Rainbirds

by Clarissa Goenawan

  Once, I’d even tried to dye my hair chestnut brown. But when it grew out, I hated the black roots and was too lazy to touch them up. A couple of months later, I dyed it back to black. That was the first and last time I changed my hair color.

  “Walk faster, will you?” Izumi shouted, a few steps ahead of me.

  I picked up my pace to catch up with her. We had to change buses twice to return to our apartment building. I walked her to her door. Before going in, Izumi took a plastic bag from her tote and gave it to me.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Payment for being my boyfriend for two hours,” she said, closing the door before I could thank her.

  Walking up to the fifth floor, I went into my apartment and opened the bag. Inside was an English edition of Ulysses by James Joyce. What a choice. I assumed a comfortable sitting position and began reading. After a while, I closed the book and put it away.

  At times like this, I missed the days I’d spent with Mrs. Katou in her windy room at the corner of the house. She should be in Hakone by now. Was she still sinking in her guilt? Or had she managed to forgive herself? I hoped she felt much better now. If anything, the fresh mountain air in Hakone would do her good.

  I opened a drawer and put the book inside, next to the medical documents from the Kobayashi Women’s Clinic. For some reason, I felt a sudden urge to take them out again.

  Ever since I’d returned from Kuromachi, I hadn’t touched the documents. It was too hard to read them. It pained me to think about what my sister had had to go through alone, pretending everything was okay during our calls. Looking at every column, every word, every letter, I asked myself, How could you not have realized anything was wrong?

  And then I noticed something odd. Her blood type was listed as A.

  It had to be a mistake. Didn’t our whole family have blood type O? I flipped through the other pages. Over and over, her blood type was listed as A. Had the clinic really recorded the wrong blood type? No, they wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake. And that could only mean one thing. Keiko and I weren’t biologically related. So that was why she had lovely dark brown hair, and I didn’t.

  “Mother always picks on me unfairly,” my sister had told me, but I’d dismissed her as being too sensitive. And then there was my mother’s coldness when my sister left the family home. Now everything made sense.

  Considering my mother’s age, she had probably given up on having a child of her own when she took my sister in. But nine years later, I came into her life, and she no longer needed the adopted child.

  What a trick of fate. My parents had adopted my sister, but in turn, she ended up adopting me, trying her best to fulfill their roles. Yet, deep down, we knew something was missing. There was a void within us. We were both lonely.

  I lay on the floor with the medical documents strewn all around me. When I looked up at the windows, the sky was dark. The moon hung high. It was past my dinnertime, but I didn’t feel hungry. I focused my eyes on the orange moon. Staring at it, I felt like the world was spinning too fast. Or was it the clouds that were speeding by? One moment I could see the moon, and the next I only caught a faint glow.

  Staring at the sky, I slipped into a dream.

  My sister put a blanket over me and accidentally woke me up. The moon had illuminated the room, highlighting her long, flowing dark brown hair.

  “Is this a dream?” I asked her.

  Smiling, she brushed her hair behind her ear. She slipped under the blanket and lay down next to me. “If it is, why wake up now?”

  We were so close that I could smell her perfume. She wore a sheer, clean scent that reminded me of freshly ironed linen.

  I looked into her eyes, and without thinking, I said, “Keiko, I really miss you.”

  She was silent. It was the first time I’d called her by her first name, which must have affected her. Then, the edges of her lips curved up into a smile.

  “I miss you too, Ren.”

  I closed my eyes. A warm and familiar feeling enveloped me. I wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. Something beyond grief, or even comfort at seeing her again . . .

  I opened my eyes and whispered, “I think I was in love with you.”

  She looked at me in surprise, but regained her composure. “It’s okay, Ren. It’s all in the past. Don’t think about it now.”

  I nodded, and we both drifted off to sleep.

  26

  A

  String

  of

  Previous

  Existences

  I went to the police station to collect my sister’s belongings. The day before, Detective Oda had called me at Yotsuba.

  “We have clearance to return most of Miss Ishida’s personal belongings. There aren’t many, but I thought you might want them back. We’ll have them ready for pickup tomorrow, if that’s convenient.”

  “Tomorrow is fine,” I said. “I’ll come before noon.”

  But when I arrived, the detective was nowhere to be seen. A skinny female officer with a sharp chin manned the counter. After checking my identity card, she handed me a release form to sign.

  “Detective Oda had to attend to another case,” she said, apologizing on his behalf.

  I was taken aback. I’d assumed he would see to this personally, and provide me with an update on the murder investigation. This gave me the impression that he no longer cared about her case. Was it because the media interest in it had cooled?

  After I filled out the form, the female officer took the items out and matched them aloud against her list. Everything fit inside a document envelope, which I thrust in my bag before heading to work. It felt inappropriate bringing the envelope into the office, but if I returned home first, I would be late for class. Pressed for time, I boarded the bus to Yotsuba.

  “Ishida, you look spaced-out,” an older colleague whose name I couldn’t remember told me. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, just a little tired,” I said.

