Chapter 41. The Widening Circle

I

Past mid-July, Aoyama was wrapped in the voices of cicadas and the heat of the asphalt.

When I opened the appointment book at Life Compass, this week’s reservations were packed close, in blue pen. Monday, four. Tuesday, three. Wednesday, five. Thursday — I counted on my finger. Seven. Seven in one day was the most, ever.

“Seri, sorry.” Sono leaned out from the reception counter. “Thursday — can you fit one more, at the end, seven-thirty? A referral. A man in his fifties, bad back.”

”…Sono-san, Thursday’s already seven.”

“I know. But I couldn’t refuse. He sounded — urgent.”

Sono pushed up her short hair and smiled, sorry. Behind that smile, I saw the same bewilderment I had.

Half a year ago, reading three in a day had left me hollow. Coming out of the Circle, my legs had been leaden. Passing each story lodged in a client’s body through my own frame, reading it, returning it — that was the Reader’s work. But the work carried the price: the Reader’s own colour was scraped, little by little.

That night, Coh had taught me the Reader’s price. To go on reading others’ stories is to thin one’s own. I had not forgotten it. I had gone on measuring myself. Once a week, at least, I raised my own outline, reread my own story. So, somehow, I had held back the fading.

But at this pace, even the time to measure myself had begun to be scraped away.

”…Understood. I’ll fit him in.”

I added the name to the book.

Sono’s eyebrows dropped.

“Seri. Don’t push.”

“I’m not pushing.”

“Your colour is bad.”

”…I’m fine.”

I was not fine. But I could not refuse, either. Every person who came to me carried something. A father who had ruined his back. A mother bewildered by her post-partum body. A retired athlete who had lost his body. A girl afraid of the mirror. Each one came here saying read me. To say I’m full and turn them away — I was not that strong.

II

That night, back at my apartment in Higashi-Nakano, I sat with my elbows on the table, staring at Contura’s screen.

” — Coh.”

“I’m here.”

The voice came from behind my temples. The usual.

“I have something to consult.”

“Speak.”

I spread the week’s reservation list on the table. The copy of the appointment book, packed in blue.

“I can’t read all of these myself, anymore. If I face each one properly, I get scraped away. I haven’t forgotten the price. But — the volume won’t keep up.”

Coh let a moment pass.

“I knew. That you were near the limit.”

“Why not sooner.”

“I told you. A Reader is the slowest to notice her own price. The limit of volume is the same.”

I bit my lip. Coh went on.

“Seri. Let me ask. Do you think you must read them all, yourself.”

”…That —”

“All of them, yourself. That it is the Reader’s responsibility. Don’t you think so.”

I faltered. He had it.

” — I did.”

“Of course. That is the mistake.”

Coh’s voice softened a little.

“The Reader is not a lone hero. Sae was not alone, either. In the room of the codex, sitting across from each other, were two — Reader, and Scribe. Reading, and recording. A pair that held each other up. You, too, may have a pair. Or — if not a pair, someone to read with you.”

I stared at the screen.

“Someone to read, with.”

“There is Sono. There is Rui. Both are people who face the body. If you can entrust them with something — you will not have to bear all of them alone.”

III

The next day, I called the two of them into the Circle.

Sono Kiryū. And Rui Takatsuji.

Sono leaned against the wall, arms folded. Cropped hair, broad shoulders, the sturdy outline of a mesomorph. The former wrestler’s body, having passed through the crisis of her injury’s return, was taking back the ride of muscle.

Rui sat diagonally across from Sono, her back straight. The silver-rimmed smart-glasses still off. The bare profile was still a little hard, but the old cold was gone. Three months since she had collapsed. She was, little by little, rebuilding her own body.

“I have a request, of the two of you.”

Sono raised an eyebrow.

“A request. Formal.”

“My clients have grown too many. I can’t carry them alone, anymore. So — would you share them with me.”

“Share.” Rui repeated it quietly.

“Yes. Sono-san — I’d like you to read the aspect of muscle and competitive physique. The Core Number, the ride of muscle, the athlete’s body. That, you understand best. You used your body in competition, injured it, and rebuilt it. Because of that experience, there are stories you can read.”

Sono’s eyes went a little wide.

”…I would read?”

“Yes. With Contura. I’ll teach you how to use it. And the Laws. Obtain permission before measuring. Do not flaunt numbers. The story you read belongs to the person. Do not falsify freshness. Use it to accept, not only to change. Anyone who can keep the five Laws can read.”

”…Me.”

Sono, arms still folded, thought. Then laughed, shortly.

“Sounds interesting. I’ll do it.”

I turned to Rui.

“Takatsuji-san. I’d like you to read the numerical aspect.”

Rui looked slightly surprised.

“The numbers, me?”

“Yes. In the power to read number, you are far more precise than I. Judgement of type, balance by part, the numerical analysis of change over years. That is your strength.”

”…Strength. It was. But I judged people with number. I ranked them.”

