Rainbirds

by Clarissa Goenawan

  “Is your wife at home?” Honda eventually asked.

  The creases on Mr. Katou’s forehead deepened. “Yes, she’s here.”

  “We should greet her then.”

  “There’s no need. She prefers to be alone.”

  “I see.” Honda’s voiced trailed off.

  I took the time to look around at the bookshelves. The collection consisted of mostly English hardcovers, a set of English encyclopedia, and a few English-Japanese dictionaries. He must have an interest in the English language.

  “You said you were Miss Ishida’s colleague,” Mr. Katou said to Honda. “By any chance, do you also teach English?”

  “We were colleagues, but I teach math,” Honda said.

  “Do you like English literature?” I asked. “There are a lot of English books here.”

  Mr. Katou shook his head. “Those are my wife’s.”

  “You should introduce Ishida to her,” Honda said. “This young man here is studying British and American Literature at Keio.”

  “Is that true?”

  I gave a slight nod. “Yes, but I’m graduating soon.”

  Mr. Katou kept his eyes on me. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but his lips remained shut. He made me uncomfortable. I excused myself to the restroom, just to get away.

  Walking through the corridor, I looked at the oil paintings. They didn’t seem like Japanese landscapes. Despite the fine technique, they were lifeless. They gave the impression of being copied from a calendar.

  I stopped in front of the kitchen and peered through the glass door. No one was inside. On a whim, I pushed the door and entered.

  The kitchen looked like it had been lifted straight from an interior design magazine. It was spotless, with not a single dirty dish or a drop of spilled food. I ran my fingers along the bottom of the shiny cabinets. I was about to open one when I heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. Turning around, I saw Mr. Katou. Was he angry that I’d wandered in here without permission? I couldn’t tell; his expression remained unchanged.

  “Your kitchen is so beautiful and clean,” I said.

  He nodded. “It’s hardly used.”

  “Your wife doesn’t cook?”

  “Not now. She used to.” He rubbed his nose. “Honda tells me you’re going to be working at Yotsuba?”

  “Yes, that’s the plan for now.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Katsuragi Hotel.”

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly, but I had the feeling he wasn’t listening.

  “Say, do you like this house?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I supposed if the owner of the house asked you the question, the answer should be yes no matter what, though I did like the place. “It’s bright and airy.”

  “My wife used to work in a hospital. She insisted a house must have plenty of sunshine and air circulation.” He paused before asking again, “Do you really like it here?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said, unsure why he kept pursuing the subject.

  “I have a proposal,” he said. “If you want, you can use any of our spare rooms in exchange for a favor.”

  I paused, waiting for him to explain.

  “My wife has a condition that prevents her from leaving her bedroom. A cleaner comes twice a week to do the housework, but I still need to sort out her meals. It would be great if you could help her with lunch so I don’t need to take time off from work on weekdays.”

  I was surprised by this revelation. Was this the arrangement he’d had with my sister? It made sense since she loved cooking, but it wouldn’t do for me.

  “Mr. Katou, I’m afraid I’m a terrible cook,” I said.

  “I’m not asking you to cook for her. You’re welcome to use the kitchen if you want to, but otherwise, buying the lunch is fine.”

  I didn’t know what to say. The idea was both logical and bizarre. Why would anyone invite a stranger he had just met to stay in his house?

  “You might be thinking, if it’s only lunch, why wouldn’t I ask my secretary to do it? The truth is, there’s something else. I need someone to read to her.”

  My brow furrowed, matching his. “Read to her?”

  “My wife is fond of English books. She would be very happy to have someone read a few pages to her every day.”

  “Your wife, may I ask . . . ?” My voice trailed off.

  “She’s unwell, but her illness isn’t contagious or life-threatening.”

  “I see.” I nodded slowly, struggling to find an appropriate response. “Mr. Katou, your offer is generous, but you see, right now . . .”

  “I don’t expect you to decide right away.” He cut me off. “But I would appreciate if you could give your answer soon.”

  We agreed to meet again the following Sunday. He gestured to me to follow him out, seeming to forget my original excuse of going to the restroom.

  Before I left, Mr. Katou shook my hand and said, “I hope you’ll consider my proposal seriously.”

  I could sense Honda looking at us.

  Once we were both sitting in the car, he asked, “What proposal is he talking about?”

  “Free lodging at his house,” I answered.

  Honda looked at me skeptically. “There’s no such thing as free lodging.”

  “Well, not exactly free. He wants me to buy lunch for his wife, since she’s sick and unable to go out on her own. Do you know her?”

  “Not on a personal basis, but I’ve seen her a couple of times. She was always smiling. It’s a small town, after all. Everyone knows everyone.” He changed gears. I do remember hearing his wife suffers from depression. They had a young daughter, but she passed away a few years ago.”

  “I see.”

  “Ishida, you should take the offer. It does sound too good to be true, but someone like Mr. Katou wouldn’t do anything dodgy that could ruin his reputation. News travels fast here.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Honda could be a little patronizing at times, perhaps because he was older than me.

