Nocturne of Remembrance

by Shichiri Nakayama

  “What? Hurry and walk,” one of the watchdog girls prodded, but Akiko’s feet refused to budge as if they were stuck in plaster. The pathos and regret that the nocturne invited was paralyzing her limbs.

  The next moment, Akiko realized something at last: She couldn’t let their fangs sink into Tomomi. She was someone that Akiko needed to protect.

  She had to turn on the two lackeys and chase them away, now. She was going to warn Marika to keep her hands off Tomomi.

  Akiko, however, was suddenly shoved in the back.

  “I said go!”

  The spell broke when she tottered. Yes, at the moment, she was a captive. If she didn’t obey Marika’s gang, Akiko would have no place left in this school.

  No, not just that, she’d be bullied until her mind and body were in tatters.

  That mind and body were now moving in different directions. Akiko began to stagger forward, off balance.

  The music room had two entrances. As planned, the two watchdogs went towards the front entrance and Akiko went to what was the back entrance.

  “Tomomiii … So into it, huh?”

  The two started talking to Tomomi. While her attention was turned towards the pair, Akiko approached from behind.

  Stop, her mind ordered her.

  Yet her hands lifted up the bucket. They were like the hands of some stranger.

  She closed her eyes that instant. But she could tell that the cascade had struck the target.

  When Akiko opened her eyes fearfully, Tomomi’s retreating figure was soaked from the head down. Water was dripping from her clothes and from the piano.

  Akiko chucked the empty bucket aside and started running like a hare. Feeling like something was chasing her from behind, she fled without turning around once.

  She finally stopped running when she reached her classroom. Marika was there, laughing smugly. Her lackeys must have reported the deed to her.

  Akiko felt a black sediment deep in her chest.

  Besides her hatred for Marika, Akiko despised herself. She’d attacked and tormented someone whom she was supposed to protect.

  She couldn’t stand it and was crying. A cold sensation ran down her cheeks. She had never before shed such unpleasant tears. She was so mortified that she wished she could just vanish for good.

  Tomomi never returned for class that day. Apparently, the piano had absorbed water and was no longer usable, and she’d been held responsible. She came back to school two days later, but she had terribly lost her spirit. Coupled with the loss of the music room’s piano, Tomomi’s presence grew fainter than ever.

  But that was only true for her other classmates. She had grown preposterously large in Akiko’s mind.

  Tomomi was Akiko’s feelings of guilt personified. Whenever she saw Tomomi, whenever she remembered Tomomi, she knew her own meanness and pettiness. Being in the same classroom with her was like torture.

  Perhaps it was as a humble gesture of resistance that Tomomi kept coming to school, despite being deprived of her reason for being and despite Marika and company’s naked contempt. It was probably the most painful for Akiko. When they started sixth grade they entered different classes so Akiko didn’t see as much of her, but Tomomi had gouged a scar in Akiko’s heart that would always remain.

  From that day on, Akiko couldn’t bear to listen to Chopin’s Nocturne No. 2.

  When she reached high school age, Akiko chose to go to trade school to learn bookkeeping. She found employment at an accounting firm in Tokyo immediately upon graduating. Her parents had advised her to go to college, but if she did she would have to settle on a local university due to their financial circumstances. More than anything, however, Akiko wanted to get away from a land that was stained with her self-loathing and guilt towards Tomomi. Tokyo was for her simply a big city other than Kobe.

  She’d become completely accustomed to the Kansai dialect after almost ten years in Kobe, but as soon as she moved to Tokyo, she was stuck with correcting her accent all over again.

  Tokyo was a melting pot of people from other regions. While most of them tried to speak in so-called standard Japanese, those from Kansai had a bad reputation for not bothering to conform. Akiko, who didn’t want to feel isolated, willingly modified her speech.

  In Tokyo, neighbors didn’t meddle in each other’s affairs, which suited Akiko perfectly well.

