by Asha Lemmie
Nori looked at her blankly. There was nothing to say about this. There could never be any forgiveness, not in the least because Yuko hadn’t even truly apologized. Nor would she. It seemed to be a theme in this family that Nori was the only person who ever had to be sorry.
She let it pass.
Yuko went somber and dabbed at her mouth with the clean side of the handkerchief. “I was very sorry,” she says. “Very sorry to lose Akira-san.”
Nori gritted her teeth. “Don’t you dare,” she whispered, feeling her rage pick up like the winds of a storm. “Don’t you dare say his name.”
“I loved him,” Yuko protested. “He was my special boy.”
“You didn’t know the first thing about him. You never saw him, he was just a thing to you!”
“I knew him,” Yuko seethed. “I knew him, you insolent girl. He was mine, after all.”
Nori threw herself at the bedpost, gripping it with both shaking hands. “HE WAS NOT YOURS!”
Her grandmother gasped. “How dare you—”
Nori was beyond caring. For years, thinking of Akira had been treacherous. She’d avoided it with every ounce of her being. But now she allowed the barrier to come down. The flood hit her full force, and she could scarcely stand.
“His favorite color was blue. His favorite composer was Beethoven. He didn’t eat anything without wasabi. He loved the heat more than the cold. His favorite orchestra was the Berlin Philharmonic. He took his coffee black. He never liked gardens until he met me. And he hated, hated you.”
Yuko was silent before this onslaught, her lips moving aimlessly.
“You would be so cruel to a dying woman?” she gasped. “You would tell me such poisonous lies!”
Nori said nothing else because she could not speak. Her heart had lodged itself in her throat, and she was shaking with indignation.
You fool. She hasn’t changed. She’ll never change. The way she sees the world is set in stone.
“Well, he is dead now,” Nori said coldly, and the words pierced her through. “So it doesn’t matter. He is dead, and what he was and what he would’ve been are dead with him.”
Her grandmother narrowed her eyes. “You loved him,” she said, and it was clear she was realizing it for the first time. “You really did love him.”
Nori did not dignify this with a response.
Yuko made a terrible wheezing sound. “I thought if I let him amuse himself with you for a while, play his music, he’d come home eventually. I thought—”
Nori cut her off. “Tell me why you summoned me here,” she said sharply. “No more games. If it’s to kill me, do it already.”
Yuko leaned back on the pillows, her rage spent.
“I have a proposition for you.”
“Yes. You wish to leave the estate to me. I suppose that’s slightly more tolerable than seeing it given to the state and divided up.”
Her grandmother started to speak but broke off. She coughed, and this time, she doubled over and started shaking like a woman possessed.
Nori looked around the room for some water and then turned to the door, thinking that she would call for someone, but Yuko’s hand darted out and gripped Nori’s sleeve.
She stared at her grandmother in absolute shock.
“Don’t,” the old woman gasped pitifully. “Don’t go.” Nori turned back to her and waited until the coughing subsided. As soon as it had finished, she stepped back.
“You should rest,” she said softly, and she hated the way her tone was tinged with sympathy.
“I have a long rest ahead of me,” Yuko said bleakly. “Time enough for that. I need to prepare you.”
Nori’s ears pricked up. “What?”
Her grandmother looked as if she was stunned that it wasn’t obvious. “You’re my heir.”
Nori’s heart was beating wildly now. “All I have to do is sign some papers for the money.”
Yuko rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking about the money, girl,” she snapped. “I’m leaving you everything, don’t you understand? The titles, the family businesses, the land. That means you must stay here. You must live here and live as I have lived.”
“What?” Nori asked, stupid as a dairy cow. “What?”
“And you must marry. Immediately, as soon as possible—how old are you? Twenty-four, nearly twenty-five? Anyway, you must marry. You have some distant cousins who will be suitable. I will show you pictures. You can choose the one you like best.” She nodded, as if pleased with her own generosity. “I never allowed your mother this freedom.”
Nori looked at her in stunned silence. Her thoughts were turning like the heavy cogs of a very old clock. Then, finally, it clicked. “Absolutely not,” she said.
Yuko clucked her tongue, and it made a sticking noise. “Of course you will.”
“No.”
The ghost narrowed her eyes. “You were always such an obedient child.”
Nori felt her temples start to pound. “I am not a child anymore. And you do not command me.”
Yuko looked truly bewildered. Clearly, she had not been prepared for a fight.
“I’m offering you everything,” she pointed out, jabbing her finger in Nori’s direction. “More than you ever could have dared to hope for. You’ll never want for anything as long as you live. You’ll have everything that you need, always.”
Nori reared up like a viper about to strike. “I need nothing from you. It is you who needs something from me.”
“But—”
“I have my life,” she snapped. “Not that you ever bothered to ask. I have a man who loves me.”
She felt childish, insisting that someone loved her. But it was something her grandmother had never deemed her worthy of.
