Book Girl and the Captive Fool (3 page)

And there it was! Tohko’s “presidential order.” I didn’t want to draw attention to myself—all I wanted was to live my life in peace.

“Can we really put on a play when there’s just the two of us?”

A smile flashed over Tohko’s face.

“That’s why I asked Akutagawa, of course. Ever since I decided that we would perform in the culture fair, I’ve had my eye on him. I figured he would draw in the female crowd. I was going to get you to talk him into it, but he saved us a lot of trouble. One more benefit of my innate virtues, I guess.”

That had no connection whatsoever to Akutagawa’s problems. It was just Tohko looking out for her own best interests. But Tohko had seized on his weakness and was trying to drag him into this inexplicable play. I felt sorry for Akutagawa.

“Exactly what kind of play are we doing?” I asked warily.

“As befits the book club, it’s going to be a major literary work, of course. Melancholy and delicious and rich with the vigor of youth! I thought it would be neat if the costumes were from just before the turn of the century, so this last week I’ve been scouring the choices.”

And then all she’d read was romances?

Tohko got up from her chair and took a book from the pile and loudly proclaimed, “And so I chose this—
Love and Death
by Saneatsu Mushanokōji!”

“Mushanokōji?” I asked, remembering something I’d learned in class. “Isn’t he from the White Birch Society, too?”

Tohko nodded enthusiastically. “That’s right! It feels almost fated that Akutagawa cut up a book by Takeo Arishima, who’s also in the White Birch Society!”

I wish she wouldn’t call that fate…

Tohko seized that opportunity to go into greater detail.

“Saneatsu Mushanokōji was born on May 12, 1885—the eighteenth year of the Meiji era—the youngest child of minor nobility. But despite that, his father died young, and as the family wasn’t exactly wealthy, they were forced to live frugally.

“He progressed to an academy, where he met Naoya Shiga, and the two of them published a magazine together called
The White Birch.
As the key figures in the magazine, they left behind a great many works that forcefully evoke the beauty and goodness humanity possesses. If you think youth, you have to think White Birch Society! Democracy at the dawn of the century!

“Naoya Shiga is called the god of fiction, and he left us famous works like ‘At Cape Kinosaki’ and ‘The Errand Boy’s God,’ written in an intellectual style, which was pared down to its barest elements! Takeo Arishima, who described human destiny and emotion with searing phrases that gushed like blood! Ton Satomi, who used rich psychological description and a rhythmic style to establish a ‘philosophy of sincerity,’ which devoted the body to the desires of one’s own heart!

“If the writing of Naoya Shiga is the ultimate soba made by a famous chef to be both chewy and smooth going down the throat, then Takeo Arishima’s work would be a gooey raw oyster with lemon spritzed over it. Ton Satomi tastes kind of like boiled potatoes that are perfectly smooth on the outside. They’re all tasty enough to make my tongue tremble, and I always eat too much. Arishima’s
The Agony of Coming into the World
and Satomi’s
A Carefree Fellow
are must-reads.

“And
this
is the person who absolutely must not be overlooked! Saneatsu Mushanokōji! For me, Mushanokōji
is
the White Birch Society. People tend to think that because of his grandiose name and the fact that he’s from a noble family, the things he writes
must also be impenetrable and difficult. But when they actually come into contact with his work, they’re shocked at how entertaining and easy to read they are.

“The special appeal of Mushanokōji has got to be how much dialogue he uses and how buoyant it is. He often has long lines that take up an entire page, but there’s rhythm in everything and you can read it all effortlessly! If I had to compare it to something, I would say Mushanokōji’s works are like tofu from a high-end Japanese restaurant. The texture is refreshing and light while the soy flavor brings out an exquisite sweetness and depth, and then you get the lingering taste of the coagulant, and the moment you’ve polished off the very last bite, you sigh and think,
My gosh that was delicious.
”

She closed her eyes, and I thought she really was going to sigh, but then she snapped her eyes open and drew her face closer enthusiastically.

