(Art: “The Rescue,” by Mai-sensei)
Fortunately, at midnight the traffic through Saitama was light, and we made good time as we headed toward Kitakata, where Shiomi’s aunt lived.
Shiomi quietly told her story and smoked. Periodically, the lights from outside would bring her face into sharp contrast, and other times, she was just a silhouette. Either way, I kept finding myself looking. I noted the elegant practiced motion of how she smoked, like a heroine from a Bogart film. “Lauren Becall,” I thought. Impulsively I said, “You know how to whistle, don’t you, Shishi? You just put your lips together and blow.” It was a fitting thing to say, I thought, but earned me a puzzled look. She obviously wasn’t a film buff, or maybe my translation was bad.
(Art: “To Have and Have Not,” by Mai-sensei)
Watching Shiomi wasn’t the only benefit of the light traffic; it allowed me to focus on Shiomi’s story. By the time we reached the far side of the Tone River, she’d told me about her time in high school and the beginning of her career as an idol. Mostly, she spoke softly but became louder as we crossed the Arakawa and Tone Rivers. Whether the precaution was warranted, I didn’t know.
I reflected on how different our high school lives had been. I’d had plenty of friends, but never revealed myself to them. She’d had no friends, but openly followed her passion, idols. Her classmates had made her life miserable, while I had blended in and escaped notice.
In other ways, our lives were similar. We both had known what we wanted to be early on, her to be an idol and me to be a woman. When we left high school, we set out to follow our dreams. She had gotten part-time jobs, took music lessons, and went to one audition after another.
I went to college in America. When I arrived, I convinced the school that there had been a “minor” mistake in my gender and name. Their eyes glazed when I started talking about kanji, katakana, and hiragana. I later learned that issues of “cultural sensitivity” had been on my side. They didn’t dare challenge me. Thus, Fumihiko became Fumiko.
Every step of Shiomi’s way had been difficult, while mine had been surprisingly easy. Between hormones and being a reclusive foreigner, I only worried when I was forced to associate with other Japanese students. Unlike my American peers, they were more attentive to masculine language and facial cues. That was till my third year of college when my grandfather died, and I had to go home.
*** Fumihiko (Ume POV) ***
(Art: “Ume Fumiko” by Mai-sensei)
With trepidation, I flew back to Japan as Ume Fumiko. No one in my family knew about Fumiko and assumed Fumihiko would appear. I left it that way till the day of the funeral when I made my first appearance. The trouble started when I tried to enter the reception hall.
“Excuse me, this is a private affair,” my uncle Kakuya told me. His narrow eyes surveyed me from behind thick black glasses. The dandruff on his collar spoiled his attempt to look dignified and imposing.
I looked beyond him and saw my family looking curiously my way. So far, no one has recognized me.
There was no sign that they had benefited from Hanayome-shin’s blessing. They were, as I remembered, a sullen lot dressed in cheap suits and inexpensive dark dresses. I was the only one who had worn a traditional funeral kimono. My grandfather wouldn’t have been pleased with any of us. The only one who had respected his preferences was a turncoat to the gender he had valued.
“You’re mistaken. Grandfather especially requested I attend,” I said, and I held out the letter sent posthumously on his behalf. There was a wind like a sigh that I hadn’t yet learned to recognize as Hanayome-shin.
“This is addressed to Ume Fumihiko and you are?” I could hardly expect the man I’d hardly seen before to recognize me as the boy he had met years ago.
“Yes, there’s a minor mistake on it. I am Ume Fumiko, and I guarantee I am the one this letter is for. There will be a parcel for me, I believe.”
I took my letter back and walked over to my parents. I’d been apprehensive about coming. If I could have, I would have finished my degree in the US and quietly disappeared, but I had made a commitment to my grandfather. He had kept his end of the bargain, and I would as well. I would go through his silly ritual and take care of Hanayome-shin’s shrine.
I bowed politely, “Father, Mother.”
There was a look of horror on their faces. I had always been a wayward child; drinking and smoking long before I was of legal age. My grandfather had held me in contempt and yet had paid for my college over my parents’ protest. They thought there were better uses for the money. But now I had exceeded all dire expectations and refused to live as the male heir to the family.
“Fumihiko?” my mother managed, while my father turned away. I had ceased to exist in his eyes.
“Fumiko,” I corrected her. “And you had better set Uncle Kakuya straight before there’s a scene and I bring more shame on you.” Perhaps I should have been less confrontational, but the memory of all those years of hiding fueled a sullen resentment that I had never expressed.
She tugged indecisively at the imitation pearls around her neck and then waved a hand at my uncle to show he wasn’t needed.
There was a whisper that went around the room, and as it reached each person, they either turned away or looked at me covertly.
“What do you want?” my dear mother hissed. “How dare you!”
“I am here to fulfill the promise I made to Grandfather. Once it’s done, I’ll leave and never bother you again.”
“What duty? You shame him and all of us.”
