Fifty Words for Rain Page 3

  * * *

  The winter months drew to a close rather uneventfully. The days melded together seamlessly. Nori received two more visits from her grandmother in this time, resulting in twelve and sixteen blows, respectively. At one point, the family matriarch had remarked that out of concern for possible scarring, new methods of punishment might need to be implemented in the future.

  As spring approached, Nori watched the world around her change. She watched the daylight linger on past its prime. She watched from her window as the flowers in the yard bloomed and became brighter. And though she was at first unsure, she began to notice changes in herself as well. Her chest, once as flat as a washboard, was starting to gain a minute amount of fullness. Her hips were broadening, if by a slight margin.

  And her weight, constant at forty pounds or less for the past two years, was stubbornly creeping upwards. This alarmed her more than anything. She had asked Akiko to reduce her food portions, but the maid refused.

  “You hardly eat anything as it is, Ojosama. You will get sick.”

  “I will get fat, is what I will get.”

  “Little madam, it is natural. You are becoming a woman. You are an early bloomer, it seems. When the time comes, your grandmother will explain what is happening to you. It is not my place.”

  It is not my place.

  Akiko always said that when she didn’t want to talk about things. Sometimes she would take pity and answer Nori’s rare questions about why things were the way they were. But only in pieces. Then she would clam up, afraid she’d said too much, and Nori would be left to complete the puzzle herself.

  She knew she was a bastard because of Akiko. That meant she could never be a Kamiza, not really, and that her grandmother needed another heir.

  She’d concluded on her own that it could not be her mother because her mother was something called a whore.

  But as many nights as Nori had spent on her knees praying for divine intervention in her life, Nori found herself resenting the changes that were now occurring.

  It was horribly uncomfortable to feel time nudging her forward, tactlessly, in total disregard of whether she was prepared or not.

  Her studies were progressing rapidly as well. She had nothing else. She read all night until her eyes burned because she had nothing else.

  Saotome-sensei was incredulous. It seemed that no matter what new book he gave her, she was always finished in a day, two at most. And yet, when she told him this, he refused to believe her.

  “It is not possible,” he would say. “For a child your age. For a girl, at that.”

  “It is true, Sensei. I read it all.”

  At this, he would scrunch up his face so that his wrinkles would meld into one another.

  “You did not read it properly.”

  Nori said nothing to this, only cast her eyes downwards into her lap.

  Do not fight.

  The topic was dropped and her sensei continued to drone on in a monotone. But Nori was no longer listening. “Song of Two Poor Men” came to mind as her thoughts wandered to a distant place.

  Yononaka wo

  Ushi to yasashi to omoe domo

  Tobitachi kanetsu

  Tori ni shi arane ba

  I feel this life is

  Sorrowful and unbearable

  Though I cannot flee away

  Since I am not a bird

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE BOY WITH THE VIOLIN

  Kyoto, Japan

  Winter 1951

  One downcast morning at the end of January, her grandmother arrived out of the blue and announced that Nori had a brother, and that he was coming to live with them.

  She had a brother.

  Nori blinked uncomprehendingly, her sewing needle still poised in the air. The cloth doll whose button eyes she was trying to fix lay forgotten in her lap.

  “Nandesutte?” she queried dumbly, unable to devise anything cleverer. “What?”

  Yuko scowled, clearly irate at having to repeat herself.

  “I had not told you this before, but it is time you know. Your mother was married before her disgrace . . . before you were born. She had a son from that marriage. His father has just died, and so he is coming to stay with us. In fact, he should be arriving presently.”

  Nori nodded, hoping that if she did so, her brain would somehow absorb the information being presented to her. Somehow the information about her mother and about the past, which she had so longed for, now seemed laughably irrelevant.

  “He is coming today,” she parroted. “To live here.”

  Her grandmother gave a stiff nod and continued, clearly displeased at being interrupted to begin with. “He is fifteen. I have had reports from his teachers and other family. They say the boy is exceptionally gifted. He will bring great honor to this family.” She paused, waiting for Nori to react. When she got no such reaction, she let out a sigh of frustration. “Noriko, this is good news. We are all to be happy.”

  “Yes, Obaasama. I am very happy.”

  It was something she had never said before.

  Her grandmother pinned her with a cold stare. For a happy woman, she appeared as mirthless as always. “He has been told of your . . . presence.” The old woman made a sour face.

  While her grandmother normally appeared quite indifferent to Nori’s existence, though sometimes, paradoxically, perversely interested in it as well, she now seemed to have lost what little patience she’d once had. Nori could only assume that the impending arrival of this boy made the once tolerable shame of a bastard seem all the more heinous.

  Her grandmother took a deep breath and continued.

  “I have assured him that you will not bother him. If he chooses to acknowledge you, so be it. But you are to speak nothing to him unless you are spoken to. He is the heir to this house. You will show him deference and respect, beginning with silence. Wakarimasu ka? Do you understand?”

