by Asha Lemmie
Akira inclined his head. “Grandmother.”
He nodded to their grandfather, who nodded in return.
“Now,” Akira said smoothly. “Shall we talk some business?”
Kohei stirred in his seat, and when he spoke, he had a voice like a low rumble of thunder.
“Listen, boy. This has gone far enough. You are coming home with us. Today.”
Akira didn’t falter. “I will not.”
Yuko fluttered her fan. “Now, now, anata. Akira-san has made it clear that he wishes to remain in Tokyo. I think we can allow this for a few years. He is a young man. He should be allowed a certain degree of freedom.”
Nori’s hands began to shake. She tucked them into her sleeves and out of sight.
“I understand,” she went on, “that you think we have acted unfairly as far as the girl is concerned. You have gone to great lengths to acquire her—indeed, you have shown remarkable cleverness. I clearly underestimated you.”
Akira’s brow knitted in a frown. “You don’t think you acted unfairly?” he asked, his voice cold. “Even now?”
Yuko waved her hand. “I did what had to be done. Indeed, it is because of my soft heart that the matter is still not resolved. I should have been more careful.”
Nori could feel her temper boiling over. She had not expected an apology, but to know that the only thing her grandmother regretted was not sending her far enough away was galling.
Her grandmother turned to face Nori, those pensive eyes appraising her in one glance. It was clear from her small smirk that she had found nothing of value. Again.
“You are a kind boy, Akira-san,” she said. “But this really is such a waste.”
Akira bristled. “I don’t require your approval. Just your word that you will leave us alone.”
Yuko narrowed her eyes. “So this is really it, then? You are determined to go down this path?”
Akira crossed his arms. “If you came here to change my mind, I am afraid you’ve wasted a trip.”
Nori could not restrain a grin. It did not go unnoticed by Grandfather, who shot her a look so ruthlessly cold that it froze on her face.
Her grandmother sighed. “Very well, then. You may stay here, in Tokyo. But you must return to Kyoto during the summers, starting after your twentieth birthday, for your education. You have much to learn.”
Akira tapped his fingers against the wooden table. “Twenty-fifth birthday.”
Yuko didn’t miss a beat. “Twenty-first.”
Akira hesitated. “Fine,” he said reluctantly. “Twenty-first. And just July and August.”
“And you must marry,” Yuko insisted. She dropped a spoonful of sugar into her tea. “As soon as I can find a suitable bride.”
Akira’s upper lip curled. This was clearly his least favorite part of the agreement.
“Might I ask you not to pick an eyesore?” he asked dryly.
“Of course. She must be pretty and well-mannered. Halfway intelligent, enough to read with the children—but I don’t want a scholar. I won’t have a woman getting above herself.”
“Fine. But I won’t marry for years yet.”
Yuko tapped her chin. “I was married at your age. Your mother—” She broke off. “It would have been better if she had married young instead of going off to Paris. She was corrupted. She learned immodest ways. The French are notorious. But that too was my weakness.”
Akira did not react. “I will marry at twenty-five. No sooner. And she’ll stay here with me, in Tokyo.”
Nori could not imagine her brother married. Akira was entirely uninterested in anything but his music.
Yuko accepted this stipulation without a fight. “And of course, the girl must go. No well-bred girl will agree to share a house with a bastard.”
Nori’s breath hitched in her throat, and she peeked out from behind Akira’s shoulder. For just a moment, she forgot her orders and she started to speak, but Akira was one step ahead of her.
“Nori stays,” he said simply.
Yuko snapped her fan shut. “I will pay for her to have an estate of her own, somewhere abroad. She will have servants to look after her. I understand now that you feel responsible for her—wrongly, of course—but I understand it. Your mother failed you terribly; she has passed you her burden. But now I can lift it from you. You want her to be safe. I can provide this. You need not be troubled by her any further.”
Akira did not even pretend to entertain this suggestion.
“Nori stays,” he said again.
“For the next few years—”
“For as long as she likes. She stays.”
Nori bowed her head. This was all beyond her deserving. She could do nothing but marvel at it.
Her grandmother let out a hiss. “This is most unreasonable of you. She is such a nothing that you should not consider her at all.”
Nori flinched. She felt a part of herself sink inwards.
Later, I will learn to play something new. A sonata. I will learn all by myself to surprise Oniichan. Mozart, or Liszt. Anything but Beethoven.
Akira bit back his irritation. “I’m not interested in your opinion, Grandmother. Now, let’s discuss the allowance I asked for. Something reasonable should suit.”
Yuko at last fell silent. Her face was drained of all color.
“Akira-san,” she managed, after a long moment of silence, “this will be the ruin of everything. You are too young to understand. I beg you. Listen to me now. You have no mother, no father. You have no one to guide you but me. You must listen to me, as your grandmother. I am the only one left who can set you on your path. This is your destiny.”
Nori recognized the look on her face: it was the rapt conviction she wore the last time they had seen each other. It was wholly captivating. It was the look of a prophet who was sure of their purpose, sure of their connection to the divine.