  Here there was no one to protect or to be protected by. As long as she managed herself, she didn’t have to carry any extra baggage. The cityscape, gay yet diverse, was also to her liking.

  Her work went smoothly, too. As long as she devoted herself to supporting the CPAs in her office, she was neither praised nor criticized and received a reasonable salary. As long as she didn’t stand out, no one said anything to her. While it wasn’t exciting or fun, she was assured the peace and tranquility that she desperately desired.

  Alas, it didn’t continue for long.

  January 17, 1995.

  Akiko was shocked by the scenes projected on TV before she went to work. Her second hometown had been reduced to rubble.

  It had occurred before the morning rush hour. Even so, the severe damage wrought by a magnitude 7 earthquake was dizzying.

  Akiko hurriedly tried to contact her parents’ home. She couldn’t get through no matter how many times she tried. When she explained the situation to her employers, they immediately gave her a few days off. The transportation network was torn to pieces, however, and she couldn’t even get near the disaster area. The TV news was her only source of information, but the havoc was rapidly spreading as time passed.

  She changed channels frequently to see if any of the broadcasting companies was covering her neighborhood, but every scene that jumped into her eyes looked like it had been bombed, and she couldn’t even tell if she knew the place.

  Buildings that had been reduced to ashes. Wavy, caved-in roads, and sundered multi-level crossings. A sunless sky, blocked by scarlet flames and black smoke. Below it was her parents’ house. They were in a hell screen. Just thinking about it nearly drove Akiko mad.

  The TV announcer reported the increasing number of dead and missing persons in a voice that was absent of emotion. Wishing with her heart and soul that her parents weren’t included in those numbers, Akiko already knew.

  She did have people she needed to protect. Her parents were beginning to bring up physical ailments. She pretended to have forgotten only because she wasn’t near them.

  Again. Was she going to desert people she should protect, yet again?

  After she spent the night without sleeping a wink, the bullet train was back in shape to resume operations to Osaka. It was about forty miles from Osaka to Kobe. If she tried, it wasn’t a distance that she couldn’t cover on foot. Another way would be to procure a bicycle.

  Determined to get as close as possible to her parents’ home either way, she was preparing her backpack when her cell phone rang.

  She pounced on it and opened the liquid-crystal display.

  “… Hello?”

  The moment Akiko heard her mother’s voice, both relief and regret overtook her. “Mother! Ahh, so you’re all right.”

  “Our house collapsed, but I happened to be outside.” Akiko’s mother was starting to sob on the other end. “I tried to call you many times but couldn’t get through …”

  “Dad. Dad is all right, too, isn’t he?”

  The conversation broke off. Shivers ran down Akiko’s spine.

  “H-His restaurant was on the first floor … When I got there, he was already …”

  The words that followed didn’t feel real.

  Dad was—dead.

  All of Akiko’s strength drained from her body.

  The next thing she knew, she was supporting her upper body with one hand on the floor.

  A few days later, Akiko confirmed her father’s remains with her mother, who was staying in a disaster shelter. His establishment, located on the ground level of what was already an old building, was simply gone, l
ike in some game of jenga. Her father’s body, only recognizable by his clothes, didn’t even look human. Even amidst the confusion, the undertaker performed the bare necessities, and they were at least able to mourn for him at a mass funeral.

  But that didn’t calm Akiko. Feelings she couldn’t sort out swirled in her heart, and her sense of time was fuzzy.

  Why hadn’t she tried to live with her parents?

  How could she have sought an aloof peace on a pleasant perch?

  The fact that only she had avoided the disaster, far away, weighed on her as a burden of guilt.

  And as she brought her palms together before the makeshift altar, amidst the sobbing and lamenting voices she heard piano music.

  That piece. The unforgettable melody. Chopin’s Nocturne No.2.

  Akiko quickly glanced in the direction that the melody was flowing from, over where the coffins were lined up, and found her.

