It was time to go.
Nori resisted the urge to whimper. She had no way of knowing when she would be allowed to see Akira again. The knowledge that he was under the same roof but that she could no more access him than if he were on the far side of the moon seemed like a perverse practical joke.
She bowed once more, careful not to look at him as she rose up. She did not trust herself.
“Oyasumi nasai. Good night, Obocchama.”
“Good night.”
Nori swallowed the bile that had suddenly accumulated in her mouth. She turned around and walked back to where Akiko stood, taking the hand that was offered to her without question. Her caretaker offered up a mildly apologetic half smile.
Nori did not return it. She allowed herself to be led away.
“Oh, Noriko,” Akira called after her, as if remembering some thought.
She turned at once to face him. Her eagerness must have looked downright cartoonish.
“Yes?”
“You don’t need to call me young master. It’s weird.”
The wind deflated from Nori’s sails so rapidly, it was a wonder she didn’t crumple to the floor in a heap.
“Hai. What shall I call you, then?”
Akira’s brow furrowed slightly, and once again, he shrugged. “Whatever you like.”
Akiko tugged firmly on Nori’s hand. There would be trouble for them both if they lingered here much longer.
She continued her march forward, up the first set of stairs, then the second, and finally the third. Akiko excused herself and Nori was left alone.
Her attic seemed so much smaller than it had before.
When she removed her new clothing and put it away, she did so briskly, without taking the time to admire the fine craftsmanship. It no longer interested her.
It seemed so deeply silly that she had ever cared about the new dresses her grandmother gave her from time to time. They were just objects—bolts of dyed fabric. They could never be enough to fill a life.
She reached behind her head and unbound her hair, tying the ribbon her mother had given her around her neck as she sometimes did. She did not like to have them too far from her. Knowing her luck, if she let them out of her sight, they would be gone when she woke up in the morning.
Nori scrambled onto her bed, standing up and pressing her face against the cool glass of the window. It was too dark to see outside, but her mind’s eye had memorized the backyard so meticulously that she did not need her sight to see it. She trailed her pinkie finger in the condensation, scrawling the letters of her name as she had done hundreds of times before.
No-ri-ko.
She scrawled the letters over and over again, until she had all but run out of space. The repetition was her familiar lullaby. She felt her grip on consciousness beginning to slip and was instantly filled with relief.
Though it often eluded her, she liked sleep. It presented her with something that her waking moments perpetually denied her: freedom.
She lay down and slid underneath the warm covers. Just as she was about to drift off, a thought occurred to her. Tentatively, she traced a different name onto the misty glass, directly beneath her own: Oniichan. Elder brother.
CHAPTER THREE
HIKARI (LIGHT)
Kyoto, Japan
January 1951
Nori had once read in one of her science textbooks about the concept of gravitational pull. It had made little sense to her at the time, but she grasped the basic principle: the small revolves around the large. The earth revolves around the sun. And the moon revolves around the earth. It was part of the grand hierarchy of existence.
No matter how lonely, how frightened, how miserable she had ever been on any given day, it had never once crossed her mind to leave the attic unattended. Never. Her grandmother felt no need to lock the door, so absolute was her confidence that her charge would never dare to venture past it.
Nori’s obedience lasted exactly six days after Akira’s arrival. If it had not been for her extreme reluctance to disobey the parting words of her mother, it would have lasted half that long. As it was, an entire week was fairly impressive.
Even the most absolute obedience gave way to necessity eventually. It was like giving a starving dog a command to stay and placing food on the other side of the room. The dog would eventually forget the command entirely.
Her mother had told her that the only thing more important than obedience was the air she breathed. But a new center of gravity had come to the house on the hill. And it had somehow managed to suck the air out of everything outside of a certain radius. One could only survive so long without returning to the center.
And the way Nori saw it, she was running out of air.
She spent those six days pacing back and forth, refusing to do anything but eat and bathe. Her books sat untouched on the shelf; her hair had gone wild and branched from her head like the leaves on a tree.
She ate only enough to keep the hunger pangs at bay. She replayed her meeting with Akira over and over again in her head, tweaking every little imperfection. Rehearsing conversation was a game she liked to play with herself.
Next time she saw Akira, it would be perfect. Next time, she would be prepared. Akira had to approve of her. That was the test her mother had laid for her. But that was not the reason she felt as if her very flesh were tearing from her bones in an attempt to get closer to him. She was not quite sure why she had formed such an instant attachment. Perhaps it had something to do with being related. Or perhaps it was because God was finally trying to tell her something.
She waited until Akiko brought her dinner on the sixth day to make her first move. This too had been carefully rehearsed.
“Hamachi tonight? Is it a special occasion?”
The maid shook her head. “I don’t believe so, little madam. I think your grandmother is just in good spirits of late.”
“I hope that my brother is adjusting well. Is he happy with everything?”
“I believe so, as much as he could be. It must be difficult for him.”
Nori paused, for the first time remembering the unhappy reason he was here in the first place. She wished she could bring herself to feel more guilt than she did. It was unseemly to take pleasure in her brother’s presence when she knew it was the death of his father that had brought him to her.
“How did he die?” she inquired as Akiko poured her a cup of warm milk. For the very first time, she was tempted to disclose how much she hated warm milk, but then thought better of it. She received a bemused look in answer to her question.
“You are talkative today.”
“I wish to make his stay here as pleasant as possible. I just don’t want to make any blunders, is all.”