Episode 53 — In Your Words
Having eaten a cracker and a half — rather larger than Shion’s face — I was uncomfortably full. Also, it turned out that a prawn cracker was apparently sufficient to fill the stomach but not to restore depleted energy — and Shion was the same. What appeared before us in that state was the Esca.
The moment we saw the sign and the photo of an upward-moving escalator, we looked at each other and nodded without a word. Then, as if by mutual agreement, headed for the ticket machine.
Somehow, the inside of my wallet had become rather bleak. The money I’d saved bit by bit from skipping lunch — today was going to drain the last of it. What frightened me was that I felt no regret whatsoever, and that was entirely because I was spending this time with Shion.
Confirming all of that in my mind, I bought the tickets and, still hand-in-hand with Shion, stepped onto the Esca rising through the dimness.
The Esca’s interior had a tunnel-like structure, with vivid colours flowing across the screens on either side. Being artificially enclosed like that, there was faint air conditioning inside — and combined with the shade, it restored quite a significant amount of energy. We both sagged against the handrail and murmured:
“I want to stay here forever…”
“Same…”
That wish was half-granted. After getting off the first Esca, we dragged our feet a short way until the second appeared. Rested our legs again. Got off, walked a bit more, got on again.
Having accumulated fresh exhaustion through that cycle — the Esca finally reached its end. A short walk from where we stepped off, a tower rose before us.
“Is the good sea view from up there…?”
Shion asked, tiredness visible in her face. I felt a small pang of guilt and answered:
“Sorry. A little further past that…”
“Can you carry me…?”
“Sorry — let’s keep going…!”
As atonement of sorts, I took the lead, pulling Shion along by the hand, toward the area past the tower where bare, rugged rock was exposed. From what I’d looked up, a little further ahead should be —
Increasingly uncertain whether I was going the right way, I wrung out the last of my energy and walked the uneven path.
“I think it’s just a little further, Shion — let’s keep going.”
“I’ll keep going…”
Shion nodded. The two of us, thoroughly depleted, were lit by a sunset that had somehow turned the whole sky crimson without our noticing.
Time had passed so fast. Something I’d been vaguely aware of through all our accumulated time together — that time moves faster when I’m with Shion — appeared before me now as plain and simple fact.
Even as tired as this, the feeling at the core of my heart — that time with Shion is joyful — didn’t waver by a single degree.
And as if in reward for noticing that fact, our view opened up all at once.
Drawn toward the scene as if pulled by it, we walked forward — and murmured, without either of us deciding to:
“Beautiful…”
What we had reached was a natural viewpoint, jutting out from the rock face. Before us the sea spread wide, holding the whole sunset in its arms. Indigo and amber blended together, swaying to the rhythm of the waves.
“I’m so glad. This is what I wanted to show you. I looked it up — thought it was so beautiful — and wanted to see it with you, Shion.”
“Yes. It really feels like looking at the sea…”
Shion murmured it, her violet-indigo eyes dyed amber. I found my gaze taken not by the sea but by that light. And then, drawn into those eyes as if absorbed — words left me of their own accord.
“Is this your first time seeing the sea?”
“Yes. Today is the first time. That’s why I’m happy.”
“Why does that make you happy?”
The wanting to know wouldn’t stop, and I asked.
Shion looked straight into my eyes and said it, as if holding something to her chest:
“I’m happy because you’re beside me for my firsts, Uta. The aquarium, the prawn crackers, the Esca, the sea. Even taking the train somewhere a little far away. All of it was a first. And I want you to be there beside me, watching, for all those firsts.”
Those words were carried away by a wave, swallowed by the sunset, and dissolved. The resonance they left was enough on its own to absorb me entirely into the existence that is Shion. Her voice, the beauty of her presence, took my voice and my words away — and I couldn’t look away from the Shion before me.
The light-blue dress, the pure white ribbon, the plaited hair streaming in the wind — and through it all, Shion’s words rang:
“I want you to keep watching me, Uta — all of me, all my firsts and everything else. Everything up to now and everything still to come — forever. I want to become your words. That’s what I think.”
Shion’s words were enigmatic as always — and yet they pressed into my heart like a wave, smooth and unresisted.
Even without those words. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off Shion all day. From the train, through the aquarium, to right now — I had been looking only at Shion the entire time. And even my words — I was using them to seal Shion’s beauty inside the form of a novel. Every reason I had for writing, every reason I’d been able to start again and kept going — all of it was Shion.
And so everything Shion had just wished for was already, entirely, granted.
But that fact would not become words, would not become sound.
“I want to see and know all of you too, Shion.”
I released those abstract words softly, into the gap between waves.
If Shion knew that all of me had already become hers — and if, beyond that satisfaction, there came a parting — I couldn’t imagine bearing it. So cowardly as I am, I quietly hid that fact inside the waves drawing in and drawing back.