Love Water

by Venio Tachibana

  “It was childish indiscretion. I didn’t know what I would do or where I would go once I got past the gate.”

  His heart was being pulled back into the past.

  Masaomi gazed ahead, his eyes lowered slightly. He listened in utter silence, but Misao knew he was paying attention.

  “I thought once I got past the gate, I would head for the sea. But I didn’t even know where the sea was.”

  Now that he said it, he realized how reckless he had been and he smiled at himself.

  “Why the sea?”

  Masaomi looked at him quietly.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Misao turned his head, still smiling. He hadn’t thought about it for a long time.

  “I think I must have decided that when people travel, they go by sea.”

  “By sea…” Masaomi murmured, turning his face to the window. “In weather like this, the waves will be very rough.”

  “Really?” Misao answered vaguely, not sure how to agree with him. Masaomi stared at him.

  Misao forced a smile onto his lips.

  “All I’ve ever done is imagine it. I’ve never seen it.”

  “Would you like to?”

  Misao was confused by such a casual suggestion.

  “Go to the sea?”

  “Yes.”

  “But we’re supposed to see a play in Dotonbori…”

  Misao began making confused excuses, then trailed off.

  Masaomi waited for his response, his face entirely earnest in his suggestion.

  “Can we?”

  Misao’s heart fluttered.

  Masaomi nodded fluidly.

  “We’ll find a carriage in Dotonbori. It will still take a few hours to get there, though. Is that all right?”

  Misao nodded, his face tense.

  The carriage stopped in the shade of some pine trees. From his seat inside, Misao stared out at the sandy ground that ran on into the gray waters of the sea.

  “Are you staying there?” Masaomi asked secretively, but Misao didn’t answer. He sat perfectly still, riveted by the spectacular sight on the other side of the glass. He was incapable of moving.

  His hands tensed unconsciously as they rested on his knees, and he trembled as if he’d seen something frightening.

  “The real sea… it’s not actually blue, is it?” Misao murmured in a reedy voice.

  “No,” Masaomi whispered back, reaching for the window fastener. “That’s because the weather doesn’t look very promising. The face of the ocean changes with the weather. When the sky is clear, the sea sparkles.”

  The window fell open with a clatter.

  The air blew in, carrying a strong, salty scent that Misao had never smelled before, and with it the lamentation of the ocean.

  The sensations assaulted all of his senses and Misao’s eyes opened wide.

  He rose.

  “Misao?”

  The cautious voice passed over Misao’s ears unheard.

  He got out of the cart. He walked unsteadily, as if he were being controlled by something.

  As he walked toward the sand, his eyes swung up, his face quivering as he stared at everything around him.

  A giant black pine moaned in the sea breeze. The sky was so dim it was difficult to believe it was afternoon.

  He stood on the sand.

  Not bothering to gather up his hair as the wind whipped it around, Misao stared wondrously at the scene before him.

  The dead color of the sky was reflected in the wildly crashing waves. He watched their terrifying power.

  It went on forever.

  Was this how big, how open the world was?

  Everything that he had tried not to see, tried not to think about beat down the door inside his mind and filled him like muddy flood waters.

  Gradually, these exquisite emotions pooled in the corners of his eyes, then slipped down his cheek and fell from his face. He reached up with uneasy fingers and felt the cool wetness of his skin.

  His slightly open lips trembled as he sucked in a gasping breath.

  His face contorted and coughing tears spilled out of him. He wiped at his streaming cheeks and fell to his knees in the sand.

  He wasn’t sad.

  He was only miserable.

  After chafing in his narrow world for so long, he was now painfully aware of how insignificant he was. A choking cry caught in his throat. His shoulders shook noiselessly until a gentle hand touched them, chasing away the dark clouds again and again.

  He had no control over himself, like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

  He rejected everything and closed his ears to the world. He tore at his ears with restrained hands. He twisted in resistance, but the strength that held both his wrists refused to slacken and Misao raised his tear-stained face. He saw Masaomi there, his face twisted with pain. The next moment, Misao’s body was in his arms, held tightly against him.