Akira was immune to it.
“I’ve spoken to a lawyer about Nori,” he said softly. It was as if he knew that he was delivering a mortal blow and he wanted to do it gently. “I’m going to get her papers in order so that she can go to school. She’s staying with me. And that’s all there is to it.”
Yuko gasped, as if someone had pierced her through the heart. She doubled over, placed her head in her hands, and was still.
Absurdly, Nori felt sorry for her.
Her grandfather stood up. The veins in his forehead looked fit to burst.
“I won’t have this,” he roared. “The bastard should have been shot like a dog the day she was dropped on our doorstep. I won’t have her ruining you, boy. I won’t have you forgetting who you are, what you were born to do. I won’t have it!”
Akira winced but did not tremble. “I take it the allowance is off the table.”
Kohei’s face was brick red. “Damn you!”
Akira spread his palms. His eyes were bright. “I will never forget who I am. When I am head of the family, I will change it. I will change the Kamiza way; I will bring this family into the modern era. Give it life. Give it humanity. I can promise you that, Grandfather.”
Yuko had regained her composure. She placed a hand on her husband’s arm to steady him and turned a sharp gaze to Nori.
“What about you, girl?” she snapped. “You must have some ambition. I can give you land, money. If you will just go away and leave this family in peace, I will see to it that you are taken care of. I was wrong to punish you, I see that now—I will reward you instead.”
What is it that you want?
She had been asked this question once before.
Nori stood up before she could stop herself. Her body moved, all on its own, guided by some deep force inside herself that she had no control over. She draped her arms around Akira’s neck and curled his collar into her fist. She grabbed hold of him as if he were a hunting dog that
was wholly hers.
“I will stay with Akira-san, if Akira-san will have me,” she said, in a clear voice. “And there is nothing you can do to change my mind.”
Yuko gasped. “You will be the death of him,” she said simply. “And the ruin of this family. You will destroy us all.”
Nori squared her shoulders. “I am sorry you think so.”
Her grandfather slowly turned so that he was looking directly at her. She met his eyes and did not falter, though it was like being glared at by a block of stone.
“You,” he growled. “You are nothing.”
Akira started to stand, but she kept a tight hold on him. She swallowed down her fear and dug in her heels.
“I am your granddaughter,” she challenged, and though her voice wavered, she pressed on. “I have always been your granddaughter, I will always be your granddaughter. I am your family. You cannot erase me. Even if you kill me, I existed. I was here. And Akira-san has chosen me.”
A stunned hush fell over the room. No one moved. Yuko’s jaw was hanging open, her precious decorum utterly forgotten.
And then.
There was a brutal weight on top of her and the sound of glass breaking. Ayame screamed, and there was a great clamor of running and a loud thump as something came crashing down.
But all Nori could see were the eyes: black as obsidian against a backdrop of white, with red veins branching out like bloody rivers.
They were an inch above her own and she felt them pulling her in, drowning her. She could hear a high, thin whistling.
She couldn’t breathe. It was like being crushed beneath a mountain. There was no breath and there was no hope of breath; it was impossible.
She could see fiery red spots dancing at the edges of her vision. Then, fingers tearing at the face above her, but they were shrugged away.
It took her another moment to realize that there were hands wrapped around her neck.
She fought, her small legs kicking against the air, her fists beating helplessly against a chest that felt as if it were made of steel. It was pointless. She knew that, but she fought anyway.
I don’t want to die here!
It was different from before. She was not resigned. She would not submit herself to the knowledge that her life had been worthless and her death would be worthless too. She didn’t know what she had to look forward to, or if she had anything to look forward to at all. But she wanted to find out.
Not yet. Mada mada. I can’t . . . leave . . . yet . . .
Her brain felt like a light that was struggling to stay on, flicking off, then back on, but growing weaker every time. Even still, Kiyomi’s words bubbled to the surface.
Think what kind of woman you could be.
The hands tightened. The spots were gone now, and she could see nothing but blackness.
And then, in a single moment of clarity, she heard it: Akira’s voice. A sharp crack, like thunder, and then the mountain howled like a baited bear and let her go.
The first breath was like inhaling a box of needles. Tears emerged at the corners of her eyes, and then someone was holding her head, leaning down to whisper in her ear.
“Nori!”
She couldn’t speak. Her throat had all but caved in. She clawed blindly for Akira, and he pulled her head into his lap, seizing hold of both her hands.
“It’s all right,” he soothed her, his voice frantic. “It’s all right, Nori.”
Ayame’s voice again: “Oh, my God . . . Obocchama, he’s bleeding. He’s really bleeding.”
Akira’s voice was flinty. “I don’t care. Get him out of here. Get them both out of here, now.”
Yuko now: “Kohei! I told you not to let her bait you! I warned you what she was like, the filthy creature—she is her mother’s child.”
Akira raised his voice. “GET THEM OUT!”
