A Whisper of Leaves

by Ashley Capes

  Riko leant forward from her perch on the edge of the couch. “Well?”

  “No, I still don’t smell any smoke. Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “And my father’s picture hit you on the head?”

  “It did. Hurt too.” Riko forced a smile.

  Kiyomi gave her a look. “Riko, you know I’m your friend, don’t you?”

  “I do know that.” Not a promising start to a conversation.

  “I think you might be having a bit of a breakdown. You know, after being fired.”

  Riko turned to the darkened TV. Why not? It made more sense than imaginary smoke. “Maybe.”

  “I know you think everything’s connected – the lake, the smoke and the man with the leaves, the photos of our parents, the humming and whatever – but I’m not convinced.”

  “What do you think’s happening?” Riko asked.

  “Nothing. I think you’ve stressed yourself into this...episode.”

  Wonderful. Crazy at twenty-seven. “So I should see a doctor?”

  She took a deep breath, obviously uncomfortable at the mention of doctors. “Probably. At least, if it happens again.”

  Riko’s shoulders slumped.

  Kiyomi came over and hugged her, squeezing her around the middle. “I’ll take the afternoon off. We’ll go to lunch.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  She smiled. “I want to.”

  Lunch was sushi in a busy cafe with a clear view of Fuji, a blue shadow in the distance. Riko chewed slowly as Kiyomi chattered. AC/DC was playing over the speakers and at a nearby table an older couple sat together, each with a paper, working on Nonograms – the man’s grid was nearly complete; a boy kicking a soccer ball.

  Wait, was that a question in the stream of words? She looked back to Kiyomi. “Huh?”

  Kiyomi slid her food aside. “It doesn’t matter. So, you’re still thinking about it?”

  “Trying not to, actually.”

  “You need to get your mind off it.”

  “It felt real. My eyes watered.”

  Kiyomi sighed. “How’s your father?”

  “Gee, thanks. That’s much better.”

  Her friend waited.

  “Apparently he’s in the hospital again.”

  Kiyomi straightened. “Wait, you didn’t say anything. Is he all right? What’s wrong?”

  “Mum didn’t say, but he’ll be fine.” He always was. Once, during her last year of high school, he was admitted and released from hospital twice in one afternoon. For ‘stress-related’ ailments. No-one had any idea what was wrong; not doctors, nor her mother, and least of all him. And yet, he never complained.

  Not about his health anyway.

  “Should you visit?”

  “No, it’s not that bad. Mum would say.” Riko clenched her toes inside her sandals; she would have rung back if there was a real problem.

  “So what about work then? What are you going to do?”

  Riko drew warm cafe air in through her nose. That was a problem. “I don’t know. I won’t bother to ask for a referral, but I’ll look again tomorrow. I could try retail.”

  “Not many shops hiring at the moment.”

  “No?”

  “That’s what I hear on campus. Barely any casual work going.”

  “Good. Another challenge.”

  “There’s still the library with me.”

  “I dunno if I can take your hours.”

  “Think about it. I can afford a pay cut, you know.”

  Riko took a sip of her juice and nodded, glancing out the window.

  *

  Showa University would not make time for her. The best offer from one of its secretaries was a meeting with some dean, over a month away. Riko took the appointment anyway, keeping her shoulders rigid, killing a shrug before it happened. A month? Who knew where she’d be in a month.

  The big companies were worse. They all wanted someone to train their staff in English, but none of her interviews yielded results – and she’d attended enough over the last few days.

  Shinkin Bank was a real highlight.

  Twenty minutes early and her sharpest shirt, the grey pencil skirt, black heels and her hair in a neat bun – and all for nothing. The interview itself went well. One woman sat forward, impressed at Riko’s fluency in English. Even so, Riko had to mangle the truth, propping it up with some fast talking, as she glossed over her reasons for leaving Fuji-Yoshida’s branch of the Yamanashi Language Centre.

  She passed Ikeda-san on the way out.

  He sent her a deep frown as he strode by. Riko groaned inside. Of course he knew someone at the bank. He knew everyone. And now he would sabotage her. From a sense of duty, no doubt. To Ikeda, she was not fit to teach. He doubtless thought he was doing the right thing.

  He’d probably enjoy it though.

  Riko crossed the congested footpath, paused for a motorbike then dashed across the street to her Toyota. Jumping in, she lay back a moment before thumping the steering wheel. “Damn it!” And damn Yuuki and his father. And Fujita-san, the coward.

  She’d find something else. Or someone else. Aunt Eiko? No. She wouldn’t be able to help, but even if she could, it was a bad idea. Eiko would tell Mum, and then that would be it. Dad would know and she’d be summoned home by a tractor beam of disappointment and concern. With a bit of smugness thrown in too.

  Riko drove home, kicked her shoes off in the entryway and dumped her bag on the bed. At the desk she opened the journal. Better than job hunting. Kiyomi was out and the apartment quiet. The distant murmur from the highway snuck through the windows. The neighbours were silent.

  Not a single trace of smoke.

  The last few nights had been the same; no smoke, no humming, nothing falling. Kiyomi had even slept beside Riko’s bed in her sleeping bag that first night. Riko failed to convince Kiyomi that she was fine, but talking late into the night like a couple of high school girls on a sleepover was exactly what she’d needed.

