As the fire died to ashes, a man came asking for directions / wanted to know the way to the Promised Land.
No one knew the way.
Break of Dawn
Yumi and Sachiko met up with the rest of them just outside of the hospital; Sei was leaning against a wall, dirtying her coat more than Sachiko would have thought appropriate. The rain had stopped, the sun had come out, at least for the moment, and the humidity was very nearly staggering—why they were outside, then, was beyond Sachiko, but she allowed herself to dismiss it. She was quite certain, if Sei was involved, that there was probably no reason for it.
“Sachiko!” Yoshino cried as they caught sight of them. She began to move towards them, but was caught about the shoulder by Rei, who smiled at her gently. Yoshino looked back at the taller girl, and for a second, Sachiko was quite certain that they’d had an argument, right there, in that near-immeasurable timespan. The next second, Yoshino relaxed and smiled at the two of them, alongside Rei.
It was funny, Sachiko thought, noticing this for the first time—though the two of them were barely alike at all, their smiles were nearly identical, from the way their lips creased gently at the tip, to the barest hint of white showing in the center of the grin, to the way their eyes followed only slightly, a rare display of pure affection. Sachiko wondered if the two smiled like this in private, at each other, and if it was perhaps a bit like looking into a mirror.
“Miss Ogasawara,” came a voice from behind Sachiko. Perhaps a harsher voice might have startled her, but this voice, soft and flowing, a bit like a peaceful river, probably couldn’t have done it in the most nerve-wrackingly frightening situations, let alone on a humid day outside of a hospital. “You’re all right. I’m very relieved.” It was quite apparent that she was, as well.
Sachiko turned her whole body to face the newcomer—Shimako—and bowed slightly to her. Out of all of them, this was the girl that Sachiko knew the least, and was therefore inclined to be the most exceedingly polite to. “Please excuse the trouble I’ve caused you,” Sachiko said; it was about as humble as she ever was, really. Humbleness was the only part of being a lady which did not, even now, come naturally to her.
If you have to apologize, you have failed in some respect. You should never have to apologize, but if you must make a mistake, make a quiet one, her teachers had said. Manners coaches. Old, spent women whose only remaining joy in life was shaping Sachiko’s.
Horrid people. It was the first time in many years that Sachiko had felt comfortable even thinking that. As awful as it was to say about a person, Sachiko knew it was true. It was, in fact, one of the few things that she and Suguru didn’t silently clash about—the two of them had shared a manner’s coach as children.
Shimako only smiled, perhaps as though she hadn’t heard Sachiko at all. Perhaps her smile was a sign that she had. For Shimako, words were not precisely a common thing to begin with. She wasn’t quiet, precisely; simply not given to unnecessary conversation.
If Sachiko had looked around then, she might have seen Sei, standing straight now, peering at Shimako with a strange mix of affection and curiosity. Were Sachiko privy to Yumi’s thoughts at the moment, she might have known that Shimako’s voice had contained a genuine note of relief.
Perhaps if she’d been aware of both of these, she might have put the pieces together. It wasn’t important, not really, not to anybody but Yumi and Sei; but what was important to Yumi was important to Sachiko. She had decided that a long time ago.
Silence for a moment. Something Sachiko was still not entirely comfortable with. She wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure what to say. Her stomach still hurt a little—the doctor they’d spoken to had told her that this was likely to be the case for quite a while—and really, she just wanted to get home.
No. That’s a lie.
She didn’t want to go back home. Not back there. Normally, she could at least relax there when nobody was around—shut herself in the study and read, or (heaven forbid she fill her head with that drivel) watch television on occasion. Their family had a massive television—it had been mistaken for one of the room’s walls, on occasion—but it seemed that only the men were allowed to use it. It was an unspoken rule, and one whose violations would go unpunished, but it was there nonetheless. Set in place not by the men, but by the coaches. If you have nothing better to do than fill your head with that mindless drivel, teach yourself a useful skill. Knit. Cook. You’ve been gifted with an enormous house; use it. Really, Sachiko thought, it was very backwards. Very misogynistic, which was odd since it had all come from women.
She didn’t want to go back there, where all she could do was read, or teach herself a useful household skill.
I can teach you a really useful household skill, one that’ll actually get you somewhere, the old man said, brushing up against her shoulder. He had been a coach’s husband, a spent old man whose only remaining joy in life was ruining others’.
Sachiko shook her head. There was no use thinking about
not thinking about that
that now, was there?
She smiled slightly. “Well,” she said as best she could, “there’s no purpose left in standing around here, is there? I suppose we should call someone to come pick us up.” Stupid girl, what are you doing? You don’t want to go home. Part of her—most of her, really—said it with every hope that somebody would contradict her.
The funny thing about hope was that it rarely ran parallel with one’s expectations. Perhaps that was why she was so surprised when Sei said, “No reason for that, Sachiko. I’ve got a car right here.”