“Out of everything he wrote, the heroine of
Love and Death,
Natsuko, is one of the loveliest heroines in the history of Japanese literature.

“She’s pure and refreshing like alabaster tofu, delicious even if you eat it plain with no toppings at all! She exchanges letters with the main character, who’s gone to study abroad, and her writing is
so
artless, it sends a jolt through your heart. Oh, and—and—the scene where she appears is so cute and adorable!! A bunch of girls are gathered in a garden having a handstand competition. Natsuko is famous for her handstands, and she even does a flip. At the celebration for her older brother’s birthday, she executes an amazing flip, and the guests shower her with applause!”

“Hold on a second!”

I forced my way into Tohko’s unflagging discourse.

“A heroine who does a flip? That’s never going to happen! Who’s going to do that?”

“But anyone can stand on her head at least! And Natsuko says that she practiced doing somersaults and then just naturally started doing flips. It’ll be fine.”

Tohko smiled carelessly, but I cut in sharply. “No way. Or at least, no way for someone who gets hit in the face by volleyballs, or gets tangled in the net when she tries to spike, or who hits herself in the head with the bat when she swings in softball, or who tries to show off doing the butterfly in swim class, but her legs cramp up and she drowns in the pool like you do. Totally impossible.”

Tohko flushed bright red.

“How exactly are you witnessing all of these embarrassing things happening to me?”

“Because you’re always doing embarrassing stuff. I just want you to accept that you have zero athletic ability. You’ll never be able to do a handstand or a flip.”

That seemed to infuriate Tohko, and she pouted.

“That’s not true. As long as I have my love for the book club, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Does the book club have anything to do with it?”

“Sure. My love for the story makes anything possible. One or two handstands is nothing. I’ll show you the power of my love.”

I saw she was going to try to do a handstand against the wall, and I panicked.

“Don’t do that! What if you hurt yourself? Besides, if you flip over in those clothes, your skirt is going to fall down and you’re going to flash your underwear.”

“I’m wearing gym shorts, don’t worry. Open your eyes and get a load of
this!
”

Tohko raised both hands high overhead and kicked off powerfully toward the wall.

“Waugh! Tohko, stop!”

Her full pleated skirt flipped over and her pale, thin legs stretched into the air.

As soon as I caught a glimpse of the black shorts covering her tiny butt, her extended legs reeled forward and she screamed.

“Eeeek!”

“L-look out!”

I grabbed at Tohko’s ankles but only managed to catch her right leg, and we both toppled into a pile of books.

The stack of books fell down around us like an avalanche, dust and mold billowing up on all sides. Then the collapsed mound of books knocked over the pile that had been next to it, and the pile next to
that
one collapsed, too, until it was a total massacre, scattering all the books in the tiny room.

Tohko was flat on her back, buried under a ton of books, sneezing every time she breathed in the dust. Tears were in her eyes as she said, “Ahchoo! I guess we should do a different story after all.”

Wasn’t there any way I could get Tohko to give up on performing a play?

The next day, I sat at my desk in class with an anxious look on my face, thinking this over, when Akutagawa came over to stand in front of me.

I sat up straighter reflexively. With his typical quiet expression, Akutagawa said, “Sorry for putting you and Amano through all that yesterday.”

I was relieved to hear his placid tone and gave him the same smile I always did.

“Don’t worry about it. I was surprised, but I suppose everyone gets annoyed at something.”

Yes!
If I told Tohko that Akutagawa wouldn’t be in the play, she might give up on the idea, too.

I leaned forward.

“About the play—Tohko is just letting the idea run away with her. You don’t have to do it. Do you want me to talk to her?”

But Akutagawa looked earnest as he said, “No, I’ve decided to do it. I’m a boring person without any training as an actor, so I might just get in your way. But I intend to give it my best effort. I hope that’s all right.”

