Rainbirds Read online

  The rain was still heavy when I dragged the curtains open. If it carried on like this, I would never get anything done. Tomorrow, I decided, regardless of the weather, I’d head out to the place where my sister had died. I never gave a thought to what might be waiting.

  3

  The Man

  She Loved

  Had the

  Smell of

  Cigarette

  Smoke

  Gray clouds loomed in the sky, blocking the rising sun. The dark asphalt road glistened in the aftermath of yesterday’s downpour. I opened the guidebook and studied the map of Akakawa before slipping it inside my parka.

  A well-dressed lady in front of me teetered in her high heels. The pavement was narrow so I had to match her pace. I looked around at the row of still-closed shops. Nothing seemed familiar. Then again, I’d only visited the town once for a few hours, and that was seven years ago.

  On a windy day in April, my sister had picked me up at the train station. We went for a short walk before settling at a nearby café. I’d told my mother I was going to a friend’s house to study, so I could only stay for a few hours.

  While we waited for our order to come, my sister asked about my studies. Mostly, I gave one-word answers. School was nothing more than a routine.

  Then she asked, “So, do you have a girlfriend yet?”

  “I do,” I answered. Just like most seventeen-year-olds.

  She looked surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

  I didn’t bother mentioning that I’d already dated several girls, even before she’d left Tokyo. I wasn’t trying to hide it. She had never asked, and I didn’t see the need to bring it up.

  “What does she look like?” my sister asked.

  I shrugged. “She’s okay.”

  “Promise me you’ll introduce her to me soon.”

  “All right.”

  I never fulfilled this promise. In the end, I broke up with that girl before my sister had the chance to meet her, and it was the same with all the other girls until Nae.

  Nae was different. I told my sister about her before she asked. I had wanted them to meet. But now, my sister was gone, and I was in a bad situation with Nae. I hadn’t spoken to her since the Italian restaurant incident. My sister’s death had made our argument seem distant, unimportant. I didn’t feel like talking to Nae, or anyone. I wanted to be left alone, all by myself, in this unfamiliar town.

  I went to a flower shop—just a short walk from the Katsuragi Hotel—and asked the florist for lavender, my sister’s favorite flower.

  “I’m sorry, but we don’t have that,” she said. “May I know the occasion? Or perhaps who the flowers are for?”

  I hesitated before answering. “They’re for a woman.”

  Her face brightened. “A special lady? Let me see.” She picked up a bunch of tiny white flowers. “How about baby’s breath? They symbolize everlasting love.”

  I smiled. “Okay, I’ll get those.”

  The florist arranged them into a bouquet and tied that with a satin ribbon.

  Walking out of the shop, I felt a nip in the air. I could hear thunder in the distance. How could I forget it was already June? The six-week rainy season had started. I thrust my hands into my pockets and quickened my pace.

  I walked for another fifteen minutes before reaching a wide, gradually declining slope. On one side of it was a deep valley, and on the other lush greenery. Perhaps it was because I was early, but not a single vehicle passed by. From where I stood, it looked as if the path went on forever, but having seen the map, I knew the road would bend left toward the end and merge with the highway.

  The police had put up a sign calling for witnesses in the exact spot where my sister had died. Realistically, what were the odds? If anyone had seen the murder, they would have gone to the police long ago, unless they didn’t want to get involved. If that were the case, they would never come forward, no matter what the sign said.

  Life was such a mystery to me. Who would have guessed that my sister, of all people, would have gone so early, and so tragically? Though I hadn’t seen her in seven years, she was still the person closest to me. No one could ever take her place. My life would never be the same again.

  I crouched and placed the bouquet on the ground. A white trail of smoke rose up from behind the sign. What was that? I leaned forward to take a closer look. On the damp soil lay a Seven Stars cigarette.

  My sister used to love a man who smoked Seven Stars, though I wouldn’t have known he was a smoker if it hadn’t been for her.

  Mr. Tsuda was my homeroom teacher in the third grade. He was the youngest teacher in school, and one of the few who used tricks to make the lessons fun. It was no surprise he was popular. My sister first met him when she went to my school to collect my report card.

  “Ren, you did a great job,” she said on the way home. She always said that, regardless of the marks I got.

  “Thanks for coming,” I said.

  “Don’t mention it.” She ruffled my hair. “It’s what all big sisters do.”

  I brushed her off. “Stop that.” I knew she was lying. I hated my parents for making her do their duty, but I didn’t want to trouble my sister, so I said nothing.

  “Your teacher seems understanding,” she said. “He didn’t ask any unnecessary questions when he saw me.”

  “Yeah, he’s not bad.”

  “Mr. Tsuda looks too young to be a teacher. Do you know how old he is?”

  “He’s thirty-three.”

  “You know, he’s exactly my type. Tall, nice, with a friendly smile.”

  I stopped walking. “Don’t tell me you like him.”

  “Come on, you said he’s not bad.”

  “He’s too old.”

  She shrugged. “Age is just a number.”

  “And he’s getting married soon.”

