Chapter 8 The Realities of Life

Chapter 8
The Realities of Life

“ Wataru! You’re awake!”

“Uncle Lou…” Wataru whispered.

“Thank heavens!” his uncle said, looking as though he might cry at any moment. “Are you hurt? Are you in pain? I didn’t know what to do…”

“I’m…I’m fine, really.”

Wataru tried to sit up, but a hand reached out and held his shoulder down. “Best not to get up too quickly. Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere?”

It was Mr. Daimatsu. He was smiling.

“Mr. Daimatsu!” What’s he doing here? Wataru felt lightheaded, and his voice sounded stuffy and far away in his own head. He tried blinking several times.

He found himself in an unfamiliar room. The ceiling light in the middle of the room was square, with a gold frame. It looked expensive.

“Welcome to my home,” Mr. Daimatsu said. “To the guestroom, to be exact. I hope the bed’s not too hard.”

Uncle Lou was standing next to him, looking very distraught. “I found you lying on the ground in that building. Do you remember? I left you in there to take a phone call, and when I came back in, there you were, at the bottom of the stairs…” His uncle began to sniffle.

Mr. Daimatsu smiled and clapped his uncle on the shoulder. “Your uncle was so worried about you I feared he might faint on me too. He dragged you outside the tarps and was about to take you to the hospital when I happened along,” he said over the sound of Uncle Lou’s sniffling beside him. “I brought you both here.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Satoru said, wiping his nose, “but Mr. Daimatsu noticed you didn’t look particularly pale and you seemed to be breathing normally. You appeared to have just fallen asleep. I’m afraid I was on the phone quite a long time, you see…anyway, it was his idea to bring you back here and give you a chance to wake up on your own before going to the hospital.”

“Why, all I could see was a boy taking a rather peaceful nap. You were even smiling. Have any good dreams?” Mr. Daimatsu smiled.

When I was in Vision, my body must have stayed behind…asleep.

“I’m fine,” Wataru said, shaking the last of the fog from his head. “Thank you, Mr. Daimatsu. I’m sorry I went into your building.”

Wataru’s words seemed to snap his uncle back to reality. He immediately began to apologize. “Mr. Daimatsu, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that we trespassed on your property like that…”

Mr. Daimatsu laughed out loud. “Like I said, please, don’t worry about it. Wataru, I heard the story from your uncle. If there’s someone in that building who is threatening children—I don’t care who it is—we need to take appropriate action. Don’t worry, I’ll do everything necessary to make sure that building stays safe.” Mr. Daimatsu scratched his head with a thick-fingered hand. “We never really took it seriously when that rumor about the haunting was going around. I thought everything would be fine if we just dropped by every once in a while to check up on the place and make sure no one was getting into trouble.”

“That’s why he came by tonight, to check the place out,” Satoru said, practically cringing with embarrassment. “Good for us. By myself, why, I had no idea what to do.”

The relief on his face was evident, but something didn’t quite fit. Uncle Lou was a lifeguard with years of experience. He had saved countless lives before. So why did he get so flustered when it was me? Does that make sense?

“If you’re feeling okay, perhaps we should get going?”

Wataru nodded. Mr. Daimatsu offered to give them a lift, but his uncle politely refused. “It’s not far, and I wouldn’t dream of imposing any more than we already have. I’m terribly sorry about all of this.”

“As you like. Wataru, I’m glad you’re feeling better. And you needn’t be concerned about that building any longer.”

Wataru nodded again, and said he understood—although secretly he was disappointed. If Mr. Daimatsu really did intend to put proper security on the building, it would be more difficult to reach the Porta Nectere.

I have to talk to Mitsuru.

Wataru wouldn’t avoid him or run away this time, and he wouldn’t let Mitsuru dodge him again. Wataru wouldn’t back down, not even if he was made a fool of again.

Was Mitsuru really one of the Travelers he had heard about? How did someone get accepted by the gatekeeper? And what was he doing, going between this world and the other, anyway? Wataru had no shortage of questions wanting answers.