“Ask Father. He must know what’s required.”
She turned from me and spoke quietly to my father. An argument ensued, but in the end, she gave him a little shove and sent him out of the room. I watched his stooped shoulders and thin, balding head recede. I could imagine the pinched, sour look on his face. How he must hate even this grudging recognition of me. He had never been able to stand up to my mother.
He was back soon, and he handed me a large lacquered box. On the top of it, someone had taped an envelope with my deadname written in precise red letters. My father thrust the box at me. “Now go! You’re not wanted here. You shame us all.”
I took the box. It was lighter than it looked. The sides must have been eggshell-thin. As I held it, I heard a sigh like a violent wind shaking the branches of a tree. At the time, I thought it was another whisper running through the crowd, strangely distorted by my reactions to the hostile reception I had received. I know better now. It was Hanayome-shin recognizing me and expressing her displeasure at finding her future husband was a woman.
I wasn’t struck dead, so she, like me, must have been willing to make the best of a bad situation.
With the box firmly in hand, I turned and left the gathering and my sour-faced parents. Let them hold their funeral in peace. I had done my duty to my grandfather.
*** Kitsune (Ume POV) ***
(Art: “Ume Fumiko,” by Mai-sensei)
Both Shiomi and I were silent as we mulled over our thoughts. We had left Saitama and were rolling through fields and scattered housing. There were only occasional headlights from late-night drivers or trucks, so my eyes were drawn to a string of drifting blue lights a hundred meters out that followed us. “I didn’t know there was a road that parallels the expressway,” I said out loud.
Shiomi looked over at them. “Those are kitsune lights. It’s not good to follow them. At best, they’ll lead you astray as a joke. At worst, you’ll drown in a bog, which is just as funny for them. You can never tell, though. They are capricious creatures. I had one friend as a kid that I didn’t tell you about. Maybe someday I’ll tell you that story. ”
I let the mysterious part pass and asked a question. “You see a lot of this stuff, don’t you?”
“Since I was a little girl. It was one reason kids were so mean to me. They used to say I had the evil eye. I didn’t. I tried cursing them, but nothing ever came of it.”
She lit another cigarette from the butt of her last and continued, “You’re new to it? Bet you didn’t even know you had a guardian spirit.”
“I think I may have sensed a few things, but never knew what they meant.” I was thinking of the sound of the wind, which I now believed was Hanayome-shin. “Her name is Hanayome-shin, and… you wouldn’t believe the tale. I’m married to her.”
“You like that story, don’t you, about being connected to a youkai: you and that spirit; me and Mikawa.”
I couldn’t tell if she was taking a poke at me. Her face was hidden since she was looking out into the dark. When she turned to face me, I still couldn’t tell, and she changed the subject. “Let me tell you a bit about Mikawa, how we first got involved with each other. Don’t judge her too harshly, because later she saved me. I guess you could say she is both my curse and my savior.”
The chuckle she made at this comment turned into a cough as she took a hit on her smoke. When she was done, she started telling me her history again.
*** Mikawa Kimiko (Shiomi POV) ***
(Art: “Mikawa Kimiko,” by Mai-sensei)
“Mika was out there!” I thought as I looked out over the audience.
Of course she was. The broad, plain-faced Mikawa stood between some kid I didn’t recognize and Kuma, with his silly grin and trademark bucket hat. I had mixed feelings about Mika being there. Things had been awkward since the day I had let my guard down with her.
She claimed to be my number one stan. Maybe not as generous as Kuma in streams, but she made up for it with gifts. She had even showed up one time with a phone charger, still in packaging, when I’d texted my phone was dying and my charger wasn’t working.
Originally she had been one of Mega’s stans, but when the rumors about my sexual preferences started, Mika had switched to me. She came to every show, bought cheki, donated on streams, and gave me presents, mainly nice cigs and sometimes money. When handing out fliers, she always showed up, chatted me up, and bought tickets. Handing out fliers is where things started getting messy.
I thought back to the events of two weeks ago and wished I could change that day. It was cold, with an occasional drizzle. Seven and eight-story buildings channeled the wind down onto the broad, busy street. I had found some shelter in front of a casual restaurant and the smell of curry was making me hungry. People drifted by in clumps, hurrying to get out of the weather. I was trying to hand a flier to a young man who was more interested in eyeing me than the flier for Tamoto Suzume.
I didn’t notice Mikawa till she spoke from behind me. “Hello, Fukitsu-san. How are you doing today? Cold?”
She had the courtesy of standing upwind of me, giving me a little more shelter. Her coat flapped occasionally as a gust of wind caught it.
“Okay,” I grumbled, trying to make it sound like I meant it.
There was a possessive quality to her admiration that put me on guard. She was always polite with me but was touchy and judgmental, which led to her fighting with other fans online and sometimes on the club floor. After she had switched from being a Mega stan to me, she had posted some cutting stuff about Mega. Entirely unnecessary. I was careful about what I said to her.
