Public (and private) C&C is welcomed with open arms. I'd
really love to know what you think of the story. If you'd
like to e-mail me, you can at: caravan@cafe-pierrot.net
* * * *
"You need to get in touch with your muse. Do you know how
to do that?" Mr. Motojima cleaned his glasses.
"No sir."
"Here's what I do. Write something about your dream girl.
Your perfect companion. It doesn't have to be a good
paragraph, just something to get you started. Then, fold
the paper, put it under your pillow, and take a nap."
"A nap, sir?"
"Yes. A good hour or so. Really sleep it off." He smiled
kindly, the wrinkles around his eyes nearly pinching them
shut. "When you wake up, you'll be inspired again."
Kenji Terada had writer's block. When his teacher offered him a
solution, he tried it immediately. Only, his teacher never told
him what really happens after you wake up...
------------------------------------------------------------------
I T ' S A R A I N Y D A Y
S U N S H I N E G I R L
Episode 04
"Signify"
"It's A Rainy Day Sunshine Girl" (c) 1999-2000 Matthew Johnston.
All Rights Reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters
to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Three weeks ago.
"Thirty demerits my cute little butt," Renaissance grumbled as she
finished polishing the banister of Sister Copia's extravagant
spiral staircase. Unlike many of the sisters, who preferred a
Spartan or Greek motif in their homes, Sister Copia enjoyed
elements from all sorts of societies, from Roman to Gothic, which
the spiral staircase was designed after. Renaissance began to
imagine as she finished dusting off the ornate marble gargoyle
that gazed over the edge of the banister's end...
He emerged from the top of the stairs, dressed in the finest
any tailor had to offer, wearing that slightly bored expression of
superior intellect and breeding. Stepping slowly, we walked past
the admirers and gold-diggers, giving them little more than an
accidental brush of the coat here or there. His eyes were on
somebody else. Somebody he loved, and who loved him as much.
"It's him!" The voice caught Renaissance a little off guard,
but it wasn't unfamiliar. Caravan stepped up beside her, seeming
suddenly shorter.
Renaissance looked down to see the pauper-girl's new dress,
fashioned after her own plain white gown. She looked down at her
own dress, and saw it covered with diamond sequins that made it
shimmer like a winter lake, and glow like the whitest essence of
the sun.
She returned her gaze to Caravan, and realized her rags and
dirty face were never going to be enough to win him over.
Renaissance felt a small pang of sympathy for the girl, but shook
her head. Fair was fair.
"You'd better leave," she warned the dirty girl gently. "I
don't want you to embarrass yourself." Caravan stuck out her
tongue in viscous spite.
"Anything that's yours I can have too. That's what sisters
do. So gimme!"
"Never." Renaissance glanced up the staircase. He was
almost at the bottom. "But why don't we let him decide?"
"You're on!"
The young man, so tall, so calm, so handsome, stepped between
them, giving each careful consideration. Caravan began speaking,
but her words were rushed, incoherent. Even as he was looking at
the piteous girl, Renaissance touched his cheeks, and lead his
face to hers.
"Come here, Kenji." She kissed the boy, just as she had when
they had first met in his dreams. She could feel him drawing
energy from him. A trickling of ideas flowed from his mouth to
hers as she pressed deeper. He wrapped himself around her, his
hands clutching her, then rubbing, touching her in ways Caravan
would only find...
"...Intriguing." It was sister Copia. Renaissance opened
her eyes, to see them staring straight into the stony eyes of the
stairwell's gargoyle.
"I didn't... I mean, I didn't mean to... Oh boy."
"It's quite all right, child." The tall, robust Copia stood
two stairs from the floor, where Renaissance could only look up to
see the Elder's frighteningly calm expression. Though the elder
was grinning, it left the girl cold. "I do think you could do
better than a banister's guardian, though."
"Yes ma'am."
"I was once a little like you, some time ago. Ambitious,
driven. But my impetus became my downfall."
"I see. But I..."
"I'm not through yet."
"Oh."
"You should really wait until your turn to speak comes up.
Your rather enthusiastic vocal cords soured you to many of the
elders."
Silence crept between them. Renaissance waited, desperately
holding her tongue, wishing she could defend herself.
"You can speak now," Copia finally stated. The suddenness of
the words broke the girl's thoughts in two.
"Oh." She tried for a moment to remember, but realized that
her argument was gone to the aether. "Um, I forgot what I was
going to say."
