Chapter 1

1 Hana was in love nearly the moment she met him. She was nineteen, and aside from a few crushes that were more admiration than affection, he was her first love. Only when she fell for him did she understand what a mysterious thing love was—how it brought with it a readiness to accept whatever the future might hold. Before their paths first crossed, she had a dream. She was lying among masses of wildflowers in a meadow bathed in soft light. As she woke from a pleasant doze, she opened her eyes and took a deep breath, smelling the lovely grassy scent and feeling the comforting warmth of the sun. A gentle breeze ruffled her bangs. “—?” Just then, she sensed something approaching. She slowly sat up and looked in its direction. From beyond a distant hill, a figure was walking toward her on all fours through the grass. The silhouette’s ears were pointed. A wolf. Hana knew right away what it was. She didn’t know how she was so sure, but there was not a doubt in her mind that this was a wolf. The creature walked toward her, buffeted by the wind. Neither its gaze nor its steps wavered as it paced forward with a beautifully rhythmic gait. Hana was not afraid. She was certain the wolf had come from some faraway place. In all likelihood, it had made its long journey for some purpose of its own. So she waited for it, perfectly still. And then, as it walked, the wolf transformed. Transform was the only word for it—the air around the beast shimmered, and the next instant, it was a tall man. Hana was startled. A werewolf, she thought. The tall man strode straight toward her. Transfixed, she held her breath and continued waiting. Her heart raced. The dream ended there. Hana chased after the next moments behind closed eyelids, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t even catch a glimpse. What did the wolf want to tell me? All that remained was a blurry image of the man’s tall figure in her heart. Hana was a sophomore at a national university on the outskirts of Tokyo. Nearby was a train station with a red triangular roof like something from a fairy tale and, outside the station, a wide boulevard lined with hundreds of cherry blossom and ginkgo trees. A stroll along this lane, maybe five minutes or so, would bring you to the cozy little campus. It was an old-fashioned university, full of trees, with lecture halls and classroom buildings clustered around a library with a clock tower. One early summer day, a professor’s calm voice echoed through a cavernous classroom as he lectured on the history of ancient thought. As he read out the text and explained each line, Hana jotted down his words in her neat handwriting. Each of the students at this university had passed its rigorous entrance exam, and all of them were both diligent and well-dressed. These young people came from wealthy families, and a promising future awaited them after they completed their excellent education. Some would become public servants, while others planned to pursue law or business. A few were already studying for the bar or various other professional licenses. When it came to her industrious nature, Hana was similar to her classmates. Her vision of her future, however, was still hazy. She knew she wanted to help others, but she was keenly aware that a knack for studying alone was of no use whatsoever to society. She had no idea who she was or what kind of life she should choose for herself. The afternoon sunlight poured in through the windows of the large classroom and created beautiful reflections on the long tables. Hana paused for a moment in her note-taking and looked up toward the window—and that was when her eyes landed on the back of a certain man. “—” He looked nothing like the rich students who attended the university. His hair was disheveled and his skin deeply tanned. The collar of his T-shirt was stretched out, and the fabric was pockmarked with little holes. His arm was well-toned, and his hand gripped a ballpoint pen, fervently scribbling notes as if he had no intention of missing a single word the professor said. Apparently, he didn’t have the textbook called for in the syllabus. Hana’s gaze was riveted to his back as the sunlight streaming through the windows seemed to glitter on his skin. For some reason, she felt she had seen this pleasant light before. The lecture ended, and the students filed out of the classroom, turning in their attendance slips as they went. Hana placed a slip with her name on it on the professor’s desk and looked back at the classroom, searching for the stranger. She saw a tall form leaving alone, notebook grasped in one hand. He probably didn’t turn in his slip, she thought. She followed him out of the classroom and glimpsed a figure in a T-shirt and faded jeans turning the hallway corner with long strides. She would have to jog to catch up with him. When she finally reached him, he was descending the staircase. She called out without thinking. “Wait!” The figure—the man—paused on the landing. Then he slowly turned one thin cheek in her direction and fixed his gaze on her. “—” Hana’s heart thumped. His eyes were startlingly beautiful. Yet, she also sensed in them a distance that kept the world at bay. They reminded her of a nervous wild animal. If she didn’t say something, he would stride off and leave her there alone. So she blurted: “…Here.” She held out an extra attendance slip. “If you don’t write your name down and turn it in, you’ll be marked absent. So…” Before she could finish, he shot her down. “Maybe you’ve already guessed,” he muttered, his voice quietly menacing, “but I’m not a student here.” “What?” “If you don’t want to see me around here, I won’t come anymore.” His clear eyes turned away as he continued down the stairs, his footsteps echoing after him. Left behind, Hana stood frozen and dumbfounded for a moment. Her attempted kindness had backfired completely, as if she’d carelessly tried petting a rare wild animal and gotten bared fangs for her trouble. She was about to turn around, but the lack of closure kept her in place. If she didn’t do something, she thought, that feeling would stay with her forever. She walked down the stairs to the first floor and peered furtively outside from the shade of a column. Through the arch, she saw him leave the building. It was afternoon, and the campus garden was filled with the lively shouts of children at play. Many elderly people and families used the garden as a welcome open space, in place of a neighborhood park. The children were running around at a slight distance from where their mothers congregated. Suddenly, one of the children fell down and cried out in a weak, muffled voice, but the mothers, caught up in their conversation, didn’t seem to hear. He did, however; he stopped, then returned to lift the boy in his arms and set him on his feet. He didn’t promise that everything would be all right or offer a warning to be more careful next time. Instead, he placed his hand very softly on the top of the boy’s head. When he did, the child stopped crying so quickly that Hana was mystified. The boy’s pain and sadness seemed to have melted away instantly. The man stood then and strode off, as if nothing at