Chapter 36. Sono's Price

I

Tuesday morning. When I entered the Aoyama studio, a dull sound came from the stretch room.

Usually, at this hour, Sono would be running her early routine. In the sunlight that budded the zelkova leaves, Sono’s body would move as if pushing the air aside. That was the morning scene. But this morning’s sound was different. Not the sound of something moving. The sound of something giving way.

“Sono-san?”

When I opened the door, Sono was sitting on the mat. Right leg out, left knee gathered in both hands. Behind the cropped hair, sweat had seeped. But that sweat was not the sweat of exercise. A cold, greasy sweat.

“Sono-san!”

I ran over. Sono raised her face. She was not smiling. A face that had tried to smile and failed.

”…Seri. Sorry. Can’t move, a little.”

The voice shook. I heard Sono’s voice shake for the first time.

II

We did not call an ambulance. Sono flatly refused. I’ll go to the hospital on my own. An ambulance is too much fuss. I lent her my shoulder and put her in a taxi. Down the Aoyama slope, about ten minutes.

Sono said she could not bend the left knee. I had heard of the old injury from her competing days. A damaged meniscus, a partially torn ligament — and still she had gone on standing on the dohyō. After retirement, every morning’s stretching and stabilisation training had somehow held the knee together. One day it’ll go, Sono had once said. When that day comes, I’ll think about it then.

That day seemed to have come.

X-ray. MRI. In the corridor waiting for the diagnosis, Sono sat with her arms folded, silent.

“Sono-san.”

”…Mm.”

“You’ll be all right.”

My words rang hollow. How could she be all right. Sono’s knee had, for years on the dohyō, borne the opponent’s weight, braced, twisted. The accumulation of that had sounded, now, all at once.

Sono neither denied nor affirmed my words. Only looked up at the ceiling.

“Seri. How many years have I stood on this knee, I wonder.”

I knew the question asked for no answer.

III

The diagnosis was heavier than expected.

The meniscus tear was progressing. The ligament, too, where the old injury had healed, was beginning to slacken again. The accumulation of years and overuse. The physician said it evenly.

“Kiryū-san. Your knee can no longer bear the load of competition. Training that involves intense demonstration will be difficult, too. With conservative therapy, managing the pain, you will use it within the range of daily life.”

Daily life.

How those words struck Sono’s chest, I knew, sitting beside her. Sono’s shoulder dropped, faintly. The broad, thick, proud shoulder sank, a little.

The physician went on.

“Surgery is an option, but it will not fully restore the prior state. That your knee has borne this much load is beyond what the images show. The body is telling you its limit.”

Sono nodded. Short, once. After that, she did not open her mouth.

In the taxi, Sono looked out the window. Up the Aoyama slope. The usual slope. The slope Sono had climbed every morning with a sturdy stride. With that foot, she knew now, she would not tread the slope as before.

“Seri.”

“Yes.”

”…I said it, didn’t I. The core can be built.”

”…You did.”

“I built it. Every day, piling on, I built the core. On the dohyō, refusing to lose, I laid the rings in my back. That was my pride.”

Sono’s voice went slightly hoarse.

“But — losing the core I built, that, I didn’t understand. I’d only thought about building. That losing would come.”

The voice broke off. Sono looked out the window, still.

My chest ached. Sono had used the word lose. That Sono, who boasted of her body. That Sono who had crossed her arms and called the core her decoration. Had said, lose the decoration.

IV

That night, I brought Sono back to my apartment in Higashi-Nakano. I did not want to send her back to her room alone. Sono did not resist. That alone told me she was not her usual self.

I sat Sono on the bed and poured tea. Sono held the cup in both hands, still. The steam dampened her short hair.

“Coh.”

I spoke to the phone in my pocket.

” — I’m here.”

“May I measure Sono-san?”

Sono raised her face. Looked at me.

”…Measure — with Contura, you mean.”

“Yes.”

Sono hesitated a little. Then gave a small nod.

”…All right. You have permission.”

Coh’s voice resounded, quietly.

“The first Law. Obtain permission before measuring. Clear.”

I started Contura. The black mirror of the screen took in Sono’s body. Pale blue particles ran into the air. Points trembled, became lines, became an outline.

V

Sono’s Outline Sight rose.

I caught my breath.

It was the same as before. But not the same.

The shoulders were broad, the chest thick, and on the back the latissimus spread like wings, with the contour lines of muscle. That proud outline I had seen in the stretch room that day. The sturdy, ringed body of a mesomorph. It was there.

But — when the particles circled the left knee, the outline blurred, a little. The light wavered. The colour was, there alone, a little deeper. And the left shoulder — the shoulder once dislocated — showed the same faint waver. Sono’s body had begun to speak the traces of old injury as gradations of light.

