The Wandering World

by B C Woodruff

As well as a tree: The Round-Leaf Holly.

  Ichinomiya apparently means The First Shrine. Which seemed somehow appropriate given that we were all on a pilgrimage of sorts.

  That’s about all the time I had to research before we found ourselves carried away by the scenery that went from Tokyo to Nagoya. Here, we switched trains and found ourselves chugging by at far less breakneck speeds, cutting away from the towers of the metropolis and out to the distant countryside. We sliced through mountains, crept above rushing rivers, and eventually, well, we were there.

  Stepping out of the station, we caught a taxi, with a clean and well-groomed driver complete with white gloves and iconic black hat. The doors swung open at a push of a button and with a quick Google translation, we were off to the Aoiyume office just a few blocks away.

  The buildings there were a mixed batch of clean, crisp and deliberate structures, some freshly tiled and others whose gray-beige tones hinted at the vibrant colours of a more prosperous past. It was the telltale sign of either a city in the early stages of decay, or one reluctant to change to meet the modern era. Perhaps it couldn’t decide.

  “We’re here.” Richard tapped on the glass separating the passengers and our driver, and he pulled over. Money was exchanged, doors swung open again and…

  “This isn’t what I was expecting.” We were all struck dumb by the scene, tired by our flight and exhausted by the trains. This was a sign we weren’t prepared to deal with.

  We looked back to the driver, who shrugged. “Kurosudo,” he said.

  “Huh?” Richard thought for a moment. “Uh.”

  “Hoteru?” the driver asked, clearly familiar with this conversation.

  “No thanks,” Richard said, eager to get moving. “Okay. We’re going to look around.” The driver didn’t catch this at first, and waved before heading off to pick up his next fare.

  We weren’t deterred for too long, though. At least, not Lisa, who had already walked straight up to the door and started giving it a good hammering like it would miraculously op– It opened.

  “I’ll be damned,” Richard and I said in perfect unison.

  “Well?” Lisa headed inside before we could say anything to stop her. Naturally, we followed. Inside, the building seemed to be frozen in time. At the flick of a switch, lights twinkled into existence across a panorama of dozens of cubicles, surrounded by a ring of offices.

  “This. This is the place!” It took a second for me to recognize my own voice. I don’t usually get excited, but…

  “Come on!” Lisa rushed forward across the immaculate office building, without even so much as a wastebasket to stop her. I was clear that someone had been keeping this place clean. Crossing through intersections distinguished from one another by larger (and shinier) name placards on desks, we found our way to the only office that we could collectively remember.

  Then we stopped.

  “You do it.” Lisa turned to me.

  Fine, I thought. I wanted answers as much as the others, if not more so. I reached for the door and there was a click behind me.

  “Gaijin-da?” The woman was small and old.

  “Hello.” Richard waves. “Do you know Shin-ji A-ra-ta?” “Idiots,” the woman said, shaking her head. “I speak English. What are you doing here?”

  “The door was open.” Lisa countered, a little too quickly to project any modicum of innocence.

  “And how were we supposed to know you speak English?” Lisa added. “I’m sorry to have offended you. We’ve traveled a long way to speak with someone here.”

  She considered this for a moment, placing her duster to the side and stretching a bit. She smiled, suddenly appearing to have understood what had to be going on.

  “You must be the investors. I’m sorry, but we are closed today. Can you come back tomorrow? We will have tea and you can speak with the President.” She pointed us towards the door. “I can arrange for hotel rooms and an executive car for your visit.” She bowed as she moved us away from our destination and out to the street.

  We were too stunned by her courtesy and apparent rank to do anything but listen and obey.

  She flipped open her phone and in minutes a fancy, black leather-upholstered car pulled up next to us with a foreign driver at the helm.

  “If you need anything, please call me.” She handed us a business card. Entering the cab, our driver smiled and welcomed us.

  “Yuriko-San can be a little intense, eh? She’s a doll, though. Really likes to make sure everyone is happy and in good form.

