I checked the three drawers attached to the cooking station. The top was filled with silver cutlery, the second with kitchen utensils. The lowest one had chopping boards and a classic five-piece stainless steel knife set housed in a wooden block. But the knife I was looking for wasn’t there.
Opening the rest of the cabinets, I discovered more cooking equipment, from frying pans to bamboo steamers. All of it looked new. But I still couldn’t find my sister’s knife.
I gave up and returned to my room. I wondered where the knife could possibly be. I knew she had treasured it. She wouldn’t have given it away.
The streetlight crept through the curtain, dimly illuminating the red phone on the desk. As I stared at it, I missed my sister. Her voice, her laughter, her phone calls. Why had I only realized how much she meant to me after she was gone?
I picked up the receiver and pressed it to my ear. The plastic felt cold. I could hear a tuut, tuut, tuut before it went piiiiiiiiiip, and I put it back down. Who was I kidding? I would never hear her voice again. She was dead. Her life had been abruptly cut short, and she was in a place I couldn’t reach.
Ren Ishida, what do you want to do?
7
The
Woman
Who
Stopped
Speaking
Mr. Katou introduced me to his wife the next morning. They had separate bedrooms. Hers was the farthest from the entrance, and it was even bigger than mine. Through her window, I could see a Western-style garden, where purple irises and white roses bloomed.
Mrs. Katou sat on her bed, supported by a pillow. She wore a long-sleeved beige cardigan on top of a white blouse. I’d imagined her as thin, with sunken eyes. But apart from her blank expression and pale skin, she looked relatively healthy.
“This is my wife,” Mr. Katou said, before turning to her. “This is Ren Ishida. He’s going to help us starting today.”
“Nice to meet you.” I bowed to her.
I waited for her to respond, but she remained silent. She wasn’t paying attention to us. To be more precise, it was as if she didn’t notice we were there, right in front of her.
We stood still, watching her quietly. She shifted a little from time to time. One moment, she would gaze out the window. The next moment, she would turn to the wall in front of her.
“I’ll have a word with Ishida about the arrangement,” Mr. Katou said before walking out.
I bowed one more time to Mrs. Katou before leaving the room.
“My wife isn’t deaf, blind, or mute, if that’s what you had in mind,” Mr. Katou said. “She has a psychological issue that has made her choose to stop speaking.”
“Psychological issue?”
“Yes. I would appreciate if we could leave it at that.”
He rummaged in his pocket and took out a bunch of keys. “These are duplicates because the police kept the originals, but they should work fine.”
I took the keys and put them in my pocket.
“Let me give you a rundown on what you need to do,” he continued. “You can purchase a packaged lunch each day from the nearby convenience store. If you follow the main road east, you’ll see it on your right side. Miss Ishida used to buy the food before she went to work.”
That was unusual. “My sister didn’t cook?”
“Not to my knowledge. It’s too much trouble to cook just for two people.”
I knew that wasn’t the case for her, but I didn’t correct him.
“Before I forget, you don’t need to bring the food into my wife’s room. Just knock twice and leave it in front of her door. Money for the food is inside the keepsake box in the reading room.”
I nodded. “Should I keep the receipts?”
“There’s no need. I don’t have time to go through them.”
“All right.”
“As for the reading, choose whichever time is most convenient for you. Pick any book from the reading room. I would say, perhaps read a few pages every day. She may not be responsive, but I know she’ll love having someone read to her.” He nodded a couple times, satisfied with his explanation. “I think that’s it for now.”
He then excused himself and went to his office. I returned to my room, feeling the weight of the keys inside my pocket. What an odd arrangement I had followed my sister into, but perhaps it would somehow lead me to her.
At noon, I bought two deep-fried chicken rice sets from the convenience store. I left Mrs. Katou’s packed lunch in front of her bedroom door, then went to the kitchen to eat alone.
Putting the plastic bag on the table, I took a can of lemonade from the fridge. The cold drink refreshed me after walking in the sun. I took out my lunch box and lifted the lid, which was wet with water droplets.
After my sister had moved out, I’d gone back to eating takeout every day. Like most teenagers, I often had fast food. By that time, I didn’t hate it as much. I had to eat out anyway, since most of the time I was out with one of my girlfriends.
Nae was my ninth girlfriend, if I didn’t count the girls I’d randomly hooked up with. A few of them, including Nae, could cook well. Once, I’d even dated the daughter of a chain hotel chef. Her dream was to study at Le Cordon Bleu, and she trained hard. She whipped up all kinds of fancy meals for me, but somehow, I still preferred my sister’s dishes.
“Your cooking is the best,” I’d once told my sister as she was making miso soup.
She laughed. “That can’t be true.”
“But it is.”
“Is that so?” She dropped a handful of chopped tofu into the soup. “Maybe I should open a restaurant.”
“Don’t,” I quickly said. “Cooking is subjective. Other people might not have the same weird taste as me.” But really, I wanted her to cook only for me. I was that selfish.
