Message-ID: <17971eli$9812120438@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: r_rivers@cryogen.com (Rivers) Subject: {Rivers} Summer Story: Part 2 (M/f Sex, Asians, Seasonal Affective Disorder) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Authentication-Warning: philabs-gw.philabs.research.philips.com: smap set sender to using -f Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: This story contains graphic descriptions of sex. It is intended for adults only. This is more or less a sequel to another story I wrote: Her Name Was Yuki. There is not much overlap between the two, and reading of the previous story should not be necessary for the appreciation of this one. As a warning, some readers, perhaps many, may find the ratio of sex to plot unfavorable. The story will be posted as written with the intention of making each part, while a piece of a larger whole, interesting enough to stand on its own. As always, the author welcomes any constructive criticism. Summer Story By Richard Rivers Part 2 Kozue looked at herself in the hall mirror, pausing to straighten her skirt and push a loose strand of hair back into place. In the kitchen, she opened the refrigerator to be sure the wine was cooling. A spring thunderstorm was rumbling in the distance making the air feel thick and humid. "Mom, you just did that, three minutes ago," her daughter complained from the kitchen table where she was doodling over her homework, unable to contain her annoyance watching her mother's nervous comings and goings. "Can't you do that someplace else," Kozue snapped, watching as the girl sullenly scooped up her things and headed to her room. Immediately she felt guilty for her outburst but said nothing as she listened to the soft footsteps of her daughter in the hall. She was surprised at how nervous she had become waiting for Carla to arrive. She told herself that it was because she wasn't sure Carla would behave herself at the symphony concert they planned to attend - she could be loud and abrasive in public at times, embarrassing to be around - but there was more to it; Kozue realized she wanted things to be just right, for Carla to enjoy the concert as much as she would. The symphony was her private sanctuary, her refuge from the problems that weighed her down the rest of the week. For her it was a large step, inviting Carla to share such an important part of her life. They had known each other for almost a month, and this was their first evening together, a departure from the regular schedule of lunch dates they had maintained since becoming acquainted. Kozue remembered the day they met with vivid clarity. She had attended the lecture as a means to possibly meet some new people. Since the divorce, her social life had dwindled to almost nothing and she needed something to take her mind off the terrible secret she was burdened with. The memory of it was walled up within her, like an oyster covering the painful thing with layer upon layer, and it was growing heavier by the day. Confronted by the crowd of unfamiliar people, she had panicked, feeling as if she was suddenly standing among them exposed, naked, the truth about her plainly visible. She had lost her nerve completely, unable to take the few steps that would carry her to the nearest knot of people, remaining instead alone at the edge of the group, trying to blink back the rising tears of frustration. When Carla touched her arm, Kozue was startled, finding herself locked in the intense gaze of her blue eyes. Her slender, wiry frame and short blonde hair made her look tough, even a little intimidating, but her expression was friendly and Kozue was quickly relieved to have someone to talk to. Although they had certain superficial things in common which eased the two together into friendship, their personalities could not have been more opposite. Carla moved through life with an open ease that Kozue could only envy. Beside Carla, Kozue felt slow and plodding, the way she measured every action and considered each word carefully. Carla's life was overflowing; she was full of stories about her exploits and loved going into graphic detail about her experiences. Kozue soon discovered that Carla's life seemed to revolve around men and sex. At first she found herself squirming to hear to such personal and intimate details, however once she became more comfortable around Carla she found herself becoming interested in what she had to say. Kozue found the things Carla told her mildly titillating and she often found herself hanging on her every word. The vicarious pleasure she derived through Carla had its bittersweet edge, reminding Kozue of how empty her own life seemed in comparison. Carla surprised her by showing up on time. She was even dressed up, wearing a sleek looking pair of black pants and matching top. Seeing Kozue in her familiar dark skirt and white blouse Carla remarked: "People are going to think we're a couple of dykes, the way we dress." Kozue blushed, to Carla's secret delight. She loved needling Kozue with sexual talk. Early on in their friendship Carla became aware that although Kozue might blush, she actually enjoyed the racy little asides and the dirty talk. Carla let herself down into one of the Kitchen chairs as Kozue opened the wine. "I went out with Jerry again," she said to her back. "Really?" Kozue half turned around with the corkscrew halfway in. "I thought you said you were through with him Carla," she said. "That