Farewell 29

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August 29th 2016  |  2  |  Category: Drama , Fiction , Romantic Love  |  Author:  |  697 views

I remembered a roar that was not only intense but also so deep.
Something like a magnetic field, which was soft and light like a veil, arising from the thunderbolt surrounded me.
No sooner had I seen a flash than the sound roaring heavily caught me on the whole body.
The first thunderstorm of the season was a sign telling us winter had arrived, bringing snow at a region including my hometown.
I had started to write a story in such a stormy night.
It was the beginning of winter more than 10 years ago.
“If I write about my own memory thoroughly, it may continue to exist as a thing that is more universal, exceeding mere personal memory. It’ll be summoned by something like a god of the story. If many diminutive words I’ve written link each other, form a sequence, and get weight slightly, they may stand on their own feet and start to walk by themselves toward somewhere; they might be infused with eternal life at the place that even I cannot control. Then, has such a thing actually happened? Or, is it nothing but my own megalomania?
I am always writing about the things related with him.
For instance, I feel like that the air never flows but completely stops when he stops talking. At such time, he used to be surrounded by tense air, which is peculiar to him. Or, I used to feel his breathing, which is so calm.
But, is it no more than a thing like a behavior that a collecting mania does?
Am I doing it as if pinning insects on a board of collection display case, hoping to preserve them forever?
In other words, do I hope to collect and store my memory related with him because of just a fetish? He is the very ‘That man’ that I am always writing about. I’ve been describing him in my novel, my essay, and so on.
Well, I used to like his voice, but also used to like the air surrounding him while he didn’t say anything. No, I like not only them but also everything of him.
I do like everything too much and don’t want to let him go.”
Not only that, I was eager to be always with him, to always stare at him, to always feel him, and to always touch him. Completely adoring him, I seemed to have somewhat lost my mind.
Besides, I had used to like his long breath and the silence that appeared after he had paused suddenly.
On top of that, if I took a long view, the time we had spent together actually was like a split second.
“But, why do I eagerly try to firmly preserve and fix this memory that I’ve certainly had the relationship with him?
I suppose that all people, who’ve gotten such an important thing, must be confused, because they don’t know how to deal with it.
At last, they will end up by doing the same as me: they will try to preserve it by any means, too.
Some people might compose poetry, others might write music. In my case, it has been to write a story.
Is that because I am afraid to forget those memories?
No. The more I lose the details of my memory, the more a dense atmosphere in my memory overwhelms me so far as to torment me.
I cannot recall any small parts of them anymore, but the things that have made me fascinated will be revived more vividly.
For example, the profoundness of his gentle gaze, the atmosphere created by his voice that has been transmitted with vibration, the moisture and the fever that have been brought by his voice and cover my ears, and so on.
At last, the stories I’m writing will shake hands with this real world somewhere someday.
Even my memories about things that have happened really don’t exist anymore, and are invisible, intangible, and immaterial. Therefore, are there any differences between my memory and fictional stories?
Similarly, even though this real world was supposed to exist this moment, how can we explain this real world is more stable than fictional stories and our memories?
Tales are not inferior to the real world just because tales are just things that have been made up.
If there are the same things as the feeling, the moisture, and the fever that have been brought when ‘That man’ whispered my name, it is the same as he calls my name this moment.”
Akihiko called her name before he knew it.
All the lights of the cabin had been turned off, Akihiko should have been browsing a tablet connected to the inflight wi-fi, relying on a faint reading lamp.
But he murmured her name absent-mindedly, and his voice sounded unexpectedly.
A cabin attendant talked to Akihiko because she thought that he’d asked her something.
Although it was dark in the cabin, Akihiko could see that the attendant was a neat, beautiful woman and was adequate to Asian airlines that generally had a good reputation about the quality of their cabin attendants.
He noticed a sweet fragrance floating from her glossy-black, well-combed hair, and honestly told her that he had only told himself in a loud voice unintentionally.

