And if you’re influencing the ink, then it might be best if you don’t go near this Kami. Who knows what could happen?”
Like a dragon lifting into the sky?
Too late.
“How do you know about Kami anyway?” I said. “You’re…
you’re not one, are you?”
He shook his head. “You just hear things when you work at a shrine, especially one with ancient connections like Itsukushima. Most people have forgotten about Kami. I shouldn’t even let on that I know, but you’re Yuki’s friend.
I was worried when you started asking about drawings having power.”
“Thank you,” I said. “It’s hard to find anything out about the Kami. I guess it’s a big secret to keep.”
Niichan moved forward, resting his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t tell anyone, Katie. Not even Yuki. She’s a good friend, but she has a big mouth.” I nodded and he dropped his hands, stepping out of the room as I followed behind. I felt nothing but ice and numbness as he slid the door shut and locked up the room of treasures, the room of the flickering fire. It occurred to me the room was fireproof to keep the painting from burning down the rest of the shrine, not to protect the treasures inside.
I walked in silence as we scaled the mountain, toward the wafting smell of Yuki’s curry bubbling.
I wasn’t a Kami, but I was tied to the ink somehow. And if I stayed with Tomohiro, we could lose everything.
I wondered what hope there was for him, what hope there was for me.
As I stood on the ferry waving goodbye to Niichan, Miyajima and the giant o-Torii gate dropped from sight. We sped through Hiroshima on the bullet train, through Osaka and Kyoto, moving closer and closer to Shizuoka. My mind was buzzing, despite the earache the train gave me. Could I really be connected to the Kami? I didn’t like the thought that whatever haunted Tomohiro was in my veins, too. The text from Tomohiro had been the only one I’d received, and after sending two or three unanswered, I’d stopped. I didn’t want to look desperate, and anyway, he must have a good reason for not replying. Or at least he better. Maybe Ishikawa had been looming over his shoulder all the time. And maybe he was actually getting some kendo training done.
Diane was still away for another week, and I was supposed to stay with Yuki’s family until she came back, so naturally I didn’t breathe a word of it to Yuki and came home to an empty mansion, mine alone for a whole week.
I dropped onto the couch and surfed through TV channels, mindlessly watching variety shows for a while. I tried to ignore the possibility that Niichan was right, but how could he be wrong? Though he’d admitted he didn’t have all the answers. Maybe I wasn’t tied to the Kami. Maybe the painting reacted to me because of my time with Tomohiro or something like that.
I sighed. I didn’t want to deal with this, especially on an empty stomach. I searched the kitchen cupboards but only came up with shrimp chips and bitter oolong tea.
I sat down with a bowl of the shrimp chips and flipped open my
keitai.
Still no messages. I phoned Tomohiro’s
keitai,
but it was off. I dialed his home phone, but it rang and rang.
When I got the answering machine, I hung up.
The panic was creeping through me, but I hadn’t wanted to admit it, not in Miyajima. But now, alone in my thoughts and alone in Shizuoka, I couldn’t put it off any longer.
What if the Yakuza got to him while I was away? What if something had happened to him?
No, it was ridiculous. He was probably just busy. And what were they going to do with him anyway? Just how dangerous could a paintbrush be?
The image of Tomohiro’s slashed wrist jumped to the front of my mind, all the cuts up and down his arm.
I phoned again, but still no answer. I watched the variety shows a little longer.
When I couldn’t stand the thoughts flashing through my head, I pulled on a light sweater and headed out to the
conbini
store to get some dinner.
I walked farther than I needed to, the cool night air calm-ing me down. In the mansion, the thoughts seemed to bounce off the walls and come back at me again, but out here they lifted into the air like clouds of glittering ink.
The doors of the
conbini
slid open as I approached, and I dropped my eyes from the teen clerk, heading straight to the refrigerated aisle. My eyes fell on the desserts, then the
bentous.
I picked out
unagi
with rice and
gyoza
on the side, and then chose a
purin
pudding for dessert. Then I stared at the drinks for a while, trying with effort to read all the different choices.
