Work Text:
The Wash
r. Sanza
The light of a Spring’s early morning shimmered in and out of Nozomu Itoshiki’s eyes as he began to creep his head upwards. It seemed as though his weekend would be as usual, with a rub of the eyes and a sitting out of the first few minutes of waking up on the side of his bed. However, before being able to stand up for his breakfast, his mind began rambling: “What good am I if I am nothing compared to those who truly matter? Wouldn’t it seem ridiculous to live as I do?” He was enticed into more thought by reasoning of “mental exercise.” “Even those who care for me only do so out of pity.” He concluded, “I must end my life, and, God-willing, I must fulfill my terrible duty under his favorite mountain, so that he can watch me, and fall off his favorite cliff, so that I am brought to him as the bounty of my work.”
After his breakfast and tea, to which he sat, in perfect form, like a gentleman of Japan, legs parallel and sat upon low to the ground, Nozomu started down his street. At this hour, shadows from the risen shops laid the ground dark; cars rolled down the street and people lumbered about to compete with the sound of the road; the world was waking up. Down the street Nozomu continued, and half-down his street turned into another half, this time with trees tinkling the air and ground with light petals. It was definitely a fine day to stop for a morning drink or a lounging about on a balcony, but he kept walking forward, on one straight line down a long street. A passer-by caught sight of Nozomu. It must have happened from his hakama flowing in the wind of his walk, pulling back the world everywhere he went to a more proper time. “Hey! Good morning, Sensei!” A cheery call of a girl in prime youth came out from across the street and met Nozomu. It was clear before he turned his head to her — it was his student Kafuka Fuura. What Nozomu first expected of himself was a full greeting and conversation with her, as he always did when she was around, but all that came from him was a stiff reflection of the “good morning” back to her and went on his way once more. “Sensei! I have something to tell you!” Nozomu stopped again, but a tension in his body sprung him back into his path; this time, he walked just a bit faster, hiding his face in a slight turn. “For just a moment!” By now, Kafuka was crossing over to her teacher; what could he do to ignore her now?
Nozomu looked down, Kafuka looked up; they met face-to-face. He held a suspicious face from the slight embarrassment of a failed slighting, “What is it, Fuura?”
“I’ll tell you if you come with me.” Thus, he was led into the shop she first was found next to.
What it sold were antiques and a variety of other old things people want for the very fact of their age. “You’ve never been here, but this is my uncle’s store. What do you think about it? I think it’s really cozy,” said she. “I can tell.” The room was squeezed between two great buildings, which, in turn, were between two more, even greater buildings, so as to cascade into this shop. Making it even tighter, shelves were lined perpendicular to the entrance leaving barely enough space for guests. And, if a guest were to walk down each row formed by the shelves, at least one item must be moved to precarious situation where one is obligated to adjust it back.
“Head up here — my uncle is away, so you won’t need to worry about intruding,” said Kafuka before walking up a narrow flight of stairs.
Here, at the head of the second flight of stairs, a run-down home held the living room where Nozomu sat down to be treated with tea. In his time waiting, he looked around. The bottom floor reflected what was above it, only differing in having more furniture. On each wall there was at least a painting, and at most a full set of dishes and silverware. Connected to the main room was the kitchen, where he could see his student pouring hot water out of a kettle. Where he came from was a well with another flight of stairs, perhaps leading to another room just like the one he was in.
A tray with two cups and a larger bowl of green tea was laid down and Kafuka sprung up with a smile, “Don’t do it!”
Nozomu sat still with a flat face. All he could do was look up at her.
“I’ve already found it,” said she, slowly falling into her seat, “that file you wanted.”
Yesterday, Nozomu had lost a file containing one-quarter of the school’s reports and papers. Without it, he would have had to reprint them and work it all out again.
“Ah, thank you, Fuura,” said he with an air of relief.
When Nozomu warmed up to the conversation, they brought each other to talk about their lives, the weather, and many slightly interesting things which one would normally remark on. Two hours before noon, Nozomu said his leaving words and began walking down the thin steps. After opening the door, he caught himself walking in the opposite direction to where he originally went. Guilt took over him — relapse of his morning despair, “What was I thinking? Was my judgement so poor?” he thought. It was true, that his predicted fate was entirely false. It was only the stress in his mind from the thought of repeating work which had brought him down at that bed; a stress where one thinks of themselves as incapable under the eyes of others. He was wrong, his path was wrong, and so he corrected his wrongdoing by heading back home. There was no need to die, at least not now.
