General Discussions => Entertainment => Books => Topic started by: Izumi on September 03, 2010, 01:52:16 PM Return to Full Version
Title: A book i want to write ~kinda long~
Post by: Izumi on September 03, 2010, 01:52:16 PM
Post by: Izumi on September 03, 2010, 01:52:16 PM
Ok, i have no friends that read books and i just want an opinion of someone as to whether my writing is ok or not: I wont say much about the plot, but i can see the whole book almost like scenes in a movie. I guess i can say more about it, but only if someone is interested, i thought i would post the first chapter and see what people think, its only the first draft, there are probably spelling and grammar mistakes ^_^, sorry. I will revise and re-write after the whole book is complete.
Roof tops and cherry blossoms (working title)
A long time ago there was a person who made a wish, and when it came true the sadness of the past was too much to bare....
She stood atop a cold ridge in the time before the dawns light blessed the earth with its soothing light. Her body lightly swaying as her hair fluttered in the frigid predawn winds. There it was, her life in front of her, placed with no care sprawled about dried brush and twigs, pictures and memories no longer wanted or needed. The thick smell of gas fumes lingered in the air. She was like a shadow, the darkness obscuring her, with its shadowy cloak distorting the edges of her lithe form. Then a flicker, a glimmer of light from her hand, a timid light, burning as if in challenge to the winds which desire to snuff it out, so small, but refusing to die out. With a quick emotionless twist the light descended to the memories that lie next to her, only to roar to life in a bonfire, burning strong, and fueled by the winds that would once bully its subsistence. Slowly the memories burned, every shred of the past taken to ashes in the oranges, yellows, and blues of the flames that danced around them.
Seen only for a moment was a hint of emotion, a broken smile as she stood silently watching her memories burn. Not all of them were painful, some of joyful times, times that were no longer possible or wanted, all she wanted now was release from the pain of her own existence. She slowly raised her hand to her mouth, a bottle, tilting her head she took it all in with quick gulps, then let her arm drop to her side like stone, releasing the bottle to roll about the ground. The fire burned, yet the shadows cast by her hair kept covered her face in darkness.
To her back the sun slowly raising to perform the work of the new day, defeating the shadows all around her, save her face, as if reflecting the darkness she felt, refused to yield to the sun's light. Then a glimmer, prismatic and beautiful in its own right, if someone were to look away from a moment they would have missed it, a single drop, glistening in the light of the morning sun descended only to disappear among the dew of the shimmering grasses at her feet; a tear.
Her form was visible now, lithe, slender, long brown hair, while her face was still obscured her figure was not unpleasing to anyone outside of herself, her pale skin covered by a dull black jumpsuit. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small orange container and quickly thrust it into her mouth an action with no hesitation performed time and time again but only in her mind, the contents to be used in moderation now taken in mass. Once empty the cylinder dropped into the flames. She now moved with sluggish steps toward a glider which was prepared earlier, as she turned the wind revealed what the shadows once concealed. A face, while a subjective thing that beauty is, many would believe her to be so. Green eyes that shimmered like emeralds in the light, and skin pale as if never touched by the sun. Her face shimmered, in areas that the tears had traveled. Her eyes once wide slowly became weighted by the lids that would close and descend her into the darkness she wanted; but not yet. Just one more time, she wanted to see it, to feel it, the freedom that only birds feel, the beauty of the place she loved as a child, she wanted to disappear forever and just become part of it.
With a strong heave, the remnants of her what strength still remained in her body she thrust the glider into the heavens to catch the winds and whatever fate may await her. While she did not smile, the warmth of the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, the rolling hills, lush forests, and beautiful streams made her happy, she wanted to stay here, in this spot, lost for eternity in a moment in time. More and more the weight of reality crept into her and every minute of joy became more difficult to experience as her eyelids felt heavier and heavier, until finally darkness... the glider and its sole passenger descended into the forest canopy.
Along the banks of a quickly moving stream a father and son enjoy some time alone to fish. The father, tall for an Asian man, wants to pass the experiences he once shared with his father to son. He is old enough that younger men would think him long lived but young enough that older people would think him young, a good age to raise a child. His appearance common for a man his age does not stand out as grand nor vile, and his attire, some worn jeans, a thick button shirt, and a light jacket typical for this time in the season when the cold of winter winds no longer has strength to fend off the warmth of the sun. His face showed stubble, from not taking care to groom himself this day possibly due to laziness or more so the smile on his face reflects the excitement and anticipation one feels when wanting to do something they really wish to do. He is an average man, with an average appearance save for one feature, his hair, long and black made haphazardly into a ponytail that dangled slightly below the shoulder giving him the air of a eccentric intellectual or perhaps a well groomed hippie.
