Author’s notes
In the last chapter, I put forth a joke about “powdering Sachiko’s nose,” but did not explain it. It’s rather my own private joke, I realize, so this was not entirely fair to you. Perhaps some of you caught the Pulp Fiction reference, but this wasn’t my intended interpretation. Rather, the joke was based on my own observations about life. Namely, that “powdering one’s nose” is, in fact, Lady for “taking a shit.”
…Ba-dum-kchhhhh. Weak payoff, brother. Don’t quit your day job, I know.
And now, on with the show!
The higher you are / the farther you fall
The house that Jack built #1
Those next few moments were a suture for a long-aching burn inside of Sachiko. Like a weak, arthritic joint or an old scar that never quite healed right, something in Sachiko had ached, had been aching since she left Lillian, to the point where sometimes it physically burned at her, underneath her breast; a powerful, gnawing pain that would sometimes last for hours on end. But like that old proverbial bullet wound, even if it hurt constantly, it only really burned sometimes, on those odd days when it was about to rain, when she sat on it wrong, when she saw
a happy family
something sticky-sweet on television. The old hurt never really gave her cause for thought, nor pause except in her most private moments, when she might nurse it for a while, but if she had thought on it long and hard—which she had not—she might have really taken note of it, rather than accepting it as something that was simply a part of her life, and as far as she was concerned, always had been. It had become something so normal to her that when it suddenly vanished in a single moment of fluttering stomachs and interlocked bodies, she felt as though the entire world had suddenly stopped leaning on her shoulders and found some other new sap to roll on for a while. All of her pain evaporated, all of her worry and doubt and
hate
tension, and she felt her whole body relax, like that old war veteran after a small operation finally found that old wood splinter that had lodged itself in his shoulder that he had been calling a bullet from a Nazi sniper for so long.
Suddenly, the world didn’t seem quite so bleak after all.
And then, all at once, she became aware of everybody else’s gaze. Not on her, of course. That would have been hopelessly impolite. Rather, the entire room, save for that one blank patch where she and Yumi stood, had become the target of her guests’ interest, and she and her petite soeur had become that impossible anti-space, the blank spot in the universe. It was polite, but it was
what the hell do you think you’re doing in front of all of your guests your expression is piling at your feet in a sludge
agonizing.
Sachiko’s family hosted a lot of gatherings for a lot of very rich, important men, which meant that they also played host to a lot of very young,
more
beautiful trophy wives. Because of the transient nature of that lifestyle, there was never a shortage of weddings to gossip on and ooh and aah over, and there was never a shortage of newlyweds—of horny old men, desperate to sire a child and prove to themselves that they weren’t really that old, and of beautiful young women who know that the size of their alimony check would one day be directly related to the extent that they put out for their husbands. So there was always the one couple. The one
dingy
at least Suguru isn’t
old man who simply could not keep his paws off of his new wife, especially after the sake had made a few rounds around the party. And as soon as his control slipped, people simply found other places to look, quietly thinking, what a disgusting old man and saying what a lovely couple they were, all the while not really paying attention to what they had been doing at all. He became the center of attention in the room, the heretic you were forbidden to so much as look at.
And now, suddenly, Sachiko felt that man. That dirty old man, unable to keep his paws off of the pretty women, simply because he thought he had the money for it. She released her petite soeur immediately, bringing her out to shoulder’s length so quickly that it was almost a shove, and smiled as best she could at her. All at once, light ceased to slide around her and she became a living, visible, tangible entity again. At the same time, Yumi’s open, ear-to-ear smile faded a little as she saw something she couldn’t quite interpret in Sachiko’s expression.
“It’s good to see you, Yumi,” Sachiko said politely, mustering her strength, smiling, and forcing herself to forget about that old, dirty
Not thinking about that.
“It’s good to see you, onee-sama,” Yumi replied with equal politeness, and the kind of emptiness in her voice that signified that she was becoming a true lady. Sachiko felt that old hurt start to return again, and familiarity seemed to return to the world.
Painful, agonizing familiarity.
Would you like that?
Painful, agonizing familiarity, followed by a painful, agonizing silence as the rest gazed at the two of them, and Sachiko gazed at Yumi, seeing nothing else for a second. She didn’t see Rei’s hand tighten on the hem of Yoshino’s skirt. She didn’t see Shimako Toudo walk in, silent and unannounced, and freeze at the door, perhaps out of panic, or an uncanny sense of atmosphere and moment. She didn’t even see Sei, grimacing, the lines of her pretty face flat and unemotional but her large, normally clear eyes scrunching up into an expression of disapproval, bordering anger.
She saw none of this. She only saw the emptiness, and perhaps the first glimmer of a tear in Yumi’s eye, and she wanted to scream in a thousand different ways, no, that’s not it, please don’t!
And maybe, inside, she did scream a little.
And something screamed back at her.
YOUR GUESTS ARE STARING AT YOU! It screamed, its voice less that of her mother now than that of a screeching, swooping harpy. What in the hell do you think you’re doing, you stupid girl? Your guests are sitting there uncomfortably and STARING AT YOU! GET BACK IN THERE AND TALK TO HIM. The last words were so shrill and painful in her head that Sachiko had to press her head to her temple to stem off a small tide of pain that erupted there.
