Names: I Guess None Of Us Can Escape The Breaking

Grey hills absorbed the blue of the incoming evening, turning their rolling terrain into somber curves that kept the facility isolated from all other human contact. Dusk approached swiftly, full of worried whispers from staff members. Shuhei had changed in his room and was returning to the common area to read by the fire. When he entered the space, he noticed that the workers were scrambling towards the far exit, whispering unheard words into headsets and shuffling their feet as quickly yet quietly as possible.

They were making their way towards the door that went to the onsen. Something about their concern troubled Shuhei, and he couldn’t help but fear it had something to do with the girl.

As he watched the workers scuttle away in haste, he decided it would be best to return to his room, out of respect for the privacy of whatever was unfolding.

In truth, he didn’t mind his room. He’d lived alone anyway, so having a well-appointed space complete with its own bathroom, kitchenette, sofa, and reading desk to himself was a nice continuation of routine. Shutting his door, he resigned himself to the desk to pick up where he’d left off in his novel.

By the time dinner arrived, the commotion had calmed, so Shuhei felt it was okay to return to the group dining room. There had not been any sirens or hints of a true emergency, which Shuhei hoped meant the girl, or whoever it was, was okay.

Dinner’s scents of dashi broth and fish cakes were drifting through the corridors, sending smells of umami and whitefish into Shuhei’s nostrils as he neared the kitchen. When he entered the group dining hall, she wasn’t present, and Shuhei took that as confirmation that it had been her who had caused the workers to rush to her aid.

The simple wooden table was long enough for far more people who were in attendance, causing the gaps between the guests to feel more pronounced. Shuhei recognized the man from the ikebana class, whom he secretly knew was an actor. His aged eyes were focused on the empty seats when Shuhei sat two chairs away.

Across from them was a woman who was somewhere in the age range between Shuhei and the actor. Strong, proud features showed remnants of a once-commanding beauty that now seemed quieted. Her head was always down. Others slowly trickled in, until only one person was missing.

“Poor girl,” the actor said in a barely audible voice that was meant for only Shuhei.

Shuhei turned slightly to face the man.

“Is she okay?” Shuhei asked.

“No idea. But no ambulances came, and I saw them escorting her back inside about an hour ago. Poor girl looked hollowed.”

All Shuhei could do was nod.

“But I guess none of us can escape the breaking,” said the man.

“Hm?” Shuhei asked.

“The breaking. That point when it all finally becomes too much. We shut down. We explode. We break in some manner. It’s either what leads us to this place, or it happens here. Looks like it finally happened for her.”

Bowls of steaming oden were set out for them to consume. Fish cakes floated in the rich broth along with eggs, daikon, and tofu. The bowl was warm to the touch as Shuhei pulled it closer. As his hands held the curve, the fresh bandage around his wrist was there to remind him that the breaking had already occurred for him. Whatever he currently was, it was merely the pile of shattered pieces that were left over.

For the first time in weeks, Shuhei felt a hint of fear that this would be the best he got for some time. Deep down, he knew that his life was going to be the same as it was before he arrived at this place. In some ways, there would now be added pressure from the strain this absence was causing on his place of employment. And his employment was the primary thing that had led to his breaking. But he couldn’t leave that job. Not yet.

Warm sips from the winter stew helped pull Shuhei’s mind out from the haze of concern. Those issues could wait. He knew they’d all be there to deal with when he left this place, so in the interim, he wanted to gain as much as he could in his time here in the mountains before returning to reality.

Sleep was as restless as ever, and just like he had for years before, Shuhei woke before sunrise without an alarm. This morning it was slightly earlier than usual, so he decided to lay in bed for a little longer as he waited for the workers to begin their morning routines. Once he was up, he took his 300 milligrams of lithium carbonate with some water and exited the room as he wrapped a shawl over his shoulders.

Outside, it was still wholly dark. Within the facility, only the ambient lights were on. As he walked down the hallway, Shuhei took a moment to appreciate the somber quietness of it all, and the way warmth seemed to hang around the shelves where the ikebana arrangements were displayed. Passing the girl’s arrangement brought her back to his mind.

“With no one to hear me…” Shuhei murmured to himself as he pondered the name she had given them.

