At the beginning of March, a package arrived from Poland. It was a long, narrow cardboard box that looked as if it might contain a violin. I hacked apart the tightly packed cushioning material and found another box.

A beautiful silver arm was inside the box.

Yuzuki opened and read the letter included in the package. Meanwhile, I held the silver arm in my hand and admired it. It was a delicate work of art, made with utmost care. Some parts were transparent, so the gears and motors inside could be seen.

“A prosthetic arm, mechanical one.” She handed me the letter.

[ I have asked a Japanese friend to write on my behalf.

My name is Emil Kamiński, I am Polish. I am sorry to send you this package so suddenly. I would have loved to meet you in person, but due to my busy schedule, I apologize in advance for the inconvenience—

(omitted)

—I am currently engaged in the development of a mechanical prosthetic hand at Copernicus Technologies, a Polish company. I am sending you a new product under development called “AGATERAM”. It has not yet been announced, so there won’t be a single piece of information about it on the Internet.

The innovative mechanism is based on the conventional method of using surface myoelectric potentials, as well as on repeated fine-tuning of ultrasound data through artificial intelligence, to create a custom-made—

(omitted)

Thus, we were able to create something that is as light as a feather and can move freely in a much shorter training time than existing mechanical prosthetic arms. Moreover, it is completely waterproof and can be used in any situation—

(omitted)

In return, I ask for one favor. My daughter, Miaha, is disabled. She is congenitally missing the forearms of both arms.

My daughter and I saw your performance at the 17th International Chopin Piano Competition at the Warsaw Philharmonic. Your music moved her to the point of tears. She told me then that she wanted to play piano.

Obviously, she couldn’t. Since then, she has been withdrawn, not eating well, and always watching your videos. It was as if she had finally realized that she had no arms. 

I told her I am a mechanical prosthetic developer, that your dad will make you arms, just for you. She wouldn’t believe me.

Miaha is now in grade zero (translator note: In Poland, a child must complete grade zero by the age of seven in September). She started skipping school, withdrawing from society, probably due to the pain of living in a group for the first time with her handicap.

I tried to urge her to go to school, telling her to overcome hardships in life. “You have both arms! You don’t know what it’s like!” was her response. 

I am truly at loss.

(omitted)

This is a very selfish request, but would it be possible to have you, Ms. Yuzuki Igarashi, wear an AGATERAM and play the piano for us?

Even if it is only for a little while. I believe that seeing you play the piano will give my daughter hope for the future and give her the courage to live on.

            ]

It was a verbose letter, but every word contained emotion, sincerity.

“Yuzuki, what are you going to do?”

“There’s nothing for me to do as of now. All there is is to wait until I can try it…”

The AGATERAM was made on the assumption that her forearm would be missing. Currently, she still has the back of her hand, so it would be months before she would reach that stage. By the time that she could wear it, there wouldn’t be much time for her to get used to the arm, not including the time she needed to try the piano with it.

“And if the time comes…?”

“I’ll do what I can,” She said crisply.

“But we don’t know what it could do yet…”

As a reference, we did research on mechanical prostheses. The major type of mechanical prosthetic arm was one that picks up muscle potentials from the surface of the skin, converts them into electrical signals, and moves the arm. In Japan, mechanical prostheses were not yet widely used. Most of the mechanical prostheses distributed in Japan are made in Germany and cost as much as 1.5 million yen. However, there are only about 30 training facilities in Japan for obtaining such certification, and only three facilities where children can be trained. In addition, training takes two to three years and requires the use of a prosthetic hand for training, which is not subsidized and must be paid for entirely out-of-pocket, making the use of prosthesis unpopular.

In comparison, the AGATERAM was created by cost-effective 3D printer technology and requires very little training time, with most controls being intuitive. If this held true, the tech would be revolutionary.

We watched several videos of mechanical prosthetic arms on the Internet. The mere fact that a machine could reproduce complex hand movements was an amazing feat. It was mesmerizing to watch those videos.

Just as the letter said, there was no information on the AGATERAM, so we had no idea of how this beautiful arms would work.

 　　　12

March 11…

Yuzuki offered a silent prayer. I was surprised at the beauty of her figure as she turned her head slightly to the side and closed her eyes.

 　　　13

April— Yuzuki had lost everything from her wrists onwards.

