Book Girl and the Captive Fool (5 page)

“You know, lately whenever Tohko sees me, she gets in a huff and runs off. Do you suppose she hates me?” Maki asked, though it sounded like she enjoyed getting a reaction like that out of Tohko.

“It’s because you keep pressuring her to pose nude for you.”

“You think? But I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. There aren’t many subjects like that. I’d love to talk her into it somehow before we graduate. You’d want to see her nude portrait, too, wouldn’t you, Konoha?”

“Not interested. I don’t need to see Tohko’s chest. I’m used to seeing my own in the mirror.”

“So then, you’d rather see me naked?”

I spit out my tea. Maki gave me a slow smile. “Joking.”

“Please, don’t do that. It’s bad for my nerves.”

“Don’t tell Tohko. It will only make her hate me more.”

“I think talking like that is what made her hate you. And because you taunt her about how few members the book club has and how small our room is and how it’s like we don’t even exist on campus.”

“But Tohko is so adorable when she’s enraged. I love it.”

This wasn’t going to work. Maki had no desire to reform. I would just do what I came here to do and then leave. Otherwise, I was afraid she might devour me at any second.

“Tohko only gets so infuriated because you rile her up like that, and then all the problems start. You should take some responsibility.”

Maki grinned.

“I heard that you’re doing a play for the culture fair? You seem to have secured your players, but you can’t rehearse in that tiny room of yours. You need lighting and sets, too, don’t you?”

She seemed to know perfectly well why I had been conscripted to come here. Clumsy tricks weren’t going to work on her.

“Yes. And we don’t have many alums and no influence or connections, so we’re stuck. Would you consider helping us out?”

I took several photos out of the pocket of my uniform and arranged them on the table.

A smile made Maki’s eyes narrow.

“Looks like you’ve gotten much better at bargaining than the last time you tried to threaten me.”

One picture showed Tohko in her P.E. clothes failing to catch a volleyball and toppling to the ground. Another showed her in a swimsuit stretched out next to the pool while blubbering over a cramped leg. A boy from the photography club had sold the pictures to me, and I’d held onto them thinking they might be useful to quiet Tohko down whenever she ran amok. I never thought I’d end up putting them to use like this.

Maki traced the lines of Tohko’s body. The way she moved her finger was a little obscene.

“But you’re still too green.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve got hundreds of photos capturing Tohko’s activities at school that are cuter and taken at much greater risk than these.”

“H-hundreds?”

“If you want to barter with photos, go find something more unusual. Even better, a nude of Tohko or a private photo.”

“That’s… criminal.”

Maki chuckled.

“Fine. I’ll accept these. You can use an empty hall to practice in, and I’ll take care of the lighting and everything.”

“Are you sure?”

I looked at her uncertainly. Considering who I was dealing with, there had to be something more to this.

“Ha. I wouldn’t miss Tohko’s performance. You’re doing Saneatsu Mushanokōji, aren’t you? I wouldn’t mind adding a picture of Tohko in fluttering kimono sleeves and unbraided hair to my collection.”

I decided to stay quiet about Tohko playing a man’s role.

“Thank you. I know this is going to make Tohko happy, too.”

I bowed my head meekly and left the room.

“You did it, Konoha. You really are my apprentice! I always believed in you.”

Tohko had been waiting for me outside and started heaping praise on me as soon as she heard the news.

What an act. She just didn’t want to ask Maki for a favor herself, so she sent me to do it.

“This solves all our problems. We’ll start rehearsals as soon as school’s over!”

“Wooow, this script is so warm! Look, Nanase!”

“Don’t shove it in my face, Takeda. But wow! It really is.”

“Heh-heh. It’s fresh out of the oven and piping hot.”

After school, we gathered in the small auditorium that Maki had provided for us. There were fifty seats upholstered in red cloth, in front of which was a small half-circular stage about the height of a podium. It was the perfect environment in which to rehearse. I went around passing out the freshly printed scripts to everyone, and we started reading.

“I believe I may once have seen a photograph of her myself at my cousin’s home. She was quite beautiful.”

Surprisingly, Akutagawa gave a flawless performance as Omiya.

It was probably partially due to the fact that his deep voice gave a sense of stoicism and honor that matched the role, but he also read off the old-fashioned lines serenely without stumbling.

On the other hand, our lead actor Tohko…

“ ‘Quite beautiful’ hardly begins to describe her!”

