Chapter Fourteen Skin and Ink
Chapter Fourteen
Skin and Ink
Second times were almost always more enjoyable than firsts. Kisses. Sex. Lab experiments. As far as Keishin was concerned, first times were created for the sole purpose of getting failure out of the way. Jumping into puddles was an exception. At the pawnshop’s pond, he had jumped to pull Hana out of what he believed to be a delusion. But when he dove into that puddle and landed in a field of pampas grass, he also dove into a cold new truth: Science was a lie.
In the span of a morning, he had discovered that smoke carried prayers and that candles could speak. And when Hana finally made good on her promise to tell him the truth about the pawnshop, he learned that discarded dreams and lost choices could be traded for peace. Though he did not believe in regrets, Keishin was almost willing to make one up to pawn for a quiet room in his head. Bent rules and broken scientific laws clattered inside him, crashing into everything he had seen behind the ramen restaurant’s door. And now Hana was going to show him more.
I must warn you. The next place will look…different. Whatever you see, do not panic.
Keishin repeated Hana’s words as he disappeared beneath the water. He imagined that he might emerge in darkness, even if he knew that there was no such thing. Many people feared the dark, but not him. Not since he was a boy and discovered the truth in one of the stacks of books he brought home every week from the local library. This had been the best thing about learning English. Books didn’t tire from answering his questions. They taught him that darkness was a human limitation, our eyes’ failure to see the entire spectrum of light. Had we been engineered better, we would have been able to see all the flickering remnants of the Big Bang that lit up the night.
Keishin broke through the surface of the puddle and clambered out. His heart pounded against his ribs. He had been wrong about emerging in darkness. The dark was something he understood. This place was not.
A stone-paved street lined with traditional machiya, narrow merchant houses made of wood, and dotted with weeping cherry blossom trees stretched out before him. Canals filled with clear water and schools of koi flowed along both sides of the road. The town reminded Keishin of the preserved historic Japanese villages he had wanted to visit, but with one difference that made every hair on his neck stand on end: The entire town was a scene in black and white, painted against a canvas of paper that stretched up to the sky. The sun. The clouds. The stones beneath his feet. Hana. She was drawn with expert strokes in black ink, with the greatest care taken in sketching the bow of her lips.
“Everything inside the scroll looks like this,” Hana said. “Even you.”
Keishin held up his hands in front of him. His fingers were outlined in black ink and shaded in with the subtlest brushstrokes. He forced his voice from his throat. “Where are we? What is this place?”
“A story. You read them in your world. We walk inside them.”
Keishin watched a sketch of a fallen leaf tumble in the breeze. “I’m beginning to think that nothing will ever make sense again.”
“Things don’t have to make sense for them to be real.” She took his hand and pressed it over her chest.
Keishin felt Hana’s heartbeat through his palm. Though shelooked like a drawing, Hana was still soft and warm to the touch. She was solid. Real. “There aren’t enough questions in the universe to make me fully grasp any of this. I still don’t even know what happened to your mother.”
“The Shiikuin executed her for stealing a choice from our vault.”
“What? Why?”
“Because all the choices we collect in the pawnshop belong to them. Stealing from the Shiikuin is the highest of crimes. I was a baby when they came for her, and all I know about that day is what my father told me.”
“But now you believe that she may be alive.”
“I…” Her voice cracked. She turned away and hurriedly dabbed at a tear. “I do not know what to think.”
“Hana…”
“I told you that I could handle this on my own. Go home, Keishin. One jump will take you back.”
“Back to what? To the ramen restaurant? To my hotel? To my job at Super-Kamiokande? All the years I obsessed about the mysteries of the universe, trying to explain how everything began, was a complete waste of time. That ‘everything’ turned out to be only one side of a very strange coin. How can I pretend that any of that matters when I’m standing inside a scroll?”
“Of course it matters,” Hana said.
“Does it?”
“It matters to you. Is that not enough?”
“It used to be.” Keishin sighed, shaking his head. “Look, we’re here to find out the truth about your mother. I’m not leaving until we do.”
Hana looked down the street. “I am hoping that the Horishi will have some answers.”
“A tattoo artist?”
“ The tattoo artist. There is only one Horishi in our world.”
