Editing Hyouka:Volume 6 6 (section)

=== 7. ===

I went around her garden and stood in front of the storehouse.

I couldn’t say that the rain was as violent as an evening downpour. At most, it was a light shower; but even then, all of the surrounding scenery had been made hazy. The eaves of the storehouse roof didn’t extend out very far. I wouldn’t say that it was great cover, but I managed to stay dry underneath since it wasn’t windy. Thanks to the wooden fence, even though I must have looked like a lost high school student as I stood there, I didn’t have to worry about being spotted. I was thankful for it, but at the same time, it the design could have attracted would-be robbers. I suppose she did say that it wasn’t being used anymore; they probably weren’t too worried about it.

The storehouse door was thick and plastered over. I initially thought it was fireproof as well, but in reality it was made from wood. Rivets—perhaps the size of a baby’s fist—were hammered into the door forming a line from top to bottom making it look extremely sturdy. There was a hole that indicated you could padlock the door, but the most important part, the lock, was missing. I guess I didn’t need a key to enter. I started muttering to myself while running my finger along the rivets.

“Well then, I wonder what I should do.”

First of all, I had to confirm that Chitanda was actually here. I figured I could just knock and raised my hand accordingly.

At that moment, I felt like I heard a sweet sound mixed among the falling rain. I brought my ear to the door.

Ah... Ah... Ah...

I wondered what it was, but I figured it out quickly: vocal practice. In order to make it in time to perform on stage with the choir, she was warming up her throat here. As I realized it, I subconsciously tapped my fingers against the door.

The sounds from inside the storehouse promptly stopped. To someone inside, my tapping probably sounded like something from a horror film. I called out to put Chitanda at ease.

“Chitanda, are you there?”

I pressed my ear to the door again yet heard nothing. I spoke once more, this time keeping my ear in the same spot.

“Are you there?”

A trembling voice whispered out. “...Oreki-san?”

There she was. Chitanda being here was entirely Yokote-san’s prediction, so I had given a lot of thought to the possibility that she was wrong, but it looked like everything worked out.

I could hear Chitanda’s voice. Although the door looked thick, it must have been quite thin; her voice felt unexpectedly close.

“Why are you here?”

Did she want to know my reason for coming, or how I knew where to go? I had no idea, so I responded with both.

“Ibara was searching for you, so I came to help. Thanks to Yokote-san’s advice I ended up here.”

“I see...”

After a slight pause, she continued with a voice sapped of its strength.

“I’m sorry.”

There was no reason for her to apologize to me, so I pretended I didn’t hear a thing.

“It’s hard to hear you. Can I open the door?”

Her response sounded as if it came from terribly far away.

“...Yes.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to. I’m sorry.”

Yokote-san said that this was something of a secret hideaway for Chitanda. Given the situation, she would probably forgive me if I barged in without asking, but I still felt awkward about the whole thing. The rain wasn’t all that heavy, and I didn’t really mind talking through the door like this. But as I considered this, Chitanda suddenly replied, her voice panicked and flustered.

“No, it’s nothing like that! It’s just... I’m just a mess right now.”

A small silence ensued, and then Chitanda started to speak in a voice that sounded like she was mocking herself.

“You must be sick of me, Oreki-san. Even though I have responsibilities, I ran away like this. I’m sure I’ve caused so much trouble for everyone. I’m just... the absolute worst.”

Sure, I had thought it was strange, but never once had I gotten sick of her.

“Well you didn’t make it for the 2:00 meeting time, but I’m sure you were planning on getting there before 6:00. I mean, you were doing vocal practice just now after all.”

She immediately fired a question.

“You were listening?!”

“Well, only at the end.”

“...”

“Rather than listening, it was more like I just ended up hearing it.”

For a little while, only the sound of the falling rain reached my ears. It became difficult to stand facing the door beneath the narrow eaves, so I leaned my back against it. I cleared my throat and softly spoke once more.

“So, how about it? Do you think you can go?”

She responded in a timid voice.

“You’re not going to just tell me to go?”

