by Asha Lemmie
“I knew you couldn’t be trusted,” Akira said. “I knew better. But I listened to your childish wheedling instead of my own judgment. I won’t make that mistake again.”
She stepped forward. “Oniichan . . .”
He held up a hand to stop her from coming closer. “From now on, I expect you to do what I tell you. There will be no more negotiation.”
“But that’s—”
“I’m not going to argue with you. Just do as you are told.”
She looked at him, and his silence, in the face of her anguish, said all that needed to be said.
“Happy birthday,” she mumbled again and went out.
* * *
Nori tried to speak to him again the next day, but he brushed by her without a word. She could feel a cold wind blow as he passed. She let it be, and for the next month, she saw very little of him. Soon Akira would return to school for his last year. Though she did not look forward to him being away during the days, it was better than him actively ignoring her.
At eighteen, he was only part adult. It was not until twenty that he would reach full majority. She comforted herself with the thought that it would be several more years before he would be expected to return to Kyoto. But she knew that he would never be content to sit by the fire and knit, as she was. He was ambitious and restless, and sooner or later, the tides would carry him away.
She found things to do, as she always did. In the mornings she helped Ayame with laundry. They hand-washed the delicate silks in large basins full of soapy water scented with rose petals. Then they would hang them on the line and watch them blow in the breeze. They didn’t say much to each other. But Nori didn’t think that Ayame disliked her. So that was something.
She spent her afternoons reading. This house had a great library, full of all kinds of books. She asked Ayame to pick out some that girls her age might be reading in school. It seemed like, for now at least, the issue of her education had been dropped. It was likely that after the incident in the dining room, Akira had decided it was best not to push the issue. Her existence was not the closely guarded secret it once was, but they didn’t flaunt it either. He’d finally gotten her papers through the black market, not the courts, but he’d assured her this would suffice if they were needed.
Her evenings were reserved for music. Sometimes the few remaining servants would gather around and listen to her play. Afterwards, there was a contented silence that enveloped the room like a warm blanket.
The nights were the worst. She avoided sleep like it was a deadly plague. She walked the house aimlessly, trying to keep her eyes from drifting shut.
The nightmares she’d had as a little girl had returned. But they had grown, just as she had. And they were bigger than she was now. She couldn’t fight them. She would wake up gasping for air, sure that there were hands around her throat. And then she would cry and cry until she retched all over the floor.
Tonight, she was determined to stay awake.
“No sleeping,” she mumbled, pinching the cold skin on her inner elbow. “No sleeping.”
It was nearly morning. The sun was just starting to peek over the clouds, casting a blush-colored hue across the tops of the trees. From her perch in the oak tree, Nori could see it perfectly. It was cold today, but she barely felt it. She rubbed the side of her face against the rough bark. It had been two days since she’d last slept. She felt herself losing control, of her body and her thoughts, but she didn’t see a choice. She’d resorted to drinking coffee, as bad as it tasted, but it didn’t help much.
She hoisted herself up an extra branch, swinging her body to make it easier to carry her weight. Her leg began to pulsate, and she winced, but deep down, she was grateful for the pain.
She had learned to carve out a place inside herself, somewhere between sleeping and waking. She could float there, for hours sometimes, in a white plane where nothing touched her.
It took her a few minutes to realize that Akira was calling her. She perked up immediately, poking her head out from between the leaves to smile at him.
“Oniichan. Good morning.”
He did not return her smile. His look was disapproving. He was still in his red silk pajamas and his hair looked like it was in desperate need of a wash.
“I checked your room and didn’t find you.”
“I wanted to be outside.”
He frowned at her. “It’s cold. You should be wearing a coat if you’re going to be outside. And since when do you climb so high?”
She felt her stomach drop. Now she was sure that she didn’t want to come down.
“I can manage.”
“Not with your leg. I want you to get down.”
She jutted out her bottom lip. “I’m fine.”
She saw the quick flash of irritation cross his face. “Nori.”
She climbed down without another word, landing on her feet with a hard thud. “Why were you looking for me, anyway?” she asked crossly. “You’ve been locked in your room for days.”
“I wanted to see if you’d like a violin lesson,” he snapped. “Ayame-san has told me you’ve been practicing every day. I thought it might be nice to spend some time together, as we did before in Kyoto.”
She was too tired to hide her petulance. “Nothing is the way it was before.”
Akira looked like he wanted to yell but thought better of it. He reached out to brush his palm against the side of her cheek. “Your face is all scratched up. You’re bleeding.”
She winced. “It doesn’t hurt.”
He lowered his eyes. “You’re always hurt,” he said softly. “I see it. And I can do nothing.”
Instantly, she felt that pull, the one she’d felt since she first laid eyes on him. She went to him and nuzzled her face into his chest.
“It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault, Oniichan.”