His son, sharing is his father's enthusiasm was impatient to begin his first lesson in hunting. While the game was much less fierce, a trout, not the most dangerous of aquatic creatures, the boy's imagination made it seem much more. He was eager to prove himself but lacked patience to take time to do things correctly and frequently made mistakes which his father was only happy to correct and reassure with a soothing but firm pat on the head. The boy was still young, in those twilight years just before adolescence where the world is still seen as magical and full of discovery. His garb was equal in preparation to his father, a wrinkled grey "I Love NY" T-shirt given to him by his father, some light blue jeans with a hole on one knee held slightly together by strands of denim, a colorful red and blue jacket, and a straw hat with various sizes of hooks and lures along the sides, a keepsake of his grandfather.
After preparations were completed with rod in hand both father and son repositioned themselves to what each thought was the ideal location to increase their chances of fishing success. The son watched his father effortlessly cast and twirl his fly along the surface of the stream. Mimicking his movements he too tried to accomplish the same task, the rod being long, and his body being short made for difficulty in control and on more then one occasion the only thing the poor boy caught was himself. Dad seeing his son struggling walked over to give some pointers and after a few attempts the boy seemed to tap into some natural talent for the sport. With the last toss a sudden tug on the line, the pole bent deeply toward the stream and the vibrations given from live prey echoed down its shaft. "I caught something, I caught something!" The boy yelled to his father, his mind a cocktail of excitement and fear. His hands were trembling, his mind unsteady as he tried to remember what to do next but at the same time he was already lost in a whirlwind of excitement and emotion. He could feel every mighty tug of the line and with every recoil the taught line sent sprays of prismatic water about in every direction. His dad quickly ran over to offer aid, but only words, he wanted his son to catch this one on his own, he wanted it to be his triumph. With the addition of sanity and control from his father, the boy calmed down enough to be in command of and limit otherwise costly angling mistakes. In time the mighty river beast began to tire, worn down from the determination of the boy's resolve to make him a lasting memory, but he would not go without a fight. With what strength remained in his body the fish hurled itself clear above the waves shaking his head from side to side in a desperate attempt to dislodge the hook embedded so deep within its lip. The line and pole flexed and relaxed, the boy in awe of the spectacle before him. While in the real world such a fish was merely a bit larger then a foot, his imagination made this creature to be at least ten times this size. He couldn't help but marvel at it, its green, red, and silver scales pulsing as it flexed its muscles in its last desperate attempt to escape. Then as suddenly as it all happened, with a sharp "thwiip", the line and pole shot straight up to attention, as if to salute the mighty creature, for it had won, the hook no longer hung tightly to its mark, the air of excitement slowly dieing.
The boy's breathing slowed, he looked up at the pole and the fly which lay to the right of him. He looked at his dad, which braised himself for a possible disappointing blow. "Did you see that!!?!? Wow, what a big fish, did you see how I hooked him dad?!", the boy stammered for words, still excited, he tried to relive the events and feelings of the rod in his hands and convey it to his father, but his vocabulary not being that of a scholar, could only mutter the word. "Wow~". His dad smiled in reaction, lost in his own memories of similar events.
Then the boy's expression quickly changed, to a more baffled make. "What's that in the river?", the boy asked while pointing to something black and drifting slowly down. The father quickly rising to his fee to get a good look at what he was looking at quickly noticed the silhouette of a person limp being thrown about the waves. Whether it be some primal urge to protect or just a thought on a whim, the father quickly sprang into action and ran toward the river to intercept the waterlogged body, "Taka!, quickly go back and call for help!", the father barked as he stripped his jacket and shirt then ran into the shifting current.
The water was cold, reinforced from melting snows of the mountains, his muscles seized from the sting, yet he continued unrelenting. Remaining focused he finally reached his aim, as he grabbed the victim of the river he noticed and under burdened breaths a single phrase muttered "A girl...". Taking her under his arm he quickly swam to shore. Softly placing her on the ground she felt limp and cold, looking at her body, her skin had a bluish ting that accentuated her pale skin giving the appearance that she looks to be made of ice. Was she dead? He felt for a pulse, some breath, but found none, having exhausted his medical expertise the man was at a loss and panic and confusion slowly started to set in. Painful memories quickly began making their way into his head, things he wished to forget, things he didn't want to relive.