Was she calling out, but no one heard? Did she view her deafness as a language that no one else could hear? Did she want a world and life where she was able to be alone and not have to worry about anyone hearing her?

All these questions slid in and out of focus together as Shuhei neared the common area. That was when he noticed the fire was still going. Orange and yellow flickers on the wall and floor told him it was still very full- far from embers, as though it had been tended to consistently through the night. Two attendants stood at the back wall, further telling Shuhei someone was already in the room.

None of that stopped him, as he decided the warmth of the fire was appealing for that morning’s particularly chilly embrace.

Then he saw that it was her sitting there.

The girl was in the chair nearest the fire, bundled in a blanket.

For the slightest moment, Shuhei debated leaving. But then he decided to continue into the light and warmth. Crackles from the fire were the only sound in the room as he softly approached the seats. His approach was wide, so that she had time to see him. When he neared, she didn’t turn away. In fact, she didn’t even move.

Perhaps it was the low light and harshness of the flames, but Shuhei suddenly understood the actor’s comment. The girl’s cheeks seemed to have dropped, and her eyes looked as though they’d sunken into their sockets by a millimeter. At best, it looked like she’d been battling the flu for a few days. Exhaustion was etched on every part of her being.

Something stopped Shuhei from sitting. Instead, he made his way to the nearby coffee drip. Kaho didn’t turn from the fire when she noticed him leaving the seat. All she could do was keep her eyes ahead. A moment later, she felt him returning.

Then his hand extended within her sight line, placing two cups of coffee on the small table that was between their chairs. He kept one for himself, then softly slid the other close to her.

After that, he turned away and joined her in watching the fire’s dance. If he’d dared to look, he would have seen that his simple gesture had caused the tears to almost return for Kaho as she pulled her wrap closer to her chest.

Minutes passed, and dawn’s sunlight slowly appeared. Snow had fallen through the night, so now the leafless tree trunks jutted up from the pinkish white ground like bones of great beasts. His first cup was almost finished by the time she decided to lift hers. Drooping lips parted and pursed as she blew into the mug to cool its contents a little more.

Taste was usually one of Kaho’s favorite senses, but that morning, the coffee had almost no flavor for her. The Surface was still far above her, and every sensation was now muted in the undercurrent. Still, his gesture was kind, and as he sat beside her without pressing her to talk or making her feel out of place, she found herself grateful he was there.

For him, it wasn’t that he was lonely in this place. And he wasn’t trying to make any sort of connection with anyone in this facility. His focus was on his own journey. But he couldn’t help but feel a kindred soul within the girl. Because of that feeling, he didn’t mind being polite.

Light beside him shone out as she removed her phone and began to type.

She extended it to him, and he received it.

“Thank you,” she wrote.

“You’re welcome,” he replied.

Then he dared to type a little more. It was a sincere concern.

“I don’t need to know details. But are you okay?” he asked.

She read, and a tired smile lifted her lips as her brow furrowed and she shook her head.

“No.”

He nodded.

“That’s okay. I’m not okay either.”

His lips pressed against the lid of the mug. Meeting the ceramic caused the bottom lip to push in slightly as the top lip rested on the curve and welcomed the remaining ounces.

Kaho typed a little more.

“I think I’m going to have to be here for a little while.”

Even without hearing any tone, Shuhei knew her words were sadly accepting. This was her settling into this place. Like him and so many others, her winter would be in Nikko.

“Well, that means you’ll have time for plenty of ikebana classes.”

She smiled once more and found herself wanting to say one more thing.

“That will be nice. I’m Nazaki Kaho. Thank you for the coffee.”

Her name was fitting for her, but the kanji weren’t what he expected.

“Like Summer?”

She nodded. He extended his hands to receive the phone once more. He typed his response and offered the phone back to her. That time, when she reached out to receive, her exhausted hands went the subtlest distance too far. As she clasped the phone, her fingertips met his index fingers for the briefest of lifetimes. She was too tired to flinch or apologize, but she noticed his grip softened ever so slightly. Still, he didn’t recoil and didn’t hint at any frustration or embarrassment.

Kaho’s focus returned to the phone.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Shuhei.”