Chapter 6
Shizuyo is working around the house when a knock summons her to the door. “That can’t be Naoyuki already,” she thinks aloud, hurrying to answer it. She opens the door. In steps a boy with pale brown hair and grey eyes – the high school boy who’d been showing up at the elementary school. “Kazunori,” Shizuyo says. “It’s been a long time.” She motions for him to come in; he takes a seat on the couch as Shizuyo busies herself with preparing him a cup of tea. “What brings you? Do your parents know you’re playing hooky today?”
The boy replies, “I’m not playing hooky. The high school gets out at least an hour before the elementary.” He looks around the room, then pulls the photo album out from underneath the couch and flips it open. “So,” he says, “how’s life treating you and my cousin?”
Silence. “Why are you here, Kazu?” Shizuyo asks.
“I’m a senior now,” Kazunori says. “I’m dabbling in some college classes, Ms. Matsuda.”
“What kind?” Shizuyo asks from the kitchen.
“What else?” Kazunori flips the page as Shizuyo walks back into the living room with two cups of hot tea. “There’s a picture missing,” he observes.
Shizuyo puts a cup out on the table in front of Kazunori. “Naoyuki has it,” she replies. “He keeps it in his room.” She sits in the armchair across from him. “Whenever he’s upset, he goes up there by himself for hours and just rocks on his bed, holding that photo.”
Kazunori closes the photo album and lays it next to him on the couch. He picks up the tea and takes a sip, then says, “You never answered me. How are things for you and Naoyuki?” Shizuyo sighs and shakes her head. “That bad?”
Shizuyo sets down her cup of tea. “He’s a stranger to me, Kazunori. I can’t even touch him anymore. I feel like I’ve let him down. I can’t help him.”
“I’ve dropped by the elementary,” Kazunori says, taking another sip of his tea.
“Have you talked to him?”
“No, he’s never said anything to me. I don’t even think he knows who I am.”
“That makes two of us,” Shizuyo says bitterly. “Of course, he doesn’t talk to anyone anymore. At conferences, his teachers all told me they thought he was physically unable to talk. I told them that he could if he wanted to, and now they just think he’s a “special ed” student.”
Kazunori looks pensive, his head resting on his hands. “Is that so?”
Shizuyo frowns. “The truth is, he’s refused to speak at all outside of the classroom. He insists on communicating with sign language and charades, and when he’s frustrated, he just makes this terrible whining sound...He comes home beaten up, and I know it’s because the kids at school are cruel to him because he insists on acting as if he can’t talk. I don’t know what to do, Kazu.”
“It sounds like he hasn’t gotten any better since the last time we talked. I’ve been digging,” Kazunori tells her. “You and I both know that his problem isn’t physical at all, but psychological. I’m taking courses in psychology and pouring time and effort into doing research at home to find out how to help him; after all, doctors won’t do anything – they just dismiss it as retardation or autism.”
“I see,” Shizuyo says pensively. “So that’s what you’ve been up to.”
“In order to have anything to go on, I need you to tell me whatever you can about how he’s been acting.” Kazunori flips the photo album open again. “I don’t see any new ones,” he observes.
“Naoyuki’s never had any friends. He won’t let anyone in, Kazu. It’s like he’s put a barrier around himself, and no one can get through to him.” Her thoughts turn to what had happened the night before. “Even though recently, he’s had two kids who have been accompanying him home, and who he seemed comfortable with,...I invited them over yesterday, and Naoyuki suddenly threw a fit and locked himself upstairs in his bedroom. I’m worried... because he indicated that he’s hurting...”
“Hurting? How?”
“I’m not sure.”
After a moment of silence, Kazunori says, “I’ve seen those two with him. I didn’t think he had a problem when it came to them. He always seemed...happy, sort of.”
“That’s what I thought, too, until last night.”
“So, then... it seems like my little cousin has a hard time connecting with people. Maybe... the problem isn’t that he can’t connect, but that he’s scared to let people in. Maybe...” He thinks about what Shizuyo had just told him about the ruined visiting arrangements. “Maybe it’s painful for him to try and bond with people.”
