Tsukumodo:Volume 2 Silence

If you had to decide between a silent place and a lively place, which would you choose?

A silent place when you want to read a book or study?

A lively place when you want to hang out with friends or eat meals?

Depending on your purpose, your preference may change.

But even if it suits your purpose, a place too silent will disquiet you and a place too lively will bother you.

Be it silence or liveliness, it's all a matter of degree.

That said, of the two, I happen to prefer silence a tad more.

The reason for that is most likely because I am used to quiet places.

The point I am trying to make is:

The Tsukumodo Antique Shop is as dead silent as ever.

◆

It was comparable to a soft slumber inside a womb.

While I was giving myself to a silence that encompassed me along with a cozy warmth, a bubble slowly rose beside me.

I touched it.

It burst as a "Re".

Another bubble came hovering upward.

I touched it.

It burst as a "Fa" this time.

One after another, they rose around me.

One, two, three—no, more. A hundred, two hundreds, three hundreds, more. More, more.

At last, the sounds started to burst and play without the need to touch them. The bubbles burst and created sounds. And these countless sounds eventually composed a melody.

This was the womb of a mother of sound.

And I was one of the few who were permitted to step into this realm.

My duty was to gather these sounds as they are born and take them outside with me.

In this place, there was nothing but me and these sounds.

There was no other man, nor was there noise.

It was only me and the newborn sounds.

"———"

There was an intrusion from outside.

The feel was comparable to a water balloon being popped by a needle.

The consequence was destruction; it all dispersed.

The slumber I had indulged in and the silence—everything—was crumbled away.

The newborn sounds, too, streamed away somewhere. They seeped away through my fingers.

I was forcefully brought round to consciousness.

I was in the same room as always.

The sheets of music on the table before me were filled with notes.

When I was in the world of sounds, my hand would automatically write down the notes of the sounds I gathered.

That was how I composed. A method only I could employ that didn't require any instruments.

But the sheet music stopped halfway. The notes were distorted and broken—because of the noise that had broken in. Because of it, the sounds I had gathered had died off.

This room was soundproofed from the ceiling to the floor. Not, however, to keep the sound from leaking outside. I lived in a deserted ghost town, so there weren't any inhabited houses near mine.

The purpose of my sound insulation was to keep any sound from getting in.

It was all for the sake of composing without interruption.

However, sound insulation could only deaden sound but not erase it completely.

Like now, outside noise could break in this room—the womb of sounds—and cause pollution.

As soon as that pollution scattered my image, it was over. The sounds around me would fly away and leave my piece dead.

(I was so close...)

Seized by anger, I threw open the door and headed upstairs to the living room on the first floor.

Upon my arrival, I found my helper, Mei, asleep with her upper body on the table. On the floor was a tea cup. I didn't know whether the sound I had heard just now was her banging the head against the table or her pushing the tea cup to the floor, but I couldn't stand the thought that such a little thing had just killed my sounds.

Normally, such low noises couldn't be heard in that soundproof room, but my ears are so sensitive as to even pick up these tiny sounds. And that's why I would always tell her to take heed not to make any noise.

"Hey!" I roared.

Mei flicked her eyes open.

Upon recognizing me with her dozy eyes, she quickly sat up straight and asked,

"Have you already completed your work?"

"You ruined it."

Mei noticed the tea cup she had accidentally dropped on the floor along with its contents and paled.

Probably realizing what she had done, she hung her head in shame.

"I'm in a bad mood. I'm going out for a while."

Leaving her to her own devices, I left the house.

My name is Eiji Kadokura. 32 years old. My profession is music composer. I have composed a considerable number of pieces so far and pride myself in being fairly popular and well-known.

In terms of genres, I accepted assignments for soothing music for an example. My most famous composition is most likely a piece I had written for a certain renowned violinist, which had been classical, but became a million-seller thanks to the recent classical music boom.

Today, I had been working on a music piece for an assignment that was due in a week as well, until I was disturbed by my helper.

Once a piece of music has been dispersed, it is forever lost.

While it partly remains in my head, it feels like a cheap copy if I finish the song with its remnants.

It resembles the feel when the bricks you piled up in play start to shake, and even though you manage to regain balance, your tower eventually falls apart a few bricks after.

Or perhaps it's also similar to sewing a garment: your thread runs out and you have to substitute it with a new one—a knot will remain and make the garment look shabby.

Either way, a ruined piece of music cannot be mended.

I couldn't stand a patched-together song.

I had to start all over again.

Even though there was not much time left until the deadline.

I entered my car and drove to a café I frequented.

Located in a calm basement, it was a much-appreciated haven of tranquility for me. But on that day of all days, the café proved unable to soothe me.