all unusual had happened. The child watched him, mouth agape, as he went. For some reason, witnessing this trivial scene from the shade of the column, Hana was filled with immense happiness. She felt as if she was the child who had fallen down and the one whom he’d picked up and set on her feet. And so, as he passed through the front gates of the university… “Hey, wait! Again.” …she summoned the nerve to call out to him… “I don’t know if you’re a student here or not. But”—she dug hurriedly through her bag—“I think that class will be a little hard without this.” She held out the textbook to him with both hands. “If you want…we could share.” The suggestion took every ounce of courage she had. After Hana finished her university classes, she worked until late at night at a dry cleaner near the station. After that, she stopped at a twenty-four-hour supermarket to buy a few things before returning to her apartment in an old building next to an elevated rail line. She changed the water in the cup set beside a photograph of her father, cooked a simple dinner in the cramped kitchen, and ate it alone, still wearing her apron, at her little dining table. Afterward, she took a bath, put on her pajamas, and then read the books she’d borrowed from the library until she fell asleep. This was Hana’s fixed daily routine—until today. She had made a date with him in front of the university gate. They were to meet during the next class. She found herself thinking of him at the dry cleaner while searching for customers’ clothes with their tickets in one hand. At the supermarket, as she picked through the half-off items, his image would rise in her mind’s eye. He was there, too, when she turned her key in the door to her apartment, when she folded her apron and laid it over the back of a chair, and even when she turned the pages of her books. Already, Hana had fallen in love. That day, Hana spent longer than usual choosing her clothes and eventually decided on a blue dress she had never worn before. He had said he would come to class in the afternoon, after he finished work. Nevertheless, that morning, she stood at the front gate searching the crowd of arriving students for him. Between her morning classes, she was beside herself with nerves. In the lunchtime bustle of the student dining hall, she sat alone, thinking of him. Finally, it was time for her afternoon class, but still, he did not appear. The professor arrived, briefly greeted the students, and opened the text to continue his comments from last time. Hana tried to pay attention, but she couldn’t concentrate. She kept looking out the window in spite of herself. When the lecture was nearing its midpoint, she spotted him running toward the building. He was wearing the same T-shirt with the stretched-out collar that he’d worn the day they met. Her heart jumped. He entered the class holding his breath and silently took a seat beside Hana. Afraid he would hear her pounding heart, she left her textbook where it was and moved to the far end of the long desk. He put his hand on the book and gave her a confused look. Don’t you need it? he seemed to be asking. From her distant seat, she signaled a response with her eyes: Go ahead, I’m fine. After the lecture ended, she invited him to the university library. Only faculty and students were allowed inside, generally, but she very much wanted to show it to him. She touched her ID to the sensor, and when the gate opened with a beep, she grabbed his hand and pulled him through. The librarian gave them a suspicious glance, but before she could say anything, they had rushed past. His eyes sparkled with interest at the rows and rows of books lining the modern movable stacks. Just watching him made Hana happy, too. The university boasted one of the largest collections in the city, and it was especially unusual in that over 60 percent was kept in open stacks. Students could hold even rare books in their hands. He began searching for a certain book with great interest, and when he found it, he started thumbing through it right away, rapt, as if time had stopped. Not wanting to bother him, Hana wandered among the nearby bookshelves. After a little while, she came back, but he hadn’t moved an inch, absorbed as he was in his book. For some reason, this struck her as very funny. She pulled a random book from the shelf and stood next to him reading it. Afterward, they left the university and walked along the riverbank together under the broad, dusky sky. Hana asked him one question after the next. “What do you do for fun? “What kind of food do you like? “What type of people have you dated?” He smiled, and instead of answering her questions, he asked one of his own. “…Why are you named after flowers?” “My name?” “Yeah.” “The day I was born, cosmos were blooming in the garden. Wild ones. My father said that when he saw them, the name came to him all of a sudden. He said he wanted me to grow up with a smile always blooming on my face, like a flower.” She looked into the distance as she reminisced. “He told me I should always smile, even when life was painful or hard—even when I didn’t want to. If I could do that, I could get through just about anything.” “—” “Because of that, I smiled all through his funeral. One of my relatives got really mad at me and called me disrespectful…” “—” “Maybe I was.” He gazed intently at Hana, then smiled. “Not at all,” he said, looking up at the sky. Hana smiled back at him, relieved, then joined him in watching the sky. “I’m glad,” she said softly. It was the first time she had ever told anyone about her father. Her father had been diagnosed with his illness in her final year of high school, when she was due to take her university entrance exams. She was his only child. As she prepared for her exams, she sat by his bedside, believing that if she studied hard and passed, he would get better. He’d cheered her on from his sickbed. He’d taken his last breath before she had a chance to tell him she’d been accepted. It had been just the two of them in their house, and now she was alone. Her relatives had been very sympathetic and offered to help. One aunt and uncle said they had a spare room and asked if she would like to come live with them. Another aunt and uncle offered to pay her school fees. But she’d politely declined them all. Once the hospital bills were paid, she had only enough savings left to cover the university entrance fee and the tuition for her first semester. Fortunately, she had been preapproved for a student loan, and she figured she could get by as long as she had a part-time job. She’d gotten rid of what she couldn’t take with her and packed up what she could, leaving the rented house where they’d lived and moving into the little apartment next to the elevated rail line. With her, she’d brought a chest of drawers made from paulownia wood and a full-length mirror. On top of the bookshelf her father had used, she’d placed a photograph of the two of them in their garden when she was a child. She attended her university entrance ceremony in the mourning clothes she had worn to his funeral. Her first year was over before she knew it—and then she met him. He treated her with