Bitterness of Youth: Part 6
The text contains dialogues in both Japanese and English. To indicate the difference between the two, dialogue in brackets [ ] represents speech in English.
Akira arrived in Los Angeles at 3:10 PM. He
walked along with the flow of people and joined a line that had formed near the
gate. He glanced at the clock on the pillar and adjusted his wristwatch to
match the time.
After passing through immigration and
navigating a long, narrow corridor, he emerged into a wide area that resembled
a lobby. All the signs were in English, which he couldn’t understand. As he
stood there, bewildered, someone suddenly shoved him from behind. He stumbled
forward, then turned around to find himself being glared at by a blonde woman
with the broad build of a sumo wrestler.
He had apparently been blocking the middle of
the walkway. He moved to a chair in the corner and sat down. Since the only
thing he knew about the person who was supposed to pick him up was the name
John McDill, all he could do was wait.
...He hadn’t wanted to come to America. But
after being called to the director’s office several times, Isahaya had
persuaded him.
"I’ll be honest with you," Isahaya
had said during their fifth conversation. The relentless cicada calls could be
heard through the windows, which had been left open as a power-saving measure.
"If this trip was going to be a financial
burden... if you had to cover all the travel expenses yourself, I wouldn’t be
telling you to go. The facility can’t afford to shoulder that kind of cost. But
since your mother’s acquaintance has offered to pay for the travel and lodging,
it’s better for you to go."
"It’s not like I’ll accomplish anything by
going."
"Even if you think it’s unnecessary now,
ten years from now, you might regret not having met your mother."
"I can’t predict the future."
"Well, I can," Isahaya said, pressing
a hand to his chest. "I’ve already been through your age group and even
surpassed the age you think of as adulthood. It’s because I’ve walked that path
that I believe you need to meet your mother. Besides, it’s summer vacation now,
so you won’t have to miss school."
In the end, Akira reluctantly nodded in
agreement. He feared that continuing to stubbornly refuse would make Isahaya
think of him as an ungrateful, obstinate kid, and that fear of being disliked
pushed him to concede.
His simple agreement set the trip to America in
motion, and in line with the timing of his passport’s issuance, he left Japan
on August 8th.
Akira had only one concern. The bats in the
abandoned factory. It would take at least four days for the round trip to
America. If left unattended for that long, that greed bat might starve to
death. But he had no friends he could ask to take care of it.
In the end, he turned to Isahaya. When he
confessed, "I’m taking care of an injured animal," Isahaya had
replied, "I’ll take full responsibility for it while you’re gone."
Isahaya had looked down at the bat in the bottom of the cardboard box, which
was chirping defiantly, and smiled. "I thought it was a dog or a cat.
You’re taking care of something interesting, Akira."
"It’s injured, and if a small child messes
with it, it might die," Akira voiced his concerns, and Isahaya promised,
"I’ll keep it in the director’s office the entire time."
Only Isahaya and the staff knew about this trip
to America. Akira told everyone else at the facility that he was going to stay
with an aunt for a short while. If he said he was going to America, he’d have
to explain the situation, and everyone would probably make a big fuss over it.
Even after waiting for about ten minutes, there
was no sign of the person who was supposed to pick him up. He wondered if he
might end up sleeping on the streets in America if no one came. Just as he was
thinking that, a man caught his eye. The man, with light brown hair, appeared
to be in his forties and was glancing around nervously.
Just as Akira thought, "Could it
be...?" their eyes met. The man’s mouth opened wide in surprise, and he
started walking straight towards him.
The man spoke to Akira, but the English he
spoke was nothing like what Akira had learned from his English teacher. The
words moved with a life of their own, leaving Akira completely clueless. He’d
heard that there would be a translator, but there was no one around who looked
like one.
The man turned around and waved his hand
vigorously. A young man with black hair, black eyes, and sharp, almost
mixed-race features, who looked to be around twenty years old, came running
over.