She now did many things with her feet. I was amazed by how she used her toes to operate her smartphone. Not a single time did I see her blunder, it was as if she had been living with her feet since the start. Or perhaps she did, but managed to do it while I wasn’t watching. Thinking about it, did she always seem perfect all the time I was watching?

We began to frequent the wildflower bed. It was right behind the corner of Yuzuki’s parents’ house. It felt like tiptoeing around them.

In the direction of our apartment, there was a field of dandelions. When a strong wind blew, it was a raging sea of brilliant yellow. Golden waves would rise, slowly unravel in the fields of flowers beyond, and soar into the sky, skimming over the tops of the trees. It was like the innocent flirtation of the wind’s endless journey and the transient, fragile petals. Yuzuki sat down on a field of dandelions and took off her shoes and socks. Her bare white feet were slender on the bright yellow flowers. And then, whiter than her skin, the cross-section on her limbs. She began to lose her toes recently. Wanting to savor the feeling of walking before she couldn’t, we went on strolls thrice a day.

“Feels a little prickling.” She stroked the cross-section.

“Is it phantom limb pain..?”

“Maybe. It doesn’t hurt yet. How was your mother?”

“She’s…looked painful.”

A gentle breeze blew and the dandelion flowers rustled against my bare feet. The rustling flowers were soft against my ankles. It was as though a mother was rubbing her child’s aching belly. I wondered if this touch would help her pain.

“Yuzuki, where have you been going out lately?”

She had been sneaking out alone these days.

Guiltily, she said, “I thought I’d enter a hospice before I became completely immobile.”

Hospice. Unlike hospitals, whose purpose was to provide treatment, hospice was a facility designed to alleviate the suffering of patients who were about to die. 

I shivered.

“I don’t think I can let you take care of me.”

“Why?” I demanded before I could think better.

“Ah, not that I don’t want you…” 

And she trailed off just like that.

 　　　14

By May, she had lost all her toes.

Her steps became uncertain. Occasionally, she would slip. She’d laugh a lot, then, as if trying to cover it up.

Every step she took was wistful. Each step she took was a farewell.

May snow. In a blink of an eye, the brilliant yellow had turned into white fluffy dandelion. A field of unkempt snow. When the wind picked up, the snowy fields rustled and rippled—

The snow rose and became a blizzard all at once.

“Wow—!”

Her eyes lit up. She breathed in admiration. It looked like her breath was misty white.

The wind died down and the field was restored into an unblemished sheet of snow again. She got up and walked, leaving footprints on the still fresh, smooth, dreamy surface. With each step, fluffy fuzz danced in the air. We sat quietly together and listened to the rustling. The soft whispering of the grass was filled with a certain sense of foreboding. I pictured the little round dandelion puff as a kagura bell. We spoke in whispers, drawing our heads close, afraid that loud noises would disturb the tranquil scene all at once.

[TN: Kagura bell, or Kagura Suzu is a set of bells on a stick, typically used by a shrine maiden in Shinto ceremonies]

Her breath was a little ticklish.

“Don’t you think we should talk about secrets?” she said in hushed tones.

Bewitched by her voice, I had no choice but to abide. “Okay.”

“Your turn, Yakumo-kun.”

“I was thinking,” I said, “Kenten Einen Shizaihou rolls off the tongue. I really like the feel of the word.”

[TN: Japanese for Nara era property law]

She chuckled while frowning. “What’s that? You’re cheating. I guess it’s my turn now, huh?”

She brought her mouth close to my ear. Her cold nose brushed against my ear. I heard faint breathing.

─ Suddenly, a wind blew. A strong gust of wind from right in front made me close my eyes. 

The wind eased. I reopen my eyes. The dandelion had taken off in unison. They danced in the wind, quietly but violently, they crossed the fields of flowers, skimming the tops of the trees, and soaring into the blue May sky.

My field of vision turned white. Beautiful, pristine white. It was horrifying. 

“I’m scared,” she whispered in my ear, her voice trembling. “My grandmother once told me that dandelions can make you deaf. Yakumo-kun, cover my ear—”

It seemed that she was genuinely frightened. It was funny, but also human, to be so stout against impending death and yet so frightened by simple superstition. 

I covered her ears with my hands. She blinked repeatedly. Her breathing was faintly trembling. She felt so fragile in my hands.

Somehow, the trembling Yuzuki appeared so lovely and irresistible.

Our eyes locked.

From that point on, everything was as natural as if by magic.

We kissed.