by Asha Lemmie
Nori shot him an irritated glance, which he tactfully ignored.
“She’d be happy to take my place.”
Hiromoto dropped his scrolls to the ground and seized both of her hands. “Would you? Oh, would you, madam?”
She gaped at him. “I . . .”
But she knew there was only one answer, between his pleading puppy dog eyes and Akira’s stern gaze.
“I will,” she said weakly.
He placed a wet kiss on her hand. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
* * *
The party was to be on the twenty-fourth of December, Akira’s twenty-first birthday. Neither of them spoke of it, but both of them felt the weight of it. When the summer months came, Akira would have to go back to Kyoto.
It was time for him to honor his end of the bargain. The bargain he’d made for her sake.
She had no words for the pain of it; it was like swallowing broken glass. Nori would have given anything for the power to stop it, for the power to change things. For any power at all.
Akira tapped his baton against the music stand. “Nori. Pay attention. We have one more day to get these pieces right.”
She rolled her eyes. Akira was leaving for Vienna tomorrow, but right now, all he cared about was making sure that she didn’t embarrass him.
Which would’ve been a lot easier if she had been allowed to choose all her own pieces. Hiromoto had chosen Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, op. 64. He’d hired a small chamber orchestra to accompany her, and she was to play the solo. She’d only have a few hours before the event to practice with them. The thought made her want to vomit. Now, in addition to having never played in front of an audience before, she had to play with an orchestra. Her complaints had been met with a whap on the nose. Akira was hearing none of it.
There would be a pianist there too, to accompany her for her second piece. She’d played a handful of pieces with Will. It was the only time she’d felt . . . safe around him.
Akira had chosen the second piece: Vitali’s Chaconne in G Minor. She’d heard him play it many times with Will. It always reminded her of a dark love song. It was a beautiful piece, but it seemed . . . haunted.
And so Nori had been left to choose only one piece. She’d chosen Schubert’s “Ave Maria” without a second thought.
It was the Vitali piece that threatened to break her.
Akira winced. “Sharp. Play that passage again.”
Nori did.
“Do you know what ‘sharp’ means?” he snapped. “And ease off the bow. For God’s sake, you know better.”
She swallowed a lump of air. “Why did you pick this one? It’s not meant to be played alone, anyway; the arrangement has a part for piano. I should be practicing with a pianist.”
He ignored her question. “I have my reasons.”
“But, Oniichan . . .”
“Hush.”
He stood up and made his way behind the piano.
He sat down at the bench.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He gestured for her to start playing. She did.
And then he did. And it was note perfect.
She nearly dropped her bow. “N-naze? Since when can you play the piano?!”
He didn’t stop playing. “I’ve always been able to play the piano, Nori.”
She stared at him like a fool with her jaw hanging slack. “W-what?”
“Mother taught me,” he said simply. “I had piano in the mornings and violin in the evenings for years. Not to mention with Will here, I could hardly be outdone.”
She started to feel faint. “You never played in front of me!”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to share it with you.”
Nori felt her palms start to sweat. “And now you are?”
He offered her a small smile. “I suppose I am.”
“Is it possible for you to be bad at something?” she said irritably. “And here I thought I was catching up.”
He smirked. “Maybe next year.”
She felt a new passion seize her. She wiped her hands on her dress. “The pianist they have there will be good, I’m sure.”
“Certainly. I am just a poor stand-in so you can learn the piece.”
Nori tilted her bow. “From the top, then.”
They played well into the early hours of the morning. It was like being transported to another realm, where they needed neither food nor rest. The sunlight began to pour in, and still, neither of them stopped.
When Ayame came in to tell them it was time for Akira to go, Nori finally put down her violin.
Wordlessly, she went to sit beside him on the bench. The spell they’d cast was broken.
Her eyes filled with tears. This was the beginning of the end of life as they knew it.
He leaned down and grazed his lips across the dimple in her left cheek.
“I know you can do it. I taught you myself all of these years, you must have learned something.”
She nodded. “Hai, Oniichan.”
“Behave.”
“Yes.”
“And watch your trills. You are always sloppy on your trills.”
“Oh, Oniichan, can’t you stay? At least until after the concert. Please don’t make me do it alone.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, Nori. Not this time.”
She buried her face in his chest.
Please, God. Bring him back to me.
* * *
November passed uneventfully. There were no letters from Akira.
Nori did her best not to be disappointed.
She put her mother’s final diary aside, for now. There was no time for it, and if she was being honest, she was afraid. Eventually, it was bound to get to the part about her. About her father. And Nori didn’t know if she really wanted to know these things after all.
She spent her days practicing incessantly. She was quite sure that the servants all hated her, but she couldn’t be bothered to care.
