by Asha Lemmie
And maybe I will.
And maybe I will. Everyone in Paris says I am very pretty, of course. This happens everywhere I go.
Mama was a famous beauty, so it is nice that I’m not ugly. She’d never forgive me. But she never forgives me for anything anyway.
I wasn’t her boy.
Oh, they are calling me for dinner. I will write more later, though I know I am only writing to myself and nobody will read this. It is much more fun this way.
Nori did not know this woman at all. This was not the mother she remembered in tortured fragments. This was a silly girl, just turned eighteen years old, full of hope for the future.
She had none of Nori’s racking insecurity, none of Akira’s seriousness, none of their grandmother’s fervent devotion to the Kamiza name.
This Seiko was a stranger.
Yet just five years from this diary entry, she would be a wife and mother. Eight years after this, she would be a fugitive with a bastard girl in her belly.
Nori wondered where she herself would be in ten years, when Akira had a wife and child. Perhaps back in the attic. Perhaps nowhere at all.
He will be home in two weeks. She wrapped herself up in the thought of it.
That was enough of the diary for today. She would try again tomorrow.
* * *
It was three more days before Nori found herself perched high on a tree branch with the diary spread open in her lap.
September 15th, 1930
I’ve received a letter from home today. Mama asks after my health and my virtue. Unfortunately, both are still intact. If I die here, I will die romantically. I could contract the artist’s disease and perish at the peak of my beauty. Maybe they’d write poems about me.
And I’d never have to go back to Japan.
I have met a gentleman, but he speaks of marriage so I will have to keep looking.
I will never marry. I would rather have a noose around my neck, it is over more quickly.
Maestro Ravel played for me today, I could die. He is such a brilliant man. I would love him if he were not so very old.
He says that I am a rare talent. He is composing again, and the whole city is holding its breath waiting to hear. Or at least I am.
I cannot think what else to say, in spite of how much has happened this week alone. I’ve been having pains in my hands. One of the other students says it is nothing but a woman’s weakness. He says I strain myself studying with great masters and should attend to less difficult things.
A woman’s weakness. He is no different from the men back home. I pay even less attention to him than I do to them.
I’m sure he would like it if I quit. He doesn’t want the competition.
* * *
September 30th, 1930
I have found him at last. He is tall, very tall, with eyes as blue as sapphires. He has hair like spun gold. I think he is the handsomest man I have ever seen. Just like a prince from a story.
He plays the violin, which I have never given much thought to.
He is rich, from an old French family. He had three brothers, but two died in the Great War so now he is left with only one. He favors strawberries, as I do, and he doesn’t like tea.
We have spent three whole nights together but have not passed beyond kissing.
No words of love yet. How long is it meant to take?
I thought I was in love once before. But it was nothing but a pale shadow of the true thing. And anyway, he was only a servant and he is gone now. Sent back to his family.
At least, that’s what Mama told me as she was beating me into convulsions.
Mama always says I will ruin myself and our name. But I don’t live for her, or her name.
I will have what I desire. I will always find a way.
* * *
October 12th, 1930
I love him.
I truly do love him. And he has promised that he loves me back. It is true this time, I know it.
I really can’t bear to go back to Japan now. Kyoto even less, with Mama standing firmly rooted in the last century. She lives in perpetual atonement and would have me do the same. She would have me married and locked safely away from the world like a princess in a tower.
Mama was married at seventeen. She had given birth to three dead sons at my age. She thinks there is a curse on us, I know she does. Her brothers all died too. That is why when Papa married her, it was he who took her name.
There is only Mama and I left now. And Mama is nearing the end of her fertile years. My family looks at me like starving wolves desperate for a piece of flesh.
They care nothing for love, or for my happiness. They want to breed me like a horse.
Mama says that I must do my duty regardless of what is in my heart.
But I think I would die before I live as she has done.
* * *
October 31st, 1930
Today I am a woman.
This truly is the city of love. I am a creature of love.
I will stay here and be happy.
“Ojosama!”
Nori looked up. She was seated on the snowy ground with the diary held up to her face.
As much as she was trying not to, she quite liked the image of her mother that was emerging before her. She was enjoying her time spent lost in a past that she had been forbidden to know of.
This Seiko was passionate and defiant, silly but clever. This was a woman with a desperate need to walk her own path.
This was the bundle of beautiful contradictions that Akira sometimes hinted at that inspired devotion in everyone who met her, from Akiko to Ayame.
But Nori still did not understand how her heart could have grown so cold that she left both of her children behind.
And today, clearly, was not the day that would be figured out.
