TREATMENT

Miu

There once was a fisherman whose mind lived in two hemispheres. The northern was a city of white gold; the southern was a black, twisting palace below the sea.

Miu blessed the little television perched high in a corner of the waiting room. She blessed the rusted bracket holding it in place, its snowy reception, and the soothing, mercifully predictable rerun it was showing. Moment of Shock! was a programme she often missed while there were guests at the inn. The show was hosted by an effervescent comedian who kidnapped mothers and daughters from their respective workplaces and whisked them off to appointments for their hair, teeth, skin, and nails before dressing them in high-end fashions. Every episode culminated in a dual reveal of the successful makeovers. This week a girl—maybe Kyou’s age—was picked up from her day job at a cannery. Her colleagues lined up and clapped as she, laughing and nodding, exited via the gauntlet. She untied her mucky apron, then removed her hairnet and mask to reveal a rather plain face and crooked teeth. Her mother, who had moderately more underlying elegance, was collected from her home while elbows-deep in laundry. The show’s hostess made a joke about ironing underwear. The woman hid her face in embarrassment. Their first stop was a beautician, where—  

“No idea about voting.” Miu’s sister, seated beside her was angrily highlighting her ‘important committee papers’ as though they were terribly meaningful. They almost certainly were not. If Kiku had one passion, it was for gossip. Age had only sharpened her enthusiasm. Nothing, she had once claimed, was better suited to fishing up deep secrets than a gathering of idle women. Treasure troves of delectable information. To that end, Kiku promptly joined each and every Bijushima-based community group, board, and association that would take her—which was all of them; the island was small and everyone knew about her husband’s health. 

“Miu Nakajima please?”

Miu’s sister stood up and waved like a bingo winner. “Here, yes!” 

Miu clutched her handbag, focused on her breathing. She took one last look at the reassuring television set, then followed the receptionist.

In the room were a desk and couch. Behind the desk was an impressively mediocre woman in her thirties wearing a grey cardigan. She wasn’t poorly-presented enough to be eligible for Moment of Shock!, but she couldn’t be described as well put together. Miu was endeared to her only by her eyes and the encouraging look they gave. 

The woman began by addressing her sister. “My name is Megumi,” she said, gesturing to her plastic name tag. I see that your daughter brought you here for your appointment.” She paused to smile at Miu. “That’s very kind—”

“Eh?” Her sister interrupted. “My what?”

Miu almost smiled while Kiku and the practitioner looked at each other for a delightful Moment of Shock!

“I’m sorry,” Megumi began again. “My notes say that I’m to see a Miu Nakajima, aged fifty-three—”

“That’s her,” Kiku said flatly. “My sister, not my daughter. She’s not much of a talker. You’re supposed to know something about dealing with that.”

“Ah, goodness. Forgive me.” The woman bowed her head momentarily. “Ms. Nakajima, you look so young. So then, you are...Mrs. Kiku Hasegawa? Listed as next of kin, yes? My name is Megumi—”

“So you said,” Kiku interrupted crossly.

“Tsu!” Miu swatted her sister’s arm.

The woman—Megumi—appeared to brighten slightly at that. 

“So I did,” she continued. “Now, I wanted to give you an idea of how I practise so that you’re more comfortable. I work as a Speech Language Therapist. I help people and families who are struggling to communicate. 

“I’m afraid the notes I received appear to be incomplete. There are details from initial consults, but the follow-ups appear to be missing.”

“Lady,” Kiku said, “Nothing’s missing. That’s just how it goes. My sister gets panic attacks—sure, sure, make a note if that’s not down there. We just see whoever will do a day visit to Bijushima. Shrinks, quacks...I don’t remember them all. Usually they’re here for some other appointment at the school or the rest home. We don’t typically do the follow-up. Too stressful.”

“Well, you’re in luck.” Megumi’s eyes smiled. “I love visiting Bijushima. The walking tour is such a treat. I have a family property here and a number of local clients, with, as you say, some longer-term work on the cards. I would be happy to see you for as long as you are happy to see me.”

“Are we being charged to listen to your life story?”

“Ah, no. Not at all. I’m happy to begin. I just…Miu,” Megumi said, gently. “I’m wondering whether you would be comfortable with your sister waiting outside. It’s not at all a requirement, it’s just that some—”

“Nn,” Miu nodded.

“Okay,” Megumi answered.

Kiku shifted  in her chair. Miu could feel her sister’s stare—the protest in it—but she didn’t look back. Kiku opened her mouth and closed it again. 

“Fine.” Kiku stood. “I need to see my husband anyway.”

“He works here?” Megumi asked.

Miu winced. Her sister huffed. “He’s in the rest home. A bit young for it, but, you know. Brain like a scrambled egg, body like a fried egg. Too much work for me.” She nodded to Miu. “See you in an hour.”

And then they were alone. Megumi pulled a water bottle from under the desk and sipped on it like a marathon runner. She muttered ‘okay’ to herself before turning back to Miu. “Okay,” she said again. ”Thank you for being here, Miu. You are rather a rare case. Almost thirty  years with no sign of change? And you don't leave the island?"

