《I Want to be Your Tears》


 Volume 1 - CH prologue 1

    To dive into the bottom of the dark sea, to finally accost my own past, I wrote this story¡­


    I arrived at a port in Souma City, Fukushima Prefecture.


    The moment I swung the car door open, I could smell the ocean. From far and near, the air carried the sound of countless waves rolling. A lonely spring gull cried, a solitary white spot in the gray cloudy sky. Specks of snow flitted the sky, the remnants of winter in the chilly March breeze. The breeze which blew across the deserted harbor, across the cracks and scars of the earthquake.


    Shimizu, my childhood friend, was waiting for me on a small boat, bobbing some distance down the pier. He was a man of big stature, giant in the small craft, easily recognizable from even far out. He had grown in the past year. It wouldn¡¯t be an exaggeration to say that a bear had wandered into the harbor. He finally noticed me when I got close. He smiled, just like the grin of Ebisu, one of the Seven Gods of Fortune.He had a kind, friendly face that didn¡¯t match his physique.


    ¡°Yacchan!¡± He cried my name.


    He hopped back on to the pier and gave me a bear hug, quite literally. The scene was worthy of the caption ¡°Man attacked by a bear.¡± But that was how Shimizu was, all smiles and fierce skinship.


    Although I was quite happy to receive such an expression of affection.


    ¡°Long time no see, Shimizu.¡± I returned his tight hug, and patted his happily bulging flanks.


    He finally let go of me and said with a distant look. ¡°It has been four years.¡±


    ¡°It has been four years¡­¡±


    Tears threatened to well my eyes as my memory surged back in time.


    The boat was a single-seated, roofed boat. Shimizu sat in the cockpit, while I sat behind him, using the case of my luggage as a chair. With a box of broken items in my arms, the engine roared and we took off.


    The ship cut through the dull blue sea, spraying white sprays which gave off metallic glow when caught light. The harbor distanced, then lost its thin outline from the horizon, instead, the Abukuma Highlands rose, black wave-like rage against the gray clouds.


    About forty minutes later, the boat came to a stop. There was nothing around us, but the vast expanse of gray-blue. I checked the coordinates on GPS.


    37¡ã49¡ä99 North, 141¡ã9¡ä41 East


    A perfect match to the location according to the Fukushima Fishing Union.


    We started prepping for the dive. I laid out our wetsuits, masks, fins, and tanks. I had just gotten certified as an open diver in Okinawa only for this purpose. Shimizu, a diver of higher rank, checked my gear.


    With a thumbs up, he dived into the water with vigor. I remembered swimming lessons in elementary school. Shimizu was the type of person to jump in head first since then, bold as an angel. On the other hand, I was as meticulous as a devil, or put simply, timid. The water was warmer than I expected, but it still made my slim body shiver in no time.


    Shimizu swam up to me and asked worriedly. ¡°Yacchan, you alright? Your lips are already purple.¡±


    ¡°Eh? Already?¡±  Even I myself was appalled at how frail my body was. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine. Probably.¡±


    Even through diving goggles, I recognized his doubtful look.


    ¡°Follow me, I¡¯ll lead.¡± He bit the regulator and dove beneath the surface.


    I awkwardly followed him to the deep world of blue.


    The rippling and the laps of wave against the boat became inaudible, my own breaths and the rising bubbles filled the almost-silent world instead.


    Shimizu was five meters down, I dove after him, leaving the glowing blue of the surface. When I was a meter deep, I popped my ears for the third time. First was when I was submerged, the second when I propelled downwards.


    The visibility was poor, mostly due to the cloudy weather. There were no fish in sight, save for a single Kue. Shimizu was diving deeper and deeper. Afraid that I would lose him, I carefully threaded the surfacing silvery-white bubbles. The action reminded me of Hansel and Gretel tracing the pebbles in the moonlight.


    The deeper we went, the deeper blue the sea was. In the dark silence, flakes of detritus fell like upside-down snow.


    Just like salt crystals, I thought.


    Salt¡ªto most people, was just a seasoning. Salty white grains in a small glass bottle. A necessity of life that makes a lackluster salad taste good, that people put on to pull out the sweetness in watermelon.


    But to me, salt was more special¡ªit meant death, it meant time, it meant life.


    The strange fate that I have had gave a special meaning to salt to me.


    As I dived deeper and deeper, my mind naturally excavated my past. My heart went back in time fifteen years. I thought I heard music drifting in the depths.


    Beautiful piano notes¡­


    Frederic Chopin, Op. 10, No 3, ¡°Farewell¡±.


    This was a story that began and ended with tears.

 Volume 1 - CH 1.1

    Part 1


    1


    ¡°Your mother has ¡®Chloride Blight,¡¯¡± said the doctor on the round, hospital chair.


    The man looked like he was either in his late thirties or early twenties. His eyes remained a hint of youth that didn¡¯t match his other features. Behind the square, black rimmed glasses, his eyes were round, and his thick eyebrows hunched as if he couldn¡¯t decide what to say next.


    ¡°It is a disease in which the body is gradually replaced by salt, from the end to the center of the body¡±


    I was a sea. What was that supposed to mean?


    I looked up dazedly at the nurse standing behind. She bent down to my eye level and tried explaining. ¡°Starting from the tips of hands or feet, little by little, the body turns into salt¡± The nurse, a beautiful lady with light makeup, gestured. She chopped her limbs gradually to mimic the symptom. In the end, her hand stopped at her heart ¡°and fell apart.¡±


    My eyes were fixed at the hand that stopped at her heart with dumbfounded stupor. When my wits finally caught up, I asked uncertainty.


    ¡°That means Mom¡¯s going to¡­die?¡±


    The doctor looked troubled, his face clouded, his lower lip stuck out as he ground his teeth. The expression looked almost like a fish¡¯s.


    A silent affirmation.


    Still unable to accept reality, I pursued, ¡°Body turning into salt? How¡­?¡±


    The doctor rubbed his chin uncomfortably. ¡°The human body is mainly composed of hydrogen, oxygen, carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus, and sulfur. Well, one theory is that the atoms, or rather, how they become sodium chloride¡­¡±


    The nurse interrupted, ¡°No one really knows what it is. Worldwide, there¡¯s less patients with this disease than fingers on our hands¡ª in short, this Chloride Blight is just unknown to us. It is one of the mysterious diseases of this world¡±


    ¡°So¡­there¡¯s no cure?¡±


    Silence.


    The doctor¡¯s eyes were wide open, not even blinking. Oddly like a fish pretending to be sleeping.


    [TN: Fish don¡¯t have eyelids]


    I went back to Mom¡¯s room on the first floor.


    When I went in, she was looking out the west-facing window. As if the window was a picture frame for the  blooming dogwood tree. A soft breeze flitted in through the window, gently shaking the white flowers. The warm sunlight of three o¡¯clock tinted Mom¡¯s hair brown.


    She noticed me and turned around, the look on her face like a little girl waiting to be scolded. I sat on the hospital¡¯s small, round chair.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me earlier?¡± Apparently, my voice came out angrily, and my fists were clenched. The word of her guaranteed death was so sudden and confusing I had no time to register my own feelings.


    ¡°Sorry¡­¡± Was all she said.


    Her voice told me that she didn¡¯t want to hurt me. That was just how Mom was, a kind and sensitive person. She would rather give me delicious food than eat it herself. She would rather suffer alone than hurt anyone¡­ that was the kind of person she was. She was so kind it was cruel instead.


    ¡°Let me see your arm.¡±


    She rolled up the sleeves of her hospital gown. I drew in my breath sharply.


    Nothing, nothing where the middle of her forearm to her hands should be. The cross section of the stump appeared crystalline. My fingers brushed coarse grains when I rushed closer to her. When I brought my hand up, it was white, small grains.


    Salt.


    She was turning into salt. She would turn into salt, then scatter away in the winds. She would become this coarseness on the bed, and the wind that shook the dogwood flowers would carry her away, forever¡­


    Tears came unbidden. I hugged her belly, crying.


    ¡°It hurts, doesn¡¯t it¡­Mom, it must have hurted¡­¡±


    A sob joined mine, she was also crying too. A cold teardrop fell on the nape of my neck.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t¡­ No, it doesn¡¯t¡­¡± Saying this, she twisted a few times.


    It was a mournful movement.


    She had tried to hug me back with arms she no longer had.


    £²


    I attended Sakuranoshita Public Elementary School in Koriyama City, Fukushima Prefecture. Staying true to its name, the schoolyard was surrounded by sakura trees. Every spring, local people would often visit school for Hanami.


    After school, when everyone had gone home and the schoolyard was quiet, I began my walk. I circled the schoolyard, keeping to where the pink of the cherry blossoms seemed to burn the blue sky. Neither the colors of the flowers nor the nightingales¡¯ song registered in my mind. Only the distant memories of walking into the dark shadows of the tree¡¯s shade and out to the sun again, like the slight difference of the blowing breeze, my memories muddled together.


    I wondered how many rounds I made, but at one point, I heard music.


    Melodic keys of piano¡ª


    Perhaps it had just started, or it had been there since the start, but I had finally noticed it then. Against the clear blue sky, the school building was vibrant white. I peered at the music room on the third floor. Sakura petals fluttered in the wind.


    It was a beautiful performance, I thought. For the first time in my life, I felt that the music was beautiful. It was as if the wax in my ears and the gum in my eyes had fallen away at once, the world became bright and vivid.


    I felt as if something hidden in the blazing rustle of the cherry blossoms, the sadness of the sound fading in the blue sky, and from the haste of the falling petals¡­ was pulled out and lurched lightly with the piano¡¯s tone.


    I stood there, paralyzed.


    At last,I headed for the music room, changed into indoor shoes, and climbed the stairs. The sun baked steps felt warm against the thin fabric of the shoes. Strangely enough, there was not a soul in sight, as if the lively sea had suddenly become empty.


    I crossed the dimly lit corridor and stood in front of the music room. The small window of the sliding door was covered by a blackout curtain.


    I put my hand on the door and hesitated. By every standard, I was an uninvited guest. Nonetheless, I felt I needed to know who was playing.


    I gently push the door open.


    The grand piano was further left, where the player was just in the shadows. But I could see the thin leg stepping on the pedal.


    I moved closer. The song had just reached its climax. I felt a little uneasy.


    Then the tune slowed down again. I saw the performer.


    I was taken away. She was beautiful.


    Her bangs were barely above her eyebrows, her expression was dreamily immersed in her performance. A breeze that refilled the room with the fragrance of cherry blossoms stirred her long glossy hair. The pale light streaming in through the window showed me white her pure skin was, and her cherry-red lips were slick and shiny like pearls. Her slender body was swathed in a bright sky-blue dress¡ªas if the sky had chosen to descend upon her.


    The end of the performance left me crestfallen, like when a pleasant breeze died down.


    The moment of sunshine dragged on. The nightingales began their next verse.


    The girl blinked, her eyes moved to focus on me. Her eyes were big, almond-shaped, and intense, as if it was lit by two flames, like two flowers blooming.


    Eternity passed. I could never be sure how much time passed then.


    My mind rebooted, I tried to say something. ¡°Good¡­ It was really good.¡±


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡± She seemed a little puzzled, but then smiled. Not sure of how to respond, I returned her smile. She pulled her hands from the key and leaned forward. ¡°I was looking at you. The weirdo.¡±


    ¡°Weirdo?¡±


    ¡°You walked around in circles, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    I made a wry smile, my cheeks were a little hot. ¡°I got lost.¡±


    ¡°Quite spectacularly, I¡¯d say.¡± She giggled amusedly.


    When she laughed, her large eyes narrowed impossible, she also had adorable, puffy tear ducts. She seemed oddly intrigued.


    ¡°Hey, so what¡¯s it that you¡¯re doing? I saw you stuffing things into your pocket.¡±


    Her eyes were sparkling with curiosity, so I gave up and answered. ¡°I have a serious reason for this. Don¡¯t laugh, okay?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t, I won¡¯t.¡±


    With a somewhat mischievous grin, she held up her hands as if she were scooping up water. I sighed, walked up to her and dropped the contents of my pocket onto her palms.


    A flurry of cherry petals danced momentarily and rested on her snow-white palms.


    She looked at me, bewildered.

 Volume 1 - CH 1.2

    To explain the said serious reason, I retold what happened when I was three. At the time when my fragile child mentality was twisted beyond repair, like when a heated glass cooled before it could take its designated shape.


    The reason was my father¡ªSaegusa Ryuunosuke.


    Dad was a novelist. With his characteristic writing and unparalleled sensitivity, he was praised for his astounding storyline.


    He was a brazzen writer who used Ryunosuke Akutagawa as his pen name, the same as the great writer from the Taisho period. His arrogant and irreverent personality was once again exuding when he named his son Yakumo.


    [TN: Not sure about Yakumo one, some classical figure, perhaps?]


    One day, the two of us were strolling along the Abukuma River at dusk.


    ¡°Dad, why do you have only one eye?¡± The three-year-old me asked.


    Dad stroked his stubble and chuckled wickedly. ¡°It¡¯s a pain to deal with, so I plucked it out. Ripp¡±


    ¡°What happened to the eye¡­?¡± I asked fearfully, not sure whether I wanted to hear the answer or not.


    ¡°I ate it myself¡±


    Horrified, I shouted, ¡°You¡¯re lying!¡±


    He turned around, walked up to me, and crouched to my eye level. ¡°It¡¯s true, my son.¡±


    He yanked the black eyepatch back.


    The blood-red evening sun illuminated everything, except for the gaping hole. It felt as if the murmuring stream of Abukuma River and the light glittering on its surface had been sucked into the darkness, never to return.


    That was the moment my mentality got twisted to an irreparable extent.


    I began to feel pain. Pain from the darkness of the missing eyeball.


    The ¡°absence¡± of the right eye ¡°hurted¡±¡ª


    It wasn¡¯t the wound that hurted, but the concept of the absence of what ought to be there¨C in other words, ¡°blank space¡±¨C brought me pain. For example, when the tail of my Godzilla toy broke off, the pain of this ¡°blank space¡± drove me to tears.


    A few months later, I fell down the stairs of the apartment building. For a while, I cowered on the stair landing. Eventually, I got up, fighting the intensifying pain, and made it to my room on the third floor. I crawled to the bathroom. When I looked into the bathroom mirror, I saw my left temple splitting open, and blood trickling slowly.


    I wiped the blood off and saw white underneath.


    However, I remained calm. Gingerly, I fingered the wound and prodded the peeled skin back to its original place.


    When I finished aligning, I thought, the ¡°blank space¡± was no more.


    It didn¡¯t hurt any more.


    I wrapped the bandages around my head several times, and started watching TV cartoons, relieved. My temples throbbed, but it was distant, like someone else¡¯s pain.


    Eventually, Mom came back and screamed. She cried, fussing at my wound. I couldn¡¯t quite figure out why she cried, but she was crying, so I cried too.


    And our position reversed when Mom was diagnosed with Chloride Blight.


    From her missing limbs, I felt intense pain


    ¡°It hurts, doesn¡¯t it¡­Mom, it must have hurted¡­¡± I had said.