… He…
WHAT?!

When I saw the troupe gathered in the tiny club room after school, my eyes bugged out yet again.

“K-Kotobuki?! And… and Takeda?!”

“What’s your problem? The only reason I’m doing this is because Tohko asked me to help. It’s got nothing to do with you! Like I would ever want to do a scene with you.”

Standing next to Kotobuki and her bitter assault was a petite girl with billowing hair, smiling cheerfully.

“Heh-heh. It sounded neat, so I’m on board!”

Takeda was a first-year student who worked in the library. I had ghostwritten love letters for her before and all sorts of stuff had happened, so now she dropped by the book club to visit from time to time.

Takeda looked up at me with friendly, puppylike eyes and inclined her head winsomely.

“Hold on! Konoha, your face is all tense. Don’t you want to perform with me?”

“No, that’s not—”

Kotobuki glared at me as I scrambled for an answer. Her look was much harsher than usual. It occurred to me that Kotobuki also worked in the library, so she and Takeda probably knew each other. And Kotobuki had once trashed Takeda as “a girl who could be the victim of some guy’s Lolita fantasy.”

Could we really do this? With this group?

A cold sweat was covering me when Akutagawa came to stand next to me with a serious look on his face. When she saw him, Takeda shrieked.

“Ohhh! Are you going to perform, too, Akutagawa? That’s
SO. COOL.
My friends are going to be so totally jealous! You have a lot of fans in first year, too! Oh—my name’s Chia Takeda. I used to watch the archery team a lot.”

Akutagawa nodded benevolently. “Yeah, I remember. You even came with Inoue once or twice.”

“That’s right. We’re friends.”

She twined her arm around mine and giggled. Kotobuki had kept her face turned away, but she spun around with terrifying force to look at us.

“I hope you don’t mind, either, Konoha. Oh—and try to get along with everyone, Nanase. Can I call you Nanase?”

“
NO,
” Kotobuki answered immediately, her eyebrows twitching.

Takeda was all smiles in response.

“Got it! Nanase it is, then!”

“I told you
no,
didn’t I?”

“Eeee! Nanase, you’re so scary!”

Takeda clung to me even tighter. When Kotobuki saw that, she looked like she was about to snap.

“Grrr… How long are you gonna keep your arm around her, Inoue?!”

“Uh, s-sorry!” I stammered.

Kotobuki unleashed her attack on me, and I quickly freed my arm from Takeda’s. Takeda whined sadly.

“We’re not elementary school kids in some pageant, so stop clinging to each other.”

Kotobuki’s face was scarlet, and she turned away sharply.

Akutagawa watched the whole exchange with a mature attitude.

And then there was Tohko, the cause of all this…

“So! Everyone gets along already! My vision was impeccable when I picked out this group.”

She nodded, completely self-satisfied. I wanted to go home.

After we somehow crammed five chairs around the table and each of us sat down, we finally started discussing the play. Tohko proudly offered up an old hardcover book.

“And so, after much deliberation within the club, we have decided that the play will be Saneatsu Mushanokōji’s
Friendship!
”

“Oh wow! That sounds sooo prestigious!” Takeda clapped wildly.

“After much deliberation”? All Tohko did was settle for the safe choice of Mushanokōji’s most famous work after she couldn’t pull off a handstand.

Tohko went on, unconcerned.

“
Friendship
was written as a serialized novel for the
Osaka Daily
newspaper in 1919. Have any of you read it?”

“No.” “I sure haven’t!” “Me, either.”

Akutagawa, Takeda, and Kotobuki replied simultaneously.

“Then I’ll give you a brief rundown of the story. The characters are the playwright Nojima; his friend Omiya, an author; Sugiko, the student that Nojima loves; Takeko, Sugiko’s friend and Omiya’s cousin; then there’s Nakata, who’s Sugiko’s older brother and Nojima’s friend; and Hayakawa, Nojima’s rival for Sugiko’s love. I suppose that’s everyone.