In the conversation between the brown-haired
man and the black-haired man, Akira caught the word "Akira."
"You must be Akira Takatsuka, right?"
The black-haired man spoke in flawless Japanese.
"...Yes," Akira replied, and the
black-haired man smiled and extended his hand.
"Hello. I’m Masato Daniel Austin, and I’ll
be your interpreter while you’re here. Call me Masato. And this gentleman here
is John McDill."
John, realizing he was being introduced,
greeted Akira with a big smile and a weird accent that emphasized the "Ni"
and "Chi" in "Konnichiwa." Akira bowed slightly and said,
"Hello."
"It must’ve been a long journey from
Japan. You must be tired. Are you hungry?" Masato asked quickly.
"No, I’m fine."
"Do you want to go see your mother right
away, or would you prefer to rest a bit first and calm down?"
Masato was speaking fast and throwing questions
at him in rapid succession.
"I don’t need to rest, but I’d like to
change clothes."
"Change clothes?"
"I brought my uniform."
Masato tilted his head, then clapped his hands.
"Ah, in Japan, students wear their uniforms instead of mourning clothes,
don’t they? The funeral is tomorrow, so you can stay in your current clothes
today. Shall we head out?"
Akira was led outside the airport by the two
men. John went to get the car, and Akira waited with Masato until he brought it
around. The weather was good, the sky was a deep blue, and the air was hot and
slightly dusty. When he looked up at the sound of a loud roar, a plane was
flying right overhead.
The car John pulled up was a blue vehicle,
covered in mud as if it had been driven through puddles for miles, with a bent
bumper.
"Come on, Akira, hop in the back,"
Masato urged him.
Akira climbed into the back seat, noticing that
the upholstery was torn and the floor was littered with empty snack bags and
plastic bottles. He’d never seen such a run-down, dirty car before. Even though
they’d offered to pay for his plane tickets and accommodation, these people
might not have much money. If that was the case, Akira felt a bit guilty for
coming all this way when he didn’t even really want to see his mother.
The car circled the roundabout and merged onto
the road. Akira’s first impression of America was how wide the roads were. The
houses were large and flat. Several cars, even dirtier than John’s, passed by
on the opposite lane.
"It’ll take about thirty minutes to get to
your mother’s place," Masato informed him from the front seat.
"What do you want for dinner? John said
he’ll treat you to anything you want."
"I’m fine with anything..."
"The food here can be really terrible, you
know. But don’t worry, leave it to me. If you tell me what you like, I’ll take
you to a good place. My recommendations are French at a place called Bush’s or
Chinese at a place called China."
"I don’t really know, so..."
"Alright, then it’s decided! We’ll go to
Bush’s and make John treat us to some expensive French cuisine."
Akira felt a bit overwhelmed by Masato’s
friendly and cheerful nature.
"The day after the funeral, you'll still
be here, right, Akira? Is there anywhere you'd like to visit? Oh, if you want
to see a Hollywood studio, I’m sure we could arrange a tour. John has some good
connections. Who’s your favorite movie actor?"
As I listened to him talk, I almost forgot why
I came here in the first place.
"Um, there’s something I want to ask you,
if that’s okay?"
Masato put a hand on his chest and said,
"OK! Ask me anything."
"Do you know my mother’s name?"
Masato’s mouth hung half-open, as if unsure of
how to respond. Had I asked something I shouldn’t have?
"You don’t know?"
"I was always told she was dead. I’ve
never asked anyone her name."
"Your mother’s name is Hanae Tamura."
Hanae Tamura. It sounded like a pretty common
name. The name itself didn’t evoke any special feelings in me.
"What was my mother doing in
America?"
Masato gave a wry smile.
"You really don’t know anything, do you?
Your mother was an actress."
"An actress?"
"Yes, she worked under the name Hanae
Tamura. Among her fans and friends, she was affectionately known as Lily. She
was such a talented actress that I was a fan too."
The mother Akira had heard about didn’t feel
real, not like his aunt.
