by Ashley Capes
“Maybe you should get an early night?” Kiyomi suggested. “I can call Dai-kun and see if he’ll take you to the doctor tomorrow?”
“That’s a good idea, thanks.” Better than the hospital. She smiled at Kiyomi on her way to the bedroom and her desk, where she took out her phone and dialled home.
It rang out. She dialled her mother’s mobile.
“Riko, thank God, where have you been?” Her mother’s voice seemed to crack the tiny phone speakers.
“I’m all right, Mum.”
“We’ve been worrying for days, do you hear me? Days.”
Riko sighed, but with a smile.
“Don’t you give me that, young lady.”
“No, Mum, it’s just good to hear your voice. Even when you’re angry with me.” Her own voice wavered. Clenching her muscles, holding her nerve and chewing all the lies and half-truths was a good shield. It kept the fear at bay. And she was in trouble. Even without the vomiting, the spirits, her job, her friendship with Kiyomi, everything balanced on a pin’s head.
A sniff came across the phone line. “Oh sweetheart, you’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“We tried to call. After we heard from Kiyomi.”
“I know. My phone was flat.” Back to lies, but small ones, and hopefully not for long. “I lost track of some days, Mum. It’s like I blacked out.” Not exactly a lie.
“Have you been to the hospital, then?”
“We’re going to run some tests. See if they can find anything.”
“Did you hit your head then?”
“I must have. It’s scary.”
“I’m packing my bags, Riko.”
“No, it’s okay. I have Kiyomi and Aunt Eiko, I’ll be okay. We have a good hospital here; it’s fine. But I’m glad you’re here now.”
“But I’m not there, darling.”
“You know what I mean. It’s good to talk.” Riko shifted to the bed, sitting on its foot. “How’s Dad?”
“He’s home again. And he’s worried about you.”
“Is he there?”
“He’s sleeping. The operation was hard on him. But I’ll get him to call you tomorrow. You won’t be at work, will you?”
“No. But that’d be good.” He wouldn’t call, so she had to ask. “Operation?”
“His back again, but it looks good. They think this will be the last time for a few months.”
“Good.”
Her mother paused. “Now, are you sure you don’t want me to come and visit?”
“It’s too expensive, Mum. Not with Dad sick.”
“We’d find a way.”
“I’m fine. And I’m going to hospital tomorrow. I’ll tell you how it went, okay?”
“All right. Get some rest then. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Riko said goodbye and hung up, rang her aunt to let her know she was fine, then lay back on the bed, fully clothed. She rolled over and forced herself to check for spiders then gave a sigh. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.
The pillow was a cloud.
*
The police never showed up, thankfully, and so she went straight to a doctor’s clinic the next morning – only marginally preferable to a hospital. She tapped her foot in the white waiting room and the x-ray machine brought pictures of Dad, his own face pale and tight with pain, rushing back.
She squashed them down.
In the doctor’s office she tried to relax in the squeaky chair while he looked over the results. The doctor’s shaven hair had a patch of white in the black, and he shook his head as he looked over the results. “Nothing shows up on the x-rays,” he said. “It looks clear.”
“Good,” Riko said. But he wasn’t going to find anything to explain what happened. Maybe a Witch Doctor was what she needed.
“I think you should go to the hospital for a CAT scan, just to be sure.” He scribbled at a pad. “Here’s a referral, hopefully they can book you in soon. We’ll know more once the blood tests are in too.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I hope so.” She accepted the piece of paper. Hopefully it would placate the others enough to get everything sorted.
Outside, a light rain spotted Daisuke’s old Beach Boys jacket where he waited for her and he raised his eyebrows when she approached.
“He couldn’t find anything.” The folded referral was suddenly burning a hole in her pocket. She didn’t have to go; there was nothing wrong with her. Not like that, anyway.
“Really?” He ran a hand through his bleached hair. “That’s not good.”
“Maybe. There’s more results still coming.” She shrugged. “But I haven’t eaten today and I haven’t thrown up either.”
“That’s something I guess.”
They walked to the car in silence, and when he got in, Daisuke didn’t start the engine. He watched the traffic. It hummed by. Somewhere a car alarm squealed.
“Daisuke?”
He sighed, fiddling with the keys. “Ah, Riko, this is hard to say.”
She waited.
“Me and Kiyomi, we’re still worried about you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re both concerned.”
He nodded. “It’s like you’re not really ‘together’ lately. Ever since you lost your job, you know?”
“I know.”
“And that journal, you know how crazy it’s made you act?” He couldn’t look at her very long before glancing away again.
“Yeah.” Where was he going? Poor Daisuke, must have been hard for him.
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t go back to Lake Saiko. Just to be sure, you don’t, you know, relapse? Returning the journal was the right thing to do by the spirits I think.” He smiled. “When we were there you seemed really driven, it was good, even though I was expecting you to ask me to come with you for the last bit. You’re hopeless with directions.”
Riko took his hand. “I’m doing better now, Daisuke. I might have to go back one day. Who knows? But I’m not worried about that now. I want to figure out what’s wrong with me.” Yet more lies. And they were getting pretty bloody heavy. Her shoulders twitched.
