Altered Children

In July 2020, two-year-old Yuriko Nishikawa’s family had given her brother an inexpensive keyboard for his fifth birthday. They thought he’d like it because they had often heard him plunking away at his toy piano. But he had quickly tired of his new gift, which required much more work to master than the toy.

Yuriko had been enchanted with the little instrument from the first moment she inherited it. She’d showed an aptitude for music and soon was playing simple tunes of her own design.

Her mother, Izumi, had studied piano for over seven years and quickly recognized her daughter’s talent. By the time Yuriko was three her mother had taught her to read music and the basics of piano. Izumi had been amazed that Yuriko had gone through the first four lesson books in only two months, far less than the six to eight normally required.

A few months later, Izumi had come upon three-year-old Yuriko playing Franz Liszt’s Liebestraum (Dream of Love), and was dumbfounded by her mastery of the piece, particularly her smooth rolling of the measures requiring a tenth reach (ten notes) and those demanding a twelfth.

Rolling octaves was a technique one learned if one’s hands were too small to stretch little finger to thumb across the eight notes of an octave. Pianists generally applied the technique when the music called for a reach of a ninth, tenth or greater. Since Asian hands were smaller than those of Europeans, many men could not reach beyond a ninth, and few—if any—Asian women could do so.

“Yuri-chan, how did you learn to play Liebestraum?” Izumi had asked.

“I found the music in that book,” Yuriko had answered, pointing to a book in the bookcase.

Izumi had gone to the bookcase, took the book out and brought it to Yuriko. “But you aren’t looking at it. Did you learn it all?”

“Yes, Mama-san,” Yuriko had replied.

“Why haven’t I heard you practicing it?”

“Mostly, I practice with the sound off,” Yuriko had said with a proud expression. “But sometimes I play with the sound very low.”

“I’m surprised you were able to master the complex right-hand phrases so well,” her mother had noted with pleasure. “This is a difficult piece for a left-handed person. I know from my own experience, and I still have problems with it.”

“I worked hard on my right hand,” Yuriko had explained, a smug expression passing across her face. “Now I can use my right hand as well as my left.”

For Yuriko’s fourth birthday, the unsophisticated keyboard had been replaced with a much better model. Within a short time she had begun creating her own compositions on it. Early in her fourth year, Yuriko’s parents had found her reading one of her mother’s books on the history of music. Yuriko had become a voracious reader and her mother took her to the library frequently.

While she’d been a precocious and happy four-year-old, not everything in Yuriko’s young life was as rosy as it had seemed. Over several months, she’d begun to notice strange occurrences. First were the voices she heard in her mind. Then, if she reached for something nearby, it would sometimes jump into her hand.

Occasionally, she became aware of matters and events without seeing or hearing them. Within weeks of the first occurrence of these experiences, Yuriko had been having episodes so often they were beginning to have unpleasant repercussions, frightening her—and her mother.

Despite those peculiar incidents, Izumi had had no difficulty enrolling Yuriko in the nearby elementary school on Ochinomizu Street, bypassing preschool entirely. Her school was part of the Ochinomizu Joshi-Fuzoku complex which included preschool through high school, as well as a university.

Within three weeks, it had become obvious to her teacher that Yuriko was an extremely talented and intelligent four-year-old. At the start of her second semester, just before she turned five on the twelfth of October, the school had placed Yuriko into its program for exceptional children and promoted her to second grade.

One mid-afternoon in September 2023, Yuriko had been home from school for an hour and seated at her keyboard. A half hour into practicing, her face brightened as she sensed her father, Takashi, arriving home early.

She had rushed to the door and opened it. Glancing down the hall, Yuriko had seen her father exit the stairwell at the far end and stroll toward her. She thought he looked quite handsome in his navy blue business suit, white shirt and light blue necktie. She stepped into the short hallway and hastened in his direction with a big smile. “Hi, Papa-san. I’m so glad you’re home early,” she had happily announced.

“Hello, Yuri-chan, where do you think you’re going? You know you’re not supposed to be out here alone.” He coldly ushered her back inside, slipped off his shoes and shut the door.

“I wasn’t going anywhere,” she had whispered, her smile vanishing. “I just opened the door to greet you.”

Upon hearing her husband’s voice, Izumi had left the kitchen and gone to the door. “My, you’re home early. Will you be staying in this evening?”

“No, I came home to pick up something I need for a meeting with people from the Ministry of International Trade and Industry. I’m having dinner with them at a club in Roppongi.”

Making a special trip home had never been a problem. Their three-bedroom apartment on Kagurazaka in the Tokyo suburb of Shinju-ku was only a twenty-minute subway ride from his office in the Twin Tower on Akasaka, in Minato-ku. The apartment was in a three-story building with twelve apartments in a middle-class neighborhood of similar housing, shops, several grocery stores, and a couple of restaurants.

Izumi turned to Yuriko. “Please say goodnight to your father and return to your practicing.”