the same care he would have given a little flower blooming in a meadow. He always took her home after their dates. They would meet up in an old café near the train station. He would usually arrive before her when he came after work, so he read books while he waited. They wandered through the city streets at night, side by side, talking about anything and everything. He worked for a moving company, driving a large truck, and he spoke very tenderly of the houses he visited for work, as well as his impressions of the people who lived in them. “The interior of every apartment is completely different, even the ones in the same housing complex. Some households have money, and others don’t. Some have big families, and some have just one person. Some have babies, and others have only old people.” He surveyed the city from the hilltop park. Brightly lit houses stretched all the way to the horizon and beyond as an outbound train packed with passengers cut across the center of the expanse. To which of the illuminated houses were each of them returning? He gazed out at the landscape and commented, “It must be nice to have a home. To tell someone, ‘I’m back,’ and take off your shoes, wash your face, and sink into a chair. Yeah—it would be so nice. I’d build a bookshelf, and when there was no more room on it, I’d build another. I could do anything I wanted, because it’d be my own house.” His voice full of longing, he told her he wanted to save up money little by little and buy a house one day, even if it wasn’t big. Hana felt something warm spread slowly through her until it had permeated her whole body. “I’ll be the one to welcome you home,” she said very softly, gazing out at the city lights. He looked at her as if her casual reply had caught him by surprise. Then, slowly, he turned his face away. On the way back to her apartment, he didn’t say a word. The only sound was the crunch of his sandals on fallen leaves. Suddenly, just as they stepped onto the little bridge over the stream near her apartment, he broke the silence. “Hana.” “Yes?” “You see…” “—” “There’s something I have to tell you…” “…You can tell me anything.” “—” “You see…,” he tried again, then fell silent. Hana knew he was trying to share something very important. She couldn’t imagine what it might be but prepared herself to accept whatever she was about to hear. The water grasses at the bottom of the shallow stream swayed gently. Aside from a few passing cars, no one else crossed the bridge. Finally, he spoke again. “I’ll tell you next time.” “Okay.” “Good night.” “Good night.” She watched his back until he was gone. Many times after that, they met up and then walked back to her apartment together, but he never told her what the “something” that night had been, and she never asked. Then it was winter. Hana wrapped her scarf over her duffle coat and left the dry cleaner. Twinkling strings of lights were wrapped around the trees along the road in a brilliant display. She arrived at the usual old café exactly at the preappointed time. He was nowhere to be seen. That was unusual. Warming her hands with her breath, she searched for him among the surging crowd. The street was so full of people, it felt like a festival. She pulled out an unfinished book and started reading, checking the clock beyond the streetlights every now and then. It was quite a bit later than the time they’d agreed upon. Still, he did not come. She finished her book and had nothing left to do. Inevitably, her gaze turned to the endless stream of people flowing toward the station. Now and then, the construction worker directing traffic around a project glanced at her with concern. He didn’t come. As the crowds dwindled, the cold seemed to bite harder. She stomped her feet to warm them as the chill penetrated the soles of her shoes. Suddenly, the lights in the café dimmed, and she turned around in surprise. Had so much time passed already? An employee peered at her suspiciously as he began getting ready to close up, and she moved out of his way apologetically. He didn’t come. At midnight, the holiday lights strung up along the street went dark, and the plaza in front of the train station transformed into a lonely void. She sat down in front of the shutter that had been pulled down over the café facade and wrapped her arms around her knees, huddled against the cold. A drunk called out to her, but she didn’t answer. A siren wailed in the distance and faded into silence. She buried her face in her scarf and closed her eyes. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting like that when she heard a voice. “Hana.” “—” “I’m sorry, Hana.” He was standing over her. “…It was a lousy thing to do.” She slowly looked up at him. Her cheeks were frostbitten. All the same, she answered with a broad smile. They stood on the hilltop overlooking the city as innumerable stars sparkled in the night sky. “I’ve never told anyone before—I was too scared. I thought you might leave me when I told you. But…” The wind gently ruffled the fur around his collar. “I should have told you sooner…I mean, I should have shown you.” “Shown me?” Hana’s breath was white. “Close your eyes for a minute.” “—” She complied, but she couldn’t guess his intention. After a minute or so, she cracked them open very slightly and then heard his voice. “Longer.” She closed them tightly again, steeling herself for whatever might come. A long time passed. It was frightfully quiet. “Can I open them yet?” she asked. He didn’t answer. The wind lifted her hair lightly. Slowly, she opened her eyes. “—!” He was still there, staring down at his left hand. No question. But… Before her eyes, that hand was changing from a human hand to the paw of a wild animal. A maelstrom of wind swirled around them. As his hair was whipped into a disheveled mess, it morphed into a pointed pair of animal ears. Fur spread in a flash over these ears and down his face, while the corners of his mouth seemed to rip back into a wider opening. A long snout turned slowly in her direction, and his closed eyes snapped open. They were the eyes of a beast from the wilderness. As Hana stared into them, she couldn’t move or utter a single word. Suddenly, the wind fell still. He—the wild animal—looked down and sighed. “Hana. What do you see?” he asked quietly. The cloud of his breath melted into the darkness as the color of his eyes deepened, brimming with sorrow. It was a beautiful color. Without a doubt, it was him. A staggering number of stars twinkled across the winter sky. That night was a new moon. Hana realized then that the stories of werewolves changing shape under the full moon and pursuing human victims were mere myths. The world is full of things I don’t know, she mused. The electric heater in Hana’s apartment shone red against the blue of night. “Were you surprised?” She heard his voice, but she neither answered nor looked up. She simply nodded slightly. “You don’t want to see me anymore?” Again, she did not answer, but this time, she shook her head slightly. “But you’re shivering.” She said nothing. The canine paw reached slowly toward her and very softly touched her white shoulder. She could tell he was taking great care not to