“Me too.” He started the car and they drove in silence until he dropped her off.
“Are you coming over tonight?”
“Tomorrow,” he said. “Kiyomi’s having dinner with her parents tonight.”
“See you then, then.”
He waved as he drove off. Riko stood before the apartment building and looked to the distant shape of Fuji, a purple giant on the horizon, cloud brushing its face. Somewhere at his feet Hiroshi roamed. She had to find the old man and get the truth. Even if she had to wrestle it from him and his rake.
11.
She kept every light in the apartment on while Kiyomi was out.
But no ghosts came.
In the cool of the night, the TV murmuring from the other room, she prepared her hiking gear again, adding extra water and food to her stores – though why she bothered with the food... All she’d done was sip at water for two days now, and no throwing up. She wasn’t game to eat yet, but her stomach ached with emptiness. Twice she stopped, just to sit still and imagine dumplings lounging in sauce. Or pizza back home.
Finally, she unpacked the journal from its hiding place and stowed it in the bottom of her pack. Tomorrow Hiroshi would read it and prove that he knew Makiko. Her only problem was finding him. Camping out at his tree, even during the day, wasn’t much of an option. Even Akio and Tetsu didn’t know when Hiroshi would appear. She would have to find his home.
Her phone rang from the dresser. Caller unknown. She hit answer. “Hello?”
“Can you meet me outside?”
“Who’s this?”
“Yuuki Ikeda.”
She ran to the front window. “Where are you?�
��
“By the big tree.”
Riko hung up. She rushed to the front door and stepped into the dark. There. Beneath the tree, Yuuki paced, hands in pockets. He was mostly silhouette, back-lit by the streetlight.
She stormed over, concrete cold beneath her socks. “Yuuki, what are you doing here? Do you want to get me sent back to Australia?”
Yuuki flinched. “No, I came to warn you. Dad’s been talking about you a lot.”
A chill wormed its way through her bones. “What’s he saying?”
“That maybe he shouldn’t have let you off the hook for what you did.”
She jabbed her finger at him. “For what you did.”
“I’m sorry! He’ll kill me if I tell him I lied.”
She shook her head. “Go home, Yuuki.”
“But I had to come here.”
“Why, Yuuki? You’re not going to tell the truth, so why bother?”
He stepped back and light fell upon his face. A bruise covered his cheek and eye, the swelling enough to distort his face. Riko gasped.
“I have to warn you. He’s...not like my dad anymore. He was always strict, but now he’s worse.”
“Yuuki, what happened?”
The young man became jittery. “I thought it would help you if I came. He’s talking to someone at the Immigration Bureau next week. Please, Riko-san, don’t hate me.”
He opened his mouth, as if to add more, then turned and ran. He flashed through the next pool of light but did not look back.
“Wait.” Riko looked to the pitiful stars above. “Just what I need.”
*
Kiyomi knocked on her door. “Are you up yet, Riko?”
“Yeah.” She frowned at the clock; its black face blinked. Had the power gone out last night? “What time is it?” Light filled the hallway. “Time for uni already?”
“You slept in. It’s two.” She spoke through the door. “Another meeting with my supervisor before my shift.”
“Is everything okay?”
“I’m a bit behind on a deadline is all. What about you, are you all right?”
“I think so. Come in and sit down.”
Kiyomi opened the door. Her outfit was precise, matching grey and blue. Riko patted the bed. When Kiyomi sat, the familiar scent of orange slipped from her hair. “Do you feel sick?” she asked.
“No. Not yet anyway.”
“Good.” Kiyomi hesitated. “So, what are your plans today?”
“I’m going to a Shinto Shrine and then I’ll book an appointment at the hospital. I want them to do some tests.” One half-truth and one lie. Both bitter on her lips.
“Really? A shrine? I didn’t think you were religious.”
“Maybe I should be.”
“All right, well...we’ll see you tonight.” She stood then paused at the door. “Do you think it’s safe for you to drive?”
“I hope so. If I feel funny, I’ll take a taxi.”
Kiyomi nodded. “Do you need some money?”
“No, thanks though.”
“All right, see you tonight.”
Riko waited for Kiyomi’s car to leave then sprang out of bed. A wave of dizziness set the room to spinning and she stumbled against the dresser. Growling, she cleaned up and dressed before eating a KitKat over the sink. Green tea – Kiyomi’s favourite flavour, and a little strange, but Riko was used to them now.
She waited.
Her stomach rumbled but nothing happened. She took another drink and tapped her foot to the tune of Deep Purple’s Smoke on the Water. A favourite song her father played often when she was little. Thanks for that, at least, Dad.
She stuffed napkins into her pockets, checking on the omamori before dialling for directory. It had protected her once; would even a broken omamori be better than nothing?
“Fuji-Hakone-Izu National Park please,” she said when the operator picked up.
“Connecting you now.”
Beeps and clicks. The line connected. “Hakone National Park, Izumi speaking.”