Just then his boy had returned, calling for his father, he had brought an older gentleman with him carrying a medical briefcase. The older man, late in his years struggled to keep up with the boy, his glasses threatening to fall of his head as the boy tugged him further in efforts to speed him up. When he arrived the doodling, tired old man quickly composed himself and assessed the situation. With a glance he could tell there was not much time, and with movements that only years of practice could instill, he began in attempting to save the girl's life. His movements were quick and efficient, every step taken in careful calculation to be the best possible chance at life. With no detectable pulse or breathing he quickly stripped the jump suit from the woman and began compressing her chest in an effort to start her heart, Father bade the son to look away, not wanting him to experience death again so early, for even he had lost hope that the woman would survive.
The doctor stubbornly continued, for minutes at a time, his brow was thick with sweat and his salt and pepper hair, slightly balding, yet thick on the sides lay weighted down with perspiration. Then suddenly a sound cough could be heard, a gasp as water flowed from her mouth, the doctor tilted her to allow it all to exit, still she did not wake. Listening he could feel a faint heartbeat. "Matoba!, quick give me your jacket and shirt!", the doctor barked his directions to the father now comforting his son. With haste Matoba collected the wrappings he had strewn about the ground and took them over to the doctor, he quickly noticed the girl's color had changed, her skin, while pale, was more pinkish in color. "Wrap her in your cloths and quickly, take her back to the inn, we need to warm her now!", the old man explained under shortened breath. With quick motions Matoba wrapped the girl as tightly as he could and slung her over his back propping her up by her legs and letting her arms dangle at his shoulders. He could feel how cold her skin was even through his cloths, goose bumps spread through his body and he too began to shiver. As her body robbed what heat it could hungrily attempting to stay warm. The three of them quickly made way to the inn, the silence of the woods returned at their passing, the rods and air of happier moments lay forgotten along the banks of the river.
Matoba patiently waited as his grandmother brought things the doctor required. The girl was put into one of rooms of the inn, normally occupied to capacity now empty in the off season with but a few special guests staying and enjoying the inn's hospitality. The commotion had raised the interests of what few tenants were in residency at the time. Hushed murmurs and speculation of the girls condition behind the closed sliding doors to rooms the main topic of excitement. "I wonder if she will die?", "I saw her, she looked like a ghost", "How unfortunate to happen to someone so young"... some of the comments made by inquisitive inn goers. The boy was not to be seen, his father busying him with work to keep his mind occupied and past feeling in check. The boy had suffered enough loss in his life, his father reluctant to have him relive tender events from his past a second time. The doctor emerged a few hours later, Matoba with responsibilities to perform had already returned to the daily tasks of running the inn and answering questions of the tenants, who since he was the only point of accessible contact with the drowned woman, instantly became the center of attention. Matoba's grandmother, a soft woman late in years, with eyes that have seen beauty of life as well as the pain time and time again showed the doctor to her son, who was busy folding newly laundered towels for the hot spring baths.
"Matoba-san, might I have a word with you....", the doctor motioned with his hand, still worn from the day's events. Matoba only nodded in agreement. The two adjourned to his private room were two men could speak of important matters undisturbed, grandmother foreseeing this, had already placed warm tea and two green and black hand crafted tea cups for refreshment. Matoba quickly sat down on one end of the table, and the doctor sluggishly descended the opposite end. "What a morning, eh? Matoba-san?, once again he could only nod in agreement. The doctors eyes turned from the sluggish old man's eyes Matoba had always seen to stern and focused as he looked at him. With a sigh the doctor continued...
"She will live, she did take in a lot of water, but the real problem is she had taken many sleeping pills and alcohol"
"A suicide attempt?", Matoba shockingly asked.
"Its possible, she had awoken after I revived her, although she is foreign in appearance she could understand me, I asked her what her name was, she tried to say it, but couldn't speak, possibly from trama, or some other reason...", the doctor lost in thought took a sip of tea to clear his mind.