As they left Mr. Daimatsu’s and began walking down the darkened road, Satoru held Wataru’s hand. It made Wataru feel uncomfortably like a little boy.

“I’m fine, really. You don’t have to hold my hand.”

Uncle Lou looked down at him, his face drawn. The corners of his eyes still glistened with tears.

Wataru realized he still hadn’t apologized sufficiently. His uncle must’ve been worried sick. “I’m sorry. I am—I must have been tired. I wasn’t sick. I was just sleeping, like Mr. Daimatsu said. I wonder when I fell asleep. I must’ve really been out cold.”

His uncle nodded. “No, it’s okay. I overreacted.” He walked ahead, when Wataru realized something was wrong. He was walking in the opposite direction from their apartment.

“Uh, Uncle Lou, we’re going the wrong direction. That’s not the way home.”

“You’re not going home tonight.”

“Huh?”

“You’ll be spending the night with me in the hotel, Wataru. We’ll walk to the main street and get a taxi.”

Wataru followed his uncle, looking up at him. Even in the dim light of the streetlamps he could see his uncle’s face twisted strangely, like he was about to burst into tears. Then, quite suddenly, he seemed unusually happy.

“That phone call, it was from your father.”

He must be talking about the call that came in on his cell phone in the haunted building. “He said you could stay with me for the night.”

A problem with that plan suggested itself immediately to Wataru. “But I don’t have tomorrow off. I have school tomorrow.”

“We’ll get up early, and I’ll take you there.”

“But I don’t have a change of clothes…”

Wataru looked down at his shirt and trousers. Suddenly, he remembered the screw-wolves. Those bone fragments! There’s still got to be some on me.

“Uncle Lou, don’t I smell? I mean, smell funny?”

Wataru began frantically brushing at his clothes. His uncle stood quietly, hand over his face. Wataru was so absorbed in what he was doing, he didn’t find his uncle’s expression odd until he was finished.

“Hey? What’s wrong? You feeling okay?”

Uncle Lou talked through his fingers. “I can’t do this. I just can’t,” he said.

Wataru stopped.

“I won’t lie to you. And telling you this isn’t my job.”

“Huh?”

His uncle lifted his face and grabbed Wataru by the hand. Then he pulled him violently in the direction of his apartment. “Let’s go, Wataru. It’s your house too. You’ve a right to go home. You’ve a right to hear the whole story.”

“Huh? Wh-what are you talking about?”

“Just come. I’m taking you home.”

His uncle dragged him by the hand, walking faster than Wataru had ever seen him walk before. They were practically running.

But when they reached the apartment complex entranceway, his uncle suddenly stopped and hesitated. Steeling his resolve, he dragged Wataru to the elevator. Arriving on the correct floor, he hesitated once more. It was as though his uncle had to battle some horrible monster at every step to advance, a monster that only his uncle could see.

Wataru was scared. Suddenly, he didn’t want to go home. Something dark and ominous rose in his chest. When his uncle said they would be staying at the hotel, he should’ve just agreed. Why did he have to worry about school, or a change of clothes?

Uncle Lou pressed the doorbell to their apartment. The sound of the chime echoed down the quiet hall. Wataru glanced at his wristwatch. It was already past midnight.

He heard slippered feet shuffling toward the door. There was a click and the door opened. The chain was drawn. Akira Mitani’s face peered out from behind the door. Wataru stiffened. His father’s face was pale and tired. He looked like he had aged a hundred years in a single day.

“Satoru?” he muttered, then he noticed that Wataru was with him, and his mouth tightened.

“Good, I’m glad you’re still here,” his uncle said in a low voice. “I brought Wataru home. Let us in.”

Akira closed the door. There was the sound of him clumsily unfastening the chain, and then they were let in without a word. Ahead of them Akira turned around and went back into the living room. Wataru hadn’t even been able to see his face.