After Yuriko left, Izumi said, “Takashi, we need to talk about what’s been happening with Yuri-chan lately. You know, the voices she hears and the other weird things?”

“I don’t know what we need to talk about. She must be going through a phase or something.”

Izumi had then rubbed her hands together nervously. “But, her teacher told me Yuri-chan has disrupted the class a few times. She’s concerned and wants to discuss it with us.”

Takashi removed his thick eyeglasses and ran a hand through his short black hair. He had wagged a finger in front of Izumi’s face and frowned. “You know I don’t have the time! If you think it’s important, you go and talk with Yuri-chan’s teacher.”

“All right, I’ll take care of it.” She stepped aside and bowed her head as Takashi replaced his eyeglasses and walked past her.

He had collected what he needed and stopped for a moment to listen to Yuriko practice. On his way out, Takashi sauntered to Yuriko. “That sounded very nice, Yuri-chan.” He patted Yuriko on the head and then marched to the door where Izumi still stood, stopped and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know you will handle this correctly.” He then told Izumi he would be home late, said goodbye, stepped into his shoes and left.

Yuriko had been listening with her mind to her parent’s conversation. This was not the first time her parents had discussed her unusual behavior. She knew they were troubled by it. Remarkably though, to Yuriko, her father seemed to ignore it. Yuriko did not want to cause strife between her parents and had tried to suppress her newfound abilities, with little success. Yuriko decided to say nothing, and resolved to control herself as much as possible.

Yuri’s father, Takashi, was a mid-level manager in the Export Department of IBM Japan, where the courses he’d taken in English at Tokyo University proved highly beneficial to his career. He was considered a “salaryman”, an employee who receives a monthly paycheck. These were generally clerical and professional staff, as well as low- and mid-level managers.

Salarymen spent a majority of their evenings after work going to bars and clubs, sometimes conducting business, but often socializing with co-workers, clients and various business contacts. Takashi was no exception, and he left the household responsibilities primarily to Izumi. This included raising their children.

A couple of days later, Izumi had gone to get Yuriko from school and met with her plump, gray-haired teacher. Yuriko remained in the classroom out of hearing range while her mother and teacher conferred. But, Yuriko was curious about what was being said and had tried hard to listen in while pretending to read. When she focused and put everything else out of her mind, she began to perceive what they were saying—and thinking.

“Mrs. Nishikawa, I want you to know how proud we are to have Yuriko as a student.”

“Thank you. I’m glad to hear that. We’re proud of her too.” But, very concerned.

“In my opinion,” Yuriko’s teacher continued, “your daughter is brilliant and has a fantastic memory. She’s learning much faster than the other students and is incredibly advanced for a four-year-old. And . . . Yuriko has been quite popular.”

Izumi’s green eyes lit up and her wide grin accented her high cheekbones and several overlapping teeth. “I’ve noticed she is a quick learner and reads a lot, way beyond her age it seems. We often go to the library.”

Yuriko sensed the teacher’s upbeat manner suddenly switching to a more solemn one. Her teacher lowered her eyes. “There is a problem we must discuss,” she murmured. Then, louder, “Over the last few weeks, on multiple occasions, Yuriko has had outbursts which disrupted the class. She was talking to someone who was not there. Has she done this at home?”

Izumi gripped her hands tightly in her lap. “She did a while ago, but not recently.”

Hearing the discussion in her mind, Yuriko clutched a book to her chest, and with mixed feelings, reflected on her predicament. Oh my, I must restrain myself. I don’t want to be different. Why do I hear people talking in my mind, and nobody else does?

Yuriko’s teacher had laced her fingers together and momentarily screwed her eyes shut. “Yesterday . . . before lunch—I don’t know exactly how to explain it—Yuriko started laughing in class, for no apparent reason. When I questioned her about it, she said two teachers were chasing a dog in the hall.”

She’d leaned back in her chair. “I looked outside the room and saw no such thing, as I informed Yuriko. But, she insisted it was true. It took awhile to get the class settled down.”

“I don’t understand why Yuriko would say that.” Her mother sighed. “She isn’t a liar.”

Yuriko detected a feeling of concern in her teacher’s mind as she continued. “Well, as it turned out, when classes ended I found out two teachers had chased a dog, but on the second floor. I related that to the class the next day. I asked Yuriko how she knew. She alleged she didn’t know how and just saw the image in her mind.”

Still listening intently, Yuriko had thought, How do I know those things, hear voices in my mind, and move things without touching them? Yuriko then relaxed a little. It’s so weird—but, . . . if I wouldn’t get into trouble, it could be kind of fun.

“I’m sorry if Yuriko has caused problems. Do you want me to speak to her?” Little beads of sweat appeared on Yuriko’s brow and above her upper lip as she heard her mother thinking, What will I say to Takashi?

Yuriko’s teacher had sat quietly for a few moments Then she inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “Recently, because of her strange behavior, children have begun to shun her, and some deride and mock her. Yuriko is becoming withdrawn. At this point, I think Yuriko should be examined by a doctor, possibly a psychiatric professional.”