Hmmmmm. Your voice sounds a little
too
forced, Tohko
… She seemed to be trying deliberately to sound like a man, but her voice was smarmy, like a lady-killer with a rose in his mouth.

Plus her slightest movement was exaggerated, and each time she said something, she spread her arms wide or lifted them up or arched them back or hugged them around her head and moaned. Next to Akutagawa’s restrained performance, hers was too unbalanced and felt totally out of place.

“Storms rage through this world: storms of ideology. I rise up in the midst of them like a single great tree and yield not one step to their tempests. Sugiko is the one who grants me that strength. The fact that she believes in me.”

She writhed around, rocking her body from side to side like a tree swaying in the wind; then she changed it up and clasped her hands in front of her chest, batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly, and said in a coquettish, saccharine voice, “Ohhh, Mister
Nojima
! I do believe in you, you dear man. You will be victorious.
Please,
make me your
wife
!”

“Cut! Cut!”

I leaped in front of Tohko after this erratic performance, unable to take any more.

“What is it, Hayakawa? I would appreciate it if you didn’t interfere with Sugiko and I while we discuss our love.”

“I’m not Hayakawa! I don’t care if this scene
is
all in Nojima’s
imagination, it’s just creepy when you emphasize every other word like ‘
Please,
make me your
wife.
’ You need to cut it out. I don’t remember writing all those italics in the script. And your movements are way too exaggerated, too.”

“I just got too into the role, and my mouth and body started moving without me. I must have some talent as an actress to become such a completely different person.”

“What you were doing just then only counts as a crazy person.”

“Whaaaat? I was trying to act out the despondency and naïveté of a young man in love, but still give a little wink to the audience.”

“If it’s too despondent, it looks vacant. Don’t add in extra action. Play it more ordinary.”

“But then Nojima’s feelings won’t come across to the audience!”

“If it comes across too much, everyone’s just embarrassed for you!”

Kotobuki watched wide-eyed as Tohko and I talked. Akutagawa looked surprised, too. I realized that I was cutting in on Tohko like I usually did, and I caught myself.

“A-anyway, can you just follow the script?”

Tohko gave a noncommittal answer—“Uh-huh”—and then went back to practicing. What was wrong with me? I was passing as a friendly, quiet guy in class and everything.

“Sugiko, Sugiko. Look at that cloud. It looks like someone, do you not think?”

“Who, I wonder?”

Takeda was good, too. Even though her role was as a dignified girl the exact opposite of who she normally was, she sounded just right.

Kotobuki must have been nervous, because her performance was stiff. She looked embarrassed when she was saying her lines. Maybe she was more shy than she looked. When our eyes met, she flushed and hurriedly looked away.

“Konoha—it’s your line, Konoha.”

“Oh—right. ‘Ha-ha-ha! God forbid, I encounter Takeko.’ ”

“Geez, Konoha, you sound so wooden.”

“Your laugh is pretty fake, Inoue.”

“Konohaaa, try to put a little more
feeling
into it!”

… (Silence.)

My Hayakawa got panned.

After rehearsal was over, Takeda went over to Tohko.

“Tooohko? There’s a store opening next to the station today. They gave me a flyer, and they have this cute stationery stuff that doesn’t cost too much. Do you want to come with me?”

“Why not! What about you, Nanase?”

“I don’t really… Well, if Tohko’s going…”

“Yaaay! Nanase’s coming toooo!”

At first they had been awkward together, but in their own way Kotobuki and Takeda seemed to be getting along. Once the three girls had gone, Akutagawa and I left the auditorium.

Bathed in the same red light of the setting sun as on that other day, Akutagawa pushed his bike and I walked beside him.

“Man, acting is hard.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re not a professional actor, so of course, you’re not going to be great at it.”

“But you were awesome, Akutagawa. You projected your voice and everything. I was surprised.”

“Really? All I did was read the script, though.”

“Well, your real voice is great to begin with. Omiya really is the perfect role for you.”

“… I suppose so.”

Huh?
That sounded dark. I was trying to praise him, but maybe I’d said something wrong.

And just then, Akutagawa’s eyes widened in surprise.

At the other end of the slowly darkening campus, an old cherry tree grew next to the school gate, rising up red and black in the sunset. Its darkly tinged leaves and gnarled branches fanned out drearily. Half hidden behind it stood Sarashina.