The light was on in the living room, but the kitchen and the bathroom were dark. Kuniko was nowhere to be seen. The door to his parents’ room was closed tightly.

“Did Mom go to bed already?” Wataru asked, but there was no answer. For the first time, he noticed that his father had taken off his necktie, but he was still wearing his suit. “Did you get home late from work, Dad?”

There was nothing on the table. The dishes were all clean and stacked. Akira didn’t answer his question. Instead, he pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it.

From behind him, Uncle Lou asked, “Where’s Kuniko?” His voice sounded harsh in Wataru’s ear.

“Asleep,” was Akira’s terse answer.

Something was wrong. Everything was wrong! They were acting like his mother was sick. They were acting like someone had died.

“Wataru,” Akira said suddenly. “Come over here and sit down.” He waved him over as he walked to the sofa. Stretching out a hand, he crushed his cigarette in an ashtray. It wasn’t something his father would normally do.

“Akira!” Satoru said, his tone sounding almost threatening. “Your son is home. How can you…”

“Quiet,” Akira said, coldly cutting him off.

“But…”

“It’s your fault for bringing him here, for making me do this.”

Wataru walked over to the sofa and sat. His knees knocked together. He had been so frightened just hours before, when the pack of screw-wolves attacked him in Vision. He was more frightened now.

Uncle Lou stood behind him quietly.

“I didn’t want to have to tell you like this,” Akira began. His voice was slightly trembling. “I would rather you heard it from your mother later. That’s why I wanted you to stay with your uncle for the night.”

“That’s not fair,” Uncle Lou said quickly. “He deserves an explanation.”

“And I didn’t think I could give it to him,” Akira said, lifting his eyes to look at his brother. A faint smile played on his lips. “That’s why I asked you.”

Uncle Lou was silent.

“Listen, Wataru,” Akira said, looking into his eyes. Wataru stared back at him. Deep inside, he could hear a part of him screaming in a tiny voice, Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know.

“I’m going away,” Akira Mitani said slowly.

Going away.

“Your mother and I are getting a divorce. You understand what that means?”

Getting a divorce.

“I know this is a horrible thing to do to you, and your mother. But I’ve made my decision. It took a long time, I thought very hard, but I’ve made up my mind, and I’m not changing it.”

A horrible thing.

“I told your mother tonight for the first time. We’ve been talking since then, but I think she was very surprised—it came as quite a shock to her.”

Wataru opened his mouth. The voice that came out was surprisingly weak, not steady and calm as he had intended it to be. “Is Mom asleep?”

“She was when I checked on her a while ago,” Akira replied. “I still have a lot of things I’ll need to discuss with her: the house, you and your mother’s livelihood…details, many things that need to be decided.”

Wataru blinked slowly. He blinked again, and again, but nothing was different. He couldn’t change the channel. This wasn’t some mistake, some gross misunderstanding. It wasn’t a dream. It was reality. I’m not in Vision anymore.

Still, the sight of his father telling him he was leaving was somehow more unreal than the screw-wolves on the imaginary desert had been.

There were so many things he needed to ask, so many things he had the right to ask, he was sure—but Wataru hadn’t the slightest idea what they were. Like sand trickling through his fingers, the thoughts slid out of his mind before he could complete them. It was like a hole had been opened in the bottom of his heart and everything was draining out.

“Where will you go, Dad?” he managed to ask at last.

“I’ll tell you when I’m settled in. I’ll reach you by cell phone.”

Akira stood. Wataru looked up at him in a daze. Was that it? Was this the end?

Akira stooped and pulled something out from behind the sofa. It was his travel bag, the familiar one he always used for business trips. Wataru had never seen it stuffed so full. The seams were bulging.

“Akira…” Satoru said, his voice hoarse. “You don’t have anything else to say? Nothing else to say to your son? Is that all?”

When Akira responded, he was looking at his brother, not his son. “Anything I said to Wataru would only be an excuse.”

