Case 07: The Portrait of a Lily (1)

No, that statement is bound to give birth to misunderstandings. Let me rephrase, my memories of childhood -- they're filled with problems surrounding a certain light -- perhaps that would be a better way to put it.

I later found out that the light was called a Biophoton. In the world, it's called an aura or a ring of light, the halo that's often depicted in Buddhist paintings. And I was able to see that light since childhood. It always shone alongside the outlines of a person.

Bright lights, Dim lights.

Swaying lights, Blurred lights.

Within them were red, white, blue, purple, and countless other colors; Since I was little, I think I distinguished people by the colors that entwined them, rather than their faces, their clothes or their height. My mother was this color, my friend Chi-chan from kindergarten was this color, this color belonged to the man from the grocery store, that color belonged to the neighborhood kid who would bully me, and so on. I used to think that everyone was like that, and my carefree feelings led me to think that their colors were beautiful, but it wasn't until I was in the first grade of elementary school that I realized that I was the only one who identified people by their colors. I stupidly ended up talking about those lights to my classmate, and they shouted, "Shiina-chan, you're so creepy!" I got so startled that I stopped talking about it after that.

I asked my parents for advice, and they took me to an ophthalmologist. However, no abnormalities were detected in my eyes. I could see inorganic things with ease. But all living things were accompanied by some kind of light. In junior high school, the aura ended up becoming more and more prominent, and I suffered like a neurotic. I saw a psychiatrist as well, and had a neurosurgical examination. None of the results were abnormal, and none of the doctors could understand my suffering. From that time on, I gradually began to distance myself from my friends, becoming a girl who read books alone in the corner of the classroom. In this world full of light, books alone were my silent companions. They were able to give my heart peace and calmness. Perhaps it was because I continued to read in the dark, which had become such a stronghold of my heart, that my eyesight began to deteriorate. It got to the point where I couldn't even see the words on the chalkboard unless I wore glasses, and I thought that if I did that, I might not have to suffer from the auras of people that only I could see. I didn't want to wear glasses, but I still hoped that my eyesight would just about disappear.

And yet -- it seemed to have no direct relation to how good or bad my eyesight was. As usual, people were glowing, and the degree of glow was different for everyone. On the contrary, as my eyesight diminished, the colors of people's auras which had only been several were now so strong that I could distinguish dozens of different colors.

When I entered high school, I felt that power was at its peak.

Once, while I was commuting to school in the train, I was so overwhelmed by the light emitted from those around me that I lost consciousness. When I regained my senses, I was lying on a train seat, being cared for by many people. Many people had given up their seats for me during the overcrowded rush hour. I felt ashamed about that, and I also felt unbearably scared and resentful of my unexplained nature. There were many times when I thought that I would be better off destroying my own eyes.

And then, on a certain day --

"You can see them, can't you?"

That voice suddenly called out to me as I entered the school gates. I turned around to see a person clad in a gold-colored aura standing there.

No -- that dazzling glitter was different from gold. That light was mixed with a somewhat dull, purple color. I could also see something that resembled black smoke. I strained my eyes, desperately searching for the source of that person's light, their real body. That person was clad in the same black blazer uniform as me. A tall, slender female with an exceedingly beautiful face. Her eyebrows were arched in the shape of a crescent moon, and her eyes underneath were thin and long, full of affection. The bridge of her nose stretched out nicely like that of a foreigner, and her lips drew an alluring curve that even I, a woman, was shocked to see.

"Sorry for being so sudden. But I felt like I had to say it out loud. The lights you see -- they're called Biophotons, and all living beings have them. It's not really abnormal or anything."

"...Huh?"

"I should introduce myself first."

She smiled gently and held out her hand.

"Ayana Takamura. Third-year student."

I unconsciously squeezed her hand in return -- and was surprised at how cold it was.

Her hand itself was very soft, but I couldn't feel any warmth in it, as if it wasn't even alive.