“And this person will be able to tell us if your mother is alive?”
“The Horishi’s ink will.” Thunder rumbled over Hana’s voice.
Keishin looked up at the paper sky. He took some comfort in knowing that even in this strange world, one rule remained true. The weather still didn’t like him. Fat drops of rain burst from the sky and splattered over his face. “Then we should find this Horishi and his ink before we get soaked and—” Keishin gasped, staggering back.
Rain ran down Hana’s cheeks and snaked down her neck. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Hana…” Her name caught in Keishin’s throat. “You’re glowing.”
—
As was the custom, Hana’s father took her to the Horishi when she was a month old. She remembered nothing of the visit, but whenever it rained, a souvenir from that trip glowed on her skin. Pictures and words appeared in bright blue ink wherever raindrops touched her, narrating the story of the life she was fated to live. No crossroads. No detours. Just a single path in a map of blue over almost every inch of her body.
When she was younger, Hana liked to stick her arm outside the window and watch the scenes the Horishi had etched onto her skin come to life. Wisps of steam curled up from tattooed teacups. A tiny moon swam in a little pond. Caged birds sang a silent song. On her wrist, an empty cage’s door opened and closed in time with her pulse. But with every shining bird she locked away, it grew more difficult to tell which side of the ink bars she was standing on. When her father’s retirement drew near, Hana found herself soaking longer in steaming baths, trying to scrub herself clean.
“Do not look at me.” Hana pulled her collar closer around her neck. “I’m hideous.”
“What? No. No. I was just surprised. That’s all. I swear. There’s nothing you need to hide. You’re still…” Heat rose up Keishin’s neck. “Beautiful.”
“Be careful.” Hana tightened her grip on her clothes. “Lying is becoming a habit for you.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Then you are blind.” Hana’s knuckles paled around her collar. Tiny glowing origami cranes flew in an unchanging path around her wet fingers.
“Nothing could be less true. I’m seeing more now than I ever saw when I spent my days viewing the world through telescopes and blinking screens.”
“And what do you see, Kei? Another experiment like the pond? An oddity you might find some use for in your world? Or perhaps a monster covered in wretched blue scars?”
“You’re not a monster.”
“The countless clients who have walked through the pawnshop’s door would disagree with you. They have all wanted one thing. To be clean. Unblemished. Generations of my family have done nothing but mend, buff, and polish our clients’ stains, dents, and cracks away.” A blue kite circled Hana’s forearm. Hana gritted her teeth. “Porcelain perfection.”
“Scars don’t make you any less than what you are. They are simply stories, just like this scroll. You may not see mine, but I have my fair share.”
“Not like these.” Hana turned her cheek, exposing blue lotus flowers blossoming behind her ear. “Your scars tell you where you’ve been. Mine tell me where I am going. All children are brought to the Horishi to learn their path. The rain reminds us that what is fated can never be washed away.” Hana tugged her collar to the side. The rain fell onto her chest, revealing the glowing vault door that stood guard over her heart. Unlike her other tattoos that coiled and fluttered, the door remained locked. “Can you tell me that you do not see this grotesque map of skin and ink?”
“What I see is you, Hana. I see your courage. Your determination…”
“Determination?” A dry laugh cut her lips. “Do you mean stubbornness?”
“Well, that too.” Keishin smiled. “And there is nothing ugly or revolting about what I see that would make me want to look away. I’m still here. Standing in a scroll. In the rain. Not lying to you.”
A driverless rickshaw came to a stop in front of them. Hana hurriedly adjusted her collar and climbed aboard. “Come. This will take us to the Horishi.”
“I should be surprised, but somehow in a town painted over a scroll, a driverless rickshaw almost makes perfect sense.” Keishin settled next to Hana and realized how narrow the seat was. No matter which way he shifted, there was no way to keep their bodies apart. “It’s a tight squeeze. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. It is a short ride to the Horishi’s house. Nothing inside a scroll is far away.”
Keishin pulled off his coat and held it over Hana’s head, shielding her from the rain. The map on her skin faded away. A smile, tentative at first, settled over her lips. “Thank you.”