A doctor! Yuriko had then crinkled her forehead and closed her eyes tightly. Am I sick? I don’t feel sick. I feel really good.

Izumi shook her head. “I don’t know. My husband is not willing. He is concerned about how it would look.”

“Yes, I understand,” Yuriko’s teacher had commiserated. “We Japanese are so private and conformist, . . . and intolerant of anyone who is different. It astonishes me that in today’s Japan there is still stigma and shame associated with psychological problems. I’m concerned Yuriko may become a hikikomori when she gets older.”

“But Yuriko is still so young,” Izumi protested. “I know it is becoming a serious problem among young people who would rather shut themselves away than conform. But isn’t there—”

“Yes, Yuriko is very young,” the teacher interjected. “But the syndrome does not develop overnight. The government finally recognized it as a disorder nearly twenty years ago. Well, do whatever you can. It is in Yuriko’s best interest.”

“Thank you for telling me. I’ll try talking to my husband again.” Izumi rose, called Yuriko to her and they each bade the teacher goodbye. Then, Izumi took Yuriko’s hand and, with few words, they drifted home.

The following Sunday, Izumi had found Takashi in a quiet moment and sat next to him. “Takashi, may we discuss Yuri-chan for a minute?”

Takashi put down the newspaper he had been reading. “Okay, about what?”

Izumi explained what Yuriko’s teacher had said. “I agree with her,” she told him in a calm but firm voice. “I think we should take Yuri-chan to a psychotherapist.”

“Did I hear you correctly?” Takashi jumped up and glowered at his wife. “You know how people would gossip if word got out—and it would.”

Izumi crossed her arms over her chest. “But—”

“No ‘buts’!” he retorted. “It’s nothing but a phase, like I said before. Discipline Yuri-chan if you must, but make sure she behaves like she’s supposed to . . . like everyone else.”

Throughout Yuriko’s fifth year, she continued to progress at a rapid rate and excel in all her studies. In addition to the piano she studied the violin, and was also becoming fluent in English. After only two semesters, Yuriko entered junior high school in the same Ochinomizu Joshi-Fuzoku complex where she’d attended primary school.

She strengthened her ability to suppress outward displays of her paranormal abilities. Now and then, Yuriko would experiment with them when she was certain no one could observe her. Life at school and home settled down to what would be quite normal for a Japanese family.

Then, during one of her many trips to the library with her mother, Yuriko tried to reach a book on a high shelf but couldn’t get it. She looked around to make sure nobody was looking. Then, Yuriko breathed deeply and saw in her mind the book sitting in her hands. She jumped back as, almost unexpectedly, it flew off the shelf into her hands.

She wondered, I know I moved it . . . but how? Yuriko sat on the floor holding the book in front of her. This sort of thing has happened before. How can I learn more?

Her mother was busy in another part of the library, so Yuriko asked a librarian if they had books on people who had abilities like she had— describing them hypothetically. The librarian, amazed at Yuriko’s reading level, was happy to help her find books on paranormal and extrasensory phenomenon, focusing on clairvoyance, psychokinesis, and telepathy.

Yuriko read several of them at the library over the next three months. She learned a great deal regarding her paranormal abilities, but kept it all to herself.

Three months into her sixth year, in January 2025, subsequent to one of Yuriko’s school recitals, her music teacher, Michiko Saito, invited Yuriko’s parents to come to her office before they went home. Mrs. Saito would stand out in a crowd. She was tall for a Japanese woman, with a beautiful oval face, brown eyes, shoulder-length black hair, and a slender, well-proportioned figure.

When they were seated, the music teacher pulled a brochure from her desk. “You are probably not aware of it, but the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra has a program for gifted young musicians. They’re holding auditions at the end of the month and I believe Yuriko should apply.”

“But she’s only six,” Takashi exclaimed. “Do they accept students so young?”

Mrs. Saito pushed the brochure across her desk and opened it to the program guidelines. “Not usually. See here, the minimum age is eight. But they—”

“Then aren’t we wasting our time!” Takashi declared, as he shook his head and rose.

“Please wait,” Mrs. Saito implored them. “They make exceptions for younger students who can demonstrate extraordinary ability, and I’m sure Yuriko qualifies. Are you familiar with the composers, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart or Alma Deutcher?”

Takashi sat down again, “No, not really. But I’ve heard Mozart’s name.”

Izumi smiled, “I know both were child prodigies. Played piano and composed music at a very early age.”

Yuriko’s music teacher leaned back in her chair, placed her elbows on its arms and tented the fingers of both hands together. “Mozart lived in the last half of the eighteenth century. He was already composing music before his fifth birthday when he wrote the music for ‘Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star’.”

Takashi raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know. That is something!”

Mrs. Saito continued, glancing at notes on her desk. “At the age of six he accompanied his composer father, Leopold, and his talented elder sister on a European tour. Both children played concertos and improvised music on pianos and organs in various keys, all selected by the audience. At six, he was also an accomplished violinist.”

