Pathway to Japanese Literature

One

Timewise, they should have been flying over Ise Bay by then, but every window was blinded by dense, stationary clouds, leaving their whereabouts feeling ambiguous.

As soon as they left Osaka, they were enveloped in mist and clouds, and had now been wandering through a hazy ash-white space for over an hour.
At first, the plane had flown while dragging its wavering shadow through a misty curtain, but as it gradually gained altitude, thick clouds began pressing in from all directions until the passenger aircraft itself sank completely into a turbid mass, leaving nothing visible but undulating hues of clouds.
Listening to vents weeping like stifled sobs and propellers groaning with desolate monotony, his mind grew dimly clouded until he felt utterly adrift—as if cast alone into some unknowable dimension.

For the past three years, Shirakawa Kojiro had busily commuted between Tokyo and Osaka by passenger plane three times a month, but this was the first time he had ever been stirred by such a phantasmagoric mood.
It was gloomy, yet not exactly dark.
The dim, hazy light—like light waves from a distant celestial body—drifted palely over the gray clouds, a scene exactly matching Kazuko’s descriptions of the afterlife’s landscape. Shirakawa remained with his forehead pressed against the side window’s windproof glass,

“It’s dreadfully, achingly oppressive,” he murmured.

He murmured.

This aimless gray scenery connected to a tormenting, heart-wrenching—yet somehow nostalgic—poignant mental image.
It had already been three years since Kazuko vanished from this world, yet he still hadn’t managed to free himself from her influence.
Shirakawa, too, must have found this troubling, but a mental image once seared into one’s mind isn’t something that can simply be brushed away and vanished.

On the morning of December 25th, there was a phone notification from the Ichibei-cho police box.

“We’ve received a notification from Tsukiji Police Station that your wife has passed away in a traffic accident, and we’ve been instructed to inform you.”
“The body is at St. Luke’s, so please bring your personal seal and come retrieve it immediately.”

“Wait, hello… That must be some mistake. I don’t have a wife or anything.”

“Whether it’s a mistress or a third woman, just come right away, please.”

On a snowy dawn when clouds hung low, Shirakawa went to St. Luke’s and found Ninomiya’s wife Kazuko—her chest marked by a steering wheel-shaped bruise from subcutaneous hemorrhage—lying cramped in the mortuary’s coffin with her eyes closed.

After ten o'clock on Christmas Eve, driven by drunken impulse, she sped her car toward Tsukiji and crashed into the safety zone in the Fourth District.
She was taken by ambulance to St. Luke’s and remained unconscious until dawn on the 25th, but soon began suffering and passed away around seven o'clock.
The official informed Shirakawa that at her deathbed, it had been clearly announced she was Shirakawa Kojiro’s wife of Azabu Ichibei-cho.

The matter of "Shirakawa Kojiro’s wife" had been settled without informing Ninomiya, but the deathbed declaration remained in his heart like a suffocating weight.
Shirakawa’s association with Kazuko had existed since before her marriage to Ninomiya Tadahira—during that time, certain unspoken feelings had lingered between them, but neither side had ever confessed outright until the end.

Shirakawa Kojiro had come to commune with the spirit of the deceased Kazuko… or rather, to immerse himself in an ardent spiritual love—it was from such circumstances that this had arisen.

Within the physical body dwells the soul. When a person dies, their soul departs from the body and journeys to the next world.

The soul resided in a past life before inhabiting its current body, active across four worlds—this world, the next world, and those beyond—but through certain methods, it could be brought back from the afterlife to the present world.

It was no unenlightened entity like a ghost.
This was a high-grade being—also referred to as a psychic electron—that didn’t engage in such careless behavior as ghosts flitting about on their own.
When summoned, it would grudgingly appear—that’s about the extent of its cooperation.

Summoning spirits was performed by specialists known as "mediums." The method involved the medium entering a trance-like state—in other words, temporarily expelling their own soul from their body to leave it vacant, then inviting the summoned spirit to inhabit that empty vessel. Though the body was merely borrowed, its physical presence allowed the spirit to speak and move.

Do spirits truly exist or not? If they do exist, what form might they take? Regarding such psychic phenomena, studies existed like Portmore’s *Psychic Phenomena* and Lodge’s *Psychic Electron Theory*. As for the afterlife, Lombroso had discussed it in *What About the Afterlife* while Maeterlinck elaborated in *The Life After Death*.

Why would a spirit come to inhabit a medium who enters selflessness? Do spirits emerge so readily? To these elementary questions, spiritualists answered that trance states and ecstatic states had been humanity’s sole means of divine communication since antiquity—just as the Bible referenced “those who receive God’s word” and Greece maintained its oracles.