And then the pain traveled elsewhere. Underneath her breast, where it flared and burned. She had felt it before, especially in recent months, but never this intensely—now it felt like a small sunspot had formed in her chest. She drew in a hefty breath once, twice, three times, and forced the pain down, and it almost came back up through her esophagus. Yumi’s form began to blur out, and she shook her head, hard. Her guests were really beginning to stare now. Sei had left her spot by the wall, and Yumi, all hurt gone from her eyes, reached out and touched her shoulder.
“Onee-sama?” Yumi’s voice was small and a little frightened. “Are you all right?”
OF COURSE YOU’RE ALL RIGHT YOU STUPID GIRL GET UP RIGHT NOW BEFORE I HAVE TAKASHI TAKE YOU IN BACK AND SPANK YOU
THAT “DIRTY OLD MAN” IS RICH AND POWERFUL AND YOU SHOULD BE GODDAMN HONORED TO BE BREATHING THE SAME AIR THAT HE IS
The pain was starting to concentrate. In her lungs.
Get up?
Sachiko was suddenly staring at the hem of Yumi’s dress, rather than her pretty, expressive face, and Yumi uttered a small shriek, and then Sei was there, Sei of all people, moving faster than a thin waif of a girl like her should have ever been able to move. She caught Sachiko on the way down and eased her to the ground, and now Sachiko was staring at the ceiling and fighting to keep her gorge down, unable to even think about moving coherently as she fought inside of her to keep what was inside of her from spilling out.
“Onee-sama?” Yumi’s face appeared in her vision, blocking the ceiling out. “What’s wrong, Sachiko? What—”
The door opened and a male voice said, “Please move aside. I’ll take care of this.” Powerful hands gripped under her armpits, and yanked her up so that her torso was almost perpendicular to the ground. The pain spread down to her stomach now, and then there was something poking at her mouth. Something hard and powdery, tasting vaguely of chalky fruit.
“Aspirin,” Sachiko rasped, astounded at how bad her voice sounded. “Give me some aspirin and I’ll be fine.”
“I think,” the voice said, “that you’ve had quite enough aspirin for one month, Miss Ogasawara.” The voice was formal and respectful and a little chastising all at once.
THERE NOW TAKASHI WILL TAKE YOU OVER HIS KNEE AND
“Please eat these. You will feel better.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Rei asked, her voice a little strained with panic.
“Nothing,” the voice
(TAKASHI)
said. “She is simply feeling ill in her stomach. Miss Ogasawara, please chew these. You will feel much better.”
Somebody’s hand pressed at the edges of her teeth, near her molars and her cheekbones, and Sachiko tried to clamp her mouth tighter. What were they doing? Didn’t they know if she opened her mouth, she’d—
Her mouth opened and a great, powerful belch slid out of her throat, wet and painful and relieving all at once. Stomach acid dabbled at the back of her palate, and she swallowed it back down. Her vision cleared all at once, and her stomach and breast settled enough that she could move again. The man behind her stuffed a pair of antacids into her mouth, a little forcefully, and gently closed her mouth, but by that point Sachiko didn’t need it. She bit down and chewed, once, twice, three times, and then swallowed. The relief was almost immediate, and all at once she felt inexpressibly better.
After a moment, Sachiko turned around to face her savior, and somewhere, her mother laughed at her.
It was her butler, Takashi. Elderly but certainly not old by anybody’s standards, least of all his own. She smiled at him as best she could, and he grinned back warmly. “You have had quite enough aspirin this month, Miss Ogasawara,” he repeated. “I believe perhaps that you should see a doctor.”
Sachiko took a quick look around—Sei and Yumi were crouched near her, Sei supporting her head and Yumi stroking her hand, something she only now began to feel again. Rei was nowhere to be found, and Shimako was speaking quietly with Yoshino.
“I have guests, Takashi,” she said quietly. “I’m just feeling a little tired. I don’t believe there’s any cause for—”
Pain exploded again in her stomach and chest then, as though out of spite, and then she threw up. She didn’t get a chance to see what color it was, nor where it landed, because immediately after her stomach emptied itself, the world around her went dark and all she could remember after that was the sound of her mother, shrieking and shouting.
Then she opened her eyes and realized it was neither—Sachiko was in a large, absurdly comfortable white bed, and her guests were seated around her, blocking her view of an absurdly small window. In the other direction there was a wooden door which gave her a pleasant view of an absurdly clean, white hallway where men and women in white and blue coats hustled back and forth.
She looked back at her guests, and Yumi’s eyes lit up. Her mind reeled for a moment before she steadied it. She felt groggy
A lady is never groggy. If a lady makes the mistake of oversleeping, she will be just as pert and prim as if she had been up and about for several hours already
but not enough to forget herself. “I’m very sorry,” she said. Jagged needles thrust themselves into her throat with each word. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Ah,” someone male and perky said. “You’re awake, Miss Ogasawara. That’s wonderful.”