  “Is that so?” She sighed, though she didn’t look too disappointed. “Too bad, but I guess it would be surprising for someone like him not to have a girlfriend.”

  “It’s not like he would like you. To him, you’re just a kid.”

  She nudged me. “Don’t be rude.”

  I glared at her, but I didn’t give much thought to the conversation afterward.

  When a classmate told me he had seen my sister with Mr. Tsuda, I dismissed him. “You must have mistaken someone else for her,” I said. Soon, several of my schoolmates told me they had seen them together. But still, I thought there was no way she would ever go out with him. By then, Mr. Tsuda was married. My sister wasn’t the type to play around. It had to be a misunderstanding.

  One day, I saw Mr. Tsuda and my sister together in a café in Koenji. They were laughing and smiling, not realizing I stood right across the street.

  I didn’t know my sister drank coffee. And Mr. Tsuda looked different. Instead of his usual formal clothes, he was in a T-shirt and jeans. But most disturbing of all was the look on my sister’s face. I’d never seen her so happy. She was different from her usual self, and I didn’t like it.

  Years later, I recognized this as the look of someone in love. But at the time, I didn’t know any better. Standing wide-eyed in the middle of the street, I felt like an invisible hand was stirring and knotting my gut. I couldn’t confront them. My feet were heavy. I went back home as if I’d never seen them, but the memory constantly returned.

  Whenever I saw Mr. Tsuda at school, the scene would replay itself in my mind and the awful feeling would return. I tried not to think about it, but it was no use. I figured I might as well bring it up.

  “Do you still like Mr. Tsuda?” I asked my sister.

  We were having beef spaghetti for lunch, just the two of us. It seemed like the right time. Funny how I still remember what we ate that day after all these years.
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br />   Her expression didn’t change. “Why do you ask?”

  “You told me he was your type.”

  “He is my type. Don’t you think we would make a good couple?”

  I was quiet, but she continued to look at me, awaiting a response. She was challenging me.

  “He’s old.” I twisted the spaghetti around my fork. “It’d look like you were dating your father.”

  “Don’t be silly. For that to happen, he’d have to have become a father at sixteen.”

  “You just admitted he’s almost twice your age.”

  “It’s not such a great difference when you’re older,” she insisted. “Like a fifty-three-year-old woman and a sixty-nine-year-old man.”

  I couldn’t believe she’d said that. “But you’re seventeen, and he’s thirty-three. It’s disgusting.”

  She stared at me.

  “And he’s married,” I added.

  My sister stood abruptly and left. I shrugged and continued eating. In my mind, I’d stopped her from sinking deeper into a problematic relationship. Some things are not meant to be.

  The next day, she acted as if we never had the conversation. She said nothing, and I said nothing. Neither of us brought it up again. Everything was good, or so I thought, until a few weeks later when she cooked an extra portion during lunch.

  “I can’t join you for dinner tonight,” she said. “I’ve made curry rice. Can you heat it up yourself?”

  I nodded. “I’ll manage.”

  It was unusual for her not to have dinner with me, but it didn’t occur to me to ask where she was planning to go. I should have guessed something was amiss.

  Around six o’clock, I reheated the food my sister had cooked. My plate looked small on the table, and the curry rice didn’t taste as good as usual. I scraped half of it into the garbage bin before starting my homework. Spreading my books over the whole table, I tried to fill up the empty spaces. I studied until I could no longer stay awake. She still wasn’t home when I went to bed.

  A noise woke me up in the middle of the night.

  I got up and traced it to the kitchen. The lights were off and the curtains were shut, but my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. My sister was sitting on the floor. I ran to her.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she whispered. “I’m fine, Ren. Go back to sleep.”

  Even in the dark, I could see glistening streaks on her face. “Why are you crying?”

  “I’m not.” She wiped her face with her wrists. “I’m not crying.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.”

  I clenched my fists. “It’s him, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t answer, but continued crying. I returned to my room and got dressed. I was on my way out when my sister grabbed my arm.

  “Where are you going?” she asked.

  “I’m going to find Mr. Tsuda,” I said. “I’ll make him apologize.”

  She looked down. “Ren, he’s done nothing wrong. It was my idea, and I have no regrets. No one needs to apologize, so please don’t make things more complicated than they are.”

  I tried to pull my hand away, but she held on tightly. I wondered where that strength came from. She wasn’t much bigger than me.

  We stood near the door. Neither of us said a word. The cicadas were loud in the warm summer night.

  “Let go of my hand, will you?” I eventually said. “I won’t go anywhere.”

  My sister released her grip and we returned to the kitchen. She sat at the table and buried her face in her arms. She didn’t make any sound, but her shoulders were shaking.

  What was I supposed to do? Should I have wrapped my arms around her shoulders? That would have been awkward, so in the end, I did nothing.

  That night, she cried herself out without a sound. I’d never seen anyone cry like that before, not even in a television drama. It must have been a few years’ worth of tears.

  When the sun shone through the gaps of the thick brocade curtain, she wiped her face and asked me, “What time is it?”

