Pathway to Japanese Literature

Grandmother's illness, her passing, the funeral, the seventh-day memorial service—days filled with nothing but hectic activity continued.
Since I was still a schoolgirl, I didn't have any responsible duties, but I had to help out with various tasks.
In those brief moments when I caught my breath, the window would draw my concern.

Windows are generally much alike; there are hardly any that are particularly unusual.
The window in my room was entirely ordinary.
The left end of the southern-facing veranda was my room，and inside，on the eastern left-hand side，there was a floor cabinet; from the shelf above this cabinet up to the height of the lintel formed the window.
On the shelf of the floor cabinet，I had arranged dolls，wood carvings，shells，boxes of various sizes，an inkstone box，and such in a jumbled mess.
Behind that was the window，with numerous thin bars and frosted glass fitted into it.
Because it was frosted glass，outside couldn’t be seen from within，nor could inside be seen from without.
There were two small glass doors and two storm shutters; beyond them lay the garden.

Why had this window come to preoccupy me?
It all began with something utterly trivial and slightly awkward.

A strange story had taken root in my mind without me quite knowing when.
What was strange was that I myself couldn't make heads or tails of it - whether I'd read this in some old tale, encountered it in a story somewhere, heard it from someone, or perhaps even seen it in a dream.
But regardless of where it originated, that story was etched clearly in my mind.

Once upon a time—or perhaps it was some other time—there was a man and woman who deeply loved each other.
The two of them alone, relying on each other, lived together.
At night too, they slept side by side in the same room.
In the middle of the night when they awoke, they would both reach out to stroke the other’s face to confirm they were still lying there, then fall back asleep reassured.

One night, the man woke up and, as usual, reached out to stroke the woman’s face.
Then, that face had no eyes, nose, or mouth—it was completely featureless.
The man was startled, stood up, and snapped on the electric light.
(The presence of this electric light seems anachronistic for a folktale, but since it appears so distinctly in my mind, I have no choice but to accept it.)

When he turned on the light and looked, the woman's face was as it always had been.
With eyes half-open, she gazed up at him quizzically and smiled a gentle smile.
Reassured, he turned off the light and went back to sleep.

One night, this time the woman woke up, reached out her hand, and tried stroking the man’s face.
Then, that face had no eyes, nose, or mouth—it was completely featureless.
The woman was startled, stood up, and snapped on the electric light.
When she looked, the man’s face was as usual; moreover, with eyes half-open, he looked up at the woman quizzically and smiled gently.
The woman, reassured, turned off the light and went to sleep.

——Such things happened several times.
And both the man and the woman came to think that their partner’s face occasionally became featureless because they had stroked it too much.
But they kept both that face's matter and their own thoughts hidden in their hearts, never confiding them to each other.
And gradually, even when waking at night, they stopped reaching out to stroke each other’s faces.

That was all there was to the story.
Yet however much I told myself it was a silly story, it refused to leave my mind.
Not only that—I had actually seen the featureless face.

That evening, since Grandmother seemed much better, I went into my room and read the continuation of Dostoevsky’s translated novel for the first time in a while.
However, as my sleep deprivation had accumulated and my mind wasn't clear, I went to bed early.
The mirror stand and desk both faced the veranda, and the futon was laid out with its head toward the veranda.
So when I lay on my side, the window appeared directly in front of me.
After dozing off for a while, I opened my eyes at some sensation to find one of the glass windowpanes dimly bright.
In that bright spot lay some kind of shadow.
As I watched, the shadow elongated upward into a featureless face with no eyes, nose, or mouth.

I shuddered, pulled the futon over myself, and held my breath.
Eventually, chastising myself for being foolish, I peeked out from under the futon to find the featureless face had vanished, with one of the glass panes still dimly bright.
I realized I had forgotten to close one of the storm shutters there.
The shadow must have been some kind of illusion.

However, from then on, I decided to sleep with a small two-watt bulb lit.
I had been following the theft deterrent method of keeping outside bright and inside dark, but the featureless shadow was more unsettling than any burglary.

Because of that, that story became even more deeply ingrained in my mind.
To drive it away, confirming the story's origin would be the first step, and I thought of asking either my Japanese or English teacher at school.
But when it came down to it, I felt too embarrassed to voice it.
I couldn't bring myself to ask my father or mother either.

