by Ashley Capes
“Right now, not a lot.”
He paused. “I see.”
“He’s worse than Mum, when it comes to marriage and duty. He didn’t even come to the airport to see me off. He was ‘sick’ and couldn’t come.”
“You think he wasn’t truly sick?”
A long pause. That wasn’t fair either. “No, he was. He’s always sick. But he didn’t want me to go. He thought it was childish; that I was running away.”
“Hmmm.” More writing. “So, no good memories, nothing positive at all?”
She shrugged. “He introduced me to classic rock.”
Now Dr Kobayashi smiled. “That’s something.” A timer on his desk dinged and an expression of regret passed over his face. “I’m sorry to say that the hour is up. I’d like to see you again, however. Will you make another appointment on the way out? I believe it would be beneficial.”
“I will.” Maybe. But it would placate Kiyomi at least, who was quietly paying for the appointments, and it hadn’t hurt to talk to someone who didn’t get angry or upset. But who knew what Dr Kobayashi thought, listening to her describe the haunting?
No matter. It would be a moot point soon enough.
She thanked him and left. Outside, Kiyomi and Daisuke moved forward from the wall they’d been leaning on, sesame ice cream in hand. Kiyomi handed one over and Riko had a mouthful. The warm sun receded just a little at the coolness.
“How was it?” Daisuke shifted on the concrete, cherry blossoms swirling around his feet in a gust of wind.
“The ice cream or the appointment?”
He gave a weak smile but neither he nor Kiyomi laughed at Riko’s bad joke. “Maybe we should go to lunch now?” he said.
“If you like,” Riko said.
Kiyomi took Riko’s hand and squeezed. Riko squeezed back. God, she was a fool to deceive such a good friend. It wasn’t just the money – though once her meagre savings ran out, Kiyomi would be paying for pretty much everything else too, petrol, Riko’s car park and the insurance, not to mention rent and food – it was the safety of having a friend. Of having someone who would listen, someone who would help no matter what. It was trust.
And Riko knew, she risked losing that too.
She followed them to the car and put on a smile. Just one more night. One more fitful sleep crammed with dreams of her father and of moths, of smoke pouring from Kiyomi’s mouth while she juggled white dresses and refrigerators.
Another detail Riko failed to bring up during her session.
One more night and then she’d be on a train to Numazu and whatever answers it held.
8.
Riko turned into an empty rest stop, pulling her sun visor down for shade and glaring at the GPS screen. “Work, you bastard.” She nearly thumped it, but lowered her arm. It was working just fine – the operator was the faulty device.
So much for the ‘direct route’ to Numazu.
The train station had been almost useless. There was no direct line between Fuji-Yoshida and Numazu. Instead, an eight hour round trip via Tokyo. Which meant she would have struggled to hide the trip from Kiyomi, and so Riko had grabbed a gift card leftover from Christmas and hit the shops.
And now, despite her brand new GPS, she was lost, somewhere outside of Gotenba, on the wrong road. She tapped the screen and zoomed out. There. The Tōmei Expressway –only one of the largest freeways in the whole country and she missed it!
Cars whooshed by on the road beyond. Her stomach rumbled. “Shush,” she told it. She’d eat again later. Riko flicked her indicator on and merged with traffic, taking the slow lane and turning up the volume on the GPS.
By driving a little slower and probably irritating other drivers, she found the right exit and had time to switch lanes, passing under a sign for the expressway with a sigh, joining the crowded flow of cars, buses and trucks. Keeping her distance behind a Toshiba truck, she merged again as flashing signs indicated the closing of a lane.
Traffic slowed and she tapped the steering wheel. When it slowed yet further, to half the speed limit, she frowned. The truck blocked her view. What was going on? Checking her mirror, she changed lanes again and groaned.