was last week," Carla shrugged. "He keeps calling and calling; it wears me down. I finally gave in and went out with him again. We had a real nice date: dinner, a movie, the works. I felt like I was back in high school again, but I can't help feeling that there was something phony about the whole thing." Kozue was pouring wine into the glasses. "What do you mean?" she asked, bringing the glasses to the table and sitting opposite Carla. "Well, it just seems so phony, you know, going through the whole traditional date thing. I mean there's usually that uncomfortable moment after a date like that, when you're deciding if you should DO IT or not. In some ways, it's like the whole dinner and movie thing is leading up to that moment: that's what makes all that other stuff fun. But Jerry and I fucked the first day we met. There just isn't any of that romantic tension left. Hell, it was never there to begin with. I didn't even remember his name the first time we fucked: I had to sneak a peek at his wallet for god's sake." Kozue was horrified, imagining her daughter Yuki had probably crept down the hallway to listen in on them. She cleared her throat. "Carla, my daughter..." Carla cringed. "Jeez, I'm sorry." She gulped her wine. "Well, what I mean is that the whole relationship seems kind of phony. I mean we're good...you know..." she stuck her right forefinger into the circled fingers of her left and drew it out "but everything else between us fills me with ennui. I don't dislike the guy; I just don't have much in common with him. I'm looking for someone who has something else. I'm not even sure what it is. But I know I'm not happy the way things are." "Then why do you keep seeing him?" Kozue asked. "Good question," Carla shrugged. "We're comfortable together. Being with him is kind of warm and cozy, like and old shoe, but when we're together I can't help but feel I'm missing out on something. Know what I mean?" "Your life is so much more complicated than mine," Kozue sighed. "Maybe you should be happy with what is right in front of you." She got up and poured more wine. Carla shrugged again and let it drop. She had never been to a symphony concert before and she had a lot of questions to ask Kozue about what to expect. Kozue was only too happy to oblige her, and she tried to impress on Carla how much she enjoyed going to concerts. Her husband had disliked music, so she had almost always gone alone; attending a concert with a friend was a special occasion. At last, she looked at her watch. "Carla, we should be going soon," she said, "but first I think you should meet my daughter." Kozue left the kitchen and returned a moment later pushing a shy teenager in front of her. Carla was immediately struck by the resemblance between mother and daughter. Yuki was a taller, more angular version of the mother. Her youthful, athletic body showed more sinew and bone, but the two shared the same round face with its impassive expression, the same delicate feminine features. Standing before them Carla felt large and bulky. She knew her own body was slender, taut, and much appreciated by men, but in front of these two, she suddenly felt self-conscious. "Yuki, I would like you to meet my friend Carla. Carla this is my daughter Yuki." Kozue made the introductions. "Pleased to meet you." Carla extended a hand, trying to mask her feelings with a blustery response. Still, she felt an electrical shiver pass up her arm as her fingers curled around the girl's soft hand. "How do you do," Yuki said softly. After Kozue excused herself and led her daughter away Carla poured another glass of wine and wandered into the living room. She wanted to get enough of a buzz on to be able to make it through the concert in a mellow stupor. Waiting for Kozue to reappear, she sauntered around picking up knickknacks from the bookcase and replacing them. She came across a photograph of Kozue, her daughter and a man, presumably the ex husband. They were standing outdoors, leaning on a wooden railing and smiling at the camera, in the background was a snow-capped mountain. Carla looked about her. There was no other sign of a man in Kozue's life, certainly no photographs or any other articles that spoke of a male presence. Kozue never talked about herself, her personal life. Everything Carla knew about her she had deciphered from scraps of information Kozue had let slip in the course of their casual conversations. Her reticence, the way she held herself so distant could be maddening at times. Carla knew something was up with her, some inner turmoil was eating away at her, but in spite of her best efforts Kozue remained an enigma. She moved further along the bookcase to where Kozue kept her music. Below a row of CDs was a substantial collection of old vinyl records. Carla was impressed: it must have cost a fortune to ship them all the way from Japan. She pulled one out at random and looked at the picture on the cover before pushing it back into place. Pulling the next LP out, Carla realized it was of the same music, performed by a different musician. Both were cello concertos. She absently pulled out another record and discovered a collection of cello sonatas. The next two LPs she selected at random were also of cello music. Even with her limited knowledge of classical music, Carla knew there was something odd about such a collection. With a purpose in mind she pulled out a CD from the middle of the shelf. This one had to belong to the