“Hi, my name is Riko Nakamura and I’m trying to find someone.”
“In our offices?”
“Well, maybe. Could I speak with someone who is familiar with Lake Saiko?”
“Regarding?”
“There’s a man who rakes leaves there and I don’t know how to find him.”
Izumi laughed. “Oh, him. Everyone knows Hiroshi Miyamoto. We’ve passed on complaints about him to the police before, he’s a touchy guy.”
“Great, so do you think I could have his phone number? I’m trying to interview him for a book I’m writing.”
“He doesn’t have a phone.”
“Would anyone know his address? Akio perhaps?”
“You know Akio Kimura?”
“Not really. But he helped me hiking one day.”
“Well he’d know. I’ll have to call you back, he’s out.”
“Fantastic.” Riko gave her mobile to Izumi and waited. Maybe it was stupid – but she’d been doing stupid things for days now. And she couldn’t just sit home and do nothing. The time to hesitate was well past. She walked to the kitchen and took a drink of water, tapping her finger. She switched on the television but turned it off.
“Come on, Akio.” Kiyomi wouldn’t be gone all day.
Maybe the journal would have something else to say? There were a few pages she hadn’t read yet...
On the kitchen table Riko spread the journal and her acid free paper, supporting its covers with two other books, wincing when the spine creaked. Despite her efforts to dry the pages, the musty scent of the forest lurked in the paper.
Slowly, she sawed between two pages.
Bon Festival
People took their warm lanterns down to the sea, the yellow glow giving the buildings a beauty beyond their brick and eaves, hiding scars from the war. You surprised me that night, you promised me ‘forever’ and you seemed to believe it possible. And in a shiver that slipped between a sudden hush in the crowd, I was sure our ancestors heard.
And on the next page, this one seemed to be a different day
You tried to comfort me but there was something stronger than either of us. Despicable. There is nothing it cannot steal meaning from.
No real clues. Riko stood to stretch her legs, pacing with her mobile in hand. Where was he? “Hurry up, Akio.”
As if on cue, her phone rang.
“Hello, Riko speaking.”
“Yes, this is Akio. You’re the girl we found near Saiko? Are you all right?”
“I am, and thank you again.”
“Izumi told me you wanted to visit Hiroshi Miyamoto? I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
Riko hesitated. Should she mention Makiko’s journal? Or perhaps a story about being interested in speaking to him? An interview perhaps – a journalist? “I’m hoping to speak to him about his life. I’m writing a book and I’m researching the history of the Fuji Five Lakes.”
“A writer and a counsellor, huh?”
She forced a laugh. “Everyone’s got to have a hobby.”
“Certainly.”
“I think he’d be a great subject, he’d have quite a story to tell, don’t you think?”
“I don’t doubt it, but I don’t know how he’d react.”
She improvised. “I’ll be taking my boyfriend with me.”
“Well...”
“It would save us some time, otherwise we’ll have to check all the surrounding villages.”
He sighed. “All right. Just take care, I’d hate to hear of you getting hurt.”
“I will.” She scribbled down the address, thanked him, gathered her things and jumped into the Toyota, heading for a petrol station. Finally, some real progress!
Traffic in streets and on the highway was bus
y, but she only had half an eye on it. The other was on her GPS. Hiroshi wouldn’t be too hard to find – the village of Narusawa, maybe twenty minutes away, but she couldn’t afford to get lost this time and she’d already had one delay.
“Not too much to ask, is it?”
No-one answered.
Riko drove, following the instructions issued in the cheerful voice, her movements becoming automatic. Turn left. Go straight. Turn right. The roads gradually became less maintained, until she was bumping along a dirt road with potholes, the trees rising up on either side.
“Turn left in ten metres, destination is fifty metres on the left.”
She eased the car up a curving driveway, concealed by a stand of cedar trees and stopped at the front door. Hiroshi’s house had a Meiji-era influence with its tiled roof, eaves tilted up. It was small but still grand-looking. Old but not run down, with clean windows and a swept path.
Akio’s and Tetsu’s description of the old man chasing people away with a steel rake was hard to shrug off as she crunched over the dirt and gravel, coming to a halt at his door. She rapped on the smooth wood and stepped back. All she had to do was mention Makiko as soon as possible. Then he’d want to talk.
No answer. She moved to a window and peered inside. A low divan sat across from a blocky television, a small table with a clear surface sat on tatami mats. Even through the window the mats appeared spotless.
But a photo atop the television caught her eye.
A couple stood before the house, standing close but not touching. Hiroshi and Makiko. His hair wasn’t as wild and it was dark, and Makiko’s face was unlined. An unlit candle rested before the photo.
“Hello? Hiroshi-san?”
Still nothing. Riko circled the house, passing an old bicycle leaning against the side of the building. Missing a chain, it was the closest thing to untidy, and yet – even the pedals were level and the seat free of fallen leaves. The stone walkway too, looked as if it had just been swept. Needles and leaves from cedar and oaks spread across the crew-cut grass, but not a single one on the stone.