“Katie?” My body froze, but my thoughts took off at top speed, rattling around in my head until I didn’t know whether to run or face the voice. I turned, slowly, and saw a familiar face tilting at me, eyes filled with curiosity. The lick of blond at his ears. The glint of his silver earring.
“Jun,” I said, the panic reining itself in. He smiled at me, and I realized I’d probably looked like a nervous idiot the way I’d jumped.
“What a coincidence,” he said. Then, deciding it wasn’t too rude to comment on my jitters, he added, “Are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I mumbled. “Just getting some dinner.” I motioned at him with the eel dinner box.
“Ah,” he said, smiling broadly again. He looked different out of his school uniform, all casual flare with a white T-shirt, jeans and a short-sleeved black jacket draped over his broad shoulders. He wore one of those thick black bracelets around his wrist, the kind with silver spikes on it. It looked ridiculous.
“Um,” I said, because he was still smiling and waiting for me to say something. “How was the kendo retreat?”
“Tough, but we learned a lot. It was great to get to know Yuu and Ishikawa better.”
“Oh,” I said, and relief flooded through me. So nothing weird had happened.
“I thought you’d have heard from Yuu by now,” he said, and I felt the heat rise up my neck.
“What do you mean?” I said. He looked down at the floor with a grin and bobbed his head, like he was apologizing for bringing it up.
“Because you and Yuu are friends,” he said. Which was all he needed to say, really. I hoped Tomohiro wasn’t going around bragging like a jerk. It would definitely line up with the idiot who looked up my skirt. But then I dismissed it. I knew he wasn’t really like that at all.
“Anyway,” Jun continued, “I learned a lot training with them. It turns out we have some things in common.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering why Yuu hadn’t called me if things were all fine. It didn’t even sound like Ishikawa had pestered him much about the dragon. “That’s nice.”
“You know, I knew from the way Yuu held his
shinai
the first time that he’d done calligraphy.”
My blood ran cold. “Calligraphy?” I choked out, but Jun looked unfazed. Of course he did. There wasn’t anything weird about calligraphy. Usually.
He nodded. “There’s something artistic about the way he moves. I’ve been in the Calligraphy Club since junior high, and I can see it in his swordsmanship. You know, they have a lot in common.”
“Who does?”
“I mean calligraphy and kendo.” He smiled patiently.
I felt stupid suddenly, hot and itchy and wishing I could just go up to the bored clerk and pay for my
bentou
so I could get out of there. Instead I asked, “They do?”
“They’re both Zen traditions,” Jun said. “Calming your mind, looking within yourself for beauty and inspiration.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jun smiled yet again. “I guess I’m talking too much. Anyway, I tried to get Yuu to draw with me, but he wouldn’t do it. You’ll have to convince him to show me his work sometime.”
I paled. “Sure thing.”
“Well…” he said, bobbing his head and lifting up a bottle of cold tea. He went to the front to pay and I stared down at my
bentou,
waiting for him to vanish. But just as he was ready to walk through the open doors, he turned and walked back to me.
“I forgot to ask you,” he said, his face twisting with concern. “How is Yuu’s wrist doing?”
The shelves in the
conbini
seemed to blur out of focus. I opened my mouth, but only an awful squeaking sound came out.
“Didn’t…didn’t he tell you?” Jun said, his face full of surprise. “On the first day of training, he brought his
shinai
down hard on Ishikawa’s
men
and his wrist split open. Must have been an earlier injury he didn’t take care of. He had to go to the hospital for stitches.”
I just stared at him with my mouth open. Ishikawa would’ve seen it, then. The truth, on display in front of the one person it shouldn’t be. Ishikawa would put it together, the strange jagged wound on Tomohiro’s wrist appearing on the same day a dragon lifted into the sky.
“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m sorry you heard from me. He probably didn’t want to worry you.
Training was okay after that, don’t worry, but it just seemed like an awfully deep wound. It’s a shame, with the tournament coming up. And Ishikawa said Yuu is so good at calligraphy, so he’ll have to take a break from that, too. I hope it heals up.”
“Oh,” I finally squeaked out.
“Give him my regards, okay? Hope he is all healed up for the prefecture finals.” He gave a friendly wave and curved out the door.