  Just like Akiko, she was facing the coffins with her palms together. Ten years had passed since then, but there was no mistake.

  It was Tomomi.

  The nocturne was coming from a cassette player placed on top of a coffin. Was No. 2 a favorite of Tomomi’s or of the relative in the coffin?

  No, it really didn’t matter. Either way, it was a piece that was unbearable for Akiko.

  Is this your revenge?!

  The scream got as far as Akiko’s throat, but no further. She wanted to accost Tomomi, but her feet wouldn’t move.

  Chopin’s melody wedged into the tender and vulnerable fissure in her soul. The supposedly gentle four-bar movement was like a blunt blade that minced her feelings.

  Akiko couldn’t bear staying there and flew out of the temporary funeral home. She must have looked terrible with tears, a drippy nose, and fear, but the same went for the other bereaved family members hanging around outside.

  Akiko tried talking to her mother after the funeral, but it didn’t conclude with them deciding to live together. Her mother’s life was in Kobe, and hers was in Tokyo. One of them would need to give up their current base.

  Her mother laughed reassuringly. “Don’t worry about me, Akiko. I can choose to live in temporary housing. I can manage if it’s just me.”

  It was surely a mother’s pride. Not taking no for an answer, she saw Akiko off to Osaka and practically pushed her down into the bullet train seat.

  “I couldn’t protect Dad,” Akiko muttered. “I should have stayed near you but just ran away.”

  “Way for a child to talk.” Akiko’s mother put her face close to her daughter’s. “Someday you’ll have something that you’ll really need to protect. Keep that feeling close to your heart until then.”

  Holding her knees in her room back in Tokyo, Akiko suddenly felt scared of being alone.

  She learned that freedom was lonely.

  She learned that shackles were another name for security.

  It was a year later that the turning point came.

  At the end of a fiscal period, a software development company that her accounting firm advised requested confirmation on how to handle some tax forms. Akiko dealt with the request, but emails and phone calls failed to settle the matter. She had no choice but to arrange a meeting with their representative.

  This was Shingo Tsuda. The suspicious squint of his eyes—maybe he was cockeyed—really stood out, and his suit was in bad taste. He cut a lackluster figure overall.

  Explaining things to him was a hard slog from the beginning. Akiko’s assumption that a software development company staffer would be good with figures was totally mistaken, and she ended up having to start with basic bookkeeping concepts. Perhaps because he was brilliant after all, Shingo grasped what she was saying and consented to it.

  What was unexpected was Shingo’s look when he finally saw the light. He looked as jubilant as if some curse had been lifted.

  “Wow, it was the right thing to meet you. It all felt so vague but now it makes complete sense. You really are good at explaining things.” His smiling face betrayed glimpses of the boy he once was. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve always been the type to keep at it until I totally get something. And I seem to have a sullen look on my face until I do. You have no idea how many people outside of our company have come to hate me.”

  “I like people who’re like that,” remarked Akiko. Hastily she added, “Smiling like you understand when you don’t is just rude to the other person. Not giving up until you do is true sincerity, I think.”

  Surprised, Shingo looked at Akiko and said, “I haven’t heard that piece of common sense in a long time.”

  Akiko blushed immediately. That wasn’t her view or anything. In fact, she’d just mouthed the words out of consideration for the guy’s feelings.

  “Well, if some other problem comes up with forms and such, will you please be in charge?”

  “Certainly.”

  “It’s a pain in the neck to get a new person to understand my idiosyncrasies. Um … perhaps this is too forward, but I think that you and I are a good match.”

  This was in the context of work, and Akiko had no reason to object. She readily consented, and Shingo, as agreed, summoned her now and then.

  Neither of them was in any way good-looking, but they felt oddly attracted to each other. It wasn’t long before their meetings migrated from his office to a coffee shop and their discussions moved on from tax-related to personal matters.

  And after two years of dating, Akiko got married to Shingo.

