One.morning

“Summer’s almost here…”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“Once summer comes, your illness will…”

“I hope it gets better.”

“I predict this! You’ll definitely get better someday, and you’ll be able to go out and about.”

“Thank you…”

It was nearing June. She was still in the hospital.

My name is Honky. Alonzo Honky. I’m a Russian named Karoa, and I come to visit her at this hospital from time to time.

I’m a relative of Karoa’s. To begin with, my family is all matrilineal, and the women are strong.

I, too, was used to such strong women.

　Then, one day.

“You said I’d get better by summer, right?”

“I’m sorry. I thought it would make you happy.”

“It’s okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“The sun’s coming in.” When she said that, I looked outside and saw the bright sunlight shining directly on her face. I hurriedly pulled the curtains shut.

“It’s okay. I can’t go out anyway.”

She said that and began to sob quietly.

I didn’t have the strength to comfort her. I went home.

Then, one day

“Do you know what this is?”

“A flower?”

“Yes. It’s a rose.”

“·····I’m happy.”

“Is it going to take much longer?”

“Well, actually, they’ve decided I can be discharged in three days.”

“That’s great.”

And so we parted ways that day.

But that turned out to be the last time. Karoa died, and I survived. Her diary was filled with her desperate desire to live.

Goodbye, my friend.

Translated with DeepL.com (free version)