"Wonderful! Now, it is time for you to finish working off
your punishment. Sister Focus has some tasks for you."
Renaissance hung her head. "Yes ma'am."
"But remember."
"Yes?"
"There's usually nothing of interest on the floor."
"Huh?" Renaissance realized where she had been staring.
"Oh. Sorry..." The girl returned her eyes to Copia's face.
"It's quite all right. Now, remember. There's something to
be gained from *every* task." Sister Copia's smirk, which had
been playing at her cheeks for some time now, finally bloomed into
a genuine smile. And then the young protege realized why.
* * * *
Wednesday, April 21st
5:22 PM
"Do you know where the dustpan is?" Kenji yelled from the top of
the staircase. "I need to sweep the hallway." He entered the
kitchen through the dining room, the broom in his hand feeling as
foreign to him as it looked. Caravan looked up from her task of
washing the morning's dishes and shook her head.
"Over there."
Kenji went to the half-hidden tool and picked it up as if
considering an ancient artifact from a long-dead culture.
"I never thought I'd see you again," Caravan remarked, as
much to the dustpan as to Kenji. She wiped a trace of sweat from
her forehead, making sure not to let her soapy hand touch. "I
figured the dust bunnies had captured you."
"My room wasn't that bad." He checked his watch. "Or maybe
it is."
"You've been in there since four," Caravan noted, returning
to the sink. "When's your group showing up?"
"In about half an hour."
"You'd better take a shower, then."
"Good idea." Kenji sniffed apprehensively and coughed,
wiping tears from his eyes. "I'll be back. Gotta slay that
dragon under the bed." Holding the dustpan as a makeshift shield
and the broom as a lance, he marched bravely towards the stairs.
Caravan chuckled. "He's not a bad dragon, just
misunderstood. Don't slay him too badly."
Kenji grinned. "Don't worry. I'll work out a time-share
contract or something."
"That's my brave warrior."
The words felt strange. "Huh?"
"Nothing." Her voice fell leaden and cold on his ears.
Kenji looked at the living room; his mother usually kept a
clean house, but, as could only be cynically expected, the room
was more cluttered than it had been in weeks. He took a look back
at the dining room, and found a similar view.
"You know, you've still got a ways to go here."
"I know." She was still throwing her words heavy.
"Do you want me to--"
"No." The statement landed like a brick on his pride.
"Fine, work alone!"
"I will." She didn't seem to be returning his sudden anger,
which only fueled the fire in his belly.
"Fine!"
"Fine. I won't fight you, Kenji."
"Good!" A pause, then, "what?"
"I'm not going to argue." Her voice had subdued. Kenji took
a step back to look in on her, but she heard him.
"Go upstairs and sweep your hallway." If she was angry, she
let none of it filter through her lips.
He didn't belabor the point further; he climbed the stairs
quietly. "Weird," he muttered. 'But then,' he thought, 'what was
Caravan if not a little strange?'
The hallway was easily swept, and the dust dealt with
efficiently. By five-fifty-five, the garbage had been removed and
the carpets vacuumed. The walls had been washed and the corners
dusted for cobwebs. Everything was perfect. He had even had time
to take a quick, rather cold shower. His hair half-dry, his shirt
and trousers conspicuously clean, and his black shoes spit-
polished, he made his way gingerly to the living room, where
Caravan sat, resting.
The room was spotless. Kenji looked at the dining room. It
too was spotless. Things once dull were shining, and any sign of
clutter had been organized into a comfortable neatness Kenji
didn't think possible. Not even his mother was able to clean so
thoroughly. He felt immediately and severely guilty.
"Wow."
"Are you ready?"
Kenji presented himself to the lounging girl, turning
conscientiously. When he was facing exactly away from her, he
heard her make a gentle 'tching' sound with her tongue. When he
finished his turn, she was shaking her head.
"What's wrong?" Kenji looked down on his clothes and back at
the frowning observer. "Too formal?"
Without warning, Caravan jumped to her feet and grasped Kenji
around the waist. As close as she was, Kenji could feel the
warmth of her body radiating. She had been working hard, too, but
what he smelled was not at all unpleasant. Rather, she seemed
more perfumed than anything.