Chitanda couldn’t see it, but my shoulders relaxed.

“If you can’t go, I won’t force you. Danbayashi-san was getting all worked up about finding a replacement. I’m sure there’s a singer or two who could take your place.”

“I couldn’t do something like that.”

I had never heard her sound as frail as she did in that moment.

A small snail had climbed the wooden fence in front of me; when did it get there, I wondered. As I absentmindedly watched it slowly move, I started to speak.

“But you can’t sing, can you?”

For a little while, there was no reply. Finally, I heard a voice that seemed to be cautiously searching for something.

“Oreki-san, do you know anything?”

“No, not really. I’m sorry, I said something that sounded like I did. I don’t know anything.”

A voice—one with a little more pep—responded.

“Of course not, there must be something wrong with me.”

The blades of wild grass at my feet were enveloped by the light shower; they stooped over, ever so slightly, under the water’s weight. The snail on the fence looked as if it was trying to climb, but it hadn’t made any progress whatsoever.

“I don’t know everything, but I feel like I might understand a little.”

Why had Chitanda gotten off the bus?

What kind of expression was on Chitanda’s face, I wondered. I heard her voice respond, perhaps sounding somewhat like a child who was pestering me to tell them a story.

“Please tell me.”

What would happen if I did tell her? If I was truly right about the feelings she held inside of her, would I be able to give her at least a little salvation? I had no guarantee I was even right in the first place. This was absurd. It was better to simply stay quiet.

I couldn’t hear anything from beyond the door. She must have been waiting with bated breath.

I looked at my watch; there was still a little time before the bus came.

I feel like there was a folk story that fit this situation. What was my role in it? The wise man? The strong one? Perhaps I was the dancer who opened the door with her absurd dance. Fine, I guess. If the star of the show wants it, I had to tell her everything. Even if it was wrong and disappointing, I had to say it.

“Let’s see. Was it perhaps—”

I took a single breath and looked up, through the ceaseless rain, into the dark sky. 

“—that you were told you didn’t have to succeed your family’s business?”

I heard nothing but the rain. All of my senses were overwhelmed with the soft white noise, <i>shhh</i>.

“A little while back, Ibara brought up a strange story. It was about a cup of coffee that was too sweet. You were spacing out that day—certainly not your usual self. Initially, I just thought that everyone had those kinds of days, but then, as I left, I noticed the book you were reading; that image hasn’t left my mind. It was a career guide. What kind of college should you go to after high school, what kind of job should you pursue, what will you eventually do with your life—it was that kind of book.”

Although I should’ve been safe from the rain, my feet were a little wet. There was no chill from it, though. It was a lukewarm summer rain.

“We’re in our second year of high school. Maybe it’s only natural for us to be reading those kinds of books… but I thought it was a little strange. Ibara and Satoshi might be thinking about where they want to go in life, but you’re different. At our first shrine visit of the year in January and at the living doll festival in April, I saw you act as the decided successor of the Chitanda household. You had chosen your path in life far sooner than the rest of us—at least that was supposed to have been the case. So why did I see you staring at a career guide?”

At the time, I had carelessly imagined she was just reading about a different career path that she wouldn’t pursue. With the events of today, though, I had started to consider an entirely different possibility.

“Then came today’s choir festival. I heard from Ibara that you’d gone missing. I knew you must have had a reason for running away. It was only after I read the lyrics that you were supposed to sing that I got this idea.”

I read the lyrics in the pamphlet at the cultural center, but I didn’t know which part was Chitanda’s solo until I managed to ask Danbayashi-san.

“Satoshi mentioned something to me: in his works, Sandou Ejima often paised the common values of his day without holding back and, as a result, they became too preachy—he was never truly considered top class.”

Ah, I beseech thee. I, too, strive to live in the unrestricted skies.

“In your part, you sang directly about the unparalleled admiration of freedom.”

It was thanks to Satoshi that I was able to connect the strange feeling I had reading the lyrics with the disappearance of Chitanda. When playing shogi with his relatives, he told me that, while he was fine with throwing a game, it was the act of saying “I lose” that didn’t sit well with him.