The expressway was clogged. In the distance, it seemed as if every car was at a standstill. Brake lights flared and she slowed to a crawl, until finally coming to a stop. Had there been an accident? The Toshiba truck rolled to a stop beside her, a red wall. A luxury sedan pulled up beside her, the driver shaking his head. He wound his window down and lit a cigarette. More cars piled up behind her Toyota. Gridlocked. The car in front cut its engine.
Riko followed their example, then paused. “Uh-oh.” She gripped the wheel. Something was star-jumping in her stomach. Was it breakfast? She’d only had eggs, nothing unusual.
“Shit.”
She flung the door open and leant out as her breakfast splattered across the road in a pale yellow puddle. An acidic burp followed.
She groaned. Where had that come from?
Riko grabbed her water bottle, rinsing her hands and mouth, only to spit when something brushed her hair. She wiped at it, flinching when a moth fluttered to the road. Something else landed in her hair and she brushed it away too, the powder of moth wings coating her fingers when it wouldn’t budge. Just how many were...the car ceiling crawled with moths.
Riko tore her seatbelt off and scrambled out of the car with a cry, narrowly missing the vomit. She pressed herself up against the truck, chest heaving as she brushed at her hair. Nothing, and no more moths.
The man from the luxury car called to her. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head.
He got out and walked around the car. “I heard you cry out.” He paused when he saw the vomit. “Do you need me to call an ambulance?”
“No, my stomach is just upset.” And there was no chance an ambulance would arrive in a hurry anyway. “But could you check something for me?”
“Sure.”
“Could you look at my car, inside? I thought there was a massive spider in there.”
He smiled. “Of course. Forgive the smell of smoke.”
“It’s fine.”
He ducked in, checking behind the sun visor and a few other places, then pulled his head back. “Sorry, but no sign of any spiders.”
“Good.” Riko said. Hopefully no moths, either. “Thank you.”
He returned to his sedan and Riko stepped over the vomit, lowering herself into the car. No moths. She sighed, part relief, part frustration. Something didn’t want her in Numazu.
“I’m still going.”
She closed the door to block out the smell of vomit and tried not to move, slumping in the seat. Her stomach still gurgled, but it slowly passed as the afternoon wore on. Other people exited their cars and walked around, some striking up conversations with neighbours while others jumped on their cell phones. By the time traffic started moving, her body was in control of itself again and she was tapping her finger on the wheel.
She didn’t look too closely at the accident, just a mess of police and emergency services, and half an hour later, she was driving Numazu’s broad streets and heading for the library. And she had to hurry; more than half the day was already gone. The GPS served her well this time, and she pulled up across from the library. The building was a little like an owl with its half-moon roof and two circles like eyes.
She jogged across the road and stepped into the air conditioning. The lobby had a smiling woman who called the archivist. “She’ll be here soon.”
A smartly dressed woman met her out the front. “Hi, I’m Aya. How can I help?”
“I’m looking for someone actually. It’s for a book I’m writing.”
“A Numazu resident?”
She nodded. “She would have lived here during the Second World War. Her name was Makiko Yamashita. It’s not much, I know.”
“Maybe.” She smiled. “It’s more than some people have when they come to me. Come on, I’ll start a search for you.”
Riko followed her to a rear office, where she sat across from a desk with a computer. Aya’s room was hung with pictures of South America – the ruins of Machu Picchu. She clicked her mouse and typed a moment before moving the screen around.
“Let’s see.”
Riko watched the hourglass do its lacklustre dance on the screen. Old computer. It gave a ‘bing’ and two results appeared. The first was ‘Makiko Yamashita’, the second a partial match only.
“Okay, that was easy.”
“Then she lived here?”
Aya clicked and gestured. “Yes, born here in 1929, worked as a nurse and married a ‘Chiba, Saburou’ in 1945. After the war she’s mentioned just once, in an article about an anniversary of the firebombing. She’s pictured placing flowers for someone.”
