—Ah, they’re filling it in.
They’re going to fill in this whole thing.
And irreplaceable human sacrifices will serve as its foundation.
As the thought raced across Mitsuhiro’s spinning head, the mound at the edge in front of him collapsed into the hole.
The soil, as dark as store-bought fertilizer, poured down on Araki at the bottom. Then the mound on the right collapsed, followed by the one on the left, instantly engulfing Yoshikazu Hara. Finally, the pile of earth on Mitsuhiro’s right fell, and the hole was now completely filled in.
The four dancers picked up their shovels. Still chanting the same words as Yoshio, they scooped up the remaining earth and threw it into the hole to the rhythm of the drum, flutes, and heavy machinery.
No, there was no hole now. There was only a mound of earth.
To the left of Mitsuhiro, Chiyo Tamai removed the rope and paper that had been tied to the stakes. The pile driver moved straight toward the spot, making tracks in the dirt.
If something that heavy went on top of a hole filled with loose soil, wouldn’t it sink right in? Whatever rational part of Mitsuhiro’s mind remained considered the thought. But while the caterpillar tracks did sink in a bit, they didn’t get stuck beyond retrieval. In fact, the machine was moving back and forth, rotating itself over the hole to compact the soil.
It was like a dance, Mitsuhiro thought, watching the pile driver repeat its little sequence of steps. It was running over people in its soil-compacting dance. Like when they drove piles during construction. It was dancing, and compacting the earth, and compacting the people buried below.
Hifumi yoimunaya kotomochirorane
Shikiru yuwitsuwanu sowotahakumeka
Uoe nisarihete nomasuasewehoreke
Eventually, the pile driver stopped moving. The four dancers went to the wall, put down their shovels, and began to install one of the concrete piles that had been laid out.
Mitsuhiro watched in a near daze as these people in traditional Japanese clothing worked with practiced hands, following standard safety practices, as if this were nothing more than a regular ground-improvement job.
The concrete pillars, which looked like giant stakes, were adjusted by the pile driver operator to ensure they were perfectly vertical, and then they easily sank into the soft soil. Right where Araki had been.
Once the first concrete pile was completely hidden in the ground, the pile driver moved slightly, and the next one was installed. This time, a hard pillar was driven into the soil near where Yoshikazu Hara had been.
When that was finished, the concrete-pile work continued at pace, one by one, along the edge of the hole. After that, crushed-stone piles were put in place around the hole, just as Mitsuhiro had anticipated. These two types of pile work were carried out with a strict, practiced procedure, even with Mitsuhiro on his straw mat and Yoshio chanting right nearby. Mitsuhiro was the only one wearing a helmet, though. The others were all dressed in traditional Japanese clothing, which wasn’t really safe. Any of it could easily be caught in machinery.
No, this wasn’t construction work. It was a ritual.
He still couldn’t believe that they had to break out the pile driver. They weren’t building a house underground. And yet, at the same time, Mitsuhiro never doubted that this place needed to be built as solidly as possible.
When the last crushed-stone pile was driven into the ground, the drum and flutes stopped. Yoshio and the others stopped chanting, and Mitsuhiro watched silently as the pile driver returned to its original position. He had lost track of how long the ceremony went on. His head was too foggy to keep track of the time. His whole body felt numb, and his ears rang from all the echoes.
When he glanced toward the door, he saw someone standing there. Someone who wasn’t among those standing here on the ground, alive. Someone who shouldn’t have been there, but his face was blurry and unclear.
He thought it might be Yoshikazu Hara. No, actually, it might be Araki. Or maybe his father, Kosuke Matsunaga, had made this his second grave. Or maybe it was all three of them at once.
“Please stand up, Mr. Matsunaga.”
Before he knew it, Yoshio had come up to him. Mitsuhiro unsteadily got to his feet, supported by the other Tamai Construction employees. He felt an immense fatigue, as if he had just finished working a long shift.
“You must not say a word about what happened here outside of this place. Do not tell anyone, unless you want to be bound by karma once more. This is very important.”
Mitsuhiro gave Yoshio several deep nods. He didn’t want to tell anyone. He didn’t even want to tell his family.
So he left the ritual site with the assistance of the Tamai employees. He needed them because either the ritual or the painkillers had made him impossibly groggy.
He climbed the 177 steps, followed by the temporary stairs, but he almost fainted several times during the climb. By the time he reached the surface, he was being all but dragged along, virtually unconscious.
When Mitsuhiro came to, his helmet had been removed, and he was in a car driven by a Tamai Construction employee. It was night. They arrived at the hospital, and someone was waiting with a wheelchair out front. He was carried to his hospital room and put into bed, still wearing his white clothes and pants stuffed with the assorted things he’d taken with him.
Without even the energy to thank those who had carried him over here, he fell asleep.
His sleep was restless, coming in waves both deep and shallow. He saw someone sitting in the hospital room, but his mind told him it was a dream. Everyone involved in this whole thing was now in that hole, deep underground. Everyone except him. That’s why, even when he saw Araki sitting in the hospital room chair, staring at him with those emotionless eyes, he didn’t shout out. He just reflected on how he’d probably be having these dreams for a while to come.
The night passed, and he woke up to bright sunlight and the sound of the door opening. When he turned his head, Miyoko and Sae rushed over to him.
“Daddy!”
Sae zoomed straight to Mitsuhiro’s left knee and clung to it. Miyoko must have given her precise instructions on where to hug and where not to hug.
“This was hard on you, wasn’t it? The president of Tamai Construction gave us a lot of money. He called it compensation.”
“Yeah. It’s okay to accept it.”
“When we got home, you know, the smell was gone. We deep-cleaned all the stains, too. They’re almost gone.”
“Yeah! I got rid of all the scary stuff!” Sae laughed cheerfully to herself.
“Sae helped, too,” Miyoko added with a smile. Neither of them seemed to be forcing their cheeriness too much, which Mitsuhiro was thankful for.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore, Sae.”
“Yeah!”
“But maybe we should move,” he half-unconsciously muttered, eliciting stares from his family. “We don’t have to force ourselves into this mortgage or anything. I’m sorry.”
Miyoko smiled a bit. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I don’t know,” he said to himself with a laugh. Miyoko and Sae laughed along with him.
The realization that his family was back to normal was such a relief after they had almost taken away by something truly terrifying. He couldn’t have been more grateful.
But even so, part of his mind would never quite return to what it once was. Just like that soil, tamped down and pinned with stakes, it would remain sealed away for decades to come, appearing only in his dreams. He would just continue to pray that he could endure it without screaming.