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.

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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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