Fifty Words for Rain(21)

“Now, off with you. I need to practice my own pieces.”

Nori bowed at the waist and headed towards the door, hesitating slightly as she placed her hand on the knob. She would be pushing her luck here, but she couldn’t resist.

“Will you play me that song? The one from yesterday?”

Akira had already turned away from her and was fiddling with his violin case. He pulled out a waxy-looking block and inspected it thoroughly.

“I’ll play it for you tomorrow.”

Nori jutted out her bottom lip, disappointment coming like a sharp pain. She didn’t want to argue, and just a few short weeks ago, the thought would never have entered her head. The cracks in her obedience were beginning to spread.

“Onii . . . forgive me but . . . I’d like to hear it now, if I could. It comforts me.”

This much, at least, was entirely true.

Akira shot her a curt look from the side of his eye. She tried to keep herself from shuffling back and forth.

“Fine,” he responded, with next to no enthusiasm. “I have no idea what you see in this piece. I’ve never liked it myself. But fine.”

Nori sat where she had been standing, folding her legs underneath her and sitting up straight. She placed her hands in her lap and looked up at her brother dutifully, waiting for him to begin. He took the violin in his hands, and she closed her eyes, letting the sound wash over her like a soft tide. No, not over her—through her. So this was what it was like . . . a lullaby. When the song was done, she got up, bowed, and left the room without a word.

It seemed almost sacrilegious to spoil the silence that followed a perfect song.



* * *





The next few weeks followed in a similar manner. Right after breakfast, lessons would begin. The first two hours were spent learning to read music, the next two learning music history. Then there would be a short break for lunch, though one could hardly call it a break, as they used their lunch period to listen to records. Then it was on to what Nori liked to call “the copycat game.” Akira would play a simple melody and she was expected to copy it. The game was designed to hone her ear. They would do this until she managed to actually get one right (this normally took several hours, as Akira didn’t bother making it easy for her). Not too long into their daily lessons, Akira presented her with a violin that fit her size, as her hands were significantly smaller than his. When she asked where he’d gotten it, he remarked shortly, “I bought it. You can do that, you know.”

At the beginning of each week, she was assigned a piece to memorize and perfect. At the end of the week, she was supposed to perform it. She loathed this part. Her playing still sounded perilously close to the wailings of a dying animal. Akira sat there, sour-faced, through the entire performance. He never said anything. His pained expression was enough.

Though it seemed foolish in retrospect, she honestly hadn’t expected learning the violin to be so hard. It seemed she had to think about a hundred things at once—her posture, her hand positioning, the pressure she applied with her fingers, her bow arm. She did not understand how her brain was required to fire in various directions yet remain whole. It only made the way that her brother’s fingers flitted across the strings like nimble dancers all the more impressive to her.

One thing she had not been expecting was the pain. After running the same simple scale ten times, then fifty, then one hundred until she got it absolutely perfect, her delicate hands were covered in blisters. She could not help but pick at them, which caused them to split apart and bleed.

Akira ordered Akiko to bring a warm, damp cloth and some rubbing alcohol. He had Nori sit on the couch while he dipped the cloth in it. She whimpered when he pressed it against her hands.

He clucked his tongue at her. “Shush, now. They’re just little cuts. In time, your skin will toughen and it won’t hurt anymore.”

“How long will that take, Oniichan?”

“It depends. You have frail skin, it seems. Hold still.”

Nori did as she was told, though it took everything she had not to jerk her hands away. Her brother was certainly being liberal with the application of the alcohol. She hissed in pain, but Akira held her firmly in his grip.

“When I was your age, my teacher drilled me from dawn till dusk during the summers. My fingers used to bloody the strings and it didn’t matter to him one bit. Trust me, I go easy on you because you’re a child.”

“You were a child once too, Onii.”

Akira laughed. As usual, she hadn’t intended to say something funny.

“Not really. Not like you.”

He relinquished her hands. “There now, done. Go and have some sweets if you like. Then bed. You were yawning today.”

As she lay in bed that night, she listened to the crickets chirping outside her window.

They almost sounded as if they were calling to her. Once again, she felt the deep yearning to be set loose in the outside world. The pangs in her chest caused her to push such thoughts from her mind. They only served to cause her pain. There was no benefit to dwelling on what she couldn’t have.

When her mother returned, she could play outside as much as she liked. Akira didn’t seem like the type who played tag or hide-and-seek but perhaps she could convince him. In one of her children’s books, there were pictures of little boys and little girls chasing after a red ball. Perhaps, if she was very good in her lessons, Akira would agree to chase a red ball around with her.