  He nodded before leaving me alone. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Stop thinking about the case, I told myself. I had a job to do.

  Opening my eyes, I scanned the attendance file. Seven Stars was in my first class of the day. I had forgotten about her storming out of the bookstore. But now, I remembered what Izumi had told me: It’s obvious, isn’t it? That student of yours has a crush on you.

  Stupid Izumi. Now I couldn’t shake the thought from my mind.

  I gathered my teaching materials and went into the classroom. Half of the students were already there, including Seven Stars. When she saw me, she averted her eyes.

  The bell rang and I started roll call. Once I finished taking attendance, I explained a few points of grammar, answered some questions, and handed out the worksheets. Seven Stars kept her distance. Whenever our eyes met, she took care to look elsewhere. She didn’t smile during the entire class. After the lesson ended, she packed her bag and walked out in a hurry. I ran after her. There were students all around us, but I reacted before I could think about it.

  I grabbed her hand. “Why are you angry?”

  “Who says I’m angry?” she asked, glaring at me.

  “Look, do you have something you want to say?” I forced myself to look straight into her eyes. “I’ll listen to whatever is on your mind.”

  She pulled her hand away. “It’s nothing, Mr. Ishida. And why would I want to talk to you, anyway?”

  I knew better than to listen to her. When a girl said it was nothing, it meant there were plenty of things I’d missed. I didn’t want to leave things like this, but I could feel the students staring at us.

  Not wanting to attract more attention, I returned to the classroom. Maybe this wasn’t all that bad. I’d gotten too close to her, and it was better for us to keep a safe distance. She was still my student. Any more involvement was dangerous.
/>   I reached my apartment around eleven. Taking the envelope from my bag, I poured its contents onto the living room table. There was a passport, a photo album, and some notebooks. I checked the travel document. It was empty, but had been marked so it couldn’t be used any more. Keiko Ishida, why did you have a passport? She’d never gone overseas even once. Or had she planned to go away one day?

  I wasn’t sure what to do with the items, but I knew no good would come of hanging on to sentimental things. I put them back into the envelope and grabbed a lighter before heading out.

  It had been raining earlier that day. The fresh scent lingered, and the foliage had fine mist on its surface. Some of the leaves, having been scattered by the rain, coated the black asphalt.

  I found a discarded metal pail in the empty lot behind the building. Crouching down with my back to the wind, I took the items out of the envelope, lit it on fire, and threw it into the pail. Smoke rose, giving off a thick, pungent smell.

  One by one, I burned my sister’s belongings, starting with the passport.

  I flipped through her notebooks. Lesson notes. Her handwriting was neat, as always. No wonder she used to comment on how messy mine was. After going through each notebook, I tossed it into the fire. The papers curled up before turning into ashes.

  The last notebook at the bottom of the pile had a Japanese fabric cover with a geometric pattern. The blank pages were yellowing, and I found five 10,000-yen notes slipped in among them. I contemplated keeping the money, but decided to leave it there.

  Throwing the last notebook into the fire, I could feel my sister’s presence start to vanish. Her death was finally sinking in.

  Next was the photo album. It was filled with photographs from a Yotsuba teachers’ outing. I spotted Maeda in a few of the pictures. She always wore a serious face at work, but on her day off, she knew how to let her hair down. When she smiled, her eyes disappeared into two tiny lines.

  Honda was in a lot of the photographs. He looked jovial as usual, and there was a photograph of him asleep with his mouth open. I was tempted to keep it and use it to make fun of him, but my sister was also in the photograph, making a peace sign. No, I shouldn’t hold on to it.

  There were other familiar faces, too. The principal, Hiroko, Abe, and many more staff members. They looked so different when they weren’t in their work clothes. I was used to defining them by their specialties—the Japanese language teacher, the mathematics teacher, the social studies teacher. But outside the classroom, their personalities shone through. The social studies teacher wore a Hanshin Tigers jersey. The Japanese language teacher was in a colorful jumpsuit. And among them was my sister. She was in a white blouse and navy pencil skirt. Her smile was gentle. She was full of life.

  I looked at the photograph in my hand, a solo shot of her. Standing in front of a row of Jizo statues, my sister looked lovely. She carried a beige handbag on her arm, the same one she’d had with her when she was murdered. That bag transported me back to my first time inside the police station.

  Detective Oda had shown me the photographs of the blood-spattered handbag and its contents: wallet, a red scarf, keys, a pack of birth control pills, an organizer, and pens.

  The keys were held together by a metal ring with a porcelain rabbit ornament dangling from it. Wait. I had seen that ornament before. It hung behind the rearview mirror and caught the sunlight when the car made a sharp U-turn, blinding me.

  His name flashed into my mind.

  Honda.

  27

  I

  Have

  Something

  to

  Say

  As we had instant noodles for dinner again in the teachers’ lounge, I asked Honda if he could come over to my place that night.

  “Is something wrong?” he said.

  I shook my head. “I just wanted to hang out.”

  “You’re lonely,” he joked. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m feeling lonely too. Let’s have a party then, just the two of us.”