A group of over ten tourists or something had gathered down there. But they weren't just there—they seemed to confuse the venue with a bar and made hellish noise.

Upon noticing me, the keeper of the cafe lowered his head apologetically.

I took it as an apology and an invitation to leave for today.

Suppressing the urge to give those rude customers a good dressing-down, I nodded to the keeper and left.

Because I had become all the more irritated, even the street noise I would usually bear with annoyed me horribly.

Be it the engine noise of the cars and their piercing horns; the loud voices of strolling students and their vulgar laughs; the yells of salesmen who unsuccessfully tried to attract customers and cheap music.

They all annoyed me.

Why was the world so full with noise and racket?

I wasn't at work, so I wasn't asking for perfect silence, but living amidst so much noise and racket was unendurable for me. I couldn't understand why the others didn't mind.

While struggling against the urge to roar at them to shut up, I backed off into a narrow side street.

After opening some distance from the main street, the noise became somewhat more bearable. While it hadn't faded out entirely, I could endure it from afar. I decided on walking along these back streets for the time being.

"Now if there only was a café somewhere, I'd be satisfied for the moment..."

The very moment I thought so, I spotted an old small shop before my eyes.

It was hard to tell from its exterior what kind of shop it was. Willing to stay a while if it turned out to be a café, I pushed open the door.

A bell announced the arrival of a customer.

Its ring was pleasant to the ear. Passed. Much to my regret, however, it was not a café. Various things were lined up on the shelves in a disorderly fashion. There were jars and plates and other ceramic ware, and dolls of Japanese and Western origin as well as a tinplate robot. There was even a camera. I assumed it was some kind of antique or second-hand shop.

Out of curiosity, I took a look around.

"Welcome," someone said to me.

Behind the counter sat a charming woman clad in black. She looked a little younger than me, but the languorous feel she gave off made her impression rather mature and mysterious.

"Are you looking for something specific?"

I was looking for a silent place. In that sense, this place is satisfactory, but that would be like telling her that I didn't intend to buy anything from the start.

"I was just wondering if I might find something curious."

I made up an answer and looked at the shelves as though I was very interested.

"But there is something you seek, is there not?" she said as though she had read my heart. "Tell me. Perhaps, you might obtain what you have longed for?"

"As I said, something curious..."

"You don't want 'something'. You want 'a thing'."

"Huh?"

"If you want 'something', you won't obtain anything in the end. It has to be a specific thing you want."

Perhaps she was teasing me with some word play, or perhaps she had seen through my intention of not buying anything and wanted to chase me out. Apparently I had become irritable: this was enough to annoy me.

"If you really have what I want, I'd be more than willing to buy it."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Complete silence."

The woman gave me a slightly troubled glance. I was ashamed of acting so childish. I should have named some article she was likely to have or just leave.

"I am sorry. I'm afraid that's not here."

"Certainly. I'm sorry, t..."

"It is in our 'sister shop'!"

I doubted my ears—but got angry an instant after.

She was playing with me. "Not here"? Don't make me laugh.

"It can be mine if I go to that sister shop? Then please, by all means, tell me where it is. If I can really find complete silence there, that is."

"A Relic that can create a room of complete silence by warding off all sound—that is, the Mirror of Serenity."

"Relic? The Mirror of Serenity?"

"Mind you, by 'Relic' I don't mean antiques or objects of art. That's what we call tools with special capabilities created by mighty ancients or magicians, and objects that have absorbed their owner's grudge or natural spiritual powers.

Things like a stone that brings ill luck, a cursed voodoo doll or a triple mirror that shows how you are going to die. I believe you've heard of many of them, and the Mirror of Serenity belongs to them. But it's not here at the moment!"

I had no idea what she was talking about. While I had indeed heard of a superstition according to which objects may gain a soul over a long time, getting to hear that at this point rubbed me the wrong way.

"Don't make a fool of me. Yes, I did not enter this shop because I wanted to buy something. But you have no right to mock at me because of that. 'Relic', you say? 'Mirror of Serenity'? Stop ridiculing me by making up such mysterious names!"

"Oh, you don't believe me?"

"Of course I don't. Complete silence does not exist. I have perfect soundproofing in my house, but I can still hear sounds from the outside."

"Because it's soundproofing. The Mirror of Serenity works differently. It wards off sound."

"Don't get so carried away..."

"This place is similar!"

It was then that I finally noticed.

There was not a sound in this shop.

Indeed, a conversation was taking place between me and that woman. So there was sound. However, there was no noise from the outside. I could not even slightly hear the distant noise that had tormented me until I'd entered the shop.

I perked up my ears and focused them outside.

However, I did not hear anything.

No matter what kind of soundproofing this shop had, there was no way it could block out every sound from my ears.