daughter: the picture was of some pop group with indecipherable Japanese lettering scrawled across the top. The next two disks however proved to be more cello music. Carla didn't have time to ponder the meaning of what she had just discovered; Kozue emerged from the hallway, apologizing for making her wait while she said goodnight to her daughter. In the car, Carla turned to Kozue. "Your daughter is so adorable," she said. "How old is she?" "Sixteen," Kozue answered. "Ah, sweet sixteen," Carla sighed. "Does she have a boyfriend?" she asked. Kozue stiffened. "Oh, I don't know, maybe." Trying to sound casual and unconcerned, she was grateful to be in the darkened car where Carla couldn't see her directly. "Well, you had better watch out Koz," she said. "That's a ripe age." Kozue was prepared to veer the conversation onto a different course, but to her great relief, Carla fell silent, concentrating on the traffic, or something else on her mind. With the lights still up in the concert hall the musicians were sauntering on stage in a casual, disorganized manner while Carla kept up a running string of comments about them into Kozue's ear. As it turned out, she had dated one of the trumpet players briefly and knew a few of the players by name. "Now that guy is handsome," Carla said as a cellist walk to his seat carrying his instrument in one hand. "What do you think?" She gave Kozue a nudge. "Who's that?" Kozue said, pretending to be reading her program. Carla's running commentary was embarrassing her. What were the people around them thinking - two grown women giggling over boys like a couple of teenagers...? "That one, the guy just sitting down, the cello-ist," Carla said, exasperated by Kozue's show of indifference. "You say cellist Carla, not cello-ist," Kozue corrected her, still peering into her program book. Carla groaned. "WHATEVER Koz. But don't you think he's good looking?" "Oh, I don't know..." Kozue mumbled, embarrassed. The player Carla pointed out had already caught her attention, weeks ago at the very first concert she attended. Kozue had never admitted it to anyone, but her first lover had played the cello. It had been a brief, secret encounter when she was very young and from that time on she had always had a weakness for the instrument and especially any handsome man who played it. Throughout her marriage it had been her little secret; as far as she knew no one ever suspected why her tastes tended towards the one instrument. Certainly not her husband: he disliked music and never bothered to look through her record collection. The cello had a soulful sound, Kozue thought, plaintive, like the human voice, and listening to cello music always moved her. The musician who caught her eye had a superficial resemblance to the lover she remember from long ago, enough to set in motion the familiar, bittersweet pangs of memory. Carla kept up a string of chatter until the lights went down but Kozue had stopped hearing her. She was back in Tokyo, living with her parents, a shy high-school student, full of romantic ideas about love. Like a fever, the unnamable yearning wracked her. Lying awake long into the night, she felt her heartbeat pushing the heated blood into the deepest recesses of her body. Reaching her brain, she became giddy with it, drunk on it. The evening was hot. Even though the sun had gone down, she could feel the stored heat rising from the dusty pavement. A small bead of sweat tickled her neck. This was an unfamiliar part of Tokyo, an area where foot traffic along the streets was sparse. There seemed to be a lot of banks or office buildings around with a few small shops and restaurants sandwiched in the leftover spaces: a real contrast between rich and poor, she thought. The subway stop was a few blocks back. She couldn't recall the name of the station, or even the line she had come from. After quarreling with her mother, she had run out of the house, blind with anger. For hours, she had ridden the trains, joining the crush of evening commuters, getting off her train at random and boarding another, not caring where it was headed. When her anger finally cooled, leaving behind a smoldering defiance, she abandoned the subway. Still upset, and too proud to go home, she wasn't sure what to do next. She wandered the strange neighborhood as the light of evening faded, looking into the windows of small shops, smelling the aromas wafting out of the little restaurants tucked into the alleys off the main street. A group of drunken salarymen came lurching out of a bar, making her jump. They shouted something after her and broke into laughter. She began to feel alone and a little afraid, but she was resolved not to go home and face her mother. She walked for a while longer, turning off the main thoroughfare and winding her way among the twisted little streets that branched off it. She left the house with only the clothes she was wearing and her purse containing a few yen. Stopping to look at her watch in the light of a small shop window, she was surprised to see that it was after nine. She searched her purse for some gum, candy, anything to eat, suddenly aware of how hungry she had become. Inside, she found only her little address book: perhaps one of her friends would take her in for the night. She continued up the small street, looking for a pay phone, but there didn't seem to be any around. Her feet began to hurt and she wondered how much farther she would have to walk to