Mother - Chapter 7.1

7

“Will I make Mr Tanaka sad?”

His empathic concern sends a ripple through my stomach. I can no longer meet his gaze. My eyes wander to the thatched roof slanting over us, slicing our new bedroom into a wonky tetrahedron. A thick, musty smell clings to the air, lending it a rough texture, drying my throat.

Father emptied the front-facing attic for us while we visited the village. At least, he cleared a path through some dusty crates that haven’t been opened in thirty years, and rolled out two futons near the window.

He tried and failed to disguise his relief when we returned home late—that means he’ll surely want to come next time. It also means I made the right decision to visit Sayuri when I had the chance.

Or perhaps I simply traded one issue for another. Learning the Tanaka family’s story came at the heavy cost of my secrecy, my aim to fly under the radar for as long as possible. I might have told a flimsy lie to Miiko, but that won’t lead to anything worse than an awkward conversation somewhere down the line.

There’s no fixing the damage Conrad caused with Sayuri Tanaka.

Tonight I have to make haste. It’s now or never. My heart is heavy, urging me to stop what I’m planning—or at least find a way to not involve Conrad. But my brain is louder. Always louder. Always plotting. There’s no alternative option, I’m sure of that. And if truth be told, the guilt I endure from putting Conrad in danger is softened by the fact that he’s the reason I’m using such desperate measures in the first place.

I realise he’s still staring at me, waiting for me to say something. I’ve forgotten his question and how long ago he asked it. Sometimes my thoughts rush by so quickly—more so than an average person, I think—that it makes the passage of time harder to measure.

“You said something?”

“If I help you,” he says softly, looking up from his futon mattress. “Will Mr Tanaka be sad?”

“Think of it like this,” I say, sidestepping the question. “Remember back in the city, when you found that injured bird—

“Pecky!”

“Yes, Pecky.” The thought crosses my mind that I could leave him distracted with this fond memory, but I need him to believe the logic I’m clumsily borrowing from it. “Remember when you found Pecky and you wanted to keep him at home?”

“Momma made me say goodbye when he got better. She said he was too dirty.”

“And you were sad, right? But then you spotted him a few weeks later—

“He had so many friends flying with him!”

“Exactly,” I say, driving my point home. “And you were even happier than you were before, you just had to be a little sad first to make that happen. Well, this is the same thing.”

His mouth hangs open slightly and a tiny frown forms on his forehead. I know he’s struggling to apply the analogy to my plan, so I nudge him along to the conclusion. “You’ll make Mr Tanaka sad at first, but later, he’ll be really happy, like you were, when you saw Pecky again.”

“Because we’re going to find Tami for him?”

“Exactly,” I fib, voice smooth. “Now, repeat what I asked you to do.”

#

I take my position down the side of our minka, the frosty grass crunching under my feet.

Darkness clings to Shinpi Farm to the point where nothing has its own shape. My breath mists before me as I wait for my eyes to adjust.

When I’m ready, I topple the first domino.

“CONRAD!” I yell, injecting the perfect blend of concern and confusion into my voice.

The trick is to ensure my cry doesn’t carry too far across the river. My eyes are trained on Mr Tanaka’s minka, waiting for the first sign of movement. If I fail to notice him step outside—if he sees me looking in his direction, everything falls apart.

I wait a few seconds. Nothing happens.

The plan hinges on two components. The first is that Father really can sleep through an earthquake. The second is that Mr Tanaka doesn’t sleep much at all. I can certainly attest to the former, so I’m comfortable raising my voice a little.

“CONRAD!”

My scream echoes into silence.

I’m about to call out for the third time, when light spills onto the road in front of Mr Tanaka’s minka. That’s my cue. Before he comes outside, I whirl around and face the forest. Through the trees, Conrad marches into the distance, silhouette sharp against the glow of the andon lamp clutched to his chest.

And so the scene is complete.

Mr Tanaka is reliving the night his daughter disappeared.

I had Conrad colour the glass panes of the lamp with a crayon. The glow isn’t as blue as I imagined, but he’s far enough that the difference is minute.

Our jobs are mostly complete. The rest is up to Mr Tanaka. There’s a faint shuffle on pebbles, then silence. I imagine he hurried back inside to fetch a light source. I can’t turn around yet. He cannot know I’m expecting his arrival.

Seconds pass, and then the sound of him storming up the road echoes across the farm. The creak of wood confirms his passage onto the bridge, and the light of his lamp illuminates the grass before me. I turn to face Mr Tanaka with a carefully constructed face of terror. His expression is unmistakably genuine; tight-lipped determination, eyes focused, panic-stricken, locked onto Conrad’s position.

My stomach jolts—in one hand is a long bamboo splitter, the blade painted gold by the lamp in his other.

“Conrad left his bed,” I say, flustered, racing into my rehearsed story. As Mr Tanaka charges towards me he jabs his blade at the ground twice, and the message is clear.

Stay here.

With that he rushes past and into the forest, twigs and bramble snapping under his powerful strides. There’s a tremendous knot in my stomach now. Guilt has started to take hold. It’s one thing to let a plan play out in my head. For it to actually take shape before my eyes, to see the blinding worry I’ve evoked in Mr Tanaka, is another thing entirely. I always knew I’d do whatever it takes to unravel the meaning of the symbols. I never imagined people would get caught in the crossfire. It’s inevitable, certainly. I just didn’t imagine it. Perhaps I knew nothing would change if I did.

When Mr Tanaka is far enough away, I follow his lead. Conrad is a pinprick of blue in the distance. Sometimes a tree will block him from view and he’ll be lost entirely to the black.