    And Mom, not understanding my pain, cried because I had cried.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t¡­ No, it doesn¡¯t¡­¡± She said while hugging me with her nonexistent arms.


    In easier words, I had a worse kind of phantom limb pain. It was, afterall, the pain, the ¡°blank space¡± of things around me that I had taken on, resulting in an invisible, untenable wound.


    Eventually, I found a special bandage for this special wound. That was, to gather objects to fill the blank. I could be anything, a tree branch, a clean rock, a blade of grass. The important thing was to wish. Wishing that the object assembled would fill in the wound. Wishing that it will chase the pain away.


    That put me on my hunt for objects to fill in the blank space of Mom¡¯s limbs.


    At first, I walked around the classroom. I had thought about the big triangular ruler that the teacher uses to write on the blackboard. But no, that would make Mom look like a Gundam.


    What about the chalk? The pencil case someone left behind?


    That was when I noticed the cherry blossoms in full bloom.


    Up against the crisp blue of the spring sky, the flame of the cherry blossoms was eye-watering. The wind blew, it was like embers spewing from a great bonfire. I looked up to the trees, and turned my eyes to my feet. The petals that fell in the shade of the trees were like dots of wildfire in distant, silhouetted mountains. When I took one of them up, it was actually cool and cold. Although I felt an imaginary heat seeping out instead.


    I had a feeling that these petals would fill in the blank space for Mom. I felt as if they would join the wind and become her new limbs. They seemed to melt the bitter pain for me.


    So I collected the cherry petals. Petal by petal, I collected the cherry blossoms. Wishing that it would heal mom, I continued walking and collecting.


    £´


    I sat on the desk right next to the piano and stared at my cupped hands for a long time, feeling the childish shame of saying too much.


    When I finished, I finally looked up. The girl had covered her face. For a moment, I thought I saw something shining on her cheek. Was she crying?


    But before I could get a better look, she immediately rubbed her face and looked straight at me. Her eyes seemed to be a little red, but in the end I could not tell if she had actually shed tears or not.


    ¡°You¡¯re¡­ strange. Feeling pain from blank space is the weirdest, your sensibilities are also bizarre. Who describes cherry blossoms as flames?¡±


    When she called me strange, I felt my body heating up. I was at an age when being different from the norm was embarrassing at that time.


    ¡°But I understand,¡± upon my reaction, the girl quickly added, ¡°My mom said that when expressing a passionate flower¡ªa bright red rose or a bougainvillea, for example¨Con the piano, play it with a blaze. So what I was saying is that you have a keener sense than most. Like how I have the perfect pitch¡±


    [TN: Perfect pitch, is a rare ability of a person to identify or re-create a given musical note without the benefit of a reference tone]


    ¡°You have the perfect pitch?¡±


    I got up and went to the guitars on the opposite side of the wall and played the few notes I knew.


    ¡°Do you know what this note is?¡±


    The girl smiled.


    ¡°A ¡®la¡¯. Maybe a little bit closer to ¡®sol?¡¯. Hmm, my senses are usually a little fuzzy around the ¡®la¡¯¡±


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s impressive enough!¡±


    ¡°So, what do you think of my performance?¡±


    ¡°Very good,¡± I answered immediately.


    ¡°No, I want it in your weird description. So, what do you think?¡±


    I sat back for a while. Her eyes were so captivating that it took longer than necessary.


    ¡°The pain went away from me. Each note was so beautiful and seemed to be in its proper place. It was as if it was destined to happen from the beginning¡­ what¡¯s the word?¡±


    ¡°Fate?¡± she prompted.


    ¡°That. it was as if fate was ringing in my ears.¡±


    ¡°As if fate was ringing in your ears¡­¡± She looked surprised, like when something rolled to her feet in darkness, and she was probing to find out what it was.


    Suddenly, like a flower blooming, the girl smiled.


    Then, a little embarrassed at the late introduction, ¡°I¡¯m Yuzuki Igarashi. ¡®Yu¡¯ from swaying, and ¡®Zuki¡¯ from moon; wavering moon. You?¡±


    [TN: For those wondering what that means, check out this Quora]


    ¡°Saegusa Yakumo. Eight¡¯s ¡®Ya¡¯ and clouds for ¡®Kumo¡¯¡­ What¡¯s the song you played?¡±


    ¡°Fr¨¦d¨¦ric Chopin, ¡®Farewell¡¯¡±


    That was my first encounter with Yuzuki.

 Volume 1 - CH 1.3

    I bade goodbye to Yuzuki, promising to see her again tomorrow, and headed for Sato Municipal Hospital. I cycled for forty minutes and arrived at five p.m. Dusk dyed the white hospital ghostly orange. I parked my bike, ducked the automatic door. The smell of disinfectant hit me like a wall. After checking in, I went to room 108.


    My hands froze as I put them on the door. Someone was talking inside.


    I cracked open the door slightly, but I already knew who it was.


    The ¡°Shadow¡± was inside, at ease than ever in the dusking scape.


    It was my father, Ryunosuke Saegusa. He divorced Mom when I was five and had become a shadow since then. Tall, lanky, crooked, ever unreliable shadow¡­


    The fact that he always wore black clothes was one, but the main reason was that I didn¡¯t feel much pain when he disappeared from the house. It was an equivalent of an itch, terribly light despite the disappearance of one person. I like to think that he had been a shadow from the beginning.


    A shadow without substance, a forever hazy figure.


    Of his entire existence, only the emptiness of his right eye he showed me on the banks of the Abukuma River was real to me.


    I hid myself in a corner until night came and Shadow went away. I did not want to see him. I had no words to say to the mysterious Shadow.


    6


    I was in a stupor for the entire of the next day.


    The prospect of Mom¡¯s death loomed over me, yet a part of me was pumped with the thrill of meeting Yuzuki afterschool. Time, on one hand, was draining Mom of life, and drawing me and Yuzuki together on the other. Between these contradicting feelings, it was impossible for me to concentrate on my studies.


    During recess, I asked Shimizu behind me.


    ¡°Hey, do you know about Yuzuki Igarashi from class three?¡±


    Shimizu looked at me incredulously.


    I wondered if I had asked the wrong person. Shimizu had always been a big, calm, and far from well-informed person. He looked genuinely surprised.


    ¡°Yacchan, you don¡¯t know about Igarashi-san? Really?¡±


    Apparently, I was the one who was out of touch with the world. Yuzuki was quite a celebrity. She had started playing the piano at the age of two, and at the age of seven, she had won the first prize in the first-second grade category at the Chopin International Piano Competition in Asia. The following year, she won the first prize in the Concerto category A while being the youngest pianist to get the award.


    In short, a prodigy whom everyone was expecting to be world-class before long.


    Of course, this was the information according to research I did later. Shimizu, who couldn¡¯t even remember how many home runs he had hit, said something along the lines of ¡°She won some kind of first prize a lot of times.¡±


    I was surprised, but at the same time, I was also somewhat satisfied. Yuzuki¡¯s performance was overwhelmingly amazing. Even an amateur like me could tell.


    In my mind, I had an arbitrary image of Yuzuki. It was that of a closet maiden, living in a chalky Western residence, a grand piano behind a great window, coughing softly at times. I imagined her to be a fragile, elegant young lady.


    It was during lunchtime that this stereotypical delusion was shattered.


    While playing dodgeball with Shimizu and other boys in the schoolyard, Yuzuki suddenly appeared. She marched proudly across the schoolyard with a gaggle of Class 3 girls trailing behind. Her brow was furrowed and she looked as if she was out for blood.


    Yuzuki¡¯s group stopped in front of the boys who were playing soccer. In the center of the group was their athletic leader: Sakamoto.


    Without any preamble. ¡° You, stop picking on Koyo-chan.¡±


    Sakamoto¡¯s eyes shot wide, then looked between Koyo Kobayashi and Yuzuki.


    Koyo Kobayashi was a petite girl. She clutched the hem of her skirt and looked down.


    Sakamoto¡¯s face scrunched up. ¡°What? Do I have any reason to pick on her?¡± But his voice came out weak.


    ¡°You like her, don¡¯t you!¡±


    ¡°Geh!¡± Sakamoto took a step back. Kobayashi¡¯s face turned bright red, and her mouth worked wordlessly. The girls were now the center of attention in the schoolyard.


    ¡°W-why would anyone like this ugly woman!¡± He lashed out desperately.


    Kobayashi¡¯s eyes began to water, Yuzuki¡¯s expression darkened.


    ¡°Hey, you, apologize to Koyo-chan¡±


    ¡°Huh? Why must I¡ªOw!¡±


    Yuzuki grabbed Sakamoto¡¯s nose with her right hand and twisted it. I had learned a new lesson, don¡¯t mess with the pianist¡¯s grip. Sakamoto squealed and trashed, prying Yuzuki¡¯s right arm with both hands. From what I saw, it was as if Sakamoto¡¯s feet had left the ground. Yuzuki was just that powerful.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you the boy here?!¡±


    Before anything worse could happen, a teacher heard the commotion and headed her way. He came in, settled the situation, and shooed others away.


    ¡°Igarashi-san¡¯s scary¡­¡± Even Shimizu shivered.


    This incident shattered my image of her as a closet window. At that point onward, I labeled her ¡°genius pianist¡± and ¡°Amazonian¡±.


    £·


    After school, at the promised time, I went to the music room.


    I could hear the lovely tones drifting. Powerful yet delicate, it felt strange to think that it was produced by the same fingers that had held up Sakamoto¡¯s nose.


    Yuzuki didn¡¯t notice me when I entered the room.


    I brought a chair next to her and watched her play the piano. Her eyes were almost closed, as if she was deep in a prayer. Her ears, I presumed, were strained to listen to every note. She seemed to be pouring her heart and soul into the performance.


    When she finished and I shook out of my stupor, I remembered to clap.


    She jumped sideways. ¡°Don¡¯t drop on me like that!¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I should interrupt.¡±


    ¡°Hmph¡­¡± she pouted.


    She looked so dainty I wondered which was her true nature, the closet maiden or the Amazonian warrior.


    Yuzuki closed the lid of the piano and abruptly rose. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°My house.¡±


    Yuzuki pulled me along without a second thought even as my head was still tilted at a 15-degree angle in confusion, not really understanding development.


    Around three minutes from school she finally spoke. ¡°There¡¯s some trouble at school today, so I can¡¯t quite concentrate¡­¡±


    Replaying the image in my mind, I said, ¡°I don¡¯t think there¡¯s much trouble? You took him on yourself, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°You saw?!¡± She made a face, then, as if to excuse herself. ¡°I hate that kind of dorks. They¡¯re nothing but a pain.¡±


    ¡°I think every human¡¯s a pain, one way or another.¡±


    She glared at me, her expression as if to question my sanity.


    Did I say something wrong¡­?


    It was a beautiful day. Sakuranoshita residence district was newly built, yards and houses fairly new and well kept. Violets, azaleas, lilacs, the flowers of spring were blooming everywhere.


    Yuzuki said we were close when we heard a dog barking. Yuzuki groaned and switched places with me, taking position on my left. Instinctively, I looked right. A golden retriever was pushed up against the fence, barking, its leash trailed back to a kennel in the yard. It was barking at Yuzuki, tail wagging wildly.


    ¡°The dog doesn¡¯t like you?¡±


    ¡°No, he likes me so much he pees on me every time I walk past.¡±


    [TN: What a nightmare fuel]


    She pushed close to me when we walked past. Unbeknownst to her, my heart flopped wildly.

 Volume 1 - CH 1.4

    Yuzuki¡¯s house was much larger than the ones around it. Surrounded by high hedges and walls, not much could be seen from outside.


    After passing the double iron wrought gate, a well-kept garden sprawled in front of me. In one corner, were dolls of the Seven Dwarfs and their little dwellings. They looked jubilant, as if they were about to spring to action and prepare the garden for Snow White when the sun goes down. On a large terrace in the style of a botanical garden, white wisteria flowers, not yet fully open, hung like a screen, just in the right position to soften the western sun.


    I hesitantly followed her inside.


    The windows were huge. Grimm¡¯s fairy tale theme ornaments were everywhere and tastefully arranged. Roses from Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella¡¯s clock, the basket Red Riding Hood brought to visit her grandmother.


    The piano was on the west side of the house, in a soundproof room, the size of ten tatami, separated from the rest of the house by another large glass door. In the room were another set of large double windows. Brilliant sunlight streamed through and lit the piano lustrous black.


    Yuzuki set a Maurizio Pollini¡¯s CD in the player. On top of the speaker was a little objet d¡¯art of the Bremen Musicians.


    Chopin¡¯s Venetian Boat Song started playing. After the song ended, she asked.


    ¡°How was it?¡±


    ¡°Surprisingly beautiful.¡±


    She nodded, apparently satisfied. Then she sat down in front of the Steinway piano. I noted the Anpanman doll on the piano. I had never thought she would be the kind to do that.


    She began to play the Venetian Boat Song. Once again, I was struck by how lovely every note sounded, loud and clear, like a grain of light. I could see small twinkles of light on the waterways of venice, I could  hear flowers, the scent, it was a lovely Venetian Boat Song.


    When I managed to describe the experience in my crude words, she thanked me, yet still seemingly unsatisfied.


    ¡°But I want you to compare it to Pollini¡¯s performance, though.¡±


    Polloni¡­


    Pollini was one of the world¡¯s greatest pianists. Known for his flawless playing and his record of ¡°Chopin: 12 Etudes, Op. 10, Op. 25¡± released in 1972 with famous praises like ¡°What more do you want?¡±


    It was frightening that she wanted me to compare her performance with such a master. Of course, at the time, I was unaware of such composition and expressed my candid comment, in a somewhat flippant manner.


    ¡°Your¡¯s felt¡­plain? There¡¯s a boat, there¡¯s the surface, but there¡¯s nothing below?¡±


    It was so conceptual and vague that even I wasn¡¯t sure I understood what I was saying, but Yuzuki nodded nonetheless.


    ¡°I knew it. I played it too neatly. More mellow and ethereal¡­¡±


    ¡°Eh, mellow¡­ ethereal¡­¡± I didn¡¯t think that were words third graders should know¡­


    ¡°Ehehe, I might be too young to play this. You know, there¡¯s a saying that you need to get heartbroken three times before you can play this song. Maybe I should get my heart broken too.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°I thought I¡¯m weird, but you¡¯re even worse.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious, though.¡± She deadpanned.


    That was when I saw a woman in her thirties in front of the glass door. The room was soundproofed, so we were completely unaware of the noise outside.


    ¡°Oh, my mom¡¯s home¡­¡±


    I watched the woman again. She wore round sunglasses, her hair was long, wavy, and dyed brown at the end fashionably. She wore a soft yellow knit jacket and navy blue skirt. Overall, she might be someone straight from Italy¡¯s city of art, Milan. She took off her sunglasses, I gulped. She was beautiful, like Yuzuki, but hers was steely and bristling, like the beauty of a warship.