  I glanced at the clock behind her. “A quarter past five.” Parroting her usual question, I asked her, “Tell me, did you learn anything?”

  She mustered a smile. “I learned that he smokes Seven Stars.”

  “You’re weird,” I said, “or stupid, or maybe both. You’re weird and stupid.”

  My sister burst into laughter. Her expression told me she was sad and happy at the same time.

  She got up and stretched. “Can I make you some breakfast?”

  “Yes, please,” I said, feeling glad the night was over. “And it’d better be good. Thanks to you, I didn’t get enough sleep.”

  My sister laughed and cooked omurice. She drew a smiley face with the ketchup, and that image helped me graduate from elementary school without punching my math teacher.

  I knew Mr. Tsuda didn’t have anything to do with her any more. I doubted he knew she had left Tokyo, let alone that she was dead. He might not even remember her. Yet the Seven Stars cigarette brought a strange comfort.

  The cigarette was halfway burnt. Whoever left it had been there not long ago. I looked around but saw no one.

  Across the valley stood rows of modern two-story houses. All bland and compact, with hipped roofs and stone garden walls, they gave only a passing nod to traditional Japanese architecture.

  I imagined a family of four living inside one of those houses. Father, mother, and two children. The father was a surgeon, and the mother was a housewife who loved baking cookies. The older daughter played the piano, the younger son loved Verdy Kawasaki. How did it feel to be a part of a picture-perfect family? If we had been born into such a family, would my sister still be around?

  Drops of water pattered onto my skin. Ominous black clouds covered the sky and the rumbles of thunder signaled an approaching downpour.

  I flicked up the hood of my parka and ran down the slope to a gazebo overlooking the valley. I wasn’t the only one seeking shelter. A girl in a white pullover and black leggings was already there. Her long, wavy hair fluttered in the strengthening wind. I smiled at her, but she turned away. Sitting on the bench, I wiped droplets of water off my hands. The rain was getting heavier. It didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon.

  The girl took a box of Seven Stars from her pocket. My heart skipped a beat. Could she be the one whose cigarette I had seen earlier? She put one to her lips and lit it with a gold Zippo lighter. Narrowing her eyes, she took a deep puff. The smell of tobacco mingled with the scent of rain. She blew the smoke straight into the wall of rain a few inches from her face, twisting the cigarette between her long, slim fingers. She was a real beauty. Mid-twenties? Early twenties? No, even younger, too young to be smoking.

  She looked at me and I averted my eyes. My palms had begun to sweat, so I wiped them inside my pockets.

  “Want one?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t smoke.” I’d tried it a few times in high school, but it reminded me of Mr. Tsuda, so I could never bring myself to enjoy it.

  The girl continued to smoke facing the rain. Maybe it was the atmosphere, but she seemed shrouded in an air of elegance. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  When the cigarette was almost finished, she dropped it on the floor and used her Converse sneaker to crush it. Then she lit another. She did it over and over. A chain smoker. I counted eight cigarettes in total. She walked away when the rain was about to stop. Left alone, I lingered for a while before returning to the hotel.

  Somehow, I was unable to shake her presence from my mind. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve mistaken it for love at first sight. But no, it wasn’t that simple.

  4

  How

  I

  Ended

  Up

  atr />
  Yotsuba

  My sister had worked in a four-story building of an educational complex. It would be hard to miss the place. A huge sign in front bore the name yotsuba, and testimonials from successful students were displayed prominently behind the glass panels.

  A group of girls in sailor uniforms entered the school. I took a deep breath and followed them. When the automatic glass door opened, a gust of cold air blew into my face. I detected the scent of jasmine.

  The reception area was filled with a couple of plastic chairs and a two-seater sofa. A plump older lady sat behind the counter.

  “Miss Abe?” I asked.

  She stood and looked at me through her glasses. “Are you Mr. Ishida?”

  “Yes.” I mustered a smile.

  She stepped forward past the counter. “I’ll take you to the office.”

  We climbed all the way up the staircase, jostling against the students. They were laughing and teasing each other, alive and carefree. I found it strange I’d once been like them.

  The fourth floor was an open office area. Low dividers separated rows of desks piled with books and papers. My sister’s workspace was located near the window. Compared to the others, her desk was neat and tidy, but it looked impersonal. Not a single photograph or plush toy. No one would be able to guess she used to occupy the place. Anyone could have sat there.

  “Take your time,” Abe said. “If you want anything to drink, feel free to help yourself from the faculty lounge. The principal is still in a meeting. As soon as he’s done, he’ll get Miss Ishida’s file for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She bowed and took her leave.

  Sitting at my sister’s desk, I flipped through her documents. Teaching handbooks, student worksheets, and notebooks. Which ones were hers, and which belonged to her workplace? I had no idea what to take and what to leave.

  I stood to stretch, only to realize people were staring at me. One of them was a petite woman sitting nearby. When our eyes met, she quickly shifted her gaze down to her keyboard. They all kept their heads low, and it suddenly felt like I was the one watching them. Taking a deep breath, I returned to my seat. I could still feel their sidelong glances.