Chapter 31
Large snowflakes flutter down from the grey clouds beyond the awning at the school’s front entrance. Taki shivers as she stands, waiting, beside Hitomi. Hitomi stares down at her, then looks back out on the front walk as the other students stream by. “I’m not sure how to say this,” Hitomi comments, “but you seem kind of, well, obsessed with Naoyuki.”
Taki looks up at her questioningly. “Obsessed?”
“You’re always hovering over him,” Hitomi elaborates, “and even when you’re not with him, all you can talk about is him. Is it true that even one of the teachers has been coming to you for information about him? I heard from someone in Chess club that you were hanging around after school with a Mr. Ikeda.”
Heaving a sigh, Taki admits, “Fine, I guess I am a little obsessed.” She looks back out over the front walk, scanning the faces for Naoyuki and Ikuo. “But I can’t help it,” she tells Hitomi. “I can’t just ignore him. I thought Mr. Ikeda could help him – I guess his side job outside of this school is teaching college Psych.”
Hitomi sighs. “Don’t get in too deep,” she warns Taki.
“Why are you saying that?” Hitomi inquires.
“You’re making a lot of enemies, you know,” Hitomi replies. “Running around decking people at the slightest snide remark about Naoyuki. Then there’s the basketball team – ”
“First of all, I only decked somebody once,” Taki corrects her, “and, secondly, how would you know about what the basketball team thinks?”
“I heard the captain talking about you! And not nicely!”
“Ogata has nothing to do with this,” Taki says. “She can keep her nose out of it.”
“She says you’re giving the team a bad reputation.”
“How’s that? She’s the top dog, isn’t she?”
“But you’re her star player,” Hitomi points out.
“Pft. So? The time I spend with Naoyuki doesn’t concern her or the rest of the team. Besides, Naoyuki hasn’t done anything to give the team a bad rep.”
“He’s just too different. Nobody understands him.”
“That’s why somebody ought to take the time to try,” Taki says, “and it might as well be me.” She finally spots Ikuo among the crowd. “Sorry, Hitomi, I’ve gotta go.” Taki runs down the steps and half-slides down the slippery front walk toward Ikuo, who freezes, startled, in front of her. “Hey!” Taki greets him.
“Are you an idiot, slipping and sliding around out here?!” Ikuo cries.
“You could’ve just said ‘hi’ back,” Taki snaps playfully.
Ikuo flushes with embarrassment. “Hi.”
Taki blinks down at him in surprise. “You’re acting weird. Is something wrong?”
“Weird, how?”
“You usually just blow me off, not get mad or embarrassed, much less jump out of your shoes when I come around.”
Ikuo frowns. “Hey, if you’re looking for Naoyuki,” he says, “he’s home sick.”
“Oh. He’s not feeling good, huh?” Taki asks. “Must be this weather.”
“Hey, can I talk to you? Alone somewhere?”
Once again surprised, Taki steps back a little and nods. “Yeah, sure. We’ve got a little time before school starts.” She leads him around to the gym doors. “It’s usually less crowded back here,” she says as she settles in. “You cold?”
“I’m fine. Kinda,” Ikuo says. He frowns again. “Dad and Mom had a fight this morning. About my stepbrother.”
“About Naoyuki?” Taki asks.
Ikuo nods. “They’ve never fought before. I’ve never heard them yell at each other. But Dad picked a fight with Mom about Naoyuki getting too behind in school; he wanted Naoyuki to come today, even though Naoyuki’s sick. And Dad, he...” Ikuo trails off and bites his lip in apprehension. “He hit Mom. He hit Mom in front of me and Naoyuki. Naoyuki freaked out, and everything just blew up from there...I got so scared...”
Taki stands still and dumbstruck as Ikuo stares up at her, fright reflected in his sad brown eyes. I told him he could come to me with this stuff but,...I don’t know what to say to him. There isn’t anything I can... Ikuo falls against her and starts shaking and sniffling. The next thing she knows, he is bawling into her shirt. Taki gently puts her arms around him. “Go ahead and let it all out,” she says quietly. “Is that helping you feel better?”