“You really resemble your mother. John even
said at the airport that you looked like a miniature version of her, that’s how
he recognized you right away.”
Her face... Now that he thought about it, Akira
had never even tried to imagine what his mother looked like.
John said something to Masato, and the two
began chatting. Akira leaned back into the worn cushion of his seat. Soon, he’d
be able to see the face of the woman who had given birth to him.
Suddenly, he remembered Nakamura's words when
Hiroaki had died:
“I thought there was something wrong with me
for not feeling sad, but...”
Akira suspected he wouldn’t feel sad when he
saw his mother’s body, either. Did that make him a cold person?
He’d always been told she was dead. The memory
of explaining about his mother to others had simply changed from “She divorced
my father when I was three and died in an accident soon after,” to “She
divorced my father when I was three, moved to America, and died when I was
fifteen.” Just a few extra words.
The car turned right and stopped in front of a
coffee shop with a familiar sign Akira often saw in Japan. Was his mother here?
Masato leaned back into the rear seat.
“John wants to grab a coffee. Mind if we stop
for a bit?”
Akira thought it didn’t really matter, since
they were already in the parking lot anyway. He nodded, “Yeah, sure.” The three
of them sat down at a round table by the window. Akira was asked what he
wanted, but since he didn’t know what was on the menu, he ordered cocoa. The
sweetness surprised him—it was almost like drinking sugar water. He couldn’t
bring himself to leave it unfinished since John had bought it, so he sipped it
slowly, licking it off his lips.
“Akira.”
When he looked up, Masato was staring at him
with a serious expression.
“…Actually, before you meet your mother,
there’s something John really wants to talk to you about.”
John spoke directly to Akira in English, his
eyes fixed on him. Masato’s mouth twisted as he listened. But the translation
didn’t come right away, which made Akira anxious.
“What did John say?”
“Umm, well…” Masato began, speaking hesitantly.
“Your mother worked as an actress after she moved to America. She never
remarried, but… it seems she had a partner she lived with for a long time.”
Masato paused before peering at Akira’s face.
“Are you okay?”
“With what?”
“Finding out your mother had a lover. That
can’t be easy for a kid to hear.”
Both of them were being incredibly careful with
their words around Akira.
“I’m fine.”
Hearing that his mother had a lover didn’t
bother him. Not in the slightest.
Masato gave a warning. “If at any point you
don’t want to hear more, just say ‘stop.’”
“Apparently, her partner is still by her side.
John works as the manager for your mother’s partner, Richard Carlisle.
Richard’s an actor, but these days, he mostly works as a film producer.”
“Huh.”
An actress, an actor, a producer—the world
around his mother seemed so glamorous, almost too much so, like something out
of a movie or drama.
“Is it okay if Richard is with your mother when
you meet her?”
Akira nodded, and Masato translated, “Okay.”
John looked relieved, smiling as he said, “Thank you,” directly to Akira.
With that, they quickly left the shop. The car
sped down a wide road. For a while, the view was just open fields, but then
more houses started appearing, and before long, they were driving through a
residential area. The shadows of palm trees cast ladder-like patterns across
the road, which Akira found amusing.
John’s car stopped in front of a house
surrounded by cream-colored walls. After John spoke into the intercom, a heavy
iron gate slowly opened, and the car drove inside.
Inside the walls, a pathway paved with white
stones led up to the house, with flower beds on either side, neatly arranged
like a park. About a hundred meters ahead, Akira saw the house itself—it was
enormous. It looked to be at least twenty times the size of the facility where
he lived. The cream-colored walls and blue roof reminded him of a German castle
he’d seen on a jigsaw puzzle once. There was even what appeared to be a
swimming pool beside it.
Before Akira could recover from the shock of
the house’s size, the car stopped. John stepped out and rang the large
doorbell. After a short wait, a woman with curly hair, who looked like she had
stepped straight out of a foreign picture book, appeared. Her wide blue eyes
sparkled.