"This..." she grabbed his shirt at the waist line. "...is
way..." she yanked, revealing several inches of wrinkled white at
his hips. "...too..." she grabbed another two handfuls and
yanked again. "...formal." As she finished, the inches of cloth
fell, splayed with wrinkles, around his trousers.
"So, do I look more causal now?" Kenji looked down at the
starched chaos laid out before him from the waist down. "I just
ironed this."
Caravan took a step back. With a jaunty expression, she
cocked her head slightly admiring her handiwork. "You look
great." She went to scruff his hair, but he intercepted her arm.
"I don't want to look *that* casual. Relaxed will do, I
guess."
"I don't know what you're worried about. It's your writing
that'll win her over." She grinned. "Though that 'just back from
the sack' look does kind of suit you." She took a step forward in
another attempt to attack his hair.
"Hey, waitaminit!" He grabbed her arm, but her hand kept
scrabbling for a stray lock.
"C'mon, Kenji. Live a little!"
"Stoppit!" He coughed out the words between laughs. Caravan
had started attacking his stomach with her free arm, relentlessly
tickling him. "I don't wanna live a little!"
"Sure you do... uh-oh." The pair's momentum held them
teetering on Kenji's left heel just long enough to allow her the
final words. After she uttered them, Kenji came crashing down,
still clutching Caravan's wrist. As he hit the floor, she landed
atop him, her body touching his at every point save one.
"Oops." A bead of sweat moved from her lips to his, for it
had less than it's full length to travel between.
At that moment, Kenji had closed his eyes. When he felt the
drop touch his lips, he lost touch with reality. Five hundred
fantasies entered through that droplet into his brain, swarming
about a thousand inspired ideas. As the bead they shared became
only his, the moment faded, and the thought disappeared with it.
"Whoa... Deja vu." But really, Kenji remembered little more
than the momentary strangeness of random familiarity.
Caravan leapt backwards, and crouched a meter away. "Did
you...? I mean, I wasn't supposed to... That is, Sister Focus
said 'never, ever, ever...'"
"It's okay. Nothing happened." Kenji rubbed his mouth with
his hand as he sat up. "It was nothing."
"Right right nothing. Nothing. Right." Caravan stood.
"well, since it was nothing and nothing happened and we did
nothing..."
"Why don't you take a second to get ready?"
"I'll take a second to get ready. Right. Nothing." With
that, she was off, halfway up the stairs before Kenji could stand.
Thinking back to earlier in the day, when Caravan was so
close behind him, he wondered how this situation could be much
different. Something tugged at him, as if life were foreshadowing
some larger event for him, but saying nothing more than, "remember
this?"
Kenji touched his lips. The bead of sweat. "A shared kiss?"
He knew it must be important, but decided not to bother her with
any questions about it. She seemed more than a little flustered
by the notion, and she did mention Sister Focus. As much as he
wanted to put two and two together, something important was
missing from the equation.
If life was foreshadowing for him, it was also conspiring
coincidence against him; the phone rang. He strode to the end
table to pick it up, but the answering machine, ready after
Masao's message, picked up after only two rings.
After the outgoing message finished, Kenji heard his mother:
"Hi, Kenji, it's me. I'll be working late tonight on things,
so fix yourself dinner. There's some chicken in the refrigerator.
Maybe you and that nice Caravan girl can have a romantic dinner
alone. That reminds me. We need to have a little talk soon about
how boys and girls are different. I know, I know, but better late
than never. I love you, honey."
Kenji felt his face. Sure enough, the heat was unbearable.
He turned to go to his room and cool off, but Caravan stood at the
foot of the stairs, her eyes wide, and her open-mouthed smile
incredulous.
"Don't even start, Caravan." Kenji tried to avoid eye-
contact.
"Do you want me to tell you how boys and girls are different,
Kenji?"
"Shut up."
"Okay honey," she replied cheerily.
From his room: "SHUDDUP!"
* * * *
Kenji was recomposed moments after his clock read 18:00. However,
the doorbell didn't ring until five minutes later, giving him
plenty of time to get nervous about his readiness. After hearing
the chime, what was left of his composure fell shattered to the
floor. He checked his hands, just to confirm how badly they were
shaking. He drank the last of his glass of water to try and stave
off the dryness that came, Pavlovian, with the tolling of the
bell.
"Get a grip," he coached himself. "It's just a school
project. Nothing's gonna come of it, so just sit back and enjoy
it, okay?"