  A large chunk of the journal’s pages were stuck together. Even with her trusty nail file and hair dryer, she couldn’t separate them. And it was during a critical part of the narrator’s life. There might have been some clue as to who the woman was. Maybe someone at the library could help? So far she’d found three more haiku and one long entry. In Riko’s own notebook, a slow picture was forming. A sombreness. Two people losing common ground.

  old ice on the sill

  how once

  we could laugh

  Riko was collecting strands of straw, but barely a handful did not make a scarecrow. No-one was getting to Oz with that. But what she’d read was enough to hint at another important moment in the writer’s life. One of the longer passages was equally revealing as the haiku.

  Strange that I’ve become so much of someone else. During the war I knew who I was. In the perpetual red of smoke and flame, of running and hiding I knew. Once we got through, I knew. My future was a clear stream flowing from mountain to sea. Now I am so many puddles. You have a claim. He has a claim. And I am whatever is left, muddied with the love you both took.

  Riko rested her pen on the notepad, her finger hovering over a kanji in the journal. Options. Some symbols could be more than a few words. “Come on.” She read the line, wrote a translation and changed her mind. Whether it was ‘beak’ or ‘mouth’ didn’t matter too much:

  blossom in your beak

  save some

  for the rest of us!

  A light moment, in a journal seemingly filled with so little respite. The next haiku, less so.

  cold leaves –

  my cheek

  presses the dark

  Or was it too easy to read darkness into the verse, considering where the journal was found? Riko put a marker in and closed the book
. Rolling her shoulders, she leant back, chair creaking.

  Smoke.

  Riko flung her chair back as she stood. It bounced off the end of the bed, and knocked her calf, but she was into the hall with a grunt. Thick grey tendrils staggered from Kiyomi’s room, its screen ajar.

  She hit the light as she entered, crouching beneath the smoke. It was the wardrobe; smoke poured from gaps in the door. Riko crawled along the carpet, squinting as she slid the door open and fell back.

  A white and pink dress hung in a space of its own – Kiyomi’s favourite. Somehow, smoke billowed from the fabric, as if pumped from a giant hose.

  Smother it.

  Riko snatched the dress and stepped toward the bed, only for the smoke to stop. The dress was bright, clean. It smelled brand new.

  “God, what’s happening?” she cried.

  She threw the dress onto the bed and ran back to her room, where she snatched her bag and phone. At the door, she fumbled with shoes and keys and somehow managed to lock up before fleeing outside.

  She jumped into her car and drove into the night.

  6.

  Riko lay on Aunt Eiko’s couch, her pillow sinking. She rolled onto her back in the dark. A breath of light from the window caught on the steel of a light fitting. Her stomach was full and her hair washed. The couch was free of spiders, her night gown was fresh and the light blanket cool and clean against her skin.

  The very house seemed to slow her pulse, ease her mind; she’d spent months here before finding a place with Kiyomi. Earlier she sent a text to her friend then explained to Eiko that she was giving her housemate some privacy for an anniversary. Eiko shook her head, muttering about ‘young people’. Still, she’d smiled when Riko turned up on her doorstep, and bundled her up in a hug.

  Tomorrow it was time to see someone. Anyone. Doctor, psychiatrist, counsellor, whatever. Just someone who could explain what was happening. Because it wasn’t real. How could it be?

  On the ceiling, the light grew. Passing cars? No – there were no engines. She propped herself onto her elbows. The light twisted into curling lines...and the lines became letters! Riko blinked. Two bright words flickered across the ceiling.

  Stop reading.

  Stop reading what? The journal? She bit her tongue, squeezing her eyes shut. No way. It didn’t matter. It was bullshit. There were no words up there. She was hallucinating. Stress-induced. Hypochondriac, just like Dad. She opened her eyes.

  Nothing.

  Slumping into the couch, Riko rolled to face the back cushions and fluffed her pillow. Just sleep. There’s nothing there. She swallowed, staring into the dark.

  Riko was roused from sleep as her aunt rummaged in the kitchen. She stretched, refusing to check the ceiling, and instead slid a screen open and met her aunt at the small kitchen table. The cool of the floor was soothing through her socks. Eiko brushed grey hair back from her face where she bent over the tea cups, one hand stirring. On the bench, her old silver kettle steamed – not unlike smoke. Riko clenched her jaw. None of that.

  “Morning, dear.”

  “Good morning, Obasan.” Riko put on a smile, though in truth, she didn’t have to fake it. “Still stirring?”

  “It’s got to be perfect.” Eiko set a cup of green tea before Riko and folded her hands before her own cup. “Your mother is worried about you.”

  “I’m doing okay. Just busy.”

  “You should call her. Your father isn’t well.”

  Riko paused, cup at her lip. “Did she say something?”

  “No, but I know Ryoko. She hates to worry people. It could be serious.”

  “I’ll call her today.”

  “Good girl. Now, you better get ready for work. I won’t have you being late on account of me.” She waved her hands toward the bathroom. “I’ll have something ready for you to eat when you’re done.”

