This week’s Translation Tuesday presents a coming-of-age science fiction drama from an emerging voice in Japanese literature. Translator and Asymptote contributor Toshiya Kamei introduces this week’s feature: “Set in the near future, Satomi Hara’s ‘Eternal Children’ depicts the subtle, subdued interaction between two adolescents on the eve of their graduation. Trapped within the confines of the dormitory, the ungendered narrator quietly examines their own existence while gazing at their classmate, who dances outside in a carefree manner. Each word, each glance, and each motion become replete with significance. The dormitory setting and somewhat unreliable narration carry echoes of other works in the genre such as Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go. The world created merely with 4,000 Japanese characters lingers in the reader’s mind long after this brief tale concludes.”
One hour after lights-out, I still tossed in bed. Usually, I’d drift into sleep as soon as I pulled my comforter over my head. Something stirred outside the window, and I strained my ears. It wasn’t B7. They snored and gritted their teeth. It wasn’t D25 either. D25 was a sound sleeper and almost always slept through till morning.
Out of habit, I hesitated to peek outside. If somebody found out I was still awake, I’d get into serious trouble. But I decided to peek outside anyway. By this time tomorrow, I would no longer be a student here. Nobody could punish me then. Nothing mattered anymore. I pulled the thick beige curtain open slightly.
It was you, A1. You danced around the pond in the middle of the yard.
You moved your long, sinewy limbs while gliding through the darkness with carefree abandon.
Your graceful movements exuded childlike innocence, and yet, at the same time, reminded me of a fragile work of art.
I held my breath and watched you dance the night away.
***
You were a gifted student. You had maintained excellent grades ever since you entered school. Our class and seating orders were determined by our GPAs. In most cases, our standing in class fluctuated year to year.
Yet, as far as I remembered, you had always been A1.
While you remained top of our class, my grades went up and down. I was once E5, and then G20. I worked hard to become C32, but I fell to J12 at one time.
After you finished your dance, you wiped the sweat off your brows with the towel around your neck. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. If I waited a bit longer, maybe you would dance again. I didn’t feel like going to bed now.
But you showed no signs of dancing again. You crossed the yard and stepped toward me. You came to a halt and stood before my window.
I opened the window. “Sorry to bother you,” I said.
“I’m the one bothering you,” you said. “It’s late, but I want to talk to somebody.”
It surprised me that you wanted to talk to somebody and, moreover, came to me. Of course, I was the only one up at this hour. Even so, I felt proud when you chose me.
“I loved how you danced.”
“It’s my last night here,” you said with a smile. “So I wanted to let myself go for a change.”
I couldn’t agree more. My sympathy with you intensified. I thought students like you felt satisfied with accomplishments and the missions awaiting you after graduation. But I was off.
“I’ll be free tomorrow.” You looked radiant.
“We can wear whatever we want after we graduate,” I chimed in. I could name so many things I wanted to do.
“We can put on makeup.”
“We can snack all we want.”
“Nobody will scold us if we stay up late.”
We looked at each other and chuckled.
“Oh, there’s one thing I’m going to miss,” you said, looking forlorn. “I’ll miss eating that thing.”
“What is it?”
“You know, the stew. It’s got meat and veggies. A topping for rice.”
One certain dish flashed into my mind. It was nothing special for me. Just one of the dishes served at the school cafeteria. I had no idea you liked it.
“Actually, I’ll be eating that once in a while even after graduation,” I said. You looked at me while blinking.
“Are you staying for one more year?” you asked, bemused.
“No, nothing like that,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll be a teacher starting from tomorrow.”
When I said “teacher” aloud, my cheeks flushed red.
“Oh, that’s what you mean.” You smiled, baring your teeth. “So you’ll be here for the rest of your life?”
“It looks that way.”
You used your index fingers and thumbs and made a frame. You placed me inside your frame and looked at me through it.
“Is that so? Maybe it’s not bad,” you said. “You can still eat the stew. I envy you.”
“How about you? What are you going to do, A1?” I asked. I called you “A1” for the first time. Afterward, I felt bad. You never addressed me that way. But I didn’t need to fret. You seemed to be used to being called “A1.” It didn’t faze you.
“I’ll help make the world system,” you answered. “I’ll observe and calculate constantly to fix the system and protect it.”
It would suit you well. After all, you were “A1.”
“Sounds impressive,” I said.
You remained silent.
“You’re top of our class,” I continued. “It gives me and others great comfort to know that someone like you will be protecting our system.”
You said nothing. You leaned against the window, twirled a twig between your fingers, and stared at its tip.
“Have you ever thought about a different world?” you asked after a long pause.
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“For instance, one with family as a social institution.”
My mind flashed back to an old picture reproduced in our history book. It showed two grown-ups, two children, and a baby. Five serious-looking people stared toward the camera. The “mother” sat with the baby in her arms, and the “father” stood by her with her hand on her shoulder.
In our history class, we learned that the world used to consist of family as a social institution. Even so, it was like a relic of the distant past.
“Do you envy that kind of world?” I asked.
“Beats me,” you mumbled. “There’s something that bugs me, though. Even though the old system no longer exists, our bodies haven’t changed much.”
I looked down at myself. The tips of my bare toes on the floor. My smaller than average hand resting on the windowsill. Two small mounds on my breasts. They all held certain significance in the past.
Your body wasn’t angular or round. I had no idea if your reproductive organs were different from mine. Bringing up such a matter was a taboo. It never occurred to me to ask you. It didn’t matter what you had down there. Our reproductive organs were out of use. “Reproductive” was a misnomer because we no longer reproduced in an old-fashioned way.
“Don’t worry,” I said. You looked deep in thought. “It’s not a waste of time to think it over. Having doubts is natural. It’ll help you construct a better system.”
“You never question what you do?” you asked, wearing a slight smile.
“No. Not really.” I shook my head. “I think it’s easy to live and die this way. Even if something bad happens to me, humanity continues.”
Something warm stirred inside my lower belly as I thought of my classmates who would graduate the following day, those in lower grades who stayed behind, and the numerous kids at other schools.
There was something else I looked forward to after graduation. Once in a while a letter would arrive to remind me that it was time to deposit my somatic cells. In some laboratory, my cells would be cared for and fed to form another human being. Eventually, they would attend school and grow into components forming the system, like we all did. Through this perpetual cycle of reproduction, humanity would continue forever.
“Eternity is promised to us,” I said with a smile. “So why don’t I live carefree? I’ve got nothing to worry about.” As I stared at you, my feelings for collective humanity forming the world filled me.
“You’re something. You know that?” you mumbled, looking down. “Sounds like teaching is your calling.” You yawned. An almost serene look came over your face. “Nice talking to you. Excuse me, but I feel like going to bed.”
“Good night. Sleep tight,” I said as a joyous sensation surged through my chest. I too yawned. We learned in school that yawning could be contagious.
“Good night,” you said.
“Good night,” I parroted.
You turned your back toward me. Your shoulder blades beneath the white shirt protruded like an angel’s wings. You crossed the yard slowly and disappeared into the building. I kept on staring until you were out of sight.
I looked up. The full moon shone down from the clear sky.
Translated from the Japanese by Toshiya Kamei
Satomi Hara is a Japanese writer from Tokyo. In 2014, she won an honorable mention in the Mita Bungaku Prize for New Writers. In 2016, she received the Noboru Tsujihara Award in the Bungaku Kingyo Prize for New Writers. She authored the short story collection Sato-kun, daisuki (2018).
Toshiya Kamei holds an MFA in literary translation from the University of Arkansas. His translations have appeared in venues such as Clarkesworld, The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, and Strange Horizons.
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