He wanted to agree with himself, but couldn't. He left the
room, having resolved nothing. His mouth was again dry, and his
hands trembled like leaves in a storm. He felt suddenly weak.
Caravan was at the door when he descended the staircase. He
couldn't see Tanako, nor could he hear her familiar greeting, but
he knew it must be her Caravan was obscuring.
And then, Caravan moved away.
And he saw...
...Ichiro. And a laptop. But most importantly, he didn't
see Tanako at all.
"Aww, geez!"
Ichiro shrugged. "What?"
"Never mind. Come on in."
"I didn't mean to do it, whatever it was." He glanced at
Caravan as she walked to the dining room. "I guess Tanako and I
look a lot alike."
"Get off it."
"You looked petrified. It was great." He handed Kenji his
computer and removed his shoes. "Got any lemonade?"
"You know where it is," Kenji followed his best friend into
the dining room, setting the laptop absently on the table.
"That I do, that I do." Caravan watched from beside Kenji as
Ichiro opened a cupboard, took a specific glass from the back
right corner, and filled it with lemonade from the refrigerator.
"I take it he comes over often?" Caravan looked to Kenji,
who nodded silently.
"I see that I'm the first one here." Ichiro turned on his
heels and returned to the table, flopping comfortably on the chair
at the end of the table. "Any word from the great actor as to
when he'll be gracing us with his presence?"
Caravan shook her head. "He left a message saying he
wouldn't be able to make it tonight. Something about an
emergency."
"Figures." Ichiro shrugged and took another sip. "We don't
need him anyway. True love will prevail, and all that."
Kenji gaped; Caravan frowned. "What was that?"
Ichiro reached for his computer. "Oh, nothing."
"Right." She shot Kenji a cold stare. "I'm only doing this
because I have to."
"You're doing this 'cause you just can't stand to let a
gorgeous guy like me outta yer sight." Ichiro put his hands
behind his hands and exhaled confidently. "Right?"
"Whatever. Look, just because you're Kenji's best friend
doesn't give you the--"
DING-DONG.
Kenji's knees nearly buckled. His stomach cramped, churning
empty with acid. He felt at once cold and on fire.
"Tanako's here."
Caravan immediately turned her attention to the shaking boy.
"It's okay, Kenji. Get a grip." She made a light 'shhhh' sound
as she grabbed him on the arms. "Stand up straight, close your
eyes, and breathe deep."
"The gathering gloom," Kenji added sarcastically. He did as
he was told, and Caravan let go slowly. Kenji wasn't sure how
long to keep his eyes closed, so tried opening one.
"Keep them closed!" He closed it again on Caravan's command.
Caravan too took a deep breath, for what she was about to do
was against the rules. 'But to help Kenji...' she thought. She
closed her eyes, and brought her index finger to her lips.
"Remember when you and her used to be friends. Remember back
to where there was only friendship." Kenji felt Caravan's finger
on his lips, and suddenly felt calm. More than calm, he felt
relieved. He opened his eyes when the tingling sensation from her
finger dissipated, and exhaled what seemed like every iota of
tension from his body.
"Weird," Ichiro remarked, returning to his computer.
DING-DONG.
"Coming," he answered after the second ring. Any tightness
in his muscles had gone. Whatever Caravan had done to her finger,
it certainly had helped him immensely. He opened the door
causally, and smiled.
"Hey there, Terada." The voice was not Tanako's.
Had he known ahead of time who was on the other side of the
door, the shock probably would not have been so bad as it was.
However, what Kenji saw was impossible for him to prepare for.
Tanako stood in front of the boy, sure enough. At her left,
though, stood the tall, athletically built actor. Masao smirked
maliciously and stepped in the house. "I don't have all night.
You two can gawk at each other all you like. I have a project to
work on."
Sure enough, Tanako was looking at Kenji, and Kenji at
Tanako. But when Masao spoke, they broke their momentarily shared
gaze. Both blushed.
"Please come in," he managed, motioning inside. Only after
he did so did Tanako politely enter.
"Thank you."
Caravan intercepted Masao at the edge of the entrance hall.
"Why are you here?" she asked incredulously. "You said you had an
emergency to tend to."
"I did, but it tended to itself faster than I could have
dealt with it. Most fortuitous, actually. If I hadn't been
driving at that moment, I would never have been able to assist
Tanako in her journey here. It seems she forgot where you lived,
Kenji."
Kenji flushed with the beginnings of anger.
