The Last Leaves Falling (24 page)

50

Dear Sora,

Your mother tells me that you ’re struggling to write now. Struggle is good for the soul, we know that, but it’s not good for the fingers. And truth be told, my old hands are rusty too. So your illustrious grandmother went out and bought a new-fangled contraption called a Pee See.

Perhaps you ’ll teach us how to use it.

We love you,

Ojiisan

(and Bah-Ba)

•  •  •  •

Ojiisan,

Computers are strange and mythical beasts, more temperamental than the thunder god Raijin. Don’t worry if yours starts to grumble. It’s their nature. But there are things you can do that will appease it. They like things orderly; the same requests and orders every time. Find a way to complete tasks that
works
, and stick to it. Here are some suggestions.

Sora

I print out step-by-step instructions: how to turn on the computer, open up the browser, sign up for an e-mail account, send mail, use the search bar. And as an afterthought I tell him where to download mah-jongg. I know they can both play with real tiles, but perhaps they’ll like it. And they will not argue over who is winning if the computer keeps tally.

51

WHAT IF WE KIDNAP YOU?

(-: It’s a nice idea, but to where?

UM . . . I COULD HIDE YOU IN THE CLOSET?

We’re trying to free her, Kai, not condemn her.

YOU’RE RIGHT. AND I DON’T THINK THE POLICE WOULD BE IMPRESSED. I’M NOT READY FOR INCARCERATION. NOT EVEN FOR FRIENDSHIP.

I MEAN . . . THERE ARE CRIMINALS IN THERE.

Hah. Thanks, boys. That’s a lot of help :-p

SORRY, MAI. YOU WOULDN’T WANT ME TO ROT BEHIND BARS, THOUGH, WOULD YOU? O_O

Hahahaha, no.

SO WHATEVER PLAN WE COME UP WITH, IT HAS TO BE LEGAL.

And preferably not hurt anybody.

YEAH, OKAY.

What if you write to the universities and tell them what has happened?

YEAH, THAT COULD WORK.

But I cannot bring shame upon my family like that.

Her mother brought it upon herself, if you ask me. But I’m not sure I could do it, either, so I stay silent.

OKAY, OKAY, I THINK I’VE GOT IT!

What?

WELL, THESE PLACES ARE PRESTIGIOUS, YES?

Yes.

SO EVEN IF THEY LIKE YOU—I mean, your mother’s picture of you—they will want to interview, right?

I think so.

SO ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS MAKE THEM THINK YOU ARE A LAZY STUDENT, OR DISINTERESTED, OR LESS CLEVER THAN THEY THOUGHT.

That might actually work

But . . .

WHAT? THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT PLAN. NOTHING.

Except that my mother’s savings, and my grandfathers, will go into the plane tickets if we have to interview.

MAYBE THE UNIVERSITIES WILL INTERVIEW BY PHONE CALL?

Maybe. But then my mother will be listening.

Besides, I am a terrible, terrible liar.

THEN WE’RE BACK TO THE BEGINNING. I STILL THINK YOU SHOULD TELL HER HOW YOU FEEL. IT HAS TO BE BETTER THAN LYING.

52

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

Her breath is warm against my neck as she unbuttons my shirt.

“Would you want to know if I was unhappy?”

She smooths my collar and steps back, searching my face while a thousand emotions cloud hers.

“Of course.”

I wish that I could tell her about Mister Yamada. I wish I could explain how it feels to be caught in this cage of aches and limitations, how it feels to know what is to come. How I wanted so much more.

“I . . . I’m not actually talking about me. It’s a friend.”

“Oh?” I do not think she believes me.

“It’s Mai . . .”

“Oh, Sora, don’t you think that you have troubles enough, without taking on somebody else’s?” She puffs out her chest and reaches for the last of the buttons on my shirt, moving behind me to shrug the cloth from my shoulders. “Lift.” I lift first my right arm, then my left as she peels the sleeves away. It is an effort.

“Please, Mama.”

She sighs. “What is it?”

