The Dark Maidens by Rikako Akiyoshi

Author:Rikako Akiyoshi [Akiyoshi, Rikako]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Kodansha USA
Published: 2018-05-29T05:00:00+00:00

Reader:

Third-year Class B

Sonoko Koga

WHEN: The month of July, after school

WHERE: St. Mary’s Academy for Girls

WHO: Third-year student, Itsumi Shiraishi

WHAT: Itsumi’s bloodied corpse

WHY: Unknown

HOW: A fall from the terrace

This is a rough breakdown of the basic facts surrounding the Itsumi Shiraishi incident. I always try to organize things using the “5W1H” technique my father taught me, no matter what the topic is. Depending on the situation, you can add “WHOM” to make 6W1H, and then “HOW MUCH” for 6W2H.

As you can see, the “WHY” in this case is unknown. Speculations are being tossed around…Was it an accident? Was it suicide? Was it murder?

I will relate my account of the incident. My story may be of value to you—because I know how it really happened.

Now, before I write about Itsumi Shiraishi’s death, I must first tell you about my relationship with her.

Itsumi Shiraishi and I were in the same grade and shared a science class. We both dreamed of becoming doctors. We rooted for—and sometimes competed against—each other for better grades. We each aimed to get into a university with a top-ranked medical program. Itsumi Shiraishi was a worthy rival, as it were.

My father, who passed away two years ago, originally inspired me to become a doctor.

He was fantastic at his job. He used to work at a teaching hospital, and later opened his own small clinic to work as a family physician in our region. While he may not have had the newest medical equipment, he would peruse monthly academic magazines, attend scientific conferences and study sessions, and did everything else that he could to stay current with the latest medical knowledge and techniques. Knowing patients know their own symptoms best, he would diligently listen to his patients as they described their symptoms, then find the cause of their illness and search for a cure. My father never stopped believing in “learning from your patients.”

Masses of people attended my father’s funeral. I sat with my family and watched the long line of attendees offer incense—like an elderly man who’d been my father’s patient since his clinic first opened, a woman who’d been his patient since she was in kindergarten and who brought her own toddler there, or three generations of a family who all went to him for primary care—and I was surprised to see how many patients he had actually taken care of and healed. My heart swelled with pride every time I heard someone softly whisper, “Thank you, doctor,” through their tears.

That day, I vowed: I will be a great doctor like my father. I will take the clinic that shut down with his death and reopen it with my own two hands.

The only possessions my father left me were the encyclopedias that filled his bookshelves, back issues of the American Journal of Medicine, and a worn-out stethoscope. It was so characteristic of him that I was moved to tears.

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