He sighed as if he did not believe her. “I have to tell you that you can’t go to school. I know I promised. I’m sorry. I’ve made some inquiries, it’s just not safe.”
She accepted this latest disappointment with the ghost of a nod. “But I’ll have a tutor?”
Akira smirked. “Actually, I was planning on doing it myself in the evenings. If you’ll allow it.”
This was a double-edged sword. On the one hand, any time she got to spend with Akira was a blessing. On the other, he was notoriously impatient. She could clearly see a future of having books flung at her head.
She giggled. “And what will you teach me?”
She expected him to smile, but the look on his face was grave. “Practical matters. How to handle money, how to read a map. English, for that will certainly be the language of the world in a few years.”
Nori hesitated. “I thought we could do more poetry?”
“We can do that too. But it’s important that you learn these things. Don’t worry about it now. What would you like to do today?”
She felt a chill go down her spine. Akira was wearing a forced smile.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
He snorted. “Do I need a reason?”
“You’re always nice when something bad is about to happen,” she accused. “Itsumo. Every time. What are you going to tell me now? Is somebody dead?”
Akira rolled his eyes. “Name one person either of us knows whose death could be anything but good.”
“So what then?”
Days without sleep had made her vulnerable, and she could feel the tears threatening to fall. Her emotions were like a frayed cable about to short-circuit.
Akira shuffled his feet. “I have to go away for a little while.”
She dug her nails into her palms. “What? Why?”
“I’ve been invited to go play in Paris. At a competition.”
She bristled. “By who?”
“It doesn’t matter who.”
“So you don’t have to go away. You’re not being drafted into a war. You’re leaving of your own free will.”
Akira shrugged. “You’ll be fine. Ayame-san will look after you.”
“I don’t need her to look after me. You shouldn’t be leaving at all.”
He cut his eyes at her. “It’s not as if I vowed to spend every second at your side. I have my own wants, you know. My own life. You aren’t the center of the universe, Nori.”
She felt her temper flare. “So that’s it? Now that I’m safe, now that you can be sure that I’m not going to be raped, or murdered—at least this week—you’re going off to Europe? You’re done with me now?”
The color rose to Akira’s cheeks, and he took two steps back. “You’re behaving like a child. I’m not leaving forever. I’m coming back.”
No, he’s not, the dark voice inside her mind whispered.
Her stomach dropped, but she knew that she could do nothing to change his mind. And it brought her no joy to see him so unhappy, so crippled by the weight of his responsibilities.
“Fine,” she managed. “Fine, go. Have a nice trip. Make sure you win.”
Akira did not look pacified by her submission. “You will be fine.”
“I’m sure of it,” she lied. Her hands started to shake, and she tucked them out of sight.
He looked doubtful. “It’s just for a little while.”
He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe here anymore. Because of me.
There was no reason that both of them had to drown. She would not pull him down with her. Her misery flourished in isolation; it always had. It didn’t want company. Especially not Akira’s.
She pinched the skin on her palm to steel herself for what she was about to say.
“I want you to go.”
Akira looked like he desperately wanted to believe her but didn’t. “Really?”
“Yes,” she continued. Her legs began to shake now. “I think it will be good for you to get out of Japan for a while. Just make sure you bring me a new dress.”
At last, he relented. The lines faded from his face, and he looked like a happy boy once more. She made sure to etch that image into her mind. She was going to need it.
“I’ll bring you whatever you want,” he promised. “Anything.”
Nori bowed her head. “Just come back.”
Akira nodded and went inside the house. Nori climbed back into her tree and stayed there until the sun had vanished back behind the clouds.
* * *
The night Akira left, she had the first dream. The oldest one that she could remember. And it was always the same.
She was chasing the blue car. Her mother was leaning out of the window, faceless, with her dark hair billowing around her head.
Nori.
She ran. The asphalt was hot and her feet were bare. But she ran and ran after that car until there were blisters on her feet.
Nori.
I’m here, Okaasan! I’m here!
But the car never slowed down. So Nori ran faster and faster, as fast as she could, until she was gasping for air like a dying fish.
Okaasan, I’m here!
She would never catch the car. When she would get very close, so close her fingers would graze the bumper, it would speed up and wink out of sight. The dream never changed, not one iota.
Silly girl, her grandmother’s voice would say. Have you forgotten who you are?
Nori woke up in her bed. Ayame was seated in the corner.
Wordlessly, she got up and handed Nori a damp rag.
“Do you want something to drink?”
Nori shook her head. She knew better than to try to speak. They locked eyes, and in that gaze was the only question worth asking.
Ayame bowed her head. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”
Nori waited.
“Your brother is gone.”
Nori nodded. Waited.
Ayame hesitated. “When you are up . . . if you like . . . we can talk about your mother.”
Nori found a tiny voice. “Hai.”
Ayame hesitated. “He’ll come back, you know.”