  She was twenty-one at the time. When she told her coworkers, they were all surprised and thought it was too early for her. But her mother’s response was different.

  “Oh. Congratulations, I’m happy for you.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me it’s too early?”

  “Well, I was only in my mid-twenties when your father and I tied the knot. And I think in your case, starting a family early is a good thing. Let me guess, aren’t you starting to feel unhappy being alone?”

  Akiko was absolutely no match for her mother. She could see right through to her daughter’s mind. Akiko certainly felt that it was a little premature, but more so, she couldn’t stand living alone anymore. Her desire to be with someone else, and to forge a strong bond, won out over the carefree single life.

  At Shingo’s encouragement, too, she quit her job, because they could easily make ends meet with just his salary. His company was doing well, and also he was advancing quickly. His annual income was far above that of other company men of his age group.

  Their new home was a rented used condominium in Hachioji in western Tokyo. At first, Shingo had wanted a high-class condo in Roppongi, but Akiko objected to the idea.

  “Why not? We can easily pay that much every month.”

  “Uh-uh, we don’t want to be spending all that on rent. We have to put aside money for when our family grows.”

  “One kid won’t cost so much. The two of us should enjoy our married life. We can start worrying about child-rearing expenses when you get pregnant.”

  “No, that’d be too late. You see, they can’t mass-produce children’s clothes, and it can end up costing more than adult clothes.”

  “Maybe, but it’s hard to imagine you getting pregnant so soon.”

  Shingo’s hunch, however, was way off; the following year their first daughter Miyuki was born.

  An apartment that had been spacious for the couple felt cramped with the addition of Miyuki. A baby bed, storage for her baby clothes, and of course her crying in the middle of the night—they needed a separate room for her.

  At around that time, Shingo was promoted to manager of the software development section. His salary increased, but his overtime increased even more. He usually returned home very late, and Miyuki’s crying further strained his tired face.

  Although Shingo didn’t seem to like children as much as she did, Akiko was quite satisfied with everything. Above all, there was something that she needed to protect. Bonds, too. When she held up Miyuki, swaddle
d in baby clothes, the consciousness of being a mother welled up from deep within Akiko. She was determined to protect Miyuki to the end, no matter what.

  In the past, she had failed to save people who needed her protection. She was well aware that she was doting on Miyuki to compensate but couldn’t rein herself in. Protecting the weak was even becoming her reason for living. During the day it was just the two of them, so Akiko’s determination only strengthened.

  Thanks to his punishing workload during the week, Shingo began to spend most of his days off in bed. Naturally, he seldom interacted or spoke to his family, but Akiko didn’t mind. By then she knew that Shingo wasn’t much of a family guy, and she also believed that this was normal in a household where the father was in the prime of his life. Indeed, she had little recollection of her own father paying attention to her when she was little. The memories she did have started from about fourth grade, so Akiko was fine with the idea that Shingo might deepen his ties with Miyuki around then.

  It had been over ten years since the Bubble had burst, and the nation’s economy was in a long dark tunnel, but Shingo’s company’s strategy to expand its sales channels in Southeast Asia was paying off, and it was posting steady gains. Given that an entire crop of affiliated firms was dying across the field one after the other, Shingo’s company was rather unique.

  Its uniqueness was short-lived, however. Two behemoths with unbeatable prices for labor and raw materials were storming into the market: China for parts procurement and India for software development. Shingo’s firm’s executives basked in a false sense of security for having survived the domestic competition, and were complacent.

  Of course, these subsurface trends were lost on Shingo, who’d spent his entire career in development proper. The Tsuda family’s future looked like it was all smooth sailing.

  It was around then that their second daughter, Rinko, was born. As one might expect, their current home felt too cramped for a family of four. At that time, Shingo learned of a bargain-priced plot of land in Setagaya Ward. The source of the information was Akiko’s father-in-law, Yozo. The heir to the property was having trouble paying the inheritance tax and hoped to sell cheaply rather than surrender the asset altogether.