"It's not too surprising, really. One forgets what one
doesn't wish to remember. Isn't that true, Ichiro?"
"Quite," Ichiro acknowledged, not bothering to look up from
the computer's screen. "What's your name again?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Kenji saw Tanako stifle a
chuckle at the jab. Suddenly, the feelings of confidence which
had been washed by seeing Masao returned.
"Don't ask him such tough questions," Caravan added almost
immediately after. "He's just been through an emergency."
Masao growled something unintelligible and stormed to the
dining room table. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"
Kenji watched Caravan's group set up, squabbling over pencils
and paper while Ichiro happily typed and conducted an orchestra
only he could hear. When he heard Tanako lightly clear her
throat, he knew he had lingered too long.
"We'll be working upstairs," he noted, his voice clear but
dull.
"I see. Well, lead the way." She smiled and gathered her
pack while Kenji took the first difficult steps toward the
staircase. Once he had achieved forward motion, he was pleased to
note how much easier it was to keep going.
'I just have to remember back, and I'll be fine. She's been
in my...' A moment flashed hot deep within his brain; it was
hazy, without clothes, breathing heavy like...
"Oh God." Kenji gulped.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine! Fine fine! Never better."
* * * *
In his room, Kenji took the chair at the desk, and motioned for
her to sit anywhere she pleased.
"I don't know when Katsu will be here," he mentioned, again
flatly. "He didn't call or anything."
"That's okay."
Kenji's heart skipped a beat on the way to doubling its rate.
"Really?"
Tanako was studying the room as if it were an art museum.
"Yeah. He's not the kind who'll be much help to us anyways, don't
you think. The room's a different color now, isn't it?"
Kenji nodded. "My mom painted her room the same color, and
there was quite a bit left, so..." He smiled; she had remembered
the old color from grade school.
"When did you do that?"
"Just after eighth grade." The conversation was maddening;
he could feel it wanting to delve deeper, but never finding a
point to start. He took a moment to study the scene. She was
sitting, practically lounging on his bed, already making herself
at home. It was as if she had never stopped being his friend.
Her eyes, darting from one end of the room to the other, met each
object with an intense gaze; the light from the lamp sparkled, and
he thought for a second he could see himself in the darkest parts.
"I see." She looked at him suddenly, catching him in mid-
stare. He turned his head instantly, commenting on the first
thing his eyes came to rest on. "The carpet's the same, though."
Tanako chuckled. "True enough."
The conversation fell there, lost between them. Kenji
shuffled two sheets of blank paper, changing their order for no
better reason than make a little noise. Tanako continued to
glance at random parts of the room.
Kenji wanted to say something meaningful, but he wasn't sure
if he could. And, even if could, he was less sure about her
reaction. So much of his phrasing came from the same stock as the
poem he wrote, and she seemed to have mixed feelings about it. He
knew Caravan would want him to say something. 'But what?'
Slowly, an idea swirled in the vastness of his mind, like a
disc of proto-matter preparing to become a star. Something
warmed, preparing for ignition. He closed his eyes and inhaled
deeply; he was almost ready.
'When I saw you yesterday,' he practiced silently, 'a small
piece... no. A little bit of me.'
"Dammit." Almost ready, but not quite.
"Did you say something?" Tanako must not have heard exactly
what he had muttered; she seemed as polite and attentive as usual.
The doorbell triggered an excuse.
"Doorbell. It's probably Katsu. I'll get it." Kenji
sprinted from the room, ready to give whoever was at the door an
appreciative hug. As he flew down the staircase, he saw the three
familiar forms arguing vaguely in the dining room to his left. To
his right, the stereo in the living room piped one of Ichiro's
English albums. Something bright and cheery and old.
He hit the door in seconds, stopping on the entrance rug and
swinging open the door in one motion before inertia carried him
outside.
Katsu saw Kenji open the door, and his expression hardened.
When Kenji flew past him into the entrance steps, the hard
expression was tested. It was always entertaining to see one's
host make a fool of himself from the offset.
"Why, won't you come in?" he commented as he stepped inside.
He removed his jacket and shoes at the doorway, making sure Kenji
could not enter until he was finished. "That was an impressive
display," he quipped dryly.
"Thanks," Kenji muttered, dusting himself off. "Our group's
upstairs, in my room.
"Don't go in there!" Caravan trotted to the entrance hall.