find a phone and then the subway again. Ahead, in the middle of the next block, she noticed a restaurant, a small place that looked like it might only have a few tables, but they had to have a phone she could use. The restaurant was cozy: a dimly lit, wood paneled place. There was bar along one wall and a few tables along the other. Although the place was small, the atmosphere was inviting. At the tables, a few couples sat leaning close together in private conversations. One man, a foreigner, was sitting by himself at the bar with a large bottle of sake in front of him. Kozue asked about the telephone and was directed to the back. Poking her head through the hanging cloths that separated the back of the restaurant from the seating area, she found the phone in use. A man was talking on the phone while a woman stood beside him, listening. Kozue waited for a moment, undecided as to what to do, before the woman gave her an acid look that told her she had best leave them alone. Standing in the middle of the restaurant, she was unsure whether she should leave or wait, until the man behind the bar smiled and told her she could wait there. Grateful for the chance to get off her tired feet, she settled onto one of the chairs. The smell of food made her empty stomach protest and she glanced furtively at the meals of the people sitting near her. She knew she couldn't afford to get anything to eat here and she tried not to think about how hungry she was. All the money she had in her purse would barely cover train fare. The lone person at the counter wasn't eating Kozue noticed, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye. A foreigner, he was obviously confused by the menu, peering at it and shaking his head. He asked for some soup, in English, but the man behind the counter didn't understand. Kozue felt guilty for listening in, especially since he seemed to be having trouble. Even though she spoke English very well for her grade level - both her parents had lived abroad - it still surprised her to discover she could understand much of what he was saying. She paid closer attention as he again tried to order something without making himself understood. He was older, but as with all foreigners it was hard to tell his age exactly. Kozue decided he must be around thirty or so, but that was just a guess. Like all foreigners, he was tall. His hair was unusually long for a man; it seemed messy to Kozue, and he had a curly beard that added to his unkempt appearance. She found herself looking at him more openly, deciding he was handsome in an exotic kind of way, like the star of one of the American movies she had seen. He was speaking again, still trying to order, and Kozue surprised herself by getting up and moving down the bar to a chair next to him. She told him, in English, that she could help him order if he liked. Perhaps it was her rebellious mood or the rush of adrenaline from the fight with her mother, but she felt disconnected, as if she was watching someone else take control of her body. Normally she was shy and reserved, even around her peers, and approaching a stranger was something she would never dream of. But at that moment it seemed the most natural, easy thing to do. Surprised at first, the man was grateful for her help. He told her what he wanted and she ordered it for him. Then he asked her something, maybe if she was waiting for someone, but her English wasn't quite advanced enough to understand what he was saying. She waited beside him while his food was being prepared, asking all of the questions she had been taught to ask of foreigners in school: what is your name, where are you from, is this your first trip to Japan? His told her his name, and the name of the city came from, which she had never heard of. This was his first trip to Japan; he had only arrived yesterday. When his food was ready, he immediately saw how hungrily Kozue looked at it and asked if she would like to join him. Kozue was too embarrassed to say yes, but it was obvious that she was starving. He pushed his bowl of soup towards her and asked her to order another for him, plus whatever she wanted; it would be his payment for her help, he said. Finally her hunger overpowered her sense of politeness and she ordered the same thing he was having. As they ate together, Kozue enjoyed telling him the names of all the different foods. He made her laugh with his awkward attempts at pronouncing the words she taught him and the faces he made when he found out what some of the dishes consisted of were funny too. Kozue was concentrating so hard on her English that she didn't notice when the couple using the phone emerged from the back of the restaurant and left. Talking with the foreigner gave her a strange rush of excitement. Maybe speaking in English had something to do with it: she felt sophisticated and important, not like a high-school girl anymore. The man was so much more considerate and mature than the boys she knew at school. He never interrupted her when she was talking, and he seemed genuinely interested in what she was saying. Even when he was being silly or telling a joke there was a sense of calm about him, a depth that was missing from all the boys her own age. He told her about himself. She had a hard time keeping up with his English but she didn't want to stop him for every other word. The way he looked at her, with eyes that seemed to penetrate right down into her heart and set her body trembling, made