Shirakawa Kojiro went to meet Kazuko’s spirit at a modest two-story house on the outskirts of a subdivided residential area in Azabu Hiroo, bearing a sign that read “Spiritual Friends Society Headquarters.”

When he opened the pliant Osaka-style lattice-patterned door, a shabby-looking man with an imposing mustache emerged, dragging the hem of his hakama behind him.

“This is the Director of our society.”
“You must be the one with the reservation.”

“I am Shirakawa, the one who made the request by phone earlier this morning.”

“Mr. Shirakawa… We have been awaiting you.”
“Please do come in.”

When he waited in the second-floor eight-tatami room with its cheaply made alcove bed, the man who had introduced himself as the Director brought in a middle-aged woman of about forty-three or forty-four—slightly plump, with a pallid complexion that had a glossy sheen—and...

“This lady is the medium.”

and introduced her to Shirakawa.

When the medium sat formally on the zabuton cushion in front of the alcove bed, the Director positioned Shirakawa facing the medium and,

“We will now begin.”

With that, he stood up and turned off the light.

Aside from a faintly red neon light—about a foot long—attached to the wall pillar beside the alcove bed, there were no other shadows in the darkness where the medium’s face floated dimly into view. In that gloom, the Director’s voice chanted *Tohokamiemitame*, *Tohokamiemitame* in a ritualistic tone, repeating it over and over—until eventually, he edged closer to Shirakawa and...

“She will appear shortly,” he announced in a grave tone.

As he watched, the medium’s upper body—which had been utterly still—began to sway faintly, then let out a strange groan in a voice that seemed divorced from human speech, as though emerging from some unfathomable void.

“Is that the spirit I called?”

“That is correct.”

“What’s she groaning about?”

When Shirakawa inquired mockingly, the Director brought his mouth close to Shirakawa’s ear and,

"If she’s groaning like that, it means this one hasn’t yet realized she’s dead," he whispered in a hushed, raspy tone.

“What do you mean by ‘awareness’?”

In a plausibly grave tone, the Director explained that spirits entering the afterlife were—to make a comparison—as helpless as newborn infants, unaware even of their own deaths, moaning and drifting through the suffering they had felt at life’s end. He elaborated that those who died of stomach ailments would keep crying out about stomach pain, while those who succumbed to lung disease would writhe as though struggling for breath.

The medium had been emitting gloomy groans of varying pitches but suddenly bent double,

“Where am I?… How dark it is… It hurts… Ahh, it hurts! The middle of my chest feels like it’s tearing apart… Help me…”

Without any context, she began to speak those words.
The Director lowered his face and listened intently, but

“This person passed away due to an injury.”
“She seems to be in considerable distress—please speak to her quickly… Tell her she’s already dead.”
“That way she can find some relief from the pain.”

“How am I supposed to say it?”
“Anyway, call her name… After that, I’ll be here to guide you each step of the way.”

Shirakawa, unable to fully resolve his emotions,

“Kazuko-san, Kazuko-san.”

When he called out to the anguished medium, she assumed a cramped posture with her forehead pressed against her knees,

“Who is calling me…? You…?”
“…Is that you, Shirakawa-san?”
“...I... This spot hurts so much I can’t bear it.”
“Can’t you do something… Hey, please help me.”

In a faint, thin voice—as though having just arrived from the underworld—she gasped out.
Shirakawa, urged by his emotions and without thinking,

“Hey, Kazuko-san.”

Calling out while doing so, he placed his hand on the medium’s plump shoulder.
The Director panicked in a great flurry,

“Wait, you mustn’t do that!”

while taking hold of Shirakawa’s arm and restraining him,

“You must refrain from touching her body… If the medium awakens, the spirit we’ve painstakingly summoned will depart.”
“Even if you thrash around here, it won’t change a thing.”

he rebuked in a bitter tone.
Shirakawa grew uncontrollably angry,

“You promised to let me talk, didn’t you?”
“What’s the harm in touching the medium?”

The Director’s face took on a look of utter exasperation,

“Hey, you—please try to calm down.”
“It’s about the unbridgeable gap between where spirits reside and the world of the living, you see…”

The Director tried to placate him with careless remarks, but Shirakawa had become stubborn and refused to heed his words.

“You can show me all these gestures, but I don’t need to see her suffering. I don’t know what kind of spirit this is, but can’t we just talk calmly?”

The Director nodded exaggeratedly,

“Quite right, quite right… Forgive my presumption, but she appears to have been someone you loved deeply.”
“How truly unfortunate… But now, please release this hand.”
“If you keep gripping this hand so tightly, we won’t be able to talk or do anything at all.”