John spoke briefly with the woman before
entering the mansion.
“John says we’ll need to wait a bit,” Masato
explained.
“What is this place?”
“This is Richard Carlisle’s home.”
“It’s like a castle.”
“Right? It’s the first time I’ve been in such a
big house, too. I guess that’s what you’d expect from someone like Richard
Carlisle.”
Masato looked around the property, sighing in
awe.
“Is Richard that famous?”
Masato laughed. “Ask anyone on the street if
they know Richard Carlisle. Nine out of ten will say yes. If someone doesn’t
know him, they’re either living under a rock or a country bumpkin.”
After about ten minutes, John returned from the
building and whispered something to Masato.
“He says it’s okay to come in now. Let’s go.”
Encouraged, Akira stepped inside the building.
The entrance hall was massive, with a high ceiling and a glittering chandelier.
The floor was covered in something like marble, similar to what Akira had seen
in art museums, and there wasn’t a single speck of dust in sight.
They passed through the grand entrance and
crossed what seemed like a living room. It looked like Richard had a taste for
Asian decor. Hanging on the walls were cloths with lotus flower designs, and a
small table was adorned with a statue of an elephant fused with a human,
reminiscent of something from India. Despite its unfamiliarity, it felt oddly
comforting, probably due to the faint scent of incense lingering in the air.
When a building is big, its hallways are long.
John stopped in the middle of a hallway that looked long enough to run a
50-meter dash, in front of a white door. He turned around and spoke, but Akira
only caught the words [“your mother.”]
“He said your mom is inside this room,” Masato
said, pointing at the door. Although he had thought that seeing his mother’s
face wouldn’t mean anything, the idea that she was so close made him suddenly
tense.
“Shall we go in together?” Masato gently placed
a hand on Akira’s right shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
Akira opened the white door. Instantly, he was
hit with the overwhelming scent of lilies, so strong it made him choke. He was
shocked. The room was filled with flowers. The scent of lilies was powerful,
but it wasn’t just lilies. Roses, tulips—flowers even Akira knew by name were
in full bloom all over the room, as if to say this was a flower garden.
Next to a black coffin, placed in the middle of
this flower garden, stood a tall man. He looked to be in his thirties, with
golden hair and light blue eyes. He was so striking that Akira wondered if he’d
seen him before, perhaps in a movie.
Those light blue eyes were looking at him…
glaring, it seemed. It was terrifying. His feet wouldn’t move forward.
“You can go closer,” Masato encouraged him, and
Akira stepped into the room. The light blue-eyed man quietly moved away from
the coffin.
The lid of the coffin was off, revealing the
entire body of the person lying inside.
It was a beautiful woman. Her long black lashes
framed her softly closed eyelids, her cheeks were round and plump, and her pale
pink lips gleamed as if she might speak at any moment. Her black hair curved
gently at her shoulders, and her fingers were folded in front of her chest.
Even her fingertips were softly pink. The white dress she wore suited her
perfectly.
It looked like she was only sleeping. She could
open her eyes at any moment and sit up.
“Is she really dead?”
Akira blurted out the question. Masato nodded
slowly.
“She doesn’t look like a corpse. She’s… so
beautiful.”
“They’ve embalmed her.”
It was a word he’d never heard before.
“What’s ‘embalming’?”
Masato looked puzzled for a moment, then
lightly clapped his hands. “Oh, right, Japan uses cremation. In America, after
death, they treat the body with chemicals to prevent it from decaying. If done
well, it can be preserved in the same state as when they were alive, almost
indefinitely. It’s like a modern version of mummification.”
Akira was startled at the word “mummy.”
“You don’t have to freeze the body, and it
still won’t decay?”
“That’s right. …Akira, don’t hesitate. Go
ahead, touch your mom.”
Touch her? He hadn’t thought about doing that,
but now that he was told he could, he felt the urge to. Unsure what to do,
Akira hesitantly touched her hands, folded over her chest. As he slowly pressed
the white fabric, he felt something hard beneath it.