    Ranko Igarashi¡ªthat was her name. Shimizu told me she was a professional pianist.


    She took one look at me. Her eyes narrowed as if she saw something disturbing, but she quickly walked away to another room.


    I sat back, trying to figure out what had I done wrong.


    ¡°Sorry¡ª¡± Apologized Yuzuki. ¡°That¡¯s just how Mom is. I have lessons with her next, so this is it for today. Bye¡±


    I nodded and went to put on my shoes at the entrance. When I turned to say goodbye to Yuzuki, my eyes fell on Ranko-san behind her.


    ¡°Sorry for the bother.¡±


    Ranko-san acknowledged with a nod, then waved dismissively.


    £¹


    Mom slowly turned into salt. The process was like an hourglass, like sand falling away with the ticking of the clock, Mom¡¯s body gradually fell apart.


    Whenever I woke up, I cried. An empty, horrible dream plagued me every time I slept and left me wretched every time I woke.


    When visiting hours at the hospital were over and I had to leave, I clung to Mom and cried like a baby. I never wanted to return to the dark apartment alone, nor did I want to leave Mom in the dark hospital room.


    She would pat me on the back and tell me it was all right.


    I continued to collect flowers for her. Then came a heavy rain, washing away all the petals. I resorted to picking wildflowers whose names I didn¡¯t know. Flowers began to disappear from my proximity. I felt an indescribable sense of guilt and pain at the blank space where the flowers once were. Still, in order to fill the greater pain inside me, I had no choice but to continue.


    Listening to Yuzuki¡¯s piano became my routine. When each performance ended, I would tell her my impressions, though I doubt it was helpful to her. In return, she listened to me. I told her my memories with Mom. At every story, I could feel my pain ease. I felt that even if Mom were to die, Yuzuki would help me remember her.


    One day, when I told her that I felt guilty about picking wildflowers, she said in surprise, ¡°You feel guilty for picking wildflowers? Aren¡¯t you being too nice?¡±


    She then took my hand and led me all the way to somewhere behind the Igarashi residence. Up the narrow, gently uphill path, the hedges disappeared and the sky opened up.


    I let out an involuntary gasp


    The meadow was a miniature basin of colorful wildflowers in full bloom. Each and every one of the colors were their own, as though colorful dyes were put into the same container yet didn¡¯t mix. A warm, inexplicable sensation welled up in me as I took in the sight.


    Yuzuki smiled gently and said, ¡°You can pick them from now on. No matter how much you pick, they will never go away. Things may be tough for you, but,¡± She gestured to the flowers. ¡°The love of the world is much greater than you imagine, like how flowers are much stronger than most people believe. Like how you could carry away as many buckets of water from the sea, you can pick as many flowers here. The world has already given us things to fill our hearts with, we just don¡¯t know how to do so.¡±


    A wave of comfort washed over me at once. I can fill the blank space here. And no matter what I do, this place will never have blank space.


    Such a thought filled my heart, not through logic, but through conviction.


    Yuzuki told me a lesson that no one had thought to put into words because it was so obvious for me.


    Since then, I began to harbor deep affection and respect for her.


    10


    The days of sorrow and joy continued.


    I studied at school, escorted Yuzuki home, listened to her piano and gave her comments, then told her about Mom. Before her mother could come back, we woud go to the meadow and pick flowers. I arranged them in a vase and brought them to Mom. Visiting hours would end, and I would cry all the way home.


    Yuzuki listened to my story about Mom with obvious interest and envy. ¡°Nghh. I want a mother like that.¡±


    ¡°You have yours, the gorgeous pianist.¡±


    I will never forget the look on her face then. Her lips frozen at a confused smile, her eyes wide open, as though she couldn¡¯t decide whether to be hurt or confused. It was the face of a helpless, lonely little girl.


    It was not until much later that I realized the significance of this expression.


    One weekend, I was passing the Igarashi house. Suddenly, I became curious about what she would be doing. Come to think of it, I had never seen her on days off.


    So I stopped by and pressed the doorbell. There was no answer.


    At first, I was about to leave; they might not be home. Then I remembered about the soundproof room, so I rounded the back of the house and peeked into the grand double-window of the piano room.


    Yuzuki and Ranko-san were there.


    Immediately, I knew I had seen something I shouldn¡¯t have.


    Ranko-san¡¯s face was bright red, her feral shout, while I could hear none of it, made me stagger back. Slaps flew mercilessly. Yuzuki¡¯s head lolled and flopped, her black hair a mess. Her thin shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.


    I was petrified.


    Yuzuki wiped away her tears and began to play the piano again. She was still sobbing and shaking a little, and probably messed up a note since Ranko-san began yelling again. By now I could read what she was saying, ¡°Why can¡¯t you do it?!¡± or ¡°Get yourself together!¡±. Slaps cracked, the piano always stopping at the same spot. I could hear none of the sounds, but I could very much imagine them. The cracks, the angry shouts, the sobs, a dreadful metronome.


    The Anpanman doll¡¯s smile on the piano seemed out of place.


    The click from the front door pulled me out of my reverie.


    It was her father, who finally responded to the chime I had rung, I guessed. I shifted my position, now looking into the living room window. As I had expected, there stood a kind-looking, bespectacled slightly overweight middle-age man¡ªIgarashi Sousuke. He pulled back from the door when he saw no one and stopped in front of the soundproof piano room, as though he wanted to do something. In his eyes, Ranko-san¡¯s abusive lesson must have played out before him.


    His brows furrowed, his extended hand dropped. He turned back, dragging himself upstairs. It was as if my heart had turned cold and gray. If Sousuke-san could do nothing, then all the more for me.


    I finally understood what she meant when she said she wanted a mother like mine.


    If it was Mom who was her mother, she would have taught her kindly. Mom would have let her enjoy the piano without the extreme expectations. She would have accepted her as she was and gave her the affection she deserved.


    Finally, I felt like I had seen Yuzuki for what she was. Not the closet maiden nor the Amazonian. She was the sad piano note that wouldn¡¯t sound right to Ranko-san¡¯s ear, the note that always stop at the same place and disappeared.


    I heard a yapping from my left on the way back. The usual golden retriever locked my eyes, its tail wagging. I walked up to it and patted its head.


    Before I could register, I was soaked in its urine.


    ¡°Oh, so you now love me too¨C?¡± I smiled bitterly and mumbled to myself, when tears started to well up. It was too late, there was no stopping.


    I finally understood why Yuzuki always patted it even though it tried to soak her. The retriever loves me, her, and probably everyone in the neighborhood without discrimination. Even if she can¡¯t play the note right, it would still love her all the same. She was seeking an unconditional love like any child, and this retriever was the one who gave it to her.


    The image of that lonely Yuzuki made me cry even more.


    The urine was cold and reeked, but I couldn¡¯t care less. I hugged the dog and cried. It licked my tears and pelted me even more.


    The retriever¡¯s name was Melody.

 Volume 1 - CH 2.1

    The call came early in the morning.


    Mom had passed away.


    It was August the second, middle of the summer break. The sun was molten hot on that day. The sky was bright blue, except for the thick cirrocumulus clouds that folded on top of each other. It was as though a huge bomb had fallen over Mount Adatara. The world I had known had ended soundlessly, amid the cicada¡¯s echoing sirens.


    My mind might be out of track, but the wheels of my bicycle were steady. Before I knew it, I slid my bike into the hospital parking lot. Flapping my soaking T-shirt, I strode through the cool hospital to the reception desk.


    To be honest, I didn¡¯t remember what happened from then well, nor do I remember the look on the receptionist¡¯s face.  She might be staring at me emphatically, or she might be puzzled by my unnaturally nonchalant demeanor.


    I was then led to the hospital¡¯s mortuary, where I met Mom for the last time.


    The word ¡°met¡± might not be fitting. Her human form was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a large circular glass vase sat innocently on the bed. Salt filled the vase.


    It was the vase I had placed the flowers I had collected without asking. She must have intended to use it for her body since the start, but was unable to refuse my flowers. It was in her to do that.


    Mom passed away in her sleep, or so the doctor said, and turned into salt overnight. He also explained, the chloride progressed rapidly after the patient¡¯s death.


    Only then did I finally registered Mom¡¯s death. Until the last second, I had prayed for it to be a sick joke. Maybe some magician will appear and open the curtain, revealing Mom smiling mischievously.


    It was a child¡¯s fantasy.


    Mom¡¯s death became an unbearable pain. I held the cold vase and wept for a long time.


    But at the same time, I was glad.


    I was glad she was finally free from her pain.


    As the Chloride Blight proceeded, tissues turned into salt. Sometimes, surrounding membranes would chafe, producing immense pain. I saw how Mom gritted her teeth in anguish when she moved, and in her final days, the doctor had to prescribe her morphine to numb the pain.


    Despite the suffering, Mom said she didn¡¯t want to die. She was adamant about staying with me as long as she could. I made her suffer. Sometimes, I would curse myself for it.


    So I wished her soul would find peace. A warm, sunny place, free from pain, where cats would gather and bask in the sun. I wished for a comfortable lounging chair, orange groves nearby, books for her to read, a pleasant breeze.


    I wanted Mom¡¯s soul to be in a place filled with warmth.


    £²


    Mom had no relatives at all, so Dad came over and held a modest home funeral. A monk came to read sutras in front of an impromptu altar. I stole a glance at Dad, he was crying. Tears were spilling from his lone eye. I wasn¡¯t sure what I should feel.


    He was the one who caused Mom so much pain, what right did he have to be crying.


    But his tears were genuine, like it or not, he really loved her, it seemed. Before I could forgive him, my rational mind hastily put a lid on the thought.


    After the service, I got on the black Mercedes driven by Dad and headed for Iwaki City.


    I was alone with the Shadow. All our conversations were nothing short of elusive.


    ¡°Do you know why westerners are tall?¡± He began when my consciousness began to blend into the passing scenery. ¡°Because they have deep-set eyes.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± I fell for his hook completely. ¡°And why is that so?¡±


    He smirked. ¡°Their eyes bore deeper into the skull than Asians, making it harder to look above. In turn, makes them vulnerable to attacks from overhead. The taller, the easier to attack your opponent and harder to get attacked.  In other words, the probability of survival increases. Eventually, through natural selection, tall Caucasians survive.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­ Is that so¡­¡±


    Deep in his domain, he sprung the trap with a grin. ¡°Of course it¡¯s made up, my son.¡±


    I was angry, but if I showed him, it would mean losing to him. I kept silent.


    Not before long, the sea came into view.


    When we got out of the car, it was cooler than in Koriyama. In the somewhat mild summer heat, the sea was glistening in the gentle light. We walked to a secluded dock and took out Mom¡¯s salt.


    ¡°We might get in trouble if it¡¯s ashes,¡± Dad said, ¡°But salt should be fine.¡±


    Mom¡¯s dying wish was to be sprinkled into the ocean.


    Dad and I gently scooped salt onto our palms. Slowly, we let it fall. A soft draft blew by and salt shone like jewels.


    When the salt was all gone, I began sprinkling flowers. Flowers and lone petals fell, some dove down, others descended like paratroopers. The flower screen down below was as bright as multicolored lotuses blooming on the surface of the water. Eventually, the waves carried them away. I wished that it would reach Mom, where she would probably put it on display.


    Dad and I stood there for a while. I felt like we were finally having an ordinary moment like father and son.


    But dusk fell and Dad returned to be the Shadow. An elusive, expanding and contracting, unreliable shadow¡­


    ¡°Will you live with me, my boy?¡±


    My heart shook like a flower petal on water.


    Instead of answering, I asked him instead. ¡°Why did you divorce Mom?¡±


    ¡°Remember about my right eye? It was the same for her.¡±


    I gulped. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I told you, it was a nuisance. Nobody would believe me, but at some point, my own right eye became a hindrance. I plucked it out with my own hand when it finally became unbearable. I felt it was a waste to throw away the body my parents gave me, so I ate it.¡±


    [TN:Might be Xiahou Dun reference from The Romance of Three Kingdoms]


    I didn¡¯t even want to imagine it. The story was grotesque beyond reality.


    ¡°Once I lost the eye, strangely enough, I developed a talent for writing. I began to understand what I couldn¡¯t understand, see what I once couldn¡¯t. That was how I became a novelist.¡±


    I chewed on his revelation and asked, ¡°What does it have anything to do with the divorce.¡±


    My father hesitated for a moment and then said, ¡°I loved her¡­ But one day, she began to hold me down, until I couldn¡¯t write at all. I had no choice but to leave her.¡±


    I was stunned, every emotion drained out of me. Then, from the depths of my empty heart, anger welled up., boiling everything in its path.


    ¡°Are you nuts?!¡± My voice shook.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ I am,¡± he said silently.


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that. Do you know how much she suffered?!¡±


    ¡°That was inexcusable to me. But I try to make an effort in my own way.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking about effort! You¡­ to hell with you!¡±


    He looked hurt. I grabbed Mom¡¯s vase and walked towards Koriyama. Night fell, but I walked alone, crying, going in the general direction of home.


    The blank space in the large vase developed into a throbbing ache. When I couldn¡¯t take another step, I fell onto a bench at a bus stop.


    The next morning, I woke up to the sound of sparrows and began my trek with tears.


    Miraculously, I arrived at the apartment of the second night; I had walked for over twenty four hours.


    £³


    That summer remained in my memory as freezing cold even though the temperature was absurdly high.


    The blank space in the apartment where Mom once was tortured me. The housework and all the activities I had been doing came to a complete halt. I knew the need to go and pick the flowers, alas, I couldn¡¯t move at all.


    I wrapped a blanket over me, shivering and shaking, not sweating a single drop despite the fever. I couldn¡¯t move a single step from the bed. Every once in a while, I burst into tears like a showman melting the sweltering sun. I wasn¡¯t sure I was sad. My mind became a jumbled mess that cringed at the slightest noise.


    I drank nothing, ate nothing. I stayed in the semi-consciousness for approximately five days. If another day went by, I might have died, crumpled to dust like Mom, but from malnutrition instead.


    But then the doorbell rang.


    I didn¡¯t move. Like a squirrel waiting for the storm to pass, I hid under a blanket and hoped the guest would go away, whoever it was.


    But the guest persisted, and the doorbell only grew turbulent.


    ¡°Yakumo-kun, I know you¡¯re in there!¡±


    It was Yuzuki. Her voice brought back my consciousness like a bucket of cold water.


    I scrambled out of the bed. I stood up and my legs immediately wobbled. Every part of my body felt like clay. I tried to speak, but only the faintest whistle of wind escaped my throat.


    I managed to crawl to the front door and unlocked it.


    Immediately, the door opened with a bang. I squinted at the glare of the sun, more radiant than I remembered. Yuzuki gasped as she set her sights on me.


    ¡°Yakumo-kun¡­are you alive?!¡± It might have been a joke, but I forgot how to laugh.


    Yuzuki left, the door still opened, and came back a while later with shopping bags in both hands. She set down a pudding worriedly.


    I had no appetite, having long passed the point of hunger, but when I forced myself to eat it, I felt a little better. It seemed that I was in need of sugar.