It wasn’t just her personality that I found unattractive. She was a plain woman who dressed in functional clothes with little thought of style. The sort of things an office worker might wear for casual errands on their day off. Today her hair, an unflattering page boy, fluttered in the wind. Her broad face and shoulders finished an uninteresting picture.
“It was a good show the other night. You were really banging. I swear you lit the place up.”
“Yeah, it was a good show,” I replied stiffly.
Actually, my memory was a little vague. I had a lot to drink after the show. Taka had been especially vile, so I’d jumped at a chance to go out for cocktails with a girl from another unit. She was an ex-wrestler or enjoyed wrestling, one or the other. A ball of energy and fun to be with. She drank like a fish, and I wasn’t far behind.
I waited for Mikawa to remind me of what had happened, but she reached into a pocket and pulled out a black packet. “I brought you cigarettes, Djarum Black. Your favorites.”
They weren’t, but they fit my image, so I smoked them when stans could see me. You had to get them at specialty stores and cost too much for me. I took them and put them in my coat pocket.
“You know, if you need anything, just post it, and I’ll get it for you.” She continued.
“Thanks. The cigs are enough. I appreciate it. That’s unless you can get me a new manager.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that, but he had been on my case the day before, and it still burned me up. I worked harder than the other unit members but got all the grief.
“Wow, you never complain, but I can see it sometimes on your face. I hate that. If there’s anything I can do, just tell me, even if it’s just listening. Look, let’s get some tea, and you can tell me about it. There’s a place around the corner that’s nice. We can get something to eat at the same time.”
“I can’t. I got to hand these out,” I said and waved the fliers, almost losing them in a gust of wind.
“Come on. If you’re worried about sales, I’ll buy a few extra tickets. It would be worth it to have tea with you.” She took my arm.
After checking if Mega or Taka were around, I gave in. They had abandoned me, not that it was a great loss. Taka would have reported any infraction on my part and Mega pushed her work off onto me. Besides, it was cold, miserable, and it was hard for me to care about stupid rules.
“As long as it’s not the unagi place,” I said. I didn’t say it, but there had been an accident there, and I was afraid of running into a spirit. Accident ghosts were usually gruesome.
“No unagi. They serve good shio ramen, though.” She said as she took my arm and we walked to the restaurant.
We were soon seated, and she ordered tea and ramen for us. “So tell me about it,” she prompted.
Even if she wasn’t my type, she was the only woman who had kind words for me these days, and I desperately needed a sympathetic ear.
“Someone has been spreading rumors about me, and ever since, management has been giving me a hard time. They used to think I was doing okay and suddenly nothing I do is good enough. I work harder than any of the other girls and bring in more money. But they still hassle me.”
“You mean the story that you’re a lesbian? I saw that and was so happy. I like women too.”
Ignoring her comment, I continued. “The other girls don’t treat me nicely. Taka is downright venomous. I think she put a dead rat in my locker today.”
“That’s terrible. You want me to deal with Taka?” She put her hand on mine.
I stared at her hand. I couldn’t afford to offend this woman, but I also wasn’t sure I liked her. And it was forbidden for us to get involved with stans. I was already way out-of-bounds having lunch with her.
That decided it. All I needed was for people to think I’d sicced Mikawa on Taka. I pulled my hand back and answered her. “No, please leave her alone. It would only make things worse. I could get fired and never be able to find a new unit.”
“Okay.”
She took my hand again, stroking the back of it with her thumb. “I thought you liked me. Or are the rumors wrong?”
What was I going to do? You hear about stans that go from being frantically loyal to being set on ruining you. I remembered some girl had acid thrown in her face. There was no point in offending Mika, so I temporized. Taking back my hand, I said, “I like you fine. It’s just that we aren’t allowed to date anyone.”
That had come out wrong. I might as well have said right out I was a lesbian. Why hadn’t I said I wasn’t into women?
She laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, deep and throaty, a whiskey voice.
“They don’t have to know. Tell you what, let me buy you a drink at least. One beer won’t hurt.”
“I don’t like beer.”
For once, I had a good answer, but it didn’t do me any good. “Okay, let’s find a bar,” she amended, “and I’ll buy you something stronger. I know you drink.”
That’s when I should have doubled down and stuck to saying it was against the rules. Instead, I hesitated. I was so tired and alone. There was no one I could talk to. The only time I felt a connection to people was on stage.
I looked across the table and saw someone that cared. I preferred butch women, but that wasn’t in the cards. And as she said, no one had to know.
She reached out again and touched my hand. “One drink, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
I nodded. It was just for one drink. Only it wasn’t.
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Note:
Poor lonely Shiomi. Hope none of you feel that lonely. So lonely that you reach out for comfort to untrustworthy people. So lonely that even an abuser looks better than being by yourself. Yet when something better has come along (Ume), she throws it away.
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Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
Mastodon: sakurajima.moe
WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance
Art by Mai-sensei
Twitter: @Maiisheree