Book Girl and the Captive Fool (15 page)

How before she moved, Kanomata had come to see her and
apologized, leaving the language arts textbook and rabbit with her, saying “I want you to give these back to Akutagawa.”

“What a Goody Two-shoes coming to apologize to the person she’d injured. Or maybe she was just exceptionally dim-witted.”

Ice-cold rage showed in Sarashina’s eyes.

“I cut off the rabbit’s head with my chisel and cut ‘Tangerines’ out of the book. I was in the library once and heard her say, ‘My favorite story in the textbook is Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s story “Tangerines.” I mean, his name is Akutagawa!’ Ever since then, I’d hated that story. And then I cut out the ‘Tangerines’ pages and sent them and the rabbit to Kazushi’s house under her name. I… couldn’t throw out the rest of the book, so I kept it.”

The last words alone she whispered with a touch of sadness.

Kanomata hadn’t been the one to send the cut-out pages of “Tangerines” and the decapitated rabbit to Akutagawa. But it was still a bitter discovery for him.

It may actually have been better if they
had
been sent as a rejection from Kanomata.

Akutagawa knit his brows together deeply, tensed his jaw, and looked at Sarashina.

Her face had grown calm again. She gazed at Akutagawa and said, “I hate Goody Two-shoes like Kanomata who pretend to be so fragile… But I didn’t mind becoming her if that was the kind of girl you liked.

“Kanomata was always,
always
interfering with you and me. In elementary school, she was stuck to you like glue and flaunted how close you two were. She’s still taunting me. ‘Akutagawa is on my side.’ And ‘This is payback for hurting me.’ Even though it was her fault! She just won’t go away! I can still feel what it felt like when I cut her. That’s why I… became Kanomata. If I was her, there’d be no reason to fear her.

“And when I cut up books like she did, you came running,
didn’t you, Kazushi? I was so happy. Every time I cut a book, you came. When I cut the rabbit, you ripped it out of my hands with a waxen face and told me, ‘I’ll take care of this somehow.’ You were so worried about me, weren’t you? You told Igarashi, ‘She doesn’t want to see you. Don’t come near her again,’ so I knew everything would be all right. There’s nothing to interfere with us now, Kazushi. But we still can’t be together? You’re going to break up with me? Do I have to spend my birthday by myself next week?”

Akutagawa maintained his pained silence. I could tell he was conflicted, unable to cast off the girl he’d hurt to this extent. My breathing became strained. Tohko was looking at Akutagawa sadly.

Despair colored Sarashina’s eyes.

“Maybe there’s someone else you like? The girl who had this rabbit?” she murmured, putting one hand into a pocket, then thrusting a pink rabbit doll at Akutagawa.

Tohko gasped in surprise. My eyes widened, too.

Was that—?

“You didn’t want to be in a play with me, but you’ll be in one for the book club? Why?
Because Kotobuki is in it? She
is
beautiful and
so
popular with the boys.
”

So it
was
Kotobuki’s rabbit! Sarashina had stolen it!

“Tell me! Do you like her?! Are you going out with her?! Did you give her this rabbit?!”

She set the rabbit down beside the bookshelf, then violently stabbed it with the chisel.

A gash yawned open on the rabbit’s belly. She yanked the chisel to one side, cutting it apart.

“If so, I’ll cut Nanase Kotobuki into ground beef!!!”

She howled, the chisel still plunged into the rabbit.

“I’ll cut apart any girl—any one of them!—that you like, Kazushi!!!”

Akutagawa’s shoulders were trembling. He bowed his head, then lifted it again immediately and shouted, “That’s enough!! Just stop!”

Surprise showed on Sarashina’s face.

Furrowing his brow and staring back at her, his breathing strained, Akutagawa continued with his biting words.

“I have no romantic feelings for you whatsoever. I can’t keep covering for you anymore, and I’m not going to answer your summons.”

Then he sucked in a short breath, his face looking tortured past its limits.

“Don’t come near me again. I don’t want to see you.”

As he spoke, Sarashina’s face transformed into something terribly sad. The rabbit dropped from the end of the chisel, and a tense silence filled the library.

“You finally…
gave me your answer.
”

Her voice was frail yet somehow relieved.

I was taken aback to see a sorrowful smile spread over her lips.

I’d seen a smile like that before.

It was the calm smile that had come over Miu’s face on a summer day, on the windswept rooftop, her ponytail and the skirt of her uniform flying as she turned.

“Konoha, I don’t think you would ever understand.”

Miu falling.

Me screaming.

Something hot and sharp stabbing into my brain.

“No! Sarashina!”

I ran toward her. As I watched, she clutched the chisel in both hands and slashed it across her throat, a smile still on her face.

Time stopped.

Akutagawa was unable to move, his eyes wide; Tohko stood frozen, both hands over her mouth, and Takeda watched it all with a cool expression.

The fresh blood that spilled dyed Sarashina’s body red.

She crumpled to the floor.

“Don’t move her!” Tohko ordered as I bent over Sarashina. Takeda got her cell phone out of her pocket and called an ambulance. Tohko said, “I’ll tell a teacher,” and ran from the library.