“Still…”

“You wouldn’t understand, Satoru.”

Uncle Lou’s face went pale. His lips were trembling. Akira lifted his travel bag. Wataru stared at it; he couldn’t think of anything else to do. His father’s hand clutching the bag. The light shining dully off his fingernails as he turned to walk toward the door.

“Take care of Wataru for me, Satoru,” Akira said, his voice no longer trembling.

“You can’t ask me to do that,” Uncle Lou said stubbornly. “You can’t just ask someone to take care of your life. I won’t do it for you, that’s for sure.”

Akira Mitani quietly looked back at his son. “Take care of your mother for me, Wataru.”

Then he walked, his slippers scuffing on the carpet.

Flip-flop, flip-flop.

Why am I not stopping him? Wataru thought to himself. Why am I not running after him, grabbing him, crying for him to stay?

Because, Wataru realized, it’s no use. His father was not one to change his mind once it had been set. In the Mitani household, what his father said was law, writ in stone. His conclusions were decisions, and his decisions were final. No amount of weeping or pleading could hope to overturn them. That lesson had been imprinted on every cell of Wataru’s body. Being selfish would get him nowhere.

Selfish? Am I being selfish?

Wataru stood from the sofa and ran to the door. Akira was putting on his shoes. His back was turned.

“Dad.”

At the sound of Wataru’s voice, Akira stiffened.

“Are you leaving me and Mom?”

For a moment, Akira paused. His hand clutching the shoehorn looked white.

Then he went back to putting on his shoes. He put the shoehorn back on top of the shoebox. Then, back still turned, he spoke. “Even if I divorced your mother, I’m still your father, Wataru. Nothing will change that, no matter where I go.”

“But you are leaving us?” Wataru said again. Why does my voice sound so weak? Why can’t I talk louder? Why can’t I say something more persuasive? “You’re leaving me and Mom.”

Akira Mitani opened the door. “I’m sorry, Wataru.”

And then he left.

Wataru stood there, watching the door swing shut. His mouth hung open, and his eyes were dry. His stomach ached like he had to go to the bathroom, but was holding it in.

Uncle Lou silently walked up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” There were tears in his voice. “I guess I shouldn’t have brought you home. You should’ve stayed with me at the hotel. I was wrong. I’m sorry, Wataru. I’m sorry.”

I’m still sleeping. This is all a dream. I’m still in the haunted building, under those rickety stairs, amidst the scraps of concrete and the dust, hung over a railing, asleep. My uncle will find me and drag me out, then Mr. Daimatsu will show up, and they’ll take me to Mr. Daimatsu’s house.

I’m sleeping. When I wake up, everything will be like it was before.

Wataru repeated those words to himself over and over, like a spell—a spell powerful enough to defeat the most fearsome monster. A spell to drive all enemies away. A spell to make the monsters vanish.

No. You’re wrong. Spells won’t work. I’m not asleep. This is reality. This is happening right before my eyes.

Pain welled up from deep inside. What was that spell the wizard used, the one to turn back time? What words did he say? I should’ve remembered them. I want to use them now.

“Uncle Lou,” Wataru said quietly, feeling his uncle’s warmth against his back. “Did you know? Did you know Dad would be leaving tonight?”

His uncle breathed a ragged breath before answering. “Not until that phone call.”

That’s why he had been so frazzled, even though Wataru had only fallen asleep.

“It’s terrible,” his uncle muttered. “I don’t believe this. I can’t believe he would lay this on you.”

Wataru turned silently, and fell into his uncle’s arms. Hanging on to him for dear life, he cried and cried.

No matter how confused, how tired, or how sad, every night has its morning. When he opened his eyes, the morning sun shone harsh against Wataru’s face.

He’d fallen asleep with his uncle in the living room. Uncle Lou, too large for the sofa, was sprawled on the floor. Wataru had curled up in one corner of the long sofa, a refugee in his