  Normally, Nori would have nodded, or lowered her eyes, or done any number of things to show her willingness to obey, in the vain hope that these little gestures were somehow being seen by her mother, wherever she was.

  But just as she was about to do this, something burst out of her. The word ripped through the seam of her closed lips.

  “No!”

  A dead hush enveloped the room. Nori looked around to find the person who had uttered that word. Surely it must have been someone else.

  Nori looked at her grandmother, who appeared equally shocked. Those sharp eyes widened; that puckered mouth went slack. She too passed an inadvertent glance around the room to make sure there was not a ghost among them.

  Nori tried to form her lips to retract her defiance, but instead more emerged. “I . . . What I mean is that I . . . I must speak to him. I have to speak to him. Onegai shimasu, Obaasama. Please.”

  This second time, Nori was not given the benefit of a delayed reaction. Her grandmother closed the distance between them in mere seconds. Nori heard the slap across the cheek more than she felt it. Her head snapped to one side, eyes losing their focus and seeing only white for a few seconds until they found a place again. The doll slipped onto the floor and Nori went with it.

  Her grandmother lowered her hand, face betraying no traces of emotion. No anger. No nothing. She simply repeated her question, speaking slowly in a calm tone, as one would speak to the mentally deficient.

  “Do you understand?”

  In one crushing moment, the fear of God returned to Nori. The switch flipped back on. The world refocused. A little voice spoke from somewhere in the distance.

  “Yes, Grandmother. Of course. As you say.”

  This response was met with a curt nod.

  “Good. I will send for you when he arrives. Akiko-san has bought you something new to wear for the occasion.”

  It had been over six months since Nori ha
d received a new article of clothing. She lived for receiving gifts: anything shiny, anything that she could tie into her hair or around her neck in a bow. They were by far the highlights of her existence. And yet she could find no joy in this news of a new dress. She could not even wonder what color it was.

  Though she knew she should express gratitude, she could not bring herself to say the words.

  She knelt there, perhaps for a minute, perhaps for an hour, as her grandmother went into further detail about the proper ways to behave.

  “For God’s sake, don’t ask any ridiculous questions . . . None of that loud, uncouth walking . . . Don’t slump . . . Eyes down and smile . . . You look like you’ve swallowed a lemon . . . Dignity . . . Respect . . . Grace . . . Decorum . . . Honor . . .”

  Somehow, though she could barely hear the words over the thumping of her own heart, Nori managed to nod periodically. Despite the warm temperature of the attic, her skin was crawling with goose bumps.

  Her mouth felt as if it were filled with sawdust.

  It was only after her grandmother had turned and was beginning to walk away that Nori realized what she had forgotten. She took two tentative steps forward and reached out a shaky hand, unsure of what she was attempting to grasp.

  “Ah . . . Obaasama!”

  Her grandmother paused for a moment and turned her head, the silky curtain of her hair rustling as she moved. The look on her face was thunderous.

  “His name . . .” Nori stammered, blinking uncontrollably for some reason. “What is his name?”

  “Akira.”

  And with that, she walked briskly away, clearly having spent more time on this exchange than she had ever intended to.

  Nori was left standing there in silence. Her legs were shaking furiously as they so often did—but not from fear. Not from the unbearable anxiety that seemed to press on her every waking moment.

  She was shaking for an entirely different reason. But she didn’t know what it was. She didn’t have a word for this feeling. Suddenly, her grandmother’s stern decree that she must not speak to her brother uninvited seemed so meaningless. For the first time, Nori realized what an order truly was: a collection of words. Simply that.

  Maybe this was what hope felt like. Real, tangible, hope.

  She raised her index finger to her lips and traced them as she mouthed out the syllables to the name.

  A-

  Ki-

  Ra . . .

  “Akira”—bright, clear.

  She let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. A breath that seemed bigger than her whole body. And then she said the name again.

  “Akira.”

  She could say that name every second of every day, so long as she lived, and never tire of the way it felt on her lips.

  She didn’t even realize that she was laughing until the sides of her jaw began to ache. She bit down on her finger to try and stifle it, but it was no use. The sound leaked out and echoed about in the high-ceilinged room. If it continued much longer and she was heard, things would go very badly with her in the near future. And yet she continued to laugh.

  * * *

  The dress was a stunning shade of lilac purple. It had puffed short sleeves and a collar that was trimmed with white lace. The hem, which fell just above her ankles, was trimmed with the same lace. She also received new white socks that she could pull up to her knees. She would pair the dress with her sky blue ribbon. She agonized over what to do with her hair. Today of all days, she needed it to be straight.

  She ran the brush against her head savagely, pulling out entire tufts of her curly brown hair. The snarls fell to the floor. Akiko frowned at her.

  “Maybe I should do that, little madam.”

  “I can do it.”

  When Nori was finished brushing, Akiko wove it neatly behind her head in two braids that she then coiled together to form a bun at the base of Nori’s neck.

  Nori inspected herself in the mirror. It would have to do. She had only so much to work with. It served no purpose to get upset over the things she could not change.