My sister turned to me. “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting or insulting me.”
“Consider it a compliment, then.”
She laughed again and stirred the soup.
I enjoyed watching her cook. Those moments were special. No matter how bad my day was, I felt at ease whenever we were together in the kitchen. Perhaps I thrived on the comfortable routine of it.
Sometimes, my sister would steal a glance back at me. Realizing I was looking at her, she would say, “I know you’re hungry, but stop staring. I’m almost done,” and we would burst into laughter.
Keiko Ishida—she always misunderstood me.
After I’d finished eating, I went to the reading room to choose a book.
The Katous’ selection was huge. From Shakespeare to Virginia Woolf, Ernest Hemingway to George Orwell to F. Scott Fitzgerald. Rather than giving the impression of a well-read person, Mrs. Katou came across as a classics collector.
Singling out Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children—one of those books I’d always wanted to read but never gotten the chance to—I walked to Mrs. Katou’s room. The packaged lunch in front of the door was gone.
I knocked on the door twice and waited. After a few seconds passed, I entered.
“Excuse me,” I said.
Mrs. Katou was sitting on her bed, in the same position I’d seen her in earlier, her empty lunch box on the nightstand. Her eyes were fixed on the wall.
I sat on the wooden chair next to her bed, waving the book awkwardly. “I’m going to read this today.”
Again, no response.
Looking at her made me uncomfortable, so I quickly flipped open the book and began to read. My voice came out trembling, and my palms were sweaty. I glanced over at her a couple of times, but she still appeared in a daze.
After the third paragraph, I couldn’t continue. I left the book on the nightstand, picked up the empty lunch box, and excused myself. I felt uneasy. Had it been a mistake to move here? Even then, I could tell the house was full of dark secrets.
8
The
Girl
with
the
Beautiful
Fingers
The cram school was just a single bus ride from Segayaki. Even if I counted walking time, it took less than half an hour to get there. As I entered Yotsuba, I caught a waft of lavender. So jasmine on my first visit, and this time was lavender. I wondered what would come next. Cherry blossom, perhaps?
“Good morning, Mr. Ishida,” Abe said brightly from behind the reception counter. “The principal is waiting in his office.”
I climbed the staircase to the fourth floor and walked past the cubicles. Some of the staff members were already in. A few of them nodded, and I nodded back. Were they aware I was going to be working here? Walking into the principal’s office, I saw him sitting opposite a slender woman with shoulder-length hair.
“Ishida,” he said, “please come in.”
He and the woman both stood. She had no makeup on, a rarity these days.
“This is Maeda. She’ll be guiding you as you transition into the new job.”
I bowed to her. “Nice to meet you.”
She did the same and led me out of the office. “I’ll get you the schedule and teaching materials.”
Despite her high heels, Maeda moved swiftly. Going straight to the file cabinets near the faculty lounge, she took out a stack of files and passed them to me.
“Your working hours are Monday to Saturday from two-thirty to nine-thirty. You’ll be teaching three classes a day, an hour and a half each. There’s also a break for you to have dinner.”
We went to my desk—my sister’s few possessions still there—and I put my things down. Maeda signaled me to sit and pulled out another chair for herself.
“You’re lucky to be taking over a senior teacher’s slot,” she said. “New hires don’t usually get such a neat timetable and end up having to work both days of the weekend.”
I could tell she was making an effort not to mention my sister’s name.
“Don’t worry, just follow the syllabus. It’s pretty straightforward,” she continued. After that, she explained how to use the teaching materials.
“Will I be teaching today?” I asked.
She smirked. “No, not so fast. Today, I’ll be the one teaching, so you can observe. But from tomorrow, you’ll be on your own, so pay close attention.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Great. Now then . . .” Maeda took a quick look at the large circular clock in the middle of the office wall. A quarter past three. “Follow me.”
She fished some files from the stack before walking off. I put my bag down and followed her. I wanted to help her carry everything, but she walked so fast, I barely managed to keep up.
As we walked down the staircase, streams of students rushed in the opposite direction, making it difficult for us to get through. Several of them glanced at me as they passed. I told myself it was nothing to be anxious about. A new face always attracts curiosity.
The first of my classrooms was on the second floor. Shortly after we reached it, the bell rang and the session began.
I stood in front of the blackboard next to Maeda. The class had around twenty students; several wore the same uniforms. Some were busy with their books, while the rest chatted with each other.
“Good afternoon,” Maeda said. “This is Mr. Ishida. He will be joining us to teach English.”
The room went quiet, their expressions all going solemn once they heard my name. I should have expected this. After all, my sister had been their teacher.
“I’m Ren Ishida.” I weakly attempted to hide my nervousness. “I hope we’ll get along well.”
A few of them whispered to each other.
Maeda slammed her hand on the desk. “Quiet!”
The class was once again silent.
“I’m taking attendance now.”
