Gravitation
Untitled Ryuichi
Tatsuha sings beautifully. I don't think he notices. I don't think any of them do, and that makes me happy and sad, all at the same time. Happy because that means he only sings for me. Sad because it means that no-one else can hear his song.
I don't think we've known each other very long, Tatsuha and I. Certainly not as long as I've known Tohma, maybe not even as long as I've known Shuichi though, honestly, I don't ever really remember a time without any of them, though I know that's not right. Can't be right, but...
I always had trouble with time. Days, minutes, hours. Years. I think... I think people find it odd I am the way I am because of my age. To me, that just seems... silly; I am the way I am because it makes me happy to be so. Just like Tatsuha makes me happy. I think I might be older than he is, but... I don't feel like it. He seems so sophisticated, so graceful, so grown-up. But, unlike most grown-ups, he still remembers how to play, and we always have so much fun together. Laughing and smiling, making jokes and making trouble, but sometimes – just sometimes – someone will say something, will do something, and Tatsuha's song will change. His eyes will narrow and his lips will thin. He scares me then, with the ferocity of this new song. Scares me because it reminds me... reminds me of his brother's song.
Tatsuha's brother. The man with the name that is not his name. It's a cold name, a dead name. A long time ago – no, not so long perhaps – he used to be like that too, Tatusha's brother did. Cold and dead, a frightening void of a man, a chord which made no sound; not dissonant, but silent. I read his songs once – no, maybe more than that. Long, mournful dirges of lost innocence and misplaced trust. And hate; freezing hate for the world, and for himself. I sing for him, sometimes. Or used to; now he has someone else to sing for him, and for him to sing to. I smiled when I read his last book – or perhaps the one before that – and watched his song change. It was subtle at first, a slight hum of hope under the silent wail. Hope and guilt and paint and then – all in the space of one page – joy and contentment and possessiveness; all as the man with the name of the dead slowly began to learn to live again. He still sings in silence, though, but it's living silence and once you learn to hear it, it's beautiful. And so I'll keep reading his songs so long as he keeps writing them, just to see. Just to check and re-listen to that silence, to make sure it keeps its beauty. I don't read much – words confuse me, sometimes – but for that song, I'll try.
Tohma finds it strange when I read. He says I don't do it right; that I need to start from the front page and work through to the back, but that just seems... silly, because most books aren't written like that. Sometimes it's hard to find where the song is supposed to start, though. That's the problem with books. Maybe the authors just need to get better producers. Tatsuha says I just read different words than most people; he asks me to read him things, sometimes, so I do, and he strokes my hair and hums and hahs and goes to read things in the books he has. Big ones; psychology and psychiatry, mostly. He says they're all a load of useless crap, though, which makes me feel... better. I don't like being analysed; it leads to doctors and pills and worlds of white and bland normalcy where the only song to be heard is a monotone hum. I was on medication once, I think, but I couldn't hear the songs anymore so I stopped. I don't like hearing the songs; it's too quiet.
I told Tatsuha about the pills once. He frowned his brother's frown and said there's too many people trying to tell too many other people what they should be doing, how they should be doing it and what they should be feeling when they do. He said a lot of emphasis is put on being normal, nowadays.
Most people don't think I'm normal. They think I don't know they think this, but I do; I'm not stupid, nor am I a child, even if they think I act like one sometimes. I asked Tatsuha if he'd make me normal, if he could, all the while a little afraid of his answer.
But if there's one person I don't need to be afraid of, it's him. He smiled at me and said, "What's normal? Ryuichi is Ryuichi; and that's normal for him." We sang after that, him and I, long and beautiful. He's so warm when he sings.
I think... I think I use him in a way. I have so many people who love me; so many... fans. Too many, maybe, and it's sad that I'll never get to meet them all, to listen to each and every one of their songs for myself. So I listen to Tatsuha sing instead, because... because he is there. And, maybe, because Shuichi already had someone to sing to. Not that I regret that, not at all, and I'm glad that Shuichi's songs belonged to someone else, or I might never have been able to sing to Tatsuha at all. I like to sing to him, more so than anyone else even, because he doesn't ask questions. He doesn't care if I don't use real words, or if the words I do use don't make sense. He doesn't care about what can be put on an album, adding in background music, selling records. He just listens. So I tell him things, things only Kumagoro knows. About songs, about how everything has a song; from sunlight in treetops and children laughing to neon signs with broken lights and the smoke in a seedy bar. It's just... nobody seems to notice. Only Kumagoro. And me, after he taught me to listen properly. I very rarely make my own songs anymore; I never did, really, I just listen to the songs of the things around me and put them into words so that other people can listen to them too. It's not genius, or even creativity; it's just... listening. And translating.
