My eyes fluttered open, the light intruding on my slumber.
“Ah, seems you’re awake,” said a familiar voice from nearby.
My mother stood in the corner of the room, and I gazed around to discover where I was — a wooden ceiling and foreign decor surrounded me.
“It’s already morning?” I questioned, blinking away the last traces of sleep.
“Yes, that’s right. You’re the only one still in bed, Keiichi,” she replied.
“Really?”
“Yes. Please get up quickly and help out.”
I reluctantly nodded as my mind cleared and recalled our situation — we had taken a trip from our home in Tokyo to Kyoto for a Buddhist service to honor my great-grandmother. We had stayed at my grandmother’s house the night before, sleeping on the unfamiliar tatami mats and futons. As it hurt my back to lie on them, I rose slowly.
The sunshine peeking through the sliding glass door cast a warm glow throughout the room.
“Keiichi, come quickly.” My mother opened the door and walked down the long hallway.
I replied, “I’m coming,” as she continued her instructions.
“Keiichi, could you please carry that cushion to the tatami room in the back?”
“Once you’ve done that, big brother, set the table.” My sister, Akane, had already gotten up and was helping out with the preparations and now bossing me around. As I dressed and headed to the living room, I knew what was expected of me.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Ah, I’m exhausted,” I said with a sigh.
After the morning preparations, the monk’s entrance, and a successful Buddhist memorial service, the night banquet began. I couldn’t remember exactly how long my great-grandmother had been gone; I didn’t even know which anniversary this was for.
I glanced around at my relatives. The mourning cousins, aunts, and uncles exchanged stories, talking about their lives more than my great-grandmother. It seemed like a drinking party for us rather than a solemn Buddhist ceremony; I noticed the grownups watching us with bemused looks. Rather than praying for the deceased’s spirit, they were more focused on catching up with one another.
“Keiichi, thank you for helping us so much. You can leave your seat now,” my mother said, carrying an empty beer bottle.
I nodded and left the hall.
I heard Kyoto is hot in the summer because it is a basin. But tonight, Kyoto felt cooler than Tokyo. I left my great-grandmother’s house and headed toward the town. Arashiyama, where my great-grandmother lived, was a lush green town surrounded by rivers and mountains. The area had many temples and was a popular tourist destination.
I had come to this town many times since I was a child, and I used to love playing in Arashiyama at night after the tourists had left. On this day, I walked around the town at night, remembering my childhood.
As I approached the Togetsukyō Bridge, I could see the Oi River flowing slowly. In the distance was the graceful figure of Arashiyama, like a painting. I couldn’t help but pause on the lit-up bridge and gaze towards the horizon, where Kyoto Tower stood diminutively in the distance.
I thought, I’ve come back.
As I stepped into the town, a feeling of nostalgia and warmth enveloped me. The sky was dark blue, and the full moon reflected in a bright white-blue hue. The moonlight snuck out from between the clouds, creating a path for me to follow.
I took this path, which led northwards and gradually uphill, until I reached a temple on my left and five small Jizo statues smiling at me at the front. To my right sat a train station, but now all the souvenir shops around it were closed, their gray shutters down.
At an intersection, I turned right, then left, before finally making a right turn onto a dirt road lined with grass and trees. My heart thumped as I continued down this unfamiliar road that had been illuminated for me like a spotlight, thanks to the silvery light of the moon peeking through the tall treetops.
The thrill of going to a new place never faded, as I could always feel how my heart raced. I stepped forward fearlessly along the mountain path, and then there it was — a landscape that seemed to stretch for miles in front of me. With the deep blue night sky above me and a spring before me, everything around me was one solid brilliant blue. I walked closer to the spring.
The mountain path opened up to a beautiful spring surrounded by lush green trees. I heard a noise like water splashing, and when I looked closer, a girl was squatting on the edge of the spring with an umbrella in her hand — not to keep out the rain but pointed downward under the moonlight. She looked as if under a spotlight, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
She put her open, see-through umbrella into the fountain, scooped some water, and peered in with a smile. She looked like a small kid playing goldfish scooping.
I heard the crunch of leaves beneath my feet as I stepped forward without realizing it.
Did she hear the sound?
We locked eyes. She was a beautiful sight: fair skin, long limbs, a waterfall of straight black hair over her shoulders, a straight nose, a tiny mouth, and an overall neat, tidy demeanor. The idea of her looking like a child dissipated quickly as I took in how gorgeous she was. Her big eyes grew wider, and her small mouth opened, almost as if she had seen something out of this world. It felt like she was asking me, “Are you a ghost or something?”
Without thinking, I answered, “I’m not.”
She looked at me, saying, “Oh, okay. I thought you looked like somebody else.”
I changed the topic and asked her what she was up to. She lifted her transparent umbrella and said, with a hint of embarrassment in her voice, “This? I wanted to catch the stars.”
The quiet lake in front of us had many stars falling on its surface. The water stayed still no matter how hard the wind blew; only its surface moved, with a faint shadow of the moon in the middle.
I followed the direction of her gaze and glanced up at the night sky. A bright blue full moon was much closer than usual, and countless stars twinkled around it. I realized I probably couldn’t see such a sight from the city where I lived.
As we were admiring the night sky, she asked me, “And you?”
I lowered my eyes, saying, “I was wandering around Arashiyama until I found myself here.”
“Here? You just decided to come on your own?”
“Well, yes,” I answered.
She laughed before asking, “This place isn’t very well-known. How did you find it?”
“I guess by chance,” I replied.
“Where are you from?”
I took that as a sign she wanted to keep talking, so I sat beside her; the coldness of the ground seeped through my clothing.
“Tokyo,” I simply said in response. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t help but admire her long eyelashes and delicate double lids framing her beautiful crescent eyes that were both wide and luminous.
The sound of the wafting grasses of summer filled the air.
“Oh, I see. So you were sightseeing?”
“No, we went to my Grandma’s house for a Buddhist memorial service. My parents and I came back together.”
“So, what do you do at a Buddhist memorial service?”
“Huh? Don’t you know? We all gather early in the morning, listen to the Buddhist priest chant sutras, eat food, chat, and stuff like that. Even though it is enjoyable for older adults, it is quite dull for children. It’s pointless.”