Her sorrowful eyes were full of tears, and her limbs and lips trembled, as if it was the middle of winter.

Sarashina suddenly ran at us and threw herself against Akutagawa’s chest, then brokenly begged, “Kazushi… what… should I do? Help me… Kazushi—”

Something cold shot down my spine. Sarashina’s fingers clutching at Akutagawa’s jacket—I saw they were covered in a red liquid.

Blood? Or was it only the light of the setting sun?

As sobs racked her body, Akutagawa wrapped his arms around her as if to hide her. He bowed his head over her, his face twisted in pain.

The next day, I spotted Akutagawa on the way to school.

He stopped his bike and dropped a long white envelope into a mailbox.

The moment I saw how tense his face was, I thought back to what had happened the day before.

I wasn’t sure whether I should call out to him, but then he looked in my direction and our eyes met.

“Morning.”

I gave him a slight smile, and after a moment’s hesitation showing on his face, he gave the same smile back.

“Morning, Inoue.”

Pushing down the thrumming anxiety in my heart, I walked over to him.

“I saw you sending a letter before, too.”

“My parents asked me to. Insurance forms or something.”

We continued talking about harmless subjects as we walked alongside each other.

After we’d gone through the school gate, Akutagawa suddenly muttered in a low voice, “Sorry about yesterday.”

My heart skipped. I’d left the two of them alone after Sarashina had appeared and gone home by myself, so I didn’t know what they had talked about. Or why she had been crying. Or the true nature of the stuff glistening on the tips of her slender fingers…

“Was that girl your girlfriend?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know who Sarashina was.

Akutagawa knit his brow and answered with some difficulty, “… Not anymore.”

“So you two used to go out?”

“… Yeah.”

What?
Sarashina had made it sound like they were still dating…

“Sorry. I can’t say anything else. It gets into her business.”

The creases on Akutagawa’s forehead deepened, and he pressed his mouth into a line. For some reason, my heart started to ache.

“No, I’m sorry. I won’t ask about it. Actually, my English homework…”

I changed the subject in my usual tone of voice.

After class, we rehearsed in the small auditorium.

I’d said I wouldn’t ask anything else, but I kept wondering what had happened between Akutagawa and Sarashina.

Akutagawa was intrepidly performing onstage as Omiya. It was the scene where he and Tohko as Nojima had their discussion about love.

“If a person is granted that extraordinary emotion called love, we have no right to mock it.”

I mulled things over in my mind. It could be that Akutagawa felt that they had broken up, but she didn’t. Maybe there was someone else that Akutagawa liked.

“At the very least, the Japanese are far too disdainful of love. Not you, Nakata, but they regard it as safer to give their daughters not to a man who loves them, but rather to a total stranger.”

And was it really my imagination that made it look like Sarashina’s fingers had been colored red?

“Sorry! I need a bathroom break real quick.”

Takeda pattered off between the seats, and we took a break.

Tohko walked over to Akutagawa with a smile.

“Do you have a second? It’s about the scene where Nojima’s book got lambasted and Omiya calms him down. If you take a longer pause at the line where you say, ‘Your revenge is in the offing. I doubt there’s anyone with less cause to be dejected than you,’ I think it’ll have more of an impact on the audience. ‘In the offing’ is referring to the future, right? You’ll have your revenge in the future, meaning, ‘there’s no doubt that you’re going to succeed eventually, and the price for that is that you have to suffer ill luck now.’ So Omiya is applauding Nojima. This is a particularly delicious scene where we can sense the type of man Omiya is and his friendship with Nojima, so don’t let it just flow by. Let’s make it stick a little more. I’ll express how touched I am with my entire body. Right, like imagine it’s—”

It sounded like they were hammering out a strategy for the play, and Akutagawa nodded attentively. It was the polar opposite of how I always let Tohko’s words wash over me.

I sat in a seat, and when I stole a glance over, I saw Kotobuki had come to sit beside me. She whispered, “Hey… do you think Akutagawa likes Tohko?”

“Huh? Y-you think?”

Akutagawa and Tohko? No way. If anything, wasn’t Tohko the one vying for his attention? Well, not that I cared either way…

Then Kotobuki leaned forward and stuck out her lip, grumbling, “I mean, isn’t it weird that Akutagawa would be in this play? When his class put on a play for the culture fair last year, all the girls wanted him to play the lead! But he told them he couldn’t act. That’s what my friend Mori told me. She was in his class last year, and she was really disappointed.”