Having said that, he reverted to his usual plausible tone,

“Then, perhaps we should proceed in this manner. In any case, let us instill in her the realization that she is already dead.”
“As you rightly say, spirits inherently possess no pain receptors, so since she’s tormented by phantom pains—afterimages, if you will—of her physical body’s suffering, if you make her clearly understand that she’s dead, then she’ll be able to achieve liberation smoothly.”

“Am I the one who has to say that?”

“Precisely. It’s best coming from someone the spirit trusts… Since spirits themselves don’t believe they’re dead, some even lash out in anger… That’s when you must press firmly.”
“When you do that, the spirit goes ‘Hmm?’ and upon reexamining itself, realizes it truly has no physical body.”
“Startled, they ask back, ‘What’s happening to me?’ so you immediately repeat ‘You’re dead’ over and over… Most spirits burst into tears then.”
“You soothe them quietly.”
“That part’s grueling too—they become completely drained—but eventually they reach resignation, start thanking people for past kindnesses or haltingly describing their world… Once they reach that stage, it’s smooth sailing—you’ll converse calmly.”

It didn’t sit right with him, but upon hearing that, he thought perhaps such things could happen.

“Kazuko-san, it’s Shirakawa.”
“Do you understand?”

When he tried calling out, the medium suddenly stopped groaning and became subdued,

“Ah, Shirakawa-san.”

After pleading in a clinging voice, she gazed about restlessly with unfocused, strange eyes toward where Shirakawa was.

“Where are you?”

“I’m right in front of you.”
“Don’t you understand?”

“I can hear your voice, but I can’t see anything.”
“Why is it so dark here?”
“Couldn’t you make it brighter?”

she said in a pitiful voice.

“I’m sorry, but it seems my power isn’t enough.”
“Kazuko-san, you don’t seem to realize it, but you’re already dead.”

“Me?”
“Oh? Why?”

“On Christmas Eve, you got drunk and drove your car recklessly, didn’t you?”
“At that time, you crashed into the safety zone in Owari-cho and died.”

“But right now, I’m here like this, aren’t I?”

“What’s there is your spirit.”

“Spirit? What do you mean?”

When Shirakawa faltered intensely, the Director sidled up to him,

“Don’t give in, don’t give in… You mustn’t let yourself weaken.”
“You absolutely have to make her concede.”

He whispered in his ear.

To convince Kazuko she was already dead, Shirakawa exerted himself tremendously.
Three nights of this back-and-forth passed, but by the third day, even the Director grew exasperated,

“Few spirits are as uncomprehending as this one.”
“What sort of person was she in life?”

He let his shoulders slump with a sigh.

“This one seems to have been of a malicious disposition—thoroughly contrary at her core.”
“Once such spirits grow stubborn, they defy all control. We can only wait until their hearts soften naturally... The medium too appears quite exhausted of late, so I must request we pause here for respite...”

The Director began to suggest giving up.

The medium of the Spiritual Friends Society was the wife of a certain wealthy man who engaged in such activities as a hobby; she had an ample build and a relaxed demeanor, her gestures were expansive, and there was nothing vulgar in her bearing.

When Shirakawa first began attending sessions, the medium couldn’t enter a trance state without the Director’s guidance. But after some time passed, she became able to do it alone merely by Shirakawa holding her hand, and spirits began arriving much more quickly.

Shirakawa and Kazuko’s discussions always took over two hours, so they were scheduled last, beginning around ten o’clock at night.
The medium was immersed in a trance state, devoid of consciousness, and since it was just Kazuko and him alone in their world, there was no need for reserve or hesitation.
They bared even things too private for others to hear and spoke earnestly together.

Kazuko’s spirit gradually learned the knack of their discussions, growing able to speak freely. She would recall minute details Shirakawa had forgotten—reminiscing, laughing—and when excitement overtook her mid-conversation, she would writhe as though in agony,

“What should I do?”

There were times when she would lean into Shirakawa’s chest.

Who says spirits have no physical form? Though borrowed, it possessed a complete form coursing with living warmth—there was no shortage of loving contact. Push and she pushed back; take her hand and she clasped yours in return—this unreserved manner held nuances those inexperienced in spiritual communion could never comprehend. Shirakawa Kojiro found himself caught in the spirit world’s grip, unable to move forward or back, shuttling obsessively for nearly a year between this world and the next with the air of one lingering in rapt absorption—until his ascetic practice of spiritual love met its ephemeral end through the Spiritual Friends Society’s dissolution.

Around the time Shirakawa began attending the Spiritual Friends Society, he would listen to various people’s experiences in the waiting area by the entrance—but on one occasion, a man:

“My wife, you see… lately she acts as though she can’t bear to be apart from me for even a moment. ‘Why won’t you come to this world sooner?’ That’s all she says.”