Nori tried to sit up, but the ringing in her ears was too much and she fell back. For the next several moments, she heard and saw nothing.
When her vision returned, she saw that the table had been knocked over. Pieces of broken porcelain and shattered glass lay all around her.
And a few feet away, a candelabra stained with blood.
Akira’s face hovered in front of hers. “It’s okay, Nori,” he hummed, and she did not know which one of them he was trying to convince. “They’re gone now. They’re gone.”
She still could not speak. She looked into his eyes, searching, reaching out with her soul and hoping that he could hear her question.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“Yes,” he whispered, and she knew that he had heard her, as clearly as if she’d spoken directly in his ear. “We’ve made our point. For now, Nori, we have won.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE ONLY THING IMMORTAL
Tokyo, Japan
December 1953
It was several weeks before she could speak normally again. She knitted herself a scarf to hide the unsightly bruising on her neck and chest, but there was nothing to be done about the ruptured blood vessels in her eyes. She became dizzy if she stood up too quickly, and there was a splitting pain on the left side of her head. She tried to conceal her pain, but Akira’s gaze was all-seeing.
He could barely look at her. Though he came to her room every morning to check on her, he found excuses to be away from her for the rest of the day. She accepted this with as good a grace as she could muster.
She had nearly gotten herself killed twice in the span of a month. She supposed he was allowed to be bitter.
Akira drew up a list of servants to let go. Without the allowance, they had to cut down on expenses if they wanted to make Akira’s modest inheritance last for the next two years. It was a hard day when he turned a half dozen men and women away, including the cook.
“I can cook,” Akira had declared pompously.
Of course, he never even attempted to boil water. Nori took over the duty of cooking their meals without a word.
She was allowed to go to the market, but only if Ayame went with her. She blushed to feel eyes on her, but no one was ever unkind. She haggled over fish and filled her cloth sack with seasonal fruits. She had convinced Akira to get her a few cookbooks, and she liked to spend hours in the kitchen, obsessing over the perfect balance of spices or just the right texture for pastry crust.
Cooking, it turned out, quieted her mind. She very much enjoyed it.
Akira had announced his plans to complete his last year of school in the New Year, back at his old school in Tokyo. The school was under the patronage of his late father and would allow him almost anything. Besides, everyone knew Akira was a tensai—a genius. No one wanted to stand in his way.
For now, Akira busied himself with his music, spending hours poring over new pieces in his bedroom. Though he refused to let her inside, she sat outside the door to listen to him play.
She had a feeling that he knew she was out there.
Nori waited as long as she could. But on the morning of Christmas Eve, she tapped on Akira’s door.
“Ayame-san?” he called out.
“It’s me.”
She could almost hear him rolling his eyes. Then, after a beat: “Fine.”
She went in. There was music everywhere; he had literally plastered the walls with pages ripped from scores. He had written all over them in his neat, curly script. Her eyes were drawn to a blank score, with just a few notes written in. But the notes were written in Akira’s own hand.
“Are you composing something?” she asked.
Akira flushed. “It’s nothing. It’s just started.”
She smiled at him. “Otanjoubi omedetou gozaimasu, Nii-san. Happy birthday.”
He snorted. “I had hoped you’d forgotten.”
“I know you don’t like birthdays.”
“Quite.”
> Nori shuffled her feet. “I won’t bother you too much. I have a present for you.”
Akira leaned back against his pillows. “I told you not to get me anything.”
She pulled the package out of her long bell sleeve. “I made this.”
She handed it to him, and Akira inspected it, in that infuriating way he inspected everything, as if he was already preparing himself to be disappointed.
Realizing that she was not going to go away until he opened it, he sighed and peeled back the wrapping paper.
Inside was a handkerchief made of ivory silk, with little treble clefs embroidered in the corners in gold thread. In the bottom right corner she had sewn the kanji for his name.
Akira looked up at her. “How many tries did it take you before you ended up with this?”
She concealed her hands, which were covered in tiny needle pricks. “Not many.”
Akira smirked at her. “A dozen?”
She cheated her gaze to the side. “A bit more, actually.”
He laughed. “Well, I did tell you not to go through the trouble.”
She nipped the inside of her lip. “I know you did.”
He gestured to the score in his lap. “Well, as you can see, I’m busy.”
“It’s your birthday,” she protested. “We really should celebrate.”
Akira shrugged. “I was born. Now I’m one year older. What is there to celebrate?”
She was, not for the first time, amazed at his cynicism. “Life?”
He shrugged as if there were not much to celebrate about that either.
“I have work to do.”
She hesitated. This was the part where she was supposed to leave.
“I think you are angry with me,” she ventured. “Are you?”
Akira tsked. “No.”
“If this is about what happened with Grandfather—”
“That wasn’t your fault,” Akira snapped. “It was mine. You never should have been in that room. I knew your presence would inflame him beyond reason. That’s why I planned it the way I did.”
“I insisted on being there,” she said sulkily. “I taunted him. It was my fault.”