The Hill Where Flax Blooms

3. The Blue-Eyed Stranger

“Hey, Kenji... you ever heard of yonaki ramen?”

　The sudden question made me squint at Grandpa.

“You mean like... ramen shops open late at night?”

“Nah, not quite. Back then, street vendors would roll through town at night, ringing little bells.

　If Dr. Mary had a meeting that ran late, she’d often treat me to a bowl.”

　Grandpa’s voice began to drift again—somewhere farther than the present.

“We used to call it yonaki ramen—midnight ramen.”

　The car moved slowly along the coast, toward the sea.

　A faint ocean breeze slipped in through the window, and Grandpa’s voice now carried a soft laugh.

“They pulled those carts by hand, you know? Not food trucks like now—actual wooden carts, like rickshaws.

　You’d hear the whistle of their charumera as they passed through the streets.”

　I could almost hear it—

　The hiss of rising steam from the cart,

　The metallic clink of bowls,

　The savory scent of chicken broth drifting in the air.

“I used to park that big black government car next to the ramen stand, and we’d eat together.

　Just a young driver and a blonde foreign woman, slurping noodles in the street—you can imagine the stares.”

　His words brought the scene into focus—

　A bare lightbulb casting a warm glow over swirling steam,

　A blonde woman chuckling in broken Japanese,

　The creak of the cart and the hum of night sounds.

　There was a certain music to the streets in those days.

“Japanese nights... are so lively,”

　Dr. Mary had said, smiling.

　I could picture her face—soft eyes, glasses fogged with steam.

　She seemed like someone who had stepped out of a different time.

“I don’t know why, but I’ve never been able to forget that smile.”

　Grandpa’s voice quieted suddenly.

　The sound of the wind brushing the car window seemed unusually sharp.

“That life... it lasted about two years.

　But then...”

“That spring—when Natsu graduated from nursing school—Dr. Mary collapsed on her way home.”

　A heavy silence fell inside the car.

　Grandpa didn’t speak anymore.

　He just looked ahead.

　It was around the time we began to see signs for Odawara.

　Something in the air inside the car seemed to shift.

“It was Natsu who carried her back to the dormitory,” Grandpa murmured.

　The car kept moving, the highway empty and smooth.

“They said it made sense for Natsu to care for her—both women.

　But even then, Dr. Mary kept repeating herself.

‘Go home soon. Wash your hands, gargle, don’t forget your mask.’”

　Her words lingered in the air.

　The radio had long since been turned off.

　Only the soft ticking of the turn signal remained, keeping time.

“Still, Natsu kept going back. Again and again.”

　Grandpa’s voice carried a strange mix—hesitation, pride, something more complex.

　Maybe this was the beginning of their bond—Grandma and Grandpa.

　The way he spoke, it sounded almost like a love letter written across time.

“Mary was stubborn... but Natsu was no pushover either,” he said with a small smile.

“Later, Mary told me something, laughing…”

　He trailed off, the silence drifting between us like a breeze.

　When he spoke again, his voice was lower than before.

“Mary had to take time off. For real.”

　We had passed Odawara, and the sea had begun to spread out beyond the windows.

　The wind now and then stroked the car’s sides.

“I still drove her to the hospital.

　But the interpreter stopped coming.

　I think... she told them not to.”

　I could imagine it clearly from his words.

　Night at the dormitory.

　The car parked beneath a streetlamp.

　Grandpa had stretched thick plastic between the front and back seats.

　On the passenger side sat gloves, disinfectant spray.

“Kenta. Wear a mask.

　After you get out—ventilate the car. Disinfect. Gloves. Don’t forget to gargle and wash your hands.”

　Her voice was calm, composed. But beneath it, there was something colder. Certain.

“Does that mean...?”

　Young Kenta asked, unable to stop himself.

“Yes,”

　Mary replied, eyes lowered.

“I have tuberculosis.”

　Time stopped.

　The sound inside the car changed—like everything had passed through a filter.

　Even Grandpa’s voice, the hum of the engine—they all faded.

　I couldn’t speak.

　Couldn’t even feel anything.

　It was like the world had split apart.

　All I could hear was the wind. And somewhere, the distant chime of wind bells.

　Eventually, Grandpa’s voice returned.

“She worked so closely with patients. Lectures every day, traveling, pushing herself.

　Her body couldn’t take it anymore.

　The cough got worse. The tests came back—positive.”

　A pause. Then he continued.

“That’s what they call ‘a doctor neglecting their own health.’

　She treated her own condition like part of the job.

　That’s how serious she was about it.”

　I said nothing.

　Just kept my hands on the wheel.

　The sedan rolled quietly toward East Izu.

　We turned onto a road along the sea near Yugawara.

　In the distance, I could see the shape of the Izu Peninsula.

　Grandpa said nothing.

　In the passenger seat, he looked straight ahead, gently adjusting his grip on the bouquet in his lap.

“Back then... if you had TB, you couldn’t board a plane or a ship.”

　I glanced sideways.

　His eyes weren’t on the road.

　They were looking at something much farther away.

“So she couldn’t go home.

　Not to her country, not to her family.”

　The wind slipped in through a crack in the window, tugging softly at my hair.

“She had to stay here.

　A sanatorium—up in the mountains of Izu.

　There wasn’t any real treatment then. Isolation was the only option.”

“...She was alone?”

　I asked, quietly.

　Grandpa shook his head, just slightly.

“No. Natsu wouldn’t hear of it.

‘You can’t care for a woman’s daily needs,’ she said.

　Insisted on going with her.

　Of course, she couldn’t sit with Mary—so she rode in the passenger seat.”

　There was a pause.

“She just stared straight ahead the whole time.

　Didn’t say much.

　But her heart… was strong.”

　The radio remained off.

　Only the sound of the tires and the faint whisper of waves reached our ears.

“Where we’re going now…

　It’s where that hospital used to be. In Inatori.”

　Grandpa’s voice had a quiet intensity.

“That’s where she kept working… even while she was sick.

　Where she kept seeing patients.

　Where she rests now.”

　The bouquet rustled softly as he touched it with careful fingers.

“I’m old now. Natsu’s knees are bad.

　She says… she can’t make the climb anymore.”

　There was a faint smile in his voice.

　But it felt like he was looking at something far away.

“So today… I’ll go.

　With these flowers. For one last…”

　He trailed off, then gripped the wrapping just a little tighter.

“…goodbye.”

　I couldn’t say anything.

　Only felt a quiet ache stir deep in my chest.

“...I see.”

　That was all I could manage.