the door.

  “Konoha, what’s the matter? You’re really not going on tomorrow?”

  Takeda ran up and pulled me back.

  I gently shook her hand from my arm and said, my head still bowed, “I’m sorry.”

  Then I left the auditorium like a fugitive.

  I got home and crawled into bed, breathing shallowly through my twitching throat. My fingertips were numb, and I let out a rasping sound like a broken flute from the back of my throat. I felt a splitting pain in my head, as if it was being pressed on either side by iron walls.

  Why was I so weak and pathetic and stupid?

  Whenever anything happened, my body stopped working right, and I let loose these childish tantrums and then ran away.

  What must they all think? Especially Tohko…

  It hurt. I couldn’t breathe. It was awful. I was awful. An awful, world-class idiot.

  How long would it take for me to be okay again? Would I be like this my whole life?

  Miu!

  Miu!

  Miu!

  Why can’t I ever forget about you?

  Behind my tightly closed eyes, I pictured Nojima’s, Omiya’s, and Sugiko’s lines, one after another. Bloodred words cascaded down around me as I huddled in an endless expanse of darkness, bound by chains.

  “They say those who have truly loved will never be brokenhearted.”

  “That seems so sad, almost unbearably sad.”

  “When I dream of that girl, I feel so desolate I hardly know what to do, and I think, I truly will never be brokenhearted.”

  “I will refrain. I will do what I can. But please grant me one small thing.”

  “I beg you. Let me have Sugiko. Don’t take her from me.”

  “I pray for your happiness.”

  “I can’t bear to be at Mister Nojima’s side more than an hour.”

  “I cannot steal the woman my best friend loves.”

  “I will never be Mister Nojima’s wife. I would rather die.”

  Many letters.

  Many words.

  Painful words.

  Bitter words.

  Heartrending words.

  “I don’t think you would ever understand, Konoha.”

  I shouldn’t have fallen in love with you.

  I shouldn’t have ever met you.

  Then I never would have had to experience the pain, the fear, the sadness of being cast down alone into this darkness.

  I didn’t want to be close to anyone ever again.

  I didn’t want to feel this way.

  My little sister Maika came to tell me dinner was ready.

  “Are you sick, Konoha?”

  My tiny sister looked at me tearfully. “Tell Mom I already ate,” I answered, then pulled the covers over my head and huddled in my bed.

  I knew I was making my family worry again.

  I was disgusted by my childishness and I hated it, but I couldn’t help that it felt like my head was going to split open and I could barely breathe.

  I must have been lying there for almost four hours.

  When I finally got my breathing under control, my room was dark and it was raining outside.

  I listened to the cold sound of the rain.

  I rolled my head to look over at the window and saw that the part slick with rain was glistening faintly.

  I dragged myself out of bed and walked over to the window to close the curtain. I glanced outside, where the light spilling from the porch light and windows of the houses next door faintly illuminated the road and buildings.

  A single red flower stood out in bloom in the midst of the light.

  Someone was standing at a bend in the road, looking up at my house.

  A girl who was holding a red umbrella and wearing the uniform of my school. />
  “… Kotobuki?”

  Startled, I left my room. Treading quietly down the stairs so my family wouldn’t hear me, I opened the front door and went outside.

  When she saw me, Kotobuki’s shoulders jumped; then she gripped the handle of her umbrella tightly in both hands and looked down timidly.

  “… I’m sorry.”

  Her faint, broken voice was almost lost in the sound of the falling rain.

  “It’s… my fault you got angry and left, right? ’Cos I mentioned that girl… I’m sorry. I don’t know what I should do…”

  “… It’s not your fault, Kotobuki.”

  My voice was hoarse. I was exhausted and had no strength left in my body, so I had no energy to spare for kind words.

  “But—”

  Kotobuki shrunk in on herself.

  “Really, it… has nothing to do with you. So could you just leave?”