A silent nod. Ikuo’s crying gradually dies down into a whimper, then he backs away and wipes his eyes. “Sorry.”
Taki pats him on the head. “It’s all right. C’mon, I’ll walk you to class.”
***************************
Naoyuki lies on the couch and watches his mother pace to and fro across the house, picking up little things, tidying up in small areas, doing her hair and so on while she mutters to herself under her breath. The house is finally quiet; his father had gone to work, since his mother decided to stay home with him this time. Naoyuki’s mother disappears from his sight. He hears her footsteps in the back of the house. Is she going somewhere? he wonders. He wants to call out to her, but his throat stings awfully, especially after that debacle earlier in the morning. Naoyuki shudders at thinking about his father’s rough hand slamming into his mother’s face and nearly knocking her off her feet. In the ensuing chaos, Ikuo had fled, and Naoyuki had started to cry and scream, putting up a howling fuss like no other. The last thing he remembered was his father coming after him. Then nothing. Naoyuki curls up tighter on the couch and buries his face in the pillows. A fit of coughs forces its way up his sore throat and out of his mouth. Ow. Naoyuki hears his mother’s footsteps coming back his way.
“Are you all right, Naoyuki?” his mother asks as she kneels down in front of the couch and strokes her hand through his hair. She then touches his forehead. “No fever. That’s good,” she sighs with relief. She sits Naoyuki up and quickly brushes his hair. “Let’s get your coat on and go,” she says, helping him to his feet.
Where are we going? Naoyuki wonders as he slips his coat on, zips up and follows his mother out to her car. His mother helps him inside and buckles him up, then strides to the driver’s side and jumps in.
Only seconds later, Mrs. Kondo is starting the car and driving off down the street. Naoyuki curls up defensively and tries to keep his eyes on the scenery outside. That seemed to help keep his mind off things. Snowflakes drift down from the grey blanket of clouds above as the houses streak by. Houses become store fronts; then malls and large office buildings. They are going downtown. Naoyuki tries to stifle a cough to no avail. He leans over and rests his head against the cold glass window. It feels soothing, like an ice cube on a sore.
Mrs. Kondo veers the small Honda into a driveway to their right. She parks the car and unbuckles her seatbelt then gets out and comes around to Naoyuki’s door. She gently unbuckles him and pulls him outside the car onto his feet. Mrs. Kondo leads Naoyuki by the hand up the sidewalk to the tall red-brick building. Naoyuki glances sidelong at the sign outside. Medical Institute. A hospital? His mother leads him inside and stops at the front desk. “My name is Aya Kondo, and I’m here for an 11:40 appointment with Dr. Takahashi,” Mrs. Kondo tells the receptionist.
“Please take a seat,” the receptionist requests, jotting down Mrs. Kondo’s name and appointment time on a clipboard. “The doctor will be with you in a moment.”
Mrs. Kondo takes Naoyuki’s hand again and settles him into a seat before sitting in the chair beside him. “Naoyuki, this doctor is a little different from your usual one,” she tells him. “He’s going to take a look at you and ask a few questions, probably. I don’t think we’ll be doing much else on your first visit.”
Naoyuki nods in reply. Why is he different? he wonders. Is this that ‘specialist’ that Mama was talking about? Naoyuki nervously fidgets in his chair and swings his legs back and forth as he waits for the doctor. Maybe this is where she’s been going every night after work.
The door to the office swings open. “Aya Kondo?” calls the woman who steps out.
Mrs. Kondo gets up and lifts Naoyuki onto his feet. She and Naoyuki cross the room and enter the doctor’s office. It is neat and tidy, the walls painted a beige-ish white, with shelves full of file folders and desks full of paperwork lining them, and women in scrubs milling about – in short, like any other doctor’s office that Naoyuki had seen. He and his mother follow the nurse who called them in down the hall and into a small room with a high bed, a sink, and a few uncomfortable chairs. Once again, nothing too special about it to note; it was the usual fare. His mother lifts him up onto the divan and sits down in the chair on the adjacent wall.
