Some of Hisao's thoughts in 2016, looking back at the time he spent in his apartment in Tokyo.
This constitutes the fourth part of Hisao's 'arc' — a loose progression through his post-Lilly life.
Hisao 4: Spectrum (T -8)
There are some memories I’ve got that are precious, and I keep them in a box in a drawer in our little staff apartment near the former Aoba Castle in Sendai. I write notes to myself, and they will also one day be my future wife’s because I don’t think I’ll outlive her. She doesn’t get to read them now, for many reasons—only one of which is that I think about death a lot and she hates this.
Today’s writing is mostly about my first apartment. I had it for six years until I moved to the bachelor rooms at Yamaku. 2008 to 2013, extended to 2014, wonderful years. If each year had a colour, I would have a sort of rainbow. But each year had more than one colour, and my poor writing talent has to deal with that.
Why am I doing this particular set of notes? Because Rin Tezuka suggested it, of course. Right now, she’s sitting a short distance away from me, tapping her toes at me because she knows it interrupts my day-dreaming. Better get going, then.
*****
2008-2009: A Splash of Red
Father and Mother—I’m sorry I ever thought of whether I should forgive them, for there was nothing to forgive. In fact, I’m glad they forgave the useless son who was angry and didn’t keep in touch with them. And when I graduated, sadder but wiser, from Yamaku? They congratulated me on my results and promised to send me to any university I wanted if I should gain admission.
My father is a retired stockbroker who doesn’t normally talk much. He sat down with me and for the first time in my life shared some quite horrible truths. Mother was silent throughout; she has always been the power behind his throne, but good at playing the conservative Japanese wife.
Money is tight. The economy is bad. But they will gamble on… me.
We had a frank conversation about matters as they stood. Weeks later, I also had a little apartment in Bunkyo, near Tokyo University. My parents once thought I had a girlfriend with a disability. They were wrong about the girlfriend, and the disability. It’s not my fault they met Miki Miura during the time she stayed over before moving back to Nagasaki. Dad liked her.
Miki loved earth tones and reds and yellows. She was very alive, and she made me feel very alive. She wanted to touch people, to feel touched by people. She taught me how to hug someone, how to hold someone’s hand, while being nothing more than friends. She was there for me in my dark days; she used to say, “Fuck it, Hisao, real friends are there to be friends. You don’t need to thank me for being your friend.”
She was great to hang out with, a very physical type; but we weren’t quite lovers, and I wouldn’t see her again for years once she was gone. When we parted, she gave me a brief kiss on the nose, as if to say, “We’re equals, thanks for the good times.” There was a wave and a wink at the airport, and then just a kind of afterglow, like sunset on a fine day.
This was the only part of the year in which I really felt alive, and it wasn’t all about Miki; because of her, Rin also re-entered my life briefly. When she too left, to give art a second try, life returned to the normal grind of the Tokyo undergraduate.
By the winter of 2008, I was certain Lilly would never return, and my friendships with Hanako and Shizune thus became much more important to me. I had few remaining friends, and the ones I found at Yamaku were thus doubly precious to me. But winters are always wintry, and the spring that followed did not alleviate my heartache much.
They say that humans pass through many phases of life; some, like dear Hana, say seven is a perfect number for those phases. In my darker moods, I think they are: I will never die, so what if I die, everyone dies, I’m going to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t care if I die, and what comes after I die. I’m young to have gone through all those phases, but in Todai, I was still at ‘I don’t want to die’.
*****
2009-2010: Oranges
I remember that on my very first day of school at Yamaku, Shizune told me via Misha, “You should always try to learn as much as you can about where you’re going before you go there.” It’s the reason I spent so much time finding out about the venerable University of Tokyo, together with Shizune and Hanako, before we ended up there.
It’s also the reason why I’m still wondering about death. You’re going there some day, you should know about it. Is there anything to know? Can you know anything? Here’s what I learnt, dreaming in the lazy afternoons, sometimes when I’ve fallen asleep studying with my friends in the summer sunshine next to the Sanshiro Pond, our beautiful central lake at the university.
It’s always afternoon, and I’m always in the little tea room with Lilly, with the orange light gently flooding through the windows. And yet that is never going to happen again in this life. But I find myself taking out some writing paper, and it’s the kind Iwanako used to write to me, the kind that has flowers in the margin; I don’t know how it got into my hand. And very carefully, I use my small knowledge of Braille to deeply press little round dents in the soft paper with a pen, because the Perkins is downstairs with Shizune and Misha in the council room, and I can’t go down and break this moment.
I write to Lilly: [I loved you first of all. Some day, I will get over it, but that love will stay there, like a little creature preserved forever in amber, which is warm and orange and precious, but foreign and strange.]
