PAGE 4. Paper Flower

Carol.

A boy completely opposite to me.

Fingernails that had grown without care traced the empty air. About one and a half hand spans above the round crown, curly hair swayed lightly along the spine.

The air had turned cold, and fingers had become a bit numb. Asha, who had come out to see the winter sea, stretched her arms upward out of habit to gauge Carol’s height.

She imagined a boy whose appearance she didn’t know, though she knew so much about him.

Teal eyelashes blinked slowly, and the eyes revealed between them were deeper and more vivid than the winter sea.

The winter sea with its lowered temperature seems darker and foamier than in summer…… While thinking of what to write in her letter, her gaze remained fixed on the sea.

In a few days, the year will change.

Asha was counting the months she had exchanged letters with Carol when she tightly clenched her fist.

“Carol.”

Carol, Carol.

She liked the softly curling final sound.

Asha, whispering the name she had called more often with the tip of her pen than with her mouth, sat down on the white sand and closed her eyes.

The surging waves, the salty smell, the fishy smell, the sound of boats coming in from a distance……

Normally, that is, before exchanging letters with Carol, this was something she wouldn’t even attempt. In a place surrounded by sea everywhere you look, it’s difficult to focus on the sea.

It’s natural, and because it’s natural, there’s no need to observe it carefully.

Moreover, Asha, the weakest person on the island, would never jump from rocks and cut through the water like other children.

Though all children except Asha played like that.

Even if she went to the beach, a child who couldn’t actually enter the water couldn’t join in. Asha adjusted her shawl with this newfound thought.

If it weren’t for Carol……

A boy completely opposite to Asha.

Born in summer, with hair that falls straight without curls, a person who has lived his entire life in a place where half the year is winter.

Carol, who keeps his nails neatly rounded, is quite tall in his village though there’s no one to compare with, and whose hair is a silver color brighter than silver coins.

Carol.

When he said that, Asha asked her grandfather for a silver coin and held it up to candlelight, sunlight, and under the full moon.

Wanting to know exactly what silver brighter than a silver coin looked like.

The girl imagining a friend she had never met was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice someone approaching. By then, round water marks had reached right next to her.

“Asha. What brings you here?”

Only when the gray shadow completely covered her did Asha look up. Above her, as usual, stood a peer with her entire body soaking wet, tilting her head.

“Just looking.”

“Seems like you’re feeling better these days?”

It was a dry tone that could be either sarcasm or concern.

“That’s good.”

The cleanly stretched eyes lengthened. It was a charming smile that could easily captivate even strangers. Her evenly tanned skin gleamed like freshly drawn salt when it caught the sunlight.

Asha almost fell helplessly into that sight.

Rosette, shaking her limbs to remove moisture, earned Asha’s envy with unintentional actions—purely natural habits.

“When you get better, let’s swim together.”

“In the sea?”

“Where else? You do know how to swim, right?”

The teal head nodded up and down.

Children of Iota learned to swim right after learning to walk. Asha was no exception.

‘Asha, it’s okay. You can do it. Dad’s holding you.’

‘But still……’

‘Shall we just go this far? Just this far. Do you trust Dad?’

“Come to think of it, it’s soon.”

Cutting through the bleak memories, a calm voice softly echoed. Rosette, pressing the sand firmly with her soles, added without taking her eyes off Asha.

“Soon it’ll be the new year.”

“Ah….. That’s right. It will be.”

“See you then.”

Her damp palm pressed on Asha’s shoulder and then lifted.

The last day of the year was approaching. Asha, untangling her messy hair strand by strand, bowed her head while biting her rolled lip.

“How annoying.”

[To Carol

By the time you receive this letter, the year will have already changed. How is the new year in Kasoche?

It’s getting colder day by day. Though it’s probably not even cool compared to where you are. Novels often describe ‘cold that cuts like a knife through flesh,’ but I can’t even imagine it.

Not as literary exaggeration, but do you truly feel such cold? Cold that penetrates even when bundled up in coats—I can hardly imagine it.

Iota has winter too, but as you know, it can’t compare to the mainland. We’re quite far even from Delling, the southernmost part of the mainland, so our weather differs from theirs too.

Though thanks to that, we can easily eat fruits that mainland people have to cross the sea to obtain with great difficulty.

Today is the 30th.

On this day, Iota holds a memorial ceremony. All the islanders gather together. Iota is an island, and most adults, whether on merchant ships or fishing boats, board vessels for work.

You, being clever, have probably guessed who this memorial ceremony commemorates.

Souls sunk in the sea.

People who unfortunately never returned, caught in capricious waves.

Every household has lost at least one family member to the sea. That’s what living on an island means.

People wear the whitest clothes they own, gather on the beach, and pile up firewood. Then they light it. So that lost souls can return home and find rest.

They also pile up firewood and light it at village parties, but the atmosphere is completely different.

It’s solemn and reverent. Occasionally, some elderly people shed tears. Today, my grandfather did.

Because he has a child who said he would return, but never did. How deep that pain must be.

Though he tried not to show it for my sake, he ended up shedding tears. I couldn’t say anything and just held his hand tightly.

This was the first memorial ceremony without Aila. At times like this, Aila would maturely comfort Grandfather, but I just stared at the tips of my shoes like a first-grader given an upperclassman’s textbook, pretending not to notice.

But, I don’t know what to do.

The memorial ceremony happens every year, but each time I don’t know what expression I should wear. It’s not just our family who has lost someone, so it feels awkward to cry in grief, but standing stiffly might make people whisper that I’m heartless.

It’s already a thing of the distant past.

Sometimes, I wonder if that’s what people want. For me to cry loudly, wailing for those who have departed.

For me, still young, to cry on behalf of the adults who cannot.

I know. It’s too much of a speculation. Above all, there’s no evidence.

So I just don’t know.

Am I sad? Should I be sad? For Grandfather, it’s a son he raised properly for decades, but for me, it’s a Dad with whom I have few memories.

Mom died right after giving birth to me, and Dad died when I was just learning letters and arithmetic. For a common reason in Iota.

A tremendous typhoon suddenly struck. Dad’s boat was in the middle of the sea, with no means to call for help.

Rather than memories of Dad, I first recall Aila gasping and crying. Unlike me, Aila probably had a close relationship with both Mom and Dad.

But for me….. Well.

Dad was the first person who taught me to swim. It’s an Iota custom for parents to teach their children how to swim and hold their breath.

He also sang lullabies while I lay in bed. The melody is foggy like mist, but I remember some lyrics.

My child, may you have good dreams today.

My child, even typhoons cannot trouble you.

My child, even demons cannot test you.

My child, may you only have good dreams.

He sang such songs every night. I asked Rosette and Bash, but they said they never heard such lullabies.

I could probably ask Grandfather and find out, but I haven’t. I’m not that curious. It’s not important either.

After the official memorial ceremony ends, adults gather and drink. They pour new liquor brought from the capital or precious liquor that has been aged for a long time.

Children usually don’t join them but gather among themselves to play. Because today and tomorrow, no one would scold them even if they stayed up all night.

Rosette asked if I wanted to play together, but I just returned home. I preferred writing a letter to you rather than joining in with children I’m not close to.

For the past few days, I haven’t replied to you. Actually, I could have sent it earlier. But I felt like I couldn’t write even a single character until the memorial ceremony was over.

Really, not even one character.

You wouldn’t know how many times I dipped my pen in ink after just writing ‘To Carol.’ Or how many times I took out new letter paper.