Halfway on his return, he took a turn once deciding on finding a proper lunch. There was a favorite café a couple miles away, so a bus was taken to rest his legs. “Excuse me.” He passed through a few passengers and sat down in the middle of it all up against a wall. Supposedly, it was the best position to sit in as most people would find themselves at either the far end or short front, so there would be no bumping of shoulders nor awkward side glances. Now, at least, the middle was empty, so Nozomu could look clearly around instead of being forced to keep to his own lane. To his left, a few people sat close to eachother — nothing interesting. To his right, the very same, except for one ornament breaking the pattern. It was a girl who wore attire very much like Nozomu, only having a more colorful arrangement of cloth than him — Matoi Tsunetsuki, “That girl, is she always with me?” thought Nozomu in cold sweat. For the past year, ever since they met as teacher and student, her movements, as well as behaviour, became increasingly parallel to his. It was definitely strange, and it wasn’t as if Matoi hid herself. Clearly, she was making some kind of show for Nozomu.
After giving a short peek around, the girl walked to Nozomu and greeted him with a smile, “Oh, Itoshiki-sensei, it’s nice seeing you here.”
“Right,” said he, slightly retreated.
“Do you mind if I sit next to you? It’s so boring sitting up there.” Her voice was beautifully reserved; perhaps too much so, compared to the day Nozomu met her.
“Not at all.” He gave way once more.
Matoi slowly sat into the seat right of him, then began explaining her day, which she called “horribly boring,” and asked about his own, to which he could say very little of.
The bus came closing down into a divot in the width of the road and turned left into a long, roofed station crossed by a few perpendicular lines of raised concrete. This area was entirely paved over, with only a line of trees separating it and the sidewalk of the road the bus was just on. It certainly made for an ugly dent in the old town it was in, a marker for modern advancement. Nozomu stood up and stepped down out of the bus; Matoi followed, saying that she, coincidentally had the very same route. He needed some way to lose her, for anyone would turn their head to see the two together, made worse by their much-outdated attire.
“How dare you, Sensei!” Words which were like a drama; overbearing from the deepest parts of the throat scratching the upper parts. Everyone turned their heads to this girl, including the teacher and student.
“I saw it all — you’ll be cursed!” She was a fire amongst the station’s people. Blonde hair like the sun shone out above beaming blue eyes and a handsome, tall build pushed her exuberance further. All of this surprised Nozomu, both in her appearance of body and situation, as she was another one of his students, Kaere Kimura. Despite him looking well in that bus, she was a part of that crowd left of him, which seemed so naturally plain. It was her clothes, he thought, that kept him from noticing her, as all she wore was a printed white t-shirt, a blue cap, and whatever pants she found from her closet.
Matoi gave a teasing smirk while turning away and pulled Nozomu with her, saying, “Let’s go — she’s clearly insane.”
“Why would you fall for her, that leach? All she does is copy you and follow you and idolize you like some pervert!” said Kaere. She was right, thought Nozomu.
“You sow with those fat breasts! Let it go — or can you not because of your own libido?” snarked back Matoi.
“Bitch!” Now, Kaere was after Matoi, who could only run away against such a strong woman. In this heat, Nozomu stepped back once, then twice, then, too, ran away.
“Oh, how love has fallen!” It was a remark from his old fashion. “Why has the world burdened me with such pains? If only I could be freed from my slender beauty.” This came from his young tenderness, the kind which comes right before aging. “This world has grasped my blessing and mauled it into a mocking show of degeneracy.” How could Nozomu live in such a disgusting world? His belief in the way of the world was now being tarnished by squabbling girls who would, in due time, forget this very day and continue fighting over him as though nothing had happened!
He was now in the train station; the very same he first wished to go to. His train would arrive after three others passed by. Many more came through here, but only in distant lanes across the labyrinth of the station. Nozomu’s bay held those going north, while, just under him, another bay went west. After travelling through a hallway, coming around a plaza, going through a larger connection of hallways, then onto the open street and back up through another building, one could reach smaller bays going just a bit east and south, along the coast of the lands. One sleek, long train braked tight into the bay — two more to go. The architecture of his bay was considerably aged but still maintained its perceived cleanliness by a modernist style. Instead of old stone and brick, grey concrete covered the majority of the construction. Everything was grey. On the tracks, no wood or loose gravel could be found, with hard steel and more concrete replacing it. The glassy roof covered the bay from rain but allowed sunlight to beam down and blind the eyes of any imperfections. A lanky train from many years past clanked into the bay — one more down. Piercing towers led the front of the background. All were insignificant to most people, as nobody could ever enter them. Businessmen and tourists came in and out, sure, but there was no real reason to be there for the average man. Just below these skyscrapers were malls and hotels and shops which were more square than tall. These places people would truly come into, as they held purposeful places. Yet, did anyone truly need halls of stores to buy from or indoor plazas to meet and talk? The park did just fine, and what more could anyone need outside of their home and neighbours? The ancients did fine without them. A third train came in much like the first Nozomu saw. He expected only to wait for one more as he did with all the others and, in a little bit after it passed, walked near the edge of the platform to stand for the next train.