In the end, I decided to confide in Grandmother.
Ever since I was little, I had been the most spoiled by Grandmother; I could confide anything in her, and she had cherished me above all others.
But now, Grandmother was bedridden with a serious illness.
It was a bad thing, but I had to wait for the right moment.

When the nurse was taking her bath, there was no one else in the sickroom, and Grandmother seemed to be in good spirits, I tried bringing it up.

“Grandmother, I’ve thought up an interesting story.”

Grandmother formed a feeble smile.

“What sort of story?”
“Please do tell.”

“I don’t know whether I came up with it myself or read it somewhere…”

I felt my cheeks grow strangely hot.
Pushing through that, I told the story of the featureless face.
Though it did involve a man and a woman, she omitted the part about them being in love.

Grandmother listened while nodding faintly, but even after the story ended, she said nothing.

"Grandmother, have you ever heard a story like this before?"

Grandmother shook her head and looked toward the ceiling, but after some time spoke.

"If you didn't make it up yourself, that story seems more Western than Japanese."
"Or did you make it up?"

Grandmother turned her face toward me and stared at me intently.
I grew embarrassed and rephrased my words.

“I understand,”
“So it really was a story I made up after all.”
“As proof, you see, Grandmother...”

I finally confessed about the shadow that appeared on the window—the featureless face.

Grandmother slightly furrowed her brows and said as if sighing.

"That won't do."

Then, she looked toward the ceiling again.

“Just forget about that featureless face business. That story is rather too analytical. Compared to a featureless face, things like one-eyed goblins or three-eyed goblins have more charm and appeal. If we’re talking about stories of one-eyed goblins and three-eyed goblins, there must be plenty of them. Think of happy things. Keep your heart light. Even without that, your nerves are rather frayed as it is. You’re so attentive to me, caring for me better than the nurses do. Oh yes, I’ll make you a promise. If you forget about that featureless face business, then after I pass away, I’ll make sure to show my smiling face reflected in that window glass. Wait for me—I’ll definitely make it happen. In return, you must forget about such eerie things.”

I felt tears welling up.

"No! No! Don't say things like that."

Grandmother seemed unconvinced.

"What exactly don't you like?"

"I won't let you die! No, you'll definitely recover. I'll make sure to cure you. I'll cure you even if I have to skip school or do anything!"

I lowered my face and sobbed quietly.

"But you see, everyone has their own allotted lifespan."

Grandmother must have already prepared herself.
She was seventy-five years old and suffering from senility.
Then within less than ten days, she peacefully passed away.

When Grandmother’s decline grew severe, I couldn’t rest easy.
I took time off school to help care for her.
Brother went to work every day, and Father too usually went out.
Mother stayed busy receiving visitors and managing household affairs, while the maid remained occupied.
With the nurses alone unable to handle everything, I often kept constant vigil in the sickroom.

And I managed not to be too distracted by the featureless face.
Moreover, I made every effort to forget it.
But something strange happened.

In my room during moments when fixing my hair, changing my kimono, or taking breaks,I would occasionally glance toward the window and startle.A shadow was cast upon that window's frosted glass.Sometimes it appeared unidentifiable,sometimes clearly my own figure,and at times seemed like the featureless face overlapping with my form.It would usually materialize during careless lapses of attention before vanishing immediately.At home,I typically wore kimono and often hung them on the kimono rack when busy,but even my own garments began feeling eerie,making me resolve to keep them folded whenever possible.It wasn't as though kimono on racks reflected in window glass,but I felt compelled toward caution.

After Grandmother died, that feeling grew even stronger.

From Grandmother's death, I suffered a direct physical and mental blow.
There had been a time when my elder sister died of illness, but I was still young then and hadn't been particularly deeply affected.
When faced with Grandmother's death, I felt as though a great void had opened in both body and mind.

My thoughts tended to be dragged toward that void opened within the family.
And hazy, empty moments would settle in.
At such times, a shadow would appear on the room window glass and vanish immediately, yet it startled me.

Others may not have noticed, but there were several unacceptable things.