"I can see them too."

".........Huh?"

"Come and visit me whenever you like. I'm usually in the literature club or student council after school."

I later found out that she was the current student council president, and head of the literature club. From what I heard in class, Ayana-san was very famous. Or rather, my classmates were surprised at me instead: 'You didn't know about Takamura-san?' Was their response. Regardless of gender, everyone became overzealous when talking about Takamura-san, as if they were fighting to be the first to talk about her. Her family apparently had a very long history, and that she was said to be descended from nobility. Excelling in both school and sports, she was a school record holder in track and field, yet despite that, she focused on her student council duties and the literature club. She's been elected as student council president for two years in a row, and in studies, she's ranked between first and third in her grade since she entered school. She's kind and friendly to everyone, and has the ability to handle the so-called "dirty talk" with the boys. Since her freshman year of high school, she seems to have received countless love confessions from seniors and boys of her grade, but has no romantic stories involving her, she's also popular among the girls as well. Why didn't I know about a super high school student like Takamura-san up until now? I wondered that to the point where I felt ashamed of myself.

I imagined a lily in full bloom on a hill where only dandelions grew carefree. As if this entire world had only her on it, Senpai* stood alone and indifferent.

*TL/N: Senior(at work or school) in japanese

Even though she told me I could visit her whenever I liked, there was no way someone like me could readily visit such a great person. It had been about a week since I first met Takamura-san, and my high school life continued as usual. Yet still, with Takamura-san's words in mind -- "You are not abnormal" -- they helped me keep calm through the days.

"Hey there, Kurimoto-san."

One day, as I walked out the gates to leave school, I was called out again.

In front of my eyes was a complex golden-colored person --- Ayana Takamura was waving at me.

"T--Takamura-san."

"Good afternoon. Are you doing well?"

For a girl, Takamura-san was really tall. Probably around 170 cm.

As a short girl, I was overwhelmed by her gaze as she looked down at me.

"Hahaha, yes. I'm fine."

I replied awkwardly, when I suddenly realized.

How did she know my name? The other day, I was so stunned by everything that happened that I couldn't even introduce myself properly.

Ayana-san proceeded to smile pleasantly and spoke as if she read my mind:

"I remembered your class badge and came to visit during lunch break. You weren't in class at the time, so I asked about the girl with the red glasses -- one of the kids in your class told me: 'That must be Kurimoto-san'."

---Did that kind of thing happen?

For some reason, my face turned deep red, and I apologized.

"I'm really sorry. I usually eat lunch on a bench out in the courtyard -- after that I'm usually in the library reading."

"It's not something you have to apologize for. I see – The library, is it? Do you like books?"

"Y-yes."

"I wonder what kind of books you read. If you can, how about we visit the literature club right now?"

"...Huh?"

"Let's have a cup of tea. I wanted to have a talk with you. Are you free?"

She smiled gently at me, and without thinking, I vigorously nodded.

The literature club room was on the second floor of the prefabricated club room building at the north end of the high school.

"Well, come in."

Takamura-san took a key out from her pocket and opened the door, invited me inside.

The interior was a neat and tidily arranged room about 16 sqm in size.

There were three bookshelves, and a four-seat desk in the middle. In the corner of the room was an electric kettle and a few cute-looking cups placed upside down. But anyway, I think I felt quite excited at that time.

"Please, have a seat anywhere you'd like."

'Y-y-yes', I replied as I hurriedly placed my bag down on one of the chairs, and sat down on the next chair, looking around in circles.

Takamura's scent softly drifted in the air, and it truly felt like this place was Takamura-san's castle.

I'd never used perfume before, but that alone made me feel as if I'd stepped into an adult space, as if I was softly floating in midair. While Takamura-san was making tea, I finally managed to calm down a little and carefully examined the club room.

The bookshelves were crammed with pocket paperbacks.