Her nights were spent knitting a series of scarves for Akira. Vienna was bound to be cold. Once they were perfect, she’d mail them all off at once.
She had the address of his hotel written on a scrap of paper that she kept in her violin case.
She slept fitfully or not at all. Her anxiety gnawed at her like fleas. She had tiny red marks all over her arms and legs from pinching herself.
She sat by the fire and watched the windows mist over with frost. She had never really liked the snow, but this year for whatever reason she felt differently about it. It was beautiful.
Bundled up in her coat and scarf, she walked outside in the garden every night. It was a far cry from the neglected ruin it had been when she first arrived. Akira had seen it restored to glory, and though he never said it was a gift for her, she knew that it was.
Tokyo, Japan
December 24th, 1956
They sent a car for her a little after seven o’clock in the morning. The event was at Hiromoto’s country estate about an hour outside of the city. So much for being a poor man. According to Ayame, he’d recently come into a great deal of money from some trade ventures abroad. These events were his way of sucking up to the city’s elite, of trying to get his grubby, lowborn feet in the door.
Nori thought he was an odd little man, but she rather liked him.
He insisted on sending his own driver to fetch her. Nori curled up in the back seat and watched the city slowly fade away outside her window. The world was blanketed in a thick layer of snow.
She thought about rolling down the window and feeling the cold on her face, but she decided against it. She didn’t want the driver to scold her.
Nori drummed her fingers against her lap. She’d memorized all the pieces down to that last fermata.
She understood what Akira was trying to do
by making her do this. Really, she did.
But she still didn’t want to.
Akira had spent his life trying to be extraordinary in his own right. He would never be able to comprehend what it was to want to be in the background.
When they pulled up in front of the manor, the driver got out and opened her door.
“Madam.”
She thanked him, picked up her violin case, and went inside.
This house appeared to be newly built, on an empty plot of land surrounded by nothing but trees and bordering the edge of a man-made lake.
Nori wondered why anyone would build a house in the middle of the woods and then laughed at herself for wondering. It was exactly the type of thing she would do.
She was immediately led into the foyer, which appeared to take up most of the house. It had marble floors that looked new and floor-to-ceiling glass windows. The caterers were already setting up long tables with gaudy gold tablecloths. There was a raised platform in the corner with a grand piano and fifteen chairs.
The other musicians were already set up, with the exception of the pianist. They were all men who looked to be at least twice her age. There was no sign of Hiromoto.
A maid came up to her to take her purse and her garment bag.
“I’ll put these in the closet. I’ll fetch them for you when it’s time. You can join the others, if you please, miss.”
Nori crept up to the others, half hiding behind her case.
“I . . . um . . . shitsurei shimasu . . .”
The conductor turned to face her. He was the youngest one in the bunch, with a bright smile and a head full of long, dark hair.
“Ah, here’s our soloist. Welcome.”
Nori nodded. “Thank you for having me.”
He gestured to a podium that was set up a little behind his.
“It was suggested that you have one too,” he explained. “Being as you’re so short.”
She flushed. “Thank you.”
“We should get started. We’ll do the Mendelssohn first, then you’ll do your Schubert, and we’re done. You and the pianist will finish with the . . . What is it?”
“Vitali. Chaconne.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I must say, that’s not an easy piece.”
Nori blinked.
“No, it’s really not.”
“Let’s begin.”
Akira had warned her about following the conductor’s baton. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared.
But the blending with the other instruments, well, that was . . .
They spent three hours on the Mendelssohn alone. It was two before they made it to the middle of the piece.
Nori could feel eyes burning into her back. Clearly, these were all professionals wondering whose daft relative she was to be playing here in the first place.
“All right,” the conductor said after a while. “We’ll take a rest. Why don’t you run through the Schubert? You’re playing it alone, right?”
Nori nodded and bit her lip so hard she could taste blood. “I’m . . . There won’t be many people here, right?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “Not too many. Only two hundred or so.”
She nearly fainted. “Oh, well, then. Only. All right.”
He gestured for her to begin.
This, at least, she could do. This song was burned deep into her muscle memory, and she went through it without a hitch. The whispering behind her told her that she had managed to redeem herself.
A little.
The conductor nodded at her. “Well done. You’re clearly a soloist.”
Nori had to restrain a snort. “I have more practice playing alone. But . . . where is the pianist?”
He frowned. “I haven’t seen him. I’ll go and see. We only have a few hours left.”
He put down his baton and disappeared into the next room.
“That’s his sister, isn’t it?” someone behind her whispered. “Funny-looking thing.”
“Half sister,” someone corrected him. “And don’t say that too loudly. Her family is . . .”