  “It’s all right.”

  The sound of Masaomi’s voice so close to him and the warmth of his arms freed the cry that had been trapped in Misao’s throat.

  “It’s all right.”

  He repeated it like a spell, over and over again, as Misao sobbed against his chest.

  Letting his body be rocked by the irregular rhythm of the carriage, Misao leaned against Masaomi’s chest. Every once in a while his shoulders would shake with the memory of a sob. But his tears were over now.

  His right cheek was warm. So was his right shoulder and the top of his left arm. Leaning against Masaomi, only those parts of him that he touched took in his warmth.

  Misao didn’t know what to do. He felt desolate, as if he’d just been cast out into an empty, unfamiliar place, and he was terrified of being alone.

  Masaomi’s chest moved under his cheek; he held Misao’s head, stroking it tenderly while he still held his shoulders with his other hand.

  Misao felt jealous of the person who could have this all to themselves.

  Why couldn’t that be him?

  “It’s like a person,” Masaomi murmured. His voice mixed with the gentle sound of the rain. “The sea can change its mood in an instant. Next time I’ll take you to see it when it’s in a better mood.”

  Misao blinked slowly against Masaomi’s chest as he made this offer, then cautiously looked up at him. His eyes met Masaomi’s pale, tender gaze.

  “Next time?” Misao asked, as if in a dream.

  Masaomi smiled and inclined his head in a nod. He smoothed several strands of Misao’s hair from the many tracks of tears on his cheeks. He then cupped his hand gently around Misao’s cheek.

  “Something that’s been straining inside you broke free back there.”

  His shapely, anxious lips drew closer and lightly kissed the corners of Misao’s eyes.

  The shadow cast by Masaomi’s face obscured half of Misao’s face, including his widened eyes.

  He felt the man draw a tiny breath and Misao lowered his shaking lashes.

  Where had this feeling come from? And when?

  When Masaomi’s lips pulled sorrowfully away from his skin, Misao buried his face in the man’s chest and wrapped his arms around him.

  He wanted to stay with him.

  As Masaomi held Misao’s upper body in his arms, a passionate conviction swept suddenly through Misao’s entire body.

  He wanted to stay with him.

  He wanted that, more than anything.

  There were windows on every side of them, and on each and every one, innumerable drops of rain streaked down the glass, drawing out lines of water behind them.

  Misao couldn’t begin to guess where the carriage was right now, but still he imagined it was returning to Oumi Tea House.

  He didn’t want to go back.

  He wanted to stay with this man just a little longer. He wanted to stay with him.

  The horse’s iron shoes kicked up riots of water from the rain that beat against the ground and the cart came to an abrupt halt.

  Misao pulled back slightly f
rom Masaomi’s arms.

  He looked out the window dismally, imagining that they had stopped outside the grand western gate. The window was clouded by the falling rain, but Misao made out an upscale Western-style inn of white brick.

  “This is the hotel I’m staying at,” Masaomi told him.

  “What?”

  Before the words were out of his mouth, a man in a raincoat opened the carriage door from the outside and bowed respectfully. He held a large umbrella up over the carriage’s door.

  He passed the umbrella to Masaomi as he climbed out, then Masaomi reached back for Misao. Misao laid his fingers in the man’s palm and descended. Masaomi quickly wrapped his arm around Misao’s shoulder and pulled him close to protect him from the rain.

  “Welcome back, Mister Towa. Do you have any luggage?”

  The man’s voice was cultivated. Misao saw that he was wearing a hat under his raincoat and he guessed, a bit slowly, that this was the hotel’s doorman.

  “No, thank you.”

  Masaomi shook the man’s hand, then took Misao once more under his arm. Misao acted as docile as possible so as not to embarrass him, and followed Masaomi up the driveway. There was another doorman stationed beside the front door whose job it was to greet the guests. He pulled open the heavy double doors with exquisite timing.

