Fifty Words for Rain(114)

“It was always for nothing,” she gasped. The fist around her heart was squeezing so tightly that she knew she did not have long to live. The life was draining from her body.

But she didn’t care.

“But it can’t end here!” Yuko moaned, and her eyes filled with tears for the first time. “For the love of God, it can’t be over! You must take your place. You’re all that’s left. Don’t let it all be in vain, don’t let his death be in vain. This is your chance to do some good. For the love of God! Nori!”

For the love of God.

Nori turned on her heel and ran. She ran blindly, without thinking. But she did not need to think.

There was only one place for her to go.



* * *





The attic was the same.

As she fell on all fours like a dog, Nori realized this was the only place that had ever truly felt like hers.

It was a fitting place for her to die.

And really, she was dying this time.

Whatever her limit was, whatever capacity for suffering was built into her, she had gone well past it.

She tore at her hair, watching the hated curls fall to the floor in tufts. She raked her nails along her skin and watched the flesh split open. And she sobbed and sobbed until she was vomiting up green bile. And then, when the bile was gone, she vomited nothing but air.

Through the burning haze of tears she could see her reflection in the mirror.

I hate you, she thought. I hate you. I hate you.

And then she was screaming.

“I hate you!”

You should have known.

You stupid girl.

She collapsed to the floor and felt a crack against the side of her skull. There was no air left in the room, and now her breath came slower and slower as her vision swam. She spread her arms out and stared up at the ceiling.

A feeling between pain and release enveloped her.

Release me from my promise, she begged no one.

Let me go now.

That’s enough. I tried. I tried so hard.

Let me go.

There was a startling white light, brighter than any sun, and then, for the first time in her life, someone answered her.



* * *





NORI



I wake in a garden.

Someone must have carried me here. I can smell the flowers before I even open my eyes. The scent of every exotic bloom in existence fills up my entire body. I am surrounded by it.

This is not my garden.

I open my eyes and I see that it is endless; it stretches past the horizon and into nothingness. The sky is a perfect Prussian blue, and the clouds are fat and creamy, like a pastry chef crafted them by hand. The sun is gentle, bathing everything in a soft white light.

I know that this is no ordinary garden. I also know that I am meant to be here.

I rise to my feet and place a hand over my eyes to shield them from the light. The cuts on them are gone, as if they never were. I bend down slightly and pull up the hem of my kimono, which is white as alabaster and made of the most delicate silk. It is hung with tiny seed pearls and embroidered with kiku no hana, chrysanthemums. I pull it up to my waist and run my fingers along the soft flesh of my inner thigh. My scar is gone too.

I drop the skirt and start walking, where I don’t know, but forward. I walk beneath trees with low-hanging branches heavy with ripe fruit, pomegranates and apples, bananas and limes, plums and apricots and cherries and fruits I cannot even name. There are clusters of red flowers all through the tall grass, scattered about like fallen fireworks. I bend down to pick up a blush-colored rose.

The stem has no thorns on it.

I hear something then, a soft, perfect sound. I don’t even hesitate before following it. It’s like a siren song. I could never resist it. I would never want to.

I don’t ask myself where I am going or why I am in this place, which is obviously not meant for mortal eyes. Maybe I am dead. I press my hands against my slim belly and I keep walking. If I am dead, I cannot say that I mind. This place is . . . paradise. And nothing hurts here. All my life, I have carried a dull ache inside me, so constant that I hardly notice.

But I notice now, because it is gone.

I hear the steady murmur of a babbling brook somewhere nearby, beneath the song. It is starting to sound familiar. I find myself walking a bit faster in an attempt to catch it. I know this song. Where? I pick up the hem of my skirt to walk faster. The ground is warm beneath my bare feet. Where have I heard this song?

It is growing louder in my ears and the sound is becoming richer, washing through me and purging me of every pain I have ever felt. Now I am running. I run through a grove of trees whose branches all arch together to form a halo above my head. I run beside a clear pond with ducklings splashing about. I run until I am in a meadow with deep purple delphiniums that reach up to my waist and red poppies that seem to smile up at me. I pause, my heart thudding in my chest, my eyes roving frantically to find the source of the music. There’s a tree a little ways ahead of me. I crane my neck to see better, and I can see that it is a peach tree.

Then I know.

It’s Schubert’s “Ave Maria.” It is my first and only lullaby.

I don’t run this time. I walk like a child just learning to toddle. I don’t dare walk faster. I don’t dare breathe. I don’t dare to do anything that could tip the balance of whatever line I am walking, whatever plane of existence I am on that allows any of this to be possible. I push the tall grass aside and I stand quivering before the base of the tree.