The conductor stalked back in with a scowl on his face. “He’s delayed,” he snapped. “Wonderful. Because there’s not enough that could go wrong tonight.”
Nori swallowed. “What do we do?”
“We keep practicing the concerto. It’s all we can do.” His face softened. “You play very well. Your brother would be proud.”
“You know Akira-san?”
The man laughed. “Indeed, I do. We used to go to the same conservatory. He called me a few days ago. He let me know not to expect you to be as good as he is.”
She choked down a snort. “Well, he’s right.”
The man smiled. “He’s a once-in-a-generation genius. A tensai, you know? There’s no competing with people like that.”
You don’t need to tell me this.
“You do, however,” he went on, “have something that he does not.”
She looked up, startled. “What?”
He winked. “Best let him tell you. Now, shall we try it again? From the top?”
And she did try, with more confidence this time. She let the others lift her up like a swelling tide. She was the soloist, yes, and she had to soar above them—but not too far. It was a delicate dance of cat and mouse.
Nori closed her eyes and tried to feel what she’d felt when she’d first heard Akira play. It was foreign and familiar, extraordinary yet simple, and even though it sent chills down her spine, it was always, always warm.
After three more hours, a maid came out to tell them the guests would be arriving within the hour and they all needed to get dressed.
Everyone else seemed to know where to go, and they drifted off, leaving Nori standing there alone.
“If you please, miss,” the maid said. “There’s a room for you to change in upstairs. I’ve laid your dress out.”
Nori nodded and followed her up the winding staircase. The upstairs floor had walls that were only half painted. Clearly, nobody ever really came up here. This house was more for entertaining than living in.
Nori put on her shimmering white gown, doing her very best not to rip the delicate fabric. It was too long for her, having originally belonged to Alice, and she had to be careful not to trip. She released her hair from the bun she’d wound it into and let it pool over her left shoulder, pinning the right side of it down with a long ivory clip.
She brushed a hint of lipstick across her lips and squinted into the mirror.
It could be worse, she thought bleakly.
She could hear the front door opening and closing repeatedly downstairs along with the sounds of laughter, the kind of pretentious laughter that belonged to people with too much money and too much free time.
She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. There was no point in praying for strength.
There was a tap on the door.
“Just a moment.”
It opened anyway.
And it was Akira.
He was dressed in his concert suit, with a red rose pinned to his lapel and his hair slicked back with pomade.
He raised an eyebrow at her shocked face.
“Ah, come now, Nori. You didn’t really think I’d let you embarrass me.”
She flung herself into his arms. “Oniichan!”
“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said warmly. “Aren’t you always complaining that I’m too serious?”
“But . . . but you’re in Vienna!”
“I flew back. I nearly didn’t make it. I just got in a few hours ago and I can’t stay long. I’m going back in three days.”
She looked up at him, and she was hard-pressed not to weep tears of joy. “Oh, thank God. You can play in my place now.”
He chuckled. “Not a chance. I will be yo
ur pianist for the evening, sister. But the rest is up to you.”
She dug her nails into his wrists. “Oh, please don’t make me do this. You would do a much better job.”
He snorted. “Well, naturally. But I want you to do it.”
“But I’m nobody!” she burst out. Her sleep-deprived brain was struggling to keep up with all that was happening, and she could not help but wish herself back to her own bedroom, curled up with a mug of hot tea.
He tapped her on the nose. “You’re not nobody.”
She glared at him, unconvinced.
“Look,” he said. “You know I never do anything without cause. So you’re going to have to trust me.”
Nori held back her tears. There was no time for them. The relief of having Akira by her side again outweighed everything else. If she was to go down in flames, at least he’d be there to . . . well, at least he’d be there.
She took hold of his hand and squeezed it tight.
“Happy birthday.”
He shrugged. “No ceremony.”
“I have questions,” she teased him. “Many questions. This is most unlike you, Oniichan.”
He smirked. “Maybe later. Now, let’s go.”
* * *
Don’t look at them.
It was the only way. After searching the crowd for Hiromoto and not being able to find him amidst the throng of people in black suits, she had given up and was now staring firmly at the floor.
Akira was sitting at the piano, after being warmly embraced by the conductor and half the players in the orchestra.
It was obvious that he belonged here and she did not. But here she was.
Someone she didn’t recognize came up to the stage and said a few words, thanked the guests on behalf of Hiromoto for attending tonight. He introduced tonight’s soloist as Miss Noriko Kamiza, and she could hear the crowd erupt in murmurs.
Nori had never wanted to be somewhere else so badly. And that was saying quite a bit.
The gown was itchy. Her hands were sweaty. She should’ve worn her hair differently. The strings on her violin were strung too tightly.
Akira’s gaze was the only thing holding her steady.
He believes in you.