Yumi’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Sachiko thought wildly that her eyes might very well pop out of their sockets. The next second, Yumi was shaking her head violently. “No!” she said, as seriously as she could. “Sa…Onee-sama has a very bad stomach right now, Sei, and the last thing she needs is you driving her around!”
Sei nearly threw her head back as she laughed. Sachiko had to hold herself in from doing the same, though the rest of them looked more or less nonplussed. In fairness, Sachiko had no idea what Yumi was on about either—it was more the feeling of the thing. Yumi had no trouble being serious, but her expressive, endearing face—which shifted more rapidly than Sachiko could sometimes keep up with—made it difficult to take her seriously when she was trying so hard to fight against something. Sachiko felt a little bad thinking this, in all honesty. “Yumi,” Sei said, very obviously fighting to keep tears of mirth in her eyes. “How you wound me! I’m a fine driver!”
“No!” Yumi repeated, shaking her head. “You’re frightening, at best!” Though in truth, Sachiko knew, Suguru was by and far a scarier driver than Sei could ever possibly be.
“How cruel,” Sei mock-sighed, “clinging so hard to your harsh judgment of me, derived from my very first inaugural drive. How harsh do the small-minded make my existence!”
What…
“Hey,” Yoshino said, grinning, “I was in the car driving here too! I don’t think I’d want you driving me either! You’re scary, Rosa Gigantea! So reckless!”
“Yoshino,” Rei murmured. “Please do not offend Rosa Gigantea.” She paused, and then with a wry grin, added, “though I have to admit, the thought of taking another run in your car is unpleasant, at best.”
What…
What is this feeling?
“Oi, I didn’t hear you complaining when we were on our way here!”
“That may have been because you weren’t listening to us, Miss Satou.”
Is it jealousy?
Sachiko stood, watching the four of them playfully battle it out. Simply stood. They had not formed some new convex formation, deliberately blocking all others out with their bulbous, strangely exclusive shape.
Is it loneliness? Sadness at being excluded? They’re talking about you, without you.
That can’t be intentional. They’re your friends. Break in.
And say what? Something harsh and chastising? Something prim and proper? What would I say at a time like this? They can banter so…naturally. I don’t think I ever learned the art. I can’t just break in and stop them from having fun.
“I was focusing on the road!”
“I think you should focus on the weight of your foot, is what I think,” Yoshino said. “Stop using your lead heels.”
They all like Sei. No, that’s not right. They all find her…
fun.
Somebody was gently tugging on her sleeve. She looked, and it was Shimako. The girl wasn’t smiling, but there was a strange sort of grin which seemed to stem from her entire face. Her eyes, which were not focused on Sachiko but on something in front of them, held the silent command, look there, quick before you miss it. Sachiko had ever been good at reading silent hints—she had come to learn that most of the most important hints were silent—and so followed the trail of the short, pretty girl’s line of sight. Straight ahead, and then at
Yumi.
Yumi, no longer focused on the half-jolly banter which had come to encapsulate Sei, Yoshino, and Rei. Yumi, no longer attempting to hide her embarrassment—the subtle, amused sort of embarrassment that comes from well-employed, gentle teasing—but gazing at Sachiko.
No, that wasn’t right. Staring at Sachiko. Staring with worry etched in each and every line of her face, one hand unconsciously balled into a fist, clutched with the other hand into her breast. When Sachiko’s eyes met hers, she jumped with the surprise that was expected of somebody caught staring, but did not whip her head away, desperate not to be caught for an extended length of time. For a second, they simply locked eyes, and then Sachiko did something she didn’t expect, and smiled at Yumi.
The
What was it? Jealousy? Longing? That funny pull at her chest, that little vacuum at the back of her head.
feelingvanished immediately. That awful feeling of being on the outside, while the girl
woman
she
liked
was close to was on the inside, being close to somebody else. By all means, Sachiko thought, a childish feeling, but who could really help it?
Who indeed? The new voice inside her head said, bearing its own half-motherly grin. Time was, you’d have chastised yourself for days over that. You’ve come far, and fast, Sachiko.
It was quite possibly the first time in her life that Sachiko could remember that little inner monologue of hers saying something like that. Saying good job, instead of next time, do better.
She smiled. Smiled at herself, and smiled at Yumi.
“—bladder!” Yoshino said, positively upset now, or at least feigning it. She wasn’t hard to get a rise out of, in any case—she was probably the only person taking Sei’s antics seriously. “You think I want to ruin my pants like that?”
“I don’t think I’d let you in my car if I thought you’d do something like that,” Sei grinned. “Maybe I just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Her grin was very nearly predatory, and Rei put a hand on Yoshino’s shoulder, her face mock-protective.
“None of that, please, Rosa Gigantea.” She said it with the patience of a longtime nanny chastising her charge—mildly amused, but virtually endless, so long as her paycheck still came every week.
Sei, indefatigable, said, “Maybe I ought to make doubly sure, then.”