“Sarashina… Sarashina!”

As I called to her, her eyes opened slightly and her blood-slick throat trembled. With much halting, she murmured, “You should have… told me… sooner… I’m not that bright… I didn’t know…”

Sarashina seemed to whisper,
“I’m sorry.”

Shock coursed over Akutagawa’s face as he stood frozen. He knelt down in the pool of blood, gripped his head in both hands, and he screamed.

“It’s… it’s always like this! It’s always wrong! I swore I would never get it wrong again! I never wanted to hurt anyone this way again! If it was my fault you went crazy, I thought I had to take responsibility for it—but I was wrong—I drove you to this, Sarashina. I was wrong again! It’s just like elementary school. I’m still a fool! Help her—help Sarashina… Help… please… Please help.”

Akutagawa went on shouting, trembling. It was like I was seeing myself after Miu jumped off the roof.

“It’s all right—everything’s all right,” I said.

My head was spinning, my throat burned, my mouth was dry, and I had trouble breathing. I couldn’t have an attack now.

“It’s all right. It’ll be all right, Akutagawa.”

I put an arm around his shoulders, which were far broader and
bulkier than my own, and repeated “it’s all right” over and over, the only thing I knew how to say, while I had not the slightest faith that it really would be all right. I was shaking just like he was, but I simply prayed that Sarashina would be all right, that this nightmarish moment would pass quickly.

Takeda watched the two of us, wailing and trembling beside Sarashina, lying bloody on the floor, with an empty expression on her face.

Help me, Mother. What should I do?

Your son has hurt someone again and thrown people’s lives into disarray. Will I always be so foolish?

Sarashina fell to the floor, and her body was dyed red by the flow of her blood.

She gave me a pure smile and said, “You finally…
gave me your answer,
” then slashed her throat. If I’d told her how I felt sooner, this wouldn’t have happened. But no, even before that—if I’d refused when Igarashi asked me to bring her to the next archery match.

I wasn’t sure what to do then, either. Could I be a matchmaker? Even though Sarashina was actually Konishi?!

In elementary school, I saddled her with a false accusation, cornered her, and drove her crazy.

I heard that her parents’ divorce stemmed from that incident. It was as if I was the one who had broken Konishi’s home.

When I started high school and ran into her again, I felt like my heart would stop. She didn’t talk about what had happened, so I didn’t either. But just being in the same room with her was torture. I felt like I was being punished.

So really, I wanted to refuse Igarashi’s suggestion. But he
asked so many times I knew he was serious, and since I respected him as a person, I invited Sarashina to the match and introduced her to Igarashi. It was also a mistake to let her confide in me that he had been stalking her and to agree to act like I was her boyfriend. Igarashi quit the team because of that, and she slowly started to get crazier and crazier.

In the end, I was tied to my past crimes: I couldn’t escape them, no matter how I struggled. I felt like I still needed to atone for what I’d done, as if Konishi and Kanomata still hadn’t forgiven me for the mistakes I’d made in the past.

I was desperate. I worked hard to make amends for my crime, to be smarter so I wouldn’t make a mistake this time. But it didn’t work. The actions I took, the path I chose, all of it, everything—it was all wrong.

How can I apologize to Kanomata, to Konishi, to Ms. Momoki, to Igarashi, to Sarashina?

I’m just going in circles in a dark, impenetrable maze. My ears are roaring, my body feels like it’s burning, and my head feels like it’s going to split. I can’t even stand up straight.

Mother, if you can’t help me, at least judge me. I want you to decide for me. Even if your judgment is death, I will obey.

Please, Mother: Answer me. Mother! Mother!

An ambulance took Sarashina to a nearby hospital where she was treated. That was three days ago.

If the cut had been just a little farther to one side, it would have all been over for her, but she was treated quickly enough. The cut wasn’t as deep as it had looked, so she wasn’t in any danger, and they said she would be able to go home in a week. Maki was the one who came to tell us all this.

That day, Tohko had gone with Sarashina to the hospital. The rest of us went to the principal’s office to explain what had happened; then we waited on a sofa for news from the hospital.

That was when Maki appeared and told us, “Tohko called me. The girl’s all right.

“And there was that bloodshed just the other day, too. Unbelievable. How can so many problems be cropping up at a
school
? It’s not easy to hush things up so they don’t reach the students. Still, I’m sure my grandfather will handle it just fine. You can all go home now. I doubt you’re in the mood to go to classes or your clubs. I’ll have you driven home.” Looking over at Akutagawa, she said, “That boy there in particular seems like he wouldn’t
make it home. How would it look if he threw himself off a bridge on the way home?”

I didn’t think that was very funny.

But that was how worn out and ragged Akutagawa was. After a temporary descent into madness, he had become as mute as a stone and only barely responded to even the teachers’ questions. His twisted face and strained breathing told me that he still blamed himself, and I worried about what he would do to the point that anxiety squeezed my chest. If the worst had happened to Sarashina, it would have destroyed his mind.

