It’s true, the yard is deadly silent, even though it is still early autumn.
I listen harder, until my grandfather breaks the silence, grunting as he gets to his feet. “Come on. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“A man needs to walk with his grandson at least once every visit.”
“Now? But it’s dark!”
“So?” He grabs the handles of my chair and starts off down the ramp.
Out in the yard, the air is damp, and already smells like bonfires mixed with dewy grass, as though the seasons cannot quite decide whom the night belongs to.
Ojiisan pushes me out awkwardly across the grass. The wheels don’t like it, sinking into the uneven ground, making him push and pull and lift to get me moving, but he does not stop.
“Did I ever tell you that a cricket knows the temperature exactly?” His voice only gives away the slightest hint of breathlessness.
“Yes!” And I recite, “Count his chirps for twenty-five seconds, divide by three, add four. It works every time. Except when it’s too cold and they don’t sing at all.”
“Good boy.”
He concentrates on walking for a while, and then asks, “Does it hurt?”
“What?”
“All of it. The illness.”
“Not really.” And then, because I cannot lie to Ojiisan, “A little. Sometimes. Mostly I just wish that I could still do things.”
Ojiisan sighs. “It sounds a lot like getting old.”
Soon, we’ve reached the end of the yard, where the tall pines stand, and we turn back.
In the middle of the grass, Ojiisan stops.
“Look up.”
I lean back, crane my neck as far as it will go. The moon is nothing but a sliver, but the sky is clear and lit with stars. You do not see them in the city, not like this.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Count them?”
I cast my eyes across the pin-pricked sky. They’re everywhere, big and small and bright and dull, a whirling mist of light.
“Impossible.”
“Try.”
“I can’t. There are too many.”
Ojiisan is quiet for long enough that I tilt my head farther back to look at him. He looks different, upside down in the nearly black: papery, and old. Finally, almost a whisper, he says, “So many of them will be burnt and gone before we even notice them.” He snaps his gaze down from the sky to me. “Dinner. I bet they’re almost ready.” And, grabbing my chair, he starts toward the house.
I imagine tiny baby stars, miles from anyone or anything, desperate for attention, and I tilt my head back once again, but the walk is bumpy, and I cannot focus and their lights merge into one.
“Ojiisan?”
“Hm?”
“What happens to the stars, when they die.”
He does not answer.
“Ojiisan?”
“I don’t know.” His voice sounds stretched, and strange, and I don’t believe him; my grandfather knows everything. But I don’t know why he’d lie.
38
“Call us. Anytime. And come back soon.”
“You could always come to us, you know.”
Bah-Ba grimaces. “Old folks like us, we belong out here, Azami.” But then she looks from Mama to me and sighs. “. . . Perhaps.”
“Yes, well. You’re always welcome. Please.” And then, “We should be going, we don’t want to miss the train.”
“Good-bye, Ojiisan, bye, Bah-Ba. Thank you.”
Ojiisan nods curtly. “Look after your mother.”
“I will.”
“Write,” he adds.
“I will!”
And Mama starts us down the hill. Halfway down, I twist in my chair and look back. My grandparents are still there, standing by the gate, watching us go.
39
Twilight’s setting in by the time we turn on to our street. I’d forgotten how the streetlights make the sky look sickly, nothing like the deep blue of the unlit countryside.
The superintendent grins, bowing low.
“Abe Azami! And the young master! Fine trip, I hope?”
“Yes!” my mother answers, though her voice is tired and breathy from getting me back home.
“I’m glad. It’s good to see you.”
“You too!”
The elevator lurches upward, taking too long to reach our floor.
Come on come on come on.
We stop outside our door. Mama pulls her handbag from the handles of my chair and rifles for her keys.
I imagine my computer humming gently on the desk, waiting for me to return.
Come on come on come on.
Finally, she finds them, puts the key into the lock, and turns.
“Right.” She breathes, pushing the door open wide. “Will you be all right for a minute? I want to check the mailbox, then I’ll come and help you to unpack your things.”
“It’s okay, Mama. I can manage.”
“Are you sure?”
Yes. My friends are down the hall, and I want to be alone with them.
KyoToTeenz.jp
My fingers feel heavy on the keyboard, as though they have forgotten what to do.
BRrRrRrRrRrRrR
YOU HAVE THREE MESSAGES
HI, MAN!