“I have a certain memory of something similar. I had gone to a relative’s wedding a long time ago, and I ended up having to sing a hymn.  I should’ve been fine with singing it because the whole thing was completely surface-deep—honoring Jesus and hailing Maria—but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. To praise that in which I don’t believe—isn’t that just wronging the people who earnestly worship Christ?”

Lies place a heavy burden on the heart.

“If the lyrics were about something else, it’d be a different story. But, as you are now, don’t you find yourself unable to sing a song praising freedom?”

I wondered if Chitanda was still there beyond the riveted door. She didn’t speak, and I couldn’t hear a single sound come through. I simply continued to talk, as if giving a monologue.

“Up until a little while ago, your future—forgive me for saying this—wasn’t what I would call ‘free.’ I’m sure you had some input, but the one thing that wouldn’t change was the fact that you’d succeed the Chitanda household in the end. If that were still the case, then I don’t see why you’d have any trouble singing. But not only does it seem like your practices went normally, you also didn’t decline being given the part. That means your circumstances must’ve changed since then.”

It probably happened the day before Ibara told us the story of the overly sweet coffee.

“If you became unable to sing it in these past couple days... wasn’t it because you became free yourself?”

I could hear neither a confirmation nor denial.

“You are someone who was able to do what she wanted while being told that she’d someday inherit the family business. You had thoroughly internalized that as an unchangeable truth. With that in mind, what would happen if you were suddenly told that wasn’t the case? What would happen if you were suddenly told by your parents or someone else that you didn’t have to worry about being the successor and that you should live your own life?”

Yokote-san mentioned that that girl was the successor of the Chitanda estate and that she would definitely come because she understood her responsibilities; but what would happen if that Chitanda no longer fit in that role?

“You would probably have no idea what to do.”

I am someone whose shoulders bore no grand role and whose vocal dedication to an energy-saving lifestyle delivered to him idle days. With that in mind, I shouldn’t have been able to honestly understand any of what Chitanda was thinking. I shouldn’t have been able to understand anything at all—and yet, I still came up with this answer. It was all kinds of ridiculous.

“In front of so many people, could you sing a song in which you yearn for freedom? ‘Of course you’ve been entrusted with an important solo, so by all accounts you should follow through. You’ll just end up putting your fellow choir members into a tough situation. You should put aside your situation and sing, as this is also part of your role. Don’t make this all about you—’ I guess all of those sound like pretty rational arguments. I could see someone saying those things.”

In reality, it’s pretty likely someone would tell her these things. Ibara wouldn’t. Satoshi definitely wouldn’t. But, even still, someone would.

“But I—even if my deduction were correct, I wouldn’t blame you.”

After all, I had no right to.

Although the rainy season had long since passed, the soft, silent shower showed no signs of weakening or fiercening. The snail on the fence had disappeared. Had he, slowly but surely, made his way to the top? Had he fallen to the grass below? I hadn’t seen.

From beyond the closed door came a terribly soft voice.

“Oreki-san.”

“I’m listening.”

“Even though I’m told I can now live freely... Even though I’m told I can choose what I want to do with my life... Even though I’m told that the Chitanda household will be fine somehow, so I don’t have to worry...”

Her voice, changing as if descending into self-mockery, muttered one last thing.

“Even though I’m told I now have wings, what am I supposed to do?”

And with that, the storehouse became silent.

As I thought of the burden that Chitanda has carried thus far, and of the burden she was told she no longer had to carry, I suddenly felt like I wanted to hit something with everything I had. I felt like I wanted to smash it—to injure my own hand and draw blood.

I looked at my watch: 5:06. In less than four minutes, the bus bound for the cultural center would arrive.

I had said everything I needed say and done everything I needed to do. The rest, no matter how much it pained me, was for Chitanda to sort out.

Becoming neither any fiercer nor any gentler, the rain continued to fall. The sound of singing couldn’t be heard from within the storehouse.



The End

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=== Translator's Notes and References ===
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