harm her delicate skin with his sharp claws. “…I’m not afraid,” she said quietly, raising her head to look up at him. “Because it’s you.” He slowly drew her to him and gently touched her lips. That was the first night she spent with him. He was a descendant of the Japanese wolf, which was believed to have gone extinct a century earlier, in the Meiji era. He was the last to carry mixed human and wolf blood. His parents had died when he was still young, but before they passed, they’d told him the story of their clan’s ruin and warned him never to share the truth with another soul. After that, he was sent to live with relatives who knew nothing of his true nature. He suffered greatly as he grew into an adult. When he was old enough to get his driver’s license, he’d moved to the city to find work. He told her that, until now, he had lived almost in hiding, unknown and unnoticed by the world. Morning dawned. Hana sat up naked in bed, still half asleep, and looked to her side. He was asleep, in human form. Over his supple muscles, his skin looked to her like carved marble. He’d mentioned extinction the night before; it made her think of the fossilized, primeval shells buried in the marble columns of subway stations. She stared at his sleeping face. The previous night hadn’t been a dream. He really had changed into a wild animal. And she really had accepted him. As he slept, she imagined what might happen from that moment on and resolved to take everything as it came. Hana was the only person in the world who knew his secret. Which was to say, his secret became her secret. Her fellow students dated older men who wore imported jackets or students from other universities who took them to events and concerts. “So who are you dating, Hana?” they would ask her. How much older was he? How tall was he? Was he thin? Had he gone to a good school? What did his parents do? Did he give her a present on their anniversary? She didn’t know how to answer their never-ending questions, but she knew she couldn’t introduce him to them. She simply told them she was seeing someone with integrity. Their new meeting place was the twenty-four-hour supermarket. They would do the shopping together, then go back to her apartment nearby. Chicken was often on the menu. She would cut breast or thigh meat into bite-size chunks, sprinkle it with salt, and push it onto skewers with pieces of green pepper. (Leeks or onions were more conventional, but he didn’t like either of those.) While it was grilling, she would mix together a bit of soy sauce, a splash of cooking sake, and a dollop of grated onion (he was okay with a little bit of onion) in a six-inch-tall cup. Then, she would pile the finished skewers on a plate and dip them into the sauce before eating them. This was the traditional way of eating grilled chicken in Hana’s family. The first time, she showed him how to dunk the skewers in the cup and pull them out dripping with sauce to whet the appetite. He had never eaten grilled chicken that way before and didn’t quite know what to do. He copied her and dipped his skewer timidly into the cup, glancing at her questioningly. They each took a bite at the same time and chewed. It was delicious! He stared intently at his skewer, as if in deep appreciation. After that, he scarfed down the remaining chunks of meat. Before long, Hana’s grilled chicken was one of his favorites, and she made it for him often. When meat was on sale, she would buy a big package and freeze it for later. While Hana was cooking, he would arrange the dandelions or other flowers he had picked along the roadside on his way home in a little milk bottle and place it on the windowsill. Hana would watch, smiling, as he regarded his arrangements with satisfaction. After work, he would come to her apartment and spend the night, and in the morning, he would go straight back to work. Before they knew it, this was their new normal. After a few months, at her suggestion, he gave up the lease on his apartment and moved into hers—meaning he set two paper bags of books down in the corner of her room and called it a day. He pulled an old photograph from between the pages of one of the books and showed it to her—a steep, snowy mountain ridge. That was where he was from, he told her. She set it next to her father’s photograph on top of the bookcase. It was a brilliantly sunny morning in early summer. The dayflower and cranesbill in the milk bottle were shifting in the wind. As Hana leisurely folded one of his big, freshly ironed shirts, nausea suddenly overcame her. Unable to stay sitting, she leaned onto the bed, knocking the neatly folded pile of clothes onto the floor. Something unusual was going on, she realized. She had had a hunch; if she was honest with herself, she had felt sluggish for the past month, and her appetite had been low. But this was the day she finally recognized what was happening within her body. She walked to the obstetrics clinic in her neighborhood and looked inside to see a waiting room packed with pregnant women. She peered through the window for quite a while but couldn’t bring herself to go inside. She sensed that her situation was different from theirs. But where should she go? Standing in front of the clinic door, she felt she had nowhere to turn. She headed toward the university library. Inside, she sat in the nearly empty reading room with a pile of books about pregnancy and childbirth and took notes. She imagined how he would react to the news. Maybe he would be happy, or maybe he would be worried. After going back and forth over what to do, she called his company from a phone booth. All she said was that she had gone to the obstetrics clinic but hadn’t seen the doctor. He said he would come right away and hung up. Hana waited in front of their usual old café, holding several books on natural childbirth and home delivery. She had decided to tell him firmly what she intended to do. She spotted him as he approached. He was running, as if this were the most important thing in the world. Her heart thudded in her chest as she mentally rehearsed the first words she planned to say to him. But before she could, he had swept her up in his arms. The can of peaches he had been carrying fell onto the sidewalk and rolled away so noisily that the people passing by threw them questioning glances. He hugged her again and again, oblivious to the stares they were drawing. His face was radiant with joy. And so Hana, too, was content. All through summer and fall, Hana suffered from horrible morning sickness. She was nauseous from morning to night, which prevented her from attending her classes. After worrying over it for a while, she turned in the paperwork for a leave of absence. She also had to quit her job. The owner was taken by surprise and begged Hana not to leave, asking if something was bothering her and promising to do anything to fix it. But Hana couldn’t explain her motives. All she could do was ask to be let go. She felt terrible, since she had worked there ever since starting university. All her routines changed. Unable to get out of bed, she spent every day trying to bear the nausea. Soon, she could no longer swallow a bite of food, and