The Place You Called From Chapter 3

The Mermaid of Agohama

When I opened the door, a foul smell wafted over. A smell like rotten vegetables. I took off my shirt and socks to throw them in the washing machine, and in the living room, I saw my mom asleep using folded cushions as a pillow. On the table were strewn peanut shells, and liquor spilling out from a toppled teacup covered the table and dripped from the edge. Small moths flew around the lights in the room, and the TV was left on a news channel. 

I got a cloth and wiped off the table, and repeatedly whapped the stains on the carpet with paper towels. As I went back and forth between the kitchen and living room, my mom showed no sign of waking. No matter how much I wiped, the table just wouldn’t get any less sticky, so I eventually gave up on it. 

Opening the refrigerator, I found white cabbage starting to turn black, radishes which were too late to save, eggs over a week past expiration date, and an open bag of bean sprouts. As I thawed some frozen-solid pork in a frying pan and chopped some vegetables, my finally-awake mother spoke from the living room, “Water, please,” in a drunk-sounding voice. 

I filled a cup with cold water and took it to her. She sat up, drank it in one gulp, said “Sorry,” and fell back on the floor. 

After dinner, while I was doing washing, mom came into the kitchen. She stood beside me, not to help me out or anything, but just staring sleepily at my face. And, over thirty seconds later, she finally noticed the change in her son. 

“Oh, your face…” 

I lied on my side and closed my eyes, but glimpses of the past few hours under my eyelids made it seem impossible to sleep. I went to the living room, took one of the cigarette packs from the second dresser drawer, and returned to my room. Turning the lights off, I lit one up. Not wanting the smoke to fill the room, I opened up the screen door, stuck my head out, and was met with a damp soil smell. 

The image of Hajikano’s face was burned into my sight. There was a huge bruise on her face. A bluish-black mark, the spitting image of the birthmark I’d had before. 

I decided not to think about how it had gotten there. Maybe it happened naturally, maybe it didn’t. I wouldn’t say I couldn’t make any guesses, necessarily… but just thinking about it wouldn’t get me a definite answer. What was worth thinking about was what that mark, whatever the reason for its appearance, had wrought on her. 

Hajikano had been attempting suicide in that park. That I could tell. Was it indeed that birthmark which led her to such measures? Was she so distraught about her appearance, she decided to hang herself? 

Even if we’re being modest, Hajikano was truly one of the most beautiful girls in this town. Everyone aspired to her, everyone was jealous of her, everyone envied her. She must have been at least somewhat aware of all that herself. She wasn’t someone who cared nothing for the subtle feelings of others. She couldn’t havenot known that the beauty she possessed warped the meaning of the word “beauty” with how much it surpassed it. 

How in the world would she feel having that beauty tainted? I couldn’t even imagine. If the birthmark I had was a stain on a mat, hers was a stain on a pure white dress. Though the same color and size, they didn’t have the same significance. The mental impact of the latter was incomparable to the former. It wasn’t unreasonable to think Hajikano became highly pessimistic for her future. 

On the other hand, I felt something amiss with this conclusion. Would Hajikano consider suicide over such an event? Beauty was only but one of her charms. Ever since I first came to know her, I knew she possessed deep insight, especially for a grade-schooler. Her words were full of wisdom, she was very studious, and she was even above-average athletically. She read lots of books, and listened to music older than even her parents knew. At minimum, she had twenty times the sense I did, surely. 

Would someone like her turn to suicide just because her beauty was tarnished? 

I’ll go see Hajikano after school tomorrow, I thought. In everything I pondered about, I was lacking information. Once we met and talked, everything could be made clear, and we could decide what direction to take next. 

I felt great unease, but the second I decided I’d meet Hajikano, part of me was excited. Regardless of how it was happening, I would get to be part of her life again. The day we graduated elementary school, I thought I would quickly forget Hajikano once we’d gone our separate ways. Yet taking off the lid now, I found those feelings had only grown stronger over the three years. 

In a sense, I had been waiting for this day to come for a long time. 

I put out my cigarette and went to the living room to put it in an ashtray. Then I kneeled down in front of the dresser and checked my face. 

People who have nothing have one strong point: they have nothing to lose. Once you have just one thing precious to you, you’re always tormented by the fear of losing it. 

As proof of that fact, I was afraid. Of the birthmark coming back to my face, and of a return to my drab life. 

* 

The next morning, I came to a sudden stop outside of the Class 1-3 classroom. 

I had always hated the moment of opening the classroom door. That trend had only become more obvious as I aged. 