“You can touch her skin directly if you want,”
Masato said.
Akira shook his head.
“I feel like it’ll wake her up.”
Even though he knew this person wouldn’t open
her eyes, he didn’t want to disturb what seemed like such a peaceful sleep.
“She’ll be buried tomorrow, so you should take
your time and be with her while you can.”
Akira still felt like this person was alive.
Maybe she was just pretending to be dead, and at any moment, she’d sit up and
start laughing. With that strange certainty, he touched her cheek. It looked
soft, but the skin was firm. He was surprised at how disappointed he felt when
he realized he couldn’t sense any warmth from it, like a living person would
have.
Her hands, too, were hard. Could these hands
have ever held him when he was a baby? He couldn’t imagine it. No matter how he
looked at her, she didn’t feel like “Mom.” She was like a beautiful doll. Was
he really born from this person?
He heard someone speaking in English, but since
John and the blonde man had been talking the whole time, he didn’t realize the
words were directed at him until Masato tapped him on the shoulder.
“Richard’s asking, ‘How does it feel to see
your mother?’”
The light blue eyes were watching him again.
They had a cruel glint, and Akira didn’t like them.
“…It’s my first time seeing her, so I don’t
really know,” Akira replied. Masato translated his words, and the light blue
eyes wavered. The man clutched his head, and then he started speaking rapidly
to John. Had Akira said something to upset him? The man approached, tears
streaming from his light blue eyes, pleading with Masato.
“Akira, Richard’s asking if he can hug you.”
“...Why?”
Masato frowned, deep in thought. “I guess…
because he’s lonely?”
Lonely, huh? If that’s the case, it’d be cruel
to refuse. “Sure,” Akira said. As soon as Masato translated, the man embraced
him tightly, so strongly it almost took his breath away.
[“Sorry, sorry…”]
Even though Akira wasn’t good at understanding
English, he could tell that the man was apologizing. His tears fell like
melting ice, dripping onto Akira’s shoulder.
He’d never spoken to his mother. He didn’t
remember her ever calling his name. All he knew was her name, which he’d been
told in the car, and that she had been an actress. He had no idea what kind of
life she’d led in America.
…But still, this room filled with countless
flowers, the overwhelming sweetness in the air—it told him that his mother had
been cherished by this man, even after death.
Being alone must be lonely. Akira was glad that
this man was here by her side. It meant his mother wasn’t lonely like he was.
◇:-:◆:-:◇
Although the original plan was to stay at a
hotel while in America, Akira ended up staying at Richard’s mansion. It was
because Richard had said, ["Akira can only be with his mother today, so I
want him to stay by her side without any regrets."]
John asked Akira, ["What will you
do?"] Akira didn’t really mind either way, but staying at Richard’s house
would reduce the cost of accommodations, so he decided to stay there. For
Akira, who couldn’t speak English, Masato, the interpreter, would be staying
with them too.
After they had dinner outside, everyone
returned to Richard’s house and had tea in the living room. Throughout the meal
and even after returning home, Richard stayed constantly by Akira’s side. When
they sat on the sofa, the distance between them was so close that some part of
their bodies would always be touching. Richard often initiated physical
contact, like placing his hand on Akira’s shoulder or hugging him. Akira had
seen foreigners hugging each other often in movies, but being in that position
himself, he couldn’t get used to it and felt uncomfortable.
“Is there anything you want or that I can do
for you?” Richard asked, and Masato translated his words. Akira thought for a
moment.
“Could I watch a movie that my mom was in?”
Upon hearing the translation, Richard began
speaking quickly.
“He says he has all of her works. She played
roles like housewives, career women, teachers… even some more unique roles like
a thief. And he has private films too. Which one do you want to see?” Masato
asked.
“Something where she appears for a long time,
with lots of lines... I’ve never heard her voice before.”