“I had intended to summon my wife’s spirit and save her, but it ended up causing her suffering instead. Feeling responsible, I’ve been considering whether to follow through with what she says.”

he reminisced earnestly.

The man threw himself into the sea off the coast of Chiba, taking his seven-year-old daughter with him.
It seemed that had become an issue; whether the Society had disbanded or relocated, when he later went to check, it was already gone.
With a feeling of having left an important dream unfulfilled, Shirakawa was in a daze for the time being.

Two

A figure flitted by, and a svelte girl of twenty-four or twenty-five moved into the seat next to Shirakawa, which had remained vacant since Osaka.

Her outfit was entirely black, with a small bouquet of violets attached to her bowler hat serving as the only color.
Placing her hands on the armrest of the seat,

“Shirakawa-san, it’s been a while.”

She smiled with an air of familiarity.

“Hey.”

Shirakawa was drawn in and returned a nod, but his face involuntarily contorted at having ended up sharing the ride with such an unexpected fellow.

“Have you forgotten? I am Ninomiya’s demon child, you know.”

Her nose and chin both receded, her lips forming an underbite—the whole face had a parched, warped quality so intensely distinctive that no one could forget it once seen. The “You’ve probably forgotten” had been her greeting.

She was Ninomiya’s child from his first wife and thus a stepdaughter to the deceased Kazuko. But just as Yuzu resented her overly beautiful stepmother, Kazuko too seemed unable to bring herself to like this stubbornly unattractive girl. Whenever Kazuko spoke of Yuzu to others, she would calmly refer to her as “our demon child.” For her part, Yuzu would retaliate by calling her “that terrifyingly beautiful aunt.” Throughout Kazuko’s lifetime, they had repeated these savage quarrels—slapping and striking back—as part of their daily routine. Even for a stepmother and stepdaughter, Shirakawa had observed in astonishment, there could hardly exist a parent-child relationship as strained as this.

“Ah, Yuzu-san.”

“Yes, it’s Yuzu.”
“Thank you ever so much for remembering me.”
“Ever since we took off from Osaka, I was hoping you’d notice me, but you didn’t.”

“Has it been five years already? When I used to visit your house, you were the one lounging on the divan reading comic books, weren’t you? You’ve become so terribly grown-up, with no trace of your former self left anywhere—so even if you tell me to remember, it’s impossible.”

“Traces of the past? Do you think you knew who I was back then? You were so obsessed with our Kazuko that even when we occasionally met in the dining room, you never once looked at me, did you?”

“Was that so?”

“Yes, that’s exactly how it was—because I never took my eyes off you, I know all too well. Back then, I was in love with you—I’m sure of it.”

She struck Shirakawa’s shoulder sharply with the flat of her hand,

“I know I’m intruding, but I’ll take this seat. There’s something I want to discuss.”

As soon as she settled into the adjacent seat,

“How is your work in Osaka? As for us, it’s been disastrous. You’re aware of this, I’m sure—the Azabu house filled with your memories has ended up being put up for auction.”

she addressed him in a bright, lilting voice.

When he found her annoying, Shirakawa lost the will to engage.
He made no effort to hide his displeasure,

“I don’t care for work talk. Let’s discuss something else.”

When he brushed her off curtly, Yuzu rubbed the back of her head vigorously against the seat’s headrest while watching Shirakawa’s face from the corner of her eye,

“They’re flying only through the clouds—what an inconsiderate pilot. I thought you must be bored, so I came here to talk to you.”

“Not particularly bored. Watching clouds can be quite enjoyable in itself.”

Yuzu’s eyes assumed a gaze freighted with veiled purpose,

“Can you see something in the clouds? If so, that’s a rather eerie notion.”

Muttering as if to herself, she snorted a stifled laugh through her nose.

“With a brain no bigger than a sparrow’s—has even she started mocking me now?” Shirakawa thought irritably.

“My mind is perfectly clear—that’s why I’m saying I want nothing to do with women’s company. Men can feel this way too—I’d like you to acknowledge that.”

persisted, but Yuzu,
“I’m listening—do go on.”
She merely laughed and showed no sign of moving.

“If I’ve offended you, I apologize—but I’m being serious here.”

“It’s better if you’re not serious.”
“If it’s a difficult story, I don’t want to hear it.”

Yuzu’s face took on the quiet expression of a child falling asleep as she gazed silently up at the ceiling,

“It’s cold, isn’t it?”
“They increased the altitude again.”
“Excuse me, but could you turn the vent opening that way?”
“There’s a draft on the neck.”

she said in a muffled voice.

Shirakawa, reaching out to adjust the vent opening, had just extended his hand when the aircraft lurched sideways, sending him tumbling back into his seat with a heavy thud.

