“Why do you keep rejecting him? He really likes you. Why don’t you give it a try? I don’t understand what’s holding you back.”
Miwako was quiet for a moment before she said, “I would lose him.”
Chie rolled her eyes. “What do you mean? If you don’t do anything, of course you’re going to lose him.”
“I don’t like telling you this, but there are things you don’t know about me.” Miwako shook her head. “Never mind, forget it.”
“Hey, don’t do that. What did you want to say?”
“Ryusei is an important friend. Not just to me, but to the rest of us. If I go out with him and things end badly, it will be awful for everyone.”
“You’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” Miwako said after a pause. “But for now, Ryusei and I will remain friends.”
Chie shrugged. “Suit yourself. This is your life, and you make your own decisions. But one day, it’s going to be too late, and you’re going to regret it.”
She was so frustrated. Why couldn’t Miwako just act on her feelings? If she liked Ryusei, she should tell him. What could possibly be worse than ignoring him like this?
But Chie knew she couldn’t accuse Miwako of deception. She herself was still hiding what she knew about Miwako’s former life as MK. They were best friends—or at least, Chie thought they were—but she couldn’t tell Miwako that one simple thing. She, too, was being dishonest. Because she, too, was afraid of losing a friend, which was why she thought she understood Miwako.
As it turned out, she didn’t.
14
It Takes
One
Hundred
and
Twenty-Eight
Steps
Around lunchtime, the local children arrived at the clinic. They didn’t seem surprised to see Ryusei and Chie. If anything, they looked as if they were expecting these total strangers. The children greeted them, and several bravely introduced themselves.
Miss Sugi brought the dishes out and everyone sat on the porch in a big circle. She passed around bowls and chopsticks, and the children took turns scooping their food. To call them children, though, wasn’t exactly right. A few looked like they were in their late teens.
“How long are you going to stay here, Miss?” asked a young girl seated next to Chie.
“Perhaps a couple of days,” she said. “I haven’t really decided.”
The girl glanced at Ryusei. “What about him?”
“I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
She nodded and walked over to Ryusei. Chie saw him leaning toward the young girl to answer, and the two of them laughed. A few other children joined in on their conversation. Chie felt a little left out, but she admired Ryusei for his easy way with the children. He was more relaxed here than in Tokyo. For some reason, back in the city, she felt he was constantly on his guard.
“Where are you from, Miss?” a boy asked, taking the space the girl had left.
“I came here from Tokyo,” Chie said.
She waited for him to say something, but he was quiet.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“No, it’s just . . .” He looked down. “One of the other volunteers we had was also from Tokyo.”
After this, he quickly moved to another seat. Chie knew whom the boy had meant.
Miss Sugi had cautioned Ryusei and Chie not to speak a word about Miwako to the children. They were probably still in shock, realizing for the first time the desperate actions a person was capable of.
“Chie,” Miss Sugi called. “Can you help me bring out more rice?”
“Yes, of course,” she said.
Walking to the kitchen, Chie took another glance at the children.
A few weeks ago, Miwako had probably stood in this same spot, looking at the young ones. What had she possibly been thinking? What made her travel so far from home? What was she seeking?
Miwako must have shown some signs of something being wrong before she left. Chie hated herself for not realizing it. After her friend’s death, she replayed their last weeks together over and over. Finally, she concluded there had been no way for her to know. Miwako had kept her secrets to herself and had guarded them very closely.
One morning, about half a year ago, Sachiko had come to class alone.
“Miwako should be here already,” she whispered as she sat in the empty seat next to Chie’s. “What’s taking her so long?”
“Weren’t you with her earlier?” Chie asked.
“Uh-huh. But she needed to use the bathroom and told me not to wait for her. I had to return some books to the library, so I left.”
Biting her lip, Chie thought of those girls who had confronted Miwako a few days earlier. Surely they wouldn’t try to corner her again? But if she were alone in the bathroom when class started, no one would be there to help.
“Which bathroom was it?”
“The one near the basketball court.”
Oh, no, not that one. That particular place was practically deserted during class hours. Chie closed her textbook and stood.
Sachiko glared. “Where are you going? The class is starting.”
“I’m going to look for her.”
Chie left the classroom and ran to the basketball court, not stopping until she reached the bathroom. She pushed the door open and shouted, “Miwako, are you here?”
No reply.
Chie looked at the stalls. Only one was occupied, but the whole place was dead quiet. I’m overreacting, she thought. But just as Chie was about to leave, she heard a gurgling sound. She turned back and knocked on the door of the occupied cubicle.
“Miwako?”
There was the sound of flushing water. Chie smelled something rancid.
“Are you sick?” Chie asked. “Open the door, please.”
Still, no one answered.
“Miwako, please. I know you’re in there.”
The door opened and Miwako emerged from the cubicle, looking pale and exhausted.
“What happened?” Chie asked.
“Nasty food poisoning,” she said. “I’m going home to rest.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Miwako gave a thin smile. “You didn’t bring your bag with you, did you? Are you going to go back to the classroom to get it and just walk out?”