Before the funeral, the altar was beautifully decorated, with Grandmother’s photograph placed above it.
The large enlarged photograph somehow fell forward, cracking the glass surface.
Brother said this way the glass wouldn’t reflect light, the photo would be more visible, and it was actually better this way—then removed the glass entirely.
I felt displeased.

Before the altar was set up, the family’s calico cat lumbered into the room.
Uncle N glared angrily, scolded it, chased it out, and said, “You mustn’t let cats into a room with a deceased person.”
I found that very unpleasant.

When carrying out the coffin, many people were handling it, and from some jolt, the coffin tilted considerably back and forth.
"Straight—hold it straight," Brother cautioned.
I found the whole thing extremely unpleasant.

The subsequent events, however, occurred amidst the bustling crowd and vanished without lingering.
Father remained silent and composed throughout.
In this regard, I think Father is admirable.

Even after the funeral crowds had dispersed, Father, Mother, and Brother were still occupied with various tasks tying up loose ends.

But I had no significant work, wasn't attending school, and found myself with abundant free time. I read books, wrote letters to friends, and immersed myself in meditation, yet my thoughts kept circling back to Grandmother. Then the unpleasant memories from the funeral would rise up again, and to push them away, I desperately wanted to cling to her gentle smile.

A smile—Grandmother had promised me that even after death. She'd vowed to show her beaming face reflected in the frosted window glass. Of course I didn't truly believe such things, yet some secret expectation stubbornly persisted. After all, there had been moments when all manner of shadows fell across that window—the featureless visage, my own silhouette, shapes beyond naming... How could Grandmother's smile alone stay hidden? I kept waiting for it, but it never materialized.

Grandmother's cremated remains were still enshrined at home, and it had been decided that they would be interred in the grave after the seventh-day memorial service.

From the seventh-day memorial service onward awaited successive seven-day intervals of increasingly complicated Buddhist rites.
And the most complicated of these, the seventh-day memorial service itself, arrived soon after the funeral.
With so many visitors coming, I found myself growing busier.

However, I decided not to help out much anymore.
When I told Aunt A that, she agreed it would be fine.

Originally, I didn't really like Aunt A.
She had schoolgirl-like childishness about her, an intensely strict and intimidating side, moments of boisterous laughter and amusement, times she insisted on utterly earnest logic—she seemed someone of indeterminate nature who remained difficult to warm up to.
Yet through Grandmother's illness came something that profoundly troubled me.

It was about two months prior.
Aunt A came to visit and talked with Mother in the tearoom for a while before leaving.
I was also present at that gathering.
Grandmother’s illness did not yet appear particularly severe, but Mother discussed her condition in detail and stressed that it was, after all, a matter of advanced age.
Then, Aunt A appeared deep in thought when suddenly her eyes fixed on empty space and the muscles of her cheeks tensed.
And after nodding to herself about something, she eventually spoke.

“You’ve been most attentive in caring for her, which is as it should be.”

Of course that was true—illnesses in advanced age should naturally be attended to with care. However, what struck me as odd at the time was that she didn’t utter a single comforting word—things like “It’ll be all right” or “She’ll surely recover soon.” Looking back now, one might suspect Aunt A had somehow sensed Grandmother’s approaching death. After that, there was another strange incident.

Before Grandmother's condition had worsened severely, during one of her better days, Aunt A came to visit again and conversed with Grandmother for a while. I didn't know what they had discussed, but when I escorted her to the entrance, she swung around to face me while slinging on her coat and stared intently at my face. I flinched. Aunt immediately averted her eyes, but her gaze remained fixed in midair, the flesh of her cheeks oddly pale. After a brief pause like that, Aunt spoke.

“Misako, do take good care of Grandmother.”

Just then Mother came out, and a few ordinary greetings were exchanged.

It had been just that occurrence, but looking back now, she couldn't help suspecting Aunt A might have somehow discerned Grandmother's impending death.

Those two incidents—precisely because they had both been such abrupt occurrences—were all the more eerily remembered.

On the day of the seventh-day memorial service, Aunt A arrived at dawn's first light, throwing the household into disarray.
Without sparing a glance for the commotion she'd caused, Aunt A marched straight to the Buddhist altar room, prayer beads already slipping through her fingers as she began chanting sutras.
Midway through the rhythmic incantations, I crept inside and settled myself at the rear to listen.