Yuzu fixed her gaze on Shirakawa’s awkward state and,

“Shirakawa-san, I hear you’re obsessed with conducting necromantic dialogues—is that true?”

Yuzu said abruptly.
Shirakawa, trying to hide his embarrassment, took out a cigarette and lit it,

“You could say that happened.”
“I’m not doing it anymore.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Yuzu, as if unsure where to look, looked down while fiddling with her collar and began giggling softly.
Shirakawa shifted to an explanatory tone,

“It’s difficult explaining this to someone who doesn’t believe,” he said, “but spirits do exist.”
“The human body is material, but the soul—”
As he began speaking, Yuzu cut over him sharply,

“That sounds fascinating. I’d love to hear in detail how you manage to meet them. So that’s what this was all about.”

“It’s not about being interesting. This is a solemn matter.”

“Of course it is.”
“I have a friend obsessed with this Western necromancy—or whatever they call it—so I know a bit about that.”
“They say finding a good medium is just luck… At the Spiritual Friends Society, their job is pulling talented mediums to their side—they say they do talent poaching like in movies or pro baseball. But do they really do such things?”

“I don’t really know.”
“Why are you asking such things?”

“Just…”

Having said that, Yuzu suddenly fell silent and began absently gazing out at the gray world beyond the window.

When Yuzu stopped speaking, the surroundings suddenly took on a hushed stillness. Stretching up to look at the seats in front and behind, he saw that the few passengers had all turned their faces in the same direction as if by prior agreement and lay dead asleep. It became a strangely desolate sight.

Shirakawa, unable to bear the pressing sense of loneliness, shook Yuzu’s shoulder,

“You’ve gone completely silent, haven’t you? What are you looking at?”

Yuzu slowly turned her face toward Shirakawa,

“The propeller on this side has stopped moving—for over ten minutes now. I was watching that.”

she said in a heartfelt tone.

So, the sideways lurching was because of that.
There was likely no danger, but if that were truly the case, he thought there ought to have been some announcement—when a sleek-featured, effeminate man emerged from the cockpit.
With a dancer’s gait, he approached Shirakawa’s seat and removed his hat,

“Are you Mr. Shirakawa? I’m Sakurama.”

He bowed politely.

As for Sakurama Ichiro—there had been rumors that three years ago on Christmas Eve, he’d suffered some head injury from riding in Kazuko’s car and either died or gone mad—but thinking how bizarre life could be,

“Sakurama-kun—weren’t you supposed to be dead?”

When Shirakawa tossed out the barbed remark, Sakurama responded with a drawn-out smile,

“Ah, I suppose I must be dead.
“Socially speaking, that scandal left me as good as dead… But never mind that—no need to worry about the Douglas.
“These clouds keep pulling us deeper into this mess, so I’ll find us a path through them… Even the sky has its back alleys and hidden lanes—I’ve got their measure, so rest easy.”

He chattered away to himself and returned to the cockpit.
Yuzu followed Sakurama’s departure with her eyes,

“If someone like that shows up, this plane might as well be doomed.”
“Had I known such an idiot was piloting us, I’d never have boarded this JAL flight.”

Having said that, she suddenly slid closer and wrapped her arms around Shirakawa’s neck.

“But if I can die clinging to you, Mr. Shirakawa, it’d be my dearest wish.”

Shirakawa pushed away Yuzu’s arms while,

“Cut it out.”
“I told you I don’t want any female company, didn’t I?”
“If you keep doing that, the plane will really crash.”

he said harshly.
Yuzu showed no sign of embarrassment,

“Oh, how cruel! Even if you look down on women, you should at least treat them a bit more humanely. There’s something I want to tell you, but if you’re going to be so obstructive, I’ll just keep it to myself.”

Shirakawa, suddenly realizing something, amiably relented and spoke up.

“I’m sorry for being rough.”
“We’re in a dangerously precarious situation.”
“At least let’s talk.”
“What kind of story is it?”

Yuzu regained her composure and,

“About mediums… Mr. Shirakawa, you’re searching for a medium named Ibaraki, aren’t you? Do you know where she is now?”

“I’ve been searching all along. If you know where she is, then tell me.”

“If it’s Ibaraki you’re after, she’s at a place called Kindo-sha near Ipponsugi in Myogi Mountain.”

“This might sound like a strange question, but why do you know about Ibaraki of all people?”

“Well, isn’t that obvious? We’re colleagues, after all.”

“‘Colleagues’?”

Yuzu twisted the corner of her lips and fixed him with a meaningful look,

"I'm a medium. Didn't you know?"

she retorted with a feigned innocent look.

Shirakawa said “Huh” and fell silent, staring fixedly at Yuzu’s face.