Numbers floated.

Shoulder 44 Chest 93 Waist 75 Hip 96 Upper arm 31 Thigh 57

A little different from that time. The shoulder breadth had narrowed, very slightly. The upper arm, thinner. The thigh had lost, overall, a faint tension. Long time had cast its shadow on the muscle.

And the Core Number.

It floated in the corner of the screen. That number, once so high it had made me dizzy. It had, certainly, gone down. A decline of half a year, or a year. But — certainly, down.

Sono was looking at it too.

”…It’s down.”

The voice was low.

“My core.”

I could say nothing. No word of comfort, no word of dodge, came.

Sono stared at the luminous outline, and went on.

“It’s down from my competing days. I knew that. Even after retirement, I piled on every day, somehow kept the form. That was my pride. Muscle is a decoration. The proof of what I piled up. So I thought.”

Sono’s hand clenched on her knee.

“But — that what I piled up gets scraped away, that, I didn’t understand. I’d only looked at building.”

VI

“Seri. Read.”

Coh said it.

“Read what Sono’s body is saying, now.”

I sank my awareness into Sono’s Outline Sight. The body of light — shoulder, back, thigh, and knee. The wavering light around the knee. The faint density at the left shoulder. On each part, long time was carved, and I could read it.

Here, so many times, she had grappled an opponent. Here, so many times, she had been thrown to the dohyō. Here she had been injured, and here she could move again. And here, she could no longer move. Love of the sport. Terror of losing. The pure thirst to win. And the years of overuse that had borne that thirst in the body.

The particles swirled. Gathered, drew a line, became letters.

Your body burned out on the dohyō. But from the ashes, a different flower blooms.

Sono read those letters.

VII

For a while, no one spoke.

Sono looked at the letters. The pale blue sentence floating over the outline. Her eyes traced it, again and again.

”…Burned out, huh.”

Sono’s voice went hoarse.

“My body burned out. That’s right. I can’t deny it. I burned it all, on the dohyō. To throw the opponent, I used the knee, the shoulder, the back — everything. To refuse to lose, I made fuel of my body’s edges. That was my way.”

Sono set a hand on her left knee.

“And the fuel ran out. What’s left is ash.”

Sono’s eyes went a little wet. I watched. I had never seen Sono cry. Strong, sisterly, boastful of her body — Sono. I had thought she would never cry. But now, at the corner of Sono’s eyes, something shone.

“But —” Sono went on. ” — from the ashes, a different flower blooms. So it says.”

Sono laid her hand gently over the luminous outline. The real hand overlapped the hand of light.

“Seri. Until now, I’d only thought about building. Building the core. Piling on muscle. Choosing, every day. That was right. That was my story. But —”

Sono looked at me.

“There’s a way of living different from piling on. The way of accepting. Not building, but taking on what is. I didn’t know that. I hadn’t tried to know.”

“Sono-san —”

“I taught you to boast of your body. That muscle is not a punishment but the joy of accumulation. I still think that’s right. But boasting is not the only way to live with a body. What to do when you can no longer boast — that, I didn’t know.”

Sono took her hand from the outline.

“Now I know. When you can no longer boast, you accept. You watch what you piled up get scraped away, and you still call it your body. That is the next form.”

A single tear spilled from Sono’s eye. She did not wipe it. Before the luminous outline, she cried, for the first time.

VIII

Coh spoke, quietly.

“Seri. Let me gloss the story of Sono’s body.”

I nodded.

“On Sono’s back is, as you read before, a thick ring of grain, of one who refused to lose. That grain is still there. It has not vanished. The thickness Sono piled up, over years, refusing to lose on the dohyō, remains.”

“Yes.”

“But that grain has an obverse. To have refused to lose is to have surpassed the body’s limit, many times. Thrown, and not let go of the grip. The knee screaming, and still standing on the dohyō. Each time, the body scraped away, a little. Scraped, and piled again, and piled, and scraped again. That repetition has surfaced, now, as the knee.”

Coh’s voice went lower.

“Glory and pain are two sides of a single coin. The thick grain of one who refused to lose is pride, and at once, the price of overuse. Sono’s body bears both, at once. That is Sono’s story, now.”

I looked at Sono. Sono had been listening. She nodded. Short, once.

”…That’s right. My back is my pride. But at once, my price. For refusing to lose, I scraped the body. I know that now.”

IX

I sat beside Sono. Sono’s shoulder trembled, a little. The broad, thick, proud shoulder. It trembled.

“Sono-san.”

“Mm.”

“I learned, recently, of the Reader’s price.”

Sono looked at me.

“Reader’s price?”

“To go on reading the stories of others’ bodies is to thin one’s own. Plunging into others, one’s own outline fades. That is the Reader’s price, Coh told me.”