When the last syllable faded, Aunt A bundled the sutra scroll and beads into a silk wrapping cloth before turning around.

"Oh, Misako! You've been here all along?"

She might as well have discovered a ghost rather than her niece.
I shaped my lips into a smile that meant nothing at all.

“You must have been tired from all sorts of things. And today must be especially difficult for you.”
“But I’ve decided not to help out much anymore.”
“That should be fine. I’ll take care of your share of the work.”

That Aunt was highly skilled at everything from managing household affairs to seating arrangements was something I had observed during the funeral.

“Aunt knows about various things.”

“What do you mean by ‘various things’?”

“Even the sutras...”

Aunt merely smiled but stared fixedly toward the Buddhist altar.

“Tomorrow is the interment, isn’t it?”

“Yes, that seems to be the case.”

Aunt fixed her gaze for a moment, nodded to herself about something, then spoke slowly.

“Yes, that should be fine.”

I suddenly felt lonely and sad; at the same time, I sensed Aunt was someone I could truly rely on.
And so even after the maid had brought tea and sweets, I remained there.
But I found nothing to say.
Summoning my courage, I finally broached Grandmother’s promise about her smiling face.
Keeping all mention of the featureless face hidden, I brought up Grandmother’s vow to show me her smile even after death as though discussing some trivial matter, then complained how it stubbornly refused to materialize.

Aunt listened carefully, but after some time had passed, she spoke.

“That is not the case.”

Having been addressed in such a formal tone so decisively, I was slightly startled.

"That is not the case."

Aunt repeated. Then, returning to her normal tone, she began explaining to me—stories abound in the world of the deceased sending signs to inform those living far away or yearning to meet them of their passing. For instance, accounts where their own form clearly manifests before someone are often heard. Whether those are truth or illusion is another matter—in such cases, there must reside within those signs the deceased's spirit, something like a singular resolve. Yet in Grandmother's case, there had been no lingering essence, no singular resolve whatsoever.

“On the contrary, she was simply in a peaceful state of mind, saying ‘Thank you, Misako.’”

“Well, Grandmother always used to say that, you know. Whenever I did something small for her, she would immediately say thank you...”

“That is a different matter altogether.”
“Whenever you rubbed her legs, fed her fruit juice with a spoon, or brushed back the stray hairs from her cheeks—each time you did these things—she might have said thank you, but that’s not what I mean.”
“How should I put it… It’s about the overall sentiment.”
“From when she fell asleep until her passing—continuously and with relief—‘Thank you, Misako, for taking such good care of me.’ It was gratitude and peace.”
“Therefore there’s no lingering spirit there—no concentrated resolve whatsoever.”

I teared up and nodded.

“That’s precisely why there’s not the slightest reason she would go out of her way to show a smiling face before you after passing away. Even if she did say such a thing, it would have simply been from the same sentiment as when she would say thank you.”

I hesitated over how to respond.
It seemed understandable, yet also incomprehensible.
I felt that Grandmother’s promised smile would never be seen—that it had completely shattered.

With a defiant heart, I suddenly asked.

“Aunt, you knew Grandmother was going to pass away beforehand, didn’t you?”

Aunt stared fixedly at my face.

“That... somewhat.”

“How did you come to know?”

“Intuition… Or perhaps I should call it spiritual sense. But there’s no way to explain such things—and really, someone like you shouldn’t dwell on them, you know.”

“Why?”
“How mean of you, Aunt.”

Aunt smiled gently.
I suddenly felt sad and spilled tears.

“Oh, what’s wrong?”

Through my tears, I managed a smile.

Just then, Mother arrived, and our conversation was cut short.
Mother excused herself by saying she had been in the middle of a meal and consulted with Aunt A about various arrangements for the day.
Mother was very broad-minded and didn't pay attention to details.

I had resolved not to help much, but when guests began crowding in, I couldn't remain idle.
Most were familiar relatives—and they were all quite elderly.
Around noon came the priest's sutra chanting, everyone's incense offering, then the meal.