There were authors I knew, and names I'd never heard of before. There were books I'd always wanted to read, and whenever I'd find one of my favorite titles, I'd feel a little happy. All the bookshelves had a large shelf at the bottom, where the club magazines published by the literature club were neatly arranged. After I'd finished glancing over the shelf, I looked around again. The windows were tied with pretty and serene curtains, and on the wall were several posters by artists I didn't know.

And when I saw one of the posters--

I felt a chill, as small goosebumps creeped up on me. In the clean and mature atmosphere of the club room, the design of the poster alone seemed somewhat bizarre. In the picture, a white cloth was draped on a chair, and on top of the cloth, was a woman's head. You could call it creepy, but in the warm atmosphere of this room, that alone seemed to vividly stand out.*

*TL/N: The poster in question

While I pondered over such things--

"Sorry, I'm afraid I can only offer black tea."

Takamura-san placed a steaming white cup in front of me.

"N-not at all. It's fine. Thank you."

I gently take the cup in my hands, then--

"Are you curious about that poster?"

Takamura-san smiled as she grasped her cup with both hands.

"Eh, no...."

"That was made by Beksiński. Zdzisław Beksiński. A Polish painter, photographer and artist who was also passionate about computer graphics in his later years. I love his work."

"I-Is that so?"

Gently sipping the tea from her cup and nodding, Takamura-san continued happily:

"What is art? There are so many self-proclaimed artists in the world, but sometimes, I get the feeling that real artists don't exist anywhere. And I feel that the title of 'artist' should never be used to describe oneself. When your work comforts others, isn't that when you truly become an artist to someone?"

I was somewhat spellbound by Takamura-san's expression as she spun her words in an elegant manner. I didn't know what made a painting good or bad, but for the first time I was surprised to see a student who seriously contemplated the interpretation of paintings and art, like how an art teacher would.

"However, this much is true."

Thereupon, she unexpectedly lowered her voice:

"The depth of one's art is proportional to the depth of one's sorrow."

"...Huh?"

"They say that people act to fill in the void in their lives, but -- Bekcinski was unhappy, so his work is imbued with a special kind of emotion."

"Is it sorrow?"

I asked in reply, and Takamura-san nodded her head.

"That's right, this person's life was a series of despairs. In his youth, he bore witness to the Nazi invasion, and in his adult years, he experienced Poland’s turbulent political period. Yet he continued to draw despite all that, and at last, when his paintings were finally recognized, he lost his beloved wife. Furthermore, in the year that followed, his dearest son committed suicide. And finally, two days before his birthday, he was stabbed to death seventeen times by the son of his lifelong friend.”

“…..”

“Even after death, his sorrow didn’t end. Fifty-nine of his works were bought by a Japanese man, who then disappeared. The location of those works is currently unknown. They’ve disappeared into the darkness of this world, without even being able to be experienced through the eyes of people.”

In spite of the weather being quite warm—

I felt a faint chill, and Takamura-san finally spoke in a whisper:

“Maybe that’s why… it’s been said that if you see this painting three times, you will die.”

That moment, I felt the head in the picture turn towards me –

I felt a chill up my spine.

The eyes of the woman on the chair slowly turned towards me.

I couldn’t bear to keep staring at the picture any longer, suddenly averting my gaze, I noticed –

Senpai was staring my face.

Those eyes -- were empty, and there was a light in them that seemed to be devouring everything in sight, as if to fill that emptiness with something.

Startled, I clasped my hand in front of my chest.

“—Just kidding.”

Senpai suddenly smiled.

“It was just a joke.”

“…Huh?”

“I see it every day, but as you can see, I’m still alive. Sorry for teasing you.”

Takamura-senpai laughed with amusement, and at the same time, I let out a deep sigh of relief.

I secretly examined her expression once again, but her eyes had already returned to their usual shine.

She merely stared at the poster, pressed the cup against her well-shaped lips, and smiled.