Sunday, May 3rd, 1885

Irises…
It’s been said they stand for memory. I’ve never been one much for the language of flowers; I thought it was a rather coy way of expressing oneself. I take part of the broken plate out of the trash, looking at it. Memories… so easy to lose myself to them. So easy to live for them.
I hear Makoto-chan behind me. I turn, and she’s looking around. “Did Yamaguchi-san come back today?”
“No…” I answer, turning to finish breakfast. “He told me last night that we would see him next weekend.”
“Oh.” She comes over next to me, and holds out her hand, full of tiny colored rocks. “Look! He gave me these!” I take one from her hand, and inspect it closer. “Ah, these are quite nice. What do you do with them?” I ask her.
“Uncle said he would show me.” She steps away. I look out the window, low clouds are rolling in; if we’re going to the beach today we should go now. “How about a picnic on the beach for -breakfast-?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice light. She adores Hajime, of course, it’s obvious in the way she speaks of him. In time she will love him, even if he never tells her that he is her father. But all this constant talk of him…
I am selfish like that.
“That would be a lot of fun. Yamaguchi-san said that I should spend more time with you and go to the beach.” She agrees.
I nod, smiling a bright smile. Stop talking about him, I want to scream. But I hold back. “Come on, then, before it rains.” All the way down, she keeps talking. About how he said he would take her to Tokyo, all the things they’ll see and do there.
She’s in such high spirits… I wish I could let her carry me along and lift me up. “And then he called me ‘hime-sama’!” Makoto tells me as we lay out the blanket under the pine trees.
Hime-sama.
Said when we were both on the verge to being lost to passion.
Hime-sama.
Said when he held me after I cried to him that time.
Hime-sama.
When I told him that I was going to have the child we both wanted.
Hime-sama.
Said so many times, casually or with great feeling… ever since that day in the garden.
Hime-sama
That’s mine – jealousy flashes through me, and then I’m shaken that I feel that towards her. “That’s a good name to have.” I turn away from her and busy myself with laying out breakfast.
And I struggle with the fact… that my daughter seems to have inherited my name. It’s the -twisting- of the knife. For a moment it’s pain, raw and fresh.
I was wrong… or at least, what I read that I said was wrong. It is possible to hurt more. No doubt now that was me, so stupid and naive.
It’s for the best. Hajime and I are simply two people that share a child. I don’t need little names from him anymore. Maybe he’ll even start calling me Yagi-san. Fine. Fine. It’s just all -fine-.
She runs off to play by the water’s edge. Ah, I really don’t want that kimono getting salt water on it… bah. I let her play. The morning passes and it starts to rain. “Makoto! We need to go back,” I call out.
I’m glad the rain is falling, that way she won’t notice that my face was already wet. We turn to go back up the hill to that house.