“The story starts with the main character, Nojima, falling for Sugiko the first time he meets her. Nojima becomes convinced that Sugiko will be his wife, and he goes to his friend Nakata’s house in order to see her and becomes blinded with love for her.

“Nojima only reveals these feelings to his best friend Omiya. Omiya is a virile, honorable man, and he listens to Nojima earnestly and offers him his support.

“But Sugiko prefers Omiya.

“Trapped between love and friendship, Omiya leaves to study abroad in order to fulfill the duty of friendship, but Sugiko writes him letter after letter. And so, finally unable to restrain his feelings for her, Omiya asks her to come away with him.”

Takeda’s eyes were wide.

“Woooow. So Nojima loses his girlfriend, and then his best friend deserts him, too? That’s awful!”

“Yes. The last scene is poignant but extremely moving and powerful. Besides, it’s so stirring the way Nojima swings between joy and despair in his love for Sugiko. Look, look—isn’t this scene wonderful? Nojima writes Sugiko’s name in the sand, and he prays that if the letters don’t disappear until the waves wash over it ten times, she’ll return his feelings. It’s
so
romantic!”

Tohko flipped open to a page as she described the scene.

Takeda and Kotobuki leaned in on either side of her to look.

The three of them pressed together so closely their heads were almost touching, and they leafed through the book, skimming it and saying things like, “Oh! This part is the best!” or “But what about
this
scene?”

At first Tohko was unchallenged as she argued heatedly for Nojima. “See? See? Isn’t Nojima adorable? You can totally understand how he feels, like the world completely changes when you like somebody.” But soon Kotobuki and Takeda started to argue with her.

“Whaaaat? But Tohko, Nojima gets way too carried away.”

“I agree! If a boy loved me that passionately, I might back off. Nojima acts like a total girlie schoolgirl.”

“You, you think? Isn’t this normal if you’re in love?”

“But in her letters to Omiya, even Sugiko is like, ‘I’d rather die than marry Nojima,’ or ‘I don’t want to be alone with Nojima for more than an hour.’ ”

“I totally get that. Nojima is obnoxious. He just starts treating
Sugiko like she’s his wife, and if she even talks to another man, he gets all angry and says, ‘That woman should be fed to the pigs. She is unworthy of my love.’ Who does this guy think he is?”

“Seriously! He wants to be the only one Sugiko needs, and he’s in this fantasy where he’s an emperor and she’s the queen. Of course, Sugiko would try to get away from that!”

“For sure.”

The two of them had suddenly found themselves on the same wavelength, but Tohko continued to desperately defend Nojima.

“What?! But that’s what’s so cute about him! When people fall in love, they construct all these stories in their minds and get fluttery and excited. But at the same time, they have no self-confidence and get irritable and depressed, and they take their stress out on people like a little kid would.

“If the person they like so much likes them back, they can become much better people than they are. They could even rule the world. That happiness you feel, like your heart is soaring up to heaven, and then that anxiety when you want to cry because you come back to your senses. Nojima is genuinely running in panicked circles between those emotions.
I
think he’s very straightforward and cute and wonderful anyway.”

Tohko smiled.

“That may be your opinion, Tohko,” Kotobuki replied crisply, “but I just can’t get behind it. If you indulge boys who get these delusions, they’re just going to get more intense.”

“Hundred percent! I agree! Compared to him, Omiya is smooth and a
may
zing. Like when he defeats Sugiko at Ping-Pong—he’s just too hot for words!”

“Yeah.” Kotobuki nodded, looking triumphant. “Omiya’s a great guy. The things he says when he’s about to go abroad make me want to cry.”

“Come onnnn! You have to appreciate Nojima’s charms! You guys!”

I was impressed that they could get this worked up over a fictional character. Unable to jump into the girls’ discussion, Akutagawa and I were staring at them blankly when Takeda brought it back around to us.