There was a rustling sound as the heads of Sei, Rei, Yoshino, and Shimako turned as one to face her, and Sachiko turned back towards the door to find a man in a white coat standing there, holding a clipboard and smiling brightly.
“What—” more pain, and this time Sachiko began to cough furiously. She reached out with one hand for something, anything, to steady herself with, and somebody took it with their own hand. Yumi. “What happened to me?”
The man walked towards her now, setting his clipboard down on a small table near Sachiko’s bed. “You passed out, Miss Ogasawara, and I’d say with good reason.”
She watched him expectantly, and he looked back at her, as though waiting for something out of her. She realized she was missing something, and a second later, so did he.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I sometimes forget that not everybody had to memorize hospital policy.” He chuckled, and said, “I’ll have to ask your guests to leave before I discuss—”
“My guests,” Sachiko rasped, “are my friends, and are privy to any information that I am.”
The doctor looked at her for a moment, his smile fading. “I’ll have to ask you to sign a consent form stating as much, you know.”
“Very well,” Sachiko said. “Please, continue.”
The doctor found his smile again, and did. “You have been wrestling a fairly nasty peptic ulcer for quite a long time, Miss Ogasawara. It has made very significant headway eating the lining out of parts of your stomach. It’s a small wonder that this hasn’t happened already.”
Sachiko blinked. An ulcer? Am I that… She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but Yumi interjected, very impolitely, at that. “Could onee…could Sachiko have…” she paused, fumbling a word.
The doctor turned politely to Yumi. “Yes?” he politely prompted, and Sachiko bit back a laugh.
Yumi shook her head once and spoke slowly. “Could it be possible that Miss Sachiko suffered from too much…” she glanced at Sachiko, who actually took a moment to realize what it was that Yumi was doing: She was being a lady. She was asking if Sachiko was under a lot of stress without asking. She was showing her training.
Do you like that?
Sachiko wasn’t sure.
“Stress?” the doctor asked, and then laughed. “Maybe that was what brought that attack on, and I’d have to ask your onee-sama about that,” he gave Yumi a small, fatherly wink, “but peptic ulcers are caused by a disease. It’s easily curable, and the damage reversible. It’s a good thing we got to her when we did, though,” he leveled a stern gaze at Sachiko, the kind that said, if I was your doctor, I’d have given you a stern talking-to, and then a helpful kick in the ass for this, “because if she had continued the way she was going, we may have had some hemorrhaging on our hands.”
“There was no blood in any of her vomit,” Sei offered helpfully, and then snorted a laugh. Sachiko looked at her, and saw that she was wearing a different outfit than the one that she’d come in.
The doctor smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Sei.”
Sachiko frowned. How did he know her name? This, unfortunately, was a piece of information that she could only obtain by sharp inquiry, which meant that she couldn’t gently prompt it out of anybody.
“I’m going to write you a prescription for an antibacterial and an antacid,” the doctor said, turning his firm gaze back onto Sachiko. “And I want you to start eating properly and stop taking so much aspirin. If you’re getting chronic headaches, you should see your doctor about that. That little piece I got from your fiancée, Mister Kashiwagi.”
Yumi gasped audibly; whether at the latter piece of information or the former, Sachiko wasn’t sure of, but she got the feeling that it was very important nonetheless.
To tell the truth, though, Sachiko hadn’t really realized that she wasn’t eating properly or that she was going overboard on aspirin. She hadn’t noticed any hunger pangs in her stomach—when her stomach did hurt, she took an antacid and a nap. By the time she awoke, she felt better. She ate…
When do you eat?
She ate. She must have been eating. Otherwise she’d be a lot thinner
you fat, stupid girl who will want you if you eat
wouldn’t she?
Honestly, she wasn’t sure. But if Suguru had noticed it…
The doctor stood up, bowed slightly, and said, “I’m going to go get your prescription. I suggest you rest. If you want, I can arrange for a cab to pick you up here.”
It occurred to her that she didn’t even know where here was. She was at some sort of doctor’s office or hospital, and Sei seemed to know people here, but beyond that the whole thing was sort of a mystery to her.
“No need,” Sei said. “I’ll take them home.”
“Very well,” the doctor said, and then bowed once more and left.
All heads turned first to Sachiko, who looked immediately at Sei for an explanation. Sei merely shrugged. “He’s my doctor. He...helped me out not long ago, so when I found out we were coming here, I called him and asked him to meet us at the ambulance bay. He’s very good.” She sounded like she meant it, but not like she cared. Not about the doctor, anyway.
She definitely looked as though she cared about Sachiko. Her gaze was as worried as Sachiko had ever seen it. Which, to be fair, was not saying much.
“I’ll go get the car,” Sei said. “Rei, Yoshino, Shimako, you can come help me.”
It was quite possibly the most transparent fabrication in history, but Sachiko appreciated it nonetheless. They stood up, each paid a small sympathy
Sympathy is one of your primary weapons as a Lady
and left.
And then it was just Sachiko and Yumi again.
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