Volume 1 - CH 1.4

Yuzuki’s house was much larger than the ones around it. Surrounded by high hedges and walls, not much could be seen from outside. 

After passing the double iron wrought gate, a well-kept garden sprawled in front of me. In one corner, were dolls of the Seven Dwarfs and their little dwellings. They looked jubilant, as if they were about to spring to action and prepare the garden for Snow White when the sun goes down. On a large terrace in the style of a botanical garden, white wisteria flowers, not yet fully open, hung like a screen, just in the right position to soften the western sun.

I hesitantly followed her inside.

The windows were huge. Grimm’s fairy tale theme ornaments were everywhere and tastefully arranged. Roses from Beauty and the Beast, Cinderella’s clock, the basket Red Riding Hood brought to visit her grandmother.

The piano was on the west side of the house, in a soundproof room, the size of ten tatami, separated from the rest of the house by another large glass door. In the room were another set of large double windows. Brilliant sunlight streamed through and lit the piano lustrous black.

Yuzuki set a Maurizio Pollini’s CD in the player. On top of the speaker was a little objet d’art of the Bremen Musicians.

Chopin’s Venetian Boat Song started playing. After the song ended, she asked.

“How was it?”

“Surprisingly beautiful.”

She nodded, apparently satisfied. Then she sat down in front of the Steinway piano. I noted the Anpanman doll on the piano. I had never thought she would be the kind to do that.

She began to play the Venetian Boat Song. Once again, I was struck by how lovely every note sounded, loud and clear, like a grain of light. I could see small twinkles of light on the waterways of venice, I could  hear flowers, the scent, it was a lovely Venetian Boat Song.

When I managed to describe the experience in my crude words, she thanked me, yet still seemingly unsatisfied.

“But I want you to compare it to Pollini’s performance, though.”

Polloni…

Pollini was one of the world’s greatest pianists. Known for his flawless playing and his record of “Chopin: 12 Etudes, Op. 10, Op. 25” released in 1972 with famous praises like “What more do you want?”

It was frightening that she wanted me to compare her performance with such a master. Of course, at the time, I was unaware of such composition and expressed my candid comment, in a somewhat flippant manner.

“Your’s felt…plain? There’s a boat, there’s the surface, but there’s nothing below?”

It was so conceptual and vague that even I wasn’t sure I understood what I was saying, but Yuzuki nodded nonetheless.

“I knew it. I played it too neatly. More mellow and ethereal…”

“Eh, mellow… ethereal…” I didn’t think that were words third graders should know…

“Ehehe, I might be too young to play this. You know, there’s a saying that you need to get heartbroken three times before you can play this song. Maybe I should get my heart broken too.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “I thought I’m weird, but you’re even worse.”

“I’m being serious, though.” She deadpanned. 

That was when I saw a woman in her thirties in front of the glass door. The room was soundproofed, so we were completely unaware of the noise outside.

“Oh, my mom’s home…”

I watched the woman again. She wore round sunglasses, her hair was long, wavy, and dyed brown at the end fashionably. She wore a soft yellow knit jacket and navy blue skirt. Overall, she might be someone straight from Italy’s city of art, Milan. She took off her sunglasses, I gulped. She was beautiful, like Yuzuki, but hers was steely and bristling, like the beauty of a warship. 

Ranko Igarashi—that was her name. Shimizu told me she was a professional pianist.

She took one look at me. Her eyes narrowed as if she saw something disturbing, but she quickly walked away to another room.

I sat back, trying to figure out what had I done wrong.

“Sorry—” Apologized Yuzuki. “That’s just how Mom is. I have lessons with her next, so this is it for today. Bye”

I nodded and went to put on my shoes at the entrance. When I turned to say goodbye to Yuzuki, my eyes fell on Ranko-san behind her.

“Sorry for the bother.”

Ranko-san acknowledged with a nod, then waved dismissively.

９

Mom slowly turned into salt. The process was like an hourglass, like sand falling away with the ticking of the clock, Mom’s body gradually fell apart.

Whenever I woke up, I cried. An empty, horrible dream plagued me every time I slept and left me wretched every time I woke.

When visiting hours at the hospital were over and I had to leave, I clung to Mom and cried like a baby. I never wanted to return to the dark apartment alone, nor did I want to leave Mom in the dark hospital room. 

She would pat me on the back and tell me it was all right.

I continued to collect flowers for her. Then came a heavy rain, washing away all the petals. I resorted to picking wildflowers whose names I didn’t know. Flowers began to disappear from my proximity. I felt an indescribable sense of guilt and pain at the blank space where the flowers once were. Still, in order to fill the greater pain inside me, I had no choice but to continue.

Listening to Yuzuki’s piano became my routine. When each performance ended, I would tell her my impressions, though I doubt it was helpful to her. In return, she listened to me. I told her my memories with Mom. At every story, I could feel my pain ease. I felt that even if Mom were to die, Yuzuki would help me remember her.