“Konoha, Akutagawa—what do you two think?”

“What—? Uh… Nojima definitely didn’t pick up on Sugiko’s hints. But I’m not sure how I feel about Omiya putting his letters to Sugiko in that magazine and then telling Nojima out of nowhere to go read them.”

Then Akutagawa spoke up in a firm voice.

“I think Omiya shouldn’t have accepted Sugiko. It doesn’t matter what his reasons were. A person with any honor wouldn’t betray his friend’s trust.”

Akutagawa’s face was as harshly clenched as his voice. His eyes flashed, too, fixed on a point in space.

Takeda and Kotobuki both gaped at the sudden humorlessness.

I was flustered, too.
What happened, Akutagawa?!

Just as things were starting to get uncomfortable, Tohko rested her hands on the table and leaned toward us.

“Oh, really! It’s only because upstanding men of honor have been tormented that thrilling literature was born. If Omiya were a womanizing playboy, he never would have sweated his correspondence with Sugiko. This scene is one of my favorites. Bring me one more block of tofu! No, make it three! Four! No, bring me everything you’ve got! With a heap of ginger on top! Like that?”

I pressed a hand to my forehead.

“That comparison is too obscure, Tohko.”

Akutagawa was flabbergasted, and Kotobuki and Takeda looked confused.

Tohko extended her right index finger, and wagging it back
and forth, she cheerfully declared, “Heh-heh, well! To put it simply, it’s like you’re com
plete
ly full, but you keep on eating anyway.”

“I don’t get it. But whatever, let’s move on. We’re running out of time.”

She craned back to look at the clock on the wall, and her eyes widened. “Oh no, you’re right! Let’s pick roles, then. Konoha should probably be Nojima, and maybe Akutagawa should be Omiya?”

“No, I can’t play the lead,” I answered immediately. I was under enough pressure just appearing in a play; there was no way I could do
that.

“Hmm. I think that’s the obvious way to go, too.”

“Yeah. You and Akutagawa are the only boys we have, so don’t grumble and just do it.”

“You want me to be Nojima?” Akutagawa offered.

“You can’t do that! Omiya has that tall, handsome image. If Nojima is the cool one, it’s not convincing for Sugiko to fall for Omiya instead,” Takeda said sensibly. But wait—she was insulting me, wasn’t she?

Then Tohko spoke up in a bright voice.

“All right! As the president of the book club, I will take on the role of Nojima!”

“What? You?!”

“Oh wow, a beautiful woman dressed like a boy? Like a Takarazuka?”

Kotobuki’s and Takeda’s eyes were wide.

Akutagawa looked surprised, too, and my mind was reeling. Sure, with her impoverished chest, Tohko could dress like a man even without using binding, but…

“Trust me. The book girl will give a masterful rendition of Nojima. So you’ll be Omiya, right, Akutagawa?”

“Yes, if you want.”

He nodded.

“Great! Thanks! I wanted you to be in the play no matter what, so when you came, I thought I’d hit the jackpot.”

I couldn’t believe she’d said that to him. She had a dreamy smile on her face. Tohko was pretty assertive about it, but had she really wanted to secure the female audience at the culture fair that badly? Akutagawa gave her an uncomfortable, awkward, ambiguous smile.

“Okay, next is the heroine Sugiko.”

“Oh, oh! I nominate Nanase!!”

“Hey! Don’t say that, Takeda!”

Kotobuki was thrown off guard.

“I think you’d be perfect! I mean, Sugiko has to be someone that Nojima would fall in love with instantly!”

“B-but… I mean, I can’t act and…”

“Chia is right, Nanase. You would make an excellent Sugiko. You will do it, won’t you? Please?”

Tohko rested a hand on Kotobuki’s shoulder, and she choked, her face bright red. After stealing two or three quick glances at me, she answered in an embarrassed whisper, “O-okay…”

“You can do it, Kotobuki,” I said.