“A boy, you mean,” Yuko scoffed. “I know about the music teacher. I am embarrassed for you, since it is clear you don’t have the good sense to be embarrassed for yourself. I know everything, girl. Don’t think you escaped these eyes of mine. Not for a moment. Everywhere you went, my eyes were on you.”
Nori’s knees knocked together with rage, but she held her tongue. This had gone on long enough.
“My answer is no,” she said, with all the dignity she could muster. “It’s done.”
“I am offering you a destiny.”
“I don’t want it.”
Yuko sighed. “Then again, it was not meant to be yours, was it? It was meant for Akira-san. And now I must go to my grave, knowing what happened to him. Knowing I found out too late to stop it.”
Nori froze. The world around her ground to a screeching halt.
“What are you talking about?”
Yuko smiled, and it was full of smugness. “Oh, come now. You must have suspected.”
No. She had not.
“It was an accident,” Nori said, and her voice cracked. Her composure was gone, flown away in that instant. “You couldn’t have stopped it. It was an act of God.”
“Oh, my dear girl. Have you been paying any attention at all?”
The room went cold.
“You would never have hurt him,” Nori said defiantly, standing on the one thing she was certain of. “Never.”
Yuko’s eyes were hard. “It was not the intention. He was meant to be in Vienna. The spies assured us—”
Nori gripped hold of the bedpost to stop herself from collapsing. “Spies?”
“Yes, spies,” the old woman spit. “Don’t be a fool, girl. Half your kitchen was in my employ. The yard boy too. Did you really think we’d let you run around unattended? Children in charge of the nursery?”
Nori lost the power of speech. She could only stand and watch in horror as the threads of her world unraveled.
“He was meant to be gone, safely abroad,” her grandmother went on, in a voice devoid of feeling. “Don’t you understand, girl? It wa
s all a trap, from the very start. Hiromoto was our man. It took next to nothing to buy him off. Don’t you think it odd that he would single you out for favor? For recognition? He was following orders. The household spies promised us Akira-san would be safely away. Hiromoto’s job was to wait for the perfect moment to get you alone. Don’t you see? And the driver too, of course. He owed us a fortune—more than he could ever pay. He was promised his debts would be cleared and his family would be unharmed and well kept. He was willing to die to carry out his duty. Ah, think, girl! Remember! It was no accident at all, but only made to look like one.”
She leaned forward, sweating and panting with the effort. Her voice was low and weak, but Nori knew that every single word was true.
“From the first, the only person supposed to be in that car was you.”
Nori doubled over.
It all made sense. The horrible truth grabbed hold of her heart, squeezing and squeezing until she could feel nothing but searing pain.
“You killed him,” she whispered.
“Don’t insult me,” Yuko snapped. “I would never do something so sloppy. It was your grandfather’s doing, all of it. I had no hand in it. I would’ve stopped it. I tried to stop it when I found out, but I was too late, and now I will go to hell with that black sin on my soul.”
She pointed a bony finger at Nori’s heart.
“You provoked him beyond all reason. He couldn’t bear to see Akira-san reach manhood still trapped underneath your bastard heel. He wanted to free him.”
“He killed him,” Nori sobbed. Her resolve was broken. Her heart was broken. Her mind was broken. “All of this. All of this for your hatred of me. And look what it has brought you. You have destroyed your own line, you have sealed your own fate. Mother, Akira. Me. You have burned it all to the ground.”
“But that is why you must take your place!” her grandmother cried. “So that there can be meaning. So that all of it will not have been for nothing!”
“It was always for nothing,” she gasped. The fist around her heart was squeezing so tightly that she knew she did not have long to live. The life was draining from her body.
But she didn’t care.
“But it can’t end here!” Yuko moaned, and her eyes filled with tears for the first time. “For the love of God, it can’t be over! You must take your place. You’re all that’s left. Don’t let it all be in vain, don’t let his death be in vain. This is your chance to do some good. For the love of God! Nori!”
For the love of God.
Nori turned on her heel and ran. She ran blindly, without thinking. But she did not need to think.
There was only one place for her to go.
* * *
The attic was the same.
As she fell on all fours like a dog, Nori realized this was the only place that had ever truly felt like hers.
It was a fitting place for her to die.
And really, she was dying this time.
Whatever her limit was, whatever capacity for suffering was built into her, she had gone well past it.
She tore at her hair, watching the hated curls fall to the floor in tufts. She raked her nails along her skin and watched the flesh split open. And she sobbed and sobbed until she was vomiting up green bile. And then, when the bile was gone, she vomited nothing but air.
Through the burning haze of tears she could see her reflection in the mirror.
I hate you, she thought. I hate you. I hate you.
And then she was screaming.
“I hate you!”
You should have known.
You stupid girl.
She collapsed to the floor and felt a crack against the side of her skull. There was no air left in the room, and now her breath came slower and slower as her vision swam. She spread her arms out and stared up at the ceiling.
A feeling between pain and release enveloped her.
Release me from my promise, she begged no one.
Let me go now.
That’s enough. I tried. I tried so hard.
Let me go.
There was a startling white light, brighter than any sun, and then, for the first time in her life, someone answered her.