It was possible for everything to change in just one night. Any such changes would become clear the instant I opened the door. What had been a peaceful mood yesterday could be painful today, those who yesterday seemed like the center of the class could become outcasts, people who had been kind acquaintances yesterday could lay traps today… Basically, anything from yesterday wouldn’t necessarily be the same today. So when I stood in front of the door every morning, I felt like I was turning over a rock on the seashore. There could be a shell that sparkled like a gem stuck to it, or a repulsive sea louse could come crawling out. 

Taking a quiet deep breath, I opened the door. I didn’t see Chigusa anywhere, but Nagahora noticed me and beckoned. I nodded, put my bag down by my desk, and went over to him. 

Nagahora was in a group of, including him, three boys and two girls, chatting and laughing. It seemed he was trying to get me to join the circle. I knew he was doing it out of good will, and it really was the sort of thing someone like me would need right now, but somewhere in my heart, I was fed up with it. I didn’t like talking with this many people at once. 

“Fukamachi, wasn’t it?”, said one of the girls, tall and with a clean-cut face. “Are your legs all right? Sounds like you were hospitalized for quite a while.” 

“It’s nothing now,” I answered. “I’d pretty much recovered by the end of June. I was just hiding out ‘til exams were over.” 

The five of them laughed all together, and Nagahora poked my chest. “Not bad, man!” 

“We were talking about a test of courage,” someone said. It was a boy with short hair and darkish skin, who definitely gave the impression of a baseball player. “Have you ever heard of the abandoned hotel at the foot of the mountain?” 

“Oh, the Red-Room Ruins, right?” 

The instant I spoke, the group of five stopped laughing. Did I say something awkward? Nervousness filled me. 

“Red room?”, Nagahora asked. 

“Yui Hajikano refuses to be in a classroom with Yosuke Fukamachi.” 

“I don’t know. Please, ask her.” 

Kasai pressed the pen to his temple. 

“I know it’s not fair to dig up the past, but… As someone who knows all the trouble you caused in middle school, I have no choice but to dig deep. You understand?” 

Aha. So that was the reason for Kasai’s conclusive behavior. No doubt he had spun a story in his mind about me and my delinquent friends bullying Hajikano in elementary school, or something along those lines. 

“I understand what you’re saying. It’s reasonable to be suspicious of me,” I partially conceded. “However, as far as this goes, I insist there must be some kind of mistake. Please, ask Hajikano again.” 

“We intend to, of course.” 

Just as the conversation was wrapping up, the chime to start class rang. 

“You can head back,” Kasai told me. “Though I’m thinking I’ll have to talk to you again later.” 

I wordlessly turned my back and left the faculty room behind me. 

“Good morning.” Chigusa bowed her head. It was a somehow cold greeting. 

“Um, thanks for yesterday,” I said warily. 

“Nah. They invited me, but I have plans after school.” 

“Is that so?” 

Chigusa perceived the change in my expression and nodded thoughtfully. 

“From that look, I’m supposing you were not simply classmates.” 

“Nah,” I shook my head weakly. “We were just classmates.” 

“Oh, she’s just an old acquaintance.” 

“Hmm.” He took off his T-shirt and replaced it with his P.E. shirt. “What’s your question, then?” 

I thought for a second, then changed my question. “How long has she had that bruise?” 

“How long?” Nagahora stopped to think. “I dunno. She had it when I first met her.” 

“…I see. Thanks.” 

“Fukamachi.” Chigusa poked my shoulder. “Is your pondering going to go on much longer?” 

I was dragged back to reality, and the tumult of the classroom returned. Before I knew it, it was already lunch. 

“Nah.” I did a little stretch leaning back on the back of my chair. “I’ll stop now.” 

Chigusa grinned and bent to come closer to my desk. 

While eating lunch and having a rambling discussion, Nagahora came back from the store, said “I’m gonna intrude,” and placed a chair in front of us. “Yes, you are intruding,” said Chigusa, but she moved her lunch box to make space for him. They got along. 

As the three of us finished eating, Nagahora spoke up. 

“Don’t you think everyone seems restless today?” 

“Yeah, there’s that. But that’s not what I’m talking about.” 

Chigusa answered for me. “Now is about the time for them to announce the results of the Miss Minagisa competition.” 

“Oh, I see,” I nodded. I’d completely forgotten such an event even existed. 

“It’s effectively a beauty contest where everyone in the school is eligible. I’m impressed they can keep an event like that up every year.” 

“By the way, I voted for Ogiue,” Nagahora carelessly remarked. 

“You seem like a good swimmer,” I replied. 