Cousin Toshimitsu had come. My brother pulled him out, escaped into my room, brought in things like a dining table, and said to me:

“This here is a room exclusively for us unmarried ones.”
“Don’t make that face.”

“Then what about your room?”

“The second floor’s inconvenient—it’s like being exiled there, isn’t it? Just bring the drinks and snacks here quickly.”

My brother—sturdy from wartime military service—and the somewhat nervous, pale Mr. Toshimitsu made an ill-matched pair, yet being near in age, they had always been close.

I hated lending my room but couldn’t refuse; I told the maid to bring alcohol and food.

“Heating sake each time must be a hassle. That’s why I went with beer and whisky.”

“As long as there’s alcohol content, anything will do. You should eat something here too, Misako—there’s nothing interesting over there anyway.”

“There doesn’t seem to be anything interesting here either.”

“Instead, I’ll let you have beer.”

There was an age difference of more than ten years between my brother and me, so I couldn't feel close to him on my part, and he ignored me on his part too.
However, ever since Grandmother passed away, things had suddenly taken on a different tone.
Not just my brother, but my parents and acquaintances too—I felt like everyone was watching me out of the corners of their eyes.
The thin veil with which Grandmother had gently enveloped me was stripped away; my existence became sharply defined, and I who had been lingering in shadows found myself abruptly thrust into the spotlight.
Grandmother had truly doted on me.
I had truly depended on Grandmother.
Now that Grandmother was gone, I felt an unsettling chill.

While I was immersed in such contemplations, my brother and Mr. Toshimitsu were debating funeral customs.
My brother spoke.

“Buddhist rites are truly troublesome things.”
“But I don’t particularly oppose these formalities.”
“At least they serve to make people forget the deceased sooner.”
“Go try burying a corpse straight in the ground.”
“Things like lingering attachments or regrets—something would linger afterward.”
“But when you build an altar, make offerings, burn incense, chant sutras, and eat and drink under the guise of holding a memorial service, people start thinking ‘This settles it,’ letting them cleanly forget about the deceased.”
“In other words, if you see us pointlessly passing time eating and drinking here as if saying ‘Forget it all, just forget it all,’ it doesn’t even make you angry.”
“Even the monks are swilling sake and gobbling meat—doesn’t that seem like they’re telling us to hurry up and forget?”

Mr.Toshimitsu said.
"I agree with that opinion too."

My brother continued.
"That’s why making statues or erecting memorials is such a foolish practice."
"We don’t need graves either."
"Crush the cremated remains into pieces and scatter them from the air."
"They’d become fertilizer for crops and trees，and it’d leave you feeling refreshed."
"Even if people inhaled that powder，it would at most become medicine for lung disease—it probably wouldn’t do any harm."

“This conversation has gotten quite barbaric.”
“Misako was Grandmother’s pet—what do you think?”

My brother looked in my direction.
I made a point of frowning openly.

“I hate that sort of materialism.”

“Well now—materialism? How unexpected.”
“But there does exist such a thing as materialist idealism.”

“I represent spiritual idealism…”

“Generally speaking, women embody idealism while men manage practical matters.”
“Won’t you compromise on that point?”

“Isn’t that completely backwards?”

I grew irritated and gulped down the beer.

“First of all, how dare you talk about forgetting or not forgetting the deceased when this is Grandmother’s seventh-day memorial service?”

“I’m speaking in general terms. What’s with that face? Don’t go making that face.”

Mr. Toshimitsu laughed.

“Instead of such arguments, why don’t I take you somewhere nice? Disney’s full-color feature film is here. Misako, let’s go together.”

I frowned and pursed my lips.
They barged into my room, drank alcohol, teased me...
I wanted to say that but held back.
I drank beer again.

The sliding door opened, and Mother showed her face.

“So this is where you were.”
“Everyone has been looking for you all, so please go over there.”

My brother shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ve always rather disliked monks.”

“What a thing to say! Moreover, the reverend has already left.”

“Huh—how unusually considerate of him. Well then, shall we go?”

My brother and Mr. Toshimitsu stood up and left.

I remained still there for a while，but my feelings wouldn't settle.
I drank beer.
When I stood up，my body felt strangely unsteady.

