PAGE 12. To My Dear You, With Sincerity

[Dear Sha

It’s been two months since my last letter. It’s been three years since you visited Kasoche. Conversely, that means it’s been just as long since I visited Iota.

Early summer has come to Delling.

If I told my nineteen-year-old self where twenty-two-year-old me is staying and what I’m doing, he’d frown and tell me not to lie. That’s how unrelated the situation seems.

But, Sha.

We know, don’t we? That sometimes trivial things that seemed unrelated to me plant flags in my life. That they change smooth wind directions and make me sway back and forth.

Every moment with you. That is, the days we exchanged letters in that suspicious way.

Was that coincidence or inevitability?

Many classics attribute all situations to fate, but I don’t want to do that. Even if it was coincidence, we each made efforts in our own ways.

At least within those few lines of letters, we were faithful to each other, to ourselves. When I reflect on those moments, I still get moved.

In my sixteenth spring, I suffered from the shock of betrayal, but by summer, I came to joyfully await the new stories you told me.

It’s raining here, Sha.

The southern rainy season you’ve mentioned repeatedly since long ago. It never rained this long in Kasoche, so when I first experienced summer in Delling, I was quite surprised.

I swear, it was the first time in my life seeing rain pour down like that! I was so surprised I wrote to you, and you said that by the time I could go out without worrying about those raindrops, I’d become a true southerner.

You were right, Sha.

Today I have to go out to send your letter. At times like this, I miss the being that used to deliver letters from home anytime, but it can’t be helped.

Both you and I are too far away from where that painting is.

Did you see that the train was completed recently? That big, long carriage made of iron. That it moves quickly to the capital—no matter how I think about it, I can’t believe it.

A week ago there was a train completion ceremony. I put down my work and went to see it. It’s the first time in our lives we’ve had such a unique means of transportation, right?

A mage from the royal family and an engineer employed by the government explained the operating principles in great detail, but embarrassingly, I didn’t understand any of it.

Using new magic stones, something or other…… All I understood was that it takes less than three days from Delling, the southernmost city on land, to the capital in the center.

If that’s true, isn’t it really amazing?

Three years ago, when you changed carriages and came to Kasoche, you were sick for days. I think I’ve talked about how my heart sank every time we met, so I’ll skip that.

If the train ‘really’ shortens travel time like that, I’d be incredibly happy.

Though it’s better than before, we’re too far apart. Still, I’m somewhat grateful that we’re on the same land, at a distance that doesn’t require changing carriages.

Though I can’t be completely satisfied.

I remember the first day I visited Iota. The day I had to persuade not only Mom and Dad, but also Grandfather and my brother.

When I said I would follow you to visit Iota, Dad was rarely shocked. Even if I had said I was marrying you then, he wouldn’t have been as surprised.

No, rather he would have set off fireworks as if he’d been waiting. Our family liked you quite a bit—if it’s the current you, you won’t deny that fact.

You won’t deny it by saying it was simply being polite either.

Come to think of it, I got a letter from Dad three days ago, asking if I wouldn’t spend my vacation in Kasoche. Saying isn’t the southern summer too harsh.

I said I’d think about it.

Sorry to Dad—though I might not be that sorry—there are still many cities I haven’t seen, and it seems a bit wasteful to spend my few vacation days in Kasoche.

Oh, I missed saying this.

I have ten days of vacation starting in two weeks. My kind teacher showed mercy. I’m thinking of going up to the capital. To see you, and have a meal with my older brother once.

Won’t you come to that gathering together?

My older brother will definitely be with his spouse, and it’s a bit awkward for me to squeeze in alone between them. ……Actually, that’s an excuse. I just don’t want to be apart from you.

I only have ten days to rest, and excluding travel time, it’s only four or five days total. Rather than trusting a train I’ve never seen before, I’m trying to somehow save time I could be useful.

Being in a port city, I’m really seeing the sea to the point of boredom. You’d know that ‘to the point of boredom’ is a meaningless modifier.

Because it never really gets boring.