The nurse approaches Naoyuki and briefly looks him over. “Mrs. Kondo,” she asks, “is your son allergic to any medications that you know of?”
“Not that I know of,” Mrs. Kondo replies.
“The doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse says. “In the meantime, let’s get you on the scale.” Mrs. Kondo helps Naoyuki off the bed and gently pushes him after the nurse. He reluctantly follows her to the scale. She takes his height and weight, then leads him back to the exam room. “He’s a little underweight. Is he eating all right?” the nurse inquires.
“Not so much since he’s been sick,” his mother answers.
The nurse takes her folder and leaves the room.
Mrs. Kondo lifts Naoyuki back up onto the bed. “Doing all right?” she asks him, to which Naoyuki nods slightly in reply.
Only moments later, a tall man with sleek, slightly-greying hair steps into the room and shuts the door quietly behind him. “Hello, Mrs. Kondo,” he greets Naoyuki’s mother. “I finally get to meet your son today, do I?” he asks, turning his gaze on Naoyuki. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Naoyuki.” He turns back to Mrs. Kondo and asks, “You say he’s been sick for a few days?”
“Yes, doctor,” Mrs. Kondo replies, “with a rough cough and a sore throat.”
The doctor steps toward Naoyuki, pulling his stethoscope from under his white coat. “All right, let’s see what we’ve got going on here,” he says.
Naoyuki pulls back a little as the doctor puts the cold metal piece down his shirt. The doctor asks him to take a deep breath, which he does; then the doctor moves the piece and repeats the process several times more, interrupted by coughs in between at least twice. The doctor puts his fingers to Naoyuki’s neck and feels around. Naoyuki squirms uncomfortably and pulls away when he is finished.
“It could be strep throat,” the doctor says. “We’ll take a swab to find out. I’d like to ask about the bruises on his face and head, if I may.”
“Well, that’s...” Mrs. Kondo trails off, and the doctor doesn’t press any farther on the matter.
“As far as what you’ve spoken to me about,” he continues, “ we’re going to have to run some blood tests to find out the cause, so I’m going to have to stick him today.”
Wonderful. They’re gonna put a swab down my throat and stick something in my arm. Naoyuki glowers at the thought. I hate doctors.
***************************
“It’s only a sinus infection, so Naoyuki should be able to go back to school on Monday,” Mrs. Kondo tells her husband after dinner that night. “Now, please, stop being so negative! It’s not the end of the world if Naoyuki doesn’t do his homework one day. He needs rest.”
“Aya, that boy is – !”
“Naoyuki is...” Mrs. Kondo corrects him.
“He’s already too far behind!” Mr. Kondo insists. “One day of not doing homework and not being in school adds up to more work to add to his list! He has to catch up!”
“I’m very well aware of that,” Mrs. Kondo says, “but that doesn’t mean you can work him like – !”
A scream from their sons’ bedroom breaks off her train of thought. “Naoyuki?!”
“What’s that boy raising a racket for now?” Mr. Kondo gripes.
Mrs. Kondo races to the boys’ room and flings the door open. Ikuo is standing close by Naoyuki’s bed, staring in fright, as Naoyuki suddenly stops screaming and lays limply on the bed, his expression emotionless and empty despite the trails of tears streaming down his cheeks. “Naoyuki?!” Mrs. Kondo cries in worry. “He didn’t hit his head again, did he?” she asks Ikuo, who shakes his head ‘no’ in reply. Then why does he look like this? Mrs. Kondo frets inwardly. “Naoyuki! Why won’t you answer me?!” She scoops him into her arms and holds him close. He responded to that before. It would work now, wouldn’t it? Sure enough, Naoyuki twitches and comes to. “Did you have a bad dream again?” Mrs. Kondo asks him gently.