  There was a stunning burgundy carpet.

  The lobby was a three-story-tall foyer in the center of the building.

  Masaomi took his room key from the front desk and turned toward the stairs. Persian rugs were laid on the stairs and moldings decorated the walls in the shape of large flowers.

  Masaomi led him to a room on the second floor. The wallpaper was a modern design and the room had a calm air, like a private study, but everything in the room was Western. For Misao, who had grown up somewhere so traditionally Japanese it was practically a relic of another age, there was nothing he could latch onto as familiar and comforting. It was as if he had stepped into another world.

  “I’m sorry if this is forward.”

  Masaomi came into the room after Misao and closed the door behind him as he spoke. Misao looked up at him as he laid a hand on his back, and Masaomi looked down at him with a feeble smile.

  “But you can’t very well go back with your face all a mess from crying.”

  “What?”

  “Sit down.”

  He slipped his hand off of Misao’s back and gestured fluidly at the sofa set in the center of the room. Masaomi walked toward a claw-footed desk at the back of the room, where there was a telephone. He picked it up and gave the number to the operator. Misao knew it was the phone number of Oumi Tea House.

  “Hello, this is Towa. Could I please speak with the manager? Thank you.”

  He stood holding the phone for several minutes, then finally seemed to get through. He gave Gikuyo his name and thanked her for giving permission for Misao to go out.

  “I’m afraid I have a very exceptional request to make in addition. I’d like for Misao to stay here with me tonight.”

  Misao’s brain didn’t react immediately and he blinked slowly two times, before his eyes widened and he caught his breath.

  He stepped hesitantly toward the sofa. He held the back of it with his hand and watched how the conversation progressed. A calm reflection on things would have told him that leaving the brothel overnight would never be allowed. But even so, he couldn’t help praying for the slightest chance.

  “Misao? Yes, he’s right here.”

  Masaomi caught his eye and Misao hurried over to him.

  “All right, hold on a minute please.”

  Masaomi looked at Misao and gave a small nod, then handed him the phone.

  Misao held his face firm and took it.

  “Hello?”

  “Is he forcing you to do this?” Gikuyo asked urgently, afraid, but Misao denied it without hesitation.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “That’s good. Can you pass me back to Mister Towa?”

  Gikuyo sounded relieved.

  Misao was shocked at how quickly the interview was over and looked at Masaomi questioningly.

  “She wants me to… pass her?”

  He gave the phone back to Masaomi. Just then, there was a blinding flash of light from the small gap in the velvet curtains that covered the window.

  A few seconds later, thunder rumbled.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll take full responsibility.”

  Misao was distracted by another round of lighting flashes, but was shocked to hear Masaomi’s even voice wrap up the deal. The gap between dream and reality returned.

  Masaomi hung up.

  He looked at Misao mildly, and Misao’s breath caught in his throat in disbelief.

  “I have until they open for business tomorrow night to bring you back.”

  “Tomorrownight?” Misao cried, more out of shock than delight. “I thoughtmaybethe afternoon, but tomorrownight? Really?”

  “Yes,” Masaomi answered, his calm tempering Misao’s bewilderment. He untied the cord that held his jacket closed and placed it over the back of the sofa. Then he turned his face back to look at Misao casually.

  “Are you hungry?”

  Misao still couldn’t cope with this sudden turn in events so easily. He could only answer Masaomi’s question with a confused look.

  “Now that I think about it, we haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. Should I get us something from the restaurant downstairs? Or have something brought up?”

  Masaomi made one suggestion after another and Misao felt like he had seen the real him. This was what he was like, living his life in the world outside. It wasn’t a surprise that he’d had trouble navigating the muddy waters of the brothel.

  He felt again what a good person he was.

  “What do you want to do?”

  Misao gazed into the distance silently and Masaomi smiled at him.

  Before he surrendered all control to Masaomi and let him decide what to do, there was one thing nagging at Misao that he had to clear up.