"Tanako's taking a phone call."
Kenji looked at her with curiosity. "Somebody called for
her?"
"Yeah. She said Tanako said that you said that she'd be at
your house so she said to call here." Caravan went over the
sequence again, mouthing her statement silently, her eyes scanning
an invisible page. "Yeah. So, you two have to wait in the living
room until she's done. She said it was important and private."
Caravan emphasized the last word such that any man would lose the
will to disobey.
"So I guess we wait here," Kenji shrugged. He motioned to
the living room, and followed Katsu sitting opposite him on the
couch.
"Nice elevator music," Katsu commented.
"It's not mine," Kenji immediately responded.
"You badmouthing my music?" Ichiro called from the dining
room.
"He hears as well as he runs, I see."
"Cut it out, you two!" Caravan stormed into the living room,
slammed a bowl of cookies on the coffee table and marched back
into the dining room.
"Yes, ma'am," three of the four boys replied respectfully.
Masao chuckled, but said nothing.
"I wonder who Tanako's talking to," Katsu remarked casually.
His expression, however, betrayed his voice's lack of interest.
Kenji tensed immediately, but relaxed after four fast heartbeats.
"I dunno. Maybe Yumiko or Naoko. Those three are like one
person these days."
"Don't I wish," Katsu smirked.
Ichiro laughed in the distance.
Tanako sat on Kenji's bed, the cord of his phone wrapped around
one hand, the received in the other. She grinned slyly as she
listened to her friend's question:
"So, are you in his room yet?"
"Yep. Whaddya wanna know?"
"What's in it? Is it warm? What color is it? Does he have
a carpet? A TV? A type--"
"Whoa there... One at a time. I'll describe it to you." She
took Yumiko through the room's dimensions and contents, scanning
her subject's walls and floors, even the ceiling and the desk.
When Yumiko asked her to look in the drawers, she considered it
for a moment, but refused gently.
"What's in his closet? That should say a lot about him."
Tanako agreed and began describing:
"A set of drawers, oak or ash, I'm not sure. Probably oak.
Next to it is the hamper, which is empty, naturally. Leaning
against that is a baseball bat..."
She stopped there as the universe collapsed around her. The
bat was all she could sense. She could smell it, feel it in her
palms, though she had only lifted it once. She could hear it's
heart beat, synchronized with Kenji's and her own.
"Strike three!"
Tanako opened her eyes. She had closed them when Kenji had
taken the plate. His team was down a run, and, with Satoru safely
on second, a home run could have won it for their class. But it
was too late. Kenji had missed, and the game was over.
"That pitch was inside!" Ichiro called from the dugout. He
ran to his soon-to-be new friend's side. "If that pitch had been
legal," he began before his voice disappeared in the dusty
distance.
"Poor Kenji..."
"What?" Yumiko's question pressed against the memory's
fragile wall, and it crumbled instantly. "Did you just say--"
"Nothing! I didn't say a thing!" She hurried through the
remaining items. "He's got a baseball bat, like I said, and some
binders on the floor, but that's about it." She calmed a little
when she realized Yumiko wasn't concerned with her extended pause
"It seems pretty tidy. For a writer, I mean."
Yumiko sighed. "It sounds so romantic, don't you think?"
"What?"
"A writer. An author." She let the words fall extended from
her tongue, savoring it, letting it sit in her mouth, warming like
white wine. "An artist of letters and words and poetic turns of
phrase. Do you think he writes poetry? Or does he seem like a
strictly prose sculptor?"
"You are hopeless, girl. Completely hopeless."
"Thank you! It's the hopelessly romantic girl who gets the
man in the end, you know."
"I know." Tanako thought momentarily about Masao, but
somehow his face seems hard to capture at the moment.
"He's why I want to be a journalist."
"Yeah..." She tried again, but his face grew more vague the
harder she tried.
"Do you think a journalist and an author can live together?"
"Huh? Oh, sure. If a musician and an actor can, why not a
journalist and a writer." The words were practiced, and spoken
with a memorized vacancy.
"Author. He's an author. Writers hack out fan-comics.
Authors create art."
"Yeah. Look, I gotta go." She quit thinking about Masao and
almost immediately corrected herself. "Oh, I almost forgot.
How's the Passport coming along?"
"I've got 33 so far. Today I helped an old man across the
street." Yumiko sighed. "I tried to help Kenji when he dropped
his books this morning, but that girl... what's her name?"