“It means you’re also the prettiest,” Nagahora interpreted. 

In the summer festival held every year in Minagisa from August 26th to 28th, on the night of the second day, it was customary for that year’s “Miss Minagisa” to do a reading of the mermaid legend passed down in our town, and sing the so-called “Mermaid’s Song.” That role was the highlight of the whole festival, and you were required to be an unmarried woman born in Minagisa to be eligible. 

Every year, she was selected from students of Minagisa First High… due to the fact that in such a rural town, it was apparently rather embarrassing to be unmarried, so non-students avoided the role like the plague. Because standing in front of people as Miss Minagisa meant screeching to the world “I’m an unmarried woman.” In addition, many legends about mermaids are tragic stories, and Minagisa’s was no exception. So being chosen as Miss Minagisa came to be seen as a jinx on your chances of marriage. 

The legend of The Mermaid of Agohama was, to put it simply, like taking the legend of Yaobikuni told in Fukui Prefecture, adding it to Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Mermaid, and dividing it by two. 

Yaobikuni is a girl who eats mermaid flesh and becomes immortal, and runs away to wander the land for eight hundred years. The Little Mermaid leaves the sea for the first time on her fifteenth birthday, and has a forbidden love with a human. And The Mermaid of Agohama… is basically if the witch from The Little Mermaid were replaced with Yaobikuni. 

What’s interesting is, if the records are correct, The Mermaid of Agohama already existed over two centuries before Andersen wrote The Little Mermaid. And if, again, you compare it to that, it is intriguing how it shows the story from the side of the witch, not the mermaid. That’s why Minagisa is putting in all that futile effort placing mermaid statues around town, promoting itself as the “Mermaid Town” to attract tourists. But as of today, I’ve yet to see any sufficiently tourist-y tourists. 

It’s said that until her death, Yaobikuni retained her appearance from when she was fifteen or sixteen. The Little Mermaid fell in love with a human on her fifteenth birthday. So that’s one more reason you could say it’s appropriate to have high school students reciting The Mermaid of Agohama. 

I felt that Chigusa would be appropriate as Miss Minagisa because the slight unfortunate air about her seemed to harmonize with the tragic nature of The Mermaid of Agohama. Of course, I didn’t say that to her face. She probably wouldn’t be pleased being complimented in such a way. 

Occasionally, Hajikano’s left hand touched my right, but what stayed more strongly in my memory was the feel of my soaked shoes. Interactions with Hajikano had been very rare until then, but for some reason, I only thought of cicadas. Where do the cicadas go during big rainstorms? Of course, it wasn’t just cicadas I wasn’t sure about, but also what sparrows, butterflies, cats, and bears were up to, yet I felt the most concern about cicadas. They don’t even have a month to live, so how must it feel for a whole day of their life to be spoiled by rain? 

Even past 3 PM, visibility was bad enough that even the many bicycles coming and going had to blink their headlights. It was fine while going up and down slopes, but not five minutes after reaching a flat path, we were hit with three sprays of muddy water from passing cars. For the first one, I was on the side of the car, serving as a wall for Hajikano, so she didn’t get too wet. But the second one got us both so soaked, it felt idiotic to even bother putting up an umbrella. By the third, well, we hardly thought anything of it. 

Still, I didn’t let go of that umbrella, my free ticket to get close to Hajikano. Thanks to the rain reducing visibility such that no one was watching, I could even forget about my birthmark. If only the world could always be like this, I thought. Being able to see certain things so clearly makes life hard. If the world were more dim and fuzzy, maybe people would be a little more fair to judge things, not relying on the impressions their eyes give them. 

“Here it is,” Hajikano told me, and I stopped. On the sides of the gate were hydrangeas of many colors, shaking from the blows of raindrops. Apparently, this was Hajikano’s house. 

“Thanks for escorting me,” she said, bowing her head. 

“That’s fine. It was fun.” 

Hajikano opened the sliding door to go inside, but suddenly remembered something and turned around. 

“Can I ask you to take shelter inside?” 

“Yeah. Well, see you tomorrow.” 

As I turned to leave, Hajikano grabbed my sleeve between her fingers. 

She whispered close to my ear. “You’re not angry?” 

“I was never angry, either.” She let go with a relieved look. 

“Be careful.” 

Though not necessarily because anything had changed, visting Hajikano’s house for the first time in four years felt like I was visiting a total stranger’s house. The wooden Japanese-style house with generally dark colors had gotten thorough upkeep, yet it was unable to totally escape the passage of time, with little cracks and blemishes in places. 

