A Sonata of Solitude

Chapter 5: A Toccata of Tenderness

More than wishes, more than vows
I wonder what there is to love.
To call his name as many times as you can,
That may be the only thing.
--Little Glee Monsters, Your Name (Translation)

Chapter 5:
A Toccata of Tenderness

The light filtered through the half-opened window, casting dappled patterns on the wooden table in the centre of the room. They twirled across the book laid out there, small dots flowing with rhythmic coherence along the pages in time with the swaying of branches outside. A copy of Tolkien's "The Hobbit", cast aside after a few minutes of pained reading. Abandoned, the speckles of light moved and swirled across the map at the back, circling the Lonely Mountain and the ruined town of Dale. Gently, and then all at once, as stone cast into relief by a thrush in the last light of day, they danced, and danced, and danced.

For here there be dragons.

The pale September light illuminated the book that Chikamori had cast aside in frustration, a page inadvertently bent -- later, it would be smoothed out and fixed. For now, though, it lay forgotten as she passionately argued with Morrissey in English, a cacophonous dispute over the attractiveness of various celebrities. In stark contrast to the calm world outside the window, with its gentle wind setting leaves swirling and branches swaying, the scene in front of me was chaos.

The volume had been slowly rising for a while, a fact that was clearly beginning to bother the other two members of the English Conversation club -- Aoki in particular looked about ready to commit murder.

"Settle down, you two. It's fine to have this discussion, though I'm not entirely certain it's appropriate for school -- but the volume is a problem."

Upon hearing the voice ringing out through the room, deep and clear, subtly commanding and authoritative, the two students immediately snapped to attention.

"S-sorry, Uesugi-sensei."

Nodding curtly, you turned back to the conversation you'd been quietly having with Aoki.

You'd begun coming to the English Conversation club more and more frequently since returning from the summer break, initially at my request. While I was growing more confident in my speech, the gap between us was immense -- and I'd wanted to expose the students to more advanced English than what I could provide.

It certainly didn't hurt that it meant I got to spend more time with you.

More precious contact. Another excuse to keep you near. To look at your face, to drink you in -- to reassure myself that you weren't going anywhere. That you didn't hate me. That when I looked into your eyes, when I gazed into those golden depths, there wasn't frozen apathy reflected back at me.

You glanced over, catching me staring -- and, flustered, I looked away.

The students had quickly grown attached to you -- your English was far beyond any of theirs, even Morrissey's. While I could tell that the students had come to acknowledge me, and indeed like me, they seemed to genuinely respect you in a different way entirely.

Part of me found that frustrating. In a sense, it felt like I'd failed as their teacher.

On the other hand, there was a sense of visceral satisfaction.

Satisfaction at the fact that the students seemed to instinctively recognize what I saw in you. Your skill. Your determination. Your work ethic. Everything that made you a world-class teacher.

Everything that had made you my tutor.

"By the way," I said, switching to Japanese and addressing the room, studiously avoiding eye contact with you. "It's about time for you all to decide what you're going to be doing for the culture festival. Talk amongst yourselves, and make sure to let me know by the end of the day tomorrow so that I can submit the proposal to the student council for you."