I KNOW YOU’RE AWAY, AND YOU PROBABLY WON’T GET THIS YET BUT EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! I BEAT HIM, THE TOP BOSS GUY. SHOT HIM IN THE HEAD, AND IBEATHIMIBEATHIMIBEATHIM.
WHICH, ACTUALLY, IS PRETTY WEIRD. LIKE, THERE’S THIS HOLE IN MY DAYS. WHAT DO I STRIVE FOR NOW?
ANYWAY, HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A ZINGING TRIP. SPEAK SOON.
DUUUUUDE!
I FOUND MY NEW THING, THE THING TO REPLACE SERGEANT ASSWIPE AND HIS RENEGADE SOLDIERS. AND IT’S SO MUCH BETTER.
Another game? I hear you say, another game with guns and hiding behind rocks to throw grenades?
Well, I thought about it. Honestly I did, but nothing grabbed me. And now I’ve found my onetruecalling.
COME HOME, SO I CAN SHOW YOU! :D
I’m home, I’m home! Come online, I want to see!
I click on the last message.
Come Baaaaaack.
YOU’VE BOTH LEFT ME AND I’M LONELY. WHO’M I SUPPOSED TO TALK TO NOW? D-:
Both left him?
Where is Mai? She’s always online, every day.
40
Hi Kaito!
I’m BACK! Tell me all about this wondrous new obsession!
The trip was wonderful but I’ve missed you both so much. I need to talk to you IMMEDIATELY :D
HIIIIIII! (-: YOU’RE BACK! HELLOOOO!
Yes! Hello!
HOW WAS IT? TELL ME EVERYTHING.
It was wonderful to see my grandparents. And the air up there is lovely.
THE AIR? THAT . . . DOESN’T SOUND VERY EXCITING. WHERE WERE THE GUNFIGHTS? THE GIRLS? THE WILD ADVENTURE?
Hahaha, I was with my mother, and my elderly grandparents . . .
Although there was one thing . . .
WHAT WHAT WHAT?
Well, there was a small, teensy run-in with a BAKENEKO! O_O
BAKENEKO???
Cat demon.
YEAH, I KNOW, BUT WHAT HAPPENED? DID IT JUMP OUT FROM THE BUSHES AND TRY TO MAUL YOU? DID YOU SLICE OFF ITS HEAD WITH . . . WAIT, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE WEAPON OF CHOICE IS WHEN YOU’RE FIGHTING SPIRITS.
YOU GOT A MYSTICAL KATANA?
No, no, and no.
DID IT MOVE ALL THE FOOD INTO DIFFERENT CUPBOARDS?
OR SWALLOW THE NEIGHBORS WHOLE?
Are you going to stop guessing and be quiet so I can tell you?
YES. *CLAMPS LIPS FIRMLY SHUT* *TIES HANDS BEHIND BACK*
All right.
So, my grandfather SWEARS that since their cat died, they’ve been haunted by a bakeneko. It crept into their dreams at night, and laid half-eaten mice up on the porch.
O_O IN THEIR DREAMS? THAT’S NASTY STUFF!
Isn’t it? Every night.
AND? DID YOU SEE
IT TOO?
I heard it. It woke me up. It was like the sound of a hundred tortured wolves, and the roar of hurricanes.
>_<
WHAT DID YOU DO?
We found the one thing that can beat a bakeneko.
???
A cat.
We got him from the shelter. An old tom, with so much personality that no spirit cat would DARE to come anywhere near his territory.
A CAT?
Yes!
CATS ARE COOL, I GUESS.
IT WOULD’VE BEEN COOLER IF YOU’D SLICED HIS HEAD OFF WITH A SWORD.
Hahaha, speaking of . . . what is this THING you discovered?
THING?
OH, THE THING.
SOOOOOO, I TRIED ALL THESE GAMES, BUT THEY JUST DIDN’T STICK, I COULDN’T FOCUS.
That doesn’t sound like you.
I KNOW! ANYWAY, I DECIDED I WANT SOMETHING NEW, AND I THOUGHT, WHAT WOULD SORA DO? AND I THOUGHT, BOOKS. SO I WENT ONLINE AND LOOKED FOR “BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR” AND TO BE HONEST I WAS A BIT LOST, BUT HALFWAY DOWN THE PAGE WAS A MANUAL ON DIY WEB DESIGN. AND LIKE, I LOVE THIS PLACE, AND IT WOULD BE SO COOL TO BE ABLE TO MAKE SOMETHING OF MY OWN ONE DAY.