the morning sickness robbed her of what little weight her slender form had. Even then, she couldn’t stop vomiting. Every day when he came home from work, he would silently rub her back throughout the evening and night. In the morning, not having slept a wink, he would leave again for work. He was Hana’s strongest support. One day, Hana heard him come in and sat up in bed to greet him, only to notice that his coat was covered in dark brown feathers. She gave him a worried look, but he just smiled teasingly and brought his hand out from behind his back to show her what he was holding. A beautiful bird with a deep green tail squawked in his hand—a wild pheasant. Hana was dumbfounded. She tried to envision him hunting in wolf form, but she couldn’t even conjure the image. He stood in the kitchen and skillfully butchered the bird, then submerged it in a big pot of boiling water. While the pheasant was releasing its flavor into the broth, he bent over the counter to chop vegetables. Hana asked if she could help and started to climb out of bed, but he told her to just sit and relax. Finally, he wrapped the handles of the clay pot in a kitchen towel and carried it from the stovetop to a trivet on the table. When he lifted the lid, steam tinged with the scent of soup rose from the pot. He’d made pheasant and udon noodles in a clear, glistening broth. Neatly cut quarter slices of daikon radish and carrots floated on the surface. Hana peered into the dish with mixed feelings. She was worried she wouldn’t be able to eat the meal he had so thoughtfully prepared for her. Normally, just looking at food or smelling it was enough to make her retch. She picked up a noodle with her chopsticks and hesitantly nibbled on it. A mild, savory flavor spread through her mouth. “Wow!” she blurted out. First of all, she was happy to be able to swallow anything at all. Second, she was glad something finally tasted good to her after what seemed like ages. All of a sudden, she was ravenous, gulping it down as if making up for all the meals she’d missed. He rested his chin on his hands and watched her, relieved. As fall turned to winter, Hana’s morning sickness vanished as if it had never existed. He worked harder than ever. Some days, he left before the sun rose and returned late at night. Small though it might be, he wanted to save up a nest egg for the future. Hana prepared for the birth alone in their apartment, her belly heavy. She took breaks from sewing cloth diapers to make a little stuffed wolf. As she sewed, she prayed that all would be well and she would be able to meet the child she bore. Again, she mulled over the possibility that the baby might be a wolf child, since the father was a wolfman. She didn’t think she would mind; she simply wanted to make her child’s acquaintace as soon as she could. As she watched the sun setting outside the window, she felt tears rolling down her cheeks for no reason at all. Hana gave birth to their child in the little apartment. It was a snowy day. They called neither the doctor nor the midwife, instead delivering the baby by themselves. He gripped her hand all through her labor. Although Hana had imagined giving birth to a wolf child, the newborn looked human enough for now. The teakettle on top of the stove puffed out a jet of steam. The two of them gazed at the infant for what seemed like forever. It was a girl. When they pressed their fingers to her tiny hand, she squeezed back helplessly. “I’m so glad she was born without trouble,” Hana said. “I’m sure not everything will be so simple,” he replied. “I wonder if she’ll be a kind little girl,” she said. “Maybe she’ll be smart,” he said. “What will she be like when she grows up?” she wondered. “I want her to be whatever she wants—a nurse, a teacher, a baker, anything,” he said. “I hope she grows up strong. I hope she never has to suffer,” she said. They promised each other they would watch over her until she was grown. The snowstorm had lifted, and outside the flakes drifted lightly down. They named the baby Yuki, after the snowy day when she was born. She was a healthy, energetic baby. She cried often, but as soon as he picked her up, she would stop. In the evenings, the two of them would bundle her up and walk along the riverbank. They passed lots of other parents pushing strollers, and Hana thought to herself that they were just like any other family. And for that sense of normalcy, she gave thanks to no one in particular. Early the following spring, their second child was born. A boy—they named him Ame, after the rainy day when he was born. The very next day, Ame’s father vanished. Hana looked outside, holding the newborn baby close. Beyond the milk bottle full of shepherd’s purse flowers, raindrops rolled down the glass. She had waited and waited, but he had not come home. Yuki, now thirteen months old, stood behind her worried mother and clung to her back. Ame was wrapped in several layers of towel, and Hana strapped him to her chest with a strip of cloth. Then, she put on her duffle coat and secured Yuki to her back over it. Hana’s legs were still unsteady from having given birth so recently, but she headed out all the same. As soon as she opened the apartment door, it bumped into something. Two grocery bags were blocking the way. “?” When she crouched down to put some stray canned goods back into the bags, she noticed something else. His thin wallet was among the powdered milk and rice and vegetables. Had something happened? Her anxiety swelled. Staving off the cold spring drizzle with her umbrella, she headed into the city streets. At the intersection with the main boulevard, where cars whizzed back and forth, she looked in all four directions. She checked beneath each of the umbrellas on the steep streets winding through the residential neighborhood. He was nowhere to be found. She kept walking, searching for him, until she came to the little bridge over the stream near her apartment where they had once stood. A city garbage truck was stopped on the promenade along the stream, its lights blinking. Several groups of people carrying umbrellas had stopped to peer down at the shallow stream, and health department employees in raincoats were climbing down the ten-meter-high concrete embankment. Hana joined the crowd peering down from the bridge, as if her gaze were magnetically drawn. At the feet of the workers in the streambed, half submerged in the water, lay the dead body of an animal. The raindrops pelted the thin, bony corpse of a wolf. A wolf. Him. “!” Familiar dark brown feathers clung to his fur, which was as wet and bedraggled as an old rag. Blood oozed from his head and dissipated into the water. She never learned what he had been thinking that day. Perhaps an instinct to hunt food for the new baby had awakened. Or perhaps he had wanted to bring Hana something nourishing to eat. His vacant eyes told her nothing. Two of the workers lifted the wolf’s legs with rubber-gloved hands while a third stuffed the body carelessly into a body bag laid out below. Pheasant feathers fluttered down and drifted off on the surface of the stream. The bag was then hoisted up to the promenade. Hana threw down her