Fifty Words for Rain(40)

Miyuki barreled towards the house, dragging Nori with her. Nori was already wondering why she had offered to help. She had to get up early in the morning to help Kiyomi arrange flowers, and frankly, she thought it was a waste of time to write a letter to someone who couldn’t read.

But she did not try to take back her hand.



* * *





Everything about their duties kept them apart, but they found ways to be together. Nori had lessons with Kiyomi in the morning, and in the evening she practiced her violin. During the afternoon, Kiyomi begrudgingly allowed her to take a few hours for reading. Nori was keeping up with her studies as much as she could. She’d been allowed a few books that Kiyomi had found lying around. Though Kiyomi scoffed and smacked her lips and went on at great length about how useless it was, she had provided Nori with some paper and pens. The only thing Kiyomi encouraged was Nori’s interest in learning English, citing that it might prove useful one day.

Miyuki’s life was very different. She woke up at dawn and went to help in the kitchens. In the afternoon she was sent to scrub the wide, wraparound wooden porch until it shone. Apparently, this was because Kiyomi deemed her too clumsy for dusting or other inside chores. This was an old house, and though it was well-kept, with new flooring and freshly painted walls, it needed constant care. There were private rooms for the guests, but those were not for daily use. The girls slept in the smaller rooms in the west wing of the house, which was not as well maintained. Miyuki shared a room with two others. “It’s not so bad,” Miyuki was quick to say. “Me and Nanako, at the orphanage, we shared a pallet. I have more space here than I’m used to.”

Only at night did the tasks end and the two girls find time to be together, to share their secrets and fears. Nori didn’t know if they were truly friends. She didn’t know anything about friends outside of what she’d read in books. Besides, they never would have met if not for the misfortunes in their lives, and they had next to nothing in common except for bad luck.

Well . . . maybe it was more than that. And even if it wasn’t, maybe that was enough.

They met in Nori’s isolated room and huddled on the floor by the light of two candles. “Lights out” was one of the more lax rules, but it was still a rule. Nori always made sure to have a platter of treats ready for Miyuki. The older girl said that she was constantly hungry and Kiyomi never let her get enough to eat.

“She thinks I’m fat.” Miyuki laughed, shoving some mochi into her mouth. “Of course, she’s right. Ma always did say she didn’t know how I managed to be so fat with so little food around.”

Nori nodded. As usual, Miyuki was doing most of the talking. Neither of them seemed to mind it that way. She took a sip of her tea and then kept the cup between her hands, letting it warm her through. Some needlework lay forgotten at her side.

Miyuki scrunched up her nose. “Maybe I shouldn’t eat so much. Get better clients. Richer. Get outta here faster.”

Nori tried to be supportive, though talking about the real business that went on there still made her gut churn. “I’m sure eventually—”

“I’m not like you, Nori,” Miyuki burst out suddenly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“What?”

“I’m not pretty.” It was not a plea for sympathy or a question. It was just a fact.

Nori sighed and put her tea down. “I’m no expert on prettiness.”

“But you’re still pretty. And you’re smart. You’ve been helping me with my writing and my reading, even though I’m not any good at it. You can read poetry; you can read English.”

Nori crossed her arms. “I had lots of free time in the attic. I had nothing to do but read. And my English is dreadful. It’s just . . . I like to try. And Akira-san . . . he was really brilliant, you know, and I wanted him to be . . .”

Proud.

“He sounds wonderful,” Miyuki mused, propping her chin up on her hands.

He was.

“You can fix your reading,” Nori said, changing the subject as she always did when it went this way. She found herself talking about Akira more than she should with Miyuki, but it was too painful. Her survival hinged on her ability to forget. “But you can’t help that Atsuko and Mina have been the only thing anyone’s interested in this month. There are not enough new clients, even with the economy doing so well, with our prices being what they are, and the regulars have had their favorites for years in some cases.”

Miyuki grinned. “How do you know all this? Kiyomi-san doesn’t hardly let you say ‘boo’ to the rest of us. You’re always by yourself.”

“Kiyomi mentions things during our lessons,” she responded flatly. “She slips up, I think, and talks to me sometimes like we’re . . .” She couldn’t say “friends.” She knew they weren’t friends.

Miyuki looked around the well-appointed bedroom. Her eyes settled on a rope of pearls hastily thrown onto the vanity. “That’s lucky.”

Nori shut her eyes to quell her frustration. There was no point in getting mad at someone who had it far worse than she did. When she spoke, she made sure her voice was level. “I am a pig being fattened for slaughter, nothing more. My rarity, my foreignness, my cultivated isolation is what they will use to sell me like so much—” She broke off and did not finish.