Authors: Miyuki Miyabe
When Wataru explained that a cyclone had picked him up and deposited him in the Swamp of Grief, the watchman’s mouth gaped even wider. But it didn’t seem to be the story of the cyclone that was the source of his amazement.
“The Swamp of Grief, eh?” he said in a low growl, whiskers twitching. “Did you run into anyone by the lakeside there, boy?”
Wataru mentioned how the woman dressed in black had helped him. He had only made it halfway through his story when the watchman practically howled with astonishment. “A hut? You’re telling me he’s built her a hut? Who’d have thought Yacom had it in him!” The beastkin looked at Wataru. “Boy, welcome to Tearsheaven. The mayor would like to meet you, I’m sure.”
The watchman took one look at Wataru’s limp and offered him a piggyback ride, which Wataru gladly accepted. Upon entering the town, the reasons for its novelty became readily apparent. The buildings were flat. The roofs were perfectly level, with wide troughs running along their edges. In addition, they were all built extremely close together.
“Interesting construction you have here,” Wataru said from the watchman’s back.
“I suppose it would seem that way to someone who knew nothing of this place,” the watchman said, smiling. “These are built to catch every last drop of rain that falls. We filter it, and filter it again to make our tears.”
“Tears?”
“The purest water in the world. Used for the finest medicines and the most expensive perfumes.”
The mayor’s residence was in the very middle of a cluster of cube-like buildings. To get there, they had to actually open the doors to many of the surrounding houses and walk through them. Each time they went in a door, Wataru expected to be walking into someone’s living room.
“Certain houses are designated for public passage, on account of the town being built this way,” the watchman explained. That explained the lack of significant furniture in the houses they walked through. Still, when they reached the office of the mayor, it too was rather bare—hardly different from the public passage houses they had come through. The only furniture was a simple wooden desk and chair, and a small table.
“Greetings!” said a waterkin with a large red fin sticking out from the top of his head. “I am Mag, the mayor of Tearsheaven.”
As it was clear that the important posts in this town were taken not by ankha but by other species, Wataru felt secure in relating his encounter with the followers of the Old God at Triankha Hospital. He related everything up to his meeting with the woman in black in the swamp. But he did not mention the kind words he had given her, as she had requested.
“A surprising tale, indeed,” Mayor Mag said, knocking himself on the head with large webbed hands. “And you, a Highlander at your young age. Impressive, most impressive. But you must be worried for your friends.”
Continuing, he said, “Head west from here, and just over the border to Bog you will find the town of Sakawa. The waterkin there do more than transport goods, they also trade in information. Ask around, and you’ll be sure to find your missing friends.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll go there as soon as I can.”
“No,” the mayor said, “I think you’d best stay and mend your leg first. We have the best medicines and poultices here, you know. Medicine brewed using our tears is better than any you can buy in other parts.”
Wataru wondered if all mayors were like this: part politician, part salesman.
“Mayor,” said the watchman suddenly, “perhaps I should fetch Yacom’s wife?”
“Wataru here might be a fine Highlander,” said the major, “but he’s still a boy. I would not involve him in this affair.”
“It’s just, not a soul has gone to see that woman since we sent her out. If Wataru were to tell his story…”
“Sent her out?” Wataru asked. “Was she exiled from the village for some reason?” He remembered her saying that she used to be a resident of Tearsheaven.
The mayor hung his head sorrowfully a moment, then said, “Very well, Wataru, I’d like you to come with me. Don’t worry. It’s not far.”
The watchman went back to his post, and the mayor took Wataru by his hand. They passed through one house, and when they opened the next door, the mayor called out in a bright voice, “Morning, ladies, how does the day find you?”
They appeared to be in a hospital. Six simple beds were lined up in a bright, warm room, five of which were occupied. The occupants were all women of different races.
“Ah, Sara—here to see your mother?”
In the nearest bed lay an ankha woman. Her face was pale and she was horribly thin. Watching over her was a girl with dark eyes—young enough to be in kindergarten. The mayor gave the girl a hug. “Sara, you’ve grown into quite the beauty, haven’t you!” he said, rubbing her cheek. “I’d sure like to see you happier though. The sun is up. You should be outside, playing.”
The girl was very cute. Their eyes met, and Wataru smiled, but the girl’s eyes were cold.
“I’m sorry, Mag,” the woman in the bed said in a fragile voice. Her head never left the pillow. “I have gotten much better, but still…”
“Never you mind about that. The last thing you want to do is trouble yourself, Satami. The only medicine in this world better than one made from our tears is time itself.”
The mayor sat Sara on the bed and patted her on the head. “Well now,” the mayor continued with a smile, “I’m off to show our little guest here around. Listen to what the doctor says, and rest up well. Agreed?”
Wataru followed the mayor back to his offices. When he sat down he noticed that the mayor’s eyes were as dark as the little girl Sara’s had been.
“Now, Wataru,” the mayor began. “The woman you met on the shore of the lake in the Swamp of Grief is named Lili Yannu. Three months ago, for various reasons, I cast her out of this village. She may not return until I, and the rest of the residents, permit it. Nor may she go elsewhere. There is no other town that would take in a castaway from Tearsheaven.”
“What crime did she commit to have this happen to her?”
Mayor Mag sighed. The fin on top of his head wobbled to the side. “Before I tell you that, I should tell you a bit about the history of Tearsheaven.”
As it turned out, Tearsheaven was known as the Town of Sorrow long before the formation of the United Southern Nations.
“There is little different in our lives here from that of other places. What
is
different is that all of the residents here once lived elsewhere. They only came here because, at some point in their life, they knew such sadness that they wished to die. You see, here, they have a chance to heal. This town serves as a sort of hospital for the heart, you might say. Those who live here stay only until their illness is cured. That is why our houses and furnishings are so simple.”