  “What are your reservations?”

  “It’s the house.” I rested my left hand on the window. “I don’t mind quiet, but something feels strange.”

  “The place is too neat and orderly, that’s what makes it odd.”

  “What did you think of my sister’s room?”

  “It suits the kind of person she was.”

  I didn’t disagree; Keiko had always been organized and focused. But her room was so cold and distant. People usually personalize their space with their favorite books, photographs, mementos. You can learn a lot about a person by looking at their bedrooms. They have the signature of their occupiers.

  In contrast, my sister’s room lacked color. Apart from those jazz cassettes and a bottle of perfume, there was no mark of individuality. The room, just like her office desk, was faceless, as if she had wanted to erase herself.

  I thought about the job at Yotsuba and Mr. Katou’s offer. If I traced the paths my sister had taken in life, maybe I would finally understand the things she had never said.

  6

  The

  Missing

  Knife

  and the

  Traffic

  Light

  In the privacy of my hotel room, I retrieved the paper I’d taken from my sister’s bedroom. The page was crumpled, as if it had been read over and over again. I recognized the handwriting as hers.

  She wrote:

  Love comes when you least expect it. That’s why people call it falling in love. You cannot learn to fall, nor do you ever plan to. You just happen to fall.

  It captures you like a pitcher plant, in a split second. There’s no room to think, let alone react. When you realize what has happened, you know there’s no way to escape. You’ve already fallen too deep.
<
br />   I stared at the paper. Had she come to Akakawa to chase after someone, or to escape them? But the fact that she’d left home after graduating shouldn’t have come as a surprise. I’d always known it was coming.

  On her nineteenth birthday, my sister had bought nineteen birds from the pet shop. I recalled it well because I’d gone with her after we’d had dinner.

  I couldn’t remember what the birds were called, but they had black feathers. The pet shop owner put them in three birdcages. My sister carried two, and I carried the third. I had no idea what she was thinking. The birds weren’t very attractive and made annoying noises.

  After we left the shop, I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer and asked, “Why did you buy these?”

  A faint smile played across her lips. “It’s my birthday and I feel like buying birds.”

  “What do you need them for? They’re so noisy. Mother will be angry, and I don’t want to get involved.”

  Her smile vanished. “I’m not planning to bring them home.”

  “Are we going to eat them?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  I followed her to a canal in the neighborhood. There were grassy fields on both sides of the water, where I often went to play soccer with my friends. In the afternoon, the place was full of joggers and children, but it was evening now, and the area was nearly empty.

  We put down the birdcages and my sister opened them. We waited for the birds to fly away, but they didn’t. They stayed put inside the open cages.

  “Strange,” my sister said, half-whispering. “Why don’t they leave?”

  She whistled to coax the birds out, but they didn’t budge. She clapped her hands loudly. Still, nothing happened. Frustrated, my sister lifted one of the cages and shook it. One of the birds flew away. The rest followed. She watched them soar into the sky with a satisfied smile.

  An old man who was walking his golden retriever came over and told her, “Young lady, you shouldn’t release those birds. You’re not doing them a favor. They don’t know how to find food and shelter. They will die soon.” After saying that, he walked off with his dog.

  My sister looked upset.

  “It might not be a bad thing.” I tried to cheer her up. “Even if they die soon, they’ll have lived a happier life than if they’d been caged for their entire lives. Plus, that old man is probably wrong. Birds adapt too, don’t they?”

  She didn’t reply. We returned home in silence.

  I often felt that incident was the catalyst.

  Three years from that day, my sister packed her belongings and bought a one-way ticket to a place neither of us had ever been. Perhaps she wanted to free herself. And like those birds, she ended up dying too soon.

  The day my sister left Tokyo, I returned from school to find the house in chaos. Loose papers, cutlery, broken plates and glasses scattered all over the floor. One of the table lamps was missing its shade. In the middle of the living room, my mother was sweeping the floor.

  “What happened?” I asked. “What’s with the mess?”

  She ignored me and continued to clean.

  I stood still near the door. I didn’t dare to move. Tiny fragments of broken glass were everywhere. “Where’s my sister?”

  “What are you talking about, Ren?” She turned to me. “You’re my only child.”

  Her answer sent shivers down my spine. I dashed to my sister’s bedroom on the second floor. I opened the door, but she wasn’t there. Some of her belongings lay on the bed and floor. The wardrobe door was open and half her clothes were gone. Reality came crashing in. My sister had left.

  My knees felt weak. I sat on the floor of her room for hours, dumbfounded. I only came out when my mother called me for dinner. Surprisingly, she had cooked. She didn’t say anything about Keiko, and I didn’t ask either. I kept my head low the entire time I ate the miso ramen. I couldn’t taste anything.

  Eventually, my mother spoke. “Why are you still in your school uniform? It’s already seven. Go and shower, I can smell your sweat.”

  Lying in bed in my hotel room, I went through the list of people I needed to contact.