She called off the names one by one. Three were missing. Five minutes into the lesson, they appeared together, huffing and puffing. They apologized and quickly settled into the remaining empty chairs.
To be honest, I hadn’t expected these teenagers to be so obedient. They listened to Maeda’s explanations and took notes. None of them talked out of turn again. When it came to the question-and-answer segment, most participated. And it was back to silence during the written exercises.
The second bell rang and everyone packed their belongings. On the way out, they turned in their answer sheets.
After they had all left, Maeda asked me, “How was it? Not so bad, right?”
“They’re so well-behaved and hard-working,” I said.
“That’s to be expected. Yotsuba has a high acceptance rate into prestigious universities, so we can afford to be selective and charge a premium. In fact, we’re the most expensive cram school in town. I might be overgeneralizing, but our students are serious. They’re here because they want to get into good places.”
“So all of them are seniors?”
“Not all, but most. They’re either second- or third-years. We don’t take freshmen.”
Our conversation was interrupted by the next group. This class was bigger than the first, proved to be just as quiet and studious. Such a contrast to how I’d been six years ago at my neighborhood high school in Tokyo. My classmates, especially the boys, were boisterous at times. I wasn’t used to seeing teenagers behave so well.
More students poured in, and then, I saw her.
She came with a group of girls, all wearing the same navy uniform. She looked slightly different. Her hair was shorter and tied in a high ponytail. With this hairstyle, she looked much younger. I couldn’t believe it, but I knew I wasn’t mistaken. She was the girl who had been smoking under the gazebo. Based on what Maeda had said, she was about seventeen or eighteen.
The girl sat in the back row. I took a deep breath and tried to gauge her reaction. Our eyes met, but she made no acknowledgment that she recognized me. I then pretended to be unaware of her presence, but she must have realized I’d seen her. I was shocked to find her in my class. Was it fate?
When Maeda introduced me to the class, the girl stared at me intently, but only for a moment. After the lesson was over, she left the classroom with the rest of her friends. It wasn’t the best time, but I hurried after her.
“Excuse me.” I tapped her on the shoulder. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
She turned and settled her gaze on me. Up this close, I was sure I had the right person.
“Last week,” I said, “at the gazebo.”
She shook her head. “You must have the wrong person. I’ve never seen you before.”
“But—”
“I need to go to my next class.” She cut me off. “Will you excuse me, Mr. Ishida?”
She walked away, leaving me speechless. It might have been my imagination, but she’d sounded unfriendly, especially when she’d said my name.
“Is everything all right, Ishida?” Maeda asked me, the lesson folders in her arms.
“Yes.” I went to Maeda and helped her. “Are we returning to the office?”
“You were talking to Nakajima just now. Do you know her?”
“I mistook her for someone else.”
“I’m sorry; I was worried you were trying to make a pass at her. I know you’re still young, but we aren’t supposed to have any romantic ties with the students or other staff.” She shifted her eyes uncomfortably. “Also, about that girl . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’ve heard she dates older men for money.”
Nakajima certainly was pretty, but she hadn’t come off as materialistic. If anything, she was dressed plainly, especially compared to other girls her age in Tokyo.
“That’s probably just a rumor.”
Maeda lowered her voice. “Actually, I saw it mys
elf. She was leaving a high-end jewelry store with a well-dressed man, old enough to be her father.”
“Maybe it was her father.”
“They didn’t look alike.”
Our conversation made me uncomfortable, and luckily, Maeda seemed to notice. We returned to the fourth floor without another word. I sat at my desk and stretched my neck.
“For you, Ishida.” Honda put a canned iced coffee in front of me. “How’s your first day?”
I mustered a smile. “I’ve managed to survive so far.”
“Good. I know you can do it,” he said. “Do you want to grab dinner together?”
I looked around for Maeda; to my relief, she had gone elsewhere. I didn’t dislike her, but she wasn’t someone I wanted to spend my break time with. “Why not,” I told Honda. “What’s good around here?”
We went out for a quick bite at a nearby ramen stall before returning to Yotsuba for the day’s final session. The students looked exhausted. A few of them had trouble paying attention, and so did I. Throughout the lesson, I couldn’t focus on Maeda’s teaching. All I could think about was the girl who had held the Seven Stars cigarettes with her beautiful fingers.
9
The
Lingering
Smell
of Rain
and
Carbon
After my first day of work, I arrived back at the Katou household around eleven at night. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat down to take off my socks. My eyes were immediately drawn to the red phone on top of the desk.
Get a grip, Ren Ishida. The phone can’t connect you to a dead person.
“Shut up,” I hissed. “I know that already.”
Reaching for the cord, I unplugged it from the wall. She would never call me again, so I didn’t want to hear the phone ring. I closed my eyes. What was I doing here, all by myself in this town?
Ren . . .
It was my sister’s voice—warm and clear, the way I remembered it. I opened my eyes and found myself standing alone in the middle of a vast white space.
“Is it you?” I shouted, but there was no answer.
Rainbirds Page 6