"She could also write in perfect Japanese, do you know what she wrote when I asked her who she was?", the doctor looked in his back pocket for a small notepad, one page slightly creased to reserve its location. Slowly he passed it along the table to Matoba, patiently anticipating the answer.
After taking the notepad into his hands and bring it up to see what had been scribbled in scratchy characters on the page in front of him, he lowered the notebook and stared confused at the doctor already anticipating his response. "What does this mean?", inquisitively responded.
"Shi-ra-nai~, the only words on that page, she doesn't know who she is Matoba-san. Whats worse is that she has no identifying characteristics on her body and no form of documentation, I don't know if she's from another country or from Japan, this is truly a mystery of situation we have here..." The doctor replied, taking a sip at the end.
"So what should we do?", Matoba asked, starved for some kind of guidance.
"Since I don't know which country she belongs to, I took a picture which will take some time to process with the various consulates. I will also give the picture to the authorities here in Japan in hopes she is a citizen of Japan, but for now there is something I would ask of you....", the doctor paused to finish his tea and placed the cup down with a loud sigh.
"What is it doctor?", Matoba inquisitively replied.
"I need you to look after that girl in hopes her memory will return. I know it is asking for much, but I don't see an alternative in this case, it will take her some time to recover and the local hospital is already stretched as it is with patient care. She has no money or and without identification she will not be able to work so..." the doctor's sentence cut short by Matoba's abrupt response.
"If there is no alternative, then it will be alright, we have more then enough space in the off season." "I was going to hire some extra staff to prepare for the busy season, but maybe if she feels up to it, she can help around the inn, mother is getting old you know..."
The doctor leaned back with a sigh, the day had taken its toll on the old man, his wrinkled face relaxed having taken care of the work the day brings. In his youth after excitement such as this he might unwind an a local tavern and tell his tales over a cold crisp beer, or perhaps some fine sake, but with those days long behind in just a single moment that is a sigh he relives every event in his life where he made a difference, and to them adds the events of today. Looking only at the ceiling he muttered with still breath, "You're a good man, Matoba-san, but why would you take a complete stranger into your home with such little worry?".
Matoba leaned back and appeared to be in thought, but he had already known is answer.
"Because I feel she would have done the same if it was me..."
Surprised by Matoba's reply, the doctor simply had no words to counter with, and accepted what he spoke as truth.
Even though the two men were here in the same place and time as everyone else, both were deep in memories of the past, the doctor reliving the experiences of his life, and Matoba lost in visions of a wife that could no longer be with him. The two men sat quietly, enjoying their tea.
End chapter 1
Roof tops and cherry blossoms (working title)
A long time ago there was a person who made a wish, and when it came true the sadness of the past was too much to bare....
She stood atop a cold ridge in the time before the dawns light blessed the earth with its soothing light. Her body lightly swaying as her hair fluttered in the frigid predawn winds. There it was, her life in front of her, placed with no care sprawled about dried brush and twigs, pictures and memories no longer wanted or needed. The thick smell of gas fumes lingered in the air. She was like a shadow, the darkness obscuring her, with its shadowy cloak distorting the edges of her lithe form. Then a flicker, a glimmer of light from her hand, a timid light, burning as if in challenge to the winds which desire to snuff it out, so small, but refusing to die out. With a quick emotionless twist the light descended to the memories that lie next to her, only to roar to life in a bonfire, burning strong, and fueled by the winds that would once bully its subsistence. Slowly the memories burned, every shred of the past taken to ashes in the oranges, yellows, and blues of the flames that danced around them.
Seen only for a moment was a hint of emotion, a broken smile as she stood silently watching her memories burn. Not all of them were painful, some of joyful times, times that were no longer possible or wanted, all she wanted now was release from the pain of her own existence. She slowly raised her hand to her mouth, a bottle, tilting her head she took it all in with quick gulps, then let her arm drop to her side like stone, releasing the bottle to roll about the ground. The fire burned, yet the shadows cast by her hair kept covered her face in darkness.
To her back the sun slowly raising to perform the work of the new day, defeating the shadows all around her, save her face, as if reflecting the darkness she felt, refused to yield to the sun's light. Then a glimmer, prismatic and beautiful in its own right, if someone were to look away from a moment they would have missed it, a single drop, glistening in the light of the morning sun descended only to disappear among the dew of the shimmering grasses at her feet; a tear.