"Nn."

"Wow. That's...unique. Selective mutism is something we typically find in children. Some people experience this as a symptom of post-traumatic stress. Say, for example, kids that have escaped conflict situations. Sometimes it happens, for a little while after a separation or a move. Some people return to speaking as before. Some don’t. 

“I see confirmation from an audiologist that your hearing isn’t an issue. There was some difficulty with ENT exams, it seems, but no reason to suspect any physical deformity of the vocal cords. And just now you spoke with me and your sister: ‘Nn’ in the affirmative, and ‘Tsu’ in the negative. Is that right?”

Miu looked down at her hands. The mimicry was embarrassing. 

“What I’m going to do anyhow, as a backup, is put down these two cards: green on the left and red on the right. At any time, you can tap green to say ‘okay,’ or red for ‘stop.’ If you ever don’t want to continue, we don’t have to. If you ever want a break, we can take one. Miu, it's important for you to know that I’m not here to make you talk if you don’t want to.”

Miu looked up at this. Megumi appeared to genuinely mean it.

“You are not a child. I am here to help you achieve whatever you wish to achieve. That may take time to figure out. I don’t expect you to know what that is today.”

Megumi reached down for her bag again and pulled out a plastic box. She spilled some cards over the table. They were thick as biscuits and illustrated in the style of a picture book. “I’m afraid some of these therapeutic methods may seem a little…childish. I still enjoy them, and I hope you will too. I use a lot of aids like these picture cards. Kids sometimes find them helpful. Some don’t, but most do.”

Megumi began shuffling a pile of cards face down. “First, a bit of a game, like Memory. Just to practise. The goal is to match the animals to the sounds they make. You flip over two to see if they match. If you match, you play again; if you don’t, then I take a turn. And so on. Does that sound okay?”

Simple. Her sister used to play something similar with Kyou when she was in kindergarten. 

“Nn.” Miu said, tapping the green ‘okay’ card.

In the end, they tied. Miu won Sheep (mee mee), Crow (kaa kaa); and Frog (kero kero). Megumi had Cat (nyaa nyaa), Dog (wan wan) and Pig (buu buu). Megumi took the game quite seriously but evidently had a terrible memory. Miu started to relax. She won the next few rounds, one with a clean sweep. Megumi then paused to make them both tea. She spoke about a little boy who often beat her at Memory, whom she was certain rigged the game when he shuffled. Miu smiled; Kyou had done that as a child too. Naughty little sneak. The minute hand moved quickly towards the end of the hour.

The next game was slightly different. Another set of cards came out. They had images of animals, objects, or describing words. Miu’s task was to combine stacks of three to tell a story, which Megumi would try to guess. Someday, if Miu so desired, they would reverse the speaking roles. 

Miu took a moment to shuffle and organise her selections. She pushed the three piles face down to Megumi, pausing before the last. The practitioner smiled as she spread them out.

“Hmm. Uh huh. Okay. So we have: The Duck...in the Pond...is Safe. Yes?”

Miu tapped ‘okay’.

“Yes. Then, let’s see...The Tree on the Mountain is Strong.”

Miu tapped ‘okay’.

“Two for two! all right, then, last one is...The Man...in the Boat is…” Megumi’s face fell. “Is Dangerous?”

Miu knitted her fingers together in her lap. Her knuckles were white. Her veins looked as though they wanted to escape her skin. She wanted to escape her skin so—

“The Man on the Boat is Dangerous?” Megumi repeated quietly.

Miu lifted her trembling right hand towards the red Stop.

“Okay. Okay, Miu. Miu, that’s fine. That’s really good for today.” Megumi gathered the cards, sweeping away the stories. “You’ve done great work. Really good.” She reached out as if to pat Miu’s hand, but Miu retracted it. Like the cat on the card might pull back its paw. Like an obstinate child or a stranger to kindness might flinch.

Miu’s sister was in the waiting room, muttering over her papers about terrible governance and red tape. At Megumi’s request, they booked a future appointment. If it didn’t feel right closer to the date, that was okay. Everything was all right. Everything was okay. 

Miu felt dizzy. The short drive home was silent until Kiku’s phone rang. She fumbled with the device, nearly took out a pedestrian, and answered the call on speaker.

“Hello? Kiku here.”

"How was it today?" asked Miu’s daughter’s voice.

"The specialist? Ya, good. Good, I think. She kicked me out. Patient confidentiality. I had to go see your uncle."

"Oh. He’s...not good?"

"Na, not good. I heard those busybody nurses talking outside. They think no one can hear. Talking about waste of resources. Talking about quality of life."

Kyou grunted. "They don't know. Don't listen to them."

“Never become a nurse.”

“Not a request I’ve had,” Kyou said. “Don’t think it’s my style.”

“Eh? Well, anyhow, the doctors don't talk like that."

"No. And who knows what kind of dreams he might be having? What kind of good wishes he might be sending out? Doctors won't know that either."

"You're a smartass," Kiku said. "You should come home."

Miu looked out the window at the gulls hovering around the fishing boats. The sea was merry under a flat blue sky. Her daughter would enjoy a day such as this.

