Vol 2 Chapter 4 (1/2)

Part IV: A Hallow

That which is discordant.

That which is hated.

That which is intolerable.

Accept these things and all others, and never know pain.

That which is harmonious.

That which is desired.

That which is permitted.

Reject these things and all others, and know nothing but pain.

One affirms, one denies.

Between two hearts lies the hollow.

Between two minds lies emptiness.

Between two souls, I reside.

4 • KINOKO NASU

A Hallow - I

“Hey, you’ve heard about the patient on the private room on the third

floor, right?”

“Oh, who hasn’t at this point? The word’s been pa.s.sed on from mouth

to mouth since yesterday, and even that poker faced neurosurgeon Dr.

As.h.i.+ka had to show at least some surprise at that girl’s sudden recovery. I

couldn’t believe it myself.”

“No, no, I mean the story after that. What do you think the patient did

after she woke up from her coma? Promise me you won’t freak out or

anything, okay, but she tried to crush her own eyes!”

“Come on, that’s not true!”

“It is! Dr. As.h.i.+ka’s trying his best to keep it a secret, but I heard the story

from one of his interns, so it has to be real. Apparently, she used her palm

to put pressure on her eyes in like, the three seconds that Dr. As.h.i.+ka wasn’t

looking. What a horror show.”

“But with that girl in a coma for two years, she really shouldn’t be able

to move, right?”

“Yeah, but we basically exercised her limbs everyday to prevent the

disuse atrophy. Her family even paid the hospital a mountain of cash just

to make sure we do it. Still, it obviously can’t completely stop it, and her

body still has trouble moving. Probably why her attempt to destroy her

eyes failed.”

“Still, it’s a rarity for a person in bed rest for two years to even move, let

alone poke out her own eyes.”

“That’s why Dr. As.h.i.+ka was surprised. Wait a minute; what do you call it

when the blood vessels in the eye bleed?”

“Subconjunctival hemorrhage, was it? Don’t tell me the girl got that

too?”

“You know it. It’s really supposed to heal by itself, but since the ocular

trauma was so hard, she’s temporarily blind on top of that. The intern told

me that the patient just wanted her eyes bandaged, so that’s what they

did.”

“What a shame. Even now that she’s awake she still can’t see anything.

Makes my heart tighten a little.”

“It does, doesn’t it? And there’s still the question of her aphasia. Seems

she still can’t speak, the poor thing. And since Dr. Alaya left last month

we haven’t had a therapist to handle her. But I hear Dr. As.h.i.+ka’s calling

in someone he knows. Until she’s regained some of her mental faculties

/ A HALLOW - I • 5

we’re keeping her on a strict ‘no visitors’ policy. Even the parents are only

getting a little time to spend with her.”

“I see. That’s too bad for our little boy.”

“What? Which little boy?”

“Oh, you don’t know! There’s this little kid, right? Well, I guess we

can’t really call him a kid anymore, with his age and all. He’s the one who

brought that girl over here in the first place, and he still comes to visit every

Sat.u.r.day. I’m really rooting for him to meet her again.”

“Oh, you mean that kid. The one everyone was giving nicknames to. I

never realized he was still coming. Hard to find that level of sincerity these

days, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, he’s the only one that’s been coming to visit her these past two

years. He even beat out her parents. Even I’m inclined to believe that part

of that girl’s miraculous recovery is because of him.”

“I never thought you were that sentimental.”

“That’s alright. Neither did I.”

6 • KINOKO NASU

/ 1

Beyond and below lay only darkness. This void, lifeless place could only

mean one thing: I was dead.

Without anything to even clothe me, I, s.h.i.+ki Ryōgi, floated, and then

sank slowly into the fathomless, lightless sea. There was no end in sight.

There was nothing in sight, neither light, and yes, perhaps even darkness.

This place was only a hollow, where all meaning ceased to be. A stygian

abyss that could not be put into words, and without words it shall remain:

a cypher called, simply, “ ”.

I fell deeper into the “ ”, and my naked body slowly acquired the pallor

of the grave, and it made me want to look away. In my mind, I knew that

everything in this place comes to be the same way.