* * *
NORI
I wake in a garden.
Someone must have carried me here. I can smell the flowers before I even open my eyes. The scent of every exotic bloom in existence fills up my entire body. I am surrounded by it.
This is not my garden.
I open my eyes and I see that it is endless; it stretches past the horizon and into nothingness. The sky is a perfect Prussian blue, and the clouds are fat and creamy, like a pastry chef crafted them by hand. The sun is gentle, bathing everything in a soft white light.
I know that this is no ordinary garden. I also know that I am meant to be here.
I rise to my feet and place a hand over my eyes to shield them from the light. The cuts on them are gone, as if they never were. I bend down slightly and pull up the hem of my kimono, which is white as alabaster and made of the most delicate silk. It is hung with tiny seed pearls and embroidered with kiku no hana, chrysanthemums. I pull it up to my waist and run my fingers along the soft flesh of my inner thigh. My scar is gone too.
I drop the skirt and start walking, where I don’t know, but forward. I walk beneath trees with low-hanging branches heavy with ripe fruit, pomegranates and apples, bananas and limes, plums and apricots and cherries and fruits I cannot even name. There are clusters of red flowers all through the tall grass, scattered about like fallen fireworks. I bend down to pick up a blush-colored rose.
The stem has no thorns on it.
I hear something then, a soft, perfect sound. I don’t even hesitate before following it. It’s like a siren song. I could never resist it. I would never want to.
I don’t ask myself where I am going or why I am in this place, which is obviously not meant for mortal eyes. Maybe I am dead. I press my hands against my slim belly and I keep walking. If I am dead, I cannot say that I mind. This place is . . . paradise. And nothing hurts here. All my life, I have carried a dull ache inside me, so constant that I hardly notice.
But I notice now, because it is gone.
I hear the steady murmur of a babbling brook somewhere nearby, beneath the song. It is starting to sound familiar. I find myself walking a bit faster in an attempt to catch it. I know this song. Where? I pick up the hem of my skirt to walk faster. The ground is warm beneath my bare feet. Where have I heard this song?
It is growing louder in my ears and the sound is becoming richer, washing through me and purging me of every pain I have ever felt. Now I am running. I run through a grove of trees whose branches all arch together to form a halo above my head. I run beside a clear pond with ducklings splashing about. I run until I am in a meadow with deep purple delphiniums that reach up to my waist and red poppies that seem to smile up at me. I pause, my heart thudding in my chest, my eyes roving frantically to find the source of the music. There’s a tree a little ways ahead of me. I crane my neck to see better, and I can see that it is a peach tree.
Then I know.
It’s Schubert’s “Ave Maria.” It is my first and only lullaby.
I don’t run this time. I walk like a child just learning to toddle. I don’t dare walk faster. I don’t dare breathe. I don’t dare to do anything that could tip the balance of whatever line I am walking, whatever plane of existence I am on that allows any of this to be possible. I push the tall grass aside and I stand quivering before the base of the tree.
And there, sitting on the ground with his violin resting casually at his side, is Akira.
Oniichan.
He looks exactly as he did when I last saw him. His pale skin is smooth, his dark hair is neatly combed back from his face, and he is smirking at my frozen expression. He is wearing a loose-fitt
ing blue yukata.
Oniichan.
“Imouto,” he says. “It’s been a while. Ne?”
I am crying. The tears are sliding down my cheeks though I am not sad. I try to speak, but nothing comes out but air.
Akira.
And then I am flying into his arms. He folds me into a tight embrace, pressing his head into the top of my hair. My face is buried in his neck, and I sob helplessly, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his burning warmth. He doesn’t try to shush me. He just holds me until the sobs cease, and then he pulls back, gripping my shoulders so that he can look at my tearstained face.
“None of that,” he says simply, brushing a tear from my cheek with his thumb. “You’re all right now. You’re just fine.”
I sniffle and look into his clear gray-black eyes. “You died,” I whisper.
He chuckles. “I did.”
“But . . . you’re here.” I can feel the heat coming off his flesh. He is very much alive. “You’re real.”
He nods. “I am.”
I have no more questions. I don’t care if this is heaven or hell or purgatory. Akira is here. Here, with me. I press myself against his chest as if I could meld us together through sheer force of will.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “Oniichan, I am so sorry. It’s all because of me. You died because of me.”
He shakes his head. “I died because of fear and hate. Not because of you.”
“It was supposed to be me,” I sob. “You were supposed to live. I can’t do it. I’ve made such a mess. I’ve done nothing of worth, I’m not like you. I’ve failed. I’m so sorry.”
Akira sighs.
“Aho,” he says at last. “All this time and you still don’t understand.”
I peep up to look at him through my lashes. “What?”
“Every choice I ever made was my own. I regret nothing.”
“But if you’d never met me . . .”
He lifts my chin with a finger and looks into my eyes.
“Nori,” he says very quietly, “I would rather have died young than lived a hundred years without knowing you.”
I have no words for this. All I can think of is . . .