umbrella and ran toward it. She flung her arms around it, but one of the workers peeled her away, scolding her for touching it. She begged him to let her have it, but he curtly refused. While she argued with him, another of the workers took the body bag and tossed it roughly into the back of the garbage truck. As the packer panel crushed it down, it disappeared deep into the compactor. “!!!” Suddenly, the strength drained from Hana’s body, and she burst into sobs. The garbage truck faded into the distance until she could see only the yellow blinking of its lights. Hana stumbled after it, but, of course, she couldn’t keep up. What remaining strength she had slipped away, and she sank to the ground, covered her face, and wept. A man and woman who had been watching the scene unfold held their umbrella over her and asked her why she was crying. She couldn’t even give him a funeral. A gentle breeze blew across the meadow. Hana, wearing the same dress she’d worn that day long ago, realized someone was behind her and turned around. It was him. He was smiling and carrying a notebook like he had been that day, dressed in his usual T-shirt with the stretched-out collar. She smiled and tried to walk toward him. But as she did, he looked at her sorrowfully and turned away. The same instant, her legs froze. Worried, she called his name. The wind picked up, drowning out her voice. His face became half-wolf. His figure, wearing that familiar fur-collared coat, moved farther and farther away. Frozen, Hana called his name with increasing desperation. He took on his wolf form and disappeared beyond the far side of the meadow, as if to return along the same path he had come by so long ago. Hana shouted his name, but her voice was lost in the wind, reaching no one. There, in the wide-open meadow, she was alone. Hana opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep with her head on the low table, still wearing her duffle coat. The room was dark. It was evening, and outside, a light rain was still falling. The red glow from the electric stove shone on Yuki and Ame, curled up asleep on their futon. She saw his wallet lying on the table and picked it up. It held only a few bills along with some coupons and receipts, but she noticed his driver’s license in one of the pockets and pulled it out. His picture was on it. Realizing this was the only photograph she had of him, she leaned the license up against the milk bottle with the shepherd’s purse in it. He was smiling. Of course, he must not have suspected he would die that day. He’d wanted to watch over their children as they grew, she knew, and now that wish would go unfulfilled. That was an incontrovertible fact. Her chest tightened at the thought, but he kept on smiling gently at her from the photograph. She felt he was asking her to take care of the children for the both of them. She was ready to cry again, but she bit her lip and held back her tears. Instead, she smiled brightly at him. Leave it to me. I’ll raise them right, she promised. A new life without him began. Yuki, now a year and a half old, looked up at Hana. “Mama.” She wanted something to eat. “I’m making it for you now. Wait a minute,” Hana said. But Yuki didn’t understand. “Mama!” she called again, waving her arms. “It’s almost ready,” Hana said. “Mama!!” She screamed the word again and again, too hungry to wait. As she grew more upset, two wolf ears popped out from her hair. “Mama!!!” “Yuki!” Hana scolded her loudly. Tears filled the small girl’s eyes, and she turned away, sulking. On all fours now, she kicked a cushion and ran to the far corner of the room. By the time she had turned back around, she had changed into a wolf. She knocked over the waste basket with a well-aimed kick, spilling its contents across the floor, then hid where she knew Hana couldn’t see her. Her mother called and called her name, but Yuki didn’t answer. Finally, when Hana sighed and said, “Well, what can I do? Go ahead and have a cookie,” and pulled down some snacks from a cupboard, Yuki came running, fast as lightning. Back in human form once again, she grabbed the biscuit and grinned happily as she bit into it. Whenever Yuki got angry or cranky, she would transform into a wolf, her hair standing on end and her ears pricked up. It happened constantly. Sometimes, she even ended up half-wolf, half-human. To Hana, she seemed unable to decide which form she preferred. In the kitchen, Hana was mashing fava beans and potatoes in Yuki’s bowl. Sometimes she added some of the baby food she kept in a container in the fridge. She dipped her finger in to taste the mixture. The beans had sweetened the potatoes just right. Since Yuki couldn’t use a spoon very well yet, she tried grabbing the mashed potatoes with both hands. Most of them fell between her fingers on the way to her mouth, and, eventually, she gave up and just pinched up little bites between her fingers. When she leaned over the table to pick up the pieces she’d dropped, she tipped the whole bowl over, but she didn’t mind. She gobbled down her food anyway. The table was always surrounded by a mess of yogurt and spilled tea and other bits of food. Despite her small size, Yuki was bursting with energy. The little glutton would cry for food from morning till night. Ame was the complete opposite—a weak, light eater. Still only three months old, he latched on to Hana’s breast but quickly choked on her milk and let go. He drank then rested, drank then rested, over and over, so that feeding him took a very long time. But every time Hana wiped his mouth, he looked up at her with shock. It was so cute she could hardly stand it. Perhaps Yuki recognized this, because it was only when Hana was feeding Ame that she would climb up her mother’s shoulders by her hair and clothes and ask for a kiss with her drooly mouth. It took all the time Hana had just to care for the two of them. She spent her days in a room draped with drying cloth diapers. Of course, it was impossible for her to work. The small nest egg he had saved up paid for all their expenses. One of the things she learned as she raised her children was that even if they never left the apartment, she could not take her eyes off them for a moment. Yuki was always doing the unexpected. One day, while Hana was turned away cooking, Yuki started pulling on the tablecloth. She had wanted the jar of jam on top of the dining table. But instead of jam, a large jar of rice teetered at the very edge of the table, and by the time Hana noticed, it was about to fall on Yuki’s head. She let out a loud yelp and caught the jar just in time, escaping disaster by a hairbreadth, but she was deeply frightened. After that, she put the tablecloth away. Another time, while Hana was ironing laundry, Yuki pulled out the bottom drawer of the cabinet behind her and started climbing. She scrambled into the first drawer and pulled out the second, then climbed into the second and pulled out the third, and so on…until all the drawers had been extracted and the entire cabinet began tilting forward from their weight. By the time Hana finally realized something was going on and turned, it was already at an angle with Yuki underneath. “Ah!” Hana