    Yuzuki stood in the kitchen, and before long, I could hear the rhythmic thud-tok-tok-pok-pok-tok of her knife.


    With the sound, time started to move again.


    She made porridge. The color of honewort leaves and mash plums were so bright that my appetite instantly flared again.


    When I finished wolfing down, I saw a drop of tear remaining at the bottom of the earthenware pot.

 Volume 1 - CH 2.2

    I told Yuzuki Mom died.


    She cried with me, saying that she would like to meet Mom before she dies.


    From that day on, she came to my apartment whenever she had time. She cleaned the rooms and cooked delicious meals for me. Yuzuki, in an apron and with her beautiful black hair tied back in a bun, looked so mature that I kept stealing glances. Although the Anpan Man pattern on the apron threw the mature look into shambles.


    ¡°Why do you have to go to such lengths for me? It¡¯s not like you owe me anything.¡± After a few days, I ran out of patience and asked.


    Thud-tok-tok-pok-pok-tok, she then put down the knife and answered, ¡°If I¡¯m not here, you¡¯d have died. Sometimes you¡¯re just as frail as a goldfish.¡±


    Like a goldfish? But she did have a point.


    My summertime days with Yuzuki passed by.


    Yuzuki would bring in CDs and we would listen to them.


    [TN: Btw,it would say later that Mcs are born in 1996, so right now the year in the story is around the 2000s]


    Yuzuki¡¯s favorite pianist was Kiyoko Tanaka, she won the tenth prize of the Fifth International Chopin Piano in 1955 and the first Japanese who won the competition. Michelangeli, one of the jury, wasn¡¯t satisfied with the rankings and refused to sign the award unless Ashkenazy got the first place and Kiyoko Tanaka got the second.


    At the time, recording technology was not as developed, and the records were only in vinyl, so the quality was not flattering.


    Nonetheless, her piano was surprisingly beautiful. The grains of sound were so clean and mellow, if it had a physical shape, it would be something a baby would want to chew.


    ¡°It was as if she was praying¡ª¡± said Yuzuki, ¡°A pure, selfless prayer ringing through eternity.¡±


    I felt like I understood, but at loss at the same time.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t the act of praying the same as wishing? Wishing that a higher being would grant our request. And that, by definition, is a kind of selfishness?¡±


    She watched me. ¡°But you have prayed selflessly?¡±


    ¡°When?¡±


    ¡°When you were picking flowers for your mom.¡±


    That¡¯s¡­


    ¡°That was to get rid of my pain. It was selfishness.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± She smiled gently. ¡°It was still for your mom¡¯s sake, that¡¯s enough. If you continue to pray for a few hundred years, your body would have turned into dust or who knows what, right? Dust without self nor greed. And if you wonder if you could pray for that long, listen to Kiyoko Tanaka-sensei¡¯s performance, this was recorded fifty years ago, you know? Her performance, her prayer, has nothing to do with selfishness anymore, it was just as pure and refined as the melted snow of Mount Fuji. Time will wash away the impurity of our prayers.¡±


    I was stunned. As I write down this story now too, when I recall these very words, I couldn¡¯t help but be amazed. It was a comprehension an ordinary eight-year-old girl could only hope to reach. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if she was an angel or Buddha possessing her.


    [TN: Buddha was said to be able to speak since birth.]


    I could hear Kiyoko Tanaka-sensei¡¯s piano in a different light from then on. It was the sound of a pure prayer, nostalgically soothing to the heart, as pure as the melted snow of Mount Fuji.


    £µ


    Summer was over. A new school year began, as if nothing had changed.


    To me, it felt like the world had ended that summer. So when time started rolling again, I was incredulous.


    I lived in a daze, like a cigarette puff dispersing in the wind.


    Goldfish from the summer festival got dumped and took residence in a pond where cherry petals floated. Soon, the autumn leaves replaced the petals. The water turned muddy green.


    ¡ªI began to feel a tingle in Yuzuki¡¯s piano.


    At first, it was a discomfort, as if I had bitten a stray grain of sand in a clam. I pointed out to her, she appeared clueless. I asked her to play again and even managed to identify the particular note. Yuzuki, however, only tilted her head.


    The sand gradually eroded Yuzuki¡¯s score. A desert-like, arid loneliness soon engulfed her music.


    ¡°Mom said the same thing ro me. I don¡¯t know why myself either¡­¡± she trailed sadly. A small teardrop escaped her eye, trailing down and stopped at a purplish bruise. A bruise by Ranko-san.


    Worried by her increasingly murky piano, I snuck into her lawn one Saturday. Through the double-paned window, the mother and child were there.


    She yanked Yuzuki¡¯s hair and slapped her on the cheek. Ranko-san¡¯s fury deepened as time passed, unable to somehow correct the tune.


    It was like trying to restore the dirty colors on the palette by adding new paint. It wasn¡¯t long before the paint became a murky black.


    What was the point? I wondered. The only thing she accomplished was hurting Yuzuki.


    I felt frustrated, I felt sorry for her. Outraged, I knocked the window.


    Unexpectedly, it broke.


    I came to my senses and had the mind to scramble before Ranko-san turned around. I pulled off and rounded to the left side of the house.


    The latch of the double-paned window followed and Ranko-san poked out her head. ¡°Huh¡­?¡±


    I could hear my heart racing. The double-paned windows closed, the practice resumed. I look up at the sky, a little relieved.


    Only to freeze once more. Sousuke, Yuzuki¡¯s father, caught my eye. He leaned with elbows on the second floor¡¯s railing. I assumed he saw everything, but the backlit sun obscured his expression.


    I shifted my position, distancing myself from the house so that I was at an angle with the sun. Sousuke-san looked regretful. His eyes were trained on me, but he said nothing.


    I ran away. In the darkness of my mind, I couldn¡¯t get rid of his expression. It remained like the pale moon in the winter afternoon sky.


    In the middle of October, I picked up slippers. It had fallen in between the gap of the school buildings.


    The name read ¡°Igarashi Yuzuki¡±


    Casually, I returned it to her. Yuzuki too, casually took it.


    ¡°Thank you, I was just wondering where I had lost it.¡±


    Although I wasn¡¯t dense enough to easily accept that. ¡°By any chance, are you bullied?¡±


    Yuzuki let out a breath. The sigh was a bluish-gray sigh that seemed more like a fatigue that had settled deep within the body rather than anger.


    ¡°Or you can say, I let them bully me.¡±


    ¡°You ¡®let them¡¯?¡±


    She took my hand and again, led the way.


    ¡°Let¡¯s talk at my secret base.¡±


    To the east of the school, buildings gave way to paddy fields. A little further and we got to an uninhibited, narrow mountain road. From there began a series of old abandoned buildings that were too far gone to make out their function. Among them was a small abandoned factory, which we entered through a hole in the wire mesh.


    The inside of the abandoned factory was chilly and empty. The cool blue sky stood out in the windowless frames.


    The secret base was an abandoned bus that was somehow left on the site. The rusty indigo iron plate of the bus gave it a cute, rounded appearance, somewhat like a tin toy. One of the front lights was missing and it had a cute, silly look. I had always loved the face of the bus.


    Inside, behind the driver¡¯s seat, there were rows of two forward-facing chairs. At the end was a four-seater couch. The green plastic cover was peeled here and there, spilling sponges. The floor was wood and made a nice thumping when walked on.


    The interior was clean, unlike an abandoned bus. She must have cleaned it regularly. The couches had orange geometric patterns thrown on the green background and extra cushions for lounging, probably Yuzuki¡¯s courtesy.


    It seemed that this had always been Yuzuki¡¯s secret base, a private space out of Ranko-san¡¯s reach.


    We sat next to each other on the couch. Yuzuki avoided facing me. There was a long silence.


    ¡°It began in music class.¡± She fidgeted. ¡°The teacher asked me to play in front of everyone. After that, Sakamoto and Aida-kun started talking to me a lot. I thought it was rude to completely ignore them, so I said a few words, and that¡¯s it¡­¡±


    ¡°You made the other girls envious? Those two are popular with the girls, I reckon.¡±


    And Sakamoto, he was having a crush on Kobayashi Koyomi in April. To think that he had already switched to Yuzuki by now and was causing problems¡­


    ¡°Then just do it like what you did to Sakamoto?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know who it is. The girls are all quiet, maybe they all are.¡±


    Here I was, angry on her behalf. ¡°Isn¡¯t there anything you can do?  Kobayashi Koyomi? You helped her¡­?¡±


    ¡°As if Koyo-chan can stand for herself, let alone me.¡± She smiled a little. ¡°I¡¯m sure she wants to help. She¡¯s probably thinking this was her fault and so on. Maybe she¡¯s the only one I¡¯d forgive.¡±


    It took me a while to follow Yuzuki¡¯s train of thought. She was too sharp, too sensitive, too bold, and too kind to be the same age as me.


    ¡°Recently¡ª¡± Suddenly high-pitched, ¡°I think I might understand how being a girl in love feels, and by that, jealousy too. And then I realized that all human beings are weak, we just want to turn away from that part of ourselves. Maybe letting them go is for the best. I believe they will eventually stop.¡±


    ¡°What if¡­ they don¡¯t¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll properly twist their noses.¡±


    Yuzuki smiled as she said. I couldn¡¯t help but laugh as well.


    Then Yuzuki lay down and put her head on my lap. A little bitterly, she asked, ¡°Am I great?¡±


    I pondered on the question a little. ¡°You¡¯re great.¡±


    ¡°Then pat my head.¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡±


    Hesitantly, I put my palm on her head. Her shoulders twitched at the contact.


    I continued stroking her head. Her hair was soft and smooth. Her breathing became peaceful, like a sleeping breath.

 Volume 1 - CH 2.3

    However, the bullying escalated instead.


    It was as though the school was full of merciless bandits, with her every possible possession stolen, thrown away, or burned.


    Yuzuki could not do anything. It was a losing battle from the beginning. Like how the person who confesses first is doomed to lose in romance, goodwill stood no chance against bullying.


    On the way back from school, I heard three girls from Yuzuki¡¯s class chuckling mirthfully.


    ¡°That feels good¡ª. Don¡¯t you think she¡¯s getting uppity because her piano¡¯s good?¡±


    It was a bad-mouthing contest. On one of my unfortunate days, I had to walk home with these three in tow.


    ¡°I tell you, she might have won a few competitions, but she¡¯s not that special. If I practice hard enough, I¡¯d easily become better than her¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll never do it.¡± My voice spooked the three, and even myself, I had no intention of speaking out loud. ¡°You¡¯ll never know how much she practiced. You don¡¯t even know why she was playing piano. Your dumb brains simply can¡¯t comprehend how amazing she is.¡±


    They paled. One of them quietly said, ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± the rest of them pulled to the other side of the road without objection.


    Not so quietly, their chatter resumed. ¡°Who¡¯s that guy?¡±


    ¡°See¡­ there¡¯s this guy, he follows Yuzuki like a shadow¡­¡±


    My anger peaked when they referred to me as a ¡°shadow.¡± Before I could shout back,  I suddenly felt empty and decided not to.


    It was as though I had become a shadow on the spot.


    £¸


    Yuzuki went to the regional competition of the Chopin International Piano Competition in Asia with the muddy, murky sound and yet won by a landslide. Bad condition or not, a prodigy was a prodigy, not to be taken lightly. The next stage, competition on national scale, will be held in January. If she performed well there, she would be able to compete in the name of Japan.


    However, Yuzuki stopped playing the piano altogether.


    It was the beginning of December when snow still hadn¡¯t piled up yet.


    We holed up in our secret base. The air was getting colder, but strangely, I remembered it to be warmer than anything. We would put on winter clothes and spend the day wrapped in a lumpy blanket. Every day, Yuzuki would dress in a bright white coat, a knit cap, and a red scarf.


    She was trying to escape reality. From piano, from school, from her mother, even from my apartment. For her, there was probably no gentler place than the abandoned bus. Or perhaps she was looking for solace that could only be found in abandoned buildings.


    Inside, there was a mountain of manga and books, in which she spent most of the time there reading. Of them, only a few were mine.


    ¡°Where did you get so much money?¡± I asked when she hauled in more manga.


    ¡°My dad, he kept giving me money.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Probably forfeiture.¡±


    I could fully comprehend, but her voice rang sadly. In my mind;t eye, I recalled Sousuke-san¡¯s pale, passive face as he looked down at me from the balcony.


    Forfeiture¡ªfor what?


    No, Dad paid for my living expenses too, was that a kind of forfeiture too?


    In the blink of an eye, the early sunset of winter came. As the night drove us out of the base, Yuzuki protested, ¡°I don¡¯t want to go.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back to that house. I don¡¯t want to go to that school. I don¡¯t want to play piano. Why do I have to do any of those things? Yakumo-kun, let¡¯s stay here forever, together¡­¡±


    The dark purple sky deepened. I exhaled a single white breath.


    ¡°¡­We can¡¯t do that.¡±


    I tried to get up, but Yuzuku clung to my arm, her hand was as cold as a polished piano key. She pulled me closer and rested her head on my shoulder.


    A long time must have passed, but the color of the sky remained the same. Left on the verge of dusk and night, she asked in a whisper.


    ¡°Yakumo-kun¡­ i-is there someone you l-like?¡±


    Her cold hands become hot.


    ¡°If there is, then it wouldn¡¯t be anyone other than you.¡±


    She broke into a smile.


    ¡°Me too¡­ If I happened to like someone, it¡¯d be no one other than you.¡±


    Our eyes met. She had a slightly teasing, devilish smile. Even in the dark, I could see that her cheeks were a little red.


    £¹


    The next day, my mind was a haze.


    I hadn¡¯t slept a wink, the class was a blur. My head was still full with the hue of last night.


    On the way home, she said this to me, ¡°Yakumo-kun, let¡¯s go somewhere far away together. First, let¡¯s head for Inawashiro Lake, and then we¡¯ll continue going anywhere we please. We can live happily for months.¡±


    Surprised, I replied, ¡°That¡¯s impossible. I don¡¯t have that much money.¡°


    ¡°I¡¯ll steal some¡± I stared at her, not sure how to feel. ¡°Dad kept it in the closet. There¡¯s about a million and a half yen there, in cash. When I ask for money, he gets it from there¡­ So, that¡¯s probably intended for me anyway. We can take it¡­¡±


    ¡°A million and a half¡­¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t have to run away forever, just for a little while, from all of this¡­ Please. Will you come with me? Tomorrow, I¡¯ll wait at the secret base¨C¡±


    Before I could reply, she waved bye-bye and went inside the house. I wondered detachedly whether Ranko-san would get mad at her late return.


    During the entire day, I pondered. Should I go with her? Even for a few months of absence could cause a string of problems. Above all, the competition¡ªChopin International Piano Competition in Asia. Is this really for the best? Could I just throw away the manifestation of her efforts until now?


    While walking around aimlessly during lunch break, I unexpectedly ran into Yuzuki.


    When she saw me, her almond-shaped eyes were wide open.


    However, she walked past me without a word.


