‘I just ignore them. They’ll soon find better things to do.’
Then she ran her fingers through her hair, almost as if she was doing it on purpose.
‘But doesn’t it make you feel gross? I mean, they’re taking pictures of you without even asking.’
‘It is a little gross, but it’s better than calling them out because then you end up having to talk to them and then it’s like you know them.’
‘I guess.’
‘It’s really better to just ignore them entirely.’
Yukiho walked right past the truck while Eriko stayed as close by her side as she could in hopes that she might get in the way of a photograph or two.
It was soon after this that Yukiho invited Eriko to her house. Yukiho had forgotten to return a book she’d borrowed and thought Eriko might want to come and pick it up. Eriko didn’t care about the book, but she wasn’t about to pass up a chance to visit Yukiho’s home.
She got off the bus at the fifth stop and walked for about two minutes. Yukiho Karasawa’s house was in a quiet residential area. It wasn’t large, but it had a very nicely tended garden in front.
Yukiho lived alone with her mother, who came out to greet Eriko. The woman looked old enough to be Yukiho’s grandmother, and it put Eriko in mind of an unpleasant rumour she’d recently heard.
‘Please make yourself at home,’ the woman said softly, leaving them in the living room.
‘Your mom seems nice,’ Eriko said when they were alone.
‘Yeah.’
‘I saw the sign by the door. Does she teach the tea ceremony?’
‘Yeah, flower arranging too. I think she even gives koto lessons.’
‘Wow,’ Eriko said. ‘She’s a superwoman. Is she teaching you all of that?’
‘Just tea and flowers,’ Yukiho said.
‘That’s so cool. It’s like you get to go to finishing school for free.’
‘I don’t know,’ Yukiho said. ‘She might not look it, but she’s a pretty strict teacher.’ She poured a little milk in the tea her mother had brought them and drank.
Eriko followed suit. It was a fragrant black tea, not the kind that came in those little teabags at the corner store.
‘Say, Eriko,’ Yukiho said, staring at her with her big eyes. ‘Have you heard anyone saying things lately about me. About my elementary school.’
Eriko blinked. ‘Um, well…’
A little smile came to Yukiho’s lips. ‘You have heard, then, haven’t you.’
‘No. I mean maybe I heard a little, but —’
‘It’s OK, you don’t have to hide it. I guess the stories are really making the rounds, huh,’ she said.
‘N-not really. Hardly anyone’s heard. That’s what the girl who told me said.’
‘Yeah, but the fact that she told you means that it’s out there. Eriko?’ Yukiho put her hand on the other girl’s knee. ‘Can you tell me what you heard?’
‘Nothing much, really. Nothing interesting, at least.’
‘I bet they said I used to be really poor and I lived in a dirty little apartment in Ōe?’
Eriko swallowed.
Yukiho went on, ‘And that my mother died mysteriously?’
Eriko looked up. ‘You know I don’t believe any of that,’ she said, her voice earnest.
Yukiho smiled. ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to pretend. And it’s not all a lie, anyway. I’m adopted. I came here just before starting middle school. My mother you just met isn’t my real mother.’ She spoke easily, as if what she was saying wasn’t that big a deal. ‘It’s also true that I lived in Ōe. And I was really poor. My dad died a long time ago, that’s why. And my mom died when I was in sixth grade.’
‘Oh no!’ Eriko said. ‘How?’
‘Gas poisoning,’ Yukiho said. ‘It was an accident. But some people said it might have been suicide. That’s how poor we were.’
‘Oh,’ Eriko said, really unsure of what to say now. Yukiho wasn’t acting like she had just made some weighty confession. Of course, Eriko thought, she’s probably just playing it casual so she won’t upset me.
‘My mother now is actually a relative of my father’s. I used to come here by myself to play a long time ago and when I became an orphan she took me in. I guess she was lonely, living all by herself.’
‘Wow, that must’ve been really hard.’
‘A little. But I was also really lucky. I mean, normally they put you in some kind of institution.’
‘I guess, yeah.’
Eriko wanted to say something sympathetic but she felt as if no matter what she said it could only earn Yukiho’s disdain. How could she, who had lived a completely normal, easy life, understand anything of her friend’s pain?
Eriko was impressed at the grace with which Yukiho seemed to have carried herself this far. She wondered if somehow all of those hardships were what made her shine from the inside as she did.
‘What else were they saying about me?’ Yukiho asked.
‘I don’t know. I really didn’t want to hear any more.’
‘Whatever it was, I’m sure there was some truth to it. And some parts they just made up…’
‘You really shouldn’t worry about it,’ Eriko told her. ‘The ones talking are just jealous of you, Yukiho.’
‘I’m not worried. I was just wondering who started the rumours.’
‘Who cares?’ Eriko didn’t really want to talk about this any more.
In fact, there was one more part to the story Eriko had heard. Yukiho’s real mom had been someone’s mistress, they said, and when the man she was seeing got murdered, she became a suspect. That’s why she killed herself. She was afraid of getting caught.
Of course, she wasn’t about to tell that part of the story to Yukiho.
Yukiho had taken up patchwork lately and she showed some of the things she’d made to Eriko. There was a pillow cover and a pouch whose bright colour selection revealed Yukiho’s good taste. There was one other piece, as yet unfinished, with a different colour scheme – a bag, or maybe a purse, made entirely with cooler colours, like black and navy. ‘Sometimes dark can be fun, too,’ Eriko said, and she really meant it.
The composition teacher always did her best to keep her eyes on either the textbook or the blackboard, never the students. She taught class mechanically, just trying to get through that forty-five minutes of hell, praying nothing would happen. No students were called on to read aloud to the class, no questions were asked.
The Ōe Middle School Year 3 Class 8 classroom was divided into two sections. Those students with even a slight interest in listening sat towards the front half of the class. Those without any interest sat in the back, doing whatever they felt like doing. Some of them played cards, some chatted loudly, and others just slept.
A few teachers had started off punishing such behaviour in their classes, but over the span of a month or two the punishments stopped. It just wasn’t worth the consequences. Once, an English teacher had scolded a kid for reading a manga in class, taking the comic book away and swatting him on the head with it. Several days later a masked assailant attacked the teacher on a back street, breaking two of his ribs. It was clearly payback, but the student who had been scolded in class had an alibi. On another occasion, a young maths teacher had screamed and nearly fainted with shock when she went to the chalk tray of her blackboard and found it lined with condoms, all clearly used and still containing semen. She was pregnant and the fainting spell had nearly caused her to have a miscarriage. She had gone on sick leave the next day. No one expected her back until the current third years graduated.