A throng of people funneled into each car door, but only for a few seconds before clearing out the platform edge. The train took them in well and many seats still remained. This left Nozomu alone in a little corner of the back of his car. There was, once again, nothing to do but wander in his thoughts.
“Sensei.” Words formed near Nozomu; a voice which was right above a whisper and between reserved speaking. The teacher should’ve paid his attention, but his mind’s reasoning decided these words were extraneous to his cause and, thus, required nothing.
“Sensei.” No response.
“I know you’re not sleeping now.” Nozomu was forced to bring his head up.
It was one more student of his; this time a girl covered in bandages who, most memorably to Nozomu, was accused of having been abused by her parents by himself.
“Okay, you caught me.” Nozomu tried to jest his way out of ignoring Abiru Kobushi.
Abiru was not satisfied by this play and gave a disgruntled frown. With an eyepatch covering her left eye, it seemed as though her one working eye beamed even harder on Nozomu than what could have been with two, bringing him under hard tension. Yet, after just a single look she lightened her face to give remission to her teacher.
“I know something is weighing on you, Sensei.” said Abiru.
“You think so?”
“Don’t try to deny it,” said she, turning slightly sour again.
After a pause between the two passed, Nozomu gave in and admitted to her suspicion. As train was ready to begin moving, Abiru set her luggage down and sat next him. Once seated, she explained why she was there and fulfilled the courtesy she never received.
“Tell me, then, your own day.” Abiru spoke as though a mentor or a counselor.
Nozomu wanted to give a false version of his day — say he was merely feeling down since this morning, omit Kafuka, and, especially, that time on the bus. He tried saying a word of this ploy but slipped out the truth of his day instead. There was no reason to lie.
“Then there is no reason to die — you’ve already found hope out of misery.” Abiru concluded Nozomu’s story. “If you simply meeting Kafuka was enough to free you, then why can’t you do it again?”
“But —” No, she was right, thought Nozomu.
One last retort remained and automatically dispensed itself from his mouth. “But I’m already on my way to kill myself!”
Nozomu Itoshiki arrived at the town he was supposed call “the end.” Abiru had already left for another station along the line, leaving him alone on a bench in his own station. The ride was long, and the day was waning. He stood up and began walking down the street to find that cliff and reminiscence about it, like joking of some great tragedy. The deep, orange horizon rimmed the lands while blending what little blue sky remained above on massive clouds. One particularly large cloud had both round mass and sleek strips of orange, only muddied by its very own color. The sun kept just enough light to make the lands visible, but not enough to make the sky that dreamy color which painters and photographers always want to capture. Underneath it all was a small town which appeared to remain two centuries behind. Single houses still held white walls, bark roofs, and wide porches. They dominated much of the town, even along the shopping streets as they were quiet enough for anyone to live on them. Perhaps there was a new, boxy gas station with all those bright lights and paint, but it was only one building among a pool of traditional buildings. Nozomu caught a few pedestrians walking around, giving the slightest smirk at the sight of people wearing clothes from that old era just like himself.
The world was getting dark now, and Nozomu was rising to the cliff. It would be the last thing he would see for the day, he thought, before returning home the next day. At some point, the road he followed took a curve and left only a gravel path to the cliff. In the middle of it, as the terrain began stooping flat, a temple guarded the rise. Its lights were still on, revealing a long wall siding the gate. If Nozomu’s intuition was right, and if this temple was not a phony tourist place, the walls must have covered a large area, making the temple more like a complex.
The gates were still open for Nozomu to walk in, although first looking about before stepping in. He expected a quaint garden with a pond in it surrounded by red-pillared buildings, statues of those mythic creatures and gods, lit lanterns reflecting light off the pond, and possibly an old sage to greet him; but, there were, to the right, merely plain buildings resembling that of a temple’s and, to the left, a wide yard of some kind, made almost impossible to interpret from the dark world he was in.
