Fifty Words for Rain

by Asha Lemmie

  “Who will see you, Noriko?” Akira asked in earnest. “There isn’t another house for miles. This entire property is gated off.”

  “But Grandmother says . . .”

  “She’s given her permission. All she asks is that I go with you, that you stay away from her roses, and not to go out when the sun is highest in the sky, for the sake of your complexion.”

  Somehow, Nori strongly doubted that her grandmother had used such docile language.

  “I can’t,” she whispered again, digging her nails into her palms in the vain hope that it would somehow anchor her. Her head was beginning to spin. “I don’t . . .”

  “I see the way you look outside. It’s pathetic. You look like a whipped puppy. And now you’re saying you don’t want to go?”

  Nori bristled. He had no idea, this golden boy, how many nights she’d spent in silent desperation wishing for the open sky. She turned to face him.

  “No, I’m saying I can’t go. She will kill me, Oniichan. Obaasama would give you anything in the world, I know she would, but not this. If anyone finds out about me, the gossip will plague you and yours for the next hundred years. We’ll never get rid of the stain. That’s why I have to stay inside. That’s why she bribes the servants with fine things. That’s why she has told me countless times that to set one foot outside that door means death.”

  “And I am telling you,” Akira growled back, lowering his face so that it was at eye level with her own, “that she needs me more than she needs the titles, or the money, or the estates. More than the servants or the cars or this archaic sense of pristine honor she holds on to. She needs me. She’s far too old to have any more children, and Mother is likely dead in a ditch somewhere. She needs me here, she needs me alive, and she needs me to get a child on some dainty little flower of a noble girl from the capital. What she doesn’t need is you. If she wanted you dead, you’d be dead already, you stupid girl.”

  Akira gripped her shoulders then, with such force that she wanted to cry out but could not. She was powerless to do anything but look at him with her mouth agape and quivering.

  He wasn’t just looking into her eyes anymore; he was looking into the core of her being. And he knew, and she knew, that he could see clear as day all the things that were missing there. She tried to protest but all she could manage was a whimper. It was ignored.

  “Do you know what my father would have done if you’d been born under his roof? He would have pulled you out of our mother himself, taken you behind the shed, and bashed your skull against the rocks until it was as soft as a boiled egg. Or, if he were feeling kind, he’d have had you smothered. But you would not be alive and you would not be wearing silks, eating lemon cakes, and being catered to every second of the day. My father’s family is not so great as this one, but they believe in the old ways. If there was ever a bastard child born, believe me, none of them lived long enough to be remembered. You have just turned eleven. Eleven years, you have lived, breathed, eaten, slept, and pissed in porcelain toilets. For God’s sake, Nori, you were going to die from fever and they saved your life. So yes, they hate you. I don’t deny it. They hate you. But that is absolutely no reason you can’t go outside.”

  And with that, he released her. She stumbled backwards and instinctively placed a hand on her arm to finger the bruises that would be sure to form shortly.

  Whatever had come over Akira, it was gone now. His expression was calm, almost bored. He was losing interest. But not just in this conversation: in her.

  Panic surged through her and spurred her previously petrified feet to move. She closed the distance between herself and the door and pressed her palms against the thin paper and wood that separated her from the outside world.

  She could hear birds chirping. It was late August, melding slowly into September. The days were not so hot as they were before, but Nori could feel pleasant warmth spreading through her fingertips. She had always thought that her mother would come back for her and lead her outside, with a smile and a “Let’s go home.” That had been her hope, her conviction, her constant prayer.

  And she knew now that it wasn’t going to happen. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to go outside, because she did. She really, really did. But to take this step, alone, was to acknowledge that the thing she had been so certain of was just a pipe dream. And it was one thing to know it. But to act on it, well . . .

  She shut her eyes tight and pushed against the door. It slid to the side with ease, and all at once, the sunshine flooded in.

  When she opened her eyes, it took them a long moment to adjust. She stumbled out onto the patio blind. The bricks were scalding and she let out a squeal of pain. Akira’s hands pressed against her lower back and pushed her forward, though his touch was gentler than before.

  Her feet weren’t touching stone anymore. They were touching something cool and prickly, but soft. Nori’s eyesight was starting to return, but her vision was still full of white and purple spots.

  She dropped to her knees and spread out her hands, letting the blades of grass slide through the gaps between her fingers.

  Oh.

  She had forgotten the smell of grass.

  * * *

  AKIKO

  I watch them from the doorway, half hidden in shadow. The boy has noticed me, I know he has, but he does not seem concerned by my presence. He sits on the stone bench beneath the old peach tree and observes, as I do. He watches her with absolute calm, his smooth, pretty face betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. He looks like a maiden posing for an oil painting.

  She lay on her back in the grass with her dark curls billowed out beneath her, wide-eyed and unblinking, for at least an hour.

  The sky is a pristine blue today, as clear and endless as the ocean. The clouds are thick, like spun cream, and float along like wayward ships in the breeze. I can understand her fascination with it. She has not seen the sky now in nearly three years. And to a child, it must seem like a lifetime longer than that. She is captivated.