    At the moment when she overlapped me, she casually brushed my hand with her fingertips. She did not look back.


    Afterwards, I felt a gaz on me. Sakamoto was standing there with a stunned look on his face. I turned and rushed away.


    In a flash, the school was over. I went straight home and prepared for the trip. I packed a change of clothes and a toothbrush set in my backpack. With the increasingly full pack, the feeling of loss doubled. My anxiety grew and grew. I knew that she needed to do this, to run away from home once, but all my thoughts were lost in a maze, caught by unknown dark feelings. Was I helping her in going with her? Or I was ruining her life?


    The chatter of the three girls before rose into my consciousness.


    ¡°See¡­ there¡¯s this guy, he follows Yuzuki like a shadow¡­¡±


    What if, what if it was merely her shadow. The deep shadow behind her bright, bright spotlight.


    If I was half my dad, another half Mom, then a half of me would be a shadow, another half salt.


    What if I wasn¡¯t a proper human from the start? What if I left her like how Dad left Mom? Wouldn¡¯t that be the same as hurting her?


    I wasn¡¯t good enough. I was not qualified to run away with her.


    I thought about all of this in circles. It was illogical. But I couldn¡¯t do better, it was as though there was a black hole inside my mind, bending and distorting my every thought.


    I sat down, the pack wide open in front of me. Time passed like it did. Dusk turned to night. Snow fluttered outside the window.


    Was she still waiting for me?


    What if she was freezing alone right now?


    I wondered and wondered, but hadn¡¯t moved a single millimeter.


    Unable to sleep, I huddled like a stone statue until morning.


    10


    Yuzuki did not blame me. On the contrary, she hadn¡¯t said a word about yesterday. Maybe it hadn¡¯t happened in the first place, I lied to myself.


    But, it was undeniable that something had changed definitively between us.


    It was subtle by the magnitude, yet ruthlessly clear in definition, like a zero turning into a one in an exponent equation, abysmal but pivotal.


    She hadn¡¯t played the piano in front of me since. She stopped going to school and practiced for the competition at home all day, either alone or while being barked at by Ranko-san.


    I became an outlet of her frustration, and we would spend hours on weekdays talking about nothing in particular. Maybe being an ¡°outlet¡± to frustration was a fitting role of a ¡°shadow¡± like me. If anything, it was a position I had chosen for myself.


    As a matter of course, she won the national round, proceeded to international, and won the first prize in the third and fourth grade category. The competition committee announced that a commemorative album featuring the performances of the gold prize winners will be released. Although it was not until September that the CD containing Yuzuki¡¯s performance was released.


    I put on the CD, excited to be able to listen to Yuzuki¡¯s performance for the first time in a while; she had stopped playing piano in front of me since the day of ¡°running away from home.¡±


    Her performance began. It was Chopin¡¯s Venetian Boat Song


    I was astonished. Only a few months ago her sound was muddy, and yet, the sound streaming from the CD was crystal clear. No one would have expected a performance of that quality to come from a child not yet ten years old.


    There was a boat, on the canals of Venice, beautifully scored, but gone were the hopes and dreams she put into her piano.


    She had ceased to hope and pray through her performance.

 Volume 1 - CH 3.1

    We become middle schoolers. Most of the classmates from elementary school moved along with us. ¡¡When Yuzuki was in the fourth grade of elementary school, she won the first prize in the Concerto B section of the Chopin International Piano Competition in Asia¨Ca section with no age limit¨Cand became the youngest person ever to win the gold medal. The following year, she won the first prize in the Concerto C category, also the youngest ever. At the age of 11, she made her professional debut as a classical pianist.


    Her advertisement line was ¡°The Miraculous Pianist Genius.¡± To which she loathed ¡°I want to throw up every time I hear that.¡± In complete disregard of her opinions, television programs caught one and she began to make more appearances. Her sharp mind and gutsy comments boosted her popularity and she began to appear on shows that had nothing to do with piano. It wasn¡¯t long before she had a manager of her own.


    Takashi Hojo, a handsome man with a tall nose and thin, gleaming silver-rimmed glasses. He treated Yuzuki like a princess. He tried to open every door for her, and he rigorously applied mouthwash spray to talk to her with fresh breath. He always had a confident smile on his face, as if he were a prince next to his rightful princess.


    [TN: Japanese usually don¡¯t care whether their breath smells or not, so this guy who cared is a little of a weirdo.]


    He always had a heavy camera around his neck and took pictures whenever he had the chance. It was his dream to make photography his career or so he babbled.


    I had once seen a photo he took. Yuzuki and I were side by side. My expression was drawn in a forced smile.


    In short, I hated him. It was disgusting to see the enraptured, sickening look when he aimed Yuzuki with his camera. It was a look I knew well; worship and fawning, no different from a number of boys who looked at Yuzuki in a similar way.


    As she grew older, she became surprisingly beautiful. Even a boring classroom was brought to life only by her being there. During breaks, a crown would form just to stare at her. Sometimes, there were students from other schools in the crowd too. She would glare with her glazed eyes and they would disperse. As always, she hated attention.


    £²


    Students of Sakuranoshita Middle school had to belong in a club. I had grudgingly joined the baseball club. The reason was Shimizu.


    He may not look like it, but he was the powerhouse of the team. In elementary school, he was the fourth pitcher and had left an amazing performance. As a first year middle schooler, he was already six feet tall. It wasn¡¯t long before he surpassed the third years and became a regular¨C with such prominence, one might expect envy, but for the amiable Shimizu and his mysterious charm, everyone loved him.


    He was always smiling, cheerful, innocent, kind, and could be a bit silly. But when it mattered the most, he was dependable above all else. He loved baseball, whether it would be watching or playing by himself. He was fun to watch and a good team player. Perhaps it was his magnetic charm that doubled the baseball club¡¯s membership during the year he was in. As long as Shimizu was around, there was a sense of assurance that no one would be left out. When I saw him enjoying the practice, I felt great too. Practicing with Shimizu has become what I look forward to the most.


    For some reason, he preferred me to everyone else. Because of him, even a ¡°shadow¡± like me had no trouble making friends.


    After club activities, the group would walk home white chatting and laughing at occasional banter. When Shimizu gor a red mark, everyone opened a study session for him. Those days were beyond what I could have asked for.


    Meanwhile, Yuzuki and I had grown apart. We were in different classes, and she was incredibly busy to boot. She had a dizzyingly cramped schedule of concerts and TV appearances, and on time off, she had to practice.


    Even if she had the time, I doubt we could have returned to the relationship we had before. Ever since ¡°running away from home¡± she had become so close, yet so far apart.


    Even though we were joking and laughing with each other, I felt like she wasn¡¯t there at all. She was at an arm¡¯s reach, but that arm¡¯s reach felt infinitely far away. Even if I managed to reach her, would my hand just pass right through her? Like the meaning of her name, she was just as unobtainable as the wavering moon on the lake surface.


    Although I would be proved wrong. I had believed my affection to her to be one-sided, however, I was just as important to her, it seemed.


    One July evening, as usual, the members of the baseball club noisily plod home. Suddenly, Aida went silent. I followed his gaze and fell silent too.


    Yuzuki and the third year captain¡ªour team¡¯s captain¨Cwere walking side by side.


    They seemed a little subdued, as though they were in their own world.


    ¡°T-they¡¯re dating¡­?¡± Aida, whose little crush triggered Yuzuki¡¯s bullying, cried out. I had never known that his little crush would last this long. ¡°Have they kissed yet¡­?¡±


    Aida¡¯s perception of dating at that time was naive at best, and funny when I recall about it now. However, at the time, it was as though someone had knocked me in the head with a baseball bat.


    I liked Yuzuki more than I realized.


    £³


    Satoshi Roppongi was the name of the captain of the baseball team.


    I began to observe him in any way I could. It was a mentality of observing the enemy, I had lost my patience. The more I observed, the better he looked. He was tall, good-looking, a great baseball player, and had excellent grades.


    ¡°My goal for the next month is to power up to ¡®Senbongi¡¯!¡± He joked at his own expense, to which everyone roared with laughter. ¡°167-fold power up!!!¡± He casually rounded down the first decimal place.


    [TN: ¡°Roppongi¡± means six trees, and ¡°Sen¡± means thousand.]


    Aida, brustling with envy, muttered, ¡°What¡¯s ¡®Senbongi¡¯, I¡¯ll make it three, you ¡®Sanbongi¡¯¡±


    [TN: Yes, this ¡°San¡±¡¯s three]


    That was, as far as things went, lame. Although I silently made my own slander. In my mind, I imagined Hara-senpai, all the six trees were cut, only a flat land remained.


    [TN: ¡°Hara¡± means plain, or plateau]


    I wanted to beat Roppongi-senpai, so I began to play baseball in vain. I went to Round One which opened three years earlier at the Koriyama Station East Shopping Center, and honed my skills with the batting machine. During that period, blisters were my companion.


    I saw Roppongi-senpai and Yuzuki going home side by side several times. Each time, Aida would make strange sad noises like ¡°Aaaaauhh,¡± or ¡°Ughhhh¡±


    After two weeks of intense training, I finally had the chance to face Roppongi-senpai. Even though it was a friendly practice, I was incredibly enthusiastic. I swung the bat as hard as I could, gave up two foul balls, two strikes, and two balls. I hit a sweet ball on the outside corner sharply, earning a one-base hit. I would love to do a victory pose, but I decided to play it cool. Such was the adolescent mind.


    The next batter was Aida. He looked like a prawn from the moment he stepped into the batter¡¯s box. He bit on the challenge and got another one-base hit. Aida let out a whoop of joy. Like an excited African elephant.


    ¡°You guys sure are something, first years¡­¡± Roppongi-senpai chuckled wryly while wiping sweat from his forehead.


    Next was Shimizu. His build was so huge that his bat looked like an ice cream stick. His body swayed happily.


    Oh, there¡¯s no way he¡¯s gonna miss, I thought.


    Ching¨C


    The pleasant metallic ring. The rising ball.


    ¡°Wahahahahaha©¤©¤!¡± Shimizu roared.


    He had a habit of guffawing when a homerun was imminent. It was this infections laughter that earned him the sobriquet ¡°Laughing Giant¡±


    Chuckling, the three of us swept the bases and reached the home plate. Roppongi-senpai looked at us ghastly.


    I watched the other first-years batting for a while, basking in the afterglow of my victory.


    Then, gradually, I came to my senses.


    Did it matter if I beat him in a little baseball match?


    Despite all my worries, Aida was grinning innocently beside me.

 Volume 1 - CH 3.2

    The end of July¡ªthe end of semester ceremony was over in the morning, the afternoon was free.


    I took a leisure stroll around the school grounds. The brass band¡¯s rehearsal performance was prevalent. I was thinking about Yuzuki. I wondered where she was now, and what she was doing.


    It was when I swung around to the back of the school building.


    ¡°Ah.¡±


    Yuzuki was crouching against the wall.


    Caught by the unexpected meeting, I greeted her curtly. ¡°L-long time no see. Sorry to bother.¡±


    ¡°Wait¨C¡± She caught my blazer¡¯s hem ¡°Where are you going? Let¡¯s talk.¡±


    She dragged me back. We had been together for so long, but at that moment, everything felt new. I couldn¡¯t help but look at her profile. Was she this beautiful?


    ¡°How are you doing?¡±


    I replied hurriedly, ¡°Fine.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re eating well?¡± She questioned me like a mother.


    ¡°What about you, heard your schedule¡¯s packed.¡±


    Yuzuki smiled mischievously, leaned forward, and asked, ¡°Still ten years early for you to worry about me, Yakumo-kun¡±


    ¡°What does that mean¡­¡±


    I pretended to be annoyed and turned my face away¡ªbut in fact, it was to hide my reddened cheeks. Her upturned eyes had that effect on me.


    Silence fell.


    ¡°Yuzuki, are you dating Roppongi-senpai?¡± I blurted.


    Yuzuki laughed mischievously, all swagger.


    ¡°You¡¯re interested?¡±


    ¡°Not really. Aida wouldn¡¯t shut up about it, that¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Liar. You are.¡±


    Ahead of us, the scatter of shade from trees swayed with the wind.


    Yuzuki, however, looked satisfied and murmured, ¡°Tomorrow¡¯s summer break, isn¡¯t it?¡± A suspenseful pause. ¡°Do you have time tomorrow? I have a favor.¡±


    ¡°A favor?¡±


    ¡°Come over tomorrow.¡±


    £µ


    The next day, I visited Yuzuki¡¯s house. With a pounding heart, I pressed the doorbell.


    Immediately, the door opened. She smiled and let me through. It had been a year since I had been in the Igarashi household. The scent of the house was nostalgic.


    Deep in my thoughts, I ran into the person I least expected. On the other side of the room, her manager, Hojo, lounged with a self-satisfied look.


    His mouth twitched when he saw me. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s been a while, Yakumo-kun.¡±


    Yuzuki smiled unconcernedly. Looking at her face, I had a hunch. Perhaps she had no other option but to be alone with Hojo that day. At her wit¡¯s end, she called me over.


    With a smile as fake as his, I amiably sat on the couch.4


    ¡°Why don¡¯t we take a commemorative photo,¡± he suggested.


    I couldn¡¯t understand what was worth commemorating, but Hojo was already snapping pictures. He¡¯d probably crop me out from the frame later, from the look of things.


    After chatting about various things, we decided to eat the shortcake Hojo had bought for us. Not by coincidence, I suspect, there were two slices.


    ¡°Here, Yakumo-kun, take the strawberries.¡±


    My sidelong glance told me Hojo was sneering. ¡°You can have my strawberries, Yuzuki-chan.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood for strawberries today, that¡¯s why I gave it to Yakumo-kun.¡±


    ¡°Me too, take it, Yuzuki-chan.¡±


    ¡°Hm, take care of this too, then, Yakumo-kun.¡±


    My thin, unbalanced cake was topped with two strawberries. It was hard to suppress a laugh when I saw the look of hatred on Hojoss face. ¡°Give me back my strawberries!¡± His expression was saying, ¡°Give me back my strawberries!!!¡±


    Then Hojo suddenly got up and turned on the CD player set in the other room. Yuzuki rolled her eyes as her performance began playing. Hojo grinned and took a witty pose. Suddenly and furiously, he began to expound on how marvelous her performance was.


    Yuzuki turned red. Hojo saw that and increased his fervor. Unbeknownst to him, Yuzuki was red with anger, not embarrassment. Seeing that she might explode at him anytime soon, I pretended to head for the bathroom and slipped out. In transition between songs, I surreptitiously replaced the CD and returned to the living room.


    Yuzuki was at her limit. I wondered what Hojo might have said while I was gone.


    At that moment, the replaced CD started playing.


    Her expression instantly relaxed. I sent  a meaningful look at her and we both snickered. Hojo hadn¡¯t noticed, and continued to heap his praise. Her voice slipped, and she quickly covered it up, which proved unnecessary. Hojo misunderstood her laughter and more than ever, extol ardently.