AND IT’S REALLY HARD, THERE’S SO MUCH TO REMEMBER, BUT IT MAKES THINGS HAPPEN. I CAN MAKE THINGS HAPPEN WITH MY FINGERTIPS!
SHORT: I’M LEARNING CODE. I’M GOING TO MAKE WEBSITES, MAN. CHECK ME OUT.
That’s BRILLIANT!
I can’t wait to see.
OOOOH, IT’S A LONG WAY OFF YET.
Yeah, but still, when you’re ready.
:D
YOU HAVE GOT TO TELL MAI THE BAKENEKO STORY. SHE WOULD LOVE IT.
Yes. Where is she?
I DON’T KNOW, MAN. THE DAY AFTER YOU LEFT, SHE HAD TO RUSH OFF, SAID HER MOTHER HAD “BIG NEWS” AND SHE HASN’T BEEN BACK SINCE.
Big news?
YEAH. BUT WHAT CAN BE SO BIG YOU DO NOT WANT TO SHARE IT WITH YOUR FRIENDS?
I can think of one thing.
I hid it from them for as long as I could.
But . . . knowing what she knows, she’d tell us, right?
I don’t know. Whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll tell us when she’s ready.
YEAH I HOPE SO. I DON’T KNOW. I’M WORRIED, MAN.
Don’t be. She’s probably just making up for a less than perfect test result or something, doesn’t want our sweet voices distracting her.
YEAH. MAYBE. I HOPE YOU’RE RIGHT.
Me too.
Hi Mai,
I’m back! And I have STORIES.
I missed you.
Sora.
PS Hope your week has been amazing.
41
HAVE YOU SEEN HER?
No :(
:(
I THOUGHT SHE MIGHT COME BACK WHEN YOU RETURNED. I THOUGHT MAYBE SHE NEEDED A HOLIDAY TOO, OR SHE WAS WAITING UNTIL THE GLEESOME THREESOME COULD GET BACK TOGETHER.
I don’t know. I don’t know why she’s gone, or where. But I’ve left her a message.
She’ll come back. I know she will.
YEAH? :(
42
Dearest Ojiisan,
Did you know that no two star deaths are the same? When they run out of energy they collapse, but how that happens is different, depending on how big they are and what’s around them. And we’re finding out more every day. Here’s a printout of some of JAXA ’s programs. Aren’t they brilliant?
I wonder what it would be like up there. Exciting, I guess, but I think I’d miss the trees. Would you go, if you had the chance? If they offered you a place in a shuttle to the moon, or Mars or . . . to explore?
Oh, also, the dust and debris and gas left behind provide everything needed for new stars and planets to occur. I like that. Maybe you would find a whole new galaxy!
Grandson first, space explorer second,
Abe Sora
43
Hey NoFace!
How’s it going?
YEAH, OKAY, I SPENT LUNCH IN THE IT ROOM TODAY. I’M TRYING OUT MY HTML. IT’S ONLY THE BEGINNING, BUT IT’S COOL.
:D I’m glad.
READ ANYTHING GOOD TODAY?
Not really.
D-: GEEK-BOY, NOT INTERESTED IN BOOKS? :P
Ha. No. I’m tired, that’s all. I feel as though I’ve run a hundred miles by the time I get up in the mornings.
:( IS THAT AN ALS THING?
I don’t know. It could be.
:(
WHAT DO YOU THINK MONKEC IS DOING RIGHT NOW?
Perhaps . . . drawing kittens in the margins of her schoolbook. Making a flick book, one page at a time.
HAH, YEAH.
HAVE YOU EVER SEEN HER WORK?
No. She never wanted to share. Have you?
NO. I’D LIKE TO THOUGH. I BET SHE’S TALENTED.
Yeah.
SHE’S CUTE, TOO.
Is she? Last time I saw her, she left fairly abruptly, and I was too nervous to notice much of anything.
Yeah.
O_O
What?
I JUST REALIZED . . .
IF SHE’S NOT AT THE COMPUTER, SHE’S NOT MONKEC. AT ALL. IT’S LIKE SHE’S STRIPPED A PART OF HER AWAY.