As soon as Masato conveyed this, the eager
expression on Richard’s face crumpled, and he hunched over, bursting into
tears. Akira had thought Richard was a man who cried a lot, but he couldn’t
understand why he was crying now. John spoke to Richard in a harsh tone, as if
scolding him, and the two of them left the room.
“…Did I say something wrong?” Akira asked.
Masato gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t
worry about it,” he said, comforting him. About ten minutes later, Richard
returned with John, his eyes swollen from crying, carrying several film reels
in his hands.
“He said he’ll show you the private films
first,” Masato whispered softly.
As the film started, a figure soon appeared on
the TV screen, and Akira’s heart skipped a beat. The person on the screen was
the same woman who had been lying in the coffin. Akira leaned forward,
captivated by the image.
“No, no,” she said in English, as she tried to
cover the camera lens with her hand, clearly not wanting to be filmed. Even
though the camera persisted, she eventually gave up and walked into the
kitchen, where she stood and started eating bread with big bites.
Someone must have said something to her because
she sat down in a chair. Her small face was framed by large, dark eyes and
long, wavy hair. Without thinking, Akira reached out and grasped the end of his
own hair.
She spoke to the person behind the camera—no,
to the one filming her—in a voice that was lower than Akira had imagined but
had a sweet, rich tone, like brown sugar.
Akira found himself wondering, What would it
sound like if she called my name in that voice? He stared at the screen,
hoping for just a few seconds of such a moment, but before he knew it, he had
fallen asleep.
He woke up to the feeling of someone touching
him. Without moving his head, he glanced around, seeing Richard softly humming
a tune while stroking his head. Little children were often lulled to sleep like
this by caretakers, but Akira was already in middle school. No one put that
kind of effort into comforting him anymore.
The sensation of Richard’s large hand felt
pleasant, and while pretending to sleep, Akira drifted off again, not waking
until morning, likely from the exhaustion of the trip.
During the funeral at the cemetery, Richard
stayed close by Akira’s side the entire time. As the dirt began to cover the
coffin, Akira thought how wasteful it seemed to bury someone so beautiful. At
that moment, Richard tightly gripped Akira’s hand. His hand was trembling, and
his light blue eyes shimmered as though he was about to cry, but no tears fell.
◇:-:◆:-:◇
The day after the funeral, Richard took Akira
around all day. He introduced him to an actor who was starring in a movie
series at a Hollywood film studio. Masato was incredibly excited, but Akira
didn’t know who the actor was. When they went to a large shopping mall, Richard
kept saying things like, [“That would look good on you”] and [“This would suit
you too”], buying all the clothes that caught his eye. When Akira said he
couldn’t fit anything else in his bag, Richard even bought him a suitcase and
made him carry it.
On the day Akira was set to return home,
Richard handed him some money at the airport, calling it pocket money. Akira
tried to return it, but Richard simply waved him off with a ["No,
no,"] refusing to take it back. Unsure what to do, Akira consulted with Masato,
who told him, "Just think of it as New Year’s money." So, Akira
thanked Richard and accepted it.
On the flight back, Akira felt like his head
was in a daze. It was reality, but it didn’t feel real. Everyone had been so
kind and caring toward him. He was happy, but also a little exhausted, because
it was the first time he had ever been treated so warmly, like the protagonist
of a story.
When he closed his eyes, the image and voice of
his mother from the film played in his mind. When he had first heard that she
had passed away, he thought there was no need to meet her. Even if he went to
see her face, he would only be confirming the reality of her death. …Akira was
deeply grateful to Isahaya for his persistence in convincing him, even when
Akira wasn’t keen on going.
He was glad he saw his mother’s face. He was
glad she had been a beautiful person. Even though they couldn’t talk, it was
okay. Her voice had been like brown sugar. He would never get the chance, but…
just once, he wished she could have called his name in that voice.
…On the plane, Akira slept the entire time,
except when he ate the in-flight meal.
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