“That can change. Number is not for judging, but for reading as the letters of the story. You can read those letters more precisely than anyone. Then, on top, add the story. What lies beyond the number. Think on it, and return it. That kind of reading — you can do it.”

Rui was silent a long while. The bare eyes went from me to Sono, and back.

”…Story. I am not yet any good at it.”

“You don’t have to be good. Only — think on what lies beyond the number. That is enough.”

Rui nodded, slowly.

” — I’ll try.”

IV

The three-way sharing was tested, at once, that afternoon.

The client was a man of twenty-eight. A company rugby player, just back from a knee injury. Anxious at the loss of muscle, he had forced his weight back and nearly broken the body again.

I stood him at the centre of the Circle and began the measuring. Pale blue rings circled him. Numbers rose.

Sono spoke first.

” — Shoulders, good. From the skeleton, a body that fights. But — the right thigh, a size smaller than the left. After the injury, you’ve been afraid, unconsciously, of using the right leg, haven’t you.”

Sono’s eyes read the ride of muscle with the feel of the field. The experience of a competitor heard the body’s voice before the numbers did.

Rui was following the numbers in the air, calmly.

“The Core Number is one short of competitive level. The circumference of the right thigh is 1.5 centimetres less than the left. Body fat, 14 percent. The rebuild after return is, as it were, half done.”

The numbers were cold. But Rui did not stop her words there. The old Rui would have concluded deficient and ranked him. But the present Rui was trying to look beyond the number.

”…This gap is not one that haste will close. After injury, the body has grown cautious. The traces of forcing it back, ignoring that caution, remain around the knee.”

I nodded. And I read, comprehensively.

The luminous outline rose in the air. Broad shoulders, a thick neck, asymmetric legs. A rugby player’s body, built to fight. On the right leg, the light wavered, a little.

“Your body,” I said, “has fought. Many times, fallen, risen. What it is saying to you, now, is wait, a little. The right leg is not ready. Don’t rush. Your body is a body that fights. It can fight again. Only — now, it is still, in the middle of setting itself right.”

He looked up at his own outline, his eyes a little red.

Sono clapped his shoulder.

“Your body is a body that fights. I’ll guarantee it. Don’t rush. You can rebuild it.”

Rui added, calmly.

“The numbers do not lie. But they are not accusing you. They show you the accurate place you stand, now. How you go from here is for you to decide.”

The three voices lit the single outline from three sides. One who read muscle. One who read number. One who read story. Each light overlapping, raising the whole of the person’s body into view.

V

After the measuring, the three of us sat side by side on the bench in the corner.

”…Incredible,” I said. “Sono-san’s eye for the body. Takatsuji-san’s precision with number. The two strengths are utterly different. Different from mine, too.”

“Obviously.” Sono laughed. “I’m someone who has lived in the body. Number comes after. The feel of the skin is first.”

“I’m the opposite.” Rui said it quietly. “Number first. The feel after. So I read number precisely. Only —”

She paused.

“Only, even when I try to add what you call story, it does not go well, yet. I can read the number. But beyond it — the person’s pain — not yet.”

“That comes.” I said. “At first, I could only read number, too. The story came, little by little. You will be the same.”

Sono, arms folded, looked at me.

“And what do you read, Seri?”

“The comprehensive story-reading. Sono-san’s reading of the body, Takatsuji-san’s reading of the numbers — I connect them all, and return the single sentence the body speaks. That is my role.”

“I see.” Sono nodded. “I do muscle and competition, Rui does number and analysis, Seri does the whole of the story. Three of three.”

“We can complement each other.” I said. “What one can’t read alone, three can. That is —”

I searched for the word.

” — close, I think, to the spirit of Contura.”

VI

“The spirit of Contura.” Rui repeated it.

“Yes. Contura is not magic. Only a tool. But when honest people use it, it becomes magic. And that is not only the honesty of one — many people, each with their own strength, facing the body, honestly. That gathering may be the true form of Contura.”

Sono laughed, shortly.

“So, not relying on one hero — held up by many honest people.”

“Yes. The Reader need not be only me. Sono-san is a Reader. Takatsuji-san is a Reader. Whoever faces the body honestly is a Reader.”

Rui looked down a little.

”…Me, a Reader.”

“Takatsuji-san. You tried to save people with number. The direction may have been wrong. But the heart that wished to save was real. Turn that heart to story-reading, and you are a Reader, fully.”

Rui said nothing. But I saw a little of the tension leave her shoulders.

Sono scrubbed her hand over my head.

“Seri. You’ve changed. Before, you were the one who carried everything on your own.”

“Have I changed?”

“You have. For the better. Trying to read everyone yourself may be honest — but it is also arrogant. One person taking on the stories of everyone — it isn’t possible. To notice that is growth.”

Arrogant. The word caught me, a little. It may have been true. Reading everyone myself — that had been honesty, intended. But at once, the conceit that only I can do it.

” — Arrogant, wasn’t it.”