Against it all, against the dull ache inside her chest, Nori smiled. She’d been raised to be fearful. But underneath that, like buds pushing through the cracks in concrete, she could see a sliver of something largely foreign: hope. Hope for a future not written in stone, dictated by the circumstances of birth. Akira was in Paris, basking in his talent and ambition, not in Kyoto, reading ancient tomes with her grandmother.
And she . . . she was alive. Miraculously, unbelievably alive.
“I know.”
You see, Okaasan, she thought. You have two disobedient children. And in failing you, maybe we will manage to be happy.
PART III
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TRAITOR’S REQUIEM
Tokyo, Japan
February 1954
On a chilly February morning, Ayame handed her the box. They were sitting in the study among the belongings that Akira had brought over from his childhood home. He hadn’t saved much. He was never one for sentiment.
“Is he really going to sell the old house?” Nori asked. She was feeling a little stronger than usual today. Her body was adjusting to going long periods of time without sleep. But the dark circles around her eyes made her look like a raccoon.
“He might, little madam. The money would go far. But he may not be allowed to. The house is a family heirloom of sorts.”
“Well, why don’t we live there, then?” She had wondered about this for a while, but knew better than to ask her brother.
Ayame fidgeted. “The old master . . . Obocchama’s father was a proud man. I don’t think he would have . . .”
Nori nodded. Of course. The half-breed daughter of his adulterous wife living in his house would probably send Yasuei Todou flying out of his grave. It would be the ultimate disrespect for Akira to bring her there.
Ayame looked guilty. “That’s not the only thing. It was not a happy home. Obocchama . . . I think he wants to be rid of that place for his own reasons.”
Nori’s curiosity was piqued, but she knew not to press her luck. There was nothing she could do either way. She weighed the box in her hands. She recognized the feel of the contents and her heart sank.
“These are books. Why have you given me books? You said when I was feeling better you would tell me about my mother.”
Ayame raised an eyebrow. Like Akira, she was often short on words. But her face was far more telling.
“Just look.”
Nori did as she was bid. Inside, there were several leather-bound volumes. She counted half a dozen.
“What are these?” she whispered, but deep inside, she already knew.
“Diaries,” Ayame said. “Your mother’s diaries. She always kept them, since she was a girl. These are just the ones we found. After she disappeared, she sent one final diary back to my mother, and it later passed to me. She asked that we save it for Obocchama and give it to him when he was old enough to understand. She wanted him to have it.”
Nori’s blood whooshed into her head, every drop of it, all at once.
“I don’t remember her keeping diaries.”
“What do you remember?”
She ran her fingers over the cover of the first diary, hoping that she would feel some kind of spark. But nothing happened.
“I don’t remember anything,” she confessed, and she was surprised at how much shame she felt. She was hardly a little girl anymore, and her memories had still not returned to her.
Ayame leaned forward. “Obocchama already knows about them. He won’t read them. He asked me to keep them for him.”
The idea that Nori could ever be privy to something that Akira was not seemed entirely implausible to her.
“He
. . . Does he know about this?”
Ayame’s face fell. “No. And if he knew . . .”
“I won’t tell him,” she swore. She hesitated. “But you love my brother. You’ve been loyal to his family your entire life. Why are you doing this for me?”
The older girl looked away. “I loved your mother too,” she said simply. “And I think you have a right to know who she was.”
Nori allowed herself a wry smile. “And do you think I will love her? When I’m finished?”
Ayame shrugged a slim shoulder. “I cannot say, my lady.”
“Have you . . . have you read them?”
“No, my lady. It is not my place.”
“Do you . . . do you have pictures too?”
“Yes, many. Would you like to see them?”
A part of her wanted to say yes. But she knew it was the wrong part.
“No. Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.”
Ayame nodded. They both knew it wouldn’t be tomorrow.
“I’ll leave you alone, then. Before your brother gets back from Paris, everything will have to be put back in its place.”
Nori made a small sound to indicate that she’d heard. She wasn’t really listening anymore. She opened the cover of the first diary and saw a date written, scrawled in a shaky hand.
August 1st, 1930
She snapped the diary shut. Her knees began to shake. It was several moments before she could bring herself to open it again.
Today is my birthday. I think that I’m a very lucky girl to have my birthday here in Paris, and not at home under Mama’s watchful eye. She would have me in a room full of very old men. How very boring that would be.
But instead I received this lovely journal from Madame Anne, and now I can write all about my travels. I will write about my studies and the concerts I will play.
I did not want to take the piano, but as it turns out, I am very good at it. This is good because Mama says that I am an idiot. It’s nice to be good at something. And look where it has brought me! I am studying here in Paris, and all of those other girls are stuck in Kyoto being engaged to gray old men. I don’t want to marry, as it sounds ever so horrible according to Mama’s descriptions of wifely duty, but I do want to fall in love. I want to feel what the poets feel. I want to know what it’s like to turn someone’s world.