ell, I think we need to work our way back to Kazue Sat, don’t you? What’s that? Yes, I can well believe you don’t want to hear any more about my grandfather and Mitsuru’s mother and their disgusting love story. But actually there’s an interesting sequel. You see, Mitsuru passed the qualifying exam to enter Tokyo University Medical School, just as she’d intended. I know this because she contacted me after I’d matriculated into the German Language Division of Q University. At the same time, a number of problems occurred. It doesn’t have a direct connection to the Yuriko and Kazue stories, but I’d like to talk about it eventually.

When was it that Kazue Sat’s bizarre behavior began to grow really obvious? It was probably around the time we were in our second year of high school. Yuriko was in her first year, and I heard rumors that Kazue had started following her around. To use the current lingo, I suppose you could call her a stalker. It was horrifying. Kazue would peek into Yuriko’s classroom. When she was in gym, Kazue would spy on her. If Yuriko attended a game with the cheerleaders, Kazue would be there. She was just like a dog following its master. She probably even sniffed around the Johnsons’ house as well. And whenever she ran into Yuriko, she would follow her with her eyes, watching Yuriko as if she were under some kind of spell. What would motivate Kazue to want to stalk Yuriko? Even I couldn’t figure that one out.

Wherever Yuriko was, there was always a commotion. Once Kijima Junior advanced to the Q High School for Young Men in a different part of the city, Mokku, the daughter of the soy sauce company president, took his place and trailed after Yuriko like poop from a goldfish.

Mokku was the manager of the cheerleaders’ squad. As such she was, in effect, Yuriko’s bodyguard, and she went wherever Yuriko went, protecting her from fans as well as from those who coveted her position and were envious of her. Yuriko was the squad mascot. Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? You couldn’t expect an uncoordinated airhead like Yuriko to master the complicated moves in the cheerleaders’ routines. All Yuriko was supposed to do was stand there like some kind of billboard, proving to the world that the Q School cheerleaders had raised their standards of beauty.

When the statuesque Yuriko strode through the school grounds with Mokku, her presence was so overwhelming that no one could take their eyes off her. I was amazed at how conceited she looked. She walked slightly ahead of Mokku, her face impassive, as if she were some kind of queen. Mokku, for her part, followed after her like a handmaiden. And then here’d come Kazue, right behind them, panting hard to keep up. It certainly was a peculiar sight.

Occasionally I’d notice that the minute Kazue ate her lunch, she’d run to the bathroom to throw it up. I say lunch, but there really wasn’t much to it: just a tiny rice ball and a tomato or a piece of fruit. Kazue often brought a cheap kind of cookie made from soy flour. But as soon as she’d eat it she’d be so overcome with remorse that she’d rush off to the toilet to puke. Everyone in the class knew what she was doing, so whenever Kazue would start rustling through that sack of cookies, the other students would poke one another with their elbows and titter knowingly. Yes, Kazue had an eating disorder. Of course, at the time we didn’t know there were such diseases. We just resented Kazue for her unbalanced diet and her habit of throwing up after a meal.

I heard that her reputation in the ice skating club was really bad. No matter how many requisitions she got, she never paid the rink fees. She wore her competition uniform even during practice sessions and swished around the rink oblivious to everything. It seemed like only a matter of time before she would be asked to leave the team, and yet surprisingly that never happened. That was because Kazue was useful when it came time to borrow her notes for exams. Kazue lent her notes to club members free of charge but from other classmates she demanded payment, one hundred yen for one class day’s worth of notes. At that time Kazue was incredibly fixated on money. Most people grumbled behind her back that she was stingy.

Kazue had completely changed by the latter half of freshman year. At first she had tried her best to meld with the affluent atmosphere of Q High School for Young Women. But in the winter she suddenly changed. After I was in the university I heard someone say that the shift in her life came about later, when her father died, but as far as I could tell, Kazue had already undergone a change in appearance by the start of our second high school year.

I also noticed that Kazue had begun subjecting her teachers to an intense litany of questions during class. The teachers would soon grow impatient. “Okay, let’s move on to the next question,” they’d say, glancing at their watches, only to have Kazue complain, in a tear-choked voice, “But professor, I still don’t understand.” Even though the rest of the students in the class would roll their eyes in frustration, she didn’t care. I don’t think Kazue ever paid attention to the reactions of those around her. She gradually began to lose all awareness of her current reality. Whenever the teacher asked a question to which Kazue knew the answer, she would be the first to stick up her hand, a triumphant look on her face. And when she wrote down the answers to questions, she always covered her paper with her hand—just as if she’d returned to the days when she was a competitive elementary school student. Oh, yes. She was, without a doubt, such a weirdo no one wanted anything to do with her.