“Only a little. Your honesty is real. But when that honesty turns to scrape yourself away, it’s no good to anyone. Sharing is not a betrayal of honesty. It’s the wisdom, rather, to face each person properly.”

I pressed Sono’s words into my chest.

VII

That night, at the apartment, I measured my own outline.

The once-a-week time of measuring oneself. The rite of keeping the self fresh, to hold back the price.

The body of light rose in the air. Broad shoulders, shallow cinch, sturdy legs. Looking much the same as half a year ago. But the colour of the light had not faded. Freshness was held.

”…Still, all right.”

I murmured.

“Seri,” Coh said. “You made a good choice. To share. That is the right road, so that the Reader is not crushed under the price.”

“Mm.”

“But don’t forget. Even sharing, do not neglect to measure yourself. Even reading as three, go on reading your own outline. That, only, is a promise.”

“A promise.”

I looked up at my own outline. This body is the form of my story. Even sharing with three, this body alone I must go on reading.

” — Coh.”

“Mm.”

“I tried to read everyone myself. I thought that was the Reader’s responsibility. But it wasn’t. The Reader is not alone. All who face the body honestly are Readers. I am one of them.”

“Yes. Seri. You are one Reader. Not the only Reader. And that is enough.”

Enough. The word fell, slowly, into my chest.

I had always thought — not enough. That I was, still, not enough as a Reader. That I must read more. That I must face more people. That urgency had scraped me. But — enough. To take on, honestly, one’s own share. That is enough.

VIII

“Seri,” Coh said, quietly. “The Circle has widened.”

I looked at the outline in the air. And I remembered the outlines of the dozens I had measured in the Circle, all this time. Ōyama’s broad shoulders. Shiori’s glassy thinness. Kenta’s arched back. Ren’s straining outline. Yoshie’s fifty years of layered seasons. Mai’s legs, that had leapt at the sky. Rui’s slender body, faded but rebuilding. Sono’s sturdy, cored body.

The Circle had, certainly, widened.

“But,” Coh went on, “no matter how far the Circle widens — each body is, still, one person’s story. The scale changes, but the honesty of facing one person does not. Only — don’t forget that.”

Honesty, to one.

I nodded. Even if the Circle widens, what we do, in the end, is sit before one body, look the person in the eye, and read the story. Repeated ten times, a hundred times — each time is, still, honestly facing one story. Scale changes, but one is one.

” — I know. Even if the Circle widens, one is one.”

“Yes. As long as you don’t forget that, you will not be crushed under the price.”

I closed Contura’s screen. The dark screen showed my face. Tired — but not faded.

IX

Thursday of the following week, seven-thirty in the evening.

After I had seen the last client out of the Circle, I was checking next week’s reservations at the reception counter.

Since Sono and Rui had begun sharing, the mountain of reservations had, slowly, begun to order itself. Sono took the muscle and competitive-physique clients. Rui took the clients who needed numerical analysis. I saw, at the centre, the people who needed a comprehensive reading. The three rings overlapped, and held far more people than before.

” — Ah, Seri.”

Sono opened the reception door and put her face in.

“A call just came. A girl wants to consult. High school. Her mother was our client — a referral. She’s troubled, about her body, it seems —”

I looked at the appointment book. A high-school girl, by referral.

” — The name.”

“Rin. Rin Saiki, she said.”

I caught my breath.

Rin.

That girl. The girl of sixteen, frantic to be thin, whom I had met in the spring of her adolescence. Your type was made to run far, I had told her. After that, she had begun, little by little, to reconcile with her body. She had spoken her Goal Outline, and begun to climb, one step at a time.

Two years had passed.

”…Rin-chan.”

“You know her.”

“Yes. I read her, once, long ago.”

Sono looked slightly surprised.

“Then you’d better see her.”

” — No.”

I shook my head.

“Please, Sono-san. Rin-chan is no longer the girl I knew. Two years have passed; she will have changed. Read the Rin-chan of now, fresh. So as not to falsify freshness.”

Sono looked a little surprised. Then laughed, softly.

” — Understood. I’ll read her. The girl you read once, I’ll read now. That, too, is the widening of the Circle.”

“Yes.”

Beside Rin’s name in the book, I wrote: Attending: Kiryū.

I set the pen down, and looked out the window. In the night sky of Aoyama there were almost no stars. But the streetlamps shone in a row. As if linked, like a circle.

The Circle is widening. The girl I read, Sono reads now. One who was read comes, again, to another Reader. The story joining its next chapter, it seemed.

And then, deep in my chest, something glowed, small.

Rin. The girl who had been frantic to be thin, who had found a road to reconcile with her body — now, coming here again. Perhaps — this child might pass to the side that returns the story. Might become a Reader.

A presentiment. Still without form. A presentiment, like a small bud.

I closed the appointment book. And gripped, in my pocket, the phone that housed Contura. The cold of the metal. But at once, taking the heat of the body, warm.

The Circle widens. And, at its edge, a new light was about to come on.

—

(Continued in Chapter 42. The Next Generation of Readers)