Yuriko’s father glanced at his wife, eyebrows raised, and twisted nervously in his seat.

“Then we have Alma Deutcher,” Mrs. Saito said, checking her notes again. “She was born in 2005, is a composer, violinist and pianist. She started playing the piano when she was two years old and the violin when she was three. When Alma was six, she composed her first piano sonata. At seven, she composed a short opera, and at ten a full length opera. When she was only nine, Alma wrote a concerto for violin and orchestra.”

“How does all this relate to our daughter?” Takashi asked impatiently.

“The people in charge of the Tokyo Symphony program are aware that once in a great while a child with a unique and special talent is born. They will see such talent in Yuriko.”

“She’s as good as Mozart and Alma Deutcher?” Izumi inquired.

“I’m convinced she is,” Mrs. Saito replied.

Not only was Yuriko accepted into the program, she made her orchestral debut with the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra in April 2025 while she was still six. The program consisted of performances by several students in the orchestra’s gifted young musicians program. Yuriko was the youngest performer.

By no coincidence, she played a violin sonata in C and the Minuet in F for piano, both written by Mozart when he was six years old. She ended by playing, with members of the orchestra, the four-minute scherzo movement from Brahms’ Piano Quartet No. 3. The audience gave enthusiastic applause following each student’s performance, but Yuriko alone received a standing ovation.

The director of the gifted young musicians program arranged to have the three most promising students, Yuriko included, tour with the orchestra in July to Sendai, Osaka, Hiroshima, and Kitakyushu to put on the same program they had just performed in Tokyo.

Yuriko’s mother accompanied her. Both her parents were extremely proud. IBM Japan’s company newsletter featured an article about Yuriko and her family. Takashi was frequently in demand for social gatherings at the clubs, and his superiors congratulated him for having such a brilliant daughter.

After the tour, things got back to normal in the Nishikawa household. As a reward for her academic and musical accomplishments, Takashi gave his daughter a new, and better, keyboard that he attached to the personal computer they already had. He also bought and installed a music writing program.

This gave Yuriko the chance to write much more complex music She could write for different instruments in different sections of an orchestra, play those parts, and integrate them into a single piece of music. Whenever she wanted, Yuriko could print sheet music.

Dawn broke on a cold, wintry Saturday. The first glimmer of light glowing through the window of her bedroom awakened Yuriko. Her eyes were bright with anticipation and her heart pounded with excitement. She looked forward to her morning recital at school and believed November 22, 2025 would be a momentous day.

Before Yuriko was seven years old, she’d completed all her requirements to enter high school and had started attending the co-ed school. She felt lucky to be in the exceptional children’s program, which gave her a lot of leeway for creative expression.

Yuriko had recently finished writing and orchestrating her most ambitious composition so far, a piano concerto with three movements. She’d composed it in the European romantic style using a theme taken from the traditional Japanese song Sakura (Cherry Blossom), and had titled it Sakura Piano Concerto. At ten o’clock that morning she was going to play it with the school orchestra, in front of her classmates and their families.

Yuriko stretched, sat up in her bed, smiled, and closed her eyes, visualizing the opening bars of her sheet music. Her hands and arms moved up and down and side to side, and her head swayed, as she conducted the music she heard in her mind. Yuriko stopped and thought, We practiced a lot the last month. I’m sure they’ll play their parts well.

She bounced out of bed, made a quick trip to the bathroom, brushed her short, dark brown hair, and quickly dressed in her school uniform. Yuriko was too keyed up to finish her breakfast and fidgeted while her older brother ate his. Izumi had eaten earlier with Takashi.

Yuriko glared at her brother. “Would you please eat your breakfast! I want to get to school early and practice my concerto one more time on the grand piano in the practice room.”

He scowled back at his sister. “It’s early, Yuri-chan! You’ve already practiced so much you could play it in your sleep. You hum it all the time—I’m tired of hearing it.”

Izumi removed her apron, hung it up and left the kitchen. Her straight, dark brown hair fell slightly below her shoulder blades. She wore a blouse with a flower print on a pink background and light green cotton slacks. “Come on children, finish eating. I know it will take us merely fifteen minutes to walk to school. But Yuri-chan is right, she should practice one last time before the concert.”

Takashi checked his watch, and put down his newspaper. They put on their coats, gloves and shoes at the door, and left.

On this November Saturday morning of Yuriko’s school recital, the sky was layered with billowing clouds and a cold wind was gusting in the streets. As they left their apartment building, Yuriko and her family cinched up their coats. On their way to the school, Yuriko hummed the theme of her concerto, anxious to begin the concert.

They walked through the two relatively peaceful side streets until they came to the main street of Ookubo-dori. From there to the school, they passed by dull gray, brown, and tan cement buildings which were home to many small businesses. Among them were fish, vegetable and fruit stores; bakeries; clothing stores with everyday apparel for around the house; and hardware stores.