Keishin let the rain drip over his lashes. He should have felt cold, but Hana’s body warmed him through his clothes. That and her smile. Though it was fleeting, Keishin was aware that it had been the first to touch her lips since they met. It invited him to meander over the rest of her face, to explore it as one would study a star-filled sky. Her features were as carefully curated and assembled as any constellation, but more fascinating. Stars were interesting but did not hold his attention. In life, as in science, he was more drawn to the unseen. And he had never met a person with more secrets than Hana. He didn’t mind that she kept them. He was used to it. The universe was like that too. It hid its most compelling secrets behind clouds of nothing and noise.
Keishin adjusted his coat over Hana’s head, making sure that she stayed dry. He didn’t know if Hana believed what he said about seeing through her scars. He was about to ask her when she relaxed against his ribs and he realized that he didn’t need an answer. Hana fit next to him perfectly, a complement of angles and curves. Had he believed in destiny, Keishin might have allowed himself to think that their bodies had been carved exactly for this moment, for this one rickshaw ride in the rain. But as he did not, Keishin kept his eyes forward, away from Hana’s face and the memory of her smile.
—
The Horishi’s house was located in the center of the town, indistinct from the narrow wooden townhouses Keishin had seenalong the way. He stepped off the rickshaw and offered Hana his hand.
Hana took it and climbed down. She glanced up at him, thanked him with a small smile, and let go.
“It…uh…must be difficult for you to be back here after what the Horishi did to you,” Keishin said, finding it hard to form words with the warmth from Hana’s small hand still lingering in his palm.
“It was the Horishi’s duty. We all have our roles to play.”
A wooden gate swung open, inviting them in. They followed a paved path shaded by a cherry tree waiting to bloom. A breeze blew through its painted branches, rattling the empty birdcages hanging from them.
“Where are all the birds?” Keishin asked.
Hana paused beneath an empty cage. “Kei, listen to me. Do not concern yourself with anything except for what I am about to tell you. When we meet the Horishi, you must remain absolutely quiet. Do not make a sound. Do not utter a single word. Do you understand?”
“Why?”
“The Horishi only speaks when spoken to, and there may be things you do not wish to hear.”
“Like what?”
“Your future.”
—
Keishin had lost count of the number of fusuma that had slid open and closed as they made their way through the Horishi’s house. The silk-covered sliding screens moved on their own, ushering them through what felt like endless rooms. If he paused to think, Keishin would have questioned how the maze could have possibly fit into a townhouse of that size.
But Keishin had time to entertain only one thought. That thought grew with every step he took, rolling around in his head and tumbling over everything else. He had never been the sort of person who spent time pondering what his future would be. It was an unknowable thing and a waste of his time. But now he stood under the same roof as someone who might tell him if, at the end of his lifelong hunt to find the missing puzzle pieces of the universe, he would finally find his place in the world. All he had to do was ask.
“This is the Horishi’s room,” Hana said.
Keishin looked up from the floor. A burst of color filled his irises. He shielded his face with his hands. Inside a black-and-white scroll, four panels of a brightly painted fusuma were blinding. Keishin squinted, waiting for his sketched eyes to adjust.
A moonlit lake, surrounded by mountains half-covered by fog, stretched across the fusuma. A small boat moved slowly across the water, leaving a trail of ripples in its wake. It stopped beneath the full moon. Keishin leaned closer, trying to see if its occupants had paused to look at him too, but the two panels in the middle of the painting slid open, breaking the little boat in half.
A blindfolded girl, no older than twelve, sat behind a low wooden table in the center of the room. Keishin shot a glance at Hana. “She’s a child.”
“The eldest of the Horishi’s children takes over when the Horishi passes, no matter how old they are,” Hana whispered. “Remember, once we step inside, you must not speak.”
Keishin nodded.
Hana greeted the seated girl with a low bow. “Horishi-san.”
“Ishikawa Hana,” the girl said as though she were able to see Hana through her blindfold. “Welcome.”
Keishin followed Hana inside and bowed, but kept silent as Hana had instructed.
The girl turned toward him, tilted her head slightly, then shifted her attention back to Hana.
“Horishi-san,” Hana said. “I have a question that I was hoping you could provide an answer to.”
The Horishi nodded. “Please sit.”
