When Yuka and I first found the clearing under the bridge, it was a very hot summer day. There were no clouds in the sky, and the sun beat down on the sea of grass around the bridge.
Yuka and I were on a walk. We’d played like we always did, running until we could run no farther. At last we were too out of breath to run, and we’d stopped on the road by the river.
We leaned against the concrete railing, resting, staring down at the sea of grass below. There was a gentle breeze, and the grass shifted like invisible hands were moving it.
Yuka called me. When I turned toward her, I saw that she was looking at the stairs leading down from the end of the bridge.
As we went down, I could feel her sense of adventure; it was almost dancing. At the bottom of the stairs was a world of green. We moved forward through it, our noses filled with the grassy scent.
Yuka must have decided it was boring walking normally, because she glanced back at me and then suddenly ran forward. Clearly, she was signaling me to give chase. We forgot how tired we were as we chased each other around in the grass.
It was a hot summer day, and I was soon roasting. Still, I followed Yuka through the grass. When I lost sight of her, I’d soon hear her laughing, and I’d surge toward the voice, causing her to run again.
Suddenly we came out into a clearing. It was like the world opened up before us. The powerful scent of grass faded, and a gentle breeze wrapped around us. We were in a circular area that had remained free of grass.
Yuka had found it first, and she was standing in the center of the clearing, appearing surprised. She looked around, and then she saw me come flying out of the wall of grass. At first, it confused both of us, but soon we began to feel like we’d found something special. I could see her eyes glittering with joy.
How long ago had that been? It seemed like a distant memory.
Shortly after we found the clearing, he’d started coming. And then Yuka and I had begun our midnight walks. The wind grew colder every day. We no longer felt the warm light that had enveloped us that summer day.
Even if we did take a walk during the day, we no longer ran or chased each other. We no longer played; we just went looking for homes with dogs. Doing so made it easier to find prey at night.
Yuka told me to do so. I didn’t know why, but I knew it wasn’t for fun. Yuka’s eyes never smiled. Her sadness and hatred overwhelmed all other emotions. I had to do as she asked.
The wind was a little colder than it had been last time. It was still early in the evening, and there were still plenty of cars racing by on the bridge. Their blinding lights raced toward us, our shadows spreading out before shrinking and zipping past us, then vanishing into the darkness.
We looked down at the grass from above. Most of it was lost in darkness. The wind rustled the grass, waves traveling through darkness. We could only make out a small portion of it from the faint light of the streetlights on the bridge.
Yuka and I went down the stairs and into the clearing.
I looked closely at the wall of grass around us. Was anyone hiding there? Could I smell any stranger’s scent in the air?
Just as my nerves were all standing on guard, Yuka called me. It was time to begin.
We placed the dog we’d brought with us in the center of the circle. It was not as small as a puppy but not as big as a grown-up, either—it was a young dog, almost finished being a child. It looked up at us, surprised. We’d kidnapped the dog on our way there.
When we took the dogs, they always called loudly for their owners. When they did that, we would calm them down by giving them my food.
Yuka moved to the edge of the clearing, leaving me with the dog. She always sat there and watched the carnage.
I stared into my opponent’s eyes, and I got ready to jump on him. The dog was cowed by my stare, and it lowered its head. My nerves were on end, waiting for Yuka’s signal.
My opponent had no idea what we were about to do. It looked up at me anxiously, whining—looking for its owner.
A gust of cold night wind rattled the grass like the roar of the surf and then vanished. Silence fell. The stream of cars on the bridge seemed to have died out, and I could no longer hear them. In the silence, I tensed. The air crackled. The little hole waited for destruction and death. I strained my senses, waiting for the moment to begin.
The dog in front of me looked around nervously, cowed by the mood in the air. It whined again plaintively.
As it did, Yuka called out, short and sharp: “Fight!”