  “First, I’d like to know,” Misao began, thinking it was one way he could find out if his fear was groundless or not, “Could I wash my face?”

  Misao sat against the wash basin and drooped his head. Water poured fitfully from the faucet, which apparently didn’t work very well.

  “Misao?”

  He heard Masaomi call to him from the other side of the door.

  Misao had asked to wash his face, and so had come to this bathroom that was connected to Masaomi’s room. He had been in there about twenty minutes.

  When he didn’t answer, Masaomi said, “I’m coming in” and pushed the door open.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He rested his hands on Misao’s shoulders and bent down to look into Misao’s eyes, but Misao quickly turned away.

  “Please don’t look at me.”

  He spoke tersely, his head turned all the way to the side.

  He was rejecting Masaomi, and thereby rejecting himself.

  When they’d come to the room, Masaomi had said it was so Misao could wash his face—and he had been exactly right. When Misao saw himself in the mirror, his eyes were puffy and red; he was hideous. When he thought about how he had exposed himself, he just couldn’t face Masaomi anymore. The fact that he had shown this shame to Masaomi only made it worse.

  “I’m—I look so pitiful. I can’t—”

  He struggled to speak, as if all the air had been squeezed out of his body.

  “It’s humiliating,” he managed.

  “Don’t be silly,” Masaomi murmured, pained. He sat down across from Misao.

  He laid a hand tenderly on one of Misao’s cheeks.

  “I find you quite attractive right now. You need someone to take care of you, someone to protect you—it’s very seductive,” Masaomi confessed passionately.

  But to Misao it only seemed like he had used his unabashed wailing to elicit Masaomi’s kindness.

  That was all it had
been.

  Masaomi was the kindest person Misao knew, with great stores of pity. If he saw someone hurting, he wouldn’t be able to resist helping.

  Masaomi looked like he was waiting patiently, but finally he gave a sigh of resignation and reluctantly took his hand from Misao’s cheek.

  “I’ll have a separate room prepared for you, so you can spend the night there. I’ll have someone bring your food there as well.”

  Masaomi started to stand up, but Misao caught his wrist without thinking. He met Masaomi’s startled eyes and when he looked up, he knew. He lowered his eyes again awkwardly, and shook his head.

  It was only natural that Masaomi would tire of his selfishness. But Misao didn’t want to spend the night in a separate room. That was pointless. Today was his only chance.

  Masaomi sat down again and covered Misao’s hands with his free one. Then he spoke very gently, saying, “Misao, I don’t want to hurt your feelings. Just look: the bed here is certainly large enough, but there’s only one. I’ve been thinking all night that I should have a room prepared for you. Of course, I’d like to eat together if you don’t mind, but that’s my own selfish perspective and you don’t have to do it. I don’t want you to feel bad.”

  His suggestion overflowed with consideration, but that only made Misao dig in deeper.

  “Together,” he pleaded, eyes shut. “I want to stay together until morning.”

  That would be enough.

  Just to stay by his side.

  “All right.”

  Masaomi nodded, his words escaping on a breath. Misao felt a tender pressure on his fingertips.

  “We’ll stay together,” Masaomi whispered, kissing Misao’s fingers.

  A sweet trembling began at the core of Misao’s body. As he struggled to contain it, he murmured, “But… please don’t look at me too much.”

  He added this selfish request.

  He felt Masaomi chuckle.

  “We’ll get some ice and you can chill your skin. Don’t worry. You’ll be beautiful again by tomorrow.”

  After that, the two had their dinner together. They didn’t talk much during the meal, but that was just Masaomi’s custom; during the after-dinner tea, he was animated and occasionally let out a refreshing laugh. Misao rejoiced in this hitherto unknown frankness and eventually forgot all about his face.

  Still, he dressed in a lighter robe and pressed a bag of ice that the front desk sent up to his eyelids. But now it had become a sort of joke and he could laugh about it. Masaomi had done that for him.