But I hung out with her. You understand, don’t you? Kazue was hung up on a hopeless relationship and frustrated as a result. I’m talking about Takashi Kijima, of course. I wanted to see what I could do to ensure that the love Kazue harbored for Kijima swelled like a balloon. Kazue had taken my advice and written Kijima any number of letters. She always showed them to me first. I would make my corrections and send them back to her. And then Kazue would write them over again and again, never really certain that they were good enough to send. Would you like to see the letters? I’ll show them to you. You wonder why I have them? Well, that’s because I copied each one in my notebook before I sent it back to her.

Please forgive the informality of this letter. I realize it must seem rude to write you out of the blue like this. Please forgive me.

If I may, I’d like to begin with a self-introduction. My name is Kazue Sat and I’m in the B group of the first-year high school students. My goal is to advance to the economics division of the university and study economics. For that reason I apply myself to my studies every day, and if I say so myself I am a very serious student. I belong to the ice-skating club. I’m still too wet behind the ears to compete. (Or wet behind the toes, as the case may be.) But I’m practicing as hard as I can with dreams of someday competing. I fall a lot, so after practice I’m always covered in bruises. The seniors on the team tell me that’s what it takes. So I’m really enthusiastic about training.

My hobbies are handicrafts and keeping a diary. I’ve kept a diary since I was in first grade and haven’t missed a day yet. Now if I don’t make an entry for the day, I’m so upset I can’t sleep. I heard that you weren’t in any club, Takashi. Do you have any hobbies?

I’m now in biology class with your father, Professor Kijima. He’s a great teacher. He’s able to explain even the most difficult things in very simple language. I have such respect for his skill in the classroom and his noble character. Q High School for Young Women has so many exceptional teachers like Professor Kijima, it just makes me grateful that I was able to enter the school. Takashi, I heard that you’ve been receiving your training in the Q system ever since you were little, on account of Professor Kijima being your father. You are so fortunate.

I’m a little embarrassed to do so, but I have a confession to make. Even though I’m a year ahead of you in school, I have a crush on you. I don’t have any brothers, only a younger sister, so I don’t know much about men. If you don’t mind, would you write back? I’ll dream of the day I hear from you. Until then, please accept this letter. And good luck with your midterm exams.

Kazue Sat

This was the first letter she sent. When I saw the second letter I burst out laughing in spite of myself. That’s because of the poem “The Path Where Violets Bloom.” When she showed it to me she said she wanted to have the folksinger Banban Hirofumi sing it.

The Path Where Violets Bloom

Wild violet, at my feet

The path where you have trod.

While plucking a broken bloom

I know you’ve passed this way.

Wild violet, blooming along the path

Into the sky overflowing with your heart,

I gaze afar and while I cry

I meet you on your way home.

Wild violet, I cannot see,

Cannot search for your love.

Bewildered, afraid,

The mountain road, the precipice below.

Once Kazue showed me a haiku or something by Toshizo Hijikata, the famous swordsman who tried to thwart the Meiji Restoration in the nineteenth century. I think it was his verse: “To know is to stray; to not know is to not stray—the path of love.” Kazue copied the verse neatly onto a sheet of stationery with the note: This is exactly how I feel. She folded the stationery into four folds and slipped it into a regular envelope. Kazue may have been able to see her studies through successfully, but when it came to love she was not only immature but extremely old-fashioned.

“Hey, what do you think of this? Do you think I should go ahead and send it?” Kazue asked, as she showed me what she’d written. I was half terrified when I saw it and half elated. A week had gone by since her first letter. I advised her to send the second to his house as well. Why was I terrified, you ask? Because I knew that people in love are capable of behaving stupidly. Don’t you find it scary too? Kazue had exposed her lack of sense and talent without the slightest qualm and had clearly revealed her shame to the recipient of her missives without even considering the consequences.

Of course Takashi didn’t answer. Under normal circumstances the girl would have taken this as evidence that the boy had no interest in her. But Kazue was only confused.

“Why hasn’t he responded? Do you think maybe he didn’t get my letters?” Her eyes with their ridiculous double lids, compliments of Elizabeth Eyelids, opened wide. Her pupils glittered with light. And her body, which was even thinner than before, gave off a peculiar aura: her whole body glowed. She looked like some kind of swamp creature. So even a creature as ugly as this can fall in love? I was so creeped out by Kazue I couldn’t bear to look at her straight on. But there she was, pulling on my arm and wheedling.