  “I’ve barely had two sips,” Riko said.

  “It’ll be here, too. Go on.”

  Riko did as instructed, then finished her breakfast. Eiko had her out the door and on the way to ‘work’ in short order. Not one for small talk; it was just her way. And Riko wasn’t going to stop to explain that she couldn’t go to work. That little secret wasn’t going anywhere.

  She drove toward the downtown clinic. Sukiyaki was on the radio and she tapped along, mouthing the words as buildings rolled by. The light on the roof had told her to stop reading. Obviously the journal. A stern message from her subconscious maybe? That didn’t make sense. She was unemployed but Kiyomi could support her, especially considering what her parents gave her. It wasn’t right, but Kiyomi would insist.

  It had to be something else. If not stress, then...

  She’d found the journal in Aokigahara, a place where ghosts were said to linger. There was the strange humming, the invisible smoke and now words in light.

  Was she being haunted?

  “Ghosts, Riko?” And worse, she could now add ‘talking to yourself’ to the list of troubles.

  It was an explanation. And maybe not a better one than going insane. Or maybe it was part of going insane? No matter that it was unlikely. Unlikely didn’t explain everything that was happening. And if she did see a doctor, medication wouldn’t fix it, would it? She slowed for an intersection, fighting a frown.

  Something dark flashed in front of her windscreen.

  Riko stomped on the brakes, tyres screeching. Had there been bright eyes in the shadow? Horns blared and she spun in the seat, heart pounding. Nothing. Only a growing row of cars lined up behind her – the man in the nearest was swearing and flinging his arms about.

  She pulled into a supermarket and parked in the first empty space, breathing hard. The dark object seemed real. Nothing she could make out, but had there been a face? Shit. It couldn’t have been real. It was stress. Her eyes playing tricks.

  And yet, that didn’t seem right. Something was going on. Something she wouldn’t be able to explain to a doctor without being committed. Or medicated.

  No. It had to be real. And there had to be another way to stop it.

  Finally she laughed.

  How stupid she’d been. Ghost stories 101. All she had to do was take the journal back to Aokigahara. So simple!

  “There. Will that make you happy?” Riko demanded. Her shoulders turned to wonderful jelly. Much better. A way to put a stop to all the madness. She paused. Going back to Lake Saiko meant no more reading.

  And maybe no more strange happenings.

  Riko turned the key.

  *

  After explaining about Kiyomi’s dress, Riko finished in a rush. “So I made an appointment today.”

  A lie. A small one, but enough to placate Kiyomi. And then maybe a psychiatrist after all. To be sure. But first, the forest. “I’m taking the journal back first though.”

  Kiyomi’s arms were crossed. “Why? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “I think it’ll help.”

  “I doubt that.”

  She leant against the kitchen bench. “Please. Come with me, you know the trails.”

  Kiyomi uncrossed her arms and walked over. Her mouth was set. “I think you’re wrong about this. Taking the journal back won’t help, it’s just feeding your...” She shook her head.

  “My what?”

  “Delusions. That’s what they are. You’re in trouble, Riko. This is serious.” Her breath shuddered. “I’m really getting worried about you.”

  She took Kiyomi’s hand and a laugh escaped. “Well I’m terrified.”

  “Then do what’s right.”

  “I will. Once I take it back. It’s the only way I can get it out of my head. I know myself, if I don’t get rid of it I’ll end up obsessed.”

  Kiyomi nodded. “Right, so let me throw it out. I’ll even burn it if you want.”

  “It’s my mess. Please, let m
e fix it.”

  Kiyomi pressed her lips together. “I can’t miss more meetings with my supervisor.”

  “I can take a map.”

  “No.” Kiyomi shook her head. “You’ll probably get lost driving there, let alone inside the damn place. How about I ask Daisuke? We’ve hiked there a lot.”

  “Will he come?”

  She fixed Riko with a stern look. “If he says ‘yes,’ I’m driving you to your appointment myself, all right?”

  Riko nodded. “All right.”

  *

  Heavy clouds crept across the sky and the sun was caught only in glimpses through the leaves. Riko trudged after Daisuke in the dim forest. The journal was a burden at the bottom of her backpack. The water, lunch and her coat, none of it weighed as much as the journal.

  “It’s much darker this time,” she said.

  Daisuke nodded, pausing to thump his hiking boots against a fallen log. Built up leaf clumps fell away. “If you go deeper it’s black as night.”

  “You’ve left the paths before?”

  “Just a few times.”

  Riko hesitated.

  He shook his head, but he smiled too. “You want to know about the time I saw the body, right?”

  “What was it like?” A gentle breeze dropped. The trees seemed to lean in, their twisted limbs twitching as leaves fell. Clouds smothered a patch of sunlight.

  Daisuke shrugged. “Well, I only saw a skeleton. The plastic raincoat was still there, most of it was buried by leaves and moss. It was...bad. I felt bad for them. Wasn’t there anyone who could help with whatever troubled them? I always wondered why they took a raincoat too. If they meant to come here to die, you know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I didn’t hike again for ages and I told the rangers on the way out. I phoned them and explained where I was. The saddest thing was that they were used to it.”