One day, when I told her that I felt guilty about picking wildflowers, she said in surprise, “You feel guilty for picking wildflowers? Aren’t you being too nice?”

She then took my hand and led me all the way to somewhere behind the Igarashi residence. Up the narrow, gently uphill path, the hedges disappeared and the sky opened up.

I let out an involuntary gasp

The meadow was a miniature basin of colorful wildflowers in full bloom. Each and every one of the colors were their own, as though colorful dyes were put into the same container yet didn’t mix. A warm, inexplicable sensation welled up in me as I took in the sight.

Yuzuki smiled gently and said, “You can pick them from now on. No matter how much you pick, they will never go away. Things may be tough for you, but,” She gestured to the flowers. “The love of the world is much greater than you imagine, like how flowers are much stronger than most people believe. Like how you could carry away as many buckets of water from the sea, you can pick as many flowers here. The world has already given us things to fill our hearts with, we just don’t know how to do so.”

A wave of comfort washed over me at once. I can fill the blank space here. And no matter what I do, this place will never have blank space. 

Such a thought filled my heart, not through logic, but through conviction.

Yuzuki told me a lesson that no one had thought to put into words because it was so obvious for me. 

Since then, I began to harbor deep affection and respect for her. 

10

The days of sorrow and joy continued.

I studied at school, escorted Yuzuki home, listened to her piano and gave her comments, then told her about Mom. Before her mother could come back, we woud go to the meadow and pick flowers. I arranged them in a vase and brought them to Mom. Visiting hours would end, and I would cry all the way home.

Yuzuki listened to my story about Mom with obvious interest and envy. “Nghh. I want a mother like that.”

“You have yours, the gorgeous pianist.”

I will never forget the look on her face then. Her lips frozen at a confused smile, her eyes wide open, as though she couldn’t decide whether to be hurt or confused. It was the face of a helpless, lonely little girl.

It was not until much later that I realized the significance of this expression.

One weekend, I was passing the Igarashi house. Suddenly, I became curious about what she would be doing. Come to think of it, I had never seen her on days off.

So I stopped by and pressed the doorbell. There was no answer.

At first, I was about to leave; they might not be home. Then I remembered about the soundproof room, so I rounded the back of the house and peeked into the grand double-window of the piano room.

Yuzuki and Ranko-san were there.

Immediately, I knew I had seen something I shouldn’t have.

Ranko-san’s face was bright red, her feral shout, while I could hear none of it, made me stagger back. Slaps flew mercilessly. Yuzuki’s head lolled and flopped, her black hair a mess. Her thin shoulders were shaking uncontrollably.

I was petrified. 

Yuzuki wiped away her tears and began to play the piano again. She was still sobbing and shaking a little, and probably messed up a note since Ranko-san began yelling again. By now I could read what she was saying, “Why can’t you do it?!” or “Get yourself together!”. Slaps cracked, the piano always stopping at the same spot. I could hear none of the sounds, but I could very much imagine them. The cracks, the angry shouts, the sobs, a dreadful metronome.

The Anpanman doll’s smile on the piano seemed out of place.

The click from the front door pulled me out of my reverie. 

It was her father, who finally responded to the chime I had rung, I guessed. I shifted my position, now looking into the living room window. As I had expected, there stood a kind-looking, bespectacled slightly overweight middle-age man—Igarashi Sousuke. He pulled back from the door when he saw no one and stopped in front of the soundproof piano room, as though he wanted to do something. In his eyes, Ranko-san’s abusive lesson must have played out before him.

His brows furrowed, his extended hand dropped. He turned back, dragging himself upstairs. It was as if my heart had turned cold and gray. If Sousuke-san could do nothing, then all the more for me.

I finally understood what she meant when she said she wanted a mother like mine.

If it was Mom who was her mother, she would have taught her kindly. Mom would have let her enjoy the piano without the extreme expectations. She would have accepted her as she was and gave her the affection she deserved.

Finally, I felt like I had seen Yuzuki for what she was. Not the closet maiden nor the Amazonian. She was the sad piano note that wouldn’t sound right to Ranko-san’s ear, the note that always stop at the same place and disappeared.

I heard a yapping from my left on the way back. The usual golden retriever locked my eyes, its tail wagging. I walked up to it and patted its head.

Before I could register, I was soaked in its urine.

“Oh, so you now love me too–?” I smiled bitterly and mumbled to myself, when tears started to well up. It was too late, there was no stopping.

I finally understood why Yuzuki always patted it even though it tried to soak her. The retriever loves me, her, and probably everyone in the neighborhood without discrimination. Even if she can’t play the note right, it would still love her all the same. She was seeking an unconditional love like any child, and this retriever was the one who gave it to her.

The image of that lonely Yuzuki made me cry even more. 

The urine was cold and reeked, but I couldn’t care less. I hugged the dog and cried. It licked my tears and pelted me even more.

The retriever’s name was Melody.