  At least for the time being, she would accept it.

  “Is he here yet?”

  “Not since you last asked five minutes ago, my lady.”

  Nori bit her lip. It was growing dark outside. He should’ve been there by then. He should really have been there by then.

  Where was he?

  “Where does he come from, Akiko-san?”

  “Tokyo, I think.”

  “That is where Grandmother sends for new things, right? The capital?”

  “Yes.”

  “So he must be very grand, then.”

  Akiko laughed, though Nori was not sure what was funny.

  “Not everyone from Tokyo is grand, little madam. But I am quite sure that your brother is. You come from a very great family.”

  “Grandfather works in the capital,” she mumbled, more to herself than Akiko. “For the Emperor. It is why he is home so rarely.”

  “Yes,” Akiko said, though she had told Nori this before. “Shall I get your dinner?”

  “No, thank you.”

  It wouldn’t do to have food in her teeth when Akira arrived. Already, she was apprehensive about speaking to a boy—something she had absolutely no experience with. She knew what boys looked like, of course. She had seen pictures in her books of many things, including great buildings across the sea. She had seen lakes, mountains, and ponds. She played little games with herself so that she would never forget to match the images with the words when it was finally her time to leave this place.

  And surely this brother of hers had seen such things. She was determined not to seem ignorant when they spoke.

  Nori gnawed on her lower lip. “Do you . . . do you think that he will like me?”

  Akiko’s face softened. She tucked a loose curl behind Nori’s ear.

  “I hope so, sweet girl.”

  This next question was even more dangerous. But Nori had to know.

  “Do you think he knows where Mother is?”

  The maid stiffened and glanced at the door. “Little madam . . .”

  And that was all she needed to say. Their moment of familiarity was over. Akiko’s duty to her grandmother always won in the end.

  Still, Nori allowed herself to be confident.

  Akira would speak to her, surely. He had no reason to hate her. She had done nothing to him; she had cost him nothing. She had cost her mother her rightful place—she saw that now—and she had cost her grandmother her honor. But she had done nothing to Akira.

  Maybe this is it. The thought struck her suddenly. Maybe the arrival of this strange brother of hers, who was somehow older than she even though she had never heard of him, could be the test that her mother had set for her. Of course, he had to be. In Nori’s experience, there was no such thing as a fortunate coincidence.

  It was finally clear to her. All she had to do was pass one more test. She had to because then—then—her mother would come back to this place. And she would take the two of them away somewhere. And the three of them would live together somewhere with lots of tall grass and flowers, the big ones, like the kind that grew on the sides of mountain ranges. And there would be a pond there too, probably. Nori could wallow underneath the clear water until she felt the need to return to the surface. When she was done with that, she would lie in the sun. She would lie there for hours, until the palms of her hands and feet were bright red and tingling. And this brother, whoever he was, whatever he was, would lie there with her. And they would laugh at how silly it was that she had ever been afraid.

  * * *

  AKIKO

  It is well past midnight when I finally lead the little madam down the attic stairs. As instructed, I hold on to her hand. It is painfully frail in my own; I can feel every bone. She desce
nds the stairs with some trepidation, pulling at her dress as if she is afraid it will crease in the short distance from here to the foyer. Come to think of it, she has every reason to be cautious. She has not been allowed past the second-floor bathroom for over two years now. When we move past it, she lets out a soft wheezing sound. I think it is relief. Then again, it could be fear. She is a nervous child.

  The girl does not say much, but she gives a lot away with her body. Often I find her staring into space, gnawing on a lip that is already swollen and bloody. I wonder if she feels it.

  I cannot decide whether she is brilliant or a complete dullard. The other day I caught her reading a book in English—she was pointing to some pictures and sounding something out under her breath. She became skittish when she realized I was looking at her. I wonder if she is teaching herself—if she is capable of such a thing. Maybe she is. Maybe the traitor’s blood flows in her veins and teaches her things that we cannot.

  In all fairness, she is an easy charge. She never complains and rarely asks for anything. She is complacent with her “treatments,” as I have been told to refer to them. She does cry, but she is careful not to make a fuss about it.

  She is naturally curious—I can tell that much. Silence does not come easily to her. I see how she struggles with it. In this way, she is much like her mother. Lady Seiko never did take to the task of being a proper noble lady.

  Nori-sama’s mother fell to ruin because of willful disobedience. Lady Yuko says she was overindulged by us all, and that I am to make sure not to make the same mistake again.

  But she’s a sweet thing, really, and I find myself allowing too much.

  Nori-sama tugs on my hand, as if to pull me from my daydreaming.

  Even when her mouth is closed, her strange eyes are flashing like fireworks. I can see how much thought she puts into everything she does, even simple things that should require no such effort.

  Again, I cannot decide if this is a sign of intelligence or stupidity. In any case, the child does have beautiful eyes, warm and light and full of brightness, a shade of amber that I have never seen before. They are the prettiest things about her by a mile, but they betray her every thought.