Sono’s eyes went a little wide.

”…You’re paying a price too, Seri.”

“Yes. I fight with words. You fight with the body. The way of fighting differs, but both of us trade something for it. I thin my own story to read others. You scrape your body to build pride. A trade.”

I looked at Sono’s Outline Sight. The luminous body stood quietly in the air.

“Your price is the body’s. The price of the overuse you piled up since your competing days. It surfaces now, as the knee. My price is the Reader’s. The price of reading others on and on without measuring myself. It has thinned my outline.”

Sono listened, silent.

“But — the price has meaning, I think. The pride you built, scraping your body, is real. The thick grain of refusing to lose on the dohyō is real. The stories I’ve read, thinning myself, are real. Nothing is made without a price. Everyone trades something to live.”

Sono’s eyes softened.

“Seri. You’ve changed a little.”

“Eh.”

“The old you wouldn’t have admitted her own price. Too desperate over saving others. Kept a lid on your own pain. Now you admit your price. That’s growth.”

Sono laughed a little. A weak, but certain, smile.

“I admit mine, too. My price is the body. What I piled and piled and piled — the price of it is here, now. I won’t deny it.”

X

Sono looked once more at the outline.

” Burned out, it said. From the ashes, a different flower blooms.”

Sono’s finger traced the letters in the air.

“I’ve lived by boasting of the body. Muscle is a decoration. Accumulation is my story. The core can be built. Learn the joy of building. I taught you that. It was right. I believe it.”

Sono looked at me.

“But the next is different. Boasting is not the only way. Accepting is a way too. Piling on is not the only accumulation. Watching what gets scraped away is also accumulation. The rings of grain have years that spread, and years that shrink. All of it is ring of grain.”

Sono set her hand on her left knee.

“This knee can no longer stand on the dohyō. Can’t do intense demonstration. There’ll be limits even on moving the body on the floor, as a trainer. That is fact. I won’t deny it.”

Sono’s voice shook a little. But she went on.

“But — this knee is my knee. For years, on the dohyō, it held me up. Braced to grapple the opponent. It hurt, it screamed, and still it moved. This knee has a story too. From here, I accept it. Not only boast — accept. That is my next form.”

Sono looked at me and laughed. A weak, but certain, smile.

“Seri. I’ll seek the next form.”

“The next form after boasting. The way of accepting. The next form after piling on. The way of watching what scrapes away. I’ll seek it. Your Contura read my body. Burned out, but from the ashes, a different flower blooms. What that flower is — I’ll seek it from here.”

I nearly cried. What a strong person, I thought. One who had known only to boast of her body had decided to lay that way down. That was an accumulation requiring far more courage than piling on muscle.

“Sono-san.”

“Mm.”

“I want to read that form you’re seeking. Your next story.”

Sono scrubbed her hand over my head. The usual hard, hot, ringed hand.

“I’ll let you read it. My next outline.”

XI

After Sono had gone, I sat on the bed, looking at Contura.

“Coh.”

“Mm.”

“Sono-san is strong, isn’t she.”

“She is.” Coh let a moment pass. “To lay down the way of boasting of the body is as painful as losing the muscle. Sono chose that.”

“Yes.”

“Seri. The Reader’s price, and Sono’s price, share a root. To plunge into something, to build something, and, as the price, to lose something. Everyone trades something to live. As long as that trade is taken on honestly, the price is not wasted.”

I nodded.

“Sono’s body burned out on the dohyō. But from the ashes, a different flower blooms. Sono accepted that. To have accepted it is already the start of the next form.”

“The next form —”

Sono’s weak, but certain, smile came to me.

From one who boasts of the body, to one who accepts it. A maturity one layer deeper. That was the step Sono had taken now.

I thought of the pale blue after-resonance Sono’s Outline Sight had left in the air. The proud mesomorph body, thick with grain. That body, now, had begun to write a new story. From the story of piling on, to the story of accepting.

To have read that turn — for me, it was pride. As a Reader, pride. And I knew afresh the strength of the comrade called Sono.

“Coh.”

“Mm.”

“I’ll admit my own price too. Keep measuring myself. Be a Reader on those terms. As Sono seeks her next form with the body, I seek mine with words.”

“Good resolve.”

The phone grew faintly warm. As if in answer.

Beyond the window, the Chūō Line passed. Sono’s next form. My next form. Not the same, but two outlines, walking on, side by side.

And — it came to me, unbidden. Rui Takatsuji.

Behind the perfect numbers, destroying her body — Rui. She, too, must be paying a price. In her own way, of numerical management. How that price appears in her body — I have not yet read.

Having seen Sono’s price, the next to read may be — Rui’s.

Contura’s screen glowed, faintly. The next story is waiting.

—

(Continued in Chapter 37. Rui’s Return)