  “Great.” I finished my noodles. “See you later.”

  I threw the Styrofoam cup away and returned to my desk. I didn’t want to prolong the conversation and make him suspect something was amiss, but he must have sensed it. Usually, we would chat all the way until the next class.

  Starting the car, Honda asked me, “What do you want for supper?”

  “Are you still hungry?” I asked.

  “Not really, but I never pass up the opportunity to have supper.”

  “How about we order some takeout sushi? It’s my treat, but I don’t know any good shops.”

  “Leave it to me.”

  The car exited the underground parking lot and went to the main road. In just a couple of minutes, we’d stopped in front of a sushi joint. The place was just around the corner, yet I’d never noticed it. I went into the shop while Honda waited in the car.

  The sushi shop was quiet, save for two salarymen who looked drunk. It was probably almost closing time.

  “Welcome,” the serious-looking chef behind the counter greeted. “What would you like to order?”

  I glanced at the menu. There were a few different sushi platters. Pointing to one, I said, “One set to go.”

  The chef nodded and prepared my order. He molded the sushi with a practiced perfection and fit it carefully into a black plastic tray. He added sliced ginger, wasabi, and shredded white radish. His movements were smooth and efficient. I paid for the items and returned to the car.

  Honda peeked inside the plastic bag. “You don’t think this is too much for two people?”

  “Better too much than not enough,” I said.

  He laughed, and we drove off to my apartment.

  As the journey progressed, I felt increasingly nervous. I didn’t know how to bring up the topic. I’d tried to think about various ways to approach it, but none of them seemed right. I began to wish I’d gone to the police instead.

  I listened to Honda’s stories while eating sushi in my tiny living room. I didn’t talk much, nodding at appropriate times as he told me a few interesting things that had happened at work.

  “Two days ago, I gave my class a practice test,” he said. “A multiple-choice exam with four options per question. Even if you don’t study at all, chances are that some of your guesses will turn out to be correct. It’s practically impossible to end up with a zero unless you hand in a blank answer sheet.”

  I mumbled in agreement.

  “But I had to give one of my students a zero,” he continued. “He was obviously cheating. The answer for number two was supposed to be for number one, the answer for number three was the right one for number two, and so on.”

  “He didn’t even cheat properly.”

  “Indeed,” Honda said, looking at me. “Anyway, enough of me talking. What’s on your mind, Ishida? There’s something you want to discuss, isn’t there?”

  I nodded, but I didn’t feel ready. I gestured to him to take more of the food. “Let’s finish the sushi first, before it goes bad.”

  After we polished off everything, I cleaned the table and asked him what he wanted to drink.

  “I’m making coffee for myself,” I said.

  “I’ll have that too, then,” he said.

  I went into the kitchen and returned with two cups of hot coffee, a teaspoon, and a packet of sugar. I put one of the cups in front of him together with the spoon and sugar.

  “You don’t take sugar?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t like sweet things.”

  He nodded and tore open the paper packet, pouring the white powder into his cup. As he stirred the coffee, its aroma escaped. The rich scent of roasted beans filled the room, but neither of us touched our drinks. After what felt like a long time, Honda finally spoke.

  “How long are you going to keep quiet, Ishida? We’r
e not getting anywhere.”

  “Uh-huh.” I took my first sip of coffee before putting it back on the table. “The ex-girlfriend you mentioned to me—was she my sister?”

  Honda looked at me in surprise before averting his eyes.

  Since the words were out, I no longer saw the need to hold back my thoughts. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

  He remained quiet and stared at the wall.

  “Were you the one who killed her?” I asked quietly.

  Honda took a deep breath. “So basically, you have two questions. First, did I date your sister? The answer is yes. Keiko and I were together for a little while. Unfortunately, things didn’t work out for us.”

  It was my turn to say nothing. As I’d suspected, Honda and my sister had bought the rabbit trinkets together as a couple.

  “As for the second question, was I the one who killed her? No, it wasn’t me. I was upset about what happened between us. To be honest, I felt some resentment, but I learned to accept her decision.”

  I nodded, still undecided on whether I believed him.

  “When I first met her, I was thirty-four. She was the textbook image of a teacher. Well-educated, prim and proper, and she genuinely cared about her students. I had nothing but respect for her.” He reached for his coffee. “Though she certainly did leave an impression.”

  “What kind of impression?”

  He gave a thin smile. “Not a good one, I’m afraid. You probably can’t tell now, but I used to be a quiet person. I don’t like to stand out in a crowd, and my name isn’t easy to remember.”

  “Honda?”

  “That’s a nickname that was given to me by your sister. My real name is Shinosagawa, and most people don’t remember it. One day, Keiko saw me cleaning my car with distilled water. She made a huge fuss about it. Weird girl, wasn’t she? Isn’t it a common practice?”

  I wanted to say it wasn’t, or at least I’d never heard of it, but I kept my opinion to myself.

  “If you use tap water to wash your car, it leaves residue. My car is black. It wouldn’t look good with white water streaks.”