Kozue focus all of her attention on him, the sound of his voice. He told her was a musician, and that he was in Japan to play some concerts. Tokyo was such a big city; he found it overwhelming, and he was having a lot of problems with the language. After one day, he was already feeling homesick. She told him her own story as best she could: about the fight with her mother, and how she had left the house, traveling through the city aimlessly with nowhere to go. He looked at his watch with concern. It was after ten already; was she going to be able to get home all right? He offered to pay for a taxi but she refused, saying it would cost too much. While they were talking, the waiter informed them that the restaurant had closed. He paid the bill and they found themselves standing out on the small street. Kozue was surprised to see how dark it had become as they stood together for a moment without saying anything to each other. She could see that he was concerned, not wanting to leave her alone in the city at night. Kozue didn't want to leave either. She wanted to find another restaurant or someplace where they could go and spend the rest of the night talking. Standing close to him, so close she could feel the warmth of his body and hear his breathing, made her tingle all over. She had forgotten all about her mother, going to her friend's house, everything else. The only thing that mattered was the man beside her and the strange trembling in her body. She wanted to touch him to make it stop, or to make it more intense, she wasn't sure: one way or the other the urge was almost too great to resist. He told her his hotel was not far and suggested she accompany him there so he could see about arranging a ride home for her. They set off, climbing a long shallow sloping hill, winding their way through twisting alleys and side streets. The night air had grown cooler and a light breeze was gently blowing the hanging lanterns along the way, sending arcs of deep crimson light across their path. The scent of flowers was in the air, as if they were near a garden. The atmosphere was so calming that Kozue found it hard to imagine such tranquility in the heart of a great city. She was elated to have a few more minutes with the foreigner. The thought that they would soon be parting was suddenly oppressive. When the hotel came into view she began to grow desperate. She didn't want to go home, she couldn't; she wanted to stay with this man, whatever might happen. She knew it was crazy to even think those thoughts. And yet everything about this night had an unreal, crazy quality, unreal but also more real than anything that had ever happened to her before. She felt poised on the verge an unnamable, yawning abyss; traversing it would forever change her. On the other side was beckoning the answer to the yearning, the discontent that had invaded her waking thoughts, colored her feverish dreams. All she had to do was summon enough courage to reach out and pull herself across and she would be saved. As they came to the last block before reaching the hotel, Kozue's sense of desperation grew. If she didn't act soon he would be gone forever and the magic of this night would be lost. Steeling herself, she shyly placed her hand into his as they continued to walk up the gentle slope. In his room, they were both tense; Kozue could feel her legs trembling. He seemed not to know what to do either. He turned on the television and sat on the bed, motioning for Kozue to have a seat in the armchair. An American movie was on: something with a car chase in it followed by a long conversation between two men holding guns. Kozue felt trapped, unsure what to do next. She wanted to keep talking to him, to sit beside him, hold his hand again, but now he was so far away, and silent. The warm comfortable feeling of the restaurant and the walk to the hotel was gone. A sick, nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach had taken its place. Naive as she was, Kozue realized they were both in the grip of that same powerful, unnamable thing. Even though he was older, a man, so much stronger than she, the power of this thing affected him in the same way. He was nervous and afraid too. The revelation was liberating to Kozue. Suddenly she knew what she wanted and there seemed to be no reason to wait any longer. Leaving her chair, she went to the bed and sat beside him. With both hands she held onto his arm and squeezed tightly, letting her head fall against his shoulder. At first she felt his body grow tense, then he began stroking her hair and she felt the muscles in her grasp soften. He was kissing her, soft tender kisses that only intensified the strange fluttery sensation in her body. Touching him did nothing to quiet her trembling limbs: it made her want more and more of him. Something wild, yet tender and achingly sweet invaded her, overwhelmed her senses, her thoughts. She was losing herself. Only the points where her body touched his seemed alive, vibrating, humming with a pleasure more intense than anything she had imagined. When he touched her breasts, the broad warm palms of his hands covering them completely, she felt as if her breath had stopped. A pulse throbbed there and she didn't know anymore if it was his, or her own. She wanted those hands, those strong arms to encircle her, cover her entire body and make it move with that same rhythm. His arms slid under her and he lifted her so that he could gently