“I don’t..remember...” Naoyuki murmurs back.
What? “You don’t remember why you were screaming?” Mrs. Kondo presses.
“Wait...Maybe...Yeah, I did...”
Mrs. Kondo frowns. “C’mon, let’s go downstairs.” She gathers up Naoyuki’s covers and his teddy bear, then herds Naoyuki downstairs and into the living room. She spreads the covers over the couch, then lays down and motions for Naoyuki to join her. He plops down on the couch and curls up with his back to her. Mrs. Kondo gives him his teddy bear, pulls the covers over them and puts her arm around her son. “Do you think you could sleep now?” she asks.
Naoyuki nods and snuggles up against her. He quickly falls asleep.
That, of course, is when Mr. Kondo comes stomping down the stairs into the room. “Aya, what are you – ?!” Mrs. Kondo hushes him. “He isn’t a baby anymore. He doesn’t need this constant coddling!”
“Hiroto!” Mrs. Kondo hisses. “Shhh!” She watches her husband wag his head and stomp back up the stairs. Sighing, she brushes her hand ever so gently through Naoyuki’s hair. “Naoyuki...As if that wasn’t enough...” she whispers, thinking back on her previous discussion with Dr. Takahashi.
“What you’re describing, ma’am, is an immune system deficiency,” he said. “How long has he been having these aggravated illnesses?”
“Years,” Mrs. Kondo answered him. “Since he was a little tyke.”
“Start bringing him in to see me,” Dr. Takahashi said. “We need to catch this before it gets any more out of hand.”
Mrs. Kondo frowns. “And now the PTSD and these strange panic attacks...” She sighs again. “How did this happen? Surely, you’ve had more than your fair share of misfortunes – and so young, too,” she whispers.
Naoyuki tightens his grip on his teddy bear. “Haruko...” he murmurs in his sleep.
Mrs. Kondo tightens her embrace. “Naoyuki,..Mama’s right here.”
***************************
Ikeda steps into the house to find the rest of the Kondo family sitting in the living room this time, as per his instructions after the previous visit. “Good afternoon,” he greets them, following Mr. Kondo to the couches and armchairs. He drops into the armchair and sees a cup of coffee sitting on the table in front of him. “Thank you,” he says before taking a sip. “How are you all doing?”
“All right,” Mrs. Kondo replies.
Ikeda looks up at the little boy with the jet-black hair and brown eyes; he reaches out his hand. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ikuo.” He really does look like could be Naoyuki’s brother. His looks favored Naoyuki a lot. “I hope you and your stepbrother get along well,” Ikeda fishes. Ikuo shrugs and glances furtively over at Naoyuki.
“How old are you? Where did you live before the Kondos took you in?” Ikeda asks.
“I’m eleven,” Ikuo replies, “and I came from a foster home.”
He speaks so authoritatively, despite his awkwardness, Ikeda thinks. Behaviorally, it’s difficult to believe that both these boys are the same age. Ikuo acts much more independently. “Are you adjusting all right to your new family?” Ikeda presses further.
“Mostly,” Ikuo answers.
“Why ‘mostly’?”
“It’s weird having a brother now,” Ikuo replies.
“I see. So you were an only child?”
Ikuo nods. “And I only had my mom,” he adds.
“Do you want to talk about this any further?” Ikeda asks, out of courtesy to the boy, who seemed to be growing uncomfortable. Ikuo shakes his head. “All right, then. Thank you.” An only child growing up in a single-parent family being moved into a household with two stepparents and, more recently, a stepbrother. A child who resembles Naoyuki so much in appearance, it wouldn’t be hard for an outsider to mistake them for biological siblings. He came into the family between the time they arrived alone at this house and when Naoyuki arrived. In short: a stand-in, now displaced by the biological son. Perhaps. Yet, Naoyuki has apparently earned his father’s disapproval somehow. Does his father favor Ikuo? According to Soejima,...