I rang the doorbell with a much heavier feeling weighing on me than back then. I straightened my shirt sleeves, waiting for someone to answer, but there was no response of any kind. I rang the doorbell again and leaned on a pole. 

Beside the doorbell was a plate with the names of all the family members in bombastic writing. A particularly large tree in the garden seemed to be a favorite of the cicadas, and their buzzing came down from the leaves, shaking the trunk. Maybe on that stormy day, the cicadas had taken shelter here, I considered. I was about to reach into my bag for a cigarette, but I couldn’t guarantee that Hajikano’s mother wouldn’t answer the moment I lit it. In skin-burningly strong sunlight, I waited patiently for someone to show up. 

After a while, I heard someone slowly coming down the stairs. A woman in her early twenties opened the door. Her wavy brown hair was terribly frazzled, her skin was messy with cosmetics, and her shirt was full of creases, giving an overall unclean impression. For a moment, my mind wondered about how this bed-headed woman and Hajikano were related, and I suspected she might be a friend of hers, but then I recalled the names on the doorplate. Maybe this was Hajikano’s older sister. 

She rubbed her eyes and spoke sleepily. “Whaddya want?” 

“Is Yui Hajikano home at the moment?” 

“Stalker, then?” 

“I’d like to talk to her directly. Could you at least tell Yui "Yosuke Fukamachi came to visit”?“ 

She shook her head broadly. "She doesn’t wanna meet anyone right now.” 

“I’m aware of that, too. However, it’s because she doesn’t want to meet with me that I want to meet with her.” 

There was a long silence. From her look, I could tell I was being appraised. 

“Oh well,” she snorted. “We’re getting pretty fed up with her ourselves. Yosuke, eh? If you think you can do something, try it. Highly doubt it, though.” 

“Thank you very much.” 

I looked to the doorplate again. Above the name “Yui” was written the name “Aya.” Aya Hajikano. That appeared to be her name. 

“You could at least give me a day of rest. Couldn’t wait just a few days?” 

“Of course not.” 

Aya pounded on the door. “Yui! You’re in there, right?” 

There was no response. 

“Due to some circumstances, I’ve gotta open this door.” She continued to knock. “I’ll count for a minute. And if time runs out, I’m opening it no matter what. That’s not just a threat, I’m really opening it. Got it?” 

As expected, no response. She clicked her tongue loud enough to be heard through the door. 

“Seems to be ignoring me. She’s doing it to the whole family.” 

The Hajikano I knew ignoring her family was difficult to even imagine. The fact that she’d changed drastically had become apparent about ten minutes after our reunion last night, but hearing about it from her sister’s mouth forced me to acknowledge it from a whole new angle. Who could’ve predicted there would ever come a day when our Hajikano would be treated like a burden? 

I kept checking the time on my watch, but at 52 seconds, Aya said “I’m coming in” and opened the door. She’s forceful, I thought with amazement as I followed behind her. I didn’t doubt that she would have busted open the door even if it had been locked. 

The room felt unpleasant; darker than you’d ever imagine for it still being day, and stuffy with heat. The curtains were shut, and no lights were on, but light from the hallway illuminated the room. Unusual for an adolescent girl, her room with completely Japanese-style, and there was a faint smell of rush plants. 

Hajikano lied on a futon with her back to us. Her thin shoulders showed behind a gray slip, her white legs stretched out of thin cotton shorts, and her glossy black hair drew gentle curves on the white sheets. From just that sight from behind, I saw that her beauty, which four years ago had seemed like the pinnacle, continued to grow, knowing no limit - except for one thing. 

The door closed behind me. I turned around and saw we had been left alone. Aya was awfully considerate. 

“What is it?”, said Hajikano with her back turned, thinking that it was Aya who had entered the room. 

“It’s me.” 

There was a long silence. 

Being in that room, with the sunlight blocked out, in the middle of summer, brought back memories of a movie showing from elementary school. I’d completely forgotten the actual movie we watched in the gym, darkened by curtains. All I remember is that even in scenes where there was no sound, there was a constant buzzing noise. When the movie ended, and the curtains opened, and light came back through the windows… The bars on the wall, the basketball hoop, the soccer net, the volleyball stuck in the corner of the ceiling - it felt like I was seeing it all for the first time, even though I should have been familiar with it. As if the darkness and film had conspired to repaint reality. 

The monotone buzzing of cicadas temporarily stopped as if screeching to a halt. Hajikano rolled over bothersomely, and looked up at me like looking into the sun. Twisting her body made her soft hair fall on her cheek and misaligned the string on her slip, but she didn’t pay it any mind. 