  The name’s Pete. How can I be of assistance, folks?”

  Ichinomiya: The Centre of the World – Ins, Outs, and Abouts

  “You sure you won’t have one?” Richard looked at me with his inquisitive eyes.

  “Haven’t had a drink in a while. Won’t start now.”

  “Leave him be, dear.” Lisa sipped her beer and adjusted herself on the tall stool as Pete ordered us food.

  It didn’t take too long before I started to feel the crush of jet, train, and shared-dream lag, and I decided to head back to the room before my… uh, Inner Arata took hold and convinced me to get shitfaced with the lovely couple and the Canadian cabbie. I didn’t have the energy to spite him with sobriety.

  The streets were picturesque in their cleanliness. The trees, green and lush. The people smiled and spoke in quick, untranslatable bursts that quieted on my approach and rose again as the distance grew.

  I wasn’t far from where we checked in, the Shin-Ichinomiya Ryokan, a fancy, traditional-style hotel (at least I assumed it was; I’m no expert)) – when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “Come with me,” an oddly familiar voice said. “You and your friends are in great danger.”

  Desperate: The Outside Arata – Almost Answers

  We walked down into a small izakaya, a bar-restaurant, at the end of a street where the lights were so dim I could barely make out my own hands. The candles on tables seemed like stars strewn across a great abyss, with our eyes barely reflecting the light in the distance. It’s the kind of place you go when you want to be unseen and unnoticed. I broke the silence. “How did you find me?” The man ordered us some drinks.

  “Arata?” Of course I recognized him. But here all I could think of is the fact that the world didn’t come to an end when he grabbed me earlier. I confess to having been a little disappointed. I rather wanted to see that happen again.

  “And You. The man who likes to be called Nobody.” He lit a smoke and offered me one. I took it and we sat while smoke filled our lungs in a vacuum-thick silence. The drinks arrived and he raised his to me. “To our glory days. May they last forever!” he stammered. He was already drunk, which didn’t really jibe with my understanding of what Meeting One’s Destiny was supposed to involve, but suited what I knew of Arata just fine. I sniffed the alcohol, not that I had any intention of drinking it.

  “It’s sweat potato.”

  “Sweet,” I corrected him. He shrugged.

  “Why have you come here?” A ring of smoke left his mouth and hovered above his glass like a halo.

  “I – we have questions. Why the hell do we keep seeing you in our heads?”

  This didn’t surprise him as much as I thought it would.

  “A bleed… We should have caught this earlier…” he said to himself and then faced me. “You can’t be here. It is very dangerous for you to be here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because. Your accounts have been…” He considered. “Discontinued.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I will explain everything. But not here. I need you to go get your friends and make it look casual. Then, I want you to take a taxi – not that corporate dog car – a real taxi and get them to drive you to my friend’s house at the lake about an hour north of here.”

  I nodded. “I’ve seen it.”

  Again, this didn’t seem to concern him.

  “Good. Meet me there and I will tell you everything. You can’t tell anyone that you’
ve seen me, though. This is of the utmost importance.” He finished his drink and slipped away into the darkness.

  Diversion: Leaves of Pink – Opportunities for an Ending

  I retraced my steps to the other bar and found the others in a state of alcoholic decay (or preservation; poisoning and pickling are two sides of same bottle). The driver, though, he looked at me with those inquisitive eyes that I’ve come to know so well from my time at the ACC.

  “Come back, have ya?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Oh, you leave him be, Petey!” Lisa had the drunk-eye. You know, that one that happens when your mind decides you don’t qualify for depth perception anymore and you are forced to stagger your way through the world, often resulting in bruising and… occasional exits from our home dimension?

  “It’s fine. I just wanted to see if I could come back and convince you to both to get some sleep before our big meeting tomorrow.” I shrugged. “Lots to discuss. Wouldn’t want you to… be too messed up.” I looked at Richard, who was more sober but still on the

  I’mma smile at you for no reason stage of the drunken personality spectrum.