Ikeda turns his attention to the Kondo couple. “I’m going to ask you the same question. How are you adjusting to having two sons?”
“It’s strange at times,” Mrs. Kondo replies. “We’ve never had to divide our time between two children before. And with Naoyuki..readjusting..it’s hard. I admit, most of our time and attention goes to him now.”
“Oh?”
“Just say it, Aya. The boy’s a handful,” Mr. Kondo spits. “Dealing with him is like having a two-year-old all over again. He expects to be coddled all day, every day!”
Ikeda’s eyes flicker over to Naoyuki for an instant. He was curling away and hiding his face, flinching as though he’d been pricked; it was like watching a wounded puppy squirm. “Sir, your son is emotionally damaged, not retarded or dumb. You understand that, don’t you?” Ikeda says pointedly. “No, there’s nothing physically wrong with him to warrant special treatment,” he grants Mr. Kondo. “However, you can’t take an emotionally-scarred child and show him no empathy at all. Driving him too hard will only make matters worse for all of you.”
“The way he acts is ridiculous! Inexcusable!” Mr. Kondo hollers. “Holding back discipline because he’s ‘emotionally damaged’ won’t help him to be a functioning member of society! It will only spoil him!”
Ikeda falls silent and waits for Mr. Kondo to calm himself before continuing. “Please refrain from raising your voice. None of us are here to fight. We want to make things better, yes? I need you to cooperate. Please, sir.” He takes off his glasses and sips his coffee. “I can see that both of you, in your own ways, want the best for both Naoyuki and Ikuo,” he commends the Kondo couple. “You want them to do well in school and go on to be successful. You want to raise your children to become good, responsible adults.” Ikeda puts his glasses back on. “That said, the one thing in question is your methods – particularly in your case, Mr. Kondo, but that’s not to say that your wife isn’t partially at fault for the current state of affairs, as well.”
“Excuse me?!”
“The largest unanswered question remaining is this: why would two well-meaning parents like yourselves turn your backs on your only son and leave him behind while you went on with your lives in another home and adopted another son?”
“We moved out here to find a specialist who could help Naoyuki,” Mrs. Kondo replies fervently. “Naoyuki was always sick, and we ran out of options. We had to leave, but we couldn’t take him with us, as sick as he was at the time. We thought we’d left him in good hands – with Hiroto’s brother and his wife.”
“The original caretakers who handed Naoyuki over to a boys’ home?”
Mrs. Kondo nods sullenly. “Yes. I was very grateful that Shizuyo pulled him out of that place...”
For each answered question, there are more unknowns, Ikeda thinks. The uncle and aunt’s house. The boys’ home. Naoyuki’s abnormal behavior began after his parents deserted him and worsened after being moved to those two places. The only person who knows what happened in that time frame is Naoyuki. The same is also true for the details leading up to Naoyuki’s arrival here.
“I need more details. What about this sickness that required the aid of a specialist?” Ikeda presses. “Have you found that specialist?”
Mrs. Kondo fidgets uncomfortably. “Naoyuki..has some form of immune deficiency,” she tells Ikeda. “Anything he caught blew out of control, and he was constantly in and out of the hospital. The bills piled up until Hiroto and I found ourselves in a crisis...”
“...Leading to your leaving to look for this specialist.”
Mrs. Kondo nods. “I just took Naoyuki to meet the specialist for the first time yesterday.”
“I see.” Ikeda finishes off his cup of coffee. He reaches into his briefcase, pulls out his clipboard and a pen; he takes a minute to jot down collective notes about issues from each of their points of view thus far and stars off, circles, and/or underlines the most important. Then he lays the clipboard on his lap and caps his pen.
Ikeda turns his attention to Naoyuki. “I liked your drawings,” he says.
Naoyuki looks up enough for his eyes to lock with Ikeda’s. He nods a little.