  But now it seems as if she cannot be held still. She is running from one place to the next, covering herself in dirt as she goes. Her white nightgown is not so white anymore, and I am in for a long night of scrubbing the stains out of it. She spent several minutes attempting to pet the fish in the pond and squealing in delight when her fingers touched their colorful scales, covering herself in water and bits of algae. That gown will never come clean and I will be the one who has to explain why she needs a new one. Wonderful. Oh, wait . . . she has moved. Where has she gone now?

  Before I can form words to stop her, she is at the birch tree, attempting to climb it. What on earth has come over this child? That tree is a hundred feet high, and she is likely to break her neck.

  Her brother gets to her before I can. He moves across the yard like a shot and grabs one of her ankles, yanking her down in one succinct motion. Though he attempts to catch her, he topples underneath her weight and they both fall to the ground in a heap.

  Before he can get up, she is off again, this time headed for the peach tree.

  “I want one,” she hollers to no one in particular. “Momo ga hoshi!”

  The boy is looking at her like he is starting to regret his decision to intervene on her behalf. And what a decision it was. Quite frankly, I am in shock that Yuko-sama agreed to it. If Kohei-sama finds out, that girl will be in for a world of pain she cannot even comprehend.

  Even Akira-sama is not safe from that man’s rage. Seiko wasn’t. Being the heir is no guarantee of safety from him.

  But there is a general consensus in this house not to tell Kohei-sama anything that he doesn’t need to know—and he is here so rarely that he never has time to notice anything anyway. He prefers the company of important men in Tokyo, and Yuko-sama prefers to have her rule unchallenged here in Kyoto. This is her native city, not his.

  Akira-sama calls to his sister to sta
y clear of the rose garden. She is not paying attention to a word he’s saying. She is attempting to pick one and nicks her finger on a thorn. But her joy is undiminished.

  For the first time, seeing her run free and wild, I see her as a normal little girl. I am almost moved to tears at the realization that soon, very soon, this girl will be put back in her cage.

  The sky begins to darken and I hear the distant rumble of thunder. If Noriko-sama hears it, she is unmoved by it. Akira-sama has taken shelter beneath the patio awning, just a few feet in front of me. He watches her with a look that can only be described as exasperation, but he makes no attempt to call her inside.

  The heavens sound one final warning before the rain starts to fall, in thick sheets. Harenochiame. Rain after a perfect, clear sky.

  The girl stands perfectly still, face upturned and arms stretched out wide as they’ll go. Her thin clothing has gone completely see-through. She will catch her death. I can remain silent no longer and I call her name. I don’t think she hears me.

  She is twirling now, dancing to music that no one else can hear. The water pours down her face and into her open mouth. I cannot hear what she is saying over the roar of the rain, but I see her lips form the same word, over and over again: “ame.” Ame. Rain.

  I look at Akira-sama’s face from the corner of my eye. It is passive and blank, per usual. After what seems like an arbitrary amount of time to me, but a very deliberately planned interval to him, he calls her inside.

  “Nori.”

  That is all he says. She drops the fistfuls of grass she had been holding in her tiny hands and makes her way to where her brother is standing.

  She looks up at him, and never have I seen such an expression. It is one of pure and utter idolatry. It is too absolute to call it love. Love can be weakened by time or forgotten for the sake of another. Love can disappear, without a cause or an explanation, like a thief crept in and stole it in the night.

  But what she wears on her face for him now cannot disappear and cannot die. He responds by patting her absently on the top of her soaking-wet head, like one might pet a puppy.

  Poor thing. She has set her heart on something she cannot have.

  The two of them run on parallel wavelengths that can never touch.

  She, of course, has not realized this. But he has—I know it. He has lorded his genius over us too much for me to pretend that he is too dull to grasp this most obvious truth.

  He is either a sadist or as foolish as she is. I cannot think which one would be worse.

  * * *

  Violin lessons were outside now.

  They would sit on the bench beneath the peach tree, and the leaves would protect them from the harsh sun. Nori had discovered that her skin burned quite easily.

  The scenic surroundings seemed to improve Akira’s disposition. There was a little bridge over the pond and rows and rows of flowers, in countless colors that Nori had never seen before. Akira patiently explained to her the names of the trees, the tradition behind the water garden. He told her these trees were a thousand years old in some cases and that she must always honor the land, for her blood was in it and its blood was in her. Akira, who could never be called a spiritual person, seemed to hold a deep respect for anything that could be so constant, even if it was a tree.

  Her missed notes and sloppy hand positioning seemed to irritate him less now.

  She had gotten a little better. He had not said so, of course, but she knew that she had. As if to contradict her silent thoughts, Akira swatted her lightly on the back of the head. “Watch the trill.”

  “Gomen, Oniichan.”

  She played it again.

  Akira let out a deep sigh and gave her a withering look. “How is it when I give you a correction, you manage to play it even worse than you did before?”

  “I can’t play it any faster, Oniichan.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. You aren’t even playing the notes right. Never mind fast. Look at the music.”