“Who is it?” An unknown voice called out to Nozomu.
“I’m only passing by!” Nozomu could barely see where this source came from. He doubted the source could see him as well.
“But who are you? No, better yet what brings you here?” The voice had a deep, rich tonality which arose from what seemed to be a cruel lord’s lady.
“Might I come over there and reveal myself?” spoke he, drawing upon a certain formality seen especially in novels.
“You may.”
Four taps of his feet brought Nozomu up to this speaker, then a few more were invited indoors. A flick of a switch lit up the room and both each other in full form.
“Sensei?” “Kitsu?” Both shared the surprise of seeing one another so far out. Chiri Kitsu explained her situation first: her father was a gravedigger for his wife’s temple thus, as an agreement of inheritance, Chiri was serving her time here as the precursor to the next caretaker of this place.
“You say your father was a gravedigger,” said Nozomu, “then is this a cemetery as well?” As one of the last stops to his day, this thought gave a sense of unease to him — as much as premonition could give.
“It is.”
Nozomu strode back outside and went toward the yard. In what little light could be reflected, he read a thin slab of stone standing below him. “Kumeta, Kōji… Freed of labour” (What a strange grave!)
“What makes you so worried?” Chiri had followed and stood next to him.
Nozomu paused for moment. “I had been tormented this past day by my very own thoughts. All day, I was swung around, first believing in my despair then, right after, being convinced of the world’s hope only to fall back into myself — then turn right around! I find it all so sickening, in both that I have been wrung of my will and that I have no principles to rely on. And, as a last trick from the world, I still have been brought to the very same place I originally wished for my own death!”
After listening, Chiri seemed to be discerning something, looking down with a strict curve of the mouth.
“What you say is ridiculous,” she began, “but that is inherent to what you say, of course. What I, and you, must rather realize is that there is no resolve to your words. You may say as much as you want, but it will be for nothing. Thus, as remedy, I will give you one: for you are already here, where you first wanted to commit suicide, it is best if follow your original will and die now.”
After expending his state on that speech, Nozomu could not retort what was on his mind — that she was just wrong. All he did was perk up a questioning face at her.
“It is reasoned as so: you are already here, meaning there was intention to go here; if there was intention, that intention must have come from a certain undeniable reasoning; if such reasoning was involved, even if you were convinced otherwise, committing suicide must have been so utterly truthful and perfect that you were brought to wanting to do it; as it was so true once, it can very well remain true.”
Nozomu mustered up his strength and came back at her, “Why do you say these things, if you expect there to be intention for everything? What do you gain?”
“Because it appears righteous to me, so I must defend it.”
“Tell me, then, the reason you think it’s so righteous.”
“It is what I have just said.”
Nozomu stalled out for a moment. “Perhaps your thinking that my first want of suicide was reasoned to be valid does not apply, despite you saying that it may remain so even until now. My current belief that I must not commit suicide can very well remain as perfect as its counterpart.”
“In such a case, as you say, where two equal beliefs confront each other, one must be chosen out of the solidarity the mind must have — two truths cannot contradict each other under any infallible system, after all. In order for one to win over the other, power must be used; it is like two nations under two government who despise each other will never exist peacefully and must unite after one overtakes the other. In our conflict, it so happens that your original will to die was formed under, as you have stated, your own pretext, thereby making it true to yourself. The other end, that you must not die, came from the hope of the world, thereby making distant from you, who is the true decider of yourself.”
“But, as you say…” The continued their argument all the way to the building they first saw one another at.
Retort after response, Nozomu slowly began wearing down what little he had from his long day. His opponent did not seem to be giving any ground to him, making him terribly hopeless about his stance. At some point, his line of thought deformed and left him to his lowest senses.
‘Then you’re right!” bawled Nozomu “All you say is right and there cannot be any denying it. I must return to the source by killing myself!” He ran out with the clothes on his body almost tearing up in the wind.
The night made the air at the top of hill cool rapidly from the sea breeze, making every breath for every yard of Nozomu’s run needle away at his throat. The black enwrapped him, leaving only the crunching gravel underneath him to be the way towards the cliff. A blindness stole him away once nearing the end of his run — he stumbled.
It would’ve made clear sense to have remained downed for Nozomu, for his mind was stripped of its vigor. He would not have needed to jump off and plunge so many lengths down; even death was tiring to him. He wanted to leave this day behind, which had leached him of his will and time. He did rest, looking up toward the sky. At this time, stars sent streaks of light across the canvas, tuckering behind those same dreamy clouds Nozomu had seen. Shades of blue and grey layered it all, further deepened by the background of black. It was best be blanketed by this view and rest here. But, this very beauty envigored him just enough to allow his body to begin moving toward the edge of the land, which was already so close to him.