While I am writing, Lilly says, “Hisao, you’re being very quiet. Are you folding something with that paper?”
And because I have to be honest with her, I say, “No. I am writing you a message for when we are old and grey. Please don’t read it now. It’s for later.”
Of course, there isn’t really a later. That’s because one of us is dead, and the other one knows it’s too late. And then we wake up, in different places and times, not knowing where the other one is, and somehow feeling lost.
But the one person who taught me a lot about death was Rin Tezuka. It began with oranges, because those were her favourite fruit. She didn’t like peeling them because it wasn’t easy with no arms, and her feet tended to have paint on them. But she loved it when I peeled them first, carefully removing the white fibres in between the segments because they would get stuck in her teeth.
So look at this through my eyes, whoever is reading this… and if it’s Emi, well, think kind thoughts of your old friend for me.
Rin sits there on the sofa in my small apartment. She’s come down from the loft like a little furry animal, just to be with someone else for a while. I am feeding her orange segments. She says, “It’s like dying, I think. That’s why they call it dying.”
I say, as I often say, “What do you mean, Rin?”
“You feed me oranges. Then the plate hasn’t any more pieces on it. But I can still taste them in my nose. I can remember them. Even when they’re gone.”
“That’s profound, Rin.”
She looks at me with her deep green eyes. It’s a look I’ve never been able to fathom.
“Yesss. I am a profound Rin sometimes. It’s like paint. It soaks in, and it changes things. When it dries, it’s not paint any more. It’s died. But it lives. I think that’s why they call some paints dyes. When you’re gone, I’ll remember you. Like a painting or a charcoal sketch or India ink. In my brain like the smell of oranges. Or a flight of butterflies.”
It was the year Saki Enomoto died. She was the girl who used to occupy my seat, the empty seat I took when I first entered 3-3 at Yamaku. I never really knew her.
*****
2010-2011: Golden Dawn
This happened before Emi and I became friends again.
Occasionally, Shizune and Hanako would drop by since my apartment was within walking distance of our campus. Hana lived in a university hostel, while Shizune would commute back and forth from Saitama. Sometimes, Shizune would bunk over with Hana. Sometimes, one or both of them would stay over with Rin and me. Those days were good because there was always something to learn, and we got to know each other better. There were surprises.
For example, I learned quite early on that Rin could sign with her toes. One evening, she had signed [Hello] to Shizune. Shizune: [Did you just sign at me with your toes?] Me: [Surprise. I didn’t know she could.] Rin: [You never asked.]
It was on one of those days that we hatched the plan. I remember a pale golden-yellow Saturday morning, after a late night in which Rin had joined us and we’d all enjoyed each other’s company quite a bit because of some plum brandy that Hana had brought with her.
For some reason, Misha and I had stayed in touch over the Internet. She seemed awfully lonely, and sometimes, I felt that way too. Rin lived in my loft space, but sometimes she wasn’t in a communicative mood, and that made me feel even more alone. It was worse for Misha, though, because at least I had friends visiting.
Then one day, Shizune announced: [Misha’s coming back for a visit. It’s expensive but she says she’s homesick.]
Hana looked at me, her eyes curious. She’d learnt a bit of sign, and I knew that she’d been spending a lot of time with Shizune, especially whenever I was stuck in the Todai science labs. “H-Hisao, you could have her over here, and we could make it a little reunion for her?”
Rin looked at all of us. “It’s a party. It will need food. And happiness. My hair will get in the way. Hisao will have to braid my hair and maybe pin it up. Also, ice-cream. It’s Misha.”
I remember how I felt at that moment, as Shizune’s face broke into a grin.
The yellow light around us is like honey. The moment is bright, a new day, a joyful day. I know that other things will happen to us, but they haven’t happened yet. Right now, we can only think of happy things.
*****
2011-2012: Green Light
Happiness doesn’t always last. I broke up with Emi, briefly. It was my fault. And then there were times that I quarreled with Rin. There were times we couldn’t understand each other, and she would walk out, and find her way to Sae’s atelier, and pretend she never knew me or had forgotten who I was. Or maybe, to her that was the truth. But one day, something happened.
Rin had been gone for weeks. I would walk past the gallery, or Hana or Shizune would just pass by to check with Sae. But the finals were here, and we were studying, and the gallery was closing down. None of us knew about it.
Then I got the call.
“Good evening. My name is Ishizaki, and I am calling from a hospital. May I know with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?”
It was a dry voice, official, genderless, administrative. Immediately, I was afraid. Such things are bad news. Visions flashed through my head: Hana, panicking in a crowded intersection; Shizune, unaware of some vehicle barreling towards her from an unwatched flank. I answered with a dry mouth: “This is Nakai. How may I assist you?”