The notion that Yuzu was a medium seemed unbelievable, yet it didn’t sound like she was lying. As he studied her sooty, parched-looking face, he thought that even among mediums, there couldn’t possibly be one who looked more fitting for the role—and he nearly laughed.

“It’s just that you didn’t know,” she said. “There’s no need to be so shocked. What does it matter if I’m a medium?”

“Because it was rather unexpected… Now that you mention it, your face does carry a spiritual aura.”
“You could probably manage it.”
“Where did you train for this?”

“At the Baba sisters’ place in Suma… Around five years ago, whenever I stood at someone’s front entrance, I started seeing spirits of their dead relatives. That’s how I realized I had psychic abilities too. My self-awareness came late, but I’ve had the aptitude since childhood.”

“The Baba sisters—that pair of mediums—were said to be in Paris, but they’re in Suma too?”

“Oh please—they could be anywhere... Anyway, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“If it’s not too difficult a request...”

“I want to hold a research meeting in Tokyo—would you sponsor it? Why don’t you drop Ibaraki and switch to me instead? I can summon any spirit you want exactly how you like them. I don’t care for Kazuko’s spirit myself, but even hers I could manifest far more beautifully than Ibaraki ever managed.”

“I don’t know what you mean by ‘beautifully,’ but if it’s Kazuko-san’s spirit we’re discussing, I’ll have it summoned elsewhere. If spirits started slapping each other around, mediating would become a real nuisance.”

“That’s your prerogative.”
“Speaking of Kazuko’s spirit—I just remembered—what exactly do you talk about when you call forth her spirit?”

“Do I really have to spell it out in detail? There are things I’d rather keep hidden, but…”

“Given the two of you, I’m sure you’ll cling and grovel and try every trick in the book, but if you’re letting yourself be fooled by phony spirits to that extent, how pitiful.”
“Is that not the case?”

“Kazuko’s spirit is Kazuko’s spirit. There’s no reason another spirit would appear.”

“There’s a type of eye disease where your field of vision gradually narrows, you know. By the way, you don’t even realize it. You think what you’re seeing right now is the whole picture. That disease actually exists. Did you know?”

“I didn’t know.”
“Even so, my eyes are perfectly healthy.”

Yuzu puffed out her cheeks sullenly but soon composed herself,

“If you’re so determined to make me say it, I’ll tell you… On Christmas Eve, Kazuko planned to take you in her car, crash it somewhere, and die together with you.”
“That afternoon, she went to your house with the Mercedes, didn’t she?”
“She was going to force you into the car no matter what, but she changed her mind, and the turn fell to Sakurama instead… Did Kazuko’s spirit tell you any of this?”

It was true that Kazuko had come that afternoon, but I hadn’t known there was such a plan. Kazuko’s spirit hadn’t said anything of the sort either.

“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“If it hadn’t told you, then that’s a counterfeit spirit. You were being played with by some wandering phantom…… Why do notions like ‘good people’ and ‘noble intentions’ always carry such sorrowful airs? You’re one of them too. You ought to steel yourself properly.”

Yuzu gazed sidelong at Shirakawa—now rendered speechless—with evident satisfaction,

“Judging by that wilted demeanor, there must still be truths eluding you. Since we’ve come this far, shall I elaborate?… Not that I side with Kazuko, but you might as well have murdered her yourself. She undoubtedly loathes you.”

“What sort of reasoning path could possibly lead to that conclusion? At this juncture, I must insist you abstain from both jokes and groundless insinuations.”

“How could this be something to joke about?… On the day Kazuko married Ninomiya, you made a vow and remained single for six years—only to get engaged to what’s-her-name that October.”

“You’re absolutely right.”
“It was quickly dissolved, but…”

“After Kazuko died?”
“It’s unnecessary for someone like me to say this, but if you were going to abandon it after just six years or so, it would’ve been better not to make such a sentimental vow and give Kazuko false hope.”

“I don’t consider it sentimental.”

“For six years, Kazuko carried this accumulated longing, mustering every ounce of her strength to fly to you. She thought clinging to your chest alone would suffice… Because to Kazuko, Shirakawa-san, you were like a god—she never doubted for a moment that reaching you meant salvation…”

“That’s enough. As for that matter, I’ve already discussed it thoroughly with Kazuko’s spirit.”

“Do you know that when a woman suffers, her only salvation lies in a man’s infinite forgiveness? She needs no comfort, no sympathy, no tenderness. If she were to come rushing to you—whether dawn or midnight—you’d open your gates to welcome her with a heart and embrace vast enough… Like a god, in other words. A woman’s happiness is that unshakable confidence of knowing she truly possesses one such thing. After all her torment, Kazuko raced there believing that place alone held answers—only to find an empty hall where no god resided. She’d been utterly certain you’d wait for her—not just six years, but ten or fifteen—so imagine her devastation then. They say she concluded death was her sole remaining path.”

