The Wayfarer's Lamentation Part 8

Kotobuki's face became sad. She saw the bag in front of me. It was identical to the one I'd given to her with the pudding, and her eyes looked hurt. She murmured, "Are you...going to see Asakura after this?"

I couldn't answer.

"Konoha! You came to see me again! Hooray!"

Miu's eyes sparkled, and she leaned out of bed.

"Be careful! You're gonna fall, Miu."

I rushed to catch her in my arms, and she rubbed against my body cloyingly, giggling.

"It's fine. See? You'll catch me."

When Miu teasingly brought her face close to mine, the sweet fragrance of soap that had always wafted from her tickled again at my nostrils.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through my neck, and I let out a cry of surprise. Miu pulled away from me, put her long nails to her lips, and smiled cutely.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was holding on too hard."

Her long, sharp nails-like a cat's claws-were out of sync with her short, boyish hair and plain pajamas. They were strangely alluring.

"Actually, I can't cut my nails very well by myself. So I just let them grow out. I'm really sorry. Did it hurt?"

Her eyes were transparent as she looked at me in concern and her lips a faint pink as she murmured. Even though her hair looked like a boy's, she appeared even more adult than before, and her pure white skin and large eyes exuded a charm that threatened to drag me under.

"No, it's fine," I answered, and she laughed in relief.

"Good. Y'know, I'm fine with walking now as long as I've got a cane. Right after I transferred to this hospital, I fell over constantly. I practiced over and over on the stairs and in the halls...because I had a goal."

"A goal?"

"I wanted to see you, Konoha."

Miu's eyes crinkled as she gently smiled. Her cheerful, contented-looking expression made my heart constrict helplessly.

Miu looked down at my hands and let out a cry of joy.

"Ohhh! That's black tea pudding! I'm right, aren't I? You remembered my favorite store."

"Y-yeah. Can you eat it on your own?"

Miu giggled again.

"That's nothing. I can even write, although it's messy. And I can use cell phones and computers. But I would appreciate it if you could take off the lid."

The word "cell phones" made my heart skip a beat.

I took the pudding she held out to me in both hands, and as I pulled off the lid, I asked, "Do you...have a cell phone?"

She nodded yes.

"You never liked phones, did you?"

She had said she hated the sound of the ringer-that it was unpleasant and seemed to just intrude suddenly on her world. So she didn't want me to call her. That's what she'd told me before.

I pa.s.sed Miu the pudding, and she gently scooped it up with a plastic spoon.

"That's true. But with a cell phone, you can put it on vibrate and turn the ringer off, and texts aren't that different from letters, so...Plus, it's easier than holding a pen to write. Oh, you've got a cell phone, too, don't you, Konoha? You have to tell me your number later."

"...Okay."

Had Miu sent a message to Kotobuki's phone?

Had she stolen a look at her number off Akutagawa's phone?

"Mmmm, this place really does have the best pudding."

Miu was eating with a contented look on her face.

Just then I noticed a book sticking out from underneath the blankets, and I thought my heart would stop.

A thin hardcover with a sky-blue jacket. It was my-Miu Inoue's-book!

The core of my body trembled, as if freezing cold water had been dumped over my head.

She must have noticed my horrified stare. Miu set her pudding down on the bedside table and slipped the book out from underneath the covers.

Like the Open Sky-by Miu Inoue.

She hugged the book to her chest, letting me see the t.i.tle, and an easy smile came over her face.

The cover showed a picture of the sky, but it had been bleached in the sun, changing its color slightly. The pages had also turned yellow, warped and swollen, and tattered.

"I've reread this book so many times," Miu whispered as she softly ran her finger over the t.i.tle and the name of the author. "Really. So, so many times. I might've read it...a hundred times."

My throat constricted tightly, sweat beaded at my temples, and it became difficult for me to breathe. Miu was staring straight at me with her catlike eyes. Her cherry-colored lips were ever so slightly curved in a smile.

I felt like a mouse being chased by a cat.

"It's such a wonderful, beautiful story. Don't you think?"

I forced the words out of my bone-dry throat.

"You read it that many times? I thought you might be angry."

"Why?"

The air was weighing heavy and dark.

"Because..."

Because I stole your dream.

Because I got chosen for the prize you wanted.

Isn't that why you jumped off the roof right in front of me that day?

The words tumbled through my brain.

I couldn't ask her- "Why so quiet all of a sudden? Is it weird that I read your book? I actually really like it. The main character Itsuki and her childhood friend Hatori are both really likable. You've got talent, Konoha."

Miu's voice was upbeat and kind, and she was smiling innocently, so there wasn't even the slightest indication that she cared about me getting the prize over her-but even so, I couldn't push aside the anxiety welling up within me.

I swallowed several times and then said, "Miu, why did you jump? What happened to you?"

Still hugging the yellowed book to her chest fondly, she smiled even more demurely, even more openly.

"What do you think?"

"I have no idea."

Her smiled disappeared, and her clear eyes wavered sadly.

You probably wouldn't understand, Konoha...

Faced with the same gaze with which she had once murmured those words to me on the roof, I felt like my heart was ripping apart.

"I'm sorry. I really don't know. So please tell me...Why did you do something like that?"

At my fervent appeal, Miu whispered quietly, "What do you think it is that Campanella wished for?"

At that point she turned toward the window and fell silent.

I wonder what true happiness is.

I'm pretty sure, at least, that it's not having a lot of money or succeeding at work or marrying the right kind of guy.

After all, my folks are always complaining or getting angry or bemoaning everything, and they don't look happy at all.

And to say that you'd be happy as long as you had love, even if you're poor, is probably wrong, too.

After all, she can't be satisfied with love alone. She swears through tears that life is hard and enormously painful, and she calls me all the time to say, "I want money. I want money."

I wonder what happiness is.

I wonder where I would have to go to find it.

When I think about stuff like that, my heart goes pitch-black all of a sudden, and I get so scared I start shaking, and it feels like my head is going to crack open.

Beside me, you smile flippantly.

I'm sure you've never wondered what happiness is.

What do you want to do with your life? What kind of person do you hope you'll be when you grow up?

When I asked you that, you were instantly fl.u.s.tered, and you thought it over a full five minutes before you looked at me cautiously and said, "...I want to be a tree."

That was your answer.

Idiot! You're such an idiot! I want to beat you to death, you're such an idiot!

How can you be a middle schooler and want to be a tree when you grow up?! That's not human!

If you want to be a tree so badly, then go into the forest and hang yourself and turn yourself into fertilizer. Just quit being a human completely!

Whenever I see your moronic face, there are times I get so annoyed it kills me.

At those times, or when I get a phone call or when the trash can gets full, I always do it.

When I do it, my heart hurts like it's being crushed, I start sweating, I get extra sensitive, as if my entire body is one big nerve ending, and it feels crawly and burning.

Then there's dizziness. And nausea. And whatever.

When I get through it, the inside of my head is suddenly sunny, all the dirty stuff has gone away, and I feel perfectly clean.

Confidence surges up in me that I'm a strong, clever, composed, wonderful person, and my heart is on fire. Then the stories come to me one after another and beg to be written.

That's why I keep doing it.

I feel like the dizziness is gradually getting worse, but why should I care?

If I don't do it, I won't be me anymore.

Note: Reply to message.

She's trying desperately to hide it, but she's pretty scared. Wow, this one's weak.

This'll be a cakewalk.

B, don't talk to me! I'm sick of this!

I couldn't talk to Akutagawa the next day, either.

At lunchtime, I took my lunch box and went up to the book club's room in the western corner of the third floor.