Ayame’s face was bright. It could mean only one thing.
“Akira-sama’s home,” Nori gasped. He was a day early. She scrambled to her feet and thrust the diary into Ayame’s open arms. “Put this back in its place. I’ll come back for it later.”
“Yes, little madam. But—”
Nori gathered up her skirt around her knees and bolted inside the house. She had felt Akira’s absence like a physical pain, a dull thud that never waned.
She heard voices in the dining room and threw open the doors, all dignity forgotten.
“Oniichan!”
Akira was there, just as she’d expected. He looked tired but content, with the hint of laugh lines around his mouth. He greeted her with a warm smile, but there was something in it that warned her not to speak.
He was not alone. Two strangers stood beside him.
The boy looked to be about Akira’s age but stood a few inches taller. He was white but tan, with the brightest blue eyes she had ever seen. His hair was . . .
Like spun gold.
She blinked at him, as one might blink after staring too long at a bright light.
Her eyes moved to the girl. She was a blur of red, from her high-heeled shoes to her lipstick. She had skin the color of cream, gray eyes with flecks of gold, and silver-blonde hair.
She was the most beautiful person Nori had ever seen.
“Sister,” Akira said, “as you can see, we have guests.”
Nori flushed with shame. Here she was, with the snow still melting in her uncombed hair and the dirt still on her knees. She had never seen white people before.
Akira repeated it in English. She grasped for the words he had taught her.
“Welcome,” she managed.
Akira nodded. Apparently that was all he required of her.
“This is William Stafford,” he continued, gesturing to the boy. “And this is his cousin Alice Stafford.”
The girl smiled at her.
William laughed. �
�She’s just as you said. Little kitten.”
Nori bowed her head.
“They will be staying with us for a while. I take it you will be a gracious host.”
“Hai, Oniichan.”
“Speak English whenever you can.”
“Yes.”
Akira sighed. “Good. Ayame-san!”
Ayame appeared like the morning mist, without a sound. “Yes?”
Of course she spoke English.
“Please see our guests to the spare bedrooms. We’ve all had a long trip.”
“Of course. Please, follow me.”
The foreigners followed Ayame out, with only the girl pausing to cast one last curious glance over her shoulder.
Once their footsteps could be heard on the stairs, Nori turned to face her brother. She did not have the energy to yell. And she knew better than to try and undo what had already been done.
“Why?”
Akira slid his gaze to the side. He looked uncomfortable.
“Will is my friend,” he said. “I met him at the competition. He’s a brilliant pianist. He’s from London and can’t go back for a while, so I made an offer for him to stay here with us. He understands things, I don’t have to explain—”
“And the girl?” Nori whispered, trying and failing to keep the suspicion from her voice. “What is she to you?”
“She’s his cousin. She’s sixteen.”
“I asked what she was to you.”
“She’s a child,” Akira scoffed. “And a fool. Don’t insult me.”
“She’s beautiful.”
Akira wrinkled his nose. “I don’t favor blondes. Where is this coming from?”
She was a little mollified. “It’s just . . . Paris is the city of love. I thought you might have . . .”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Who told you that?”
Mother.
“Nobody. I’m sorry.”
Akira gestured for her to come closer, and she did. As he placed his hand on the top of her head, she felt the ache inside her vanish.
“I won’t be traveling again for the rest of the year,” he promised her. “I have to finish school. So it’s not as if I’m leaving you alone with them. And I think you will like them. It will be nice for you to have a girl around, won’t it?”
Nori nibbled her lower lip. “Maybe.” She didn’t see what a European girl who looked like she belonged on a movie screen would want to do with her. “I will be gracious to them.”
“We will fill the house with music,” he said gently, tweaking one of her curls. He smirked. “And I will be considerably less grumpy.”
“If it makes you happy, I am happy.”
He kissed her forehead. “You look a fright. Go clean up for dinner.”
“Did you bring me a new dress?”
“I brought you two. Now, go on.”
Thank you for coming back.
She bowed her head and did as she was told.
* * *
Just as Akira had promised, the foreigners were pleasant company, though she really only saw them at meals.
The girl, Alice, had finally learned to take her shoes off in the house, and she walked around shamelessly barefoot, no socks in sight, her brightly painted toes on display. She wasn’t in the house much during the day.
Will was more subtle. He was constantly at Akira’s side, and even though Nori felt a twinge of jealousy, she had to admit that they made a well-matched pair. They spoke too rapidly for her to understand at times, but there was always laughter between them. They spent most of the day barricaded in the music room.
And Nori spent most of her day just outside with her ear pressed against the door, listening.
It really was miraculous.