"Caravan."
"Yeah. She was there. She gave me the weirdest look and I
lost all my confidence. Not that I had too much." The girl
laughed loudly. "Oh well, if I'm going to win him over, I'll just
have to dig a little deeper for my courage. That, and have you
right behind me to catch me if I faint, right?"
"You bet, kiddo." Tanako checked her watch. "I do have to
go. Kenji and Katsu are waiting downstairs and I don't want to
seem too rude. They might suspect something, you know."
Yumiko giggled and said good-bye. Tanako hung up the phone
and looked at the bat again.
"Now why did that memory pop up? I haven't thought that far
back in years."
* * * *
"I'd like mine with ice." Ichiro handed Caravan his cup as she
headed to the kitchen
"Mine too. And can you put mine in a real glass? I don't
drink from... plastic."
All she had said was that she was thirsty, and even then she
had made the comment off-handedly. And even though she realized
that it was in their nature to be at once blatant and rude,
Caravan couldn't help but imagine the simplicity of her life if
there were no consequences for simply removing both of them from
the country by force.
Sufficed to say, Caravan was not pleased with her situation.
Kenji was upstairs with Tanako, completely bereft of any of the
confidence he had only an hour earlier, and to make matters worse,
Masao's goon was up there trying to sabotage the whole project
just to keep Kenji and Tanako apart. She just knew it.
The girl frowned as she set down another pitcher of iced tea.
She felt her role shrinking even as she watched her two
"partners", for lack of a more accurate, if less polite term.
"I'm a muse, not a maid," she grumped. Too late she realized
what she had said.
"Huh?" Masao looked up briefly, then returned to the sheet
of paper he was doodling on. "Whatever. Just keep the drinks
coming, okay?"
"Yessir," she replied, too meekly for her liking. "Right
away sir. Anything you say sir. I'm at your beckon call, sir,"
she added sarcastically.
"Good girl," Masao mumbled between messy pencil strokes.
The worst part about all of it, Caravan realized suddenly,
was that neither Masao nor Ichiro were noticing her displeasure.
Or anything else from her, for that matter. Ichiro just typed on
his computer, and Masao sketched. Neither were even talking to
each other, let alone to her. It was enough to drive a person
mad.
She flopped into her chair and sighed. Maybe Kenji was
having better luck with his own doomed project. She closed her
eyes and let the light typing and scratching of pencils fade from
her ears.
"Concentrate," she told herself mentally. From the
background noise, to the right, she could hear Sister Focus's
voice repeating the word.
"Concentrate," the elder coaxed. "That's it." Caravan felt
lighter as she concentrated on the white globe above her. "That's
it. Now, relax."
Caravan did so. The air felt thick, liquid, not heavy. She
could hear it move lazily across her ears, and wondered what this
state of meditation would bring.
"Open your eyes," her mentor finally whispered.
Caravan did so. The light from the dining room seemed
brighter, but not so much as to be a bother. In fact, everything
seemed brighter, in a way. She could hear Ichiro's horrid music
drifting by, a little louder than before, but also much clearer.
When Masao spoke next, his voice rang like a prayer bell.
"She fell asleep." He sounded almost... Caravan shoved the
thought from her mind.
Ichiro grunted a reply and continued typing.
"I'm not asleep."
"So, are you working on the assignment?"
"Nah. It's not due for two weeks. I can get it done over
the weekend or something."
"Hey, guys." Caravan stood and waved. "I'm not asleep."
"Cool. How much do I owe you, then?"
Ichiro grinned and stopped typing. "Enough."
"Guys!" She took a few steps backward, and saw what to
everybody else in the room was simply reality. She was sleeping,
her head on her folded arms, snoring lightly.
"I snore?" Shaking her head, Caravan returned her wits to
the realization at hand; she seemed to be no longer corporeal.
The lazy air that once felt so alive around her became difficult
to breathe. The entirety of her surroundings crept on her like so
many predatory animals, and her new-found senses were turning
against her.
"Calm down," she told herself. "I'm still alive." She
stepped up beside herself, and listened. "I'm snoring, so I must
be alive." Reluctantly, the stalking clausterphobia withdrew,
leaving the girl half a clear mind with which to think.
"I'd like something a little more concrete than 'enough.'"
Masao had just realized the implications of Ichiro's statement.