“Hey, hey, what do you think? What? What do you think I should do?”

“Why don’t you go call Takashi over and ask him yourself.”

“I couldn’t do something like that!”

Kazue blanched and shrunk back.

“Then get him a Christmas present and ask him when you hand it to him.”

When Kazue heard my suggestion, her face lit up.

“I’ll knit him a scarf!”

“That’s a great idea! All boys are suckers for handmade goods.”

I looked around the classroom. It was November and there were any number of girls clicking away at their knitting, making their boyfriends sweaters and scarves and such.

“Thanks! That’s what I’ll do.”

Now that Kazue had a new goal, she calmed down. Once again a glimmer of confidence returned to her face. She was encouraging herself; I’m sure that’s what she was doing. Her profile at such a time looked exactly like a certain man. You got it: like her father. On the day my mother died, when Kazue’s father told me never to associate with Kazue again, he had that same haughty air about him.

It was close to Christmas, and the scarf that Kazue was knitting for Takashi was now over a yard long. It was incredibly ugly: black and yellow stripes that reminded me of a honeybee’s butt. I imagined Takashi with the scarf wrapped around his neck and had a more difficult time than usual trying to stifle my laughter.

It was a winter afternoon, almost night, when I phoned Takashi’s house. His father had a faculty meeting that day so I knew he wouldn’t be home yet. Takashi himself answered the phone, his voice unexpectedly brisk and bright. No doubt about it, Takashi was a different person at home from who he was in school. It gave me the creeps.

“Hello? Kijima residence.”

“This is Yuriko’s older sister. Is this Takashi?”

“Yes. So you’re the sister who looks nothing like Yuriko. What do you want with me?”

Kijima had quickly lost his pleasant telephone voice and brought his tone down an octave.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for Yuriko,” I began formulaically. “To tell the truth, I have a favor to ask of you.”

I could tell that Takashi was growing cautious. I thought of his shifty little eyes and began to feel queasy. Eager to hang up, I got right down to business.

“It’s difficult to discuss by phone, but I know you won’t meet me so I’ll just cut to the chase. You’ve gotten letters from my classmate Kazue Sat, haven’t you?”

I could hear Takashi catch his breath.

“Kazue wants to know if you’ll return her letters. She’s so embarrassed she can hardly stand it.”

“Why doesn’t she ask me herself?”

“She cried when I asked her and said she just couldn’t bring herself to call you. So I’m doing it for her.”

“She was crying?”

Takashi became quiet all of a sudden. I hadn’t expected this. Suddenly I could feel unease rise within me. What would I do if things didn’t go as I planned?

“Kazue bitterly regrets sending you those letters.”

Takashi was silent for a while. Finally he answered, “Really? Well, I was impressed a bit. I thought the poem was especially nice.”

“What part did you like?”

“Well, it was innocent and sweet.”

“You’re lying!” I found myself shouting. He was just too snide to bear. There was no way Takashi could have liked that pathetic poem.

But Takashi answered lightheartedly, “No, really. But Yuriko and I are involved in activities that have very little to do with purity.”

“What are you talking about?”

My radar suddenly zoomed in on the secret passion emerging from Yuriko and Takashi. I could smell something evil brewing. I forgot all about Kazue and started thinking about what Takashi meant. But Takashi broke in hurriedly with exaggeratedly fast speech.

“It doesn’t matter, does it? My little side job with Yuriko has nothing to do with you.”

“A side job? What kind of work are you two doing? You should tell me, I am Yuriko’s older sister, after all.”

I braced myself for Takashi’s response. They were doing something to earn money. And whatever it was had “very little to do with purity.” I suddenly recalled that the last time I’d seen Yuriko, a thin gold chain glittered around her neck. Just visible beneath her uniform blouse was a lacy brassiere, and on her feet were slip-on shoes with red and green braided ribbon. No doubt they were Gucci. I was sure she didn’t have much of an allowance. How was she able to afford clothes that were so well suited to the Q School atmosphere? No, more than just well suited, Yuriko was leading the pack when it came to fashion. I was now beside myself with curiosi

ty. I held the receiver away from my ear and tried to think of a way to find out their secret. I guess I was silent too long because before long I heard Takashi shouting snidely, “Hello! You still there? Hello? What’s going on?”

“Oh, sorry. Now, what was that job you two are doing?”