  Kotobuki looked up at me, her eyes terribly sad. She looked wounded, which made my heart ache.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered faintly, then hurried off. I saw that the shoulders and back of her uniform were darker where the cloth had been thoroughly soaked, and I realized she must have been standing in the rain for a very long time.

  My chest tightened, and I was having trouble breathing again—but I refused to think about it anymore and went back to my house.

  I softly opened the front door, and as I was going upstairs, my mother came out of the living room.

  “How do you feel, Konoha?” she asked worriedly.

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “I still have your dinner ready. And the bath is warmed up.”

  I was about to tell her I wasn’t hungry when I remembered Kotobuki’s sad eyes. My heart constricting, I pressed my lips together and said, “Thanks. I’ll eat after my bath.”

  My late dinner seemed to stick in my throat, and I could barely taste it. But nevertheless, I ate every scrap of it and washed the dishes in the kitchen before going back to my room.

  Even after I turned the lights out and lay in bed, I listened to the sound of the cold rain, totally unable to fall asleep.

  I didn’t want to hurt anyone or to be hurt anymore, but it kept happening… and the wounds I caused would be revisited on me.

  Maybe it wasn’t possible for people to live without hurting others. Maybe as a species, we’re just that stupid.

  I’d said awful things to Kotobuki.

  And how was I going to face Akutagawa and Takeda and Tohko?

  What was going to happen to the play at the fair?

  Speaking of which… Tohko hadn’t called me. With that thought, my consciousness slipped away into a muddy darkness.

  Sarashina was released from the hospital.

  Mother—I couldn’t go to see her even once.

  I couldn’t decide if it was right to go see her or right not to go see her or if I should apologize or if I should ignore what happened.

  I hurt her. Not just physically, but emotionally—I’ve hurt her so many times since that day six years ago. But I meant to be an honorable person.

  Mother—I don’t even know what the word honor means anymore. What is it? What does it take to be honorable? Doesn’t being honorable on the one hand mean being dishonorable on the other?

  I don’t know. I don’t know what’s right or what I ought to do. Or who I ought to choose.

  I received another letter from her today. I still can’t make myself read it.

  Why did I think that someone like me might be able to help her? Why did I think something so arrogant even briefly?

  Mother, I am a fool.

  P.S.

  The play looks like it’s on hold. I’m sure that I’ve hurt Inoue, too.

  Chapter 7–The Book Girl’s Wish

  When I woke up, my head felt leaden.

  I glanced over at the clock beside my bed.

  I should get up soon…

  But I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t want to be in the play.

  I wanted to snivel and shut myself away like I had in middle school. But when I thought about how sad my family would be, I crawled out of bed in resignation.

  “Good morning, Konoha. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “… Okay.”

  I ate the bacon and eggs, the toast smeared with apple jelly, the corn soup, and the vegetable juice without really tasting any of it, just like dinner the night before.

  “See you tonight.”

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and went out the door.

  Maybe I would go somewhere else now. To the movies or an Internet café…

  I set out onto the road, thinking it over, when—

  “Good morning, Konoha.”

  The rain had stopped, the air was cool, and bright light shone down from a clear sky.

  The faint scent of rain still lingered on the street, where Tohko stood holding a poetry collection by Robert Browning. She looked at me, then smiled brilliantly.

  “I came to get you. Let’s walk together.”

  It was the same look she’d had when, just after I started high school and she forced me to join the book club, she would come to my classroom every day to get me, so I didn’t skip out and go home.

  A kind, radiant look.

  “All right, Konoha, it’s time for a club meeting.”

  Tohko closed the poetry collection, then moved to stand in front of me with a little bounce. Her long braids like cats’ tails bounded in the air together.

  Tohko cocked her head like she always did, as if nothing was the matter, and looked up at me brightly, which made my throat burn and my chest swell.

  “… You’re such a busybody,” I said, choking back the feelings rising up in me, my voice trembling. “You always, always have to stick your nose in. I’m tired of it. I don’t want to be in the play. Akutagawa will be better off, too.”

