5 - The Dying Village 1
Nicola's funeral was apparently held quietly. I say "apparently" because no notice came to our household. As we are still under ostracism, it likely means our participation in the funeral was also declined. If we don't have to leave the house where a mysterious pathogen supposedly exists, then all the better.
...Though I did go to the trouble of making those pseudo-masks.
My homemade masks lack rubber to hook over the ears, so they don't have the shape a Japanese person would imagine upon hearing the word "mask." If anything, they're shaped like the ones from Showa-era dramas where bank robbers hide half their faces with handkerchiefs. They're made by stuffing thick cloth into the nose and mouth area and tying it behind the head, a sorry excuse for something called a "mask." Which is precisely why I append "pseudo" to the end.
I line up the pseudo-masks for my family and the Daltowa couple, and let out a quiet sigh. Since I had the masks ready, not being able to go outside is a little disappointing.
My parents, who weren't called to the funeral, seemed a bit downcast, wondering if they still weren't acknowledged as members of the village, but in this particular case, it was probably for the best. That said, doing absolutely nothing would truly be heartless, so even though it was from inside the house, the whole family prayed for Nicola's soul.
A further abnormality occurred several days after Nicola's funeral. Marcel died, and the village chief fell ill. At first everyone thought he was simply despondent over losing his beloved grandson, but the high fever continued for days, and just when they thought he'd recovered, he began complaining of itching all over his body. The symptoms were the same as Marcel's.
When the village chief became bedridden again, Marcel's mother, who had been nursing him, also fell ill with the same symptoms. When Marcel's father tried to enlist the help of other villagers because the household was short on women's hands, he learned that several villagers were bedridden with the same symptoms. At this point, even the villagers finally realized it. Something was happening in their village.
...Is it spreading from households with small children and their mothers? And then, the relatives of Marcel and Nicola.
Using the outside news that Oban-san brings home, I compile what's happening out there, partly as a way to kill time. Originally, we were confined to the house to hide from the village chief, but now we're confined to avoid the mysterious illness.
...Is it called a pandemic? When a disease spreads explosively.
As I was shut inside the house thinking about such things, one day Father brought home news of the village chief's death.
...I'd thought, "I wish he'd just die," but I never wished for him to die like this.
The village chief had caused us nothing but misery, but still, a person dying does hit you somewhere in the heart. I'm not sad. I felt relieved. Given everything our family had suffered at the village chief's hands, thinking that way is probably only natural. And yet, I couldn't quite feel that way. I'd wanted to make him say "I give up" at least once, and make him apologize for what he did to my parents. I never seriously thought, "I wish he'd die."
With the village chief dead, my parents and the Daltowa couple must have felt somewhat relieved. Though we'd been forbidden from leaving the house during the winter, we were now permitted to go outside on the condition that we stay away from houses with sick people. Since the opportunity presented itself, I put on my homemade pseudo-mask and went outside. It was my first time outside in a while, with a thin layer of snow covering the ground.
"Ah, snow berries!"
I entered the mountain for the first time in ages and brushed aside the snow swelling in mounds beneath the trees. Hidden under the snow were red and yellow berries, resembling raspberries, from a grass plant. They're berries the village calls snow berries. Finding snow berries, which have the mysterious ecology, for a plant, of only bearing fruit after being buried in snow, I dig up the surrounding snowy mounds.
"So many."
The more snow I dig, the more snow berries appear, and my delight loosens my tongue. Normally I don't talk to myself unless it's for speaking practice, but I was so giddy from my first outing in a long time and the abundance of snow berries that my mouth opened on its own.
I gaze at the hand-basket now full of snow berries in no time at all, and look around again. Unnatural mounds of snow are scattered here and there. It looks like there are still plenty more snow berries to pick.
"This year, snow berries, bumper crop?"
Every year the village children compete to gather them, so the amount I can pick is never very large. But today, perhaps because there are no other children around, I was able to harvest plenty.
...No. It's not a bumper crop. Everyone's bedridden.
I stare at the ground beneath my feet, where there are almost no footprints besides my own, and I'm stunned. The snowy path, which in any other year would be so trampled you couldn't tell which footprints were mine, remains pristine this year.
...Could it be that every child in the village is bedridden?
If not, then like me, they're shut inside their homes to avoid the mysterious illness.
"...What should I do?"
I gaze at the snow berries in my hand-basket and the snowy mounds where more snow berries are likely hidden, and think for a moment. Once my thoughts settle, I go pattering off down the snowy path and return to the village.
Because of the village chief, our household was subjected to ostracism, but it wasn't absolute. Whether out of rebelliousness toward the notoriously unpopular village chief, or simply timidity, there were several villagers who secretly lent us a hand when we were truly in trouble. Having heard that those villagers too had apparently fallen ill, my parents and the Daltowa couple have lately been going out to nurse them. I knock on the door of the house where my mother Chloe should be tending the sick, and wait for the door to open from inside.
"Oh, Tina. You were supposed to be on the back mountain picking snow berries, weren't you? What's wrong?"
"Snow berries, lots. Give to uncles and aunties."
I came to share the snow berries with the sick households since I picked so many. That's what I want to say, but I don't know the word for "share," and I still lack confidence in my pronunciation, so it's my usual broken talk. When I hold out the hand-basket with an "mm," Mother seems to have grasped my intent. She transfers the snow berries to another container and returns the hand-basket to me.
"I appreciate you bringing snow berries, but Tina? I told you not to go near the sick houses, didn't I?"
"Wearing pseudo-mask, fine."
I point at my own mask covering half my face, then point at the mask wrapped around Mother's neck like a scarf.
"Ma, pseudo-mask, wear. Around neck, wrong."
I knit my brows, put my hands on my hips, and puff out my cheeks. It's meant to be an "I'm angry" gesture. It's a pose you often see in manga and such, but I'd wondered how it would actually come across. Surprisingly, it got through. It's a rather cutesy gesture that's questionable for an adult to use, but since I still look like a little girl, I hope I'll be forgiven. In a few more years I plan to be able to speak properly, and when that happens, this is a gesture I intend to retire.
"But it's hard to talk with this thing on."
"No, absolutely."
The infection route of the illness is still unknown. It's better to take every conceivable precaution.
...Honestly, I'd feel safer if I could make something like the old plague doctor masks.
If I could make a plague mask that covers the face, it should at least prevent infection through the exposed eyes. With my current equipment there's nothing to be done about airborne transmission, but if it's droplet transmission, even a pseudo-mask offers some protection. Though truly, it's only a measure on the level of wishful thinking.
I glare at her, as if to say I won't leave until she wears the pseudo-mask properly, and Mother, worn down, returns the mask she'd been wearing like a scarf to her mouth. After confirming that, I check which house to deliver snow berries to next.
"Dad, where?"
"Saro is at Anton's place. It seems both Anton and his wife are bedridden."
"Got it."
With my next destination decided, I turn my back to Mother. As I start running toward the back mountain, I hear Mother's voice from behind.
"Where are you going?"
"Snow berries, lots, there. Pick, give."
What I really want to say is, "There are lots of snow berries growing, so I'll pick them and share them with Anton-san." But I still can't speak fluently yet.
Though my words were insufficient, Mother understood what I wanted to say. She waved her hand once, broadly, telling me to be careful on the snowy path, and then went back inside the house.
It got a bit long, so splitting into two parts...