“Is this death?” I whispered, though it came out so faint, I doubted if it

was even real.

Though time too had no meaning inside “ ”, I observed it. Like a stream

tracing out into the infinite, like the process of decay, I mark it. It was an

eternity. I plunged ever deeper, and cast my eyes farther, and in that eternity,

this place was still empty, devoid of anything except me. And yet, it

was all so calm and serene. It feels as if, in this place without meaning, the

fact that I existed at all fits me. Here lay entropy, the end of all things, a

place the living may never observe, but only the dead may enter.

I died. And yet I am still alive. I felt my mind about to lose its grip.

Two years. An instant, stretched out to an eternity. Both are accurate

measures of my time spent in this “ ”. Here, I touched death. Here, I fought

for my life. Here, I awakened.

The light breeze through the window and the sound of boisterous activity

outside my room stirs my mind to wake. I can hear nurses and patients

alike scurrying in the corridor outside. The sound of their footsteps and

the soft whispers of their conversations build to a low background hum,

always present at a hospital in the early morning hours. Compared to how

silent last night was, this sounded like some sort of convention, and a noisy

one, as far as I was concerned. I liked my waking hours silent. Thankfully,

in the secluded s.p.a.ce of my private room, I’m sheltered from the worst of

the noise.

It didn’t take long for a doctor to arrive and check up on me.

“How are we feeling today, Miss Ryōgi?”

/ 1 • 7

Silence. It stumps him, and for a moment, we are both quiet.

“I see. At least you’ve seemed to calm down since last night. Unfortunately,

since we didn’t get the chance to do it last time, I’m going to have to explain

your situation to you. Feel free to talk if you feel something’s not right.”

I didn’t really have any interest in paying attention to him, but since it

seems like he mistook my lack of a response for consent, it looks like I don’t

really have a choice in the matter.

“Then I’ll tell you straight out: today is the fourteenth of June 1998. Two

years ago, on the fifth of March, you were involved in a traffic accident, hit

by a car in a pedestrian crossing at night. Then you were brought here, to

this hospital. Do you remember anything that I’m saying?”

Silence from me again. The last thing I can remember is someone—a

cla.s.smate, maybe?—standing stock still in the rain. As for the accident,

nothing is coming to mind.

“Oh, don’t worry if you can’t remember it. When the accident occurred,

it’s likely you noticed the car and tried to jump out of the way. That’s why

there isn’t any serious damage on your body. On the other hand, you did

receive a strong hit on your head. You were already comatose when they

brought you here, but it seems there’s no brain damage. But your mental

faculties might still be recovering from your two year coma. I can’t say for

sure if your memories will return, but it’s looking that way, since last night’s

EEG detected no abnormalities in your brain activity. Anyway, the fact that

you woke up from your coma is a miracle in itself. There’s very little possibility

of that after two years, you see.”

Even though he makes a point to emphasize the length of my coma, it

still isn’t hitting home for me. For me, yesterday is still that rainsoaked

night, followed by a vast hollow of emptiness.

“And if you’re about to ask,” the doctor continues, “your eyes are mostly

fine. It’s just a blunt injury, which rarely damages the eyes in a permanent

way. We’re lucky there wasn’t anything sharp nearby last night. Another

week or so, and we’ll be able to take off the bandages so you can finally

enjoy the nice scenery.”

I detect a tiny hint of rebuke in his words this time. I suppose he’s a bit

frustrated with my little attempt to destroy my eyes. He was pretty persistent

last night in asking me why I did it, but I couldn’t answer then as well.

They’d think I was crazy.

“You’re locked into physical therapy sessions, one in the morning, and

another in the afternoon. As for visiting hours, I’m afraid we’re restricting

it until your body and mind are back to normal: an hour a day. Bear with it

for a while. Once you’re done, you’re out of here.”

8 • KINOKO NASU

Well, that’s a mood ruiner if there ever was one. Not having the heart

to voice my cynicism so early in the morning, I instead try to test my right

hand’s responsiveness by moving it, and find that there is no change. Trying

to kickstart it into action takes me a few seconds, and I can feel the joints

and muscles straining as I make the most minute, yet painful movements.