I was trying to be encouraging, but her reticence sharpened instantaneously. She turned away and emphatically declared, “The fact that I accepted the role has nothing to do with
you,
Inoue.”

“O-okay.”

After that, it was decided that Takeda would be Takeko, Sugiko’s friend and Omiya’s cousin, and that I would be Hayakawa, Nojima’s rival for Sugiko’s love. At first I was relieved, thinking I wouldn’t have a whole lot to do that way, but then Tohko sternly informed me that I would be writing the script.

“We need it by next Monday. I expect good things from you, Konoha.”

Monday is only five days away! She’s so rough on her underclassmen.

School was over.

I checked
Friendship
out of the library and went outside, where the walls of the school and the cherry trees on the campus were dyed by the brilliance of the setting sun. I felt the cold air of autumn on my cheek as I passed through the school gate, the gold and scarlet light flowing in like waves.

I saw Akutagawa a little ways ahead of me.

He’d stopped his bike next to a red mailbox and was standing ramrod straight on the verge of mailing a letter. His face was dyed in the rich evening light with a touch of tension and angst in it that brought me to a stop.

Akutagawa looked down at a long white envelope with melancholy eyes, frowning slightly.

He stood that way for a few moments, then dropped his letter into the mailbox and got on his bike.

“Akutagawa?” I called out and ran up to him. He turned to look at me with a hint of embarrassment on his face. “You’re heading home now, right?”

“Yeah. I just stopped by the team.”

Akutagawa got off his bike, and the two of us walked together down the sunset street.

There was something on my mind, and I decided to ask him about it.

“Are you really sure about appearing in the play? You shouldn’t let Tohko bother you, you know.”

His handsome face still turned away, Akutagawa murmured in a soft voice that crept into my heart.

“Sorry for worrying you. But when Tohko asked me to do the play, it made me want to try something different than I normally do. I was stressed out about all this stuff and felt really scattered, so actually I’m glad she asked.”

“Is this about your grades?”

His breath caught slightly.

I wasn’t sure if I should be asking about this. Trying not to overstep any boundaries, trying not to disrupt the delicate balance we had, I chose my words carefully, knowing I was taking a risk and unsure of myself, as if I was stepping onto thin ice.

“Are you sure there isn’t something else bothering you? Like girl problems? Or something?”

As soon as I said that, my heart rate increased, and I regretted it.

If he acted upset at all… But his expression didn’t change.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because girls are all over you. Do you have a girlfriend?”

I remembered Sarashina’s face. Her long silky hair, her spotless, gentle countenance, her frail voice.

Please, I want you to ask Kazushi if there’s another girl.

I didn’t think that Akutagawa was the type of guy who would cheat, but…

“No.”

His voice was a little hard when he answered.

“Oh. That’s a surprise.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

Maybe he didn’t want me to know about Sarashina. Was he embarrassed? Or was there some other reason he couldn’t talk about it?

“What about you, Inoue?”

“Me? No. Unlike you, I’ve never even had a girl ask me out.”

“You and Amano seem pretty close. You’re not together?”

I lurched.

“Cut it out. That, at least, is never going to happen. I’m Tohko’s snack master—I mean, her gofer. She’s always ordering me around. She abuses her underclassmen. She’s a tyrant.”

I made that much clear.

“I see. Then what about—” He started to say something, then muttered, “Never mind.”

I wondered what he’d held back. What did he start to ask me?

“So what’s your type, Akutagawa?”

I tried a more roundabout approach this time. Akutagawa bowed his head thoughtfully.

“I don’t think I have a type, per se. But—”

He paused, and his eyes grew melancholy again.

“If a girl shows me a side of herself that surprises me, I’m hooked. Like if I see a girl who’s usually strong and willful crying when she’s alone.”

That sounded pretty specific for just an example. Akutagawa’s heart must have been touched by the tears of a strong-willed girl who seemed like she would never cry.