by Asha Lemmie
* * *
Nori told no one of her plans to close the brothel. No one needed to know her plans. Least of all her grandmother.
In a little while, she would be free to do as she wished. There was no need to taunt a dying woman.
There was no honor in it.
And, oddly enough, she found that she pitied Yuko Kamiza more than she hated her. When her grandmother died, her death would leave a gaping black hole in Nori’s world. There would be no one to guide her on this new path. She would be alone.
It had been years since anyone had seen her mother. Though everyone had given her up for dead, Yuko had still agreed to send three search parties after her. The trail was cold, and the odds were slim, but Nori had to try.
She had no peace at all in the days anymore. Everyone needed something from her. She supposed this was what the rest of her life would look like.
Akiko was fitting her for a new gown for a state banquet. The maid hummed as she nipped off a stitch of thread.
“And we must get the jewels out of the vault to see what suits your gown. Your grandmother has made it quite clear she wants you to shine.” Akiko lowered her voice. “I believe there will be a gentleman there she has made overtures to for your hand in marriage. I think she hopes he will find you pleasing.”
Nori wrinkled her nose and did not comment.
“I think I have enough jewels.”
Akiko chuckled. “No, madam. These are the best of all. Wait until you see them—you could drown a cat with the rubies.”
“But the banquet is not for weeks.”
“But you’re fully booked until then,” Akiko reminded her. “You don’t have time to spit, little madam. Your grandmother is anxious that she transition everything to you while she still breathes. People need to know this is her will.”
Nori looked sulkily at her bare feet. “Is it always going to be like this?”
Akiko patted her cheeks. “It will get easier,” she promised. “And you have me to look after the child, so you needn’t worry.”
Nori flinched. “And is he well?”
“Very,” Akiko said, flashing a bright smile. She looked at Nori’s strained face. “Ah, my dear, no need for this guilt. He’s very well looked after. Your lady grandmother never troubled herself to visit the nursery either. That’s what servants are for.”
Nori went very still. Something shifted inside of her, like a boulder that was slowly but surely starting to roll downhill.
I won’t be like you.
How loudly she had proclaimed those words, but now they rang hollow and she was shamed to the depths of her soul.
“I’m afraid,” she confessed weakly. “I’m afraid to even touch him.”
“You fear because you love,” Akiko said. “To love a child is the greatest terror there is. It’s a lifetime of worrying yourself sick over every move they make. It is a torture and an immense joy all at once.”
“I never wanted it,” she whispered. “I always knew I’d fail.”
“You have just begun, my sweet girl. And as you can see—life is full of surprises.”
* * *
The days were lost to her now.
But when night came, Nori found herself alone. She moved silently through the house as if she were still a child with much to hide.
The nursery was on the far side of the west wing.
She slipped inside. The night nurse was there, fast asleep in the rocking chair.
Someone had painted the walls a deep blue, like the ocean at midnight. There were stuffed animals on the shelves and a charming mobile above the mahogany crib.
Without breathing, Nori peeked over the side.
The baby blinked up at her. His eyes were pensive, as if he could understand the significance of this moment. He balled his tiny hand into a fat little fist and offered it up to her. Then he smiled.
She tapped his fist with her index finger.
“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m your mother. It’s not a very good deal for you, I’m afraid.”
He giggled and held out both his arms to her.
Without even thinking about it, she picked him up, wrapping him in his thick blue blanket.
“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said piteously.
He popped a spit bubble and settled into her arms. He was the lightest and the heaviest thing she had ever held.
“It will be different for you,” she swore to him, brushing his wispy curls with her palm. “I’ll make sure that it’s different.”
He grabbed hold of her pinkie and shook it up and down.
“And I’ll tell you all about your name. Someday, I’ll tell you all about everything.”
He smiled, stretching out his toes, and then his amber eyes closed and he went still, save for the little chest rising and falling.
She laid him back down in his crib and left the room, knowing there was only one place for her to go.
The nights were precious to her now.