As long as we didn't speak, there was the complete silence I had been longing for.

"...What's the meaning of this?"

"It means that this place is special as well. But it doesn't create complete silence—the outside noise merely doesn't reach this place as a side effect. However, the Mirror of Serenity will create complete silence for you."

"You said it's in your sister shop, right?"

My heart was beating rapidly. Perhaps, the loudest noise in this world right now was my own heart beat.

"Will I get my hands on the Mirror or Serenity if I go there?"

"I cannot say for certain. Ask the owner of the shop. But I'm sure you will be able to obtain it if you wish. Relics naturally find their way to an appropriate owner."

After receiving a memo of the address and opening times of that sister shop, I left.

"———"

In that moment, noise returned.

All the sounds that had vanished so far returned the instant I left the shop.

It was as if I had been dreaming.

Suddenly, my cell phone rang. It was from Mei, my helper. She informed me that an agent from the company that requested a composition had dropped by.

There had been a meeting scheduled for today. It had completely slipped my mind.

I replied that I'd be back within an hour and headed to the parking lot.

Before hanging up, she said something that disconcerted me.

She told me to keep my cell phone turned on.

Apparently, she had tried several times to reach me without success. However, I had at no point turned off my phone. That shop hadn't been underground, either, so I should have been within communication range.

A cold shiver ran down my spine and I thought about looking back at the shop, but my body wouldn't let me, so I quickly left this place.

When I arrived at home, she asked me where I had been.

I found myself unable to answer her. I did remember the shop, but for some reason I couldn't remember where it was and what kind of person the shop assistant had been.

Only the memo in my hands assured me that it had not been a dream.

◆

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

"Shut up already!!"

A roar from the owner of this shop, Towako Setsutsu, resounded through the building, but was drowned out by an even mightier noise from the outside, losing most of its impact.

Usually, clear-cut eyebrows and self-confident eyes as well as lustrous black hair hanging straight down to her waist were the characteristics of her appearance. However, with regard to today, her brows were wrinkled and her eyes narrowed in a displeased fashion. Her hair had become a mess because she had been mussing them up all the time.

"Yelling at them won't get you anywhere!" I—Tokiya Kurusu—replied while lying on the counter.

Towako-san made a theatrical gesture of putting her hand behind her ear and asked, "What did you say?"

I brought my face close to her ears and shouted, "Yelling at them won't bring you anywhere!"

"Sweet Jesus! Don't shout like that!"

"You don't hear me otherwise, do you!?"

"Be quiet the both of you. I can't concentrate on my book," complained Saki Maino, my co-worker, while sounding indifferent.

While she had pale hair that reached about to the middle of her back and shone silver in the light, as well as clear white skin, she was all clad in black, wearing a black shirt with frills, a long black skirt and black boots.

She was about a head smaller than the average height of a male student, which applied to me, and so slender that an embrace seemed like it could break her. She was sixteen and thus one year younger than I. She did look her age, but because of her demeanor she seemed a little more mature. A brilliant smile like a blooming flower, as the meaning of her name would suggest, did absolutely not adorn her face, instead she was perfectly expressionless as if to deny the saying "nomen est omen".

Even she was showing some irritation on her face today.

(But Saki, don't blame that on us!)

The noise from a building site nearby was to blame for her irritation, plaguing our ears since some time ago.

We had been informed beforehand that a building would be under repair for a week starting today, but we hadn't expected the repairs to turn out so deafening.

That was quite the opposite of the silence there had been until yesterday, when all we heard were gusts of wind and bales of hay.

This shop, the Tsukumodo Antique Shop (FAKE), handled, as the name suggests, fake Relics.

Not antiques or objects of art, but tools with special abilities created by mighty ancients or magicians, or objects that have absorbed their owner's grudge or natural spiritual powers.

In tales and legends, there are often tools that contain power.

For instance, a stone that brings good luck, a doll whose hair grows night after night, a mirror that shows your future appearance, a sword that brings ruin to anyone who draws it.

Everybody has most likely heard of their existence.

However, people consider them mere fantasies because they have not seen them, they do not notice them even if they are right before their eyes, and they believe in some sort of coincidence if something mysterious occurs.

Some feel unconcerned, while others are certain such things do not exist.

However, Relics are closer to us than we may think.

I myself had recently gotten in contact with a few—namely a pendulum that called forth coincidences, a statue that stimulated one's life force, a notebook that made one remember everything written in it, and a wallet that made me lose all my earnings unless I spent them on the same day.

However, Relics like these were not on sale in the shop. As was mentioned above, this shop only dealt with fakes. The articles in the shelves were fakes the owner of this shop had purchased, believing they were real.