  “Jus...Jusss… Yeah. Okay. I could sleep,” he realized. “Are you sure? I can bring you to some fun clubs if you want.” Pete’s emphasis on fun went over everyone’s head but mine. “They’re open all night.”

  “I’m good,” I tell him. “Let’s get the lady to bed, shall we?” I nudged Richard and he scowled.

  “Fine, ffffine, Mister ushy here wants to sleep so we should all sleep. Isn’t enough that you have to go around fooling about with people’s wives and god-knows-what-else, but you gotta control the whole-wide-world, don’tcha?!”

  He stood up and stared me in the chest, prodding it with his tiny finger.

  “I said... don’tcha?!”

  If I had wanted to be a babysitter, I would have said so. I decided to let Richard feel as right as he wanted to be. “Yes, sure, whatever it takes to help you get some sleep. We have important things to discuss so we might as well be sober for it, no?”

  Having completely missed what I said, Lisa began to play the peacemaker. “Rich, come on, let’s just…” She suddenly looked a little green. “Oh… OH, god. I…” She gagged. “Get. Me. To. Bed,” she commanded, and her husband quickly latched on and got her vertical.

  “What do we owe on the bill?” I asked.

  Peter waved his hand. “The company will cover it. You guys get some rest, I’ll settle here. Can you make it back without me?” I nod and we all left.

  Taxi Ride: Away – Arata by the Lake

  “So. He’s real.” Richard shook his head. “I mean. He’s really real, like, for real.”

  “He is,” I told him.

  “So, we’re off to see the wizard, are we?” Lisa was sobering up, but wasn’t quite there yet. The taxi had been out the light pollution of Ichinomiya for a good hour, and the driver had taken us off of paved roads, so we couldn’t have been far.

  “What else did he tell you?” Richard asked.

  “Nothing else. Just what I said.”

  “Fuuuck… would you look at that!” A small lantern flickered outside a small but beautiful temple standing at the edge of a calm lake. Or pond, as I’d prefer it be called. If you can swim across it, it’s not really that much of a lake. We paid the taxi and we approach the front door. Arata was waiting for us.

  “He’s fucking real!” Richard rushed up and started to survey the man, gesticulating wildly as he shook off the last vestiges of disbelief.

  “Look! Lisa! He’s real – just like I imagined him!”

  “We imagined him.”

  “I’m real,” Arata said, smiling at the compliment. “Certainly good to know. Please,” he said as he ushered us forward, “Come in.” We took off our shoes and the door closed behind us.

  “I am sure you have many questions, but I believe I can best explain what you are by describing where we are. This temple and the lands beyond belonged to my family for generations and generations. But there was a division between brothers, sometime after the Second World War. So many had lost their faith in the nation and the land, and it was abandoned. But death has a way of settling the bitterest feuds. My father returned after discovering the deed, and spent years thereafter restoring it.” He pointed to the far wall. “Bombs had almost entirely buried the rear of the temple under the mud of Lake Ichie. But, over patient decades, he was able to raise it. I never found out how. Some things remain as mysterious to us as they seemed in our youth. Some things we never understand. Perhaps that is as it should be.” He smiled and offered us a seat by a small fireplace in the centre of a tatami room. Everyone remained standing.

  “When my brothers and I started to come here, he forbade us from swimming. Apparently people were known to go missing out on the murky, lifeless waters. Still, my father bought a boat and he enjoyed going out to the middle to relax and paint. This is one of his.” He pointed at a beautiful scene of the temple from the water hanging from the branches of a tree just to the side of the room. It had grown so large that its trunk extended into the neighbouring chamber.

  “He said he felt a great pull in the lake. It was, for him, a creative muse. And for whatever reason, when he found this sapling sprouting into the temple, he encouraged it to take a place of honour. As if it were a manifestation of ancient spirits. He said it was a celebration of life, and it grew majestically after the war. My father loved it, possibly more than the temple itself, and often spoke to it as though it knew what he was saying. For him, it was a sign of the resilience of nature and the determination of his spirit.” He laughed. “Now, though, it has grown too large and I have had to trim branches to keep the roof from collapsing. Like grasping arms desperate to escape.”