It almost feels like it isn’t my own hand. I suppose it’s what I should expect

after two years of disuse.

“Well, that’s it for this morning. Since you’ve seemed to calm down, I

won’t have a nurse watch over you all day today. If you need anything at

all—water, a book—just press the b.u.t.ton next to your pillow. The nurse’s

station is right down the hall,” the doctor says in the gentle, practiced

words designed to put a patient at ease. Were I able to see, I’d probably

see him with a similarly rehea.r.s.ed smile, one he probably practiced in the

bathroom mirror all night. I hear him start to open the door, but stops to

say one last thing. “Oh, yes, I almost forgot. You’ll have another doctor

starting tomorrow, for your speech condition. She’s a bit closer to your age,

so try to be less…stoic…around her. From what I see, you’re going to need

the expertise.”

And so, after he left, I was alone again. I lie flat on the bed, arms over my

eyes that I myself asked to be bandaged shut.

“My name is—”, I whisper with dry lips still unused to speech, “s.h.i.+ki

Ryōgi.” The same  as before? Maybe not. Maybe she was killed, in

those two years of emptiness. All of the memories of someone named

Ryōgi are all there in my head, all ready for me to draw out. But what

of it? What use are they to me, who died once and awoke? I feel so…disconnected

to my past self. There’s no mistaking I’m me, but the memories in

my head don’t feel like they are. It’s like I’m watching a biopic. Main character:

Ryōgi. Weird ghost image caught in some of the frames: me.

I bite my lips until I’m sure I’m still awake. It’s all I have to make sure I’m

still here. I’m a puzzle with a missing piece close to my chest, and the hole

makes my insides feel as hollow as a cave with wind howling through it. I’m

missing my reason for living.

“And so? What the f.u.c.k does it matter?” I mutter to myself with as much

conviction as I can muster. And once I’ve said that, I feel less troubled by

it. Strangely, this feeling of disquiet and irritation that scratches and pulls

at my chest is sort of refres.h.i.+ng, in its own way. There’s anxiety. There’s

pain. But those are feelings that the sixteen-year old  still held on to.

Me? I’m unimpressed. I don’t know why I’m still alive but I have no inten-

/ 1 • 9

tion of looking a gift horse in the mouth. Not like I feel alive in the first

place anyway. I’m just here, now; nursing an existence of being adrift on

the wind.

10 • KINOKO NASU

/ 2

Morning turns to night turns to morning again, and a new day comes,

whether or not I can see the sunlight. I am strangely relieved that even

without sight, I can feel the slow rise of morning. However, the reason

for this relief remains a mystery, since the nurse that took my morning

examination came and interrupted my thoughts. Before I knew it, she had

finished, and left me alone again, but that wasn’t the end of my day.

My mother and brother came to talk. They felt like strangers, and I

couldn’t come to grips with the reality that they were my relatives. Left

with no alternative, I managed to mumble little words to them, in the

manner that my memories told me  would. It made my mother happy

at least, and my brother seemed pleased. It all had the air of some comical

farce, and we all played our parts to the letter.

Sometime past noon, I hear the door opening and a person step inside

my room. As soon as I hear the clicking heels, I immediately know that it

isn’t anyone familiar. I remember that I was going to get a new doctor starting

today, but before I could ask, the newcomer starts to speak.

“Hel—lo! Doing fine today?” says the newcomer, drawing out her h.e.l.lo

in an attempt at familiarity. A woman, judging from her voice. “Well, I must

say, I expected someone that looked more ghastly, but look at you! Your

skin is quite pretty. You’re just the kind of girl I can talk to, I think. Now

aren’t I lucky?” Her voice is young, maybe somewhere in her 20’s, and has

the kind of lilting, up-and-down quality of someone who is too cheerful for

her own good. I hear her make her way to the chair beside my bed and sit

herself down.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she continues. “I’m not a doctor

from here so I don’t come with an ID. Still, with your eyes covered and all,

I don’t think it’ll be much of a problem. I’m a speech therapist. You know,

for your aphasia and—”

“Aphasia? Who, me? I’m sorry; you must have me confused with someone

else.” And so I finally speak. She seems like a person worth messing

with, so I cut her off mid sentence. It doesn’t seem to faze her however,

since she responds with an “Mmhmm”, with what must have been an

accompanying nod of the head.