Makiko crouched by a memorial in a dark, flowing kimono. Her long hair was tied into a bun. The sea breeze froze a billowing sleeve and her expression was sombre. Even in her sadness she was lovely and there was a kindness to her face that survived even the black and white archival image on a screen.
So Saburou was Makiko’s first love? Was there so much guilt that she later took her life? The picture wasn’t the clearest, but Makiko might have been in her thirties. Was she still living in Numazu at that point?
“Could I have a copy of that article?” Riko flipped open her notepad and jotted down the dates onscreen. “Are there any surviving relatives? Children maybe?”
“Hmmm...doesn’t look like it.”
“What about Saburou’s family?”
More clicking and typing. “Here’s something. Noriko and Genji Chiba. A niece and nephew by the looks. I’ve got a picture of Noriko and her family from the Saitama Shimbun but it looks like Genji works for the post office here in Numazu.”
“Fantastic. Thank you, I appreciate the help,” Riko said as the printer hummed.
Aya smiled as she jotted down some directions on the back of the page, and Riko slipped from the library.
She headed for the post office with its three red lines arranged into a ‘T’ and jogged up the stairs. Inside she found someone arranging envelopes on shelves and asked about Genji.
“He’s actually off work,” the woman replied.
Riko gambled. “Oh. I was hoping to see him, I’m his niece. I’m visiting from Saitama.”
She smiled. “Oh, you must be Wakako. Genji has mentioned you often.”
“Yes.” Riko wracked her brain. So close. Another gamble. “Only I’m a bit lost and he’s not answering his phone. Has he moved?”
“I’m not sure, I haven’t been here that long, but come with me and I’ll give you directions. He lives close by. He’s probably not answering his phone because he’s hurt his leg.”
“Thank you, I hope he’s okay,” Riko said.
“He’ll be fine.”
Once she had the directions Riko returned to the Toyota and typed them into the GPS. It was close by, and she was soon circling for a parking space before a small house crouching between two bigger homes.
Half a block away, she finally parked, locked up and returned to Genji’s house, where she climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Someone called through the wood. “Sorry, can’t come to the door, but it’s open.”
“Should I come in?”
“Either that or go home, I suppose.”
Riko opened the door to an entryway lined with black boots and a pair of slippers. She removed her own shoes and stepped into a neat room hung with family pictures, a smiling man in its centre. His hair was arranged in a careful comb over and he sat with a leg propped up – it was covered in a cast – facing a muted television. A baseball game was on.
“Are you here to deliver my meals? The other girl usually comes later.”
“Ah, no. My name is Riko. Are you Chiba-san?”
He nodded. “I’m Genji. What can I do for you?”
“I’m writing a book about women and the war and I wanted to ask about your uncle’s wife, Makiko Yamashita.”
His face clouded. “A sad tale that one. She used to visit for a while, after Uncle Saburou went missing in the war – at sea they say.”
“Did you know her well?”
“Not truly. She was very quiet after that – but there’s one thing I can tell you, she always remembered to bring me my favourite sweets.”
“She sounds kind.”
“She was. I guess that’s why she was a nurse. Did you know that?”
“No, thank you for that too. Did she move away?”
“Not long after the navy told her what happened. Maybe only a few months later.”
“Do you know where?”
He frowned. “Up north? Could have even been somewhere in Yamanashi.”
“Like Fuji-Yoshida?”
He snapped his fingers. “Could be but I’m not sure anymore. Anyway, no-one heard from her much then. I hear she passed away though.”
“She did. Well, thank you, Chiba-san.”
He stopped her. “Ah, could I ask a favour before you leave?”
“Of course.”
He grinned. “Could you make me some tea?”
*
Riko leant her head against her hand as she watched the road, the other hand on the wheel, countryside whipping by. Everything had been easy enough, especially with her fast-talking. She’d stumbled from one helpful person to another – about time she’d had some good luck – but for what? With Saburou lost at sea and Makiko herself dead, that left a general location and Makiko’s profession only. And there was little chance that calling every hospital in Yamanashi would yield much.