I felt terribly guilty when Ishizaki replied, “Do you happen to know a young person, about 160 cm tall, with reddish-brown hair? If so, please describe this person further and we may perhaps invite you to make positive identification.”
Rin. Something had happened to her. My heart sank. ‘Positive identification’ sounded like whatever had happened was rather final. I didn’t want to use words that reminded me of the ultimate finality.
“She has a rare disability of the upper limbs, and it’s an obvious one. Deep green eyes. Also, likely to have paint stains on her toes. Oil paint or acrylic.” I didn’t want to tell this stranger too much.
“You clearly know this person. Nakai-san, would you please make your way to TMUH? Meet me at the A&E foyer. If you cannot find me, send me a message. I am a doctor, and you can also identify me by my nametag.”
A week later, I brought Rin home to my little apartment. She sat sadly in the loft, which I had turned into a little atelier of her own.
“Rin’s broken, isn’t she?” she said. “Sae has a disease and the gallery is closing down and Miki is in Nagasaki and you don’t want to be my friend.”
Her eyes were tightly closed. As I watched, a single tear leaked out from between the lids of her left eye. It rolled down her cheek and stayed at the point of her chin. I could not leave her alone.
Carefully, I sat down next to her, on the mat that she preferred to sleep on. She was breathing, and that was all. I put my arms around her. “Rin?” I whispered, trying not to shed tears of my own. “I am your friend. This is your home for now.”
“Hisao. You are hugging me. I don’t know if that is a good thing. I don’t know if you are keeping secrets from me. I don’t know you any more. But don’t stop.”
From that moment, Rin has never stopped being my friend. I suppose that I haven’t stopped being hers either.
*****
2012-2013: The Long Blue Goodbye
She was in town, and I was in a dark blue hoodie. That colour had been the dame’s favourite colour, apart from white. I’d been reading too many classic crime novels in English because… I don’t know why I kept improving my English. Maybe it was because of the dame. This was the dame’s sister.
The dame’s sister was sharp-featured, like a fox who’d been waiting too long for its supper. I knew she was in town because I knew where the family office was. They traded in the rich fishing from the north. Something fishy was always part of their lives. It was like a Japanese lunch.
I sent the text to an almost-forgotten number. Almost, but not quite. The digital world never forgets. [Meet me in the park.] That was all, and I knew she’d know which part, and who I was. After all, we had a past. I might have ended up marrying her sister.
I took a long loop around town. You never knew, with these feminists, when the ‘Aha!’ moment might come. I would hear the sound of blades on the grass, or on the sidewalk, and it would be the last thing I’d ever hear. Because there was another dame, and she was a jealous one.
2013. That was the year I gave up the ghost. I mean, it wasn’t as if I had that many ghosts. This one had shuffled off to Scotland years ago. I couldn’t quite forget her, but I had to do something. I had friends who would help. The foxy lady, the ghost’s sister, was one of them.
My second loop brought me to the park, like a bad penny on its return trip. I saw with approval that she’d brought two beers. Sapporo, of course. She seemed startled to see me, almost as if she’d thought of killing me, and then thought it wasn’t worth it.
“I need a lawyer,” I said, my voice furtive like a cloud behind Mount Fuji. She looked a little put out, and said so. But when I told her why, she switched the topic to her cousin, the son of the mad katana-wielding uncle. And then she agreed.
I needed to write a will. And in that will would be my goodbye to the tall girl, my first love, my love no longer. You can’t say things like that in your own voice. That’s why I’m using my fake crime novel voice. It was harder than I thought, this last goodbye. It took me years to get over it. I’ll be happily married soon, but that first dame, she’ll always be ‘the dame’ to me.
*****
2013-2014: Indigene
I’d just finished my final teacher certification examination at Gakudai. With the training for the Paralympics and all, Emi was a year behind me. I was sitting in my little apartment, two rooms and a sort of loft, a sitting/dining room and a kitchenette. I would miss it.
I would miss the times I’d spent in it. Miki and Rin, Shizune and Hana, Misha—somehow, the girls had always liked it. I think I’d grown to love my little home because they did. I had no idea why, most times. Miki had liked it because it wasn’t a faceless cubicle. Rin had liked it for the natural light in the loft. Rin—I would miss Rin. I wondered what to do about her. I worried for her.
I was going home, not to Yokohama, but to Sendai. To Yamaku, where my new life had begun. To a bachelor staff apartment, just a few minutes away from Mutou-sensei’s own. And Rin?
My father had been quite clear: the rental on the apartment was a luxury. The yen wasn’t doing well. I had asked him if he would extend the rental to the end of 2013. Silence.