Keishin sat down on the tatami mat, folding his knees beneath him. His eyes swept over the tattooing instruments on the table. Nomi of varying sizes were arranged in a row. From afar they looked like long, slim paintbrushes with bamboo handles. Upon closer inspection, Keishin saw that the tips were not soft bristles, but tiny needles fastened to the bamboo with silk string. Next to the nomi was an ink stone. Keishin had watched a documentary on traditional tattoo techniques and knew that the stone was used for grinding charcoal blocks into black ink. The blocks arranged next to the Horishi’s ink stone, however, were not black, but a bright, shimmering blue.
“What do you wish to know that is not already written over your skin?” the Horishi said, sounding far older than her years.
“Death,” Hana said.
“The one thing that neither I nor your skin can tell you. Death ends your story as it pleases.”
“Not my death. My mother’s.”
“Your mother’s fate is known by all. She was a thief and was executed for her crime.”
“Yes.”
“And yet you have doubts. You think that there is a chance she may still be alive.”
Hana nodded.
“In the years since my father passed, I have learned that most people do not wish to hear the answers they seek. Know that once I speak it, I cannot take the truth back.”
“I understand.”
“Show me your right arm.”
Hana rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm.
The young girl rinsed her hands in a silver bowl and patted them dry. She ran her fingers over Hana’s skin and stopped at a spot just above her elbow. “A chrysanthemum,” she said, admiring an invisible patch of ink. “My father took great care in crafting your mother’s symbol.” The girl chose a nomi and poised it over the spot she had selected on Hana’s arm. “This will hurt. Stay still.”
“I am ready.”
The Horishi pressed the nomi into Hana’s skin, jabbing the needles along the lines of a design only she could see. Little droplets of blood formed along the nomi’s path. Keishin watched Hana take slow, measured breaths without flinching. Hana, he thought, was used to hiding pain.
The Horishi straightened, lifting the nomi from Hana’s arm. “The ink from your mother’s symbol will tell us what has become of her. Blue means she is alive. If it is black, then she is…”
“Dead,” Hana said. “I understand.”
The young girl rested the point of the nomi over the empty ink stone as though she were dipping its needles in ink. Ink flowed from the tips of the needles, filling the ink stone’s shallow well. It glowed bright blue.
“She’s alive. ” Hana gasped. “Do you know where she is, Horishi-san?”
“The ink does.”
“Tell me, please.”
The Horishi shook her head. “Your mother played her part when she birthed you. Beyond that, she has no place in your story. You cannot stray from what has been written.”
“Please.” Hana prostrated herself by the Horishi’s feet. “I beg you.”
“I am sorry. That knowledge is not meant for your eyes or ears.”
“How about mine?” Keishin blurted. The sight of Hana crumpled over the floor twisted like a knife between his ribs.
The Horishi tilted her head his way, and though she was blindfolded, Keishin felt her gaze bore into him.
“Ah. You speak. I wondered what your voice might sound like.”
“Can you tell me where Hana’s mother is?”
Hana sat up and urgently mouthed a silent word. Stop.
“I can,” the Horishi said. “ If she is in your path. Minatozaki Keishin, would you like to know your story?”
“Thank you for your help, Horishi-san.” Hana grabbed Keishin’s arm. “We should go.”
“My story?” Keishin said, his eyes fixed on the Horishi.
“The road to all that must happen next. People learn their path before they can walk or talk. You are older.” She tilted her head, touching her chin. “But also very new. Your map is unlike anything I have seen before.”
“What do you mean by ‘new’?”
“Kei.” Hana gripped his hand. “Don’t.”
“We can’t leave,” Keishin said. “She knows where your mother is.”
“But one thing cannot be revealed without unveiling all that is linked to it,” the Horishi said. “Your beginning, middle, and end. You will see your entire path stretched before you as clearly as you see me.”
“Then tell me everything.”
“You misunderstand. The ink will speak. Your skin will listen.” She picked up a nomi. “Do you consent?”
Keishin stared at the nomi, thinking how such a small thing could soon silence every question that woke him up at night. Everything from this day forward could be certain. Set in skin. He would never again have to wonder if his life was going to mean something more than just a byline in another research paper, or if he was massless and invisible, a waste of time and space.
All he had to do was say yes.