Once their sorrow was cured, residents could leave anytime. “And we never see them again,” the mayor explained. “The reasons for our residents’ sorrows are many. Some lost those whom they loved, or were betrayed by those whom they trusted. We do not inquire too deeply about these matters. We only live together, help each other, and wait until time heals our wounds. Some leave after only half a year, others after ten. The depth of each sorrow is different.”
The start of the local industry, making tears out of rainwater, was a relatively recent event.
“We began producing tears in earnest only thirty years ago. The mayor before myself, a bright fellow, was the one who noticed the purity of the local rainfall, and he realized also the value of simple labor that still requires constant attention in the mending of sorrows.”
Once the production of tears became the local industry, the town’s buildings were remodeled to look the way they did now. In Arikita, the tears sold for an incredible price, and so the town grew quite well off as a result.
“No one knows exactly why the water that falls here is so pure, though the great starseers in Sasaya claim that winds sweep the white mist enshrouding the Undoor Highlands far to the south all the way here, where it falls as rain.”
Undoor Highlands: home to the mysterious Special Administrative State of Dela Rubesi. Bastion of belief in the Old God.
“No matter how pure the rainwater, you must distill it to make the tears. Through this purification process, the water becomes even clearer, and that which is impure is left behind. These impurities we take to a place not far from our village, a dark swamp where neither fish nor bird choose to live: the Swamp of Grief.”
So that lake was like their trashcan. Wataru remembered the cold feel of the mud, the utterly still water. He shivered.
“And that’s our town,” Mayor Mag continued. “All our residents are, in a way, visitors. We know our population down to the single person. And we have one rule that is more important than any other. Since everyone is here to mend themselves of some sadness, we must look out for one another, encourage one another, and give one another space to heal. We cannot, under any circumstances, allow strife in Tearsheaven, for that would generate only more sadness. Lili Yannu was the first to openly break that law in the long, long history of this town.”
She had stolen another woman’s husband, the mayor explained. “That woman you saw in the hospital, Satami—her husband, a merchant named Yacom, fell in love with Lili, and she became pregnant. Together, they planned to elope.”
Suddenly, Wataru’s world went red. He heard a sound like a tidal wave crashing against his inner ears, and for moment he was deaf to everything. He could only watch Mayor Mag’s sad face and moving, soundless lips…
She is Rikako Tanaka.
She did the same thing as Rikako Tanaka.
She’s an invader, just like Rikako Tanaka.
A parasite feeding on the happiness of others.
“When we discovered the truth, I banished Lili Yannu at once,” the Mayor was saying. “Satami forgave her husband, and he returned to her. I was hoping that they could put the past behind them no matter how long it took. But Yacom’s heart was captive. Claiming business, he fled town, and went back to Lili. He lives elsewhere now, and I believe, still visits her.”
The mayor explained that it was Yacom who built the hut in which Lili Yannu lived. “Poor, poor Sara,” the mayor said, wiping his eyes.
“What sadness brought Satami and her family to this town in the first place?” Wataru asked, finally regaining his voice.
“They hail from Bog. There was a plague there, and Satami lost both her parents, and a child—younger than Sara. They came here only a year ago.”
“And the woman Lili Yannu?”
“I heard she lost her betrothed to illness. Her father is a starseer in Sasaya, a very important man. The one whom she was to marry was also a starseer in training.”
Wataru broke out in a cold sweat. The back of his shirt felt damp. His heart was racing as though he had been running at full speed.
Sara’s dark eyes floated in his mind.
Those eyes—they’re mine. When Rikako Tanaka was saying those things to Mom, when she told her she was pregnant, when she said she would take me away, when I hid under the bed. I had those eyes too. If Lili Yannu is Rikako Tanaka, then Sara is me. And Satami, lying pale and worn on the bed, is Mom.
“How could she?” Wataru said quietly. He hadn’t thought to say it—it was as though his mouth had formed the words of its own accord.
Mayor Mag tilted his head and looked at Wataru. “What was that?”
Wataru wiped his face with a hand. “How can Yacom be convinced he’s done wrong?”
The mayor looked at him with wide eyes. “How, indeed.”
“If Yacom is still visiting Lili Yannu at her hut, then it might be possible to meet him, to talk to him directly.”
“It might, but we who live in Tearsheaven are not permitted to go near the Swamp of Grief. The pollution there would cling to us.”
“Then I’ll go,” Wataru said crisply. “I don’t live here, I’ll be fine.”
Mayor Mag seemed flustered. “But you’re just a child…”
“And a Highlander.”
“That is true, but…”
“Mayor, I have much in common with Sara. My father left my mother for another woman. He made up all sorts of reasons, pretending that what he was doing was somehow right. I know what it’s like to be abandoned. Please, let me try to bring Yacom back. For Sara’s sake!”
Mayor Mag’s mouth opened and closed, his red fin wobbled from side to side, he clasped his hands and shook them, and for a while was unable to speak. Finally, he gave a short sigh. “Very well. This is not something I would be able to do myself in any case. To you who understands Sara’s sorrow, I entrust this task.”
Mayor Mag insisted that Wataru stay clear of the Swamp of Grief until his wounds healed.
He was assured that the curative properties of Tearsheaven would have him back on the road in ten days or less.
While he recuperated, Wataru walked around town and toured the facilities where they made the tears. He even learned a bit of the craft himself. It rained in Tearsheaven every day—for about an hour in the mornings and evenings. This kept the town reservoirs full, and there was always more water than they could distill in any given day.