I much prefer looking at Delling’s real sea for even five minutes over the sea reproduced by the century’s great painter. The endless sound of waves and…… though it’s a bit scary now.

At this time, people living by the seaside are on edge, watching the sea’s mood.

When I first went to Iota, it wasn’t this fickle. It was calm and peaceful, as if welcoming a guest crossing the sea for the first time. You countered with statistics, saying ‘this period is usually quiet.’

Sha, my summer.

I miss you terribly. This winter, I haven’t seen you since your birthday. Though we’re not as far apart as before, our tasks aren’t so easy.

I read the poetry collection you bound last month well. You didn’t tell me the title, but surely you didn’t truly believe that I, who visits bookstores once a week, couldn’t find new publications?

I can picture you being embarrassed.

You’d wave your hands saying it’s just a rough collection of poems written since you barely learned letters. Do you remember the first poem of yours I learned?

Night comes. I call for your soul. I want to make your soul meet my lips and become one. So that you don’t disappear beyond the falling night…….

Though I learned it when Aila pretended it was hers, I truly thought this writing was good. Even to a dazed boy not yet sixteen, and even to me now.

Someday, though you’ll stubbornly refuse saying it’s embarrassing, I want you to read this poem directly. With your breath and soul, I hope you’ll recite up to ‘so you won’t disappear beyond the setting night, I place your soul on my lips.’

If you won’t do that, I’ll turn page by page and read it to you.

Sha, you said my voice was good. You said it was clean like the first snow you saw, that no one had stepped on. With my voice that you like, I’ll read line by line.

If you won’t memorize it.

Do you remember that day, Asha?

When you first came to Kasoche, the many books I read. The folktales with heroes and witches and dragons. We turned pages and turned them again until we emptied a whole water bottle.

You’re probably wearing the lightest and sturdiest glasses of all you’ve worn so far, but I hope you’ll repay me now for that time.

Though you’ve cleverly avoided it until now.

I swear, Sha. This time, no matter how cutely you smile and pretend otherwise, I won’t let it slide. Even if you grab my hand and show me new clothes you bought to distract my attention, it’s the same.

So you’d better give up any thoughts of covering my eyes.

Still, thank you for keeping your promise. After your nineteenth birthday, you said so, didn’t you? When I asked ‘do you have any thoughts on what you’ll do from now on,’ you said though you weren’t sure, you’d ‘continue writing.’

It wasn’t because of some great sense of mission.

It wasn’t because of the artist’s madness commonly portrayed in plays either.

You like books and like composition classes, but you weren’t going to write ‘seriously’ like now. You were going to dismiss even having your writing published as luck that happens once in anyone’s life. Though you couldn’t do that in the end.

What I want to say is……

You said so then.

That even if you might do other work someday, for now you’d write. You said that without even smiling.

‘Because you said you liked it.’

Because I like it, you said you’d continue. I asked back if that was enough. Though I was happy you weren’t giving up, you were too compliant.

You kept making your possibilities, your efforts small in your letters.

Not because of readers’ earnest fan letters, or countless commission requests from newspapers or publishers. Just because one person—me—liked it, you promised you’d ‘do that,’ which was bewildering.

Your words ‘one person seems enough’—honestly, I still don’t understand them well. But you writing is good to see, and what you write is also very good.

Remember? On your recent birthday, until late afternoon I had to reply to letters addressed to you. Though you dictated them.

There weren’t many, but it was fun feeling like a popular author’s capable assistant.

Rather than that, the popular author’s one and only—

Do your wrists still hurt often these days? I told you so many times to apply warm compresses to your wrists frequently, but you just don’t listen. You only pretend to give in when I come.

Holding a pen during the day and playing piano in the evening—how could your fingers survive? Sha, work is good, but please cherish your bones and muscles.

If I could always stay by your side, I wouldn’t have to worry like this. After dinner, I’d wrap your hands with a hot towel. Then you’d lean your head on my shoulder and doze off.

How about it, isn’t that quite a good plan?

When your wrists get better, I’ll have the honor of listening to your piano performance. Last time you kept making only me play, saying your hands were stiff.