The locals knew the proprietors of these establishments and got personal attention when they shopped. Sidewalks were crowded with vending machines offering soft drinks, candy, condoms, and numerous other products. Ookubo-dori was busy with cars and people, including stay-at-home moms doing their daily grocery shopping—often on bicycles.

They managed to get to school early enough for Yuriko to practice before going to the auditorium. Her parents and brother took their seats in the center of the fourth row. The performance began at 9:35 a.m. with a ten-year-old boy performing on the trumpet, followed by a twelve-year-old girl playing a cello piece.

Promptly at ten o’clock, Yuriko walked from the wings at stage right to the piano placed at center stage. She felt completely prepared to perform the Sakura Piano Concerto for her high school classmates, their parents and the faculty. She turned to the audience, bowed her head once, then adjusted the piano bench and sat.

Yuriko signaled the conductor of the school’s sixty-five-piece orchestra to begin. After the work’s sixteen-measure introduction, she began to play. The first movement went smoothly to its finish and then they were into the second.

As the second movement ended, there was a slight pause and she thought, It’s going so well, I couldn’t wish for a better performance. She began the final movement.

Three minutes into the third movement, and sixteen minutes into her concerto, Yuriko suddenly stopped playing. She looked around the auditorium and cried out, “FIRE!” Yuriko covered her ears with her hands, but that did not quell the voice she heard so clearly. She leaped up, almost falling as she knocked over the piano bench. “Who’s yelling? The hut’s on fire!” she rasped as she began to cough and her eyes started to tear.

The members of the orchestra slowly stopped playing in an uncoordinated cacophony. Some of the audience remained seated and began to talk among themselves. Others stood and looked around the auditorium. A few of her classmates, and their parents, laughed and jeered.

Yuriko ran off the stage in tears. Her music teacher was in the wings and chased her while the stage director brought down the curtain. Mrs. Saito yelled, “Yuriko, wait,” and caught up with her backstage. “What’s wrong Yuriko, what is the problem?”

Between sobs, Yuriko said, “Saito-sensei, I heard someone . . . I guess in my mind . . . yelling something about a fire, . . . and I could smell smoke and feel the heat.” Yuriko began to calm down. “I didn’t really understand the language, but the images were so strong, I just knew what the boy was saying. It was . . . was like . . . like I was in his mind.”

Mrs. Saito put her arms around Yuriko and gave her a hug, then quickly stepped back. Yuriko was approaching an age where any physical expression of affection toward children, such as hugs, even by family, was unacceptable. “It’s okay, Yuriko. Can you describe the images?”

The distraught girl closed her eyes and thought for a bit. “There were a bunch of shabby huts with grass roofs, and two were burning. Black people were coming out of the huts. They weren’t wearing much, and some were screaming.”

Yuriko shook her head. “I lost my place in the music, Sensei. I’m so embarrassed, but I want to finish my concerto. Can I begin again at the start of the third movement . . . please?”

“I think it would be good, and I’ll find out. Yuriko, I’m not only your teacher, I’m your friend.” Michiko knelt down and hugged Yuriko again. “You can always talk to me about your problems and ask for advice . . . whenever you need to. I know there is more to this than you’re telling me, and that’s okay. Please remember, I’m here to help you.”

Yuriko’s parents and brother had rushed backstage and arrived then. “Well, you certainly embarrassed us today,” Takashi growled. Izumi turned to him, her face red with anger. “Takashi, this is not the time for embarrassment. Something is wrong and I won’t have you lambaste Yuri-chan over it!”

Her husband stepped back, stunned.

Izumi bent down and held her daughter close to her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mama-san. I want to finish the concerto.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Nishikawa, I believe it would be good for Yuriko to finish. I’ll take care of it. After she’s done, I would like to speak to you both. One of the teachers can sit with Yuriko and her brother while we talk.”

Yuriko’s music teacher made the arrangements and spoke to the orchestra. The school’s music director announced the program’s resumption to the audience, and they regained their seats as the lights came down.

Yuriko returned to the stage and walked to the piano. She bowed her head. “I apologize to you all for my behavior. I will continue with the third movement now.” She sat at the piano, signaled the conductor and continued the performance, which was completed flawlessly to generous, but reserved, applause.

Yuriko came backstage and Mrs. Saito congratulated her for her courage and performance. Then she left Yuriko and her brother in the care of another teacher. Mrs. Saito led Izumi and Takashi into a small office off the backstage.

“Saito-sensei, please tell me what happened with my daughter,” Izumi urged.

“Mrs. Nishikawa, Yuriko was playing beautifully. She told me she suddenly stopped when she heard a voice in her mind cry out about a fire. Yuriko also said she could smell smoke and feel heat. Her description of the scene resembled a primitive village in Africa. Have there been other incidents of her hearing voices?” Mrs. Saito had asked Yuriko’s mother the same question once before, but wanted to hear what her father would say.

Izumi put a hand over her mouth and then lowered it. “Oh dear, we hoped this was behind her. For a period of time after she turned four she claimed to hear voices though no one was present. I was becoming very concerned, and then it stopped many months ago.”