cried out in alarm. Ame was lying beside her. She rushed to catch the cabinet with her body and, in a split-second decision, laid the iron facedown. She managed to right the cabinet and avert disaster, but she knew that if it had kept falling, it could have squashed little Yuki. And if she hadn’t pressed down the iron, something could have knocked it over onto baby Ame and burned him. After that, she kept the drawers on the cabinet locked (her father’s antique cabinet had locks on all the drawers) and never again ironed near the children. Hana meticulously got rid of every object that could possibly harm them, but no matter how careful she was, she never knew what Yuki or Ame would do next, so she could never relax her guard. Yuki especially would run amok in the tiny thirty-square-meter room. In her wolf form, she never tired of tearing stuffed animals to shreds with her teeth, pulling the stuffing out of cushions, chewing on dining-table legs, leaving teeth marks on doors, or pulling Hana’s precious books off the bookshelf and filling the room with shredded paper. Thanks to Yuki, no matter how much Hana tidied up, within five minutes, it was a horrible mess again. Hana could only laugh as she watched her daughter yawn unrepentantly. Even after she gave the children their bath and finally put them to bed, Hana’s day wasn’t over. Since she couldn’t ask anyone around her for advice, she had no choice but to search for answers in books. She sat up under the desk light until late at night alternating between books about child-rearing and books about wolf ecology, comparing one against the other in her quest to find the best approach to raising wolf children. It went without saying that it would be impossible to find any record of a mother raising children with both wolf and human forms. When she thought about how any mistake could endanger their lives, how she had to stay strong, how she was all they had, Hana knew she had no time for rest. But each night, not long after she began her studies, the exhaustion of the day would bear down on her, and she would start to nod off, pen in hand. When she jerked awake, she would try again to concentrate on the book before her, but soon, her eyelids would droop, and she would collapse forward onto the desk as if in a faint. All the same, the instant Ame cried, she would jump up to hold him and rub his back, murmuring reassurances. Although Ame was a quiet, easy baby during the day, he wailed all night long. If Hana held him and rocked him for a while, he would fall back to sleep, but as soon as she put him down, he would start to cry again, over and over. He had to be nursed every two hours, day and night, and whenever he nursed properly, he was in a good mood. When he refused to take the nipple, Hana soaked cotton wool with breast milk and had him suck from that. When he refused both, she didn’t know what to do, so she’d rub his back all night long. This very quickly wore her down. She nodded off standing up while doing laundry, and once, her head almost ended up inside the washbasin. But she was able to sleep even for the shortest stretches, such as when Ame was nursing. And when Yuki called for her, she was able to open her eyes right away and answer with a smile. The biggest challenge was when the children got sick. From birth, Yuki had been an extremely resilient child. Still, she often had minor fevers and the like, and these mild illnesses would plunge Hana into a dilemma. Should she take her to the doctor? If she did, should she go to the pediatrician or the veterinarian? Would the doctor know what to do for a wolf child? Would the vet treat a children’s illness with medicine for animals? Or the reverse? And her biggest worry was that someone would notice that the children were unusual. Once, when Hana was anxious and upset, he had persuaded her not to do much at all. “She’ll be fine. Even if she’s a little under the weather, just give her something warm and some gentle caresses. She’ll get better.” His advice had calmed her then, and now, after he was gone, she often recalled what he had said and tried not to worry too much. But Ame was not like Yuki. He was fragile and weak, and his fevers often lingered. Sometimes, Hana felt she had no choice but to give him medicine of some kind, and so she would compare books about pediatric and veterinary medicine in order to find a cure that worked for both children and animals. Very carefully, she would give him the smallest possible dose. The health of the children rested entirely upon her judgments. Every day she wished there was someone—just one person—she could go to for advice. In the end, though, she had to make her decisions on her own. In the case of illnesses, she could read up and prepare to a certain extent in advance, but that was not the case with accidents. One fall night, she had a real shock. She heard a strange keff keff, as if someone was coughing. At first, she didn’t know what it was. She lost a good deal of time just figuring out that it was Yuki. When she peered under the dining table, she found her collapsed in half-wolf, half-human form. Next to her was the packet of desiccant that had been in the cookie box, with clear tooth marks where Yuki had bitten into it. Gluey droplets of vomit dotted the floor. “Yuki!!!” Something deep inside her skull went numb. She scooped Yuki up in her arms and ran out into the dark city. She was in a panic, desperate for someone to save her. She ran with no thought for how she must have looked to the strangers she passed. When she got her wits back, she was standing at an intersection with a pediatric clinic on one side and a vet on the other. She had stood in that very spot many times before, but as always, she found herself unable to knock on either door. She wavered for a moment, then went into a phone booth and called both offices. “My daughter accidentally swallowed some desiccant… She’s two. Yes. She threw up. There wasn’t any blood. “It said silica gel on the package. Isn’t it dangerous…? What? Her appetite?” She looked at Yuki at the prompting of the doctor across the street. With a burp, Yuki announced, “Hungry!” Then she burped again, very loudly. On Hana’s back, Ame peered over her shoulder at the noise. The doctor told her that silica gel wasn’t itself poisonous and that if she didn’t notice any unusual changes in Yuki, she should just give her lots of water and keep an eye on her. If she was hungry, she was probably fine. Hana felt momentarily relieved, but as she thought of all the years ahead, she sighed. She wished she had asked their father more about his own childhood. “Walk.” Yuki often asked to go on walks. “Walk!” And when the weather was nice, she begged especially hard. “Walk!!” Her fur would stand on end, and her ears would pop out in excitement. Hana worried about people seeing her like this, so she usually limited their outings to nighttime. But… “Walk!!!” …Yuki wouldn’t listen. “Okay, okay! You win!” Yuki had finally worn Hana down—on one condition. “You can’t become a wolf when we’re out.” Yuki pulled in her ears right away. Hana slipped on the hooded coats that hid the children from head to toe, and