“I didn’t know it went that far.”
“That is something you came up with.”
“Or was it something she left written down?”

Yuzu lowered her eyes and smirked.

“There was no such thing.”

Suddenly, her tone of voice changed, and she raised her face as if her whole body were stretching upward.

“Who do you think I am?”

In a faint voice that missed its mark,

"You haven't forgotten me—have you? I'm Kazuko,"

she murmured with desperate appeal.

Kazuko’s spirit was saying something.
It came through in fragmented syllables—broken utterances of "ure... reru... rero."
Like a breeze blowing through the high sky, it drifted in from nowhere—faint yet discernible—resonating faintly in Shirakawa’s ears.

III

He quickly located Kindōsha at Ipponsugi, but upon learning that Ibaraki had moved to Okunoin Temple on Mount Hakugun at the beginning of this month, he turned back to Myogi Town and strolled leisurely up the trailhead behind the shrine toward Uguisu-naki Falls.

Upon returning to Tokyo, he thought of heading straight to Myogi Town, but some inhibiting mood held him back, leaving him unable to muster the enthusiasm to dash out.

Shirakawa knew that visions were merely a type of illusion arising from the reflection of subconscious fixed ideas.
It made sense that Kazuko’s spirit had manifested through Yuzu—but Sakurama Ichiro’s appearance in that vision was undeniably suspicious, for someone like him, who held no interest in such matters, should have had no libido to fuel such a manifestation.

“I, too, seem to have become like a monster.”

There was a pleasure unknown to others in his spiritual love with Kazuko, yet he appeared to regret having carelessly plunged too deep and fallen into such an uncanny predicament. The other day, Kazuko’s spirit had manifested with unexpected intensity. The man who threw himself into the sea off Chiba’s coast said it drained him—whenever his wife’s spirit appeared violently, he would weep and beg her to join him in the afterlife.

As spiritual communion deepened, the ceaseless distance separating them grew oppressive, and one might even have felt tempted to leap into the spirit world through the simple act of suicide. Yet life’s subtlety lay in this inability to sever worldly attachments—left to right, they clung—so even when beckoned to *“come here,”* one could not follow so easily. That said, if one were to show signs of hesitation, a sensitive spirit would immediately notice and take offense.

Shirakawa plucked a rhododendron leaf from branches stretching over the path, fiddling with it in his hand as he brooded pensively. But once he passed Kōjin Falls and the outline of Okunoin Temple came into view atop a sheer rock face, his mood lifted abruptly, and nothing else came to mind but the prospect of meeting Kazuko’s spirit after so long.

When he went to what seemed to be the guesthouse’s temple kitchen and mentioned Ibaraki’s name, Ibaraki came hurrying out from the back.

“Oh, Shirakawa-san. You came all this way.”
“I hope you’ve been keeping well since then.”

With eyes containing a smile, she looked up at Shirakawa nostalgically.

“There was a reason why it absolutely had to be you, so I came all the way from Tokyo.”

“Thank you for that.”
“Welcome… It’s rather unkempt, but please do come in.”

After guiding Shirakawa to a small eight-tatami room with a sunken hearth,
“I shall now perform the purification rites, so please go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

With that, she stood up and went to the washbasin.

Soon she returned and remained still in the darkness for about ten minutes, but when she abruptly leaned her body forward, Kazuko’s spirit had already emerged.

“Welcome. I was waiting for you.”

Shirakawa gripped the clammy, grease-dampened hand of Kazuko’s spirit—its tepid warmth seeping into his palm—and said,
“Thank you for manifesting that time.”

When he expressed his gratitude, Kazuko’s spirit took on a resentful expression,

“We have codes of conduct—when summoned, we must enter the designated physical vessel. But I must ask you to stop borrowing Yuzu’s material.”
“You should know full well about my history with Yuzu.”
“I held resentment toward you.”

Shirakawa edged closer to the spirit’s knees,

“I had no idea Yuzu was acting as a medium.”
“I thought you were probably angry, so I came today intending to apologize.”

“And Yuzu?”
“Surely you’re not keeping her with you?”

“I haven’t seen Yuzu once since we parted ways at the terminal.”

Kazuko's spirit frowned,

"That's suspicious."

As she said this, she struck Shirakawa's chest with unexpected force.

“It’s troublesome if you’re this distrustful.”
“I don’t stoop to cheap tricks like sneaking into the outhouse to gulp down buns.”
“A girl like Yuzu isn’t my type.”

“But you let Yuzu cling to you and were acting all smitten, weren’t you?”
“So you’re the type to do such things, I see.”