And this night, she found herself in the garden, staring up at a purple sky.
Though she wore nothing but a simple kimono, she was not cold.
She hoisted herself into the low branches of her favorite tree and looked up at the moon. Tonight, she felt large enough to snatch it from its perch and wear it around her neck like a pearl. She tucked this feeling away in her box of happy memories. Later, when she was feeling weak, she would call on it to make her strong.
Her perch was wet—it had rained earlier. And tomorrow, or the day after, it would likely do so again. She knew that this, the amaai—the break between the rains—could not last for long. She did not know what kind would come, but she knew that it would. And she knew that she would survive it.
The wind rustled, and she could swear she heard a knowing laugh. Though it was the middle of a December night, her skin was fiercely warm, kissed by an unseen fire.
And it was in these rare moments that she felt it: the burning light of her Kyoto sun.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my fantastic editor, Stephanie Kelly, for making this book the very best that it could be. Thank you for being such a wonderful champion for a story that means so much to me. Your talent is matched only by your patience. You’re amazing, and I could not have asked for more. To everyone at Dutton: thank you so much for all of your hard work, expertise, and faith.
My utmost gratitude to my agent, the one and only Rebecca Scherer, for being my number one advocate and fan. You made my dreams come true, and you believed in me when I doubted myself. To you and everyone at JRA: I owe you the world, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
To the incredibly kind, generous, and patient (not at all like the character!) Yuko-san: thank you so much for all of your insight, and for being one of my first pathways to a wider, more beautiful world.
Daddy, thank you so very much for supporting me through it all. I know it wasn’t easy for you, raising a dreamer. This book is just one small part of my maze of dreams, but I hope I’ve done you proud. I never stop trying.
Mom and Auntie, thank you both for being the earliest believers in me. Mom, thank you for the summers you drove me hours to take writing classes at CTY with my fellow nerds, the first people who ever made me feel like I wasn’t an island. Thank you for spending your Saturdays letting me read everything in the bookstore, and pretending that you didn’t see me with the flashlight under the covers at night.
To all of my grandparents: thank you for teaching me the value of dignity, and the strength to be kind in an often unkind world.
Hannah, my dear, I love you and always will. Liz, thank you for standing by me in the darkness. I’ll never forget. Thank you both for reading the rambling first drafts of this novel, and recognizing what could be.
Oliver, Austin, Aslan, Momo, Cleo: thank you for all of the free therapy
. My sweet little Lux, I miss you.
Professor O’Har, thank you so much for indulging my rants and convincing me that I had the talent and the fortitude to do this. I repeat your words like a mantra on the bad days: I am not a failure. Full stop.
I would be remiss not to thank my amazing stepmother, Antonella. It was you who first showed me that it is love, not blood, that creates the bonds we cherish. Thank you for listening to me rant about the seedlings of these characters on the way to high school. I’m sorry I killed the guy. I have far more than fifty things to thank you for, so this will have to suffice: thank you for everything. Ti voglio bene.
To my darling Justin: I adore you beyond the measure of words. Thank you for keeping me steady, plied with sugary drinks, and for always believing in me. You make me feel like a swan.
Thank you to everyone who reads this book: to the lost, the found, and the somewhere-in-betweens.
And lastly, thank you to my former self: for surviving the rain.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Asha Lemmie was born in Virginia and raised in Maryland. She attended school in Washington, DC, where she was fortunate to be exposed to a wide variety of cultural influences. She developed a passionate interest in reading at the age of two, and has been writing stories since the age of five. After graduating from Boston College with a degree in English literature and creative writing, she relocated to New York City, where she worked in book publishing. She’s still hoping to make some kind of “Thirty Under Thirty” list to soothe her millennial angst, but would settle for an honorable mention or a lifetime supply of free books. Outside of writing, she enjoys reading about history, learning languages, watching cartoons of all kinds, listening to classical music, wrangling cats, baking, and the performing arts. Fifty Words for Rain is her first novel.
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