Fifty Words for Rain(24)

Lady Yuko betrays no emotion, but I shoot her a covert glance anyway. Because I know, and she knows, that Noriko’s mother got the fever when she was this age. It claimed part of the hearing in her left ear and nearly claimed her life.

But that was different. Seiko-sama was the only heir to the family name and titles. We couldn’t allow her to die. She was our great hope for the future.

Of course, that was before.

I am broken out of my little reverie by the sound of bickering. It is Akira-sama, not quite yelling—but close—at his grandmother. The delicate blue veins in his forehead are standing up.

“What do you mean we can’t afford it?”

Yuko-sama snaps her fan shut and meets his heated gaze with a level one. “I did not say that. I said that this expense is not in the budget.”

The doctor has the decency to look uncomfortable. He has pressed himself against the bed, with one hand resting on the little madam’s petrified body. As if a sleeping child will protect him from the cross fire.

Akira-sama lets out a rough bark of laughter. “Do you mean to tell me, Grandmother, that we have fallen so low that we can’t stretch the budget for a few pills? Must I go begging in the street?”

“Not just medicine,” peeps the doctor. “Antibiotics. They are a new development in the field of medicine and primarily reserved for soldiers. Especially now, with the occupation . . . they are expensive, as well as difficult to obtain. The Americans regulate—”

“I don’t care,” Akira-sama says curtly. “I have just heard you say that without them she could die.”

The doctor bows his head. “Akira-sama . . . if I may . . . children have been surviving the fever for centuries without such things. There is a chance she’ll recover if we just wait and see what happens. As I said, children have lived through this for ages.”

“They’ve also been dying from it just as long. This isn’t up for discussion. Go and get the medicine. I’ll make sure you get your money.”

My mistress rises from her seat, somehow managing to look intimidating even though Akira-sama towers over her. To my great surprise, she is actually smiling. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that she finds Akira-sama’s strong personality . . . amusing. I have never seen anyone defy Yuko-sama and receive a smile in return.

“Dearest grandson, there is no need. I will see it done.”

She snaps her fingers at me. I know this is my cue to turn her wishes into action.

I don’t really want to leave, but then I am not paid to want. I am not paid to think. I am paid to do. I serve the Kamiza family, but mostly I serve Lady Yuko. My family swore fealty to hers many years ago. We all have our calling in life. Mine is not glamorous, but it is mine and I will do it.

I serve the family. And somewhere along the way, I came to serve the little madam. She has a part to play in life also, and that much will be clear to her soon enough.

Let her have her Eden. Let her have a few more years of relative happiness. She deserves that much, I think.



* * *





The pain came quickly. It was the going that took longer.

Nori waded through the thick fog surrounding her, lifting her body limb by limb. Never had she felt such heaviness, as if a cinder block were tied to every one of her bones. Someone was touching her . . . head? Back? Hands? She didn’t know. Her body felt like a singular blob. Something warm was pressed against her lips. A morsel of it touched her tongue, and somehow she recognized the taste: okayu, with just a hint of salt.

The spoon continued to press against her lips, and she accepted it, the instinct to swallow overpowering her confusion.

Hot. God, why was it so hot? It burned. She couldn’t breathe. Every breath was a mercy, a gift from heaven that might not come again. The air in her lungs was too thick to be a relief. It had been so sudden, this feeling, this weakness so profound that she was sure she would melt into the mattress and fade away. No warning. Not even a cough.

She could hear people talking, vaguely. As if she were underwater and they were talking on the surface above her. She had no idea if it was day or night. Someone pressed something else against her lips. This time it was water. She welcomed it, hoping it would quench the oppressive heat in her bones.

Something else now, with the water . . . it was hard. It hurt her throat and she wanted to reject it, but someone was holding her mouth closed. They were saying something to her.

She was too weak to fight it. She swallowed and more water came to ease the pain as it went down. This cycle repeated itself, for how long she honestly didn’t know. When she felt the spoon, she opened her mouth.

Sometimes she would feel something cool pressed against her forehead. She liked this. She attempted to muster a “thank you” but could not seem to form words.

Little by little, the fog lifted. She became more aware of what was happening. She could sit up in bed, propped against some pillows, if one of the shadowy figures helped her.

She knew now that the person holding the spoon was Akiko, and she recognized the shadowy figure lurking in the corner as Akira. He sat there in silence, reading one of his books. He was there when she woke up and there when she went to sleep. But she was still not strong enough to call his name.

More time passed. Be it days or weeks, she still wasn’t quite sure.

When she grew a little stronger, she grasped Akiko’s wrist during a feeding session and asked for some ice cream. Her voice was raspy and weak from disuse. The maid looked stunned for a moment before breaking into a wide smile.