I called over the maid and had everything from the meal to the dining table completely cleared away.
Then I brought a broom and dusting tools and cleaned the room.
_I felt this was no time for such things，but I thought，Who cares?_
But she seemed a bit flustered.
She ended up knocking down one of the dolls from atop the floor cabinet.
It was a pair of Hakata dolls—one holding the hem of a kimono with one hand and cradling a decorative ball with the other.
When she picked it up from the wooden floor before the cabinet，the decorative ball portion was chipped.
She placed the round ball on her palm and gazed at it，then opened the window and threw it into the garden.
_This should do，_ she thought.

I also headed toward the main hall.
I felt like I was getting a slight headache.
At the hallway’s corner, I grabbed a pillar and stood still for a moment.
Immediately ahead, at the wicker chairs on the wide veranda, Mother and Uncle N’s voices were conversing.

“When things have settled a bit, let’s try to arrange the marriage matter as well.”

“But we can’t possibly proceed with that immediately.”

“So, well, at least a promise for now.”

“Given that he’s such a willful person, I myself also think it would be best for him to settle down soon.”
“I’ll discuss it thoroughly with my husband as well.”

“I’ll try speaking to them as well.”

And the two of them stood up and walked away.

It was about my brother's marriage arrangement.
That had been one of those matters existing since Grandmother took to her bed - something I'd vaguely been aware of.
But now that they'd brought it up again, and I'd overheard such a conversation, I felt displeased.

In the hall, eating and drinking and lively conversation continued noisily.
The sliding doors between the hall and Buddhist altar room were left wide open.
Because the hallway was cluttered with various items, I entered the Buddhist altar room from the side of the hall.
I felt gazes from several people—and particularly those of my brother and Mr. Toshimitsu—upon me, but I did not shrink back.

Sitting before the Buddhist altar, I became completely calm. Both the candles and the incense sticks had burned out. I lit new candles and set up several incense sticks.

At that moment, I remembered Grandmother’s white shroud. When Grandmother drew her last breath and her body had been completely wiped clean, she was dressed in a white habutae silk shroud. I had neither heard of nor seen that white habutae silk shroud before then. It was a strangely abrupt and unexpected feeling. When had that shroud been prepared, and where had it been stored?

While looking at the box of cremated remains wrapped in white cloth, I stuck one incense stick after another.

The cremation and subsequent bone-gathering were painfully distressing experiences, but they transformed into something pure immediately afterward.
The interment into the tomb carried a gloomy weight that left behind a desolate chill.

In the car on the way back, Aunt A grasped my hand and whispered.

"How was Grandmother's smiling face for you?"
"You didn't see it, did you?"
"It's better not to see it."
"Forget about that now."
"It will truly grow lonely from here on, but since you must become emotionally independent, you need to stay strong."
"You have Father and Mother, but whenever you feel overwhelmed, do come visit Auntie's place."

I nodded deeply but lacked the strength to squeeze Aunt's hand in return.

The house felt desolate, like a gap-toothed mouth.
At dinner time, Father and Brother continued drinking without leaving the dining table.
I retreated to my room and once again tidied up and organized various things.

The chipped area on the Hakata doll’s decorative ball was starkly white.
I positioned the doll so that spot wouldn’t be visible.
But the frosted glass window was facing me, and it seemed like something was about to flicker there.
Grandmother's smiling face was already somewhere far away.
The featureless face had also completely faded.
Even to my own shadow, I probably won’t be startled anymore.
But there was something else frightening.
During a moment of carelessness, that shadow seemed about to appear on the glass door.

I went to bed early.
Focusing my thoughts on what was to come from tomorrow, as I indulged in various fantasies, I drifted into uncanny delusions.

The dogs were barking strangely.
Our dogs were let loose at night and roamed about the garden barking.
Beyond the fence too, neighborhood dogs barked, then more barked here and there.
It seemed something ominous might be approaching.
The dogs alternated between low growls and loud barks.
They fell completely silent for a time before starting up again after a while.
Then everything went utterly quiet.

In the deep silence came a light tap against the storm shutters.
After an interval, the sound repeated several times.
Even without any wind, what could be causing this?
The taps came not from one place but from all across the storm shutters.
Then the dogs began barking anew.