Her form was visible now, lithe, slender, long brown hair, while her face was still obscured her figure was not unpleasing to anyone outside of herself, her pale skin covered by a dull black jumpsuit. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small orange container and quickly thrust it into her mouth an action with no hesitation performed time and time again but only in her mind, the contents to be used in moderation now taken in mass. Once empty the cylinder dropped into the flames. She now moved with sluggish steps toward a glider which was prepared earlier, as she turned the wind revealed what the shadows once concealed. A face, while a subjective thing that beauty is, many would believe her to be so. Green eyes that shimmered like emeralds in the light, and skin pale as if never touched by the sun. Her face shimmered, in areas that the tears had traveled. Her eyes once wide slowly became weighted by the lids that would close and descend her into the darkness she wanted; but not yet. Just one more time, she wanted to see it, to feel it, the freedom that only birds feel, the beauty of the place she loved as a child, she wanted to disappear forever and just become part of it.
With a strong heave, the remnants of her what strength still remained in her body she thrust the glider into the heavens to catch the winds and whatever fate may await her. While she did not smile, the warmth of the sun on her face, the wind in her hair, the rolling hills, lush forests, and beautiful streams made her happy, she wanted to stay here, in this spot, lost for eternity in a moment in time. More and more the weight of reality crept into her and every minute of joy became more difficult to experience as her eyelids felt heavier and heavier, until finally darkness... the glider and its sole passenger descended into the forest canopy.
Along the banks of a quickly moving stream a father and son enjoy some time alone to fish. The father, tall for an Asian man, wants to pass the experiences he once shared with his father to son. He is old enough that younger men would think him long lived but young enough that older people would think him young, a good age to raise a child. His appearance common for a man his age does not stand out as grand nor vile, and his attire, some worn jeans, a thick button shirt, and a light jacket typical for this time in the season when the cold of winter winds no longer has strength to fend off the warmth of the sun. His face showed stubble, from not taking care to groom himself this day possibly due to laziness or more so the smile on his face reflects the excitement and anticipation one feels when wanting to do something they really wish to do. He is an average man, with an average appearance save for one feature, his hair, long and black made haphazardly into a ponytail that dangled slightly below the shoulder giving him the air of a eccentric intellectual or perhaps a well groomed hippie.
His son, sharing is his father's enthusiasm was impatient to begin his first lesson in hunting. While the game was much less fierce, a trout, not the most dangerous of aquatic creatures, the boy's imagination made it seem much more. He was eager to prove himself but lacked patience to take time to do things correctly and frequently made mistakes which his father was only happy to correct and reassure with a soothing but firm pat on the head. The boy was still young, in those twilight years just before adolescence where the world is still seen as magical and full of discovery. His garb was equal in preparation to his father, a wrinkled grey "I Love NY" T-shirt given to him by his father, some light blue jeans with a hole on one knee held slightly together by strands of denim, a colorful red and blue jacket, and a straw hat with various sizes of hooks and lures along the sides, a keepsake of his grandfather.
After preparations were completed with rod in hand both father and son repositioned themselves to what each thought was the ideal location to increase their chances of fishing success. The son watched his father effortlessly cast and twirl his fly along the surface of the stream. Mimicking his movements he too tried to accomplish the same task, the rod being long, and his body being short made for difficulty in control and on more then one occasion the only thing the poor boy caught was himself. Dad seeing his son struggling walked over to give some pointers and after a few attempts the boy seemed to tap into some natural talent for the sport. With the last toss a sudden tug on the line, the pole bent deeply toward the stream and the vibrations given from live prey echoed down its shaft. "I caught something, I caught something!" The boy yelled to his father, his mind a cocktail of excitement and fear. His hands were trembling, his mind unsteady as he tried to remember what to do next but at the same time he was already lost in a whirlwind of excitement and emotion. He could feel every mighty tug of the line and with every recoil the taught line sent sprays of prismatic water about in every direction. His dad quickly ran over to offer aid, but only words, he wanted his son to catch this one on his own, he wanted it to be his triumph. With the addition of sanity and control from his father, the boy calmed down enough to be in command of and limit otherwise costly angling mistakes. In time the mighty river beast began to tire, worn down from the determination of the boy's resolve to make him a lasting memory, but he would not go without a fight. With what strength remained in his body the fish hurled itself clear above the waves shaking his head from side to side in a desperate attempt to dislodge the hook embedded so deep within its lip. The line and pole flexed and relaxed, the boy in awe of the spectacle before him. While in the real world such a fish was merely a bit larger then a foot, his imagination made this creature to be at least ten times this size. He couldn't help but marvel at it, its green, red, and silver scales pulsing as it flexed its muscles in its last desperate attempt to escape. Then as suddenly as it all happened, with a sharp "thwiip", the line and pole shot straight up to attention, as if to salute the mighty creature, for it had won, the hook no longer hung tightly to its mark, the air of excitement slowly dieing.
