Episode 59 — Parent

Just over a week left until summer break ends. My body has been growing heavy from the accumulated early mornings, the daily trips to Shion’s house — my mind increasingly prone to a foggy, misted-over quality.

Even so — every time Shion’s tone rings out, every time I touch the existence called Shion — my eyes open wide. Something like blood surging through my body all at once, and the exhaustion forgotten entirely.

As summer break’s end approaches alongside the coming competition, today again Shion’s performance was extraordinary. So refined that each individual sound left me genuinely astonished — a beauty like a polished work of art, honed to its sharpest edge. And above all, the attitude of confronting her own sound every day without distraction — I thought that more than anything deserved the deepest respect. And if my existence could contribute even a little to that — there could be nothing more.

In truth, I want all of it. Just as the whole reason I write fiction is Shion, I want the whole reason Shion plays music to be me too.

“Play piano for me. Keep playing piano — for me.” A relationship that began with that wish of mine. For some reason Shion accepted that absurdly convenient wish of mine, it became a promise between us, and from that the present has been built.

Shion said it once too.

“From here on, every performance of my piano — every last one, not a single one excepted — is a performance dedicated to Uta.” But I know it isn’t only that. However much I wish to become all of Shion, I know that is something that can never be.

Because the sound ringing out before me right now. The beauty that has become the whole of my reason and the ideal itself — it was built together by Shion and Shion’s mother. Shion’s mother has offered up the whole of her own life, and the result of that is this, taking flight so beautifully across the score.

Coming to spend time with them through the lesson hours has made me feel it afresh and with full force. How much time Shion’s mother devotes to Shion. In the morning she comes to collect me for Shion’s sake, during the lesson she guides Shion’s sound in the right direction, she makes lunch, she drives me home — and beyond that too. Even during the time I’m writing my novel, she is doing housework and other things for Shion’s sake.

Not only through summer break — since Shion was born, she has been dedicating her time to Shion. Maintaining her strictness for Shion’s sound without flinching even from being resented. That devotion has borne fruit, ringing out as this beautiful sound. The girl who is the most beautiful in the world — Kanzaki Shion — has been shaped into being.

So I can never become all of Shion. And yet — for having raised a Shion so wonderful that I could wish to become all of her — I hold toward Shion’s mother the fullest possible gratitude and respect. Every time Shion plays, every time she scatters that beauty around her — I think the life of Shion’s mother that is given meaning through it, that accumulation, is more precious than anything.

And then I think of my own mother — worn to the edge. The pain of her thin back, her hollow cheeks. I feel with fresh force the weakness and immaturity of my own existence, which has given no meaning to my mother’s life — and, unable to process that guilt, I begin to sink into it. When —

Contrasting entirely with my inner state, Shion’s pure white fingers sank slowly into the keys, touching the final cadence. After the resonance held for a while, Shion’s mother said quietly:

“Shall we stop here for today.”

As if released by those words, Shion sprang from the chair and came running straight toward me. Then without a moment’s hesitation, she threw her arms around my body.

“Uta. How was my sound today?”
“Well done — today was wonderful too.”

At those words Shion pressed her head against my shoulder with delighted, nuzzling insistence, as if she could hardly contain it. The embrace deepened. I stroked the lustrous silver hair glittering in the light — there, there. At the edge of my vision I could see Shion’s mother watching our usual exchange with her expressionless face, and making to go up ahead of us.

The soft sensation against me, the sweet scent, the hair that flowed silk-smooth through my fingers strand by strand — all of it proof that Shion had been cherished and raised with care. And so, I —

“Um — Shion’s mother.”

She hadn’t expected to be called back in this state, apparently — her shoulders gave a small startled jump, and she turned toward us. Shion too looked at me with puzzled eyes.

“What is it?”

Shion’s mother tilted her head, her voice as calm as still water. Her way of speaking, her gesture — a little like the Shion I first met, I thought — and asked:

“This might be rather late to be asking, but — what’s your name? Shion’s mother?”

At my words her’s eyes went wide, and then she said, quietly:

“Ai — the character for love — and On — the character for sound. Anon.”

The softly released voice rang through the space.

The instant I heard that name, tears welled up unaccountably. What a wonderful, perfectly fitting name, I thought. It seemed to express exactly the life of someone who had loved, raised, and guided the sound called Shion in the right direction.

So moved that I almost lost sight of what I’d meant to say, I hurried to find the words.

“Then — may I call you Anon-san…?”

At my words, Shion’s mother — Anon-san — nodded, slowly.

“Of course. Thank you always for being such a good friend to Shion. Shiko-chan.”

Anon-san said it with a smile. That smile seemed to hold many things inside it — a gentle love, a bashfulness, a trace of guilt, and several other feelings. While I was gazing at Anon-san, trying to read what those feelings meant —

“No cheating on me with Mama.”

Shion muttered it sulkily, looking up at me from under her lashes.

At that thoroughly out-of-place remark, Anon-san and I looked at each other — and laughed.

◇◇◇

Swayed by Anon-san’s driving, hand in hand with Shion, I watch the townscape flowing past. Solanine is playing in the car. Going through this every day, I’ve finally got used to the seatbelt’s constriction and can relax considerably more than before.

Feeling Shion’s warm body temperature against me, watching the town dyed in evening light — the landscape gradually shifts toward the familiar. And yet even though it’s the familiar town, perhaps because of that familiarity, a small change registers immediately, and my gaze is drawn toward it. Shion notices the same thing and asks me:

“Something’s different from usual, isn’t it.”

The downtown area, usually dyed orange, is a little more festive than normal — and from the candy apple sign on the framework of the market stalls lining the street, I understand why.

“Come to think of it — tomorrow is the festival.”

Until last year it had been too far outside my world for me to remember — but every year at this time there’s a fireworks show, and stalls line the streets of my neighbourhood. Even my usually somewhat drab town comes alive all of a sudden, and until last year that atmosphere had always made me vaguely uncomfortable.

At my words, Shion pressed her weight into me and stared out the window.

“A festival — !”

The instant I looked at those sparkling eyes, every old complex and discomfort dissolved in a flash. And Anon-san, watching Shion through the rearview mirror, asked:

“Shall you two go together after the lesson tomorrow?”
“Is that all right…?”
“Well, occasionally. And I feel bad that Shiko-chan has been coming along to Shion’s lessons every day during what should be her summer break. Go and enjoy yourselves, just the two of you, for once.”
“Th — thank you very much.”

I hurried my thanks — and at the same moment:

“Yes!”

Shion murmured it with guileless delight and threw her arms around me. However many times this happens, my heart is always anything but guileless about it — I wish she would stop.

While joy and more turbulent feelings were doing battle inside me, my anticipation for tomorrow beginning to expand — Anon-san said:

“Here we are. Thank you for today too, Shiko-chan.”

“Thank you as always for the lift.”

I said it, bowed my head, and got out of the car. With Shion’s hand still in mine as a matter of course. Anon-san, at my words, kept her eyes forward and gave a casual wave. There was something practised and effortlessly cool about that adult gesture.

Shion and I walked on through the street, somewhat giddy with the festival atmosphere. Through the evening light.

“The festival — I’m looking forward to it.”
“Me too.”

Exchanging those words. Concealing a small loneliness. And so, arriving at last at my building.

“Thanks for walking me home again today.”
“Not at all.”
“See you tonight then.”
“Before that — can I have a hug?”

Shion whispered it sweetly, imploringly. I slowly let myself be drawn in toward Shion’s body.

And then, just before our warmth could meet —

“Shi…?”

That voice — one I hadn’t heard in so long.

Against the backdrop of the evening light, my mother was standing there, eyes wide.