It was hard to see clearly in the dark, but sure enough, there was a birthmark on her face. 

Hajikano sat up sluggishly and approached with an uncertain gait, like she was ill. She stopped close enough for us to feel each other’s heat. 

She slowly reached her hand to touch my cheek. Her chilly, delicate fingers crawled along to below my eye. She rubbed it again and again, looking for something that wasn’t there. Maybe she thought if she kept rubbing, the false skin would fall away and show the birthmark she was familiar with. She was gently stroking at first, but gradually put more force. 

Suddenly, I felt a burning sensation on my cheek. I quickly realized she was clawing me with her nails. When my face warped with pain, Hajikano quickly removed her hand as if coming back to her senses. Then she took a few steps back and dropped down on a mat. A sliver of light coming through the curtains illuminated the side of her face which had no mark. I saw a fleeting glimpse of a mole under her eye. 

There was a sniffing sound. Hajikano sat on her knees with her legs splayed out, crying and trying to keep it quiet. I doubted she was crying out of guilt for hurting me. 

I patiently waited for her to stop crying. I couldn’t think of anything better than just waiting. I touched my fingers where I’d been scratched and found a little blood. The room was too sweltering, so I left the curtains closed and opened the window. I understood her feeling of preferring the dark. She was probably finding in this darkness the same reassurance I once felt in heavy rainstorms. 

The curtains swelled, and cool wind blew in, flipping the pages of a thick notebook on a desk. Hajikano stood up and closed the notebook, putting it in a drawer. Then she fished around in the bottom drawer, took something inside, and came back in front of me. I prepared myself for whatever she might do, but in her hand was a band-aid. She carefully applied it to my wound, then quietly said “I’m sorry.”

I felt like she might listen now. 

“I heard you didn’t come to school because you didn’t want to be in a classroom with me. Is that true?” 

“Yes,” she answered. She seemed to have calmed down her tears for the time being. “If you already know, good. I don’t want to see your face, Yosuke. Please leave.” 

I had prepared myself, but being given such a strong rejection made my chest tighten suffocatingly. 

“Could you at least tell me why?” 

From the speakers around town came a chime which played at 5 PM, to the tune of the Mermaid’s Song. Still, it looked like it would be an hour or more until sunset. Many crows flew around above the trees, cicadas made refreshing chirps. A local group of kids were being taught fire safety. 

When you think about it, things had been so unusual up until now, I realized. Being a close friend with Hajikano was only the result of numerous coincidences, so realistically, it was only natural she’d treat me this way. Even suggesting that the likes of me could console Hajikano was too much. Thinking she could “be mine” - now that was really not knowing my place. 

It seemed I was quite able to handle being rejected by Hajikano. It made me feel like a hopelessly spineless individual. The once-sparkling past changed color; I could imagine that I’d seen everything only my way, and I was never a friend of any importance to Hajikano. 

Losing self-confidence all at once, I began to give up on trying to win this bet. Okay, okay, I get what you’re trying to say. Just losing my birthmark won’t make my dream come true. It was never that simple. It was a game I never had a chance of winning. And you knew that when you proposed this bet, didn’t you? 

But also, if I changed my thinking, I could put it this way: in exchange for being shown my powerlessness in full, I’d gotten a great chance. At present, my circumstances at school weren’t so bad. If I built strong, trusting relationships with Chigusa and Nagahora while I could, maybe I could keep those intact even if my birthmark came back. Yes, this period of not having my birthmark was a perfect opportunity. 

That woman had said the deadline was August 31st. So my fate was still postponed for over a month. I’d been given a decent amount of time. 

I envisioned it. Chigusa and Nagahora, accepting me as before, even with my birthmark back. Myself, able to forget about it and laugh with my classmates. 

That wouldn’t be such a bad future, all told. 

* 

I was naive. When the woman on the phone explained the bet, she - perhaps intentionally - failed to mention an important point. She never mentioned anything about the penalty that would be given to me if I lost the bet. She knew that if she had mentioned it, I wouldn’t have been on board. 

Remember the story of the mermaid. Not The Mermaid of Agohama. Not Yaobikuni. But Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale. 

Andersen lived a life full of frustration and heartbreak, and with his early works especially, he had a strong tendency to write tragedies that ended with the protagonist’s death. The Little Mermaid is a model example. In the eyes of Andersen at that time, his talent unknown and in the depths of poverty, it’s not surprising to see it portrayed that death is the only salvation. That pessimistic outlook would reflect in your work, surely. 

Now, as far as I remember, here’

Chapter end