“We thought she was going through a phase and had outgrown it,” Takashi added. “Do you have any idea what might be causing it?”

“There could be a number of explanations. I strongly recommend you take her to a doctor as soon as possible to check for medical or psychological problems.”

“You’re correct Saito-sensei.” Izumi shot Takashi a defying look. “In fact, I had suggested taking her to a doctor when it occurred before, but her father thought I was overreacting and advised we wait. Of course, we didn’t realize how much this was affecting her. I’ll call our doctor tomorrow and get the first available appointment.”

Following their return home, Takashi faced Izumi. “Send the children to their bedrooms so we can talk in private.” Izumi turned to them, “Children, go to your rooms and please don’t disturb us. We won’t be long.”

Yuriko’s brother went to his room, hopped onto the bed and played a computer game. But, Yuriko was too nervous to do anything. Instead, she got on her own bed and rested her head on a propped-up pillow. She concentrated on her parents and listened with her mind—something she was learning to do quite well.

After Izumi and Takashi sat on the couch, he turned to her. “Not only did Yuriko embarrass all of us by her outburst, you humiliated me in front of Yuriko’s teacher.”

“I’m sorry if you feel that way.” Izumi bowed her head. “I really did not intend that.”

“Whatever possessed you to act so rashly?” Takashi inquired.

Raising her head, Izumi replied, “I’m very worried about what’s happening with Yuri-chan. Two of her teachers have now suggested we take her to a doctor, and they both mentioned the possibility of psychological problems.”

“Foolishness. Nothing but foolishness.” Takashi shook his head and gripped the arm of the couch tightly. “She has no so-called psychological problems. I don’t know what my superiors would think if they found out we were taking Yuriko to a doctor for that.”

“But, Tak, there must be something wrong, something a doctor could treat. I want to take her to see our doctor.”

Takashi’s face turned red. He sprang to his feet and slapped Izumi’s face. “You will not take Yuriko to a doctor!” He sat down again and grasped Izumi’s hand as she rubbed her reddened cheek and wept softly. “Izumi . . . I’m sorry, but you made me very angry.”

Yuriko rested her head in her hands and cried gently. I’ve never known him to be so angry—it’s my fault.

Izumi lowered her head again. “I apologize, Takashi . . . for embarrassing you and making you angry.”

“You’re forgiven. All Yuri-chan needs is to be disciplined and learn self-control. No doctor is necessary.”

“If you say so,” she muttered in a voice devoid of emotion.

“You will obey me in this . . . won’t you Izumi?” Takashi demanded.

“Yes, of course.” Izumi promised.

“Good. Please get me a cup of tea, and start lunch.”

Izumi stood up, gave her husband a deceptively formal bow and hurried to the kitchen. She thought, Oh, why are we Japanese so afraid of our emotions. Women are still expected to be docile, and men . . . men seldom show any emotion but anger. I’m going to take Yuriko to our doctor regardless of what I agreed to, but I’ll have to be very careful.

Monday morning, Izumi walked the children to school as usual. She informed Mrs. Saito of her decision and the problem she’d had with her husband. Mrs. Saito consented to work things out with the school so Izumi could take Yuriko to their doctor during the week. Izumi used her cell phone to call and make an appointment with Yuriko’s pediatrician for the following Wednesday.

On Wednesday, Izumi dropped her son at his school and took Yuriko to her doctor’s office on the second floor of the Shinjuku Mitsui Building Clinic, within walking distance of their apartment. He examined Yuriko and drew blood. The doctor said everything looked all right, but he would know more after the blood analysis was completed.

Izumi and Yuriko left the doctor’s office and took the stairs to the building’s lobby. Yuriko could tell her mother was worried, not from physical clues but because she had gotten used to using her mind to read her parent’s feelings. “Mama-san, it wasn’t bad at all. I liked the hearing test . . . and the blood test only hurt a little.”

Snow had begun to fall, merging the streets and sidewalks together in a soft, white mantle. Izumi looked at the thermometer on the side of the building across the street, noted the falling temperature and felt a chill even before venturing outside. Deciding to take a taxi home, she called from the lobby and sat snuggled with her daughter on a bench. Izumi held Yuriko cozily, saying nothing while they waited patiently.

When the minivan taxi arrived a few minutes later, they tightened their jackets against the cold and went outside. The driver, a pudgy, older man, with a pockmarked face and thinning hair, came around the taxi and helped them into it. Then he carefully pulled into the street.

Three blocks from the pediatrician’s office, their taxi entered an intersection on a green light. Yuriko suddenly screamed, “Stop!” The taxi suddenly screeched to a halt, its engine dead.

A car zoomed by, missing them by inches. It had come from behind a truck and run the red light. The taxi’s driver cursed. Izumi gasped, barely comprehending what had happened. They had narrowly escaped a serious accident and she had no idea how. Their driver turned the ignition switch and the car started. He cautiously finished crossing the intersection, pulled over to the side of the road and turned to face Izumi and Yuriko.