I sprang forward, closing the distance between the baffled dog and myself instantly. Our shoulders crashed together. The dog was knocked aside, rolling. I growled. My opponent bared its teeth, still a little confused. Its eyes filled with confused hostility.
My heart began beating faster. I could feel the ground beneath my feet and the flow of air past me so clearly. My mind was occupied with figuring out just how long it would take me to cover the distance between my opponent and me. Every little move the dog made had me guessing which direction it would go. I had been through many fights, so I was getting good at this.
But my heart was always filled with sadness. How long was Yuka going to make me do this? I didn’t really want to kill anything. All my life, I’d never thought my jaws were meant to be used this way.
The dog moved to the right, as I knew he would, and I was there ahead of him. The dog’s fur scattered in the air. Blood spilled, and the dog staggered. Darkness surrounded us.
We fought awhile longer, and then Yuka stood up.
“Bite!” she shouted, her voice charred with hate. Those feelings were all for that man; she had started making me do this after he’d started coming. The suffering locked within her was all released here when she made me kill.
I regarded the wounded dog in front of me, and then I looked at Yuka screaming. I howled. My shrill cry echoed under the bridge. My head felt hot. Why was this happening? Why couldn’t we play and laugh like before?
The dog shivered, trying to hide itself in the darkness. It no longer had any will to resist. It could barely stand, and it was terrified of dying.
I would end it now.
I whispered to myself, advancing on the four-legged animal. I opened my jaws wide and bit it on the neck. My teeth pierced its skin, sinking deep. Blood gushed out, filling my mouth.
That summer day had been bathed in the light of fortune. Yuka and I had found the clearing in the grass while running around. I had jumped on Yuka, and she had fallen over. For a moment, I was worried I’d hurt her, but she lay there looking happy, so I flopped down on the ground next to her, and we gazed up at the sky together. The sun had warmed our bodies, and our noses had been filled with the smell of grass and the faint odor of our sweat …
The animal in my jaws stopped convulsing. Blood dripped off my chin. The body was getting cold. All sound around us had ceased.
I was good at killing now. I didn’t know if it was a good thing, but Yuka had taught me that my jaws could become a weapon.
All warmth had left the dead thing now. All that remained was a cold lump of flesh.
She had taught me, I thought again.
I took the dog that had been in my mouth and placed it on the ground, looking up at Yuka, who stared silently back at me.
I knew what she wanted. I could feel the strength of her will flowing into me.
Why had she made me kill all of these animals?
I had never known before—but now I finally understood: Yuka had been training me.
She had made me kill all these animals so I could experience death that many times, honing critical parts of me. My experience with death would prevent me from hesitating and failing when the time came.
Yuka could not fight that man, but I could become the fangs that would protect her.
Yuka nodded. She knew I understood now. She had been waiting for me to work it out.
I didn’t need any more training, I told her.
The man was sleeping over tonight. We would settle this in the morning. Yuka whispered this to me.
I tossed the dead animal in the hole, washing my mouth in the river and swallowing the animal’s fur. Now we would go home—and wait for morning.
Yuka and I turned to leave the clearing under the bridge. But just as we were about to push our way into the wall of grass, I stopped. Yuka was already in the grass; she stopped too, turning back.
“What?” I could feel her asking.
I looked at her, and then I searched the grass behind me. For a moment, I thought I had seen it move oddly.
Nothing, I thought. Let’s go. I looked back at her and ran to her side.
There may have been someone there. I was sure there had been—the same one who’d been after us, trying to catch us. And at last, he had hidden and watched what we were doing.
Until now I had been afraid of getting caught. Not anymore. I knew what I had to do now, and I was no longer anxious.
We didn’t need to kill animals again. I was done with my training. We no longer needed to fear the shadow that had chased us.
We climbed the stairs. I looked back one more time at the sea of grass, which was shrouded in darkness. I wanted to tell whoever was hiding there what Yuka and I had really been doing. I wanted him to know what had happened to Yuka and why she had decided to do this.
I still think that.