“These are all our employees. Please wait there for a moment.”
Yoshio headed toward the group. They shifted aside to make a path for him, and when one of them opened the curtain, Yoshio went inside. The curtain closed, and a few minutes later, Yoshio Tamai emerged again, having completely changed his attire. He was now wearing the traditional eboshi black hat of medieval Japan and holding a wooden shaku ritual baton in his hand. Out of the crowd, he was the only one wearing all white.
“Please show Mr. Matsunaga the way. Oh! He’s still convalescing, so prepare a seat for him.”
One of the women went into the curtain and came out with a circular straw mat.
She was a member of the crowd who had been waiting up top as Mitsuhiro took Sae out. He remembered that she had introduced herself as Chiyo Tamai from General Affairs when they first met. She approached Mitsuhiro with a solemn expression, her cheerful office personality gone.
“I will guide you, Mr. Matsunaga,” she said with a bow.
“Okay.”
Mitsuhiro bowed back and followed Chiyo toward the shrine. It was kept out of view by the mounds before, but now he saw that it was decorated with brand-new sakaki branches and altar fittings. The table was lined with Shinto accessories and offerings, and the upper part of the wall was inscribed with a large appease character 鎭 of pure white.
Chiyo placed a mat in front of the corner stake to the left of the shrine. “Please sit here.”
“Um, okay.”
Mitsuhiro stopped looking at the shrine and sat down on the round mat. Kneeling pained his leg too much, so he sat cross-legged and peered down into the hole.
Araki and Yoshikazu Hara were there.
Mitsuhiro froze in shock, blinking a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. But it was no mirage. They were both at the bottom of that strangely soft hole. The smell and the heat were terrifying. When Mitsuhiro put his face beyond the barrier of rope and paper streamers, he realized that the stench and heat were all trapped inside the hole, never leaving the boundary.
Yoshikazu Hara was chained to the concrete block. He had a calm expression on his face as he looked straight up, more peacefully meditating than sleeping.
Araki, meanwhile, was leaning quietly against the wall to the right of the concrete block. His head was bandaged, the right leg of his work jumpsuit was torn, and his right thigh, which had been wounded with that stone, was wrapped in thick bandages. The knifelike stone that had stabbed him was placed right next to Araki, and the blood seemed to have been wiped clean.
He was staring at the amulet in his right hand, but when he felt someone watching him, he suddenly turned his head up and saw Mitsuhiro. Mitsuhiro shuddered, thinking that Araki was going to yell at him for causing this, but Araki seemed indifferent, turning his attention back to the amulet in his hand.
—What on earth are we going to do now?
Despite being in this cold ritual hall, Mitsuhiro felt an anxious sweat beading up on his forehead. If they filled the hole with the soil from those mounds, then what were Araki and Yoshikazu Hara doing down there? What exactly was the plan? The question seemed too morbid to ponder. He was too shocked to ask it out loud, but before he could even try, Yoshio and his employees gathered around the hole.
Holding his ritual baton in front of him, he passed right by Mitsuhiro. He tried to give Yoshio a what’s going on? look, but Yoshio didn’t even glance back.
Just as Yoshio fell out of view behind one of the mounds, there was a creaking sound. Mitsuhiro leaned over, peering under the ropes and paper streamers stretched over his head. He saw the stepladder in the corner and Yoshio climbing down it. When he reached the bottom of the hole, he coughed at the smell, then walked toward Araki.
“Sota.”
Araki stopped staring at the amulet. He turned his gaze toward Yoshio.
“Sota, were you cursed along with the previous leader before he passed away?”
“Maybe. I really don’t know anymore.”
Yoshio nodded gently and pointed at the amulet Araki was holding. “Is that the one our late leader prepared for Chief Sugawara?”
Araki smiled happily. “Yes. The paper inside was written by my father. Should I give it to you?”
“Keep it. I’ll give the director something else in its place.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s nothing to be sorry about. Is there anything else you want me to do, Sota?”
“Nothing. Let’s get this appeasement done. Be careful with it. Make sure nothing comes out for thirty years.”
“Okay. I’ll take good care of this place.”
“Please do, Yoshio.”
Araki and Yoshio bowed to each other. Then Yoshio went over to Yoshikazu Hara.
“Mr. Hara.”
Yoshikazu Hara opened his eyes and looked at Yoshio.
“Don’t worry about Megumi. We will take responsibility for her and make sure she has everything she needs.”
Yoshikazu Hara sat upright and bowed deeply. “Yes, please. Whatever you can do.”
“I truly appreciate the long relationship you’ve had with us.”
“The pleasure is all mine. Thank you very much.”
Yoshio bowed to Yoshikazu Hara, held his baton forward, and quietly returned to the stepladder, as if the ceremony had already begun. Yoshio was no longer looking at Araki or Yoshikazu Hara, and the two of them quietly closed their eyes.
Once he climbed out of the hole, an employee pulled up the stepladder and placed it under the table in front of the shrine.
—Wait!
Mitsuhiro wanted to shout it out loud.
—Why are you taking the stepladder? Those two are still in the hole!
But the atmosphere was so quiet, the scene so otherworldly, and most of all, no one else seemed to question the situation. All he could do was sit there in shock.
The ten attendants scattered in all directions, while Yoshio stood at one corner of the hole. Fourteen living people were in here. Mitsuhiro thought about that. The same number as those swallowed by the hole. He didn’t know if that meant something.
He was wondering if the number was deliberate when he heard a loud thud. Someone was beating a drum. Along with the constant boom, boom, boom, the sound of flutes began to echo underground. Yoshio began to chant something loudly, making the hair rise on Mitsuhiro’s arms.
Hifumi yoimunaya kotomochirorane
Shikiru yuwitsuwanu sowotahakumeka
Uoe nisarihete nomasuasewehoreke
Mitsuhiro had no idea what he was saying. Was it for a standard earth-appeasement ceremony, or a special prayer to summon the water god? Or was it to call back whatever had come out of the hole?
But it was all of those things at once—something more than Mitsuhiro could ever understand.
Hifumi yoimunaya kotomochirorane
Shikiru yuwitsuwanu sowotahakumeka
Uoe nisarihete nomasuasewehoreke
As Yoshio repeated the chant, the pile-driver machine suddenly roared into action, shaking the air in the sealed ritual hall.
Before he knew it, four of the ten Tamai employees, two men and two women, began a strange dance in a line, circling the hole clockwise. The four of them chanted the same syllables in unison with Yoshio Tamai, and the pitch gradually seemed to rise.
Mitsuhiro felt like he was in some realm that was not his own. His vision grew distorted, and everything seemed to be spinning around him. He wanted to shout Stop!, but for some reason, he found himself whispering the words repeated by Yoshio and his team. If he didn’t, he feared, he’d eventually be swallowed up by the hole himself. If they didn’t purify everything here and now, he might face this terrifying ordeal all over again—and this time, he may really lose everything.
The sound of the drum and flutes, the rumble of heavy machinery, and the incomprehensible prayer continued. As the four dancers circled the hole multiple times, the boards holding back the earthen mounds were removed one by one.