The boy's breathing slowed, he looked up at the pole and the fly which lay to the right of him. He looked at his dad, which braised himself for a possible disappointing blow. "Did you see that!!?!? Wow, what a big fish, did you see how I hooked him dad?!", the boy stammered for words, still excited, he tried to relive the events and feelings of the rod in his hands and convey it to his father, but his vocabulary not being that of a scholar, could only mutter the word. "Wow~". His dad smiled in reaction, lost in his own memories of similar events.
Then the boy's expression quickly changed, to a more baffled make. "What's that in the river?", the boy asked while pointing to something black and drifting slowly down. The father quickly rising to his fee to get a good look at what he was looking at quickly noticed the silhouette of a person limp being thrown about the waves. Whether it be some primal urge to protect or just a thought on a whim, the father quickly sprang into action and ran toward the river to intercept the waterlogged body, "Taka!, quickly go back and call for help!", the father barked as he stripped his jacket and shirt then ran into the shifting current.
The water was cold, reinforced from melting snows of the mountains, his muscles seized from the sting, yet he continued unrelenting. Remaining focused he finally reached his aim, as he grabbed the victim of the river he noticed and under burdened breaths a single phrase muttered "A girl...". Taking her under his arm he quickly swam to shore. Softly placing her on the ground she felt limp and cold, looking at her body, her skin had a bluish ting that accentuated her pale skin giving the appearance that she looks to be made of ice. Was she dead? He felt for a pulse, some breath, but found none, having exhausted his medical expertise the man was at a loss and panic and confusion slowly started to set in. Painful memories quickly began making their way into his head, things he wished to forget, things he didn't want to relive.
Just then his boy had returned, calling for his father, he had brought an older gentleman with him carrying a medical briefcase. The older man, late in his years struggled to keep up with the boy, his glasses threatening to fall of his head as the boy tugged him further in efforts to speed him up. When he arrived the doodling, tired old man quickly composed himself and assessed the situation. With a glance he could tell there was not much time, and with movements that only years of practice could instill, he began in attempting to save the girl's life. His movements were quick and efficient, every step taken in careful calculation to be the best possible chance at life. With no detectable pulse or breathing he quickly stripped the jump suit from the woman and began compressing her chest in an effort to start her heart, Father bade the son to look away, not wanting him to experience death again so early, for even he had lost hope that the woman would survive.
The doctor stubbornly continued, for minutes at a time, his brow was thick with sweat and his salt and pepper hair, slightly balding, yet thick on the sides lay weighted down with perspiration. Then suddenly a sound cough could be heard, a gasp as water flowed from her mouth, the doctor tilted her to allow it all to exit, still she did not wake. Listening he could feel a faint heartbeat. "Matoba!, quick give me your jacket and shirt!", the doctor barked his directions to the father now comforting his son. With haste Matoba collected the wrappings he had strewn about the ground and took them over to the doctor, he quickly noticed the girl's color had changed, her skin, while pale, was more pinkish in color. "Wrap her in your cloths and quickly, take her back to the inn, we need to warm her now!", the old man explained under shortened breath. With quick motions Matoba wrapped the girl as tightly as he could and slung her over his back propping her up by her legs and letting her arms dangle at his shoulders. He could feel how cold her skin was even through his cloths, goose bumps spread through his body and he too began to shiver. As her body robbed what heat it could hungrily attempting to stay warm. The three of them quickly made way to the inn, the silence of the woods returned at their passing, the rods and air of happier moments lay forgotten along the banks of the river.