"Hard to take the time. I just wanted to see whether there was any progress."

"With talking?"

"With information."

Miu’s sister made a kind of exasperated gagging sound. “Give up on that one."

"I can't!”

“Calm down.”

“I can’t. Do you know what it's like being unregistered? I have no identity. I can't get an apartment, can't get a bank account or a passport. I’m no one. In Tokyo they live under bridges, you know? They queue up the full length of the park by the Metropolitan Art Museum for—I don’t know, some nasty soup or something."

Kiku huffed. "You living like a bridge troll now?"

"No, but—"

"Got a job? Pays well?"

"Yes. Yes. But I'm reliant on people. They have to bend the rules for me. I can’t do it forever. And my job is...it would be difficult—very difficult—to change jobs. I can’t keep doing this. I can't see a way out - "

"Calm down.”

"Ba-chan, I'm not joking. The bridge life isn't that far off. I need to know who my father—"

“Calm down! I’m on speaker. Your mother is listening."

Silence, possibly with some quiet cursing in the background. Miu closed her eyes and swallowed. A blossoming Sadness grew over the fear that had been so present before. In Miu’s imagination, the Sadness had large, purple petals that unfurled and sagged. It was familiar. Long ago it had established a network of blind roots over her heart, lungs, stomach, and liver. It took up space, sometimes more, sometimes less. It had grown from a seed she had swallowed all that time ago. It was the cost of a promise.

“You are actually the worst,” Kyou hissed. Then louder, in sheepish, sweet tones: “Hi Ma. Hope you’re okay. Sorry about that.”

“If you were here,” her aunt responded haughtily, “You would know who was listening.”

“I’m sorry. Work is just—”

“I thought you were quitting. Move home. Help out.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Sounds like you can’t live there either.”

“I know,” Kyou’s voice said quietly. Then the line dropped out.

The car pulled in beside the inn. Kiku unclipped her seatbelt.

“Your daughter,” she tutted, “is very dramatic. All she needs is a husband, eh? So simple. Get married, join his family register. Get a passport. Go to Paris. I don’t care.”

“Nn.” Miu nodded feebly.

“No one needs to know,” her sister said. “Forget about it.”

Later that afternoon, after a spell of watching shafts of sunlight on the ceiling and feeling awful for her daughter, Miu found herself at her vanity table. The table was an antique piece of carved elm that had once been a writing desk. Its finest features were its many compartments intended for ink and brushes, that made perfect nooks for jewellery and cosmetics. 

In the haze of worry preceding their trip to the specialist, she had neglected to moisturise. She looked at her face in a small mirror, noting the number of silver threads at her temple, and considered Megumi’s proposal. There might be something that Miu herself wanted from their meetings and she could decide what that something was. Not her sister. Not her daughter. Not a doctor. Her.

She replaced the bottle of moisturiser on its rightful shelf, allowing herself a small smile at the memory of being referred to as Kiku’s daughter. Even if she was older by the calendar and older still in her heart, she still looked young. 

She felt along the underside of the desk for the hidden catch. A wood panel popped down, and out from behind it slid a heavy book. She laid it on the table and smoothed its pages like the cheek of a beloved. On the first page was written:

If I could give you one word, it would be love. 

I would paint it on every surface. The paper screens in every room in our house would have an inky pattern of it, repeated like a mantra. I would blacken the floorboards, my fingernails, my cheeks with love. Everywhere you looked, my darling, and everywhere you didn't, would whisper, hum, and sing with the word. That way you would never be in doubt.

I can't give you that. But I can give you a story. 

If one day you find this, and them, I hope you will understand. 

There were a hundred or more pages covered in her script. She had been writing in the book on and off for almost thirty years. She was finally nearing the end of the book. Her goal, she decided, would be to one day share this with Megumi, the Speech Language Therapist. Perhaps gradually. Perhaps she might understand. 

For now, Miu would continue the piece she had left waiting:

There once was a fisherman whose mind lived in two hemispheres. The northern was a city of white gold; the southern was a black, twisting palace below the sea. If either were to fall, the other would follow. To keep his mind from collapsing into chaos, he had to maintain a perfect, terrible balance. 

But men are no good at balance. 

One night, alone but for the moon, the fisherman set out for the sea beyond the headland. He cast his line deep into the black water and waited. Soon, as if by magic, came a mighty tug. The fisherman flew forward, elbows locked. His arms were nearly wrenched off completely, but he was stubborn. He struggled backwards and yanked. The boat rocked wildly. His feet scrambled for purchase on the wet wood and his hat fell into the waves. 

Just below the water’s surface he could see a glimmer. He pulled harder on his line, emboldened. The glimmer became a light and the light became a brilliant, golden glow. The battle to bring it to the surface was furious. The fisherman puffed out his cheeks and gritted his teeth. His face was awash with seawater and sweat. Finally, with one last bone-cracking, tendon-snapping heave, a bright fish erupted from the water and fell to the deck. It writhed a while, then stilled. As the glow dimmed, the fisherman saw that was not a fish at all. It was a baby. 

It was You.