Sometimes, I try to teach Shuichi to listen to the songs; I think he already half-hears them, even if he doesn't realise it. But... but sometimes I think I shouldn't. Because the songs can be so loud. So loud that it's almost too much, enough to break someone in half. I don't want to break Shuichi, like I broke... myself. But... I won't be able to sing forever, and when I'm gone who will tell other people about starlight on water, or the purring of a photocopier? So... I'll continue to teach him. Like Kumagoro taught me. And I'll be selfish, just like Kumagoro, and maybe one day Shuichi will forgive me for it.
Only, I don't tell anyone of this. Not even Tohma, not even Kumagoro. No-one at all... except Tatsuha. Because Tatsuha listens, and he strokes my hair and hums and hahs and goes to read things in the books he has. Big ones; mythology and theology, mostly. Which is when he asked if he could start recording the songs I hear; not to put on a disc and sell to people, but just to archive, so that when I'm gone other people will be able to know the sound of butterflies in spring, or streetlamps when they sleep. So I say okay, because it will make Tatsuha happy, and that makes me happy.
It's like a game, as he tries to find the one thing I can't make a song out of. We'll be walking and he'll say, "What about the blackened gum on the sidewalk?" And I'll ask if he means in general or just a specific piece, and he'll point to a spot and say, "That one, right there." And I'll listen to it and sing. About cool clear autumn days and students relaxing on the steps after exams, chewing gum because one of them had a packet and shared it with the others. Taking the small, hard piece and softening it, savouring the taste before spitting it out, leaving it for others to walk on, to pass by. It's a love song, but a sad one. People gather around and listen, and some of them cry. I cry too; it's sad being a piece of gum, spat out on the sidewalk.
Tatsuha has me sing about all sorts of things; the craters on the full moon, the books his brother writes, the number four. Once he even asked me to sing a song about a song I'd just sung. That made me laugh, but I did it anyway. Sometimes we'll be in restaurants or in the park and he'll point to someone and say, "Sing about them." And I will. It scares some people when I do, though. Scares them, but makes them happy, too. I've sung about Tatsuha, about Tohma and Shuichi and K and Noriko. Even Tatsuha's brother but... his song is difficult, because it's hard to sing silence. I asked Tatsuha about the name then; the name that was not a name, that name that belonged to the dead.
It was over dinner. I remember because he dropped the fork he was holding. He looked afraid, then, and I felt uncomfortable because I didn't mean to offend or hurt him. He asked me how I knew about the name and I shifted a little, told him I just did. I could feel it in his songs, I said. The songs he writes for everyone else to read as well. I didn't think it would be a secret.
So Tatsuha asked me to sing it; this name that was not a name, this name of the dead. I did, but it was hard. I felt very tired afterwards and soon fell asleep, but not before I saw the tears running down Tatsuha's cheeks. I decided not to sing that song again; some things should remain silent.
I don't think Tohma likes it when I sing for Tatsuha, especially not when I sing the special songs no-one else is allowed to hear, the ones that leave my throat dry and sore so I can't sing anything else for a little while. I don't mind, really, but Tohma does. He's very professionally driven and cares a lot about his job. It annoys him when he has to cancel concerts because of me. He blames Tatsuha, though; I've heard them fighting. Tatsuha gets angry and accuses Tohma of only appreciating me for how much money he can make from my voice. Tohma calls Tatsuha an irresponsible child who doesn't know what the hell he's talking about. I don't like it when they fight, but Kumagoro does. He doesn't really like Tohma, who thinks too much sometimes. Kumagoro sometimes says mean things about Tohma, but I don't listen to them. Tohma is my friend; even when he yells at Tatsuha and has security throw him out of the building. He never stays thrown out for long, though, because I know exactly the right words to say to Tohma to make him forgive Tatsuha and allow him back in. I don't think Tohma knows about Tatsuha's recordings, though. I think he'd be angry about that, so I don't tell him. I don't tell anybody. Not yet, anyway.