Yet if Makiko truly did move to Fuji-Yoshida or nearby, that had to help a little. Riko shook her head. But how could she connect Makiko’s maiden name to her second husband? If she managed that, maybe then she’d have something. Was the man even still alive? He had to be in the area. That was what the journal wanted her to learn.
Or was it Makiko – pushing her forward?
There was another possibility, another way to cut down the search. If she was willing to take it.
Lake Saiko.
9.
Riko first wrapped the journal in a plastic bag then a jacket before stowing the bundle beneath a box of old shoes. Next, she slid her washing basket over a little from its usual place and sighed. There. Hidden.
Another shitty night’s sleep. Not just because she’d dreamt of moths again, but because she’d woken to throw up. Twice. The second time was mostly dry heaves, nothing left. Still, she blinked as she worked. Shake it off, Riko. You’ve got a big day today.
Even sick, she was going to put a stop to the haunting.
As far as Kiyomi knew, Riko was visiting Eiko for the night. Instead, it was back to Lake Saiko. And this time at dusk, when the spirit world was said to collide with the human. That way she’d get answers. Know for sure. The few hospitals she’d called had no record of a Makiko Yamashita – but why would they, if she remarried? The search had not been exhaustive, but she had to admit, the trip to Numazu had not taught her enough.
“You’re insane, Riko.” She didn’t stop packing: lots of water, her phone – charged to the hilt – a torch with spare batteries, a first aid kit, food, compass and map. And a pocket knife. And the journal. One more thing and she was set.
An omamori from Fuji-Yoshida Sengen Shrine.
Sengen Shrine lay north of Lake Saiko but what better place to find a charm for protection, than a shrine dedicated to the Shinto deity of Mt Fuji?
In the kitchen she boiled water and tapped her fingers on the bench top. With each movement her stomach lurched. Too bad. No time to be sick. She just had to solider on. Riko spooned coffee into a mug and poured the
water after it. Probably wouldn’t do the old stomach any good, but better than a crash.
Bitter black. She put the mug down to load the Toyota’s cramped boot, letting the coffee cool. When she was done, she had a few more sips and left it unfinished. It was strong enough. Locking up, Riko jumped into her car and hit the road.
She drove north, and not long out of the city the highway started to curve toward the mountain. She sipped at one of her water bottles. Her stomach had settled some, but the discomfort was replaced with a headache. She switched off the radio – silencing an announcer’s promises, and switched on the GPS. Following it’s instructions, it wasn’t too long before the exit for Sengen Shrine appeared.
Her lids were heavy. “No.” She had to be alert, in case something jumped in front of the car again. Riko wound down the window and the roar of cold air straightened her in the seat. Switching the radio back on, loud, helped too. Girls Generation blasted an earnest love song, which she soon flicked off, but it worked. When she pulled up to the shrine’s car park, it was with a surging pulse. Would the Shinto priests let her have an omamori? What was the process exactly? Maybe there’d be a gift shop.
A misty rain fell at the shrine, light on Riko’s cheeks as she joined the flow of visitors. She trailed a tour group and a pair overburdened by hiking gear, walking beside a girl who nodded on her phone. Lined by rounded stone lanterns and massive, sentry-like cedars, the path was a long corridor.
A huge torii rested before the shrine, the wooden gate a slick red in the mist. She passed beneath it and skirted the main hall, moving toward one of the other buildings where hangings at a service window advertised a gift shop.
A man smiled at her when she approached. “How can I help you? An omikuji perhaps, to tell your fortune?”
“Uh, I’m looking for an omamori.”
“Certainly. We have many kinds, including key chains. Hello Kitty perhaps? You are studying?”
Riko hesitated. Hello Kitty going up against an increasingly angry spirit didn’t seem like enough firepower. “I’ve never had one before. I was hoping for a strong one.” She met his gaze and held it.