“That was close,” he said, sweating profusely. “Are you both okay?”

Izumi turned to Yuriko, who nodded her head. “Yes”, Izumi answered. “Thank you for stopping so fast.”

“I . . . I didn’t stop. I never saw the car coming, and have no idea how we stopped. It’s a miracle we weren’t hit.” He cautiously merged back into traffic and drove on.

Izumi sat back in her seat and looked at Yuriko, who gave her mother a little smirk and patted her arm. Izumi smiled back, clutched Yuriko’s hand and considered her daughter. My little girl is far more unique than I ever imagined.

For the next two days, life at home, school and work continued normally. Beneath the normalcy, Izumi and Yuriko were worried, but both had become adept at hiding their emotions. The pediatrician’s office called Friday morning and told Izumi that Yuriko’s blood chemistry was normal. The receptionist asked her to come to the office the following Tuesday so the doctor could talk to her about additional tests.

Izumi and Yuriko met with the doctor on Tuesday. He said he had been doing research on the problem and explained the possibility of a brain tumor. The doctor suggested she take Yuriko to the Tokyo Joshi-Idai University Hospital to be tested. Izumi agreed, and the pediatrician called to make the appointment for the next Thursday morning. He instructed Izumi on how to prepare Yuriko for the tests.

Meandering home, Izumi considered what she was doing. Taking Yuriko to the doctor was the first thing she had done that Takashi had expressly forbade. Though she handled the household bills, Izumi was concerned her husband would discover the doctor visits when he saw them on the insurance statement he got at work at the end of each year. Well, with these visits being in December, they probably won’t show up until the end of next year. I hope I’ll be able to figure out how to deal with Takashi by then.

Izumi went to school in the afternoon to pick up the children and informed Yuriko’s regular teacher and Mrs. Saito about Yuriko’s appointment on Thursday. She told them Yuriko would not be in school until afterward.

On Thursday morning Izumi got up at her usual time of five thirty and went through her chores in a daze. She dressed, laid Takashi’s clothes out for him, and prepared his breakfast so he could get an early start to his office.

As soon as Takashi left for work, Izumi woke the children and hurried them through washing, dressing and breakfast. They rushed to school and left Yuriko’s brother. Izumi and Yuriko made the subway just in time for their appointment at the Tokyo Joshi-Idai University Hospital.

Yuriko was calm and exceedingly patient while she was given the EEG test and a brain scan with the hospital’s CAT scanner. When the testing was concluded, the doctor in charge of the hospital’s scanning center sent Izumi and Yuriko to meet with the head of the Neurology Department.

There were several men talking in the office, but Izumi identified Dr. Akira Tanaka among them by the lab coat with his name badge clipped on a pocket. She also noticed his athletic build, salt and pepper hair, and the distinguished-looking narrow mustache.

The neurologist saw Yuriko over another doctor’s shoulder. Akira Tanaka briefly stared at Yuriko before recognition set in. He excused himself and strode toward her and Izumi. “Didn’t you perform at the Tokyo Symphony’s program for gifted young musicians last April or May?”

“Yes, sir. I played violin and piano. Did you see me?”

“I certainly did, Yuriko. And thought you were marvelous.”

Yuriko beamed with delight.

Dr. Tanaka made sure Yuriko understood what was going on and that it was acceptable to Izumi to have her present during their discussion. Izumi was taken aback when Yuriko revealed she’d read books on paranormal abilities in the library. But it didn’t surprise the head of neurology because he had dealt with three similar children in the last two years.

He was already working with Dr. Dennis Murphy, Dr. Paula Krasicki, and other doctors in the United States and elsewhere on this unusual condition. Yuriko’s maturity further solidified the neurologist’s confidence in her presence.

The doctor explained about Yuriko’s peculiar tumor and showed them the EEG and CAT scan results. He then divulged the existence of a significant number of children with a similar tumor and comparable abilities. Akira Tanaka grinned at the obvious relief of both Izumi and Yuriko to know they were not alone and the other children were all healthy, talented and highly intelligent.

He showed them the website being maintained and monitored by Dr. Ramaraju Gupta, who had received his doctorate the year before. They reviewed the information, much to Izumi’s and Yuriko’s fascination.

Since it was near eleven o’clock in the morning Tokyo time and three o’clock on Friday afternoon in Seattle, the neurologist managed to get a call through to Dennis Murphy. He put it on the speakerphone so they could all participate. Akira summarized for Dennis Yuriko’s situation and the results of her tests.

“Thank you Akira,” Dennis said. “Mrs. Nishikawa, Yuriko, over the last two or three years I’ve had the opportunity to visit with other parents . . . and children like Yuriko. I believe it would be worth while to come here to Seattle and meet with me and one of my associates, as well as another family like yours.”