“Forget it. What is it you want me to do with Sat’s letters?”

Takashi had changed the subject. I had no choice but to track down the answer to my question some other way. Resigned, I returned to Kazue.

“Kazue is embarrassed. She asked me to call you, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“This is weird. I’m the one who received the letters, but now I’m supposed to return them? Why does she want them back?”

“Look, Kazue is really upset about this. If you don’t send them back she says she’ll slit her wrists or something like that. Maybe she’ll swallow sleeping pills, I don’t know. Just send them back as soon as you can.”

“Okay!” Takashi responded as if he were fed up. “I’ll give them to her tomorrow.”

“No, that’s no good,” I raised my voice. “You have to send them to her house.”

“Should I mail them?”

I could tell Takashi was getting to be a bit suspicious.

“Mail is fine. Just write her address and last name on the envelope, that’s all you need to do. Don’t put anything else with the letters, okay? And if possible, send them registered express.”

No sooner had I finished my sentence then I slammed the phone down. That should do the trick. I was sure Kazue would be horrified once the letters she’d sent had been returned to her. And if I had any luck at all, her father would discover them and go ballistic. Now, if I was really lucky, I’d manage to figure out what Yuriko and Takashi were up to. Suddenly going to school had become fun again.

Kazue missed school for several days. On the morning of the fourth day she turned up unexpectedly and stood in the doorway of the classroom like a giant roadblock. She surveyed the room with dark eyes. Her hair was no longer in curls and no longer was she hopelessly gluing those fake Elizabeth Eyelids over her eyes. The familiar dreary, uncool Kazue had returned, except for the fact that an unbelievably gaudy scarf, striped in yellow and black, was wrapped around her neck. The scarf she had knitted for Takashi curled around her like an enormous famished snake. When the other students entered the class and saw Kazue, most looked flustered and quickly turned their eyes away as if they’d just seen something they were not supposed to see. But clearly oblivious, Kazue sauntered over to one of the girls on the ice-skating team who had earlier borrowed her notes.

“Kazue, what happened to you?”

Kazue stared up at the student as if in a daze, embarrassed.

“You can’t go and take time off before the test!”

“I’m sorry.”

“You can at least lend me your English and Classics notes.”

Kazue nodded timidly, over and over. She plopped her school satchel down on the desk in front of her. Not surprisingly, the student who was sitting there looked up at Kazue angrily. She was an insider with very savvy fashion sense, well known for being good at baking cookies and cakes. She was reading a cookbook when Kazue interrupted her.

“Hey, you can’t just go slamming stuff down on other people’s desks, you know. I’m trying to figure out what cookies to bake. Show a little consideration.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kazue bowed again and again in apology. The unusual aura that had earlier suffused Kazue’s entire body was now nowhere to be found. Instead she looked peaked and ugly, like a fruit squeezed of all its juice.

“Look here, you got some mud on my book! How can you be so rude?”

Miss Cookbook made a big show of wiping off her book. Kazue had probably set her satchel down on the train platform while she was on her way to school, or she’d rested it on the sidewalk and the bottom had gotten soiled. A number of students who heard what the girl had to say flushed slightly with excitement at her words, but the rest just pretended not to hear. Kazue handed over her notes and then, drenched in the student’s belittling gaze, retraced her steps to her own desk. She turned back to look at me for support. I instinctively looked away, but not before I could sense what she was thinking. Help me. Get me out of here! I suddenly remembered that snowy night in the mountains when Yuriko had chased after me. That overwhelming impulse to use all my strength to ward off something horrible. The exhilarating feeling following the moment I thrust her away. I wanted to do the same to Kazue now, so badly I could hardly stand it. Finally, the first-period math class ended—without Kazue’s badgering the teacher with her usual endless questions.

“Hey. Hey? Can I ask you something?” As soon as classes had been dismissed, before I could get away, I heard Kazue’s pathetic voice coming up behind me. I had already begun heading down the second-floor corridor.

“What? What is it?”

I whirled around and looked at Kazue straight on, causing her to avert her eyes, a pained expression on her face.

“It’s about Takashi.”

“Oh? Did you get an answer from him?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” Kazue answered reluctantly. “Four days ago.”

“That’s terrific! What did he say?”

I pretended to be excited—all the while waiting gleefully to see how Kazue would answer. It was going to be so great. But Kazue pursed her lips and said nothing. I guess she was searching for a good excuse.

“Come on, what did he say?” I asked impatiently.

