Fifty Words for Rain(9)

She ran the brush against her head savagely, pulling out entire tufts of her curly brown hair. The snarls fell to the floor. Akiko frowned at her.

“Maybe I should do that, little madam.”

“I can do it.”

When Nori was finished brushing, Akiko wove it neatly behind her head in two braids that she then coiled together to form a bun at the base of Nori’s neck.

Nori inspected herself in the mirror. It would have to do. She had only so much to work with. It served no purpose to get upset over the things she could not change.

At least for the time being, she would accept it.

“Is he here yet?”

“Not since you last asked five minutes ago, my lady.”

Nori bit her lip. It was growing dark outside. He should’ve been there by then. He should really have been there by then.

Where was he?

“Where does he come from, Akiko-san?”

“Tokyo, I think.”

“That is where Grandmother sends for new things, right? The capital?”

“Yes.”

“So he must be very grand, then.”

Akiko laughed, though Nori was not sure what was funny.

“Not everyone from Tokyo is grand, little madam. But I am quite sure that your brother is. You come from a very great family.”

“Grandfather works in the capital,” she mumbled, more to herself than Akiko. “For the Emperor. It is why he is home so rarely.”

“Yes,” Akiko said, though she had told Nori this before. “Shall I get your dinner?”

“No, thank you.”

It wouldn’t do to have food in her teeth when Akira arrived. Already, she was apprehensive about speaking to a boy—something she had absolutely no experience with. She knew what boys looked like, of course. She had seen pictures in her books of many things, including great buildings across the sea. She had seen lakes, mountains, and ponds. She played little games with herself so that she would never forget to match the images with the words when it was finally her time to leave this place.

And surely this brother of hers had seen such things. She was determined not to seem ignorant when they spoke.

Nori gnawed on her lower lip. “Do you . . . do you think that he will like me?”

Akiko’s face softened. She tucked a loose curl behind Nori’s ear.

“I hope so, sweet girl.”

This next question was even more dangerous. But Nori had to know.

“Do you think he knows where Mother is?”

The maid stiffened and glanced at the door. “Little madam . . .”

And that was all she needed to say. Their moment of familiarity was over. Akiko’s duty to her grandmother always won in the end.

Still, Nori allowed herself to be confident.

Akira would speak to her, surely. He had no reason to hate her. She had done nothing to him; she had cost him nothing. She had cost her mother her rightful place—she saw that now—and she had cost her grandmother her honor. But she had done nothing to Akira.

Maybe this is it. The thought struck her suddenly. Maybe the arrival of this strange brother of hers, who was somehow older than she even though she had never heard of him, could be the test that her mother had set for her. Of course, he had to be. In Nori’s experience, there was no such thing as a fortunate coincidence.

It was finally clear to her. All she had to do was pass one more test. She had to because then—then—her mother would come back to this place. And she would take the two of them away somewhere. And the three of them would live together somewhere with lots of tall grass and flowers, the big ones, like the kind that grew on the sides of mountain ranges. And there would be a pond there too, probably. Nori could wallow underneath the clear water until she felt the need to return to the surface. When she was done with that, she would lie in the sun. She would lie there for hours, until the palms of her hands and feet were bright red and tingling. And this brother, whoever he was, whatever he was, would lie there with her. And they would laugh at how silly it was that she had ever been afraid.



* * *





AKIKO



It is well past midnight when I finally lead the little madam down the attic stairs. As instructed, I hold on to her hand. It is painfully frail in my own; I can feel every bone. She descends the stairs with some trepidation, pulling at her dress as if she is afraid it will crease in the short distance from here to the foyer. Come to think of it, she has every reason to be cautious. She has not been allowed past the second-floor bathroom for over two years now. When we move past it, she lets out a soft wheezing sound. I think it is relief. Then again, it could be fear. She is a nervous child.

The girl does not say much, but she gives a lot away with her body. Often I find her staring into space, gnawing on a lip that is already swollen and bloody. I wonder if she feels it.

I cannot decide whether she is brilliant or a complete dullard. The other day I caught her reading a book in English—she was pointing to some pictures and sounding something out under her breath. She became skittish when she realized I was looking at her. I wonder if she is teaching herself—if she is capable of such a thing. Maybe she is. Maybe the traitor’s blood flows in her veins and teaches her things that we cannot.

In all fairness, she is an easy charge. She never complains and rarely asks for anything. She is complacent with her “treatments,” as I have been told to refer to them. She does cry, but she is careful not to make a fuss about it.