Usually, when Akihiko was riding an airplane, he rarely talked to any cabin attendants friendly because he felt that it was like picking girls up.
Today, the cabin was uncrowded and the both side of Akihiko’s seat were empty. So he could relax more than usual. Takanobu had used to often say, “If we don’t talk to any cabin attendants while we’re on airplanes, it’s nothing other than wasting time. They’re the same generation as us, and so beautiful. No reason not to talk to them!”
Akihiko remembered that Takanobu had often said such a thing like a mixture of jokes and his true mind.
Yumiko heard it and said, ”Whenever he’s on an airplane he ogles the cabin attendants. I am ashamed. He really has a weakness for women!”
Mitsuru quickly took over the words from Yumiko with laughter, “Takanobu has a weakness for pretty women really and it is also true that he has a weakness for cabin attendants!”
Such a genial scene with Akihiko’s familiar fellows came to his mind vividly.
Takanobu had had a weakness for pretty women for a very long time.
A memory that Takanobu had been crazy about a girl during their high-school days occurred to Akihiko’s mind after a long time. She was a student of a girl’s high-school near their school. Akihiko was surprised that he remembered her well: her face was fair-skinned and small, and her brownish hair was French braid and updo style.
The cabin attendant asked Akihiko, working her pink-stained, glossy lips healthily and widely, “Would you like something to drink?”
Akihiko said, “Red wine, please,” hoping that it would bring him good sleep. He couldn’t sleep well on airplane without fail.
He had boarded this plane, lamenting over his own misfortune that he had to travel by plane again just after having gotten involved in such a strange accident: the airplane for Q prefecture, which he had boarded, disappeared and was found out a while ago.
But today, after the airplane had leveled off, he felt that it was an usual, monotonous flight.
Nowadays, many airlines provided in-flight wi-fi system. On top of that, Akihiko started a job that he had to travel on business frequently after having graduated from university. Which instigated him to tend to read what “That woman” wrote online. Akihiko ended up reading her blog and so on, without awareness that it was special because he always did to kill time.
He diligently browsed not only her but also other friend’s posts on social media: Takanobu, Yumiko, Mitsuru, and a lot of other old friends. There were always many websites and blogs that Akihiko should read for his job, too.
Web-surfing became an ordinary habit while people were on transports in these days. As a result, Akihiko could consider that reading what she wrote was one of such habits.
Even if “That woman” knew that Akihiko was still reading her works online, he could feel relieved somehow because he could make an excuse that it had been only his long-time custom.
Indeed, Akihiko had read her blogs for a long time since he had said good-bye to her.
But after she had gotten married with a man who was unknown to Akihiko, and had a baby, he stopped himself from reading them because he was abashed at reading such her life.
In addition, he was also relieved to know she seemed to be so happy. Akihiko felt responsible for her emotionally instability just after they had parted. So he had used to check her by reading her blogs as if confirming whether she was alive, feeling a sense of obligation.
After having married, she started to upload many posts written about childcare to her blog: diapers, breast feeding, and so on.
Therefore Akihiko came to rarely read what she wrote online in those days. But, he was wondering, “It was after the catastrophe that I often read them again.”
Akihiko read her blog after a long absence when the big disaster happened, and knew that she seemed to have taken refuge to a small local city located at western area of Japan from Tokyo with her child without her husband.
Of course, he felt sorry for her from the bottom of his heart. Nevertheless, if he thought that he would be able to do something for her, he felt like it was egoistic.
In addition, though he never intended to watch the news reporting about the disaster because of only his curiosity, he sometimes had a vague feeling of guilt over Japanese people who were in confusion because he felt like that he watched them from a safety place.
But, especially in the case of “That woman,” Akihiko gradually came to think of another possibility.
It was a hypothesis Akihiko had made: is she writing these things in order to make me read them?
This tentative theory was getting to be certain more and more, as he read what she wrote.
“Whatever she is writing online, she knows that I am reading them.”
Akihiko murmured.


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2 Responses to Farewell 29

  1. Pingback: 小説「Ferewell」目次ページ(日本語&英語バージョン) | 4:AM MAGAGINE

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