“He wrote that he wants to get together with me.”

What a liar! I stared at Kazue’s face in blank amazement. But she just looked bashful, a blush rising to her shrunken cheeks.

“This is what he wrote: I’ve been interested in you for some time. Thank you for praising my father’s class, that made me very happy. If you don’t mind a younger man, let’s continue sharing letters. Please feel free to ask me about my interests or anything.”

“You’re kidding!”

I almost believed her. I mean, Takashi said he was going to send back her letters, but there was no way I could be sure he had. And besides, he had shown an interest in that pathetic poem, so maybe he did write to her. Or maybe he was evil enough to be teasing Kazue. I realized my plan had backfired and I started to feel desperate.

“Can I see his letter?”

Kazue stared at my outstretched hand and a troubled look flashed across her face. She shook her head vigorously.

“No can do. Takashi wrote that I wasn’t to show the letter to anyone. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Then why are you wearing that scarf? I thought you were going to give it to Takashi as a present.”

Kazue brought her hand quickly to her throat. Medium-width yarn, tightly woven, interspersed with elastic thread. Each band of color was four inches wide in alternating stripes of black and yellow. I watched carefully for her reaction. Go on, what kind of excuse will you have this time?

“I thought I’d use it as my own keepsake.”

Ha! Caught you! I did a little dance.

“I deserve it! I had to wait for him, didn’t I? I waited for a letter from him so I get to keep the present.”

When I tried to grab Kazue’s scarf she batted my hand away.

“Don’t! Your hands are dirty!”

Her voice was threatening. I froze and stared at her. Within seconds she began to blush.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

“That’s all right. It was my fault.”

I turned on my heel and walked off as if I were angry. Let her chase me.

“Wait! I was wrong to say that. I apologize.”

Kazue came after me but I kept walking, refusing to turn around. In fact, I didn’t know what to do next. I was perplexed. What was the truth? Had Kazue really gotten a reply from Takashi or was she just making it up? The school grounds were lively with the sounds of students laughing and carrying on now that classes were over for the day. But even still I could clearly discern the sound of Kazue following me: the patter of her feet, her rough breathing, the sound her satchel made as it slapped against her short skirt.

“I apologize. Wait. You’re the only person I have to discuss things with,” she said.

I thought I heard her crying. I stopped and Kazue caught up. Her tearstained face crumpled and she sobbed like a child left behind by its mother. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” she begged

“Why did you say such a thing? I’ve only been kind to you!”

“I know. It’s just that the way you say things sounds so nasty that sometimes it gets on my nerves. Besides, I didn’t really mean what I said.”

“But the two of you are really hitting it off, aren’t you. It’s just like I predicted, isn’t it?”

Kazue stared at me blankly. Finally her face took on such a strange light it would be hard not to describe it as insane.

“That’s right! We’re really hitting it off. Ha-ha-ha!”

“So are you going to go on a date?”

Kazue nodded yes in response and then let out a scream. From the window of the corridor she could see Yuriko and Takashi walking through the school gate. I quickly flung the window open.

“Hey, wait! What are you doing?”

Kazue turned white and looked as if she would run off at any minute. I grabbed the scarf around her neck and tore it off.

“Stop! Stop it!” Kazue begged, as I held her against the corridor wall with all my might.

“Takashiiii!”

Takashi and Yuriko both turned around at the same time and looked up at me. I hung the scarf out the window with both hands and waved it wildly. Takashi, wearing a black duffle coat, stared at me suspiciously. He grabbed Yuriko around the shoulders and escort

ed her out the school gate. A stylish navy-blue coat was thrown over her shoulders. She glared at me reproachfully. Crazy bitch of an older sister!

“What you just did was cruel.” Kazue crouched in the corridor sobbing. Students passing along the corridor looked over at us curiously and then walked off whispering. I gave Kazue back her scarf. She hid it behind her back as if ashamed to have it seen.

“He’s still with Yuriko, it seems. Did you lie to me?”

“No! He really sent me a response.”

“Did he say anything about your poem?”

“He said it was a good poem. Honest.”

“And about the self-introduction letter?”

“That he liked its straightforward honesty.”

“That sounds like what a teacher would write about one of your compositions!”

I was angry so I started to shout. But don’t you agree? Because Kazue lacked any imagination, she was only able to come up with a pathetic story. I wished she’d been able to lie more creatively. “What did your father say?” I asked coldly.

Kazue suddenly grew very quiet. Yes, that’s right. From that day on, Kazue began to fall apart.