"That day she went out at three in the afternoon to get her hair cut, but by six in the evening, she still hadn't come back."
"Later, the Police found her, and she said..."
"She didn't remember where her home was."
Hiratsuka Shizuka and Sen Getsusa sat on a stone bench, watching the old woman not far away happily chasing butterflies.
"The disease progressed very quickly. Two months later, she had almost lost her Ability to live a normal life. Her intelligence had regressed to that of a four- or five-year-old Child."
"She forgot all the people and events of the past, only remembering the butterflies, and that summer night..."
The woman spoke calmly, even as tears silently slid down her cheeks.
She calmly wiped them away with the back of her hand, turned, and gave Sen Getsusa a forced smile.
"I'm sorry for taking up your time to accompany an inadequate adult like me."
Sen Getsusa casually handed her a freshly washed apple, her voice ethereal: "Can I go see her?"
After saying that, without waiting for an answer, the girl stood up and walked slowly toward the old woman.
The old woman was having a great time.
She walked up to the wheelchair, bent down with her hands on her knees, and looked at the old woman with a smile: "Hi, what are you playing with?"
The old woman turned her head, saw Sen Getsusa, and then looked at the caregiver: "Who are you?"
"I was asked by someone else to come and help you."
"What favor, what favor? I don't need it. Go away, go away!"
The old woman grumbled unhappily.
Seeing the situation getting a bit out of control, the caregiver was about to rush over, but Hiratsuka Shizuka pulled her back.
"Oh, so you don't want my help?"
Sen Getsusa stood up straight with a serious face, turned her toes, and made a move to leave: "I'm famous far and wide as the best butterfly catcher there is!"
"You... you can catch butterflies?"
Although she was skeptical, there was a hint of excitement in her tone.
The old woman clenched both fists tightly on her knees and lowered her head, her voice a bit timid, like a Child afraid of being scolded.
"I, I want three."
"Three? I'll catch them all with a'swish, swish, swish'! Are three... enough?"
Sen Getsusa waved her small hand and made a fist in front of the old woman, her large eyes very persuasive.
"Three, three! Three is enough! It's enough, I want to give them to... I want to give them to..."
"Who do I want to give them to..."
"I'm catching butterflies, catching butterflies... for whom?"
The old woman murmured, turning her head blankly to look at Sen Getsusa, her clouded eyes full of disappointment and sorrow: "Who am I supposed to give the butterflies to?"
Sen Getsusa grinned, her little white teeth clicking together twice: "Who knows? I also occasionally forget important things, but do you still want the butterflies?"
"If you don't want them, I'm leaving!"
"I do! I want them! Three!"
The old woman raised her hand in a disciplined, Child-like gesture and sat up straight obediently.
Sen Getsusa went behind the wheelchair and pushed her toward where the butterflies were fluttering.
"Here, look, is it this blue-black one, or the pink-black one?"
"Blue-black!"
"No problem!"
The girl held the wheelchair with her left hand and reached into the air with her right—as if picking a leaf within reach, she casually pinched the wings of a fluttering butterfly and brought it back from the air into her palm.
"Ta-da! How's that?"
Clap! Clap! Clap!
The old woman clapped her hands excitedly, her mouth wide open, making "ahhh" sounds.
"Hahaha! Another one?"
"Another one! Another one!"
Hiratsuka Shizuka watched and eventually began to cry.
"Is she this happy every day?"
The caregiver shook her head: "Sometimes she suddenly remembers something and asks me. Other times she's so confused she doesn't even know why she's in a wheelchair..."
Sen Getsusa released the butterfly, gathered it in her hands, and circled around the wheelchair. The old woman's eyes narrowed into slits as she watched the girl and the butterfly go around and around.
"She likes you."
Hiratsuka Shizuka stood behind Sen Getsusa, looking at her grandmother with red eyes.
"Who doesn't like me?" Sen Getsusa released the butterfly with a laugh. "Grandma's voice is very pleasant; was she a singer?"
"When she was young..."
Hiratsuka Shizuka stroked her phone: "She was a musical theater actress."
A musical theater actress?
Hiratsuka Shizuka unlocked her phone, tapped the screen a few times, and turned the volume up.
"Have you heard this? Grandma recorded it when she was young."
"Your generation probably rarely listens to this kind of thing, right?"
From the speaker came the sound of metal clinking and low voices talking, which then faded away.
Soon, a melodious tune slowly flowed out, with the classic cello's deep baritone advancing layer by layer.
The familiar music made Sen Getsusa close her eyes slightly, humming like a kitten in her throat.
The accompaniment played for a long time, until Sen Getsusa strolled under an old tree with her hands behind her back, and then the young voice from the speaker began to sing calmly.
Accompanied by the magnificent recording that spanned many years, Sen Getsusa also hummed along softly... Midnight
(Midnight)
not a sound from the pavement
(The street is silent)
Has the moon lost her memory?
(Has the moon lost her memory?)
The old woman's gaze drifted away from the butterflies, listening blankly to the melodious voice, as if that 'Grizabella' had reappeared in her dreams.
The lights were so hot, and her face was covered in thick makeup.
Her limbs were coordinated and elegant, and on the silent stage, she let all eyes follow her movements to her heart's content.
The audience's hearts throbbed in rhythm, all of which was written in her own youthful expression.
Memory
(Memory)
all alone in the moonlight
(Alone under the Moonlight and Shadow)
I can smile at the old days
(I can dream of the days gone by)
I was beautiful then
(Back then, how beautiful life was)
Under the nurse's startled gaze, the elderly man slowly raised his arm and began to move clumsily along with the song—
Though the range of his movement wasn't even a fraction of a normal person's, let alone those of young and flexible dancers.
However, when one dances within their memories, there are no standards for good or bad.
The singing gradually intensified.
Sen Getsusa's voice spread out, gradually overpowering the muffled, poor-quality recording like a morning mist that made one want to reach out and touch it.
Following the scent of wet grass came layers of water vapor, as if the mist were lifting to reveal a clear stream, washing over pebbles and flowing quietly alongside swimming fish.
It was like a transparent glass thread, containing the entirety of the song within it.
Anyone who happened to hear it would surely want to wind it up and secretly hide it in their pocket.
Upon returning home, they would open it again when no one was around, hold it to their ear, and once more enjoy this clean whisper in private.
The woods fell silent. White Hoof stepped around an unopened flower as a Unicorn appeared within Sen Getsusa's song. It gently rubbed its cheek against the girl's palm, making a sound just like hers.
That was not a sound belonging to humans.
It was a sound belonging to human fantasy.
The elderly man closed his eyes, murmuring and singing along, as the muscles in his face began to twitch involuntarily.
Tears burst forth like a broken dam.
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