    ¡°Only she can perform like this!¡±


    Trying hard not to laugh, I made customary comments. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right.¡±


    Yuzuki puffed, in which she pretended to sneeze. Every time Hojo said something absurd, it felt as if we were accomplices in some strange, sweet crime.


    Just then, my right hand and Yuzuki¡¯s left hand¡¯s pinky finger grazed under the table. Intentional or not, there was no way of knowing.


    Somehow, I didn¡¯t want to find out. I was happy to leave it ambiguous.


    I didn¡¯t pull back, neither did her. Our hands never intertwined, but never left each other, either.


    I thanked the female pianist silently for her wonderful performance in place of Yuzuki¡¯s.


    Thank you, Marta Argerich.


    £¶


    After the visit, we became somewhat closer again.


    Sometimes, I went to her place, sometimes, she came to mine. Although she never played piano in front of me ever again.


    In August, we promised to go to Umune Festival, a local summer festival in front of the Koriyama Station.


    The front door of Igarashi¡¯s house opened, revealing Yuzuki in yukata. Deep blue fabric with Dwarf Iris floral pattern. Her obi sash was bright red, her hair up in a knot. The bun was adored with white flower hairpins.


    The darkness seemed to brighten as soon as she appeared.


    Yuzuki looked at me and smiled. ¡°Does it look good on me?¡±


    She spun around for me to get a look. Her wooden sandals clicked against the concrete, a soft smell rose from her. I was too stunned to take a good look.


    Sousuke-san appeared at the entrance. I froze. Last time I saw him was when I broke the window.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you to the station,¡± he said, and walked smoothly past me.


    Not sure how to feel, I anxiously followed him and Yuzuki. I awkwardly ducked into the BMW coup¨¦ and the wheels began to roll. The darken stress and hedges flowed by.


    Not knowing what to say, I kept to myself. Yuzuki, too, was as quiet as a doll.


    ¡°Good to see you again, Yakumo-kun. Yozuki was always talking about you.¡± Sousuke-san broke the silence.


    ¡°Good to see you too¡­¡±


    I glanced at Yuzuki, she was caught in the world beyond the window.


    ¡°I heard you joined the baseball club.¡±


    Since he brought up the topic, I went along with him. I mentioned Roppongi-senpai a few times, none of which got Yuzuki¡¯s attention.


    ¡°What about your school days, Sousuke-san, any clubs?¡±


    ¡°Piano for me, there¡¯s no club so I play by myself. WEnt to music college, met Ranko, and¡­ got stuck there. Yuzuki¡¯s talent¡¯s entirely from Ranko, her looks too, actually. Wonder what we have in common¡­¡± he said bitterly.


    ¡°Your kindness?¡± I suggested.


    He looked surprised. Through the rearview mirror, our eyes met. His eyes were filled with joy. That only lasted for a second, though.


    ¡°I¡¯m not as good as you¡¯d think.¡± He chewed.


    ¡°You¡¯re a good person, Dad.¡±


    Still looking out the window, Yuzuki said. Sousuke-san¡¯s lips opened, and closed again as he returned his gaze forward. Even in the same car, it was as though they were going on opposite lanes.


    I remembered the time when she explained about the ¡°forfeiture¡± to me. The word was stark in my mind like a white shell amid a muddy beach.

 Volume 1 - CH 3.3

    The station and the surrounding area was overflowing with people.


    We visited the stalls and ate cotton candy, candy, kebabs, and on and on.  I was getting fed up with the rip-off prices at the festival, but Yuzuki continued shopping happily.


    The festival music echoed incessantly. People flowing like a slow river. At times, an eddy would form and send people stumbling. As time went on, the steps began to fall in rhythm with the drums. Clinking of kanzashis, goldfish spinning in ponds. It was a rhythmic chaos. Energized cheer rose and fell occasionally.


    [TN: Kanzashi is a kind of Japanese hair ornament.]


    I felt like someone had splashed paint on my senses, my normal impression of being in a crowd. Excessive information and emotions flowed into my head mercilessly, the same as how excessive vibration caused carsickness.


    A line of dancers passed by.


    A familiar voice pulled me out of my reverie ¡°Huh?¡±


    It was Roppongi-senpai. He was with two third-year students. No big surprise, though, probably everyone from school came to this festival.


    Senpai¡¯s eyes swarm, darting between the two of us. ¡°Hi, Igarashi.¡± Since the five of us stopped in the middle of the street, passersby glared at us as they made their way around. He scratched his cheek. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you have something else to do?¡±


    I looked at her puzzledly. She appeared unconcerned. ¡°I do. Yakumo-kun here invited me first.¡±


    Huh, didn¡¯t she invite me?


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Then, excuse us. Let¡¯s go, Yakumo-kun.¡±


    With sharp clicks of her sandal, she strode off. I bowed to Senpai before hastily chasing after her.


    ¡°Yuzuki¡ª¡± I asked when Ifinally caught up. ¡°Weren¡¯t you dating?¡±


    ¡°We aren¡¯t,¡± she said stiffly, ¡°He was persistent about inviting me somewhere, so I favored him with some time. He¡¯s not a bad person, but I¡¯m not interested.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you getting his hopes up? I don¡¯t think that¡¯s good¡ª¡±


    She turned around and bristled, ¡°So you want me to date him?¡±


    ¡°I haven¡¯t said that.¡±


    Yuzuki¡¯s eyes took on a reddish-blue hue. She turned again and walked away.


    £¸


    We took a bus bound for Miharu/Funabiki and got off at Mizuana after about fifteen minutes. From there, we walked for about five minutes to the venue of the Fukuyama Yume firework festival.


    A huge crowd gathered on the bank of the Abukuma River. All of the good spots were already taken, so we walked along the river and spread out the vinyl mat a little far out. There was still some time left before the fireworks. During that time, the tension from our encounter with Roppongi-senpai filled the air.


    ¡°Do you know the origin of this Uneme Festival?¡±


    Then she jumped into an explanation of the Uneme legend.


    [TN: This is the Koriyama version of Uneme, which depicts a few things differently from the mainstream Uneme. Also, while there¡¯s the Nara version in English on the internet, there¡¯s no English for this version.]


    ©¤©¤©¤About 1,300 years ago, in the village of Ajiki of Mutsu Province, the old name for Koriyama Prefecture, the climate was cold and arid. The village had no way of paying tribute to the Imperial Court. The villagers petitioned their plight to King Katsuragi, a visiting envoy from the capital of Nara, and pleaded for the exemption of tax. The king, however, refused to listen to their petitions.


    That night, a scant, if marvelous by the villages¡¯ standard, was held in the honor of the king. Being used to the splendor of Nara, the king felt neglected.


    Then, came the graceful Princess Haru.


    She held water in her right, spirit in her left. She lowered her hand on the king¡¯s knee and recited,


    ¡°O¡¯ the pristine Yama-no-i waters reflect the Asaka mountains. With such a heart that is as shallow as the yonder pools, how could we entertain you?¡±


    [TN: I did my best translating this (????)]


    When your heart is like a pool so shallow it can reflect Mount Asaka¡¯s shadows, there is no way you could enjoy the festivals, was what it meant. Water in her right hand signifies the ¡°shadows of the Asaka¡± and the ¡°shallow pools¡±, while the sake in her right hand meant ¡°sincerity¡± the villagers offered.


    The king drank the ¡°sincerity¡± offered by the princess with pleasure. Regaining his enthusiasm, he lifted the tax for three years on the condition that Princess Haru become the emperor¡¯s uneme.


    [TN: ¡°Uneme¡± roughly translates to ¡°maid-in-waiting¡±]


    Unbeknownst to the king, Haru had a fiancee named Jiro. They separated with tears in their eyes.


    In the capital, Haruhime was favored by the emperor, nonetheless, it was a living hell for her. On the day of the harvest moon in mid-autumn, she rushed to the Sarusawa Pond in the midst of a lively banquet. She hung her robe on a willow branch and, feigning a drowning, fled back to her hometown.


    It was a will-breaking arduous journey. But she trekked across the length of the Japan Island regardless. When she finally returned to her village, with an exhausted body and weary soul, however, an even cruel reality awaited her. Jiro, her lover, had thrown himself into the pristine waters of Yama-no-i in grief.


    On a snowy night, Princess Haru drowned herself in the same shallow pool as her lover.


    When spring came and the snow melted away, a lovely, unnamed, light-purple flower bloomed all around the Yama-no-i pool. The flower, people said, were their love crystalized and reborned. It was named ¡°Asaka no Hanakatsumi¡±


    In the Nara version, Princess Haru was deprived of the declining favor from the emperor and drowned herself in Sarusawa Pond.


    The one that Yuzuki told me was a more abbreviated version of the tragic love legend from the Koriyama viewpoint.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ depressing¡­¡±


    She took a breath. ¡°What do you think is the lesson from this story?¡±


    ¡°lesson? ¡° I thought for a moment before testing, ¡°love is beautiful?¡±


    ¡°Unimaginative,¡± she looked at me. ¡°Women are weak. ¡®Women must use her wits and wiles¡¯ is the lesson. Without it, we can¡¯t even have a proper love.¡±


    ¡°Is that really how it is?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± She said quietly. ¡°You¡¯re still a kid.¡±


    Before I could ask what she meant, a large firework bloomed in the night sky. The Abukuma River shone, mirroring the glow.


    It was a beautiful summer night.

 Volume 1 - CH 4.1

    It was summer, but I wasn¡¯t feeling better. Shimizu was worried about me, but I had no way of explaining my strange illness.


    Radiation leaked from the Fukushima Nuclear Power plant, and had become a nationwide issue. Everyday, the news talked of farmers committing suicide due to their ruined crops, children being bullied at evacuation sites, and so on. ¡°Reputational damage¡± became a popular word, every Fukushima product became radioactive despite having a proper radiation certificate, as a whole, Fukushima¡¯s economy plummeted. Facts and hoax mixed, nothing was true, nothing was false.


    I recommenced the flower picking. However, this time, the blank space was simply too big, too many lives lost, too many futures ruined. No matter how many flowers I had, it was never enough.


    Desperate, I ran away to the game world. It was an online game that I became addicted to. In the game, enemies dropped ¡°flowers¡± when defeated. I collected those endlessly.


    [TN: Bro truly lived in an online age.]


    Pow, pok, pok, bong, pow, pok, pok¡­it was an endless rhythmic monotonous task. Strangely enough, the pain subsided.


    I discovered that the flower didn¡¯t even have to be real, the conceptual one was enough.


    Meanwhile, Yuzuki had been on edge since the earthquake.


    We began to have midnight strolls. She would slip out of her home, and I would be there. The night was quiet and peaceful. The playground equipment in the park looked like sleeping animals. In reality, though, radiation was everywhere, slowly choking the Prefecture. Radiation, It was a curious thing, no shape, no smell, formless, yet distorting the everyday we have had. It was aggravating.


    One day, she was fuming during the entire stroll.


    A post of a certain celebrity had stirred up a commotion.


    It was something along the lines of ¡°People who¡¯re still in Fukushima are lazy. Get out of there now. Aren¡¯t you aware of the radiation? If you want to get thyroid cancer, don¡¯t drag your family into it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a complete dumbass who can¡¯t empathize with anyone,¡± she cussed, ¡°We all know the consequences.  Do you really think everyone has the money to move? From the first place, on what basis are you saying this? Safely living somewhere far off, complaining about things. Do you even know what difficulties we have to face?! Do you have an empathy?!¡±


    The next thing I saw was Yuzuki in tears. She cried a lot these days. Her recent fights with Ranko-san made her emotions rampart.


    I looked up to the sky. It was a starry night with a bright moon.


    I took a breath. ¡°Well, it can¡¯t be helped. Empathy is a tricky thing. Not everyone has it, me neither, I think.¡±


    ¡°At least you don¡¯t hurt someone with it.¡±


    We sat down by the Abukuma River. I wondered if there would be fireworks this year.


    ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s all right for me to be playing piano,¡± she said, sounding worried, ¡°Piano can¡¯t fill bellies, can¡¯t save lives, can¡¯t improve anyone¡¯s welfare. No matter how good I get, I can¡¯t save anyone¡­¡±


    In a situation like this, what should I say? Even if I say her piano can save someone, would she believe me?


    In the end, I had only answered vaguely. ¡°Maybe there is, somewhere.¡±


    ¡°I hope so¡­¡±


    Recently, her popularity has increased to the point where normal people misunderstood her show for a live concert. This change in audience had sowed doubt, it seemed.


    A heavy silence fell. The murmur of the river sounded strangely desolate.


    ¡°What if I suddenly disappear, what will you do, Yakumo-kun?¡±


    ¡°Huh¨C?¡±


    I stared at her questioningly. Seeing that I wouldn¡¯t answer, she let on.


    ¡°Mom told me to study abroad in Italy next year.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re fighting¡­¡±


    She nodded slowly. ¡°What do you think,¡± she asked quietly.


    ¡°You should go.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the answer she expected, it appeared, for she blinked in surprise.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°No one knows what the radiation will do. If you could afford to go, then go.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say the same thing to my mom¡­¡± she said shakily, before jumping into the river. With a splash, she disappeared beneath the surface of the water.


    I stared dazedly.


    She immediately emerged from the water. Her long hair was wet and jet black.


    My heart was thumping with anxiety. After all, I, too, was afraid of radiation. The Abukuma River was as good as a poisoned river. No matter how beautiful the scenery was, it was imprinted on my subconscious as radioactive.


    ¡°Radiation can eat shit.¡± Her eyes gleamed. ¡°I was born here. I grew up drinking this water, eating the food of this land. I won¡¯t leave here so easily! How will I tell everyone to stay if I was the one who ran away! I won¡¯t abandon Fukushima!¡±


    [TN: For context, people of the 1990s generation are quite loyal to their native Prefecture]


    Her eyes now glistered tears. Her passion for homeland was something I couldn¡¯t understand, even until now. It was an emotion I totally lacked. I had never thought of Fukushima as my hometown nor have any love for it.


    It was probably my fault, not the Prefecture.


    ¡°Nonchalance¡± and ¡°easy going¡± were, as a matter of fact, different.


    Yuzuki was easy going but never nonchalant. Me, however, was not easy going, but rather nonchalant. There was nothing grounding my soul, not school, not family, not hometown.


    I remained here only because I had nowhere else to go. Maybe not so different from a hair stuck in a drain, just drowning, writing, tangling, pulled by the video of the pipe beyond, but couldn¡¯t go anywhere.


    [TN: Never thought any human being would use hair in a drain as a metaphor]


    It meant that somewhere in our life, we were given something important by Fukushima. Yuzuki noticed and appreciated it, while I didn¡¯t even notice.


    Realizing this, I felt¡­ ashamed.


    As if to excuse myself, ¡°Yuzuki, you¡¯re not running. You¡¯re going to study in Italy. You¡¯ll learn from a better teacher, play more piano, and then you¡¯ll come back and tell your stories through your piano. That¡¯s why you¡¯re going.¡±


    She was silent again. And then, with a voice that sounded like a bubble rising from the depths of the water, she croaked, ¡°¡­And you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do it without me. You¡¯re like a goldfish from a festival. If I¡¯m not here, you¡¯ll starve to death in your apartment again.¡±


    I wondered if she had enough care for me to remain in Fukushima if I say I can¡¯t live without her.