“Hisao… is this for Tezuka?” He sounded oddly hesitant, his signal fading but his voice clear.
“She’ll need time, Dad. It’ll be hard for her.”
“It’s not the one with only one hand, right? The pretty one?”
“No, Dad. That was Miura. Miki.”
“Ah.” More silence.
“It’s all right, Dad. I can work something out.”
“No, no. Just… well. Mum and I will come up to visit you. We’d like to meet Tezuka, have a chat with her. Extending to the end of the year is fine, but she’s your friend, it’s not right to just kick her out. Your mother says to tell you that we know she’s not your girlfriend. Really, Hicchan?”
I laughed. It was weird listening to Misha’s words in my father’s voice.
“Thank you very much, Dad. It means a lot to me, and I want to repay that someday.”
“It is a small thing, son. You have done well. It means a lot to us. You’re alive. You have friends. All good things. We’ll see you next week.”
It turned out that Rin had money. Quite a bit of it, from sales of paintings and money from her family in Tsushima. She could pay for another whole year of rent, and Dad helped her get her accounts in order while Mum did a full restocking of my… Rin’s new apartment.
The end of March came. Dad and Mum had come up from Yokohama one more time. I’d be driving to Sendai with Emi, and they’d stay with Rin a while.
“I can’t hug very well, Hisao. But I’ll water your cactus and try not to drip paint on the main hallway.”
She twitched her head in a way I’d come to know well. I offered my shoulder and she leaned into it, as always. I felt her armbits come up to my chest and I hugged her tight. Emi was standing behind her, a half-cheeky half-grin on her lips. Her eyes looked a little sad.
“Come and visit Rin some time,” Rin whispered.
“I will.”
*****
April 2013
Mutou-sensei helped with the paperwork. “Emi Ibarazaki for real, eh?” he said softly while we were at the main school office. “Kaneshiro-san probably knows the whole story and hasn’t told me all about it.”
“He’s Dr Kaneshiro now, right?”
“Yes. I’ll get him to tell you about it when you’re fully settled in and have time to visit his office.”
“Thanks.”
“I get the feeling we’ve done this before, Hisao. Would you like to introduce yourself to the staff or shall I do it for you?”
There was a surprisingly cheerful expression on his face. On any other person, it would be a fairly bright smile—but this was Mutou, after all.
“It feels a little different, sensei, but not a lot.”
“You can drop the ‘sensei’, Hisao. We’re colleagues now, and if you feel comfortable after all these years, you can call me Akio.”
I was about to say, “Oh no, wouldn’t dream of it, boss,” because he’d still be my head of department after all, when he stopped me with a wave of his hand.
“It shouldn’t feel too different, Hisao. After all, you belong here. You graduated from this place. As the biologists put it, you’re practically indigenous to this environment.”
He looked at me, a half-smile still on his lips. I couldn’t help but grin back. He took the forms from me and handed them to the school clerk, Mitsuyasu-san. The old man bowed stiffly to us. “Welcome to Yamaku, Nakai-san. These are your keys, and a copy of the staff apartment regulations. It is good to see alumni coming home.”
We returned his bow and emerged a while later. Emi was impatiently hopping back and forth on her ‘formal’ legs. “Hi, Mutou-sensei! What took you so long, Hisao? Can we go up to the apartment and see everything? I’ve never been up there before!”
It struck me that after six years in my old apartment, it might only be a couple of years in this one, and then… perhaps, a move to a larger one.
*****
September 2013
A few months later, I really knew I’d come home when I got a strange phone call.
“Nakai?”
“Err, yes. Who’s this?” The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.
“I have a mission for you, should you choose to accept it.”
Oh, damn. Kenji Setou, my old neighbour from when I was a student at Yamaku.
“What is it, Kenji?”
“You remember me?” He sounded very pleased.
“Yes,” I said politely.
“Well, I am not crazy Kenji the feminist scourge of our childhood. I am going to do something about a woman, and you are going to help me. There aren’t many people I trust, so this is a good thing for you.”
*****
However, that’s another story entirely. I won’t tell it here, because it’s long and I’m tired. Also, I’m sure Kenji will release the redacted files someday. ‘Kenji Declassified’ has a nice sound to it, I guess.
Rin’s fallen asleep on the sofa. I walk softly over to her and cover her up with a thin blanket. She makes an odd sound in her throat, wriggles a bit, but remains asleep.
It’s been a strange eight years now since I graduated from Yamaku, but I wouldn’t change any of it. Emi will be back from Rio soon, and I’ll have a lot to tell her. Also, a formal proposal to think about. That too will be another story. Good night.
=====
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