“How are you adjusting – to being back with your parents? To having a stepbrother?” Ikeda asks Naoyuki. He watches Naoyuki flinch a little and glances over to see Mr. Kondo glaring, growing impatient. “Do you and Ikuo get along all right?” he asks, to which Naoyuki nods a little. “How about you and your mom and dad?” Naoyuki hesitates, then nods a little. Nothing said about his father – not a word. Saying that Naoyuki is ‘tight-lipped’ is an understatement. “Are you close to Soejima?”
Naoyuki’s head jerks up a little, a disbelieving twinge in his lips. He nods.
Ikeda puts the drawing of Naoyuki and his two friends on the table in front of him. “Their names are Haruko and Kotaro, right? They’re friends of yours?” Naoyuki frowns and nods back a ‘yes’. “They came part of the way here with you, didn’t they? Do you want to talk about what happened to them?” Naoyuki freezes; Ikeda watches his eyes widen. “You’ll feel better if you let it out,” Ikeda coaxes him. Naoyuki shakes his head wildly, trembling and whimpering. Ikeda pushes a blank piece of paper toward him. If you can’t talk about it, draw it, or write it. But one way or another, you have to let it out.”
“No...I don’t wanna see that...” Naoyuki whimpers. He curls up and squints his eyes shut. “I don’t wanna!” he cries. In the next instant, he’s started to scream. His frantic mother wraps her arms around him and tries to calm him down.
His father gets fed up, jumps to his feet and stomps to Naoyuki’s end of the couch. Ikuo leaps up and flees up the stairs. Mrs. Kondo is pleading with her husband. “Just stop it already, Aya! He’s throwing a tantrum! End it!” Mr. Kondo shouts. He turns on Naoyuki and yells, “Be quiet! Stop that, and just draw the picture, like the man asks!”
“No!!” Naoyuki screams.
Mr. Kondo’s hand comes down on the side of Naoyuki’s face. Naoyuki screeches and flies completely off the handle. Suddenly, an instant later, there is silence. “You’ve done it again, Hiroto! He had a panic attack!” Mrs. Kondo cries.
Ikeda gets up and crosses to the couch. He stares down at Naoyuki sprawled half-conscious across his mother’s lap, his legs hanging limply over the edge of the couch. His widened eyes ease back to normal, and his quickened breathing steadies. What on earth...?! “This is what you’re calling a ‘panic attack’?” Ikeda asks Mrs. Kondo.
“He loses it and starts screaming like that, then he can’t breathe, and he’ll suddenly collapse, or black out, or – whatever this is called!” Mrs. Kondo cries hysterically as she scoops Naoyuki back up and wraps her arms around him.
And this is his reaction to me asking him about the accident... He really did just snap. What was it – that look in his eyes? Was he having a flashback? Ikeda wonders. Maybe that’s what was causing him to... “The last time you questioned him about the accident, you said he dismissed himself to the bathroom, and you found him hitting his head on the sink until...?”
“He hit his head until this happened...!” Mrs. Kondo tells him. “Until he knocked himself half-senseless!”
That’s it, then, Ikeda surmises. If he’s having flashbacks, then inducing this state is his way of getting rid of them – only, now, he can induce it at will.
Naoyuki was finally starting to react to his mother’s touch. He blinks back the remainder of his tears and twitches a little as he comes to. But his face was still as blank as a plain sheet of paper, and devoid of expression. He starts to purse his lips, as if he was trying to say something. “...S - It slid...Flipped...th-the car...On its top...” He trails off and clenches his hand; his eyes start to tear up again before his face loses all expression, and his eyes ease shut.
“What was...?”
“I think he was answering my question,” Ikeda answers Mrs. Kondo. “He was talking about the accident.”
Mr. Kondo stomps off and gripes, “It’s time for you to leave.”
“Very well,” Ikeda obliges him. “I’d like to see you all again next week.” He strides back to his seat, packs up his clipboard and pen, and picks up his briefcase. “I’ll see you then,” Ikeda says as he lets himself out.