    Although I never deserved to hold her back. My weightless, frivolous soul could never hold her passionate drive back. The earth held the moon in place because of its weight, but what weight do I have to hold Yuzuki back?


    ¡°I¡¯m not the same kid as before. I¡¯ll be fine¡±


    She turned away from me, biting her lip. Wading to the shore, she wiped her tears with her wrist and pulled off water.


    ¡°Got it. Farewell.¡±


    Slowly, she walked past me and to the darkness beyond¡­


    Unable to resist, I called out to her, perhaps for the last time.


    ¡°Yuzuki¡ª¡± She stopped. I was already at a loss for words. ¡°Take care¡­¡±


    She looked back at me for a moment and then started walking unsteadily again. Her white figure was lost in the dark, and I, too, set off.


    Taking my last glance at her wet footprints over the road, I took the opposite way home.


    £µ


    In November, her new CD was released. The jacket photo enraged her to no bounds.


    It was the picture of that summer night when she dove into the Abukuma River and cried. The lighting and composition was beautifully edited. She was glowing faintly, white like the moon, the river was also as clear as a mirror, reflecting the stars.


    Although it was undeniable that her raw emotions were masterfully portrayed.


    The CD title was ¡°SADNESS¡±, with the subheader ¡°Prayer for a devastated homeland.¡±


    It was sold like hotcakes. On top of the quality performance, the fact that Yuzuki was from Fukushima, the disaster area, became sensational.


    With every element aligning, it was obvious who the culprit was, Takashi Hojo.


    Yuzuki found a time when he was bound to stay at Igarashi House for a few hours and immediately pressed him.


    ¡°It was a coincidence,¡± excused Hojo, ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep, so I went for a stroll. When I saw Yuzuki-chan in the river, I couldn¡¯t resist a picture. Sutter slipped, you could say.¡±


    ¡°And on whose permission you put the picture on the CD!!¡±


    ¡°On mine¡± Ranko-san entered the scene. ¡°It¡¯s a chance that we¡¯d be foolish not to grab it. Do you know that the cover had just made our international debut?¡±


    Yuzuki shook her head with utter incredulity.


    ¡°You witch¡ª!!¡±


    Without grabbing an umbrella, she stormed away. The destination was my apartment. Since the cold war we have had since that summer night, that was the first time that she came for me.


    At that point, I knew immediately that something had upset her terribly.


    Not sure what to do, I passed her a towel.


    She complained between sobs, ¡°This one won¡¯t absorb water!¡±


    I passed her another one.


    She took a shower and changed into my jersey. During the procession, she was sobbing the whole time, apologizing to practically everyone. To the casualties of the tsunami, to the pianists for casting shame upon the industry, sorry to everyone for the publicity stunt.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even here when the earthquake happened¡­ I wasn¡¯t affected by it in the slightest¡­ And that CD made me look like I¡¯ve suffered the most¡­ That¡¯s not fair¡­! Countless had lost their lives and families¡­ and I¡¯m reaping profit from them!!¡±


    ¡°What do I do, Yakumo-kun?¡± she repeated.


    Her tears were infectious, soon, I was also sobbing.


    Behind her back, I secretly ran through the reviews. No matter how good the product is, there¡¯d always be people who hated it. That was what I feared, what if Yuzuki saw those reviews?


    Notwithstanding, the reviews of ¡°SADNESS¡± were surprisingly positive.


    Hoping that it would be any consolation, I showed her some of them, only for her to weep harder.


    At my wit¡¯s end, I pulled out Tanaka Kiyoko-sensei¡¯s CD from the shelf. A beautiful piano started playing¡­


    ¡°Waaaahh! ¡­Kiyoko-sensei!! What should I do¡­ Kiyoko-sensei!!¡±


    No matter what I did, she only cried harder.


    On the side note, Tanaka Kiyoko and Yuzuki, of course, had no teacher-disciple relationship. Tanaka Kiyoko passed away on February 26, 1996. As if in irony, Yuzuki was born on March 3 of the following year. Even so, through the sounds of her recorded piano music, Yuzuki had been given so much respect and love, so much that she called her ¡°Sensei¡±¨C-


    Learn more


    Pause


    Unmute


    Their relationship was nothing but poetric.


    Eventually, the piano lured the tears-weary Yuzuki to sleep.


    Her tears, while sorrowful, were pure and earnest, just like Tanaka Kiyoko¡¯s piano.

 Volume 1 - CH 4.2

    It was summer, but I wasn¡¯t feeling better. Shimizu was worried about me, but I had no way of explaining my strange illness.


    Radiation leaked from the Fukushima Nuclear Power plant, and had become a nationwide issue. Everyday, the news talked of farmers committing suicide due to their ruined crops, children being bullied at evacuation sites, and so on. ¡°Reputational damage¡± became a popular word, every Fukushima product became radioactive despite having a proper radiation certificate, as a whole, Fukushima¡¯s economy plummeted. Facts and hoax mixed, nothing was true, nothing was false.


    I recommenced the flower picking. However, this time, the blank space was simply too big, too many lives lost, too many futures ruined. No matter how many flowers I had, it was never enough.


    Desperate, I ran away to the game world. It was an online game that I became addicted to. In the game, enemies dropped ¡°flowers¡± when defeated. I collected those endlessly.


    [TN: Bro truly lived in an online age.]


    Pow, pok, pok, bong, pow, pok, pok¡­it was an endless rhythmic monotonous task. Strangely enough, the pain subsided.


    I discovered that the flower didn¡¯t even have to be real, the conceptual one was enough.


    Meanwhile, Yuzuki had been on edge since the earthquake.


    We began to have midnight strolls. She would slip out of her home, and I would be there. The night was quiet and peaceful. The playground equipment in the park looked like sleeping animals. In reality, though, radiation was everywhere, slowly choking the Prefecture. Radiation, It was a curious thing, no shape, no smell, formless, yet distorting the everyday we have had. It was aggravating.


    One day, she was fuming during the entire stroll.


    A post of a certain celebrity had stirred up a commotion.


    It was something along the lines of ¡°People who¡¯re still in Fukushima are lazy. Get out of there now. Aren¡¯t you aware of the radiation? If you want to get thyroid cancer, don¡¯t drag your family into it.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a complete dumbass who can¡¯t empathize with anyone,¡± she cussed, ¡°We all know the consequences.  Do you really think everyone has the money to move? From the first place, on what basis are you saying this? Safely living somewhere far off, complaining about things. Do you even know what difficulties we have to face?! Do you have an empathy?!¡±


    The next thing I saw was Yuzuki in tears. She cried a lot these days. Her recent fights with Ranko-san made her emotions rampart.


    I looked up to the sky. It was a starry night with a bright moon.


    I took a breath. ¡°Well, it can¡¯t be helped. Empathy is a tricky thing. Not everyone has it, me neither, I think.¡±


    ¡°At least you don¡¯t hurt someone with it.¡±


    We sat down by the Abukuma River. I wondered if there would be fireworks this year.


    ¡°I wonder if it¡¯s all right for me to be playing piano,¡± she said, sounding worried, ¡°Piano can¡¯t fill bellies, can¡¯t save lives, can¡¯t improve anyone¡¯s welfare. No matter how good I get, I can¡¯t save anyone¡­¡±


    In a situation like this, what should I say? Even if I say her piano can save someone, would she believe me?


    In the end, I had only answered vaguely. ¡°Maybe there is, somewhere.¡±


    ¡°I hope so¡­¡±


    Recently, her popularity has increased to the point where normal people misunderstood her show for a live concert. This change in audience had sowed doubt, it seemed.


    A heavy silence fell. The murmur of the river sounded strangely desolate.


    ¡°What if I suddenly disappear, what will you do, Yakumo-kun?¡±


    ¡°Huh¨C?¡±


    I stared at her questioningly. Seeing that I wouldn¡¯t answer, she let on.


    ¡°Mom told me to study abroad in Italy next year.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re fighting¡­¡±


    She nodded slowly. ¡°What do you think,¡± she asked quietly.


    ¡°You should go.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the answer she expected, it appeared, for she blinked in surprise.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°No one knows what the radiation will do. If you could afford to go, then go.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say the same thing to my mom¡­¡± she said shakily, before jumping into the river. With a splash, she disappeared beneath the surface of the water.


    I stared dazedly.


    She immediately emerged from the water. Her long hair was wet and jet black.


    My heart was thumping with anxiety. After all, I, too, was afraid of radiation. The Abukuma River was as good as a poisoned river. No matter how beautiful the scenery was, it was imprinted on my subconscious as radioactive.


    ¡°Radiation can eat shit.¡± Her eyes gleamed. ¡°I was born here. I grew up drinking this water, eating the food of this land. I won¡¯t leave here so easily! How will I tell everyone to stay if I was the one who ran away! I won¡¯t abandon Fukushima!¡±


    [TN: For context, people of the 1990s generation are quite loyal to their native Prefecture]


    Her eyes now glistered tears. Her passion for homeland was something I couldn¡¯t understand, even until now. It was an emotion I totally lacked. I had never thought of Fukushima as my hometown nor have any love for it.


    It was probably my fault, not the Prefecture.


    ¡°Nonchalance¡± and ¡°easy going¡± were, as a matter of fact, different.


    Yuzuki was easy going but never nonchalant. Me, however, was not easy going, but rather nonchalant. There was nothing grounding my soul, not school, not family, not hometown.


    I remained here only because I had nowhere else to go. Maybe not so different from a hair stuck in a drain, just drowning, writing, tangling, pulled by the video of the pipe beyond, but couldn¡¯t go anywhere.


    [TN: Never thought any human being would use hair in a drain as a metaphor]


    It meant that somewhere in our life, we were given something important by Fukushima. Yuzuki noticed and appreciated it, while I didn¡¯t even notice.


    Realizing this, I felt¡­ ashamed.


    As if to excuse myself, ¡°Yuzuki, you¡¯re not running. You¡¯re going to study in Italy. You¡¯ll learn from a better teacher, play more piano, and then you¡¯ll come back and tell your stories through your piano. That¡¯s why you¡¯re going.¡±


    She was silent again. And then, with a voice that sounded like a bubble rising from the depths of the water, she croaked, ¡°¡­And you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t do it without me. You¡¯re like a goldfish from a festival. If I¡¯m not here, you¡¯ll starve to death in your apartment again.¡±


    I wondered if she had enough care for me to remain in Fukushima if I say I can¡¯t live without her.


    Although I never deserved to hold her back. My weightless, frivolous soul could never hold her passionate drive back. The earth held the moon in place because of its weight, but what weight do I have to hold Yuzuki back?


    ¡°I¡¯m not the same kid as before. I¡¯ll be fine¡±


    She turned away from me, biting her lip. Wading to the shore, she wiped her tears with her wrist and pulled off water.


    ¡°Got it. Farewell.¡±


    Slowly, she walked past me and to the darkness beyond¡­


    Unable to resist, I called out to her, perhaps for the last time.


    ¡°Yuzuki¡ª¡± She stopped. I was already at a loss for words. ¡°Take care¡­¡±


    She looked back at me for a moment and then started walking unsteadily again. Her white figure was lost in the dark, and I, too, set off.


    Taking my last glance at her wet footprints over the road, I took the opposite way home.


    £µ


    In November, her new CD was released. The jacket photo enraged her to no bounds.


    It was the picture of that summer night when she dove into the Abukuma River and cried. The lighting and composition was beautifully edited. She was glowing faintly, white like the moon, the river was also as clear as a mirror, reflecting the stars.


    Although it was undeniable that her raw emotions were masterfully portrayed.


    The CD title was ¡°SADNESS¡±, with the subheader ¡°Prayer for a devastated homeland.¡±


    It was sold like hotcakes. On top of the quality performance, the fact that Yuzuki was from Fukushima, the disaster area, became sensational.


    With every element aligning, it was obvious who the culprit was, Takashi Hojo.


    Yuzuki found a time when he was bound to stay at Igarashi House for a few hours and immediately pressed him.


    ¡°It was a coincidence,¡± excused Hojo, ¡°I couldn¡¯t sleep, so I went for a stroll. When I saw Yuzuki-chan in the river, I couldn¡¯t resist a picture. Sutter slipped, you could say.¡±


    ¡°And on whose permission you put the picture on the CD!!¡±


    ¡°On mine¡± Ranko-san entered the scene. ¡°It¡¯s a chance that we¡¯d be foolish not to grab it. Do you know that the cover had just made our international debut?¡±


    Yuzuki shook her head with utter incredulity.


    ¡°You witch¡ª!!¡±


    Without grabbing an umbrella, she stormed away. The destination was my apartment. Since the cold war we have had since that summer night, that was the first time that she came for me.


    At that point, I knew immediately that something had upset her terribly.


    Not sure what to do, I passed her a towel.


    She complained between sobs, ¡°This one won¡¯t absorb water!¡±


    I passed her another one.


    She took a shower and changed into my jersey. During the procession, she was sobbing the whole time, apologizing to practically everyone. To the casualties of the tsunami, to the pianists for casting shame upon the industry, sorry to everyone for the publicity stunt.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t even here when the earthquake happened¡­ I wasn¡¯t affected by it in the slightest¡­ And that CD made me look like I¡¯ve suffered the most¡­ That¡¯s not fair¡­! Countless had lost their lives and families¡­ and I¡¯m reaping profit from them!!¡±


    ¡°What do I do, Yakumo-kun?¡± she repeated.


    Her tears were infectious, soon, I was also sobbing.


    Behind her back, I secretly ran through the reviews. No matter how good the product is, there¡¯d always be people who hated it. That was what I feared, what if Yuzuki saw those reviews?


    Notwithstanding, the reviews of ¡°SADNESS¡± were surprisingly positive.


    Hoping that it would be any consolation, I showed her some of them, only for her to weep harder.


    At my wit¡¯s end, I pulled out Tanaka Kiyoko-sensei¡¯s CD from the shelf. A beautiful piano started playing¡­


    ¡°Waaaahh! ¡­Kiyoko-sensei!! What should I do¡­ Kiyoko-sensei!!¡±


    No matter what I did, she only cried harder.


    On the side note, Tanaka Kiyoko and Yuzuki, of course, had no teacher-disciple relationship. Tanaka Kiyoko passed away on February 26, 1996. As if in irony, Yuzuki was born on March 3 of the following year. Even so, through the sounds of her recorded piano music, Yuzuki had been given so much respect and love, so much that she called her ¡°Sensei¡±¨C-


    Learn more


    Pause


    Unmute


    Their relationship was nothing but poetric.


    Eventually, the piano lured the tears-weary Yuzuki to sleep.


    Her tears, while sorrowful, were pure and earnest, just like Tanaka Kiyoko¡¯s piano.

 Volume 1 - CH 5.1

    We became highschoolers.


    I hadn¡¯t completely recovered from the earthquake yet, but I managed to study enough to get into a good preparatory school in the city.