  Although I had tried to hide it, Arata saw my anxiety. “I know this place is safe because none survive today save for me that appreciate its existence and understand its connection to my family. The war destroyed the historical records. And my father destroyed the deed, long ago.” He turned back to the tree. “This tree, healthy but obstructive, is the last real link I have to him. When I amputated these limbs years ago, when my father was still alive, he grew distant and furious. Upon discovering what I had done, he promised that he would never endow it to me. This is why I know this place is safe.”

  He scanned our expressions and then, with a curious shimmer in his eyes, looked at me.

  “Nobody owns it.”

  He burst out laughing, but neither our time inside Arata’s head, nor his in ours, gave us no insight as to why.

  He checked his pockets. “I don’t suppose any of you have a smoke?”

  I shook my head, as did Lisa. Then, somewhat bashfully, Richard presented some.

  “Richard!” Lisa shouted. “When did you take up smoking again?” “This isn’t the time for that, is it?” He passed them over.

  “Thank you. Now, as I was saying, there are some things in life that we must accept because we may never learn their secrets.” He tossed some wood onto the fire. “But! For you, at least one of those mysteries will be revealed. You want to know what connects us all? You want to know what has been going on at Aoiyume and why it has reached you – and this, I can tell you.” We looked on, incredulously. This was going to be good.

  “My name is Shinji Arata. This you know. I am fifty-four years old and I have been living in Japan my entire life. I learned English from an Eikaiwa and then studied Social Engineering at Tokyo University. I met a man there. The only foreigner I can remember being admitted to our program. He was tall and friendly, in a way. We became good friends. We spoke about everything. Philosophy. Love. Hate. War and peace. We went out drinking and one day we came upon a small izakaya outside of Shinjuku. Here, everything changed. We were welcomed to a place that not only allowed but actually encouraged free-thinking and abstract thought. It rewarded the artist and the scientist alike. We spoke about the past and the future and the War.”

  He pulled a c
igarette from his pocket, the symbol of the Violent Belle printed on the filter, and carefully lit it amongst embers that had escaped the fireplace.

  “I can say that we were best friends and that, even today, I can count him as the person that understands me the most.”

  I stood, my patience running thin.“What does this even remotely have to do with–” Arata’s finger went up.

  “We were invited to a gathering in Nara. A city that was once the centre of Japanese culture and politics, where everything was forced to change.” He let out circles of smoke. “I was hesitant, but my friend was instantly convinced.”

  “He accepted the offer and since that time, over twenty-years have gone by since our last encounter.” He grew quiet.

  “So sad.” Lisa nudged past Richard and gave Arataa pat on the back. “What happened to your friend?” I asked.

  Lisa’s sympathy evaporated. “Who cares? Tell us what’s happening to us already!”

  He sighed. “I’m almost there. This, I believe, is important. So: I tried to stay in contact with him, but the position he took sent him out, across the world. While I, after some hesitation and discussion with my wife, accepted a similar offer. I can’t really get into details about what happened from there to now, there’s simply too much. What you’ll care to know is that I defected a month ago. The company does not like defectors. So, I took some of my hardcopies as a form of insurance that they would leave me alone. Most of it will mean nothing to you to, but some...” He stood up. “Please, this way.”

  We followed him through the monks’ sleeping quarters and a few other rooms I could not identify to the back of the temple where a smaller tatami room with a bedroll was neatly stacked in the corner next to a few boxes.

  “These will begin to help you understand.” He opened the first and handed me a stack of paper, written in English with Japanese, I assume, translating the details. No!

  I glanced around and picked out pieces as they appeared across dozens of pages, realizing what they were as I relived the past.

  This, in no particular order, is what they looked like:

  My Inner Reality: The Apothecary – Arata