"I'm a wealthy individual, but I am not without limits."
"I'm quite sure," Ichiro grinned. As much as Caravan felt
obligated to listen to Ichiro's under-handed dealings, she knew
where she needed most to go, and treaded invisibly there.
The chatter in Kenji's room was blending with the walls and the
sound of the moving air. The longer Caravan remained as she was,
her trance state giving her a ghost-like state, the more things
seemed to mix together. Senses that shouldn't combine begin to
feel the same to her. Kenji smelled like the way Tanako's
breathing sounded, and the way the lamplight cast itself across
the room felt thick, just like Katsu's mumbling.
Looking around the room was getting tough, as the five human
senses continued to merge into a single sense, a kind of awareness
that things in that world were still happening, and that she was
there. What she was what she heard now, and her sense of taste
began merging. She smiled as she sniffed the air for Tanako's
suggestions, and wiggled her toes to feel Kenji's heartbeat
vibrate beneath her feet. That was when she realized she wasn't
alone.
"Come out," Caravan warned, her voice less confident than she
had hoped it'd sound. "Renaissance, if that's you..."
"My name isn't Renaissance," a tiny voice, feminine and
shivering, popped into Caravan's ears. "And I'm not coming out."
"Who are you?" Caravan stepped back, nearly tripping over
Katsu's bad breath. "If you're not Renaissance, then... who are
you?"
A form, vaporous, appeared in front of her. The room began
to shimmer, and Caravan's senses began to shake even more. The
cloud shifted, taking the form of a girl. It looked like an
inverted silhouette, changing with the shifting air of
conversation and movement in the real world. "You don't look like
a fury."
"I'm not," Caravan replied immediately. "Why, have you seen
one around?" She'd never actually seen a fury before, but she'd
heard enough horror stories to know that they were bad news.
The vapor nodded slowly. "It's trying to kill me, but it
looks like I'm safe here." It paused, then spoke again, its voice
so weak, Caravan could barely hear it. "You're a muse, right?"
Caravan nodded.
"So am I."
"Huh?" Caravan took a step forward, looking closely.
"What's your name? Who's your artist?"
"Enchant," the vapor replied. "I protect Tanako."
"Protect?" Then the name hit her. "Enchant? Wait a second.
Enchant's dead." Caravan's expression hardened. If this was a
trap...
"No, not dead. Not yet." The cloud lost shape as the voice
produced a stiff, coughing chuckle, slowly recovering its humanoid
shape a moment later. "But, one more fight with the fury and
I..."
"Where is it? Why didn't you call for help?"
The vapor seemed to thin. "I'm too weak to explain like
this. I can show you if..."
"...if we kiss. But you're a little... you're..." She
motioned to the lack of any physicality in the cloud.
"Open your mouth. There's always a way."
Caravan shook her head. "Oh no you don't. This has got to
be a trick or something. How do I know you're not that same fury
you're talking about, hmm?"
The vapor thickened as it changed its shape, forming an ever
shrinking globe. "I see. I'm glad you're so skeptical, but I
don't have time."
"Don't ha--!?" The globe of vapor shot forward, entering
Caravan's mouth as she spoke. Her tongue tingled as the memories
of the weakened muse filled her. A scream, blood red and charred,
stinking of iron and sulfur, carbonized hatred, formed in her
throat. But it wasn't her own.
Caravan's awareness flickered, dancing among shards of broken
glass that wept when she stepped on them. Somewhere in the back
of her mind, a child giggled, apparently pleased. Caravan felt
herself go numb, and she lost consciousness a short moment later.
------------------------------------------------------------------
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
In case you missed me, I'm back! This episode took forever, for a
lot of reasons I won't get into here. As an aside, I'd like to
recommend a book for all of you: "Art & Fear" by David Bayles and
Ted Orland. For any writer with a block, espeically an extended
block like I had, this can really be a life saver. It's short and
sweet, and gets to the point. Very helpful.
I'd like to thank everyone who wrote me in the five months between
the last episode and this one. Your support helped me get my butt
in gear, and kept the story in my head.
If you would like read any of the previous episodes of this story,
or my other (Boku No Marie: Music-Box Angel), feel free to stop by
this address:
http://www.cafe-pierrot.net/
You'll find all of the completed episodes, up-to-date and revised
as mistakes are pointed out. So, if you want the absolute
definitive versions of each episode, be sure to check there
periodically.