by Asha Lemmie
What’s happening to me?
* * *
Nori was careful not to be alone with him again. But from that night on, they danced around each other like characters in a masquerade. Never touching, but drawing ever closer.
At breakfast, his hand grazed hers when she passed him the sugar. Their eyes met, for just a moment, and when he looked away, she felt shamelessly caressed.
He was nineteen, just a year older than Akira but a lifetime older than she. He had traveled all over the world playing the piano. He spoke English, French, and German and he collected artwork. Nori could tell that he was no stranger to the company of women. He radiated a magnetic confidence that managed to draw her in against her will.
When Will and Akira would lounge in the sitting room and drink in the evenings, discussing politics or art or any number of things that Nori knew nothing about, she would slip into the room and sit in the corner.
Neither of them acknowledged her, but they also didn’t make her leave, so she counted it as a victory. When Akira was distracted, Will’s eyes would fall on her lips.
After Akira went to bed, Nori would climb up into her tree and try to count all the stars. Sometimes she would hear music coming from the house and she would know that Will had thrown open the windows of the music room so that she could hear him play.
She knew it was for her, as sure as if her name was written on the notes.
No one else knew she was not asleep.
But Will did. He had seen what everyone else around her had missed, and he stayed up in the nights with her. He didn’t say a word about it, but the sound of his piano let her know that she was not alone.
And that in itself was a gesture as intimate as a kiss. And maybe, just maybe, this feeling was a bit like love.
She’d never been looked at the way he looked at her. No one had ever drawn closer when she spoke, hanging on every syllable.
And certainly nobody like him.
One night she left her tree and went into the music room to find him perched before the piano. She stood there, trembling. It took all she had not to bolt from the room.
He turned to face her, his blue eyes calm as a frozen lake.
Nori felt her cheeks blaze. “You . . . watch me.”
He didn’t falter. “Of course I watch you. You’re beautiful.”
“I’m not,” she said, quick as a shot.
“Not like the girls back home,” Will amended. “Not even like the girls here. But you are to me.”
She felt herself soften at the praise. But it was not enough.
“Is that . . . the only reason?”
Will raised his sandy eyebrows. “Why are you here, Nori?”
She didn’t have an answer. Or at least not one she wanted to admit.
“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
“But you are,” he pointed out. “Because you’re lonely. And curious. And a tiny bit afraid of me, but more afraid of what will happen if Akira notices. Because you watch me back.”
He saw through her like glass.
Nori looked down at her feet. “I’m . . . I’m here for the music. That’s all.”
Without saying a word, he got up and kissed her full on the mouth.
She let him. And the next night, she kissed him back.
For months it went on like this, until the frost melted away and the sunlight lingered on well into the evening.
She’d play the violin for him sometimes, and he’d tease that music must run in the blood. He always did most of the talking.
They met only in the nights. Come the dawn, she’d slip back to her room like a phantom, sometimes unsure if she could trust her own memory.
If anyone else noticed, nothing was ever said.
Akira was true to his word and spent more time at home. On the weekends, he would sometimes accompany her on her errands to the tailor for fabrics or to the docks for fish.
He taught her more English, though she was now nearly fluent, and sometimes Alice would join their lessons to pick up bits and pieces of Japanese or throw in a suggestion. She appeared to have grown bored with her endless shopping. She had taken to wearing yukatas around the house, though she always tied the sash wrong. Nori didn’t have the heart to tell her.
Nori began to serve the dishes of summer at their evening meals. Fish soups served chilled and brightened with fresh herbs, grilled unagi and somen noodles that she made from scratch. Will picked up the use of chopsticks with ease, but Alice continued to struggle.
The boys never said anything, but one day, as they were eating ramen, Nori decided to speak up.
“You can use a fork, Alice.”
Alice looked up from her bowl. Her pale cheeks were flushed. The front of her dress was splashed with stains. “Oh, could I?”
Nori nodded. Kiyomi had taught her to use a fork.
“We should have a few in the kitchen. I can get one.”
“Have a servant fetch one,” Akira said lazily. He was reading a book under the table and only half trying to conceal it. As promised, he’d hired back a gardener and two maids. He’d wanted to hire a cook too, but Nori’s protests convinced him otherwise.
“She doesn’t need one,” Will objected. He snapped up a long strand of noodles on his chopsticks as if to further emphasize the ease of it. “She needs to learn to do things. Besides, it’s rude.”
Nori raised an eyebrow. This was the side of him that she did not like. He had all of Akira’s arrogance.
“It’s not rude.”
Akira looked like he was going to say something, but Nori’s irate glance silenced him. He shrugged.
Will smirked. “She doesn’t need a champion. It’s just a fork.”
“Every night she sits here, and every night half her food is left on the plate. It’s just a fork indeed. I’m tired of watching you two ignore it.”
Will’s blue eyes went cold. “My dear—”
“Don’t,” she snapped. “I’m the one who cooks. It’s my right to be offended if my food doesn’t get eaten.”