“Now, normally I’d be angry, but since I already know that your aphasia

is a misdiagnosis, I’ll let it slide. That As.h.i.+ka is such a by-the-books doctor;

/ 2 • 11

he can’t handle special cases like yours. But hey, it’s not like you can’t

share the blame for that. Obviously you’re going to raise some suspicion if

you keep your mouth shut like you’ve been doing.” She makes a friendly,

amused chuckle. For some reason, I’m imagining her wearing gla.s.ses. She

just seems like the type.

“So they think I have aphasia?”

“Yep. After all, you did hurt your brain some in the accident, so they

must have thought that the part of your brain that puts words in your

mouth was damaged. But it’s not that isn’t it? You’re just a stubborn young

girl with some issues. That having been said, it’s beginning to look like I’m

not needed, but I don’t want to get fired a minute into the job. And since

my other job isn’t exactly overflowing with customers, I think I’ll keep you

company.”

Well, a minute into her job and she’s already proved herself to be an

annoyance I can hardly stomach. I reach a hand out for the b.u.t.ton to call

a nurse, but the doctor is faster. I feel her hand reach it first and she deftly

maneuvers the wire from my reach.

“What the h.e.l.l, lady?” I utter in indignation.

“Whew, that was close. If you tell As.h.i.+ka now, the gig is up. Come on,

let’s cut a deal here. You pretend to have aphasia and I won’t ask you any

stupid questions, they won’t call in a new doctor, and I get to earn some

money on the side. That way we both benefit. How about it?”

Well, I have to admit, that sounds like a nice proposition, but definitely

illegal on some level. Still, I have to wonder what kind of person this woman

is when she can just belt out something like that without hesitation. I turn

my bandaged eyes to where her voice is coming from, hoping I am looking

straight at her.

“You’re not a real doctor, are you?” I ask.

“Right on the first try. I make a living as a…magician, of sorts.”

Oh, brother. This just took a turn for the crazy.

“Don’t have a need for a con artist.”

She replies with a chuckle. “I suppose not. A magician can’t fill the

hollow in your soul, after all. Only a regular person can do that.”

“W—wait a minute, what did you just say?”

“Oh, you must have noticed it. See, you’re all alone now.” The lilt in her

voice that I first perceived as cheerful now grants a menacing air to her

speech. I hear her stifle the urge for one last chuckle, and then standing up

and walking across the room towards the door. “Doesn’t look like you’re

in the mood to talk today, so let’s leave it at that for now. We’ll try again

tomorrow. By—e.”

12 • KINOKO NASU

By the time she said goodbye, the cheerfulness had returned to her

voice. The sound of the door opening and closing signal her sudden departure,

as abruptly as she’d arrived.

With difficulty, I put my right hand on my lips. I was speechless at what

she’d said.

All alone. A hollow in the soul. It is those words that make me remember.

Oh no. Oh, dear G.o.d no. How could I forget him?

I can’t find him. In my mind, I call out, over and over, and he, the other

me, doesn’t answer. s.h.i.+ki Ryōgi is gone. He’s gone.

 was once one of those people who suffered another personality,

sleeping and residing within her. The reason for it was simple. It was a

trait, pa.s.sed down through generations in the bloodline of the Ryōgi. The

legends tell vaguely of some long past flirtation with the occult and arcane,

but I don’t know if that can be believed. This trait, which in a normal family

would have been cursed, was instead celebrated and honed, an indication

of a state of grace. Those born with it are treated as the heirs to the dynasty.

And so it was with , who was made the heir even over her older

brother. She was an aberrant case. The alternate personality will always

be a different gender than the actual person. Among the male Yang and

the female Yin, the male personality usually emerges as the dominant. In

those who carried the trait, all have been born male, but carried a female

personality within them.  was the first female born. Inside her was

another, the man named s.h.i.+ki.