Akira seemed happy. In fact, she had never seen him like this. His youth had returned to him; he was the boy he was never allowed to be.
Though she went to his room every evening before bed so he could read aloud to her, she never stayed long. Tonight, he read her a chapter of The Tale of Genji before closing the book and letting out a deep sigh.
“Forgive me. I’m tired.”
“That’s all right.”
She had finished the book on her own already, days ago, but she would not tell him that.
“You’ve been well? Ayame-san says you’ve been having nightmares.”
“They’ve passed,” she assured him, and it was only half a lie. They had eased greatly since his return, and since the faceless wraith had been replaced by the love-struck girl who kept a diary full of dreams.
“How’s your leg?”
“It’s fine. The scar is less noticeable than you’d think.”
“Good. I know I’ve been busy. But I’ll take you somewhere soon.”
This was quickly becoming a common farce. He would promise, to appease a guilty conscience, and she was sure in the moment he said it, it was wholly true. But then the moment would pass and she would be forgotten.
She inclined her head in reply and was rewarded with a sharp laugh.
“You have become quite docile, haven’t you?”
Outwardly, perhaps. The less that was expected of her, the more she could get away with. It had taken her a long time to learn this. Meekness was not weakness. And boldness was not strength.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
He looked suspicious. “You’ve given me no grief over our guests.”
She shrugged. “I see no point. They are far from their country, their home. I would not see them thrown out onto the street.”
“I know it’s more cooking for you.”
“Ayame-san helps.”
Akira nodded. “She is kind to you?”
“She is, Oniichan.”
“Well, the help will not be needed soon,” he told her. “We have the funds now to hire back the servants we lost. Or, better yet, some new ones. People I can trust.”
She frowned. “I thought we were poor?”
Akira laughed. “We are frugal, not poor. And anyway, Will is paying us for our hospitality.”
“I thought they were poor.”
“The furthest thing from it. They come from a very old, very rich family.”
She crossed her arms. “So why are they here? Surely there are hotels for such very rich people.”
“It’s not a matter of money. They are . . .” He paused. “Actually, they are rather like us, Nori. That’s why I invited them to stay here.”
“I don’t understand.”
Akira slid the book back onto the shelf. “It’s not my story to tell.”
She felt her frustration bubble up inside her chest. He was always dancing three steps ahead of her.
“If you say so.”
“You could try talking to them, you know. They don’t bite.”
“You know I have no experience with regular people.”
Akira chuckled. “And you won’t get any from these two. But it’s a start. You might surprise yourself. Alice is not so much older than you, you might like her.”
She shifted from foot to foot. “I thought you said she was a fool.”
“Precisely why you might like her.” His smile told her that there was no sting in his words. “Now, off to bed.”
She went without a word.
But not to bed.
She slipped down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out to the patio.
The night sky was etched with stars, each one placed so meticulously that she was sure God had taken special notice. She started to reach for the basket she kept her sewing in, only to find that she was not alone.
Will was seated in one of the wicker chairs, smoking a cigarette. His eyes met hers, and she froze like a deer caught in a hunter’s gaze.
“My apologies,” he said with a wide grin.
“I did not mean to startle you.”
She allowed herself to look at him up close for the first time. He was obnoxiously attractive. Right now, this only served to irritate her.
“You did not.”
He looked her up and down, but she didn’t notice anything indecent about it.
“How old are you?”
“Fourteen,” she lied. In summer. But even her lie sounded too young, too childish in front of someone like this.
He smirked as if he knew she was lying. Akira had probably told him her true age. She felt like a fool.
“But not in school.”
Nori wanted to fidget but made herself resist. “I don’t go to school. Oniichan says it is better this way.”
“Oniichan?”
“Akira.”
He scanned her face and she held steady. When he looked at her, she felt tiny pinpricks all over her body. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant.
“And do you always do what Akira tells you?”
There was no inflection in his voice for her to read. And he had not dropped his playful smile.
“Sometimes.”
He stood up and gestured to his empty seat. “Well then, Noriko. Don’t let me interrupt your disobedience.”
He breezed past her, and she could smell smoke and something sharper beneath it.
“Don’t—” she started, and she regretted it before the word had fully left her mouth.
Will raised a blond eyebrow. “What?”
She flushed hot. “Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that. Call me Nori.”
He shrugged as if it did not matter to him either way. “Well then, little Nori. Good night.”
Once he had gone, she stumbled into the chair he had left empty for her. Her heart was thudding in her ears and she felt strangely warm. Her knees were knocking together.
This felt like fear. But different. This was more dangerous. And less.