“If I wanted to do something, a big,
life
something—true love, ambitions, career choice—would you try to stop me?”

She considers, and I do not think she’s going to answer me, but then: “I’d want the best for you, Sora. Every mother does. And if your choices are not good ones, it is my job to see that you are steered right.”

But how can she
know
what’s right? How can anybody know?

I scowl, and my mother’s face softens. “But if there was a chance, no, I would not stop you. Ready?”

I nod, and my mother stands before me, using her shoulders to take the weight of my chest and lift me from the chair. And as I plop, deadweight, onto the mattress, she whispers, “I would give you the moon, you know.”

53

After my mother said good night and switched off my light, I heard her sinking to the floor outside my room, holding her breath so I would not hear her tears. But I heard the absence of them. I almost cried out, just so she’d come in, but I could not.

She would not want me to know.

But it got me thinking about Mister Yamada, lying in his bed, in that room, trying to sleep in a place where death and despair hang in every breath of air. Alone.

It isn’t right.

I lay there all night, and by the time the sun rose, I’d made up my mind.

I can’t fix everything, but he does not have to be alone.

The wheels of my chair hum against the hospital floor as we approach Doctor Kobayashi’s office.

There it is. The ward.

“Stop.”

“What is it?” My mother halts, panic in her voice.

“I need to go in there.”

“Where?”

“There. That room. Please.”

My mother, confused, does not question me, and as she presses the intercom buzzer, her words echo in my ears.
I would give you the moon.
My throat is sharp and tight, my face hot.

“Hello?” A woman’s voice speaks through the box.

“Please, my son . . . he needs to . . .” She looks at me.

“I need to see the patient in bed one. Yamada-san.”

“He needs to see a Mister Yamada. I believe he’s in this ward.”

The connection is cut, and we’re left with silence.

My mother buzzes again, but nobody answers. My heart sinks.

“Sorry, Sora. Perhaps we can try again after your appointment.”

“Thanks.”

She kicks off the first of my brakes before the ward door clicks open and a nurse’s face pops out.

“Hello?”

“Hello.” I bow.

“You’re here for Yamada Eiji-san?” She looks worried.

“Yes.”

“I . . . I’m sorry. Are you family?”

“No. I am a friend.”

“I . . . I am afraid you are too late. Mister Yamada passed away this morning.”

No.

No. He can’t have.

He can’t have died alone.

I can feel the heat rising behind my eyes. But what right do I have to cry? I did not even know him.

I swallow hard before I try my voice. I am surprised to find it works. “Was he at peace?”

She looks at my chair, and then at my mother, before she answers steadily. “It was . . . a complex illness.”

My mother’s hand finds my shoulder and squeezes until it hurts.

“What does that mean?”

“I’m sorry. I can only discuss this with family.”

“Please. I need to know.
Please
.”

“I wasn’t on shift, but his breathing had been getting worse. I’m sorry, I really cannot tell you any more.”

“Thank you,” my mother says, and starts us down the hall before I can protest.

While we’re waiting for Doctor Kobayashi, my mother asks, “Did you know him?”

I think about last night, and wonder whether Yamada Eiji could feel me thinking of him. Whether he knew that someone cared.

I hope so.

“Not really. I met him once.”

She nods, as though that makes it a little better. But it doesn’t.

54

I don’t know what I’m looking for, except for
answers
, but I shut myself up in my room as soon as we get home, and reach out to the Internet.

He should not have died that way.

He shouldn’t.

It’s not right and I want answers.

The Japan Society for Dying with Dignity campaigns for the rights of every person to chose to die with dignity and without the aid of futile life-sustaining treatment.

There are difficult cases,
they say.
Why prolong
life beyond its natural course?
But they’re careful, focusing on passive death: adequate meds and the turning off of life support.

Bioethics SWAT teams will be made available to families facing these difficult decisions.

But Yamada-san’s family was absent.

He had no one. And it isn’t fair.

•  •  •  •

When Mai appears online, I’m so glad to see her that I send her a message almost before she’s properly logged in.