  I was like a child throwing a tantrum, and Tohko was like a mother as she asked, her face kind, “Is the reason you don’t want to be in the play because it’s so hard to watch Akutagawa suffering? Or is it because you’re in pain yourself?”

  “Both.”

  Tohko’s face drooped a little.

  “Oh… but if you do that, you and Akutagawa will just keep on suffering.”

  “I’m fine with that. It’s better than going out of your way for something, then failing and suffering even more.”

  Tohko drooped even more.

  Her sad, concerned face always worked on me.

  “After you went home yesterday, Akutagawa didn’t say anything, but he looked agonized. Don’t you think Akutagawa needs our help right now?”

  “I can’t. I can barely look after myself.”

  I trembled, bowing my head. Tohko’s glum but clear voice was like fresh water when she spoke.

  “You know… when you started second year and I saw you talking to Akutagawa in your classroom, I was so happy for you. I thought, ‘Oh good, Konoha’s made a friend.’ Ever since your first year, you’d never tried to make friends with anyone, and it seemed like you always kept a distance between you and other people when you talked to them.

  “I always thought it would be nice if you made friends.

  “I mean, I’m going to be gone next year after I graduate. Then you’re going to be the only one in the book club.”

  Was she saying that the reason she’d been so fired up to secure members was not to preserve the book club, but because she was worried about leaving me on my own?

  And the reason she’d been so elated about Akutagawa being in the play and the reason she never stepped aside in the club was because she didn’t want to leave me on my own…?

  I was afraid the kindness in Tohko’s voice might make me cry, and I quickly blinked the tears away.

  “You are such an unbelievable nuisance. You always jerk me around and say the most selfish things… I’ve never wanted any friends, and I never felt like getting to know anybody. Relationships that go on forever only exist in naive st
ories, and if you do believe in them, then when you get betrayed, all you get is pain.

  “If a relationship is just going to fall apart some day, it’s better not to get involved at all.

  “And then there’s Akutagawa… I wanted to stay in the comfortable relationship we had before. But you had to butt in and force him to be in the play and investigate everything he’s ever done—you forced me to find out all this stuff about him that I didn’t want to know!”

  And now I was just as bad as Ms. Momoki when she shifted the blame onto Akutagawa. If I said anything more, I would hurt Tohko. I was tired of these uncontrollable, childish emotions. I was tired of all of it.

  “I didn’t want to know any of it… I didn’t want to be close to anyone… I wish I’d never met any of them…”

  I wish I’d never met Miu or Akutagawa, either.

  Tohko’s face fell, and she looked at me sadly.

  Don’t say another word, Konoha.

  I pressed my lips together and hung my head.

  “So you think you would have been better off if you’d never met me?”

  When I lifted my face, Tohko’s clear, black eyes were fixed straight, unavoidably, on me.

  “… Grah.”

  My heart was pierced, my eyelids burned, and my throat convulsed.

  “… That’s not fair.”

  Yeah. It wasn’t fair.

  It was a totally unfair, cowardly question.

  The many smiles, the kindnesses, the advice Tohko had given me up till now flashed through my mind one after another, and something hot welled up deep in my chest.

  At the end of a long winter—under a snow white magnolia tree on the school grounds—I met Tohko.

  “I am Tohko Amano, in class eight of the second-years. As you can see, I am a book girl.”

  “All right, Konoha, today’s prompts are ‘watermelon,’ ‘the bullet train,’ and ‘a gas tank.’ You have precisely fifty minutes. Write an extra-sweet story! And… GO!”

  “Waaah, this story is way too spicy, Konoha!”

  “I am not a goblin! I’m just a book girl!”

  She was an audacious, happy-go-lucky, and unorthodox club president who munched on paper; she jerked people around mercilessly; she had me hard at work writing her snacks; she forced me to write improv stories every single solitary day, even though I never wanted to write another novel ever again; and she said they were bitter or sour or whatever, then gobbled them all down without leaving a scrap behind—