Down his eyes went toward the water, only seeing by the image of crashing waves in his mind. The cove he stood upon was more a deep pit now; the bottom being entirely obscured from the stars’ lights. Nozomu ruffled against the ground a little bit more and attempted to gain any view he could. Nothing more was found.
He was here to fall, but a moment of hesitance held him back to let him hear a call. “Sensei! I’ve found you!” Once again, a student of his had set upon him. This time, Nozomu decided, he would not meet eye-to-eye, for both the guilt of being here and the guilt of killing himself would be too great to allow his death. So, if this student of his went within twenty paces of him he would slip off the cliff. “Sensei!” The student called out again. This voice was clearer, but just underneath it hid a second voice which could not be made out. “I know what you’ll do!” A black point in Nozomu’s vision grew larger, slowly forming a taller shape. “Please, I beg of you!” The leading voice could be heard as though in a room; and, yet again, that second voice remained behind it. The tonality could now be heard as having a pronunciation of words which almost contradicted the first’s. “There’s so much love in the world!” was said, then came, “There’s always hope, you know!” from the other voice. The shadowy students were now closing in on Nozomu and could be known as Nami Hitō, that terribly typical girl who was nothing but typical, and the girl from this morning, Kafuka — the very same who first led him out of despair.
“Stand back! Look away! It’s for your sake — I will fall no matter what,” he shouted. The wind suppressed the world by a low whistling, stealing away any quiet enough sounds.
The two girls were here, on this cold, dark hill, only by Nami’s short glance behind her. She had heard a girl bellow out curses at noon and, by instinct, forced her head back. It could have been very easily the case that she could have kept to her phone and never seen her teacher, but it was her head that turned around to witness him break down and scramble away and still her head which thought to call Kafuka to her aid and the very same head which wanted so much to chase down Nozomu.
Both girls choked and panted from their run toward their teacher. “Damn you, Sensei,” Nami was in close enough range to not scrape her throat in speech, “All you’ll do is hurt people.” Instead of a numbing shout, her tone became tainted by the shaky start to sobbing. Unlike Nami, Kafuka regained a stillness from her exhaustion, giving a smile to Nozomu.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he resisted.
She began stepping closer to Nozomu’s twenty-pace line, eventually crossing it.
“Get back!” He was not true to his thoughts; he remained put. Only a small draw backward was fulfilled.
“Come on, hold my hand.” She leaned her side forward and opened her right arm out.
Nami followed up to her friend’s distance to cry out, “Please, take it, I beg you.” She was obviously crying, though not visible by her tears, which were blended into the night, but rather her broken face. “Just, whatever you do, don’t jump.”
Nozomu was reminded of his duty and tipped half his body over the ledge. Nami dropped quiet.
Kafuka held her own position, never changing emotions. Nozomu could not possibly make out what she had on her mind.
“See? You really don’t want to do it! Isn’t that right, Nami?” said she. Nami was on the ground and gave a thin nod from below.
“Don’t test me,” said he.
“Oh, tests aren’t like this — not at all. It’s just that I think you really don’t want to die.”
“What am I doing here, then?” Nozomu’s face was wary, with his mouth remaining open after talking.
“Hm,” she paused, “then you’re only curious about this life! You wanted to understand it deeper, and so you’re here to discover its secrets.”
“Oh, pitiful Kafuka, you are so wrong! Let me the show you the way and you can follow along!” This thought zipped into his mind for a second before going right out. Its effect was a ripping pathetic feeling set so very deep in the heart to sink it. Now was the time for tears. The emptiness below his shoulders was getting at his trembling muscles, there stood before him two girls who had never wished to see him in such a state this day, and the world’s madness had torn at him. Yet, despite it all, nothing would come. Nozomu was on the balance of life and death; to do anything would be futile. He was on both sides of the scale, only being tipped a way once something moved for him.
“Where am I?” What were these words? Nozomu did not know, except for that he was forced to say it.
Kafuka answered him, “With me.”
“May your grace bless me! Beautiful Kafuka, love is you and I am your lover. Let me join you at once!” That was the last thought of Nozomu that day, for he slipped away from his post and into the arms of Kafuka. Nami held them both as well, and they enwrapped on another; one holding the other and another holding the one. In the wash of the black night, warmth was found hidden amongst the stones.