  Nori glanced down at the pieces of paper pinned to the music stand in front of her. Bit by bit, these strange markings were starting to mean something to her.

  She saw what he had been talking about. Without waiting for him to give the command, she played it a third time, taking special care to pronounce each note. When she had finished, Akira shot her a rare half smile.

  “That’s enough,” Akira said softly, gingerly removing the violin from her hands, with more care and gentleness than she’d known he was capable of. “We’re done for today.”

  Nori was at once relieved and disappointed. “Can I stay for a minute and listen to you play?”

  This was her favorite part of the day. If she stood on the bench, she was just tall enough to scramble into the lower branches of the tree. She could sit there quite comfortably, with her legs curled into her chest, and listen to her brother play. But he only allowed her to do it sometimes.

  Akira cocked his head to one side, as if considering her request.

  “If you be quiet. But I need to talk to you for a minute, Nori.”

  She frowned slightly.

  “What is it?”

  “I start school tomorrow.”

  Nori felt her stomach drop into her socks. She pulled one of her curls forward and began to chew on it, a new habit that she had developed. Akira found it disgusting and always swatted her hand when he caught her doing it. Her face must have looked as pitiful as she felt because Akira just clucked his tongue at her.

  “We talked about this. I’ll be gone most of the day, and when I get home, I’ll have homework. So I won’t have much time for you. You understand?”

  Nori bunched up fistfuls of her dress in her hands and looked down at her lap. “I understand.”

  “Practice your music.”

  “Hai.”

  “If you behave, I may consider taking you to the festival next Sunday afternoon.”

  Nori looked up, scarcely believing her ears. “Eh? Hontou ni?”

  He gave a curt nod, color rising to his cheeks. He slid his gaze away from her.

  “Yes, really. I have to go into the city to run some errands anyway—don’t make that face, Nori, gosh.”

  She immediately corrected her face, though she was not quite sure how it had managed to offend him.

  “We should go back inside. It’s going to rain. Violins and water don’t mix.”

  She shrugged. “I like rain.”

  He laughed scornfully. “That’s ridiculous. Nobody likes rain. Nobody ever says, ‘I wish it weren’t so sunny today.’”

  She lowered her eyes. “You can’t hear sunshine from the attic,” she said quietly. “And it’s always so quiet. In the summers, especially, with no lessons, and when Akiko-san doesn’t come, it’s . . . it’s empty. Like there’s nobody else but you in the whole world. But when it rained, I could always hear it on the roof, and then I remembered that I wasn’t, you know . . .”

  Alone.

  Akira blinked. His face softened and he reached out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.

  “It rains a lot on this island,” he told her. “So you’ll be quite happy.”

  Nori smiled. “I know, Oniichan. I know about the rainy season, tsuyu, and I know what the poets say.”

  Akira frowned. “Poets? What are you on about?”

  Nori looked away from the scrutiny in his gaze. “They say there’s fifty words for rain. One for each and every kind you can imagine.”

  “Do they?” Akira asked, and he sounded almost amused. “Well . . . perhaps technically. But leave it to the poets to make a fuss over nothing. Rain is just rain.”

  She looked up to meet his eyes. “I don’t think so, Oniichan.”

  Akira raised a dark eyebrow and considered her for a brief moment. “Well . . . who knows. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m just too cynical to appreciate
it.”

  Nori dared to contradict him once more. “I don’t think that either, Oniichan.”

  He chucked her under the chin. “You give me too much credit. You always do. Now, off to bed.”

  “But . . .”

  “Go, Nori.”

  Though she knew that he was growing irritated with her as it was, she could not help herself. Looking at him, sitting there bathed casually in the moonlight, was entirely too much for her heart to bear. She threw her arms around her brother’s neck, burying her nose in his dark hair. He smelled like soap and lemons. And the wasabi he’d had for lunch. He always smelled like wasabi.

  “Arigatou,” she whispered, not sure if he could even hear her. “Thank you.”

  * * *

  She had dark dreams that night and woke before the dawn, clutching at Agnes. Akiko came up a little while later with a glass of water and a small cookie.

  The maid seemed unusually subdued. “Your grandmother is coming to see you in a moment. Hurry and eat.”

  Nori hopped out of the bed. “Naze?”

  “I don’t know why. Come here, let me dress you.”

  When her grandmother walked in, Nori started to bow but was waved aside.

  “Don’t worry,” the older woman said absently, crossing her arms over her chest. “This will only take a moment.”

  She was wearing a dark blue kimono, with a white obi and sleeves down to the floor. Her hair was done up in a bun and dotted with white and blue nosegays. Her lips were painted red, and her gray eyes were lined with the faintest hint of charcoal.

  For an older woman, she was still quite pretty.

  “There are some people coming to see you today, Noriko,” she said, in a surprisingly pleasant tone of voice. “Very important people. I’ve told them of your talents and they are eager to meet you.”

  Nori blinked in response. It was all she could do really. She thought, somewhere about now, that hell must be freezing over.