The Hill Where Flax Blooms

4. Dr. Mary

　The car passed Izu Mountain, hugging the coast as we made our way toward Atami and deeper into the Izu Peninsula.

“Just keep heading south for now, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll tell you when we’re close.”

　Grandpa closed his eyes slightly, as if retrieving memories from a well-worn drawer.

“After that… she took up a post at the sanatorium.”

　His voice rose gently from the depths of recollection.

　The hallway of the hospital creaked faintly under wooden floors.

　The scent of salt drifted in, carried from somewhere far away.

“She asked to go to Inatori herself.

　Said that since she was already infected, it was only right that she take care of patients in the ward.

　Her symptoms were mild then—a light cough.

　But she said, ‘It’s only a matter of time.’

　Still… Natsu insisted on going with her.

　She’d just graduated from nursing school.”

　Listening from the driver’s seat, I imagined that quiet moment long ago,

　when each of their fates slowly, gently converged.

“Of course I objected. So did her parents.

　But... no one could stop her.”

　Step by step, we drew closer to that hallway in his memory.

　The ward where Dr. Mary had lived.

　Where she had not changed.

　She feared the illness less than the loneliness in her patients.

“She told me she wanted to be the kind of doctor who stayed with them until the very end—even when there was no hope of recovery.”

　I could hear her voice clearly now, in his memory:

“This place isn’t some graveyard for the forgotten.”

　She said it with a smile, the hem of her white coat fluttering.

“I want this ward to feel… like a normal place.

　The scenery’s too quiet. We should laugh more, don’t you think?”

　Her voice gently softened the sterile silence of the hospital.

　Back then, Grandpa—young Kenta—was more than a driver.

　He ran errands, brought supplies,

　sometimes standing in for family when none could come.

“I brought whatever she needed—because that’s what she wanted.

　In the end, I was always driving somewhere.

　But my connection with her… it never ended.”

　There was a subtle pride in his voice.

“Thanks to my father’s arrangement, Dr. Mary was accepted not as a patient, but as a physician.

　So she wasn’t formally quarantined.

　She couldn’t leave the grounds… but she could still see me and Natsu.”

　Dr. Mary had not been completely cut off from the outside world.

　But even from “within,” she refused to be treated as anything but a doctor.

　She held onto that role until the very end.

　About a year had passed.

　Then came word that her health was visibly declining.

“Dr. Mary’s asking for you.”

　That was all my father said on the phone.

　I rushed to Inatori, pushing the car hard along the coast.

　She was standing in front of the wooden entrance when I arrived.

　Still in her white coat—but clearly weakened.

　Her hair swayed gently in the wind.

　And her figure... already seemed to blur.

“Take Natsu home. Right now.”

　She coughed, then said quietly:

“I’m too weak now. I can’t even examine patients.

　I can’t keep her here any longer.”

　I turned and saw Natsu walking slowly from the ward.

　Her eyes were red, her lips trembling.

“...Natsu.”

　I kept my voice gentle.

“This is the end.

　Let’s listen to what she says... okay?”

　But Natsu shook her head.

“Dr. Mary… actually…”

　She searched for the words, lifting her face slowly.

“I tested positive.

　From the regular medical screening for staff.

　They think I’m infected… I can’t go home anymore.”

　Silence claimed the moment.

　Even the ticking of time seemed to stop.

“...No…”

　Dr. Mary’s voice wavered.

“What will I say to your parents?

　How can I face them?”

　But Natsu smiled—just a little.

　A smile that looked far too young for her age.

“This way… I get to work by your side again.”

　There was no reply.

　Just the sound of a wind chime stirring in the breeze.

“...Kenta.”

　Dr. Mary called my name softly.

“She was crying, you know…

　In the corner of the ward. Alone.”

　She couldn’t say anything more.

“Yeah,” I said with a nod.

“I know. She was always trying to be strong.”

　That day, I left my bags behind—and drove back alone.

　And I knew, without a doubt:

　Something had ended.