  Who would I need to inform? My parents, of course, though I doubted they cared. After my sister had left, it became an unspoken rule not to talk about her. I shouldn’t need to report to Keio, since I’d completed all my assignments for the semester and was simply awaiting my diploma. What about Nae? I had to make up with her eventually, but I didn’t think now was the right time. I decided for now that my parents would be all.

  Initially I wanted to call them, but it was easier to write a letter. I went downstairs for an envelope and a few sheets of paper from the reception counter. The blank white pages were intimidating, but once I’d penned the first couple lines, the rest flowed easily.

  To Father and Mother,

  I trust both of you are well.

  The wake, funeral, and cremation are complete. There are still some minor arrangements to be made, so I’m going to stay on for another six months. Don’t worry about me. I have found a temporary job and lodging.

  Please take care of your health. I’ll let you know my new address soon.

  After finishing the letter, I read it one more time. Why had I written six months? I could leave Yotsuba sooner without penalty. But this seemed like long enough to tie up my sister’s loose ends, and I had enough savings to sustain myself if teaching didn’t work out.

  I signed the letter and put it inside the envelope. After dropping that off at the convenience store mailbox, I returned to the hotel lobby and used the pay phone to call Mr. Katou. I told him I’d decided to accept his proposal. I knew I wouldn’t be able to find a better deal. Even if things didn’t go well, I figured I could move out anytime. Nothing to lose.

  “I’m glad you’ve decided to take the offer,” Mr. Katou said in his usual monotone voice. “When are you planning to move in?”

  As soon as possible, so I could stop spending money on the hotel room. “When would be a good time?”

  “How about today?”

  I had no complaint.

  “The thing is, the only available guest room right now is the one Miss Ishida stayed in,” he said. “If you’re uncomfortable with that, I can arrange for another room in a couple of days.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself, that room is fine,” I said.

  The arrangement was perfect for my objective of digging into my sister’s life in Akakawa. I checked out of the Katsuragi Hotel and moved to Segayaki that afternoon. Before I left, I gave the kimono lady some cakes from a nearby patisserie. Her pink kimono matched the sakura illustration on the cake box, and she looked pleasantly surprised.

  My sister’s room was exactly as I remembered, spacious with plenty of sunshine coming in through the window.

  “Please make yourself comfortable,” Mr. Katou said. “I need to go to a meeting now. Feel free to use the kitchen, and help yourself to food and drink in the fridge. I’ll introduce you to my wife tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you.” I bowed to him.

  He left the room and I set down my belongings. Since I hadn’t planned to stay in Akakawa for more than a couple of weeks, I hadn’t packed much. I had only a suitcase and Boston bag with me. I unzipped the bag and took out the porcelain urn. Opening the wardrobe, I rearranged my sister’s clothes, clearing a shelf.

  “Welcome back to your room,” I whispered, placing the urn there.

  I closed the wardrobe and climbed onto the bed. Arms behind my head, I lay staring up at the white room. An opaque white lampshade encircled the ceiling light. The afternoon sun cast faint shadows, gradually getting longer and darker. I took a deep breath, catching a waft of sweet fragrance. Was it from the flowers in the garden, brought in by the afternoon breeze? Or had it lingered from her presence in the room? The scent vaguely resembled that of the Estée Lauder perfume
I’d found in her drawer. I didn’t recall her using any fragrances back in Tokyo. But people changed.

  I shut my eyes, and before I knew it, I was in a dream.

  I stood by the side of a busy road, waiting to cross. I expected the little green man on the traffic light to appear, but the light remained red, and the stream of passing cars never ceased. Was the light faulty? Should I walk to the next one? Perhaps it wasn’t too far ahead.

  As I contemplated this, I noticed a little girl across the road. She was about four or five years old and stood around three feet tall. She wore a kindergarten uniform—a white shirt and dark-blue pinafore—and had her hair tied into pigtails. Without hesitation, she walked toward me.

  The light was still red, and cars were speeding past. One of them would hit her. I wanted to shout at her to stop, but I was paralyzed. The girl walked calmly. Her small steps were constant, like the ticking of a metronome. Despite her lack of caution, she reached my side of the street unharmed. She stopped a few steps away from me, and we looked into each other’s eyes.

  I tried to ask, “Who are you?” But once I opened my mouth, my voice evaporated. From the way she looked at me, I knew my thought had reached her. She said nothing, though the corners of her mouth curled up a little.

  When I opened my eyes, the shadows had taken over the entire room. It felt as if I’d only closed my eyes for a couple of minutes, but several hours must have passed.

  I usually forgot my dreams as soon as I woke up. But I couldn’t erase the image of the girl’s pigtails, bobbing up and down as she walked through the traffic. I’d never seen her before, though she was strangely familiar.

  Hungry yet again, I got up and went to the kitchen. In the fridge, I found a box of chocolate milk. I searched for a mug and poured the milk into it, finishing the cold drink in a few big gulps. I washed the mug and placed it on the drying rack. It was the only item there, which reminded me of the knife I’d given my sister for her birthday. I knew she’d brought it with her to Akakawa, so it should’ve been here somewhere.