“Painful?”
“I’m just making educated guesses. I need to look into it more.” Kazunori gulps down the last of his tea. “In any case, the trigger here is definitely... emotional -- psychological.”
“I know what the trigger is,” Shizuyo says. “He’s been this way for three years – ever since his parents abandoned him.”
Kazunori frowns. “I never did understand what made my aunt and uncle pack up and leave their own kid behind.”
Shizuyo stares ahead, her frown frozen, her eyes clouded with sadness at the memory.
She and Aya had sat in the living room; the sunlight painted the beige room golden with its rays. They were alone: Naoyuki was sick, sleeping in his room, and Hiroto had gone shopping. “Thank you for all the lessons,” Aya said, handing her several folded-up dollar bills.
“It’s a pleasure to teach Naoyuki,” Shizuyo said.
Aya sat silent for a moment, working her hands in her lap. “Shizuyo, the bills are piling up,” she said, her green eyes sad. “Naoyuki is always sick, and Hiroto and I aren’t sure what to do. We’re going to leave for a while. To find help.” She looked up at Shizuyo, searching her face for a reaction. “His aunt and uncle on his father’s side will take care of him while we’re gone. Can you continue to teach him then?”
“Of course,” replied Shizuyo. “It’s not a problem.”
“I didn’t know at the time,” Shizuyo tells Kazunori, “that what she was actually saying was that she and Hiroto couldn’t afford to take care of Naoyuki anymore. They took off and left Naoyuki with his aunt and uncle – not your parents, but another aunt and uncle – and it broke his heart. That’s when all the trouble started.”
Shizuyo had come to the house for one of Naoyuki’s lessons, and his aunt and uncle met her at the door. “Where’s Naoyuki this afternoon?” she asked.
“Didn’t we tell you? We filed the papers to put him up for adoption. He’s been put in a boys’ home until someone takes him.” Seeing Shizuyo’s shocked expression, Naoyuki’s uncle exclaims, “He’s always sick, that mute! I swear, his hospital bills drain half our income! If you want him, take him! He’s your headache now!” He handed her the address for the home.
“How could you?!!” Shizuyo yelled, then hurriedly turned and left. She jumped into her car and sped to the boys' home as fast as she could. When she got there and asked about Naoyuki, the temporary guardians greeted her and gave her the adoption papers. The wife brought Naoyuki to her, pale and shaking, his face empty.
“His aunt and uncle didn’t care about him,” Shizuyo says. “They were only concerned about the damage that Naoyuki’s medical bills were doing to their pocketbook. When I found Naoyuki at that home, he was like an empty shell: he wouldn’t respond when I spoke to him, wouldn’t look me in the eyes,...he wouldn’t even eat. He’d just sit in his room, holding that photo of his parents. It tore me apart to see him like that.” She sips the last of her tea. “I don’t have to tell you that his parents never came back. They just left him, and that was that. For the first year after that, school was a nightmare for us because Naoyuki wouldn’t respond to the teachers. During the second year, he finally started to communicate with charades, sign language and his body language, but he still kept to himself, except for when he needed something. It’s only recently that he’s finally acting anywhere close to normal.”
Kazunori falls silent for a moment, staring pensively ahead. “So..Naoyuki never knew the reason why they left?”
“I have to assume, since he didn’t seem to know they were leaving until it was too late, that they didn’t tell him anything,” Shizuyo replies. “But I have no way of knowing if he knows, since he doesn’t talk to me. And whenever I bring up his parents, he freaks out and runs away.”
“I don’t know how much this would apply to a little kid,” Kazunori says after a brief pause, “but for me, not knowing why they left would hurt the most. Little kids are good at sensing others’ emotions. Even if nothing’s said, it’s possible that he sensed their anxiety. He may be blaming himself for their disappearance.”
Shizuyo frowns worriedly. Before she can speak again, she hears a knock on the door. “Has it already been an hour?” she asks. “Oh, that’s probably Naoyuki, now.” She rushes to answer the door. “Please, put that photo album away, Kazu. If he sees it, he’ll throw a fit.” Kazunori returns the photo album to its place under the couch, then waits.