Alice was red as a tomato. She looked down, and her silvery hair came forward to cover her face.
Will looked to Akira for support but received none.
Will conceded with a smile, but something about his demeanor shifted. He waved a hand.
“If she’s going to use a fork, she can go eat in the kitchen. I’m not going to encourage her failings, heaven knows she doesn’t need my help with that.”
Without a word, Alice picked up her bowl and went into the kitchen.
Disgust washed over Nori like a wave. Akira was lost in his book again, and Will was gesturing for a servant to bring more wine. Neither of them seemed bothered. But then neither of them knew what it felt like to be overlooked.
It was in the small things. And then, one day, without even realizing it, you looked in the mirror and you were small too.
Nori picked up her bowl.
“Oh, will you sit down,” Will snapped.
Finally, Akira spoke. “Will,” he said, “let her be.”
She went into the kitchen and found Alice standing at the sink and looking confused. She was taller than Nori by a foot, with the long legs of the women in the magazines. She looked older than her sixteen years.
But right now, with her makeup scrubbed away, Nori saw vulnerability for the first time.
“You can just leave that.”
Alice turned to face her. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t find the trash.”
“It’s all right.”
Already this small exchange was more than they’d shared in five months under the same roof. Will had a way of sucking up all the air in the room.
Alice hesitated. “Why . . . why did you help me?”
Nori decided on the simplest answer. “Why not?”
Al
ice flushed, and quick tears sprang to her gray eyes. “I thought you didn’t like me. That you looked down on me.”
Nori could only stare in stunned silence. She’d never heard something so absurd. After a beat: “Why?”
Alice shrugged. “I assume they’ve told you why we left London.”
Nori shook her head. “I asked Akira-san once. But he said it wasn’t his story to tell. And I’ve never asked Will.”
Alice laughed, and it was spellbinding. “It’s not his story to tell either, though that’s certainly never stopped him. It’s mine.”
Their eyes met from across the room, and a mutual understanding surged between them like a low current.
“You wear your yukatas wrong,” Nori said shyly. “I can teach you the right way. If you like.”
The smile she received in return was all the answer she needed.
* * *
ALICE
She keeps her promises. That’s more than I can say for . . . well, anyone.
Nori’s small hands move deftly as she dresses me in the silk robes of this little island. She shows me step by step the correct way to do it. When she’s finished, she sits me at her vanity. She takes her ivory comb and parts my hair down the middle.
“I’m going to tie it up into two pieces first,” she tells me. “This is how the proper ladies wear their hair in summer.”
Her touch is so gentle that it makes me want to weep.
I must admit that I judged her rather harshly at first. She is funny-looking, without doubt, with no fashion sense to speak of. Her hair is a tragedy. She doesn’t read magazines or watch television; she has no interests outside of her books and needlework. She doesn’t wear makeup—at all, doesn’t even paint her nails!—and the only music she listens to is that ancient classical nonsense that Will plays.
Truthfully, she is dreadfully boring. If she were not so odd-looking, I might mistake her for wallpaper.
If we were back home in London, I would never even look at her.
But this is not London. This is not my home. I am a stranger in her country, a guest in her house, and she has shown me kindness. Even before the other night. I have seen her in the kitchen, practicing Western dishes so that Will and I may feel more at home. She makes sure that the servants bring tea to our rooms in the morning. Though she has done it quietly, she has set upon the impossible task of trying to make everyone happy.
“Did your mother teach you this?” I ask her, eager to know more about her. She is always so quiet, and though she smiles often, there is a lingering sadness about her.
Her hands don’t miss a beat, but I see the swift flash of agony cross her face. She composes herself quickly, but I catch it.
“My mother is gone,” she says simply. “Someone else taught me this.”
I reach up to catch her hand in mine. “When did she die?”
Nori twists the two sections of my hair together and binds them with a pin. “She’s not dead. Just gone.”
I cannot fathom this. I am stupid—everyone in my family has always assured me of this—but still. I decide to try a different tack.
“My mother died when I was seven. I have two older sisters, Anne and Jane, and they raised me along with my father. So I know what it is like not to have a mother to look after you.”
Nori smiles as if she finds my comment very quaint indeed.
“I am glad you had your siblings. That must have been a comfort.”
I wrinkle my nose. Some comfort. Jane is a hateful cow, and Anne is just generally unpleasant. I don’t love either of my sisters. I don’t even like them.
“Well, you have Akira. You seem close.”
This is not quite true. Her fervent devotion to him seems painfully one-sided. She is always hovering at the edges of his vision, hoping he will look at her. From what I can see, he rarely does.
She places one of her decorative flower pins in my hair. “There, done. You look radiant.”
I smile appreciatively at my reflection. I do know that I am very beautiful. I don’t think this is vain—everyone tells me I am—and besides, it is the only thing I have going for me, so it’s just as well.
