PAGE 3. Countless Blues

Uncharacteristic behavior.

Uncharacteristic, behavior.

Uncharacteristic, behavior, act.

While sifting through the sand wet from the waves, Asha clearly thought so.

On the day when the rain that had threatened to destroy the island finally stopped, heavy dark clouds still loomed overhead, yet Asha headed to the empty beach.

There were no girls harvesting pearls from shells, no passenger ships bringing mainland people, no fishing boats.

No one knew when it would rain again.

No one knew when the calm waves would surge again and swallow Asha’s ankles, knees, shoulders, Asha herself.

Still, Asha bent her knees, hunched her back, and searched for scattered seashells. Regardless of whether sand clung to the hem of her few outdoor clothes, she pushed up her glasses and strained her eyes.

Even though there was no need to do so.

She might not be able to send it.

She ended the letter with a greeting different from usual. Only after that did she jump up from her seat and rush to the beach.

Without giving any notice to her grandfather who was taking a nap, she ran to the shore in light clothing. Even though his birthday had already passed, she felt anxious.

She grew impatient.

She didn’t want to stay still.

Her arms felt light without carrying a parasol. The sun hidden by dark clouds couldn’t harm Asha’s skin. The damp air made breathing much easier.

Although she was short of breath from hurrying just a few steps, it didn’t feel bad. It had been almost a year since she’d visited the sea, but she had no time to dwell on that fact.

Her hands moved busily, searching for small shells with pretty patterns.

She finally found one, and only then worried, ‘What if it doesn’t fly away easily?’ But the letter with the small seashell enclosed—with a neatly added postscript—flew away just like always.

Carrying Asha’s breath, to the northern end.

To the northernmost part of the kingdom.

And from the next day on, the person who had prepared the letter and gift couldn’t move a step from her bed.

Since intense activity was usually followed by backlash, it wasn’t particularly surprising. What was truly surprising was……

“Why on earth did you go to the beach in this weather?”

The girl who pulled a chair to her bedside tilted her head with narrowed eyes. Her purple hair fell like a fine carpet in the direction her head tilted.

“When did you, see that again?”

“……You might not realize it, but you stand out.”

What nonsense. It was an absurd answer. Asha puffed up her chest to question her further but then just let out a deep sigh.

She didn’t want to be unkind to someone who came all the way for a ‘sick visit.’ She didn’t have the energy either.

The candy Rosette had given her rolled around in her hot mouth. Feeling the exotic sweetness, Asha blinked her eyelids slowly.

Her teal eyelashes fluttered gently like newly sprouted buds. Rosette watched her while swinging her long legs back and forth.

Unlike the host who showed no signs of discomfort, the chair seemed too small to accommodate her stretched-out body. Still, the generous visitor sat brazenly, using the excuse of a ‘sick visit.’

Since Asha had more sick days than healthy ones, the probability of any visit becoming a ‘sick visit’ was quite high.

“Where’s Bash?”

“Hmm?”

“Bash. You said you two decided to date.”

“Ah, yes. That’s right. But why?”

“No, um, I thought people who are dating usually want to be together.”

Her upper body, which had been leaning toward the bed, leaned back. The hand that had been fiddling with teal hair returned to its original position, tapping her lips.

“I see him every day anyway.”

It was a dry response for someone who had just started dating. Asha, who had brought up the topic hoping to hear something else, closed her mouth in slight confusion.

Aila used to share every detail about boys she wasn’t even ‘seriously’ dating. The more awkward something was to tell a friend, the more frequently she shared it.

But unlike her sister, Rosette seemed to have no desire to talk about her love life. The finger that had been touching her lips pointed to the table beside the bed.

“What’s this? Is it from Aila?”

On it were three unopened letters. With neither recipient nor sender written, without the official seal that should rightfully be there if not delivered by hand.

“No, no. It’s nothing.”

“Why are they piled up like this? Without even breaking the wax.”

“The letters are illegible.”

“Shall I read them for you?”

“No! ……No, really, it’s fine.”

Lest the visitor offer such kindness again, Asha grabbed the stacked letters and dropped them beside the bed—as far from Rosette as possible.

The violet eyes narrowed, but only for a moment. Rosette, while tapping the corner of her mouth, opened her lips without taking her eyes off the suspicious envelopes.

That question troubled Asha in a different way than before.

“Are you not writing these days?”

“How, how do you know that?”

“I heard it.”

“From Aila?”

“From you. You told me when you were young.”

“I said such things too, huh.”

I said all sorts of things, her parched lips rose awkwardly but stopped.

The person before her had been admired by most children since childhood, and Asha was no exception. She had memories of trying to get closer, even by a fingertip, throwing out all kinds of topics to attract attention.

Even now, she still envies that slender and energetic girl, but……

The fervor and blindness of childhood has embarrassing and awkward aspects when reconsidered. Asha shook her head while gently rubbing her flushed cheeks.

“I don’t write anymore.”

“Why?”

“Just because.”

To that half-hearted answer came an equally bleak response.

“Well, you get bored easily.”

It’s not that I get bored easily, but that I lack the strength to continue. She wanted to defend herself proudly but couldn’t. After all, it was true that she had quit.

No matter what reasons she gave, she couldn’t clean up the debris of ‘things left unfinished’ scattered around Asha.

“I’ll be going now.”

The girl who had been wiggling just her toes stood up energetically and turned her back. Her posture was so straight that Asha forgot to be displeased about being evaluated as someone who ‘gets bored easily.’

[To my exceedingly kind friend

Dear Asha!

I’m still delighted by your thoughtful gift. I wanted to reply immediately, but I picked up my pen a bit late because I was savoring your gift. Please understand.

Have I ever told you that I want to go to the sea?

Even if not, you could easily infer that I’ve never been to the sea! That is, if you didn’t mistake the vast lake surrounding Kasoche’s mountains for the sea!

The sea is a symbol of the unknown to me. Something I’ve never visited or seen. Only the ‘sea’ praised or hated by outstanding artists fills my curiosity.

Do you know the poet ‘Marso Cella’? Someone who spent his entire life in Delling. He worked as a poet throughout his life but spent his later years as a painter.

He expressed the sea with every material he could use. With stubby pencils, with newly acquired oil paints, with colored pencils, with burst ink pens.

They say he always observed the sea from his attic. So the sea in his paintings always has the same composition. Yet the height of the waves, the colors, the number of ripples are always different. That must be what captivates even those who have never seen the sea.

Just as I fell into his sea.

Marso Cella’s sea was the first sea I ever saw.

After our mother had ‘more than enough’ money, the first things she bought were paintings. I think I mentioned this before—there were works by rising new artists at that time, and she also spent a lot to buy posthumous works of fairly famous painters.

Though I was the only one who actually looked at those paintings.

Mother believes that the paintings decorating the mansion, the shapes of candlesticks, tapestries and such reveal the dignity of the household. She seems to choose them randomly according to her whims, but thanks to that, I can feast my eyes.

Marso Cella’s sea was one of them.

The width is so long that even if I spread both my arms completely, it wouldn’t be enough. The height is also tall enough that I have to lift my head.

When I crouch in the hallway looking at the sea painted in oils, it feels as if I’ve stepped into a world unknown to me.

But no matter how vivid the sea is, it can’t compare to reality. My sea—though this expression is silly—is just a fabricated world.

Of course, fabricated things, artificial things, completely created things have their own romance, but……

But that day was different. The day you gave me a gift was different.