As soon as I paid for my
unagi
and
purin,
I bolted out the door and down the dark streets. I turned down the alleyways, not even thinking of my own safety. I almost crashed into a boy on a bike as I twisted through the streets, until the houses got bigger and the crowds got smaller.
I didn’t stop until the iron gate was in sight. My lungs burned as I hunched over, panting, the crinkle of my
conbini
bag the only other sound in the thick night air. I pressed my hand against the cold metal nameplate above the intercom button. Once I’d caught my breath, I pushed the button in.
The metal gate was closed.
“Yes?” came a tinny voice across the intercom, and a thought fired through my brain.
Tomohiro.
But a moment later I realized it wasn’t Tomohiro but an older, rougher version of his voice. His dad.
“I’m looking for Yuu Tomohiro,” I said.
“He’s out” came the reply.
“I really need to talk to him,” I said, because really, what else could I say?
“Sorry.” The voice vibrated through the speaker. “I don’t know where he is. You could try his
keitai.
”
Because that had worked so well over the past week.
“Thank you,” I said and turned down the street, wondering where to go next.
Toro Iseki, obviously, but as soon as I started sprinting down the street, I slowed down. There’s no way he’d be there, not this late. Would he?
I imagined his drawings fluttering through the darkness, as white as ghosts.
I flipped open my
keitai,
staring at his phone number on the bright screen. My finger circled the send button, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it again. It started to dawn on me, the only things I knew for sure: Yuu Tomohiro was not kidnapped by the Yakuza (yes, I had been worried about this).
Yuu Tomohiro’s wrist was seriously injured, more than he’d let on. And Ishikawa had seen it.
Yuu Tomohiro was avoiding me.
My heart felt like it had collapsed in on itself. Was that last one really true? Was it all in my head? There was this nagging unsettled feeling, like the balance of the world was tipping.
I twisted through the streets, not sure where to go. Toro Iseki was a long way to go if I was wrong, and I felt like I was. With his wrist that damaged, could he really draw anything? And would he want to draw anymore, after what had happened?
It’s worth my life, but it isn’t worth yours.
Was my life for sure at risk?
I had to find him. I stared down the street, the lights of Shizuoka blurring as I spun my head around. He was somewhere. I just had to figure it out.
I walked back to Shizuoka Station; it wasn’t like I had a better idea, and the station was the central nerve of the city.
On a board in the station, tourist flyers splayed out of little cubbyholes. Most of them had majestic views of Fuji or Shizuoka tea fields sprawled across them, but one was for Toro Iseki. I flipped the brochure open and saw the open hours.
Definitely closed by now, but that wouldn’t stop Tomohiro anyway. I debated about the twenty-minute bus ride, the long walk back if I was wrong. And if I was wrong, I sure didn’t want to break into Toro Iseki at dark. I shuddered, imagining my hand touching the wet snakeskin of the dragon, though of course his body was long gone by now.
Some places in the city didn’t close when the sun set.
Ramen-noodle-house signs gleamed in the darkness.
Conbini
stores glowed with their shiny mopped floors. I snuck a peek at the café where we’d had dinner together, but no luck.
What else might be open?
And what was Tomohiro thinking anyway, running off to places at night where I couldn’t find him? Didn’t he have entrance exams to worry about? And didn’t he need every spare moment of study time in between all those practices for the kendo tournament?
I stopped dead in the whirlwind of travelers that pulsed around the station.
Kendo.
I ran through Sunpu Park under the dim lamplight and the bare
sakura
branches, past lovers and friends strolling through, salarymen stumbling home from nights of drinking with coworkers. I ran until my lungs burned, until the roof of Sunpu Castle gleamed in the distant moonlight, and then I crossed the northern bridge toward Suntaba School.
I had to make sure Tomohiro was okay. Had Ishikawa backed off? No more swarming with creepy Yakuza members? After talking to Jun, I had to know. I had to know if everything was all right.
Most of the lights in the school had blinked out and it looked deserted, empty, like the shell of a distant memory.
Deserted except for the bright f luorescent lights that gleamed from the gym doorway.