I have no money, for Will controls the purse strings. He gives me an allowance, but it’s only to keep me out of his way. I have no name, for my father has stripped me of it.
For now, at least.
“You have such lovely hair,” she says longingly. She plucks at one of her curls. “So silky and straight. I wish . . .” Her voice trails off into nothing.
Now I feel guilty for thinking she looked odd.
“Nonsense,” I say. “You have the prettiest eyes. Your skin is perfect and I’d kill for your figure.”
She flushes. “You don’t have to flatter me.”
I gesture for us to switch places, and she takes my seat on the velvet cushion. I must say, now that I think on it, she’s not the worst case I’ve seen.
“What do you want to look like?” I ask her.
Her eyelashes flutter. “I don’t know. More like you.”
I look at her honest face and am deeply moved. There’s something about her that lets me know I can trust her.
The same simplicity that made me look down on her is the reason I know she won’t hurt me. And the same things that drew me to my old friends, my old love, are the reasons that I have their knives buried in my back.
“You never asked me why I came here.”
She inclines her head. “Alice.”
I feel sick all of a sudden. “Yes?”
“Why are you here?”
I tell her before I lose my nerve.
“I didn’t have a choice. My father sent me away for bringing shame on our family. I fell in love with a stable boy, it’s so cliché, really, it’s . . . I thought he loved me too but . . . he betrayed me, he sold the story to the newspaper, so I . . . I . . . Nobody writes to me, nobody. I was sent along with William on his travels, but he hates me, he has hated me since we were children. He treats me like—”
I break off and feel the hot tears pouring down my face. I can see myself clearly in the mirror looking like a fool.
“I have been abandoned by everyone I thought I could trust. I can’t go home. I don’t know when I’ll be forgiven, if I’ll ever be forgiven. Even in Paris there were too many people from our circle, so we couldn’t stay there either. So now I have nobody.”
The truth of this washes over me and I say it again, in the vain hope that I might finally feel clean.
“I have nobody.”
A hush falls over the room. Nori’s face doesn’t change. She turns to face me and takes both of my hands in hers. Her touch is like salve on a burn.
“I have something to tell you.”
I stifle a sob. “What is it?”
She gives me a wry smile. “You should sit. It’s a long story.”
Tokyo, Japan
July 1954
Nori turned fourteen in a haze of blue light.
The summer festival was bustling with people, and she held tight to Akira so that she would not lose him. He had bought her a deep blue kimono embroidered with golden butterflies and tied with a gold sash. She’d spent hours straightening her hair, and she’d sewn together a flower crown she’d made from scraps of silk.
Akira noticed neither of these things, but Nori did not mind.
Alice was home with a chill, and Nori missed her dearly. The two of them had become inseparable. Akira gave his tacit approval, but William was not handling it well. He couldn’t stand to be eclipsed. He had no patience for anything, and worse, he had no empathy. She had thought he was like Akira: that underneath the initial coldness there would be a deep well of kindness.
But she was not sure anymore.
He had become so unpleasant towards her lately—never in front of Akira, of course—tha
t it had become second nature to avoid him. Their nighttime meetings were gradually fading away to nothing.
Thankfully, he had chosen not to come.
Nori did not have to share her brother with anyone, and that was just the way she liked it.
Akira cast her a suspicious glance. “You’re awfully quiet today.”
He was carrying a pack full of things he’d bought for her on his back. It was already fit to burst. He was carrying three yakitori skewers wrapped in paper in his free hand.
She stuck her tongue out. “I’m not plotting anything, Oniichan. I’m just happy to spend time with you.”
Akira’s face softened and he smiled. “I am sorry I’ve been so busy. Composing is difficult. And I’m just a few exams away from finishing school. I just want to get things right.”
“You do everything right,” she assured him. “I am sure this will be no different.”
He kissed her knuckles. “Ever the optimist, aren’t you, little one?”
She beamed. Akira’s mood had been sunny for weeks now. He always had a kind word or a fleeting touch; sometimes he even gave her little pieces of candy or bows for her hair.
“Not so little,” she protested playfully. “Catching up to you every day.”
He laughed. “Not quite.”
She pressed her palm against his heart. “It’s time to make my wish. Will you get me a lantern?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you still believe in that kind of thing?”
“Hai.”
She expected a reprimand, but he just sighed and went off to do as she asked.
A group of boys ran past her and knocked her off-balance. She took two steps back, trying not to fall, and felt a hand grasp her elbow. Her right ankle rolled and she felt something twist. She turned to face a short man wearing a large pair of glasses.
“Ah . . . arigatou. I didn’t mean to.”
He showed her a gap-toothed smile. “You’re welcome, chibi hime. It’s no trouble at all.”
Little princess.
She frowned. “You . . . you know who I am?”
He bowed very low. “Only in passing. I am Hiromoto. I own the antique shop on the other side of Chiba. I used to see your noble brother’s father from time to time. You would have no way of knowing a poor man like me.”
