How High We Go in the Dark(71)

Yoshiko bows her head and flaps her wings, sending a cloud of dirt and glitter into the air. Akira wants to ask more about her real life, wants to admit he has seen her at the market, but it doesn’t seem like the right time.

“What do you want me to do?” Akira asks. “I’ll do anything.”

“I just want you to stay here with me and not talk,” Yoshiko says.

Back at the printing press the next day, Akira works furiously, shifting gears only to bundle the stacks of newsletters with pieces of twine. The faster he works, the sooner the time will pass and he can return to his pod at the virtual cafe to check on Yoshiko. Has he misinterpreted their relationship? Akira’s sure she was simply having a bad day. Seiji has given him new pages to print and told Akira that, compared to other things he will print for him, these pages will be among the most important. Instead of something far-reaching like planetary destruction or the altered migration patterns of marine life, these deal with topics on a much smaller scale—family and community. “People have forgotten how to care for each other, for themselves. We can’t expect them to care about the world if they don’t care about what’s in front of them,” Seiji explains. Throughout the day, Seiji leaves Akira for extended amounts of time, returning frequently to check on his progress. Akira believes the old man simply likes the company.

“People don’t understand us,” Seiji says, noticing Akira looking at the family photo. “Most people don’t want to understand. My daughter says I killed her mother, groups me with those terrorists because I share some of their beliefs.”

“Do you miss her?” Akira says. He regrets opening his mouth, stops working for a moment, waits for an answer.

“Where were you during the attacks?” Seiji asks.

“I wasn’t born yet.”

“I was at a toy store. When I left to go to the Metro, the entrance was blocked. I didn’t know why.” Seiji places a hand on Akira’s shoulder. “We all share the blame for Aum Shinrikyo’s crimes. But I am no terrorist. I love my family. I think about Yoshiko every day. It’s easy to be lost in fear. It brings people together, often for the wrong reasons.”

Akira looks back at Seiji’s family photo on the wall and notices a glimmer of similarity between the little girl and his Yoshiko. She said she no longer talks to her father. But a lot of people don’t talk to their fathers and the name isn’t uncommon. How do you ask someone if their mother died in a terrorist attack when you met them in a suicide forum? Yoshiko flies away whenever Akira asks for a sliver of her real life.

Akira looks into Seiji’s worn eyes, sees an emptiness that is all too familiar. “I know,” he says. “I mean, I believe you’re not a terrorist.”

Over the next few days, Akira fishes for more information, hoping to confirm his gut feeling that his Yoshiko is Seiji’s daughter.

“I know she married,” Seiji shares one day during a lunch break. “I know I have a granddaughter. She wrote to me once, about two years before the outbreak. Maybe as a punishment: ‘I’m doing well. You have a granddaughter that you’ll never see.’”

“Tell me about her,” Akira asks. And when Seiji fills in the details about Yoshiko, her childhood ballet lessons and dreams of becoming a veterinarian, Akira’s suspicions are confirmed. But would knowing that her father cares be enough to save her? Would knowing she’s still alive pull Seiji out of his robes?

The following night, Akira soars over the sulfurous lightning storms of Venus in a hot-air balloon. Yoshiko flies around him.

“Maybe we can meet up for real,” Akira suggests, thinking it might be easier that way to decide if he should tell Yoshiko the truth about her father.

Yoshiko accidentally kicks Akira’s balloon into a cloud.

“I have some pocket money now, so it’s my treat,” he says. “I want to help.”

“What is all of this for you?” she asked. “What do you think this will become?”

Akira considers labels like soul mate, or girlfriend; neither sounds right. “I don’t know,” he says.

“I’m afraid none of our real-life meetings could ever compare to this. Look at where we are. Isn’t it amazing? You don’t owe me anything. What we have is right here.”

“But this isn’t real,” Akira says.

“No, it’s not.”

In the morning, Akira heads to Ameyoko intending to reveal himself, confident Yoshiko will feel different once they meet. He imagines Yoshiko at the market, rearranging her calligraphy prints and T-shirts, how he’ll wave hello to her for the first time. With their meeting, all of Yoshiko’s downplaying of their relationship will vanish. Maybe they’ll hug. Maybe they’ll go for a walk and hold hands. Akira thinks about all the ways they might find to re-create their virtual playground in the real world. How could they fly?

I’m glad you came, Yoshiko would say. I’m so glad that you’re finally here.

But when Akira approaches the entrance to the street market, awash with the holographic illusion of Venice, he can already see Yoshiko isn’t at her usual spot beside the Grand Canal. He buys a small toy from a neighboring vendor for her daughter, a keychain of the popular old robo-dogs, a box of chocolate mochi for Yoshiko.

After a long stroll through Ueno Park, Akira returns to the virtual cafe and finds Ms. Takahashi reading a newspaper at one of the bistro tables, sipping on some tea. She greets Akira and invites him to share a light lunch she has made. Akira wants to return to his pod, but he is hungry, and this meal would mean another few hundred yen saved. He sits as Ms. Takahashi sets the table with bowls of rice, a plastic container filled with salmon and eel slices. Akira studies the purple crystal Ms. Takahashi always wears around her neck, a new age anomaly compared to her steady stream of no-frills kimonos. From certain angles, Akira could swear he sees light emanating from the crystal, almost like tiny stars.