Chie cursed silently.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“You should see a doctor,” Chie said and laughed. “You look like a pregnant woman with morning sickness.”
Miwako’s eyes widened. Chie’s blood went cold. Miwako quickly looked away, but it was too late.
Chie caught Miwako’s arm. “Be honest. Are you pregnant?”
Miwako took a step back. Her mouth shut tightly.
Chie maintained her hold on Miwako, not wanting her to walk away. She took a deep breath and said, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Miwako lowered her head. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. They fell onto Chie’s hand and onto the tiles.
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said, trembling. “I really don’t.”
Chie pulled Miwako into her arms and hugged her. “It’s okay,” she whispered, tightening her embrace. “It doesn’t matter. You can cry. Of course you can cry.”
Suddenly, everything made sense. Her diary entries, her refusal of Ryusei’s advances. They had been friends for so long, yet Chie hadn’t noticed her best friend’s suffering. How could she not have?
I’m sorry, Miwako. I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this alone.
They stood there for a long time, holding each other, both sobbing. Miwako had such a strange cry—Chie could feel her heave and the tears falling onto her bare shoulders, but she didn’t hear a sound.
Whe
n Miss Sugi asked Ryusei and Chie to teach the children, Chie wasn’t convinced she could. She didn’t feel confident enough in what she’d retained from her high school classes.
“It’s not difficult,” Miss Sugi reassured her. “If you’re not sure, you can always ask me. I’ll be right inside the clinic.”
It turned out Chie’s hesitation was unfounded. The math problem in front of her was far too easy for a boy who looked like he was in his mid-teens.
“This is how you do it,” Chie told the boy, crossing out matching parts on each side of the equation.
“Thank you,” he muttered. “You make it seem so easy to understand.”
Chie smiled. She left him on his own and went out to the porch to rest.
Observing the children even over just a short period, Chie had grown to admire them. They cared enough to come here for lessons after hours in the field, even though the clinic didn’t have a proper school facility. Forget nice classrooms. The children simply studied in the shaded areas of the yard. They had neither tables nor chairs, and more than one child had to share a single tattered textbook.
Ryusei came over and sat next to Chie. She poured him a glass of water.
“Thanks,” he said, finishing it in a few big gulps. He took the water pitcher and poured another. “Is it always this hot in the middle of the day?”
Chie shrugged. “I guess we’ve become too used to staying indoors.”
“Spoiled, aren’t we?”
She laughed.
“Miwako used to teach art here,” Ryusei said. “One of the kids told me, and I remembered her writing about it in her letter.”
“Hey, Miss Sugi specifically told us not to mention her.”
“I didn’t bring her up. But then,” he said, gesturing to the young girl who had spoken to him earlier, “that girl asked me if I was a friend of Miwako’s, and I couldn’t bring myself to say I didn’t know her.”
Chie pressed her lips together. She would have done the same.
“She went on and on about Miwako. How good she was at drawing cats. I wanted to tell her that was the only thing Miwako could draw well.” Ryusei gave a dry laugh and stared into the distance. “The girl thought I was the guy Miwako liked back in Tokyo. I told her I wasn’t him, but she wouldn’t believe me. I didn’t even know Miwako liked anyone.”
Chie shook her head. He’s so dense.
“You were so close to Miwako. Did you already know this?”
“Of course I knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chie was so frustrated with him—with both of them—that she began to laugh. It was so obvious the two of you were suited for each other. The world’s biggest idiots.
Before Ryusei could ask any more questions, Chie stood and walked over to a group of children. As she started a conversation with them, she stole a glance at him. He looked like he wanted to chase after her and interrupt, but eventually, he just went back into the building.
A noise woke Chie in the middle of the night. It was the sound of a screen door sliding. Chie got up, thinking someone was trying to sneak into her room. But then she realized the sound had come from Ryusei’s room. Perhaps he was going to use the toilet. She reached for her watch to check the time. Half past midnight.
Chie’s T-shirt was damp from sweat. She’d been freezing last night, so this afternoon she’d closed all the windows and layered on multiple blankets. But now her room was stuffy. Chie got up and opened her windows one by one.
She looked outside as a shadowy figure walked out of the building. She couldn’t see clearly, but it could only be Ryusei. His tall profile was pretty recognizable. What was he doing, leaving on his own in the middle of the night? It was freezing outside. Maybe he couldn’t sleep and had decided to take a walk.
In the mountains, the night sky was breathtakingly beautiful, bright and clear and sprinkled with hundreds of brilliant stars. If it weren’t so cold outside, she would have loved to take a walk too.
Chie returned to her futon and lay down, but then a thought hit her. What if Ryusei isn’t just going out for a walk? What if he’s planning to harm himself? She got up again, just in time to see Ryusei walk into the forest. It gave her chills. I need to find Miss Sugi. But if she did, she would lose track of Ryusei.