I was sleeping with a small two-watt bulb on, but its light felt strangely too bright.
Feeling unsafe, I turned off the light.
Everything turned pitch black.

Grandmother surfaced behind my eyelids.
No images of her in health rose up—only her sleeping form dressed in the white habutae shroud.
When I lifted the white cotton face covering, her white-framed face showed only a sharply prominent nose drawn taut and slender like waxwork, seeming veiled by gauze too fine for eyes to perceive.
Her body and limbs lay paper-thin, swallowed whole by the futon's bulk until no semblance of human sleep remained visible.

I remembered that much, then must have drifted off into a doze.
Then I woke up early in the morning.

When I sat up and opened the window's storm shutters, morning sunlight flowed across the sky.
I looked around the room but found nothing unusual anywhere.
The only strange thing was how the Hakata doll's raw chipped surface faced this side.

I went to the washroom and hurriedly washed my face.
The maid was cleaning the family dining room.
I returned to my room, applied cream to my face, and arranged my hair.
After waiting for the maid to open the storm shutters on the veranda, I took the doll with the missing decorative ball and went out into the garden.
I selected one of several garden stones and smashed the doll against it with all my strength.
The doll shattered into small pieces.
I brought a dustpan and gathered the doll fragments.
Then I searched for the decorative ball from the doll that I had thrown away two days earlier and left there, but couldn't find it.
I couldn't find it anywhere.

Mother, in nightclothes, was standing on the veranda.

“What are you doing in a place like that?”

“One of the Hakata dolls broke, so I smashed it into little pieces.”

Mother made a strange expression and watched me.
I brought over the dustpan and showed her the gathered fragments.

“Pure white clay.”

“It’s just that part with the decorative ball—I simply can’t find it anywhere.”

“What decorative ball…?”

“Oh—the doll’s.”

“Right. But if it’s the decorative ball, you can just think it rolled away somewhere.”

“Did it really roll away somewhere…?”

“I’m sure that’s what happened.”

“In that case, let’s stop looking.”

I sat down on the veranda and dangled my legs.

“Mother, did you sleep well last night?”

“Yes, I slept very well.”

“The dogs barked terribly, didn’t they?”

“That’s right.”

“And then there were light tapping sounds all over the storm shutters?”

“That’s right.”

“What could be causing this?”

“There must have been something there.”

“I was scared.”

“There’s no need to be scared.”
“Because whatever it was might have left.”

“If it’s gone, then why did the dogs bark?”

“They must have been searching for it.”

“Could they have been barking as they searched?”
“I’m sure that’s it.”

“But the storm shutters are strange.”

“That must have been lonely too.”

“Oh Mother, you’re always saying such irresponsible things.
The idea of storm shutters feeling lonely...”

Mother looked at my face and smiled.

“Even you must have times when you feel lonely, Misako.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Even now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I can rest easy.”
“Aunt A told me that if Misako ever feels lonely, I should spend some time playing with her.”
“‘Play along,’ she said—isn’t that absurd?”

“I don’t feel lonely at all.”

“But you broke the doll…”

“It was already broken.”

“In that case, go ahead and throw it away.”

I stepped down from the veranda, picked up the dustpan, and headed toward the back door.
The conversation I had with Mother felt like a mystery.
Why did we end up having such a conversation?
I might not have been myself, but then again, Mother might not have been herself either.

Facing the beautiful morning sunlight, I took a deep breath.

I returned inside the house, drank hot tea, and then went to the Buddhist altar room.
When I opened the storm shutters, it became startlingly bright.
The Buddhist altar had been neatly tidied, and the lily flowers were fragrant.
I sat before it and made offerings of oil lamps and incense sticks.
Now that Grandmother's remains were gone, it actually felt refreshing.
I clasped my hands together and bowed my head for a long time.
And then I stood up and was about to leave when I suddenly felt slightly awkward about facing Mother, Father, and Brother.
It was the first time I had experienced such feelings.
Was it because Grandmother had died?
Not only that—it was probably also because I had become somewhat more composed.
But I wasn't confident about that.
I turned back to the Buddhist altar once more and offered incense sticks.