Izumi’s English was fair at best and she was often too uncomfortable to use it in conversation. The neurologist helped to translate when it was necessary. “That sounds won . . . won . . . so good, Dr. Murphy,” Izumi responded. “But I don’t know how we could possibry go. Am sure it is cost too much, . . . but . . . hmm, maybe I go back to work as dentaru assistant.”

“See what you can do to make the trip,” Dennis said. “I’m sure Jason and Peter would love to meet Yuriko. They’re both seven years old like she is. I think you would like their parents, Mrs. Nishikawa. Uh, . . . you know, we might be able to help with the expenses.”

Beaming, Yuriko tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Excuse me, please. Mother, may I say something?”

“Doctor, is it all right if Yuri-chan speaks?” Izumi asked.

“Of course it is,” Akira replied. “Go ahead, Yuriko.”

“I think I know how we can go, Mama-san.” Yuriko squirmed and could not sit still. “Maybe, we can arrange for me to play with some of their orchestras and they’ll pay me.”

The Neurology Department chief threw back his head and laughed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at your suggestion. It’s just . . . I should have thought of it. It’s an excellent idea.” He explained to Dennis about Yuriko’s performance in April and how beautifully she’d played.

Izumi’s face glowed. “Yuriko, I’m very proud of you.” Then to Akira Tanaka, “I’ll speak with Saito-sensei, Yuriko’s music teacher. I’m certain she can arrange for us to talk with the music director of the Tokyo Symphony, and maybe he can help.”

“I will definitely do my part,” the neurologist said. “My wife and I contribute to the orchestra. I’ll make a call to the maestro directly. Mrs. Nishikawa, please let me know how it goes from your side and I’ll let you know what I find out.” He turned back to the speakerphone. “Dennis, excuse me for leaving you out of the conversation. I’ll keep you informed as well.”

After bidding goodbye to Dennis, Akira Tanaka described the parents’ videoconferences being held regularly, and invited Izumi to participate with her husband. Then, he walked them to the outer lobby.

On the way home from Yuriko’s tests, they stopped at the Yoshiya Market and two other grocery stores to buy fresh ingredients for Yosenabe, one of Takashi’s favorite meals.

This evening, the meal would include mochi rice, chicken, cabbage, carrots, shiitake mushrooms, green onions, red peppers, and tofu. Izumi would cook them together in a broth at the table, adding ingredients as desired. She intended to do everything she could to keep him happy while she made plans for Yuriko’s future.

Late in the evening, when the children were sleeping and Takashi was very relaxed, Izumi said, “Takashi, because of your attitude, there’s no way to lead into this subject, so here it is. Yuriko has a brain tumor.”

“What! How do you know?”

“I knew there was something wrong,” Izumi replied, “so I took her to the doctor, despite your unreasonable demands.”

“Forget that. What about the tumor?”

Izumi explained what their doctor and the neurologist had told her, and of her discussion with Dennis Murphy. “Well, what do you think?”

Takashi bowed his head. “I’m ashamed of my behavior.” He looked up at her and shrugged his shoulders. “I behaved the way I was raised.”

“I know, Tak. I love you and, believe me, I do understand. We Japanese need to change, be more open, less rigid, . . . and have more tolerance of people who are different. Maybe we care too much about what others think of us, and not enough of what we think of ourselves.”

Takashi grinned and held his wife close to him. “Izumi, how did you become so smart and accepting?”

Izumi smiled demurely. “It was the way I was raised.” Her mother was a painter in the traditional Japanese style and her father made stringed instruments by hand. Such artistic people tend to be more receptive regarding those who are unconventional in behavior or are dissimilar or peculiar in appearance.

They both chuckled. “I will work on my attitude,” Takashi pledged. “Having a wife like you and a daughter like Yuriko will help me to change.”

“Thank you,” Izumi said. She then explained about the trip to Seattle.

“Please talk with Saito-sensei and whoever else you need to so you can arrange for Yuriko to perform in the United States. And you go with her. I’ll stay here with our son, . . . and I’ll be home at a reasonable time to be with him in the evenings. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Thanks to the generous assistance of the Tokyo Symphony Orchestra’s music director, Yuriko made recordings—audio and video—of her solo performance on both violin and piano. The maestro set Yuriko up with an artistic agent who gave the Nishikawas an extremely favorable representation contract. The agent sent the recordings to fifteen United States orchestras as a form of audition.

Within the next month the agent had arranged a tour for Yuriko to play with five symphony orchestras in the western United States. All expenses would be covered for Yuriko and her mother. Yuriko was to be paid an average of seven thousand American dollars for each performance. This was very reasonable for an unknown artist, even one such as Yuriko.

The tour was scheduled for four Sunday matinee concerts and one evening concert. The first one was with the Los Angeles Philharmonic on July fifth of the next year, 2026, and the last one was on August second with the Seattle Symphony. Izumi informed the head of the Neurology Department at the hospital, who contacted Dennis Murphy. The following week, Dennis finalized the plans for Izumi and Yuriko to meet with the Starkey family and with Irene & Albert Cohen.