When Shizuyo swings the door open, Naoyuki is alone on the porch. His red, puffy eyes and wet cheeks were enough to tell her that he’d been crying. His hair was a ragged mess and his jacket was covered with dirt; his face and arms were covered in bruises. “You’re alone today,” Shizuyo observes. “What’s happened? You look horrible!” Naoyuki frowns.
The play that Naoyuki, Haruko and Kotaro had worked on was ruined. When they got up in front of the class, he froze, shaking, so terrified he could hear his knees knocking together, his heart pounding; no matter how hard he tried, the lines wouldn’t come out of his mouth. His classmates began to boo and taunt, his teacher tapped her foot impatiently, angrily. Haruko and Kotaro kept trying to cover for him, tried to get him to play his part, to take the pressure off of him without making it look like he’d screwed up. Haruko reached out to touch him; he pulled away from her and ran out of the classroom, down the hallway, away to anywhere but there. He sank down to the ground in front of his locker and wept until the tears wouldn’t flow anymore.
The bell finally rang. As the students began to pour out of the classrooms, Naoyuki wiped the last of his tears from his face and started down the hallway. He didn’t wait for Haruko and Kotaro, who would probably never forgive him for screwing up their project and getting them a failing grade. He didn’t even go back into the classroom for his backpack, where the teacher would certainly chew him out and talk down to him as if he were stupid. No, he certainly didn’t want that.
Naoyuki stepped out into the crowded walkway where the other kids congregated, talking, laughing, having a merry old time. He turned the bend on to the sidewalk, trying to hide his face. That’s when he heard the stomping footsteps ahead and realized that he’d been cornered.
“Hey, retard,” the ringleader cackled. “Ready to play our game?” Naoyuki turned to run, but in the next instant, the sixth-graders grabbed his arms and snagged his jacket. Seconds later, he was on the ground, screaming, someone on top of him pulling his hair and his ear, more hands pinching his arms. “Talk!” ordered the ringleader. Someone kicked his side; a sharp pain shot through him, and he let out an anguished yelp. The yanking, pinching, kicking and hitting continued and no one came to help. Though he thought he’d seen Haruko through his tears, no one came to his aid this time.
Naoyuki tries not to limp or whine as he follows his caretaker through the front door. He slips his shoes off and steps into the living room. There on his couch, he sees the high school boy who had been showing up at his school for the past several days. He shoots a questioning look to Shizuyo, who stands next to the boy, seemingly waiting.
“You really don’t remember him, do you?” Shizuyo asks. “Naoyuki, this is Kazu. He’s your cousin. On your mother’s side.” At the mention of his mother, Naoyuki tenses, his eyes wide.
Kazu gets up from the couch and nods to him. “Hi.” He approaches Naoyuki slowly, and Naoyuki backs away. Kazunori gives him an awkward smile. “Why are you acting like you’re scared of me? I won’t hurt you.” He steps toward his cousin again and holds out his hand for a handshake, but Naoyuki slaps his hand away and cries out, bolting away up the stairs with Shizuyo calling after him.
Kazunori stands erect. “You were right,” he says. “It’s like there’s a wall there. He won’t even go for a simple handshake, even from someone he knows.” He sits back down on the couch. “I helped him out with his bully problem,” he explains. “I would’ve thought he’d know that I wouldn’t hurt him.”
“I’ll go bring him back downstairs,” Shizuyo says.
“No, it’s not necessary,” Kazunori says. “I don’t want to force him.”
“He won’t even let me touch him, and he lives with me,” Shizuyo says regretfully. “Believe me when I say that he treats everyone this way.”
“I believe you, Ms. Matsuda,” Kazunori says. “Perhaps I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He stands up again and bows. “I’m going now.” As he is about to turn and leave, he realizes that Naoyuki is watching him from the stairwell. He nods a “goodbye” to him, then leaves.
“He wants to help you,” Shizuyo explains to Naoyuki. “Will you let him?”
Naoyuki grunts uneasily, then turns and climbs the stairs again, trying not to limp.