That night I got a phone call from Tohko. Sarashina had mostly calmed down, and Tohko had been able to talk with her a little.

But even hearing that didn’t cheer me up.

Three days passed after that, and the culture fair was closing in next week.

Rehearsals for the play had been on hiatus the whole time. Tohko and Takeda had been busy helping out with preparations for their classes’ events. I’d seen Tohko yesterday, scampering down the hall, her hair in weird, uneven braids.

Kotobuki wanted to know why Akutagawa and I had left class during lunch and then gone home early three days before, but I only told her that I hadn’t felt well and didn’t talk about what happened.

“Then I’ll ask Akutagawa,” she had said in a huff. But shock broke over her face when she saw how wasted Akutagawa looked when he came to school, and she hadn’t said a word about it since.

Though I doubted that he spared even a moment for comfort during his self-recrimination, Akutagawa dutifully attended classes, never missing school and always on time.

When Miu jumped off the roof, I’d shut myself up in my room. But it looked like Akutagawa had shut himself up in a room inside his heart.

If I talked to him, he would answer, but he always looked pained, as if he was thinking about something else.

Tohko came to our class during lunch.

“I was thinking we need to start rehearsals back up again soon. How do you feel about that?” she asked Akutagawa gently, considerate of his feelings.

“All right. I’ll be at the auditorium after school today,” he answered indifferently.

For the first time in ages, we began dress rehearsals, but the mood was strange.

Everyone was thinking about Akutagawa, wondering if he was all right, and our voices had a tendency to fall into monotone.

Akutagawa went through Omiya’s lines with a dark expression on his face. There was none of the tension that had been in his voice before, and he had almost no inflection when he spoke. But he continued to recite the lines, as if he was carrying out a duty he had been charged with.

During the climactic exchange of letters between Omiya and Sugiko, Akutagawa suddenly broke off in his dialogue.

In the scene, Omiya has gone abroad, and Sugiko has been sending him letters confessing her passion and begging, “Please accept me.” Omiya has always responded, “Please, love Nojima, not me,” but he inadvertently reveals his true feelings and accepts her.

“I wondered whether to send this letter or if I had better not. I think it would be better not to. However—”

No matter how many times Akutagawa and Kotobuki did it, it was the same. Like a broken CD, as soon as he reached that line, his voice broke off.

It happened again the next day and the day after that. It was too painful to see him struggle to force the line out, his brow deeply knit and his eyes narrowed. I couldn’t watch.

So it went, until the last day before the culture fair.

When I got to the auditorium, Kotobuki was onstage, practicing her lines by herself.

“Please don’t be angry, Mister Omiya. It took all of my courage to write to you.”

She faced the audience with an intent gaze and pleaded ardently. She looked remarkably vulnerable, nothing like her usual self.

“I await your reply, but still it has not come. I begin to worry. Are you angry, I wonder? Please have pity on me and write back.”

She jumped when she noticed me and blushed.

“G-geez. Why didn’t you say something when you came in?”

“Sorry. You were just so wrapped up in your rehearsal. Where’s everyone else?”

Kotobuki looked away and muttered an answer. “I guess they’re busy with their classes… The performance is tomorrow, though. Will Akutagawa be all right?”

Her face looked suddenly timid again as her eyes darted back to me.

My face gloomy, I answered, “He said he would go on, but…”

I knew why he stopped during that line. He could see his love triangle with Igarashi and Sarashina in Omiya’s situation, and even if it was only a play, Akutagawa was afraid to betray his best friend Nojima and accept Sugiko, the woman Nojima loved. It frightened him because by betraying Igarashi and listening to Sarashina’s plea, he had driven both Igarashi and Sarashina into a corner.

Was this the right choice? Wasn’t this wrong? That anxiety made him stumble over the line.

Should we be forcing Akutagawa to go onstage in that case?
I wondered. If he froze up during the show, wouldn’t that just add to the indelible wounds he already had?

Kotobuki was probably worried, too. She looked away and hung her head.

I set my bag down in a seat without a word.

“… Hey,” Kotobuki murmured, still turned away. “Practice with me until everyone gets here. Can you read Omiya’s lines for me? I want to get a feel for the last scene.”

I nodded and climbed onto the stage.

“Okay. Let’s start from the part where they’re exchanging letters,” I said.

“… Right. What about your script?”

“I’ve pretty much got it memorized.”

“… Oh.”

We stood at either end of the stage.

Kotobuki gazed at me with vulnerable, dewy eyes.

“Please don’t be angry, Mister Omiya. It took all of my courage to write you.”

Was she acting? Her voice was trembling slightly.

The slight upward turn of her eyes, the way she held her hands clasped in front of her, she was the exact image of an innocent young girl summoning all her courage to tell the person she liked how she felt. I felt strange.

For some reason, my heart started pounding.

Was it beating faster because of Kotobuki?

It couldn’t have been that, but an anxious, tender feeling welled up inside me.

“I await your reply, but still it has not come. I begin to worry. Are you angry, I wonder? Please have pity on me and write back.”