Time was also, you’d have made yourself not care about being on the outside. About not really being a part of what’s going on around you, because you were too concerned with being Sachiko Ogasawara, upright heir to a powerful company that’s been promised to her husband, if she’ll have him.
As the three playfully argued, Yumi moved. Slowly, so as not to be noticed—though, really, nobody would have spoken on it if she had been, and wasn’t Shimako watching anyway? She edged closer, first simply feigning a sort of idle, restless-leg pace, and then shifting to a gentle shuffle. Before Sachiko could really process it, Yumi was standing next to her, a small grin on her face, facing the rest of the group.
If Sachiko had asked Shimako about it, Shimako might have said, were she feeling talkative, that she believed that Yumi was blushing a little—indeed, she might have said, it seemed that there was a bit of color present in Yumi’s cheeks, color which had nothing to do with the humidity. Sachiko did not ask Shimako about it, however, and so the thing went unsaid.
If Yumi had asked Sei about it, (and presented her with an appropriate offering) Sei might have admitted that she believed that Sachiko, who she was watching quite intently out of the corner of her eye, had a small grin on her face. A smile which had nothing to do with Sei’s attempts to keep Rei and Yoshino occupied for as long as possible, so that Yumi and Sachiko could decide for themselves what to do, and so that Shimako could, just maybe, mix with them a little. Yumi did not ask Sei about it, however, and so this thing went unsaid as well.
Maybe it was just as well.
“What do you think, Onee-sama?” Yumi said quietly. “Would you like to go back?”
and do what
“What would you like, Yumi?”
Yumi’s small grin widened, and it occurred to Sachiko that perhaps Yumi wasn’t so deep in thought anymore. That maybe she’d made up her mind. Sachiko wasn’t quite sure what to make of that yet, so she put it aside for now.
“I think I’d like to go for a drive,” she said. “I don’t think Sei should drive, since I don’t know if your stomach could handle anything like that—”
“I don’t believe anybody’s stomach here is entirely up to making such a drive twice,” Shimako interjected with a sweet smile, and Yumi clamped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from chortling at this—Shimako did not have a harsh tongue, not by any means, but she did have a sharp sort of wit about her.
“Oi,” Sei said with a grin, loud enough to make it clear who her intended audience was. “Too far, now. Besides, don’t think you’re going anywhere in my car without me.” Rei and Yoshino seemed far less surprised than they ought to have been at suddenly being interrupted like this, which led her to believe that perhaps her intended distraction was nowhere near as useful as she thought it might have been.
Rei said, “I think that’s all right. I have a car at home that could fit all of us, anyway, and that way, none of us would have to put up with Sei driving again.”
A drive.
Strangely enough, that sounded wonderful to Sachiko. Sachiko, who had spent her entire life in spacious limousines. Sachiko, who was used to slow, courteous drivers, and who positively refused to ride with the one man who violated that trend.
More than that, she wanted to do it with Sei. Sachiko had a strange idea in her head: She had an idea that if they waited for Sei to drive Rei back to her house, for Rei to drive Sei back to her house to deposit her car, for all of them to return back to the hospital to pick up the rest of the group, and then for them to follow the calm, unenthusiastic mood with a calm, unenthusiastic discussion of where to joyride to, it would no longer be a joyride. It would be a drab, polite way to spend an afternoon and an evening.
Yumi didn’t want it that way. Yumi wanted Sachiko to be comfortable. She knew—rightly so—that in the rare cases in which Sachiko was uncomfortable, things did not become pleasant. Sachiko was not somebody who lost her composure often, and so she was not experienced in dealing with it. Sei was prone to lose people their composure.
Yumi also wanted to do something that Sachiko had never really considered. She wanted to go out, and have fun for its own sake. Why? Because why not, that was why. Something so coordinated could never be enjoyable like that, because in coordinating it, they would remove every last ounce of adventure. Suck it dry.
Sachiko had this odd idea, and, for possibly the first time in her life—perhaps it was the odd weather, or perhaps it was this peculiar lightheaded feeling she got as Yumi quietly intertwined their hands again—she acted on it.
“No,” she said quietly. “I think we can all squish into Sei’s car long enough to make it to something more comfortable.”
Rei gaped in open-mouthed wonder, as did Yumi. Shimako grinned a little at Sei, who winked back.
Sachiko held her breath, waiting for the verdict. This was, after all, still a democracy of sorts.
“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Yoshino said. “Positively marvelous, although I have to admit, also positively idiotic.”
For a second, Sachiko feared—
She thought that Yoshino was—
That then, all of them would—
But then again, Sachiko didn’t know Yoshino very well.
“So,” Yoshino continued, “I suppose your silence means that I’ve staked my claim on the passenger’s seat without challenge.”
Yumi cracked first, smiling and nodding, and then laughing. The rest of them followed shortly. Even Sachiko.
So easily was the course of Sachiko’s life and happiness decided, that she would later wonder if she did, indeed, have any control over it at all.
Not that it mattered.
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