For the most part, the one that controlled the body was still —me,

in other words. s.h.i.+ki represented all of my more base aspects and all of

the thoughts I struggled to repress.  lived only by continually stifling

and killing the darkness within herself called s.h.i.+ki, over and over, until

it was the only way she knew how to act normally. Not that s.h.i.+ki had a

problem with that. He seemed quite content to lie dormant the majority of

the time, while I call him out in times where I needed his particular brand

of aggressiveness, such as in sword sparring. Always, he would come to

surface, glad to have the chance to be out, but at the same time bored and

resigned to his role.

At first it might seem like a relations.h.i.+p between a master and a servant,

but the truth was much more complicated. In the end,  and s.h.i.+ki

were one person. Whatever  did, s.h.i.+ki also desired, and when

s.h.i.+ki’s desires were suppressed, it was done entirely through his own

volition. Which was fortunate, since s.h.i.+ki had what might be called…

/ 2 • 13

homicidal tendencies. Now, as far as I knew, he didn’t actually commit any

murder…maybe. But what’s true is that he continually dreamed of the act

of murdering his fellow man.  expressly forbade it, and tried her best

to ignore it. But even as they ignored each other, they would never be

separated. Isolated as  was from the normalcy of the outside world,

she was never lonely, thanks to s.h.i.+ki.

But the time finally came when the cracks in that connection began to

show. It was two years ago, ’ first year of high school. s.h.i.+ki had never

shown any desire to use the body, but it was the first time he had wanted

to surface and take control. From then onwards,  suffered from gaps

in her memory, s.p.a.ces where she couldn’t remember what happened and

what she was doing.

As for me, the memories from my freshman year up until the accident

are gone. I can only recall fragments, lost without context: me standing in

the scene of a homicide, throat dry, staring at the dark red blood.

One other series of images stands out: The memory of a cla.s.sroom

bathed in sunset, giving it the same vivid red hue that dominates both

recollections, the cla.s.smate who destroyed , the one s.h.i.+ki wanted to

kill, and the one last piece of an ideal, normal life that s.h.i.+ki wanted so

much to protect. And since waking up from the coma, the name of that

cla.s.smate has remained out of reach, no matter how hard I try.

The hospital has its own rhythm, its own sort of respiration. The raucous

noise of the morning eventually dims slowly into the almost absolute

silence of the night. Occasionally, the sound of slippers echoing in the corridor

breaks the placidity, and is my only reminder that I am still awake. The

black shroud that blinds me now serves only to highlight how alone I am,

an entirely foreign sensation that  never had. She was never alone.

But now s.h.i.+ki is gone, and his loss is keenly felt. In fact, the only way I

know I am me and not him right now is because I can’t feel his presence.

“Probably the worst way to know your ident.i.ty: identifying yourself

because of what you lost, because of what you aren’t. “ I take a shot at

some good, old-fas.h.i.+oned self-loathing, but it isn’t helping. I wish I was

just a little sad. That at least would be a change from the hollow soul that

the “doctor” said I had. Like the husk of some old s.h.i.+p, its worth nothing

without anything inside it. If so, what goes inside?

I’d…go inside.

A whispering, coming from somewhere in the room. I can feel air rush in

from the corridor outside, can hear the almost inaudible creak of the door

14 • KINOKO NASU

opening. I try to tell myself I’m imagining it, but I turn to the direction of

the sound all the same.

A flickering, almost numinous white haze. I shouldn’t be able to see it,

but it makes a mockery of that statement. Amidst the complete darkness,

it’s the only thing I can see. It stands, vaguely like a human, but without

bones to hold it up, in a state of being somewhere in between liquid and

gas. It travels towards me, flowing and spreading at the same time in a

disgusting motion. I am helpless, unable to move my body, so I can do

nothing but wait for it.

At least it has a form I can comprehend. Things without form are the

truly frightening things. At least, with a shape, your mind can understand

it. I don’t sense any hostile intent from this spirit, if that is even what it is.

It’s even strangely comforting. For how different are we really, this thing

that doesn’t live, and me who has no reason to live?

The spirit caresses me in the cheek, at which point my entire body

freezes, the sensation feeling like someone pouring ice water on my spine.

