* * *
Very few things would remain clear in her mind in the years to come. The passing years would force her memories of her time in her grandmother’s house, like her memories of the time before, into a space too small to hold them, and they would meld together like watercolors on a page.
But the memory of this moment would remain, uncorrupted and undiminished.
He had a perfectly heart-shaped face with the same color eyes her mother had. His lashes were long, almost feminine. His lips had a slight fullness to them, and his skin was so pallid that his black hair came as a shock to the eye. And yet, of all his features, she loved his nose the most because it was exactly the same as hers. He wore a loose-fitting white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone and a pair of black slacks. The way he stood indicated that he was used to being in front of people; the slight drop of his shoulders hinted at a casual indifference to his surroundings.
Nori looked away then, blinking rapidly as she focused her gaze on the floor. She could feel his eyes on her.
She wanted to become something else then, something more deserving of view. Under the intense scrutiny of that gaze, she suddenly felt nude, though the grip she had on the skirt of her dress assured her otherwise.
Because there was nothing else to do, nothing her mind could possibly conceive of to say that would be significant enough for this moment, she simply did as she was told.
She lowered herself into a stiff bow.
It seemed incredible to her that she had ever possessed the power of speech, so far removed was that ability from her grasp now. All she could do was wait: for seconds or years, depending on his preference.
“You’re Noriko?”
She straightened up, but still, it took her a moment to fully realize she had been spoken to. This voice was unfamiliar, distinctly unfamiliar in her mental reserve of sounds. It was a quiet voice, soft but silky enough to indicate frequent use. She had nothing to compare it to, nothing to make the impact any easier on her senses. Her mind had no choice but to reluctantly absorb the foreign sound and, slowly but surely, give it a name: Akira’s voice. Her brother’s voice.
“Yes,” she managed to respond, in a voice so clear that it actually startled her. “I am.”
It seemed that at some point, her body had reached its maximum capacity for panic. As a result, it ceased to register. She felt herself go blissfully numb.
Akira’s brow furrowed slightly, but he did not appear to be vexed. It seemed more like a habit than a reaction to anything she had done.
“They tell me that you’re supposed to be my sister.”
Nori could feel her nails cutting into her palms through the fabric of the dress. And still, she could muster no feeling because no feeling could ever be adequate for this.
“You look like her,” Akira remarked casually. He took a step towards her before seemingly thinking better of it and halting. “Or at least, as much as you could.”
“I don’t remember,” Nori managed. “I can’t remember her face. I try, but I can’t.”
The boy in front of her looked as if he might say something but stopped short. He took two more steps towards her. Nori could feel him towering over her; he was at least a foot and a half taller than she was.
The ticking of the grandfather clock beside her seemed obscenely loud all of a sudden. It filled up her eardrums, selfishly hogging their attention.
“What year were you born?”
Nori let out a startled little hiccup. Akira waited patiently for a response, seemingly unperturbed by her stammering. It took her a moment to do the math, scaling backwards in time to find her origin.
“Nineteen forty,” she finally concluded, flushing with pride at being able to figure it out. Her birthday was one of those things she didn’t think about very often. She knew it was when the warm months came, but it didn’t interest her much.
“Nineteen forty,” Akira repeated bleakly. “Just before things got really bad. Makes sense.”
Nori’s mounting confusion must have been palpable because Akira shrugged his shoulders, a distinctly Western gesture. She knew because she had read it in one of her books about manners.
“Go figure. They haven’t told you anything, have they? About what happened when you were born?”
Nori was completely unequipped for this line of questioning. She just looked at him, gaping helplessly and trying to rack her brains for an answer that would please him. Predictably, she came up with nothing.
“I’m sorry . . . I don’t understand.”
Akira shrugged again. Nori felt her heart attempt to vacate her chest and drop into her socks.
“I can read,” she blurted out. The color began to rise in her cheeks. She had hoped to conceal her trademark knack for annoying those around her for just a little while longer.
Akira blinked at her. “What?”
“I can read,” she repeated, like a total imbecile. She had already botched the thing completely; it seemed only logical to keep going. “I read books about Tokyo. I know that you used to live there. Kyoto is not very interesting in comparison, I’m afraid. But I don’t really know because I’ve never been into the city. I’ve . . . never been anywhere, really, but you can find things to do, if you try. Did you know there is a summer festival coming up? Akiko-san . . . Akiko-san is one of the maids here, she is very nice . . . everyone who works here will be so happy you are here. Grandmother has always been sorry not having a boy in the house, she will be thrilled. But anyway, Akiko-san sometimes brings me the newspaper when everyone else is done with it. I know there was a war going on before I was born . . . when I was little. I know . . . that’s part of the reason I look like I do. I have something to do with that war. But I’m a good girl, for the most part. Okaasan said so herself. When she comes back, maybe I can ask her about the rest. But it’s good now because we’re in the same place and she can get us both at the same time. Oh, and we have a pond in the backyard, with fish and everything. It really isn’t so bad here, I mean. It’s not so bad.”
She finally brought herself to look up at him. He met her gaze calmly, his porcelain face impossible to read. There was a serenity about his expression that Nori could not fully grasp. His demeanor, his stature . . . all were things that would ordinarily have frightened her. But he didn’t.
“You can read,” he repeated after her. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve said he sounded slightly amused.
Her skin burned so hot she wondered if he could feel it radiating off her. “Yes,” she whispered.
She could sense that Akiko had reentered the room. The maid stood dutifully behind her, pressed against the door. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like Akiko was waiting on Nori’s convenience. But Akiko never acted of her own volition. There was a greater hand behind it pulling the puppet strings and the message was clear.