HEY MAN, ANY NEWS?
No.
She does not answer messages or start up conversations. We have not even seen one single trace of her in any of the chat rooms. It’s like she’s vanished from the Internet completely.
But why?
It’s strange without her. Kaito and I talk well enough, but our jokes are few and deadened, as though we are in mourning.
I suppose, in some small way, we are.
44
“Wake up, Sora. It’s late.”
I groan and open my eyes. Mama has let in the sun, and it is too warm, my blankets too heavy, and yet my head is heavier, my limbs deadweight, and I do not want to move.
“Come on,” she says, and I groan again.
Mama sits beside me and reaches a hand to my forehead. “Are you feeling all right?”
No.
My mattress is wet sand, sticking, clinging, pulling me under.
“Mmhmm.”
“Well then, hurry up. You’re wasting the sunlight.” She gets up to leave, and I try to heave myself upright, but my arms and legs do not respond.
What’s happening?
I can feel the sheets beneath my palms. It should be easy.
I push again, harder this time. I can feel my hands pressed against the softness of the mattress, feel my muscles tense, but I am still lying here.
Is this it?
Am I stuck like this forever?
A bedridden lump with nothing to look at but the whorls of plaster on the ceiling.
I almost cry out, but I catch the sound before it leaves my throat. I can’t, not until I’m sure. Maybe it’s all in my imagination and there’s nothing worth worrying my mother with.
I lie here for a minute, counting the seconds between breathing in and out again, forcing the panic out across my lips with every exhalation.
And then I try again, this time digging in my heels as well, for extra leverage.
Nothing.
I’m stuck. It’s happening. I can’t get up.
“Mama!” I try to keep the shaking from my voice, but it’s no use. “Mama, I can’t—”
She’s back in my room in seconds.
“What is it?”
“Help?” I try to gesture to my useless body, the bed, the whole mess. My arm flails, and a desperate cry escapes my lips.
And she’s here, smoothing the hair back from my forehead and squeezing my hand as though our lives depend on it.
Perhaps they do.
“Hush,” she whispers, “hush. We’ll do this, it’s all right.”
And then she’s sliding an arm beneath me and she’s lifting, pulling me up.
And even though I’m flooded with relief that I’m not stuck here for eternity, I am also angry, and ashamed, and I cannot look at her.
45
“Can I ask you someth
ing?”
Doctor Kobayashi thinks before she answers. “Yes.”
Ever since this morning, one lone image haunts me, it hangs behind my eyes, and every time I blink, it’s there. I need to get rid of it, but I do not know whether she’ll help me.
“Those men, in the ward around the corner, the one that’s locked.” I pause, watch her face for a reaction, but there is none. “What’s wrong with them?”
“I don’t know, Sora.”
How can she not know? She works here!
“None of my patients are in that ward.”
“But you must have some idea.”
“That room is a palliative care ward. Those men are very sick. Dying. That is all I know, I promise you.”
“Are they allowed visitors?”
“Yes.”
I swallow hard, push away my fear. “Can you do something for me?”
• • • •
“Are you sure about this?” Doctor Kobayashi asks. “Really sure? It could be . . . difficult.”
I stare at the heavy frosted glass, the locked door in front of us. “Yes.”
“All right.” She punches numbers into the lock and pushes the door open. “I will be right out here.”
My arms work better now that I’m awake. The hospital floors are smooth and flat. I push myself into the room. It smells different from the corridor, more like hot wet cabbage than pine cleaner.
“His name is Yamada-san,” Doctor Kobayashi whispers after me.
There he is. Somebody has pulled the curtains around the other beds, and the nurses, although I’m sure they can’t be far, are not in sight. We are alone.
Even from across the room, I can see his Adam’s apple bobbing in his paper neck every time he swallows. I can see the painful heaving of his chest sucking in air.
I have to do this.
I wheel up to the foot of his bed, and his eyes, deep and dark and more alive up close, flicker recognition of my presence.
“Good morning, Yamada-san.”
His eyes rove, and his mouth makes wide, uncoordinated movements, letting out a rasp of air.
I flinch. Is he angry? Sad? Pleased?
My heart hammers out a warning, and I want to flee, but he is looking at me, waiting, and he does not seem to be trying to yell at me. So I continue. “I thought perhaps you’d like a little company.”
The Last Leaves Falling Page 11