    Yuzuki went to Milan Conservatory in Italy.


    That was the first time since I had met her that I was without her.


    To sum up, I spent my high school life like what Yuzuki had said. Quote, ¡°Like a goldfish scooped up on a summer festival.¡±


    [TN: Forget to add this earlier. In Asian festivals, we have this play of scooping up fishes with paper scoops. I¡¯d lost 15 bucks for one goldfish, btw. And the health of these fish are questionable, some died that summer, some lived for 6-ish years¡­]


    Since it was preparatory school, I studied hard on entrance examinations. My joy and despair became dependent on my grades and mock examination results. Although those days felt like a dream to the very end.


    On the contrary, only the phantom pain of the earthquake felt real.


    What was the point of getting into a good university, I wondered. I didn¡¯t want to be rich, or to be respected, or to have a meaningful occupation.


    I just wanted to be a decent human being.


    To fill that void in my heart, I began reading indiscriminately. Like how I collected flowers in elementary school, ¡°Flowers¡± in middle school, now I began collecting stories.


    The inspiration was an article I saw on the internet, the ¡°Commendation for Contributors to the Great East Japan Earthquake.¡± It was a short article about the stories of people who had sacrificed their lives or risked danger heroically. The writing was simple and plain, yet it brought tears to my eyes as I read.  I could picture in my mind¡¯s eye so beautifully the bravery of these people who showed their bravery in time of need. Maybe this article had given me what I had lost along the way, the story had saved me from what I thought was beyond cure.


    Just as the flowers didn¡¯t have to be real, the story didn¡¯t have to be non-fiction.


    A ridiculously absurd fiction was also fine by me. To carve something beautiful from thin air, you need a chisel, a lie. And what mattered was that the book was written with passion, with blood and soul. I didn¡¯t want a perfect book, I wanted to read the real thing, the unrefined, burning passion of writing. I hated stories that were deftly made-to-sell products. I wanted imperfect passion. Similar to how a child doesn¡¯t need perfect parents, but rather parents with genuinity.


    One day, I picked up Dad¡¯s novel on a whim.


    To my extreme chagrin, it was a good one. There was a certain quality in a story that differentiate good from bad, and Dad¡¯s had that quality in his books. It was earnest, as though he poured his life, his future, his aspirations into his works. However, I had a doubt. What if that life, that future wasn¡¯t his, but Mom¡¯s. In the end, I was left with mixed feelings about them.


    Ever since she went to Italy, Yuzuki had never contacted me. Since I had told her I was fine without her, texting her first would be admitting that I was bluffing back then.


    Nevertheless, I kept an eye on her official movements.


    Of those, a video uploaded to YouTube in May left an impression on me. That day, she was wearing a simple black dress for a concert.


    As though she was in mourning.


    The lights dimmed, and I thought she was going to disappear into the dark backstage. Quietly, she played Chopin¡¯s ¡°Nocturne No. 2¡±


    It was different from the last time I had heard her piano. Gone were the muddy, clouded piano. It was earnest and wishful, as clear as the starry night sky. It was a step closer to Kiyoko Tanaka¡¯s piano.


    Her piano was full of hope and prayer again.


    £²


    In no time at all, it was summer again.


    Summer extra classes were held, but I hadn¡¯t attended any of them. I spent time in my dark room, reading books and occasionally staring at the blue summer sky outside.


    Shimizu had messaged me, telling me that he was going to the Koushien Championship. And on August 11, I turned on the TV and find the channel


    The summer Koshien Stadium was dazzlingly displayed on the TV screen. Shimizu was a first-year student who played no. 4 for Seikou Academy. The opposition team was ¡°Nidaisan,¡± short for Nihon Univ. 3rd Junior & Senior High School.


    [TN: All institutes mentioned are real names]


    His performance was amazing. Shimizu stood in the batter¡¯s box and promptly hit his first pitch. The ball flew sharply. He immediately set for first base and slid there perilously on time.


    The referee called it safe. The stadium roared. I sighed, I was holding my breath the entire time.


    ¡°You¡¯re faster, Shimizu,¡± I muttered.


    In the bottom of the eighth inning, with neither team scoring, Shimizu came up to bat with two outs and a runner on second base. He carefully adjusted his grip and turned his piercing eyes far behind the pitcher. His body began to sway, front and back, front and back, he was priming himself for a homerun.


    [TN: I don¡¯t play baseball, so feel free to correct me if I got anything wrong.]


    On the third pitch, Shimizu swung the bat mightily.


    Ping! The ball launched high, the TV reporter reported excitedly¡ª


    ¨C¡°There it goes! High! Will Seikou get in?!¡±


    The grin on my face widened. I knew it was a definite homerun. The camera only caught Shimizu for a second, but I could see he was bellowing his characteristic ¡°Wahahaha!¡±


    ¨C¡°There it goes! Homerun!!!¡±


    The bench greeted Shimizu with smiles and patted him on the back. No matter where he went, everyone loved Shimizu.


    In the ninth inning, Nidaisan failed to score two runs, so Seikou Academy won the game 2 to 1. It was an amazing match, the two teams were really doing their best.


    Then, my consciousness returned to the dark room where I sat alone.


    What the hell am I doing?


    That one thought made me wish I would disappear.

 Volume 1 - CH 5.2

    The new semester began with a career consultation.


    The homeroom teacher, Sumida-sensei, was in charge of social studies. He was a tall and lanky man with a square face, he was known for wearing his favorite brown jacket all year round. He also wore square glasses, so his overall features were square. Students in the class had a habit of pointing at random buildings and saying it was his face.


    He crinkled his squinty eyes.


    ¡°Yakumo¨C, are you really up to it?¡± he asked, probably in concern of my grades.


    I thought for a moment.¡°No, I don¡¯t¡±


    He blinked repeatedly. ¡°But, this is a preparatory school¡­¡±


    ¡°I know, Sensei. I just can¡¯t bring myself to study seriously.¡±


    ¡°Are you not well¨C?¡± he drawled.


    ¡°Perhaps.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ you should go to counseling¡ª. You have potential, you know¨C?¡± he said lazily.


    ¡°Can I not?¡±


    ¡°That or a parent meeting, Yakumo-kun¨C¡±


    A parent meeting was what I needed to avoid at all costs.


    Like that I booked counseling through the school. I wanted to be cured of this phantom pain, of course, but that was rather impossible, and this trip to the psychiatrist would soon be a waste of time. Alas, anything but the parent meeting.


    The doctor seemed to be a competent one.


    I stifled my embarrassment and told him about my particular phantom limb pain.


    ¡°After the quake, the pain had magnified and stayed with me since. There¡¯s no sense of reality to my life, as if I¡¯m living in a mirage. Well written fiction novels, interesting games, music and art were only things that had a resemblance of reality.¡±


    The doctor scratched his cheeks, asking for the nurse¡¯s help with his eyes.


    ¡°Like the ¡®Tote Kankan¡¯ story?¡±


    ¡°¡®Tote kankan¡¯?¡±


    ¡°By Osamu Dazai. The main character was a soldier. He heard a hammering sound when he knew Japan accepted the Potsdam Declaration and surrendered. Since then, he would hear that hammering sound, totekankan, everytime he tried to do something. With the sound, he would lost all the motivation to do it¡ª¡±


    [TN: Rule no.1: don¡¯t question Japanese onomatopoeia. Toka tonton doesn¡¯t sound like a hammer at all, I know]


    His fingers ran the keyboard.


    ¡°Ah, not ¡®tote kankan¡¯, but ¡®Toka Tonton¡¯. Sorry, I got it wrong¡±


    He slid the notebook screen to me. I read Aozora Bunko¡¯s Toka Tonton on the screen. It was a short story in the style of a letter sent to the author by a man who was troubled by the hammering toka tonton.


    [Please tell me. What is this sound? And how do I get rid of it?]


    [Matthew 10:28 ¡°Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the One who can destroy both soul and body in hell¡±] replied the author, [If you can feel a bolt from the heart at the words of Jesus, your auditory hallucinations should cease. I will write again soon.]


    ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    The doctor scratched his cheek harder.¡±Honestly? I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°So he lost the illusion of Japan as a mighty empire, and found out his emperor is a mere man, not god. Then at his lowest, the author cited the words of the enemy nation¡¯s god? Is he ridiculing the soldier?¡±


    ¡°What, are you criticizing Osamu Dazai?¡±


    ¡°My point is that he really did that?¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re thinking, lad, but aren¡¯t you reading too much into it? Don¡¯t take it too seriously.¡±


    ¡°Doctor, I¡¯m actually suffering. If it is your family that suffered an incurable disease, would you be serious?¡±


    The doctor became silent, his face gradually turning blue.


    ¡°You mentioned Toka Tonton because of the similarity between the surrender and the earthquake, but our cases are entirely different. The soldier lost the illusion of the Japan Empire he believed in. He was unable to adapt to everyday life after the defeat. Meanwhile, I had believed in nothing from the start. My everyday life is no different from the one before.¡±


    He held up his hand, as if to say, ¡°I¡¯ve had enough of this.¡±


    ¡°Alright, alright, you got PTSD from the earthquake. I¡¯ll prescribe some medicine. Be sure to take them.¡±


    ¡°Sir, I¡¯ve been like this since when I was two, it just got worse after the earthquake.¡±


    ¡°Argh! I¡¯m sick of this! Cut me some slack!¡± He threw his hands up. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have become a psychiatrist!


    He sat down on the round hospital chair, elbows on knees, face in hands. He was crying hard.


    ¡°You! All of you! You¡¯re all nuts! I¡¯ve had enough! You crazy punks! Don¡¯t ever come here again! Why wouldn¡¯t a normal person come here!¡±


    [TN: The doctor had a breakdown¡­]


    The nurse standing behind brushed the doctor¡¯s back soothingly. She looked at me apologetically. ¡°He¡¯s stressed. One of the patients committed suicide a while ago, he hasn¡¯t been well since.¡±


    I was a little stunned.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t he go see the doctor?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s the doctor.¡±


    I left the doctor¡¯s office and went to the hospital pharmacy to pick up some antidepressants.


    Before I headed home, I went around to the examination room to check on the doctor out of curiosity. He was looking at me through the window, looking dreary and forlorn, like a shadow cut from his physical form with a butter knife.


    ¡°Take care,¡± he said. The words hit me like a pang.


    ¡°Likewise,¡± I returned.


    I bowed and left the hospital. I think he sent me off with his glance all the way.


    £´


    Surprisingly, the antidepressants worked remarkably well.


    The constant pain numbed. The normal world shimmered before my eyes like a mirage. For some reason, I felt nostalgic. The medication made it difficult to read, so I changed from reading to listening to music in the meantime. The pills also suppressed my discernment, which meant I had got to enjoy any music without as much as noticing its flaws.


    I wondered which would be happier, those who had an ear for listening, or those who did not.


    Although in the end, the antidepressants did not save me. When the pill ran out, a tide of loneliness washed over, as if I had eaten all the delicious soda pop. I never went to the hospital again.


    Meanwhile, Yuzuki appeared to have developed a liking to Chopin¡¯s piano in particular.


    Chopin was a Polish-born composer of the Romantic era. He was gifted from an early age and composed his Polonaise in G minor at the age of seven. He suffered from tuberculosis throughout his life, and lost his sister to the same disease at the age of seventeen.


    On November 2, 1830, at the age of twenty, already a successful performer and composer, he decided to leave his homeland, partly due to the deteriorating domestic situation. At the time, Poland was divided into three parts, one ruled by Russia, another Austria, and the last by Prussia. An independence movement was underway during that time.


    [I feel like I¡¯m setting off for my death]


    One of the letters sent to his friends mention this. It was an ominous promotion turned true. He left for Vienna, Austria, carrying the ring he had exchanged with Konstanzia G?adkowska and a silver cup filled with the soil of his homeland.


    On November 29, 1830, the November Uprising took place. Armed citizens drove the Russian army north of Warsaw. Chopin, a patriot, intended to join the revolution, but his friend wrote to him:


    [You would serve the country better with your music]


    Chopin abided and remained in Vienna.


    In Vienna, however, the November Uprising led to a rising tide of anti-Polish sentiment, and Chopin was treated coldly. In the end, Chopin left Vienna without much success.


    In Stuttgart, Germany, he learned that the revolutionary forces in Warsaw had been crushed by the Russian army. He must have been tormented by crippling worry for his family and friends back in the country. Chopin fell into a stage of grief.


    In the end, Chopin could never set foot on the soil of his hometown again, just as he had foreseen before his departure.


    Perhaps I could see why Yuzuki was so devoted to Chopin.


    The sorrow of not being able to return to their hometown, the inexplicable rage from seeing their sacred hometown molested. Maybe she saw herself in Chopin. Yuzuki was at her best when performing his songs.


    In a letter to Teitus on December 25, 1831, Chopin revealed his inner feelings.


    [ I am superficially cheerful] he wrote [Especially my friends (by friends, I mean Polish people). But inside, I am always tormented by something. Be it anticipation, anxiety, dreams¡ªor insomnia, depression, indifference, ¡ªthe desire for life or desire for death in the next moment. It is like a pleasant peace, paralyzing and hazy, but sometimes it brings back distinct memories and makes me uneasy. It is a horrible jumble of feelings¡ªsour, bitter, salty, and above all, terribly confusing.]


    Wasn¡¯t that how I was feeling? Maybe it was the feeling we shared. I read that there was a Polish word for it¡ª¡±zal¡±. It was said to be a word of unique meaning that could be either translated as ¡°dreadful resignation¡±, ¡°deep resentment¡±, ¡°violent revolt¡±, or ¡°grief at loss of what should have been¡±¡­ In short, a profound sense of loss accompanying hatred, grief, and helplessness that stuns a person and leaves him helpless.


    Perhaps ¡°zal¡± was the fitting word for the victims of the earthquake, after all.


    Same as the protagonist of the Toka Tonton, the loss of Japan Empire, the helplessness he felt, hatred at nothing in particular.


    And if so, why then, did ¡°zal¡± make Chopin and Yuzuki¡¯s piano sound so beautiful?


    Schumann is said to have described Chopin¡¯s work as ¡°Cannons buried in flowers.¡± He was probably referring to the passionate pathos, of the rebellious spirit that lurked beneath the seemingly gaily and graceful music.


    Most people were drawn to the pretty flowers, but the true essence lay in the cannons that Chopin had hidden. Cannons could never gain popularity with the masses, but one hidden in a flower bouquet could. This was where beauty was born.


    It reminded me of the countless offerings of flowers to the dead. The way people placed the beautiful flowers in front of graves. And the way Chopin wrapped the terrible weapons with beautiful flowers.


    Weren¡¯t those hands of hope, of prayer?


    Not the steadfast prayer to God or higher being, but gentler, quiet hands that played the piano in hope for the better¡­


    [TN: An interesting note is that, while there¡¯s no direct reference, ¡°Toka Tonton¡± sounded awfully similar to the verse ¡°Tokoton yareton¡± from the Imperial Japan March ¡°Miyasan Miyasan¡±]