Matoba patiently waited as his grandmother brought things the doctor required. The girl was put into one of rooms of the inn, normally occupied to capacity now empty in the off season with but a few special guests staying and enjoying the inn's hospitality. The commotion had raised the interests of what few tenants were in residency at the time. Hushed murmurs and speculation of the girls condition behind the closed sliding doors to rooms the main topic of excitement. "I wonder if she will die?", "I saw her, she looked like a ghost", "How unfortunate to happen to someone so young"... some of the comments made by inquisitive inn goers. The boy was not to be seen, his father busying him with work to keep his mind occupied and past feeling in check. The boy had suffered enough loss in his life, his father reluctant to have him relive tender events from his past a second time. The doctor emerged a few hours later, Matoba with responsibilities to perform had already returned to the daily tasks of running the inn and answering questions of the tenants, who since he was the only point of accessible contact with the drowned woman, instantly became the center of attention. Matoba's grandmother, a soft woman late in years, with eyes that have seen beauty of life as well as the pain time and time again showed the doctor to her son, who was busy folding newly laundered towels for the hot spring baths.
"Matoba-san, might I have a word with you....", the doctor motioned with his hand, still worn from the day's events. Matoba only nodded in agreement. The two adjourned to his private room were two men could speak of important matters undisturbed, grandmother foreseeing this, had already placed warm tea and two green and black hand crafted tea cups for refreshment. Matoba quickly sat down on one end of the table, and the doctor sluggishly descended the opposite end. "What a morning, eh? Matoba-san?, once again he could only nod in agreement. The doctors eyes turned from the sluggish old man's eyes Matoba had always seen to stern and focused as he looked at him. With a sigh the doctor continued...
"She will live, she did take in a lot of water, but the real problem is she had taken many sleeping pills and alcohol"
"A suicide attempt?", Matoba shockingly asked.
"Its possible, she had awoken after I revived her, although she is foreign in appearance she could understand me, I asked her what her name was, she tried to say it, but couldn't speak, possibly from trama, or some other reason...", the doctor lost in thought took a sip of tea to clear his mind.
"She could also write in perfect Japanese, do you know what she wrote when I asked her who she was?", the doctor looked in his back pocket for a small notepad, one page slightly creased to reserve its location. Slowly he passed it along the table to Matoba, patiently anticipating the answer.
After taking the notepad into his hands and bring it up to see what had been scribbled in scratchy characters on the page in front of him, he lowered the notebook and stared confused at the doctor already anticipating his response. "What does this mean?", inquisitively responded.
"Shi-ra-nai~, the only words on that page, she doesn't know who she is Matoba-san. Whats worse is that she has no identifying characteristics on her body and no form of documentation, I don't know if she's from another country or from Japan, this is truly a mystery of situation we have here..." The doctor replied, taking a sip at the end.
"So what should we do?", Matoba asked, starved for some kind of guidance.
"Since I don't know which country she belongs to, I took a picture which will take some time to process with the various consulates. I will also give the picture to the authorities here in Japan in hopes she is a citizen of Japan, but for now there is something I would ask of you....", the doctor paused to finish his tea and placed the cup down with a loud sigh.
"What is it doctor?", Matoba inquisitively replied.
"I need you to look after that girl in hopes her memory will return. I know it is asking for much, but I don't see an alternative in this case, it will take her some time to recover and the local hospital is already stretched as it is with patient care. She has no money or and without identification she will not be able to work so..." the doctor's sentence cut short by Matoba's abrupt response.
"If there is no alternative, then it will be alright, we have more then enough space in the off season." "I was going to hire some extra staff to prepare for the busy season, but maybe if she feels up to it, she can help around the inn, mother is getting old you know..."
The doctor leaned back with a sigh, the day had taken its toll on the old man, his wrinkled face relaxed having taken care of the work the day brings. In his youth after excitement such as this he might unwind an a local tavern and tell his tales over a cold crisp beer, or perhaps some fine sake, but with those days long behind in just a single moment that is a sigh he relives every event in his life where he made a difference, and to them adds the events of today. Looking only at the ceiling he muttered with still breath, "You're a good man, Matoba-san, but why would you take a complete stranger into your home with such little worry?".
Matoba leaned back and appeared to be in thought, but he had already known is answer.
"Because I feel she would have done the same if it was me..."
Surprised by Matoba's reply, the doctor simply had no words to counter with, and accepted what he spoke as truth.
Even though the two men were here in the same place and time as everyone else, both were deep in memories of the past, the doctor reliving the experiences of his life, and Matoba lost in visions of a wife that could no longer be with him. The two men sat quietly, enjoying their tea.
End chapter 1