undo her blouse. She helped him slide it off her shoulders, feeling the cool air of the room against her bare skin for the first time. The straps to her bra he pulled down over her shoulders before undoing the clasp, and when it fell away, her breasts felt as if they were swelling, tingling with warmth and coolness at the same time. Her first instinct was to cover herself, hide her nakedness from him. He lowered her back to the bed and began kissing her again, now moving down to her throat and over her collarbone. With a gentle insistence, he parted her arms and let his kisses fall on her breasts. Kozue closed her eyes. The soft warmth of his mouth set all of her nerves humming with an electrical intensity; her nipples had grown almost painfully tight. They were throbbing, and when he touched them, the feeling spread throughout her entire body. When his hands moved lower, between her legs, caressing the insides of her thighs, she felt a rush of fear. Suddenly she felt as if she was hurtling forward, out of control. The feeling was exhilarating, she wanted more of it, but she was afraid of what was going to happen next. She grasped his wrists and held tightly, telling him that she was afraid; she had never done this before. He seemed taken aback for a moment, and Kozue feared she had said the wrong thing, that he would stop, ask her to leave; she didn't know what to expect. Her voice was almost unrecognizable, the way she was trembling, but she told him she didn't want him to stop, only that he should be patient with her. After that, he went more slowly, as he took off the rest of her clothes and let his hands play over her entire body. Guiding her to roll over, he let his fingers drift softly up and down her spine before massaging her shoulders and back. Kozue felt embarrassed to be completely naked in front him. When she asked, he took off all of his clothes and she saw his body for the first time. The sight of him sent a strange mixture of fear and excitement into her blood. She felt how vulnerable she was, and in her moment of uncertainty the image of her parents, her mother frowning with disapproval, flashed before her eyes. He kissed her legs, just beside the knees, moving upward along the insides of her thighs, switching from one to the other. Kozue had never imagined being kissed 'there', and when he reached the spot, she wriggled away from him, holding his head back with the palm of he hand. Seeing the fear and confusion in her eyes, he told her that there was nothing wrong; she would enjoy it, and it would make things easier for both of them if she let him continue. She lay back, covering her eyes with her hands: she was embarrassed to see his face between her legs that way. When his tongue touched her, she felt it in every nerve of her body. It was the softest, most sweet feeling she had ever experienced, and as he continued, she found her body relaxing, opening to his touch. He spent such a long time, preparing her so patiently, that when he was ready, Kozue thought she was dying of pleasure. Her body was hungry for him; she longed to wrap herself around him and hold him as close to her as she could. He let her grasp him with her hands and she felt his hardness, hot and throbbing, velvety smooth in her hand. When he entered her, she felt a strange pressure, and then a moment of pain. He lay still on top of her, and she clung tightly to him, waiting for the next sensation to envelop her. He moved gently, and their lovemaking was tender. When they had finished, Kozue lay beside him, listening to his deep breathing, feeling the fast beat of her own heart. She felt a strange sadness, as if something incredibly happy had just occurred and she was only now realizing that it would never be the same again. She would leave the room a different person from the one who had arrived. One door of her life had been closed and locked behind her: her childhood. She had just barely crossed the threshold to the rest of her life. All of the mysteries, the sorrows, and the challenges lay ahead of her in the unknowable future. Kozue stayed the night with him, and the next time they made love her enjoyment was greater. In the morning she called her father at his office and made up a lie about how she had stayed with a friend. Hearing the unsuspecting concern in his voice made Kozue cry. A gulf had opened between them she realized, and it would only grow wider through the rest of their lives. She spent the day with her new lover, showing him around the city. He bought her a few small gifts, inconsequential things, but objects she still treasured and kept, filed away in a box somewhere in her house back in Japan. That night he brought her to his concert. He was a member of a great orchestra, playing at one of the finest concert halls in the country. She had been so embarrassed, sitting in the audience, wearing her simple gray school dress in the midst of all those people in their evening finery. But when he came onto the stage, she had seen him scanning the crowd for her, smiling when their eyes met. Kozue remembered the hush that came over the hall and the sounds when the orchestra began to play. The music began softly, like a faint sighing. It started and then stopped again, at first barely audible. She thought it sounded like the first stirrings of some sleeping giant, far under the earth, groaning as he reluctantly rose from his slumber. 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