Kazuko’s spirit looked down with lowered eyes, seemingly deep in thought, but then straightened her back as if stretching upward and adopted a formal tone.

“Today, I have something of great importance I wish to discuss.”
“During the ten years I was there, it was as though I lived solely on the air that came from you.”
“There’s a rubber tube that sends air to a diver, right?”
“I was firmly connected to you through that kind of tube, you know.”
“I was the diver, and you were the pump sending me air… You probably knew nothing of this, but for all that time, I was in a dark, silent, lonely seafloor, relying solely on the air you provided, floating up and sinking down, living a pitiful existence.”

“At this point, it seems things have become exactly the opposite.”

Kazuko’s spirit nodded happily.

“That’s right.”
“You finally understand… While I’m here in this vast, windswept expanse, you’re wriggling like a bug in some gloomy, damp hole… It feels improper to call this repayment, but I’d planned to stay by your shadow and help once I’d trained enough to move freely. Yet seeing how you carry on now, everything seems so perilously unstable—I simply can’t wait any longer.”

“I also think how wonderful that would be if it came to pass.”

“Even if you wish for it, that won’t do.”
“Since Yuzu has spilled everything, I’ll tell you plainly—I was planning to die together with you, you know.”
“When I visited you back then, you were in such high spirits that I took pity and abandoned the idea. But now, looking back, I deeply regret not taking you with me at that time.”
“If we had done that, we could have lived happily together in this harmonious, peaceful world… I thought… Why don’t you take the plunge and come here?”
“In such a dreary place, there’s no reason for you to feel any lingering attachment, right?”

Shirakawa was flustered,
“If I could go, I’d want to go right away, but there’s a bit of a snag there.”
he attempted to flee.

Kazuko’s spirit, in a gloomy tone permeated with resentment,

“You speak this way because you don’t know our world here.”
“You seem so absorbed in thought—what could possibly require such deliberation?”
“If even a woman like me could accomplish it, there’s no reason you couldn’t.”

she pressed.

“I’d like to hear your answer.”

“Don’t press me so hard—let me think it over for a couple of days. Even if I go, there are various methods available, so I need to research those options properly too.”

Kazuko’s spirit wore a face that saw through everything.
“I understand your feelings, but I want you to take the plunge and come here.”
“You’d surely be grateful.”
“If it helps, shall I assist you?”

“If I wanted to do it, I could manage alone.”
“No need for your help—but tell me, how did you handle it back then?”
“For reference, won’t you share the details?”

“It’s hardly worth recounting, but leaving even one trace of suicide makes the act more tragic—and more farcical.”
“To ensure success, I meticulously planned it to appear unquestionably accidental.”
“To prevent either of us surviving that idiocy, I spent a month studying the site’s layout and how to position the car…… How do you intend to proceed?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet.”

“There’s no need to rush, so please take your time to think it over.”

Kazuko’s spirit appeared to have departed with that, and Ibaraki awoke and spoke in a clear voice.

“It seems you have finished.”
“How was tonight’s spiritual session?”

“Thank you very much.”
“I spoke clearly and well.”

“Are you returning to Tokyo?”

“Today I will stay at a house called Hishiya in Myogi Town.”

“Then, I will escort you that far.”
“Please wait a moment.”

When Ibaraki entered the adjoining room, she changed into a dress and came out.

“Since the path is easier, let us take the back mountain trail.”

With that, she took Shirakawa’s hand and started walking toward where there was a stone tunnel.

After walking for a while, the sound of a waterfall came from within the mist. She had said they were descending, but it didn’t feel like they were going downhill. While wandering aimlessly, gazing at the rocks of various shapes that hazily emerged only to be swallowed back into the mist on either side, they emerged onto a plateau that seemed propped up by stone pillars.

True to its reputation as a celebrated spot for clouds and mist, from the depths of the valley, clouds ceaselessly surged upward, billowing like great banners before vanishing into the sky.

Shirakawa, enveloped by clouds coming from all directions, was smoking a cigarette in a drowsy, entranced state when Ibaraki, who had been behind him,

“That over there is Hishiya.”
“You should proceed along this cloud path.”

she said something strange.

Now that they had driven me this far into a corner, there was no way they would let me escape.
This must have been what Kazuko's spirit meant when she said she could help.
I was trapped.
I didn't want to die—and when I screamed for help, I suddenly snapped back to reality.

The passenger plane was still in the clouds, and outside the side window, a milky-white turbidity drifted hazily through the faint sunlight that sifted through it.

It must have been a dream, yet I simply can’t bring myself to believe it was.
Shirakawa, sensing something, reached into his coat pocket and felt the smooth surface of a rhododendron leaf brush against his fingertips.