Grabbing her coat, Chie ran to the front door. She hastily put on her shoes and chased after him. Ryusei had already gone down the pathway toward the forest. She shouted after him, but her voice couldn’t reach him. Chie’s heart beat faster. Did he have anything with him? A rope or a stepladder? She couldn’t tell. He was practically out of sight now.
The forest seemed menacing again, its thick foliage blocking the moonlight. Chie couldn’t tell what was in front of her. In the darkness, she stumbled over a tree root and fell, landing on damp, mossy soil. She got back up, heartbeat racing.
I’m scared. I want to go back.
No, this wasn’t the right time for hesitation. Chie took a deep breath and shouted, “Ryusei, please wait!”
Her voice echoed in the dark. Chie paused and steadied herself. Could he hear her? Should she try shouting louder?
A bright light shon on Chie’s face, blinding her. She squinted.
“Chie? Is that you?”
Shielding her eyes, she tried to say something, but she couldn’t think properly.
“What are you doing here?” Ryusei came over to her. “You’re shaking.”
“You can’t kill yourself,” she said, grabbing his arms. “Miwako wouldn’t want that.”
He went quiet before bursting into laughter. “What made you think I was going to kill myself?”
She let go of his arms. “You went into the forest all by yourself in the middle of the night.”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I took a walk.”
Chie narrowed her eyes. “All the way here? Really?”
He sighed. “You’re right. There’s something I need to do. I’m sorry I made you worry, but I’m not planning to do what Miwako did. I have someone who needs me to take care of her.”
“Who is it?”
She didn’t expect him to answer, but he did.
“My sister,” he said. “I could never leave her on her own, especially knowing how much it hurts to lose someone important to you.” He offered her a warm smile. “You shouldn’t go into the forest without a flashlight. What if you’d gotten lost again?”
“But are you walking to . . . ?”
Ryusei nodded.
They continued to walk on the pathway until they reached the tree where Miwako had died. The white roses were still fresh, despite having been left there for nearly a day. Their petals remained unblemished, coated with a thin layer of dew. Moonlight seeped through the leaves, falling on the roses and making it appear as if they were shining, lending them an almost ethereal beauty.
Chie averted her eyes. Both of them were quiet as the wind rustled through the dense foliage. The buzzing sounds of nocturnal insects crept all around them.
“It takes one hundred and twenty-eight steps to get here,” Ryusei suddenly said.
She turned to him. “What?”
“One hundred and twenty-eight steps,” he repeated. “I counted them all the way here from my bedroom door.”
“Why would you do that?”
He shrugged. “Whenever I feel upset or uneasy, I start to count something. Anything. It doesn’t need to be something significant; it just has to be countable. It calms me down.” He paused and scratched the back of his head. “Kind of weird, right?”
Chie shook her head in response. “Everyone has their own way of coping with life. When did that habit start?”
“When I was about seven. There was a tragedy in the family.”
“Ah.” She didn’t ask anything further, not wanting to probe into his private life.
Crouch
ing down, Ryusei took out a flat, rectangular tin box from his jacket and placed it on the ground.
“What’s inside?” Chie asked.
“Miwako’s letters,” he said. “I thought it would be appropriate to bury them here, even if I still don’t quite understand what she was going through.”
She felt a lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”
He chuckled. “What are you sorry for?” Using his bare hands, he started to dig a shallow hole in the damp soil. “I should be the one who’s apologizing for dragging you here.”
Ryusei reached for the tin box and unlatched its catch. The stack of neatly folded letters was inside. Chie immediately recognized the handwriting on them as Miwako’s, each of the characters small and round and unnaturally uniform.
Chie put her hand on his shoulder. “You really loved her, didn’t you? I wish things could have turned out differently.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Don’t say that.” She took the box from Ryusei’s hands and placed it on the ground. “But I do think now is a good time to bid farewell to these letters.” She was about to close the box when she realized there had been five of them inside. “I thought you said she only wrote four letters to you. Three from Kitsuyama and the one you received from her mother.”
“Ah, yeah.” He singled out one of the letters and passed it to Chie. “Miss Sugi gave this to me earlier. Miwako had left it with her for safekeeping.”
She took it from him. “Why didn’t she give it to you right when we arrived at her place?”
“According to Miss Sugi, Miwako didn’t leave a name, just some cryptic descriptions. She couldn’t be sure it had been intended for me until today.”
Chie recalled the conversation she had with Miss Sugi, when the older woman asked if Ryusei was the one Miwako had liked. She unfolded the letter in a hurry, wondering what kind of final message she had left.
Unlike her letters to Ryusei, this one wasn’t addressed to anyone in particular.
I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.
I’m sorry I’ve let you down.
I’m sorry for giving up.
We could have talked. I could have been more honest about my feelings, my struggles, the past I loathe so much. But I chose to keep all of that hidden. I pushed you away when you tried to reach out to me. I put up the wall between us. I lied to you, pretending everything was okay. I thought what I needed was time, but what I really needed was courage. The longer I waited, the more difficult it was for me to change course. I made a mistake and sank too deep.
The Perfect World of Miwako Sumida Page 14