It hurts, but I can’t move. I can’t even scream. I can only witness it. We stay

that way, unmoving, from midnight until the sun starts to come up. At the

crack of early morning, I feel it melting away, like a desiccated slug. As soon

as I feel the icy grip loosening, I fall into deep sleep.

/ 3 • 15

/ 3

Several days have pa.s.sed since I first woke from the coma, but the

doctors have seen fit to keep my eyes bandaged for now. In a marked s.h.i.+ft

from the noise which I had come to think was standard hospital policy, this

particular morning is so peaceful I lose myself taking in the little motions of

the day. I can hear the birds chirping outside my window, feel the daylight

s.h.i.+ning through it, and I allow my lungs to be filled with the crisp air.

Yes, compared to the world I was in for two years, this world is truly a

sight to behold. But with each morning that I wake up to the sprawling

life of the world, I think: this world is only as happy as people are alone.

The safest way to live is to be alone, but why can’t people think that that’s

enough?

Once, I had a perfect setup. I didn’t need anyone else. But the circ.u.mstances

have conspired to make me wait for the part that I seem to lack,

and if current trends are any indication, I might have to wait forever.

But what, or who, exactly am I waiting for?

My conversations with the “speech therapist-slash-magician”, such as

she was, became a daily affair. In a hospital life full of batteries of tests and

therapy sessions, it’s become something to look forward to; a welcome

respite from the day-to-day ba.n.a.lity. Now, as always, our conversation

takes a turn back to my past, and as always, she is positioned in the chair

by my bed, talking in her own carefree manner.

“Mmm, now I see. So it’s not that s.h.i.+ki couldn’t control the body, just

that he showed no desire to do it. You—well, both of you—are proving to

be quite the amusing couple.”

She had come suspiciously armed with some very extensive knowledge

of my background, some of which I know for a fact only a few people know.

She knew the curse behind the Ryōgi dynasty, the most tightly kept secret

of the family. She knew of my limited involvement in the serial killing that

wracked the city two years ago; details which I would normally be much

more secretive about, but I’ve long since resigned myself to the outcome

and consequences, though the crime and perpetrator remain ambiguous,

even inside my head. I find not having to think about it has made for a less

stressful thinking environment.

“There’s nothing amusing about having a dual personality,” I impulsively

interject.

16 • KINOKO NASU

She clicks her teeth in disappointment. “A cute label, but not accurate,

I’d say. Both of you exist simultaneously, each of you having your own will:

a recipe for dissociation. And yet, you both perform the same actions.

It’s complicated, and the label ‘dual personality’ doesn’t do it justice.

Something like ‘composite independent personality’ seems more fitting.”

“Hey, tack on a ‘republic’ in the end there and it’ll sound like some new

Balkan country.”

“Ah, well, I never said I was good with names. Still, I do find it weird that,

according to you, s.h.i.+ki always slept, even though he didn’t need to.”

A matter only I could probably answer. It had always been that way.

s.h.i.+ki had always liked to dream, to be off in some astral adventure somewhere

in his own imagining, an act that  had never shown any interest

in.

“So, is he still sleeping now?” she prods playfully, but I find that I can’t

answer her. “Then he really is dead, isn’t he? He took your place as the

consciousness that died during the accident, and the memories that he

took in became lost to oblivion. Explains the gaps in your memories, at

least. And without those memories, the knowledge of how involved you

were to the serial killing two years ago might be lost forever.”

“So I’m a.s.suming the suspect is still at large?”

“Indeed, but you know how this city plays. We say ‘oh, dear’ at a serial

murder we see on TV, and then go back to eating our dinner. To most of

the city in the last two years, it’s become some sort of bad joke. The rest

have just forgotten.” She laughs, leaving in doubt how much of her statement

she actually believed. “s.h.i.+ki still puzzles me, though. If he hadn’t

done anything, it would have been the  consciousness that died. What

reason would he have for taking your place like he did?”

“To be honest, it’s still something I’m thinking about,” I say with hesitation.

“But enough about him. Did you bring the scissors I asked for?”

“Sorry, but As.h.i.+ka and the rest of his minions didn’t allow it. You have,

um…well, a history with your eyes, so they’re not allowing anything sharp.”