the three of them left for their outing. The trees at the park were in full autumn glory, and their fallen leaves crunched pleasantly underfoot. The cool air was bracing and fresh. They saw lots of other families out in the park, the parents clustered together, chatting about their kids and how they were having this or that problem. But Hana could not enter their circle. She could only watch from afar. She crouched to smell a Japanese anemone blooming in one corner of the park, then sat down to rest on a bench near a deserted pond. Yuki collected leaves, holding them up so that the sun illuminated their veins and comparing them to her own hands. The minutes flowed by in a quiet peace. As they continued on, they passed a kindly middle-aged man walking a beagle. “Hello there! What cute kids,” he said as he passed by. His compliment made Hana happy, and she bowed politely to him. “The nice man said you’re cute!” she said, looking at Yuki. The beagle, wearing a colorful knit sweater, took an interest in the girl. He padded closer to her and then started howling. “Bad dog!” the man scolded, smiling apologetically as he yanked the leash. Yuki shook free of Hana’s hand and walked up to the beagle, kicking the leaves as she went. “Grrrrr!!!!” she growled menacingly, putting her face up to its nose. Beneath her hood was a wolf’s face. The frightened beagle tucked in its tail and hid behind its master’s feet. Surprised, the man looked back and forth from Hana to Yuki. “…I’m so sorry…!” Hana said, flustered. She swept Yuki up and rushed away. What if he saw? She hurried home, avoiding other people and holding both children close to hide them. She was sure that couple pushing a stroller glanced back suspiciously. She was sure the young mother and her children waiting for a bus in front of the train station were looking over their shoulders at her. She was sure the two housewives riding bikes with children on the backs started whispering to each other when they saw her. She was sure the parents holding their children on the balcony of an old apartment were peering down. She was sure the mother and child at the far end of an alley were staring. Like a fugitive, she ran through the dark back streets. The problems came one after the next. Ame’s colic grew worse and worse, until some nights he cried straight until morning. One night, the man in the neighboring apartment pounded violently on Hana’s door. “What time do you think it is? Shut those kids up!” Surprised by the loud voice, Ame stopped crying. The second Hana opened the door, the man started screaming at her, alcohol on his breath. He was wearing a tracksuit, as if he couldn’t even stand the noise long enough to change. “Every single night I have to hear this racket! What’s wrong with you?!” “I’m so sorry…,” Hana apologized profusely. “You’re their mother; teach them how to behave!” he snarled, then slammed the door. Like a fire sparking back to life, Ame started to cry again. All Hana could do was shake Yuki awake and walk to the shrine near their building to calm Ame down. “Shh, shhh. It’s okay. Shh, shh.” While Hana waited in the dark precincts for Ame to stop crying, Yuki passed the time by tracing the veins in a leaf. Then Hana heard the voices of drunken office workers from the far side of the shrine. Startled and scared, she picked up Yuki and hurried out to search for another place. But where else could she go in the middle of a big city? On another night, the children started howling in response to an ambulance siren passing nearby. Hana put her finger over her mouth, pleading for them to be quiet, but no matter how much she begged, they wouldn’t stop. The next day, the landlord knocked on their door. “As you know, the lease for these apartments prohibits pets.” She crossed her skinny arms. “The other tenants said they heard a dog barking. They said you were breaking the lease.” “But I don’t have a dog.” “Don’t lie to me! Someone told me they saw you walking around holding two strays!” “—” “The point is, if you’re going to break the rules, you’ll have to find somewhere else to do it. Do you understand?” She was telling Hana to get out—to move. But where could she go? Hana had no idea. Another day, an unfamiliar man and woman dressed in suits knocked on the door. “You’re from Child Protective Services?” “Yes. We’re very concerned about your children.” “What do you mean?” The woman leaned in through the cracked open door, folder in one hand. “We did some investigating, and we discovered they haven’t had any of their regular checkups or vaccinations.” “They’re fine. They’re healthy.” Hana tried to end the conversation and shut the door, but the woman wouldn’t let her. “In that case, can we just take a quick look?” “No, I’m sorry…” “It won’t take long at all,” the man said. Without dropping his conciliatory smile, he tried to push his head in to look around the room. “We just want to make sure you’re telling the truth.” “I’m v-v-very sorry.” Hana pulled the doorknob with all her strength. She could hear the woman’s shrill cry on the other side. “Keep this up, and we’ll have to charge you with abuse and neglect!” After that, Hana was afraid to open the door. She hated opening the letters that came through the mail slot, too, and she ignored the doorbell. Still, the piercing, aggressive tone rang and rang and rang. Hana stared absently at the children’s sleeping faces, waiting it out. She had tried to do her best, but in a densely populated area like this, wolf children stood out too much for her to raise them properly. She sensed that if she stayed in the city, she would very soon hit a wall. The three of them went out early one morning to the empty park. It had been a long time since their last excursion. The cold winter air stung their skin. Yuki’s and Ame’s breaths came out in white puffs as they zigzagged across the wide-open lawn, frost crackling under their feet. They changed from wolf to human to wolf with dizzying speed, wearing their hooded onesies the whole time. The wolf children—wolf Yuki and wolf Ame—chased each other happily, letting out all the pent-up frustrations after so long inside the little apartment. Their laughter echoed through the park as they ran wild and free. Hana hunched on a bench, watching them listlessly. Her worries and exhaustion had reached a peak. “…Hey,” she called weakly to Yuki and Ame. “What, Mommy?” They ran panting to her. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “What do you want to do?” she asked softly, almost to herself. “??” “How do you want to live?” “????” “…As children or as wolves?” “??????” In their half-wolf, half-human forms, Yuki and Ame tilted their heads quizzically. Of course, they didn’t have an answer for her. As she looked at their faces, though, energy slowly began flowing back into her body. The exhaustion and fatigue steadily faded as a kind of strength she had never experienced before bubbled up inside her. She smiled gently at the children. “I think we’re going to move. That way, you can choose to be what you want.” She looked up at the distant sky. A strong morning sun was rising between the trees, bathing Hana in its blinding light. A new day had dawned.