“What was their play about?”

“It was
Swan Lake.
Akutagawa would have been Siegfried.”

“Er, you sure he just didn’t want that role?”

I sure wouldn’t want to dress up like a prince now that I was in high school.

“But the girl who played Odette was the prettiest girl in their class. A girl named Sarashina.”

My heart skipped.

Did she say Sarashina? They’d been in the same class? So that was why Sarashina had looked so gloomy when she heard Akutagawa was going to be in our play.

Kotobuki lowered her voice and continued in a whisper, “It’s bizarre that he would kick aside a role opposite someone like Sarashina, who’s so popular with all the boys, and then go and act in the book club’s play. But if Akutagawa had a thing for Tohko, I could see it.”

When Kotobuki said that, she stole a glance up at me through her eyelashes.

Wellll… the reason Akutagawa agreed to do it was because he owed Tohko. But I couldn’t tell her that.

Then Kotobuki became timid all of a sudden.

“But I forgot, Tohko has a boyfriend. So there’s no hope, I guess.”

Did I just hear that?

“What are you talking about?”

Tohko had a boyfriend?! Could she actually get a boyfriend?! What kind of freak was he?!

“It—it’s true. She told me herself. Her boyfriend is this great guy who looks really good in a white scarf. He’s hunting bears in Hokkaido so she never gets to see him and she’s lonely, but he just sent her some salted salmon he caught and she said it was really good. She’d probably never even notice a boy from school.”

A white scarf?

Hunting bears?

Salmon?

When I lined the words up like prompts for an improv story, I remembered Tohko telling me with deadly seriousness about an old woman she met in Shin—who had told her fortune and informed her she was inside a zone of romantic slaughter.

And that the summer her zone of romantic slaughter dissipated, she would fall into a fated love with a man wearing a white scarf in front of a bear with a salmon in its mouth…

In my mind, I could see an image of the young man in the white scarf hurling a spear at the bear with the salmon in its mouth. I felt dizzy and ready to collapse into my seat. No, Kotobuki—Tohko was just trying to sound important.

Kotobuki kept talking quickly, her words sounding frantic.

“So, uh, Akutagawa might get dumped. Tohko has a boyfriend and all. There’s no point in falling for her. Don’t you feel awful? F-for Akutagawa, I mean.”

I listened to her talk with a grave look, my shoulders slumped.

I’m going to appear in the book club’s play at the culture fair.

The play is Mushanokōji’s
Friendship.
Have you ever read it?

My role is a man named Omiya, who falls for the woman his best friend loves. In the end, he steals the woman from his
friend. When I was reading the script, I couldn’t help seeing my past and present selves in him.

I’m also an awful person who betrayed someone who trusted me.

No matter how much I regret it, I will never be able to erase the mistakes of that day.

How many nights did I have nightmares that the classroom was dyed in a sea of blood as a girl with long hair and a chisel stuck in her chest collapsed, blood flowing from her body? How often did I hear her voice berating me for breaking my promise? Each time, I repeated my penance, jolting awake and shuddering at the sensation of the sweat that poured off me cooling on my skin.

Ever since that day when my shameful choice brought down the worst results and hurt people, I’ve tried hard to pretend to be a person of integrity, but in the end I’m repeating the same mistake over again.

I meant to make the best choices wisely and cautiously, but yet again I was ruining the lives of the people who had placed their trust in me, causing them pain and sorrow.

What did I do wrong?

When did it happen? Where?

Perhaps, as foolish as I am, I have no capacity to protect you. Six years ago, I was trying to protect my friend. Even if it was a betrayal to my friend, I believed I would save her by doing it. But that was an error based on ignorance.

And I cannot shake from my mind the thought that I am even now making a mistake. I am afraid of granting your wish, because there’s no guarantee at all that it’s the right thing to do.

But what will become of you the moment I turn my back? When I consider that, doubt smolders in my heart as it has
always done over whether it’s the right choice to go to you and comply with your wish—whether or not you insult me or despise me.

But no. It would be dishonorable.

I hope that you read this letter instead of destroying it.

Two whole weeks went by.

There was no marked change in Akutagawa’s behavior after all that, so I thought he must have solved his problem with Sarashina.

That day after school, everyone rehearsed the play again.

“They say those who have truly loved will never be brokenhearted. That seems so sad, almost unbearably sad.”

Akutagawa was giving a good performance, of course. The words he spoke so smoothly felt fringed with pain and melancholy. Maybe that was because he was going through a painful romance right now.

On the other hand, Tohko’s Nojima continued to be high-strung. It looked like she had already memorized her lines; she didn’t need to look at the script and could throw herself into the role, overacting like a mustache-twirling foreigner.

“Nakata, you say that love is like painting a picture on cloth, but I think not. That pays too little credit to the other person.”

In the pauses between lines, she strained, saying “hnnngh” and “urgggh,” and I wished she would stop.

Even in the scene where they played Ping-Pong at Sugiko’s house, Tohko acted creepy.

There were two Ping-Pong scenes, one where Nojima goes to visit Sugiko’s house and they have fun playing, though Sugiko is going easy on him. The other was when her brother and his friends gather at her house for a Ping-Pong tournament, and
Sugiko crushes her opponents one after the other, awash in applause, until Omiya takes her down with his merciless play. The two scenes are important for contrasting Nojima and Omiya.

Since there was no way we could hit a real ball, we decided to just pretend and play a sound effect for the actual show.

As Tohko waved her paddle around, she laughed boisterously, “Ah-ha-ha-ha!

“I’m playing Ping-Pong with Sugiko! Sugiko is infinitely better at Ping-Pong than I. But she did nothing to intimidate me. Instead she was kind to me and passed me easy balls that were child’s play for me to return. It was impossible not to sense Sugiko’s character in that.”

She swung the paddle up high and shouted, “Ha!

“Where else would I find a woman so innocent, beautiful, and pure, so considerate and so lovely? God is offering this woman to me. How cruel He would be otherwise.”

Tohko’s spirited performance was drawing Kotobuki as Sugiko out a little.

“You’re quite good, Mister Nojima.”

This turn-of-the-century story of adolescence flush with romance became a comedy every time Tohko opened her mouth. The famous scenes I had worked so hard on were like skits for a variety show, and I was incredibly nervous about the live performance.

When it was break time, Kotobuki removed the lid of a pink lunch box and held it out for Tohko, fidgeting all the while.

“Um—I baked some cookies. Help yourselves.”

Paper napkins with a cute flower pattern were spread out inside the lunch box, which was stuffed with adorable cookies topped with things like almonds or blueberry jam.

“Whoa! You
made
these, Nanase? That’s amazing! They’re great!”

“Thanks, Nanase. Let’s all try one.”

Tohko couldn’t taste anything but words. She’d told me before that food had no flavor, like if you or I were to eat paper. Wasn’t this gross for her?

I watched, panicked, as she reached straight into the box, grabbed a round cookie topped with an almond, and put it into her mouth.

A bright smile spread over Tohko’s face as she chewed.

“Yummm! The fragrance of the almond and the vanilla aroma melt together exquisitely in my mouth to produce an airy harmony.”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate, Tohko!”

Kotobuki turned red as a flame.

“But it really is delicious, Nanase! It’s a restrained sweetness, so even boys would be totally okay eating these.”

Takeda beamed as she ate her cookie, too. Kotobuki’s cheeks burned even brighter at that, and her voice squeaked when she next spoke, stealing a glance at me.

“I—I’m on a diet. Right now. So I thought I’d try reducing the sugar. That’s all.”

Until then, all my attention had been on Tohko.

“Oh, let me get one.”

I hurriedly grabbed a leaf-shaped cookie and took a bite. There was a firm, homemade texture, but at the same time an unexpectedly tart taste spread over my tongue. Was this lemon?

“Yeah, they’re really good, Kotobuki,” I said.

Kotobuki looked away, stumbling over her words. “O-oh? I wasn’t thinking about what you’d like when I made them, obviously.”

Tohko gobbled up cookie after cookie, chattering like a bird.

“This one’s blueberry, isn’t it? The jam makes a great accent! I can feel the sweet jam melting over my tongue! Hmm, what’s this brown one?”

“Cocoa and nuts.”

“Oh! Cocoa! This is cocoa, of course! There’s a tiny hint of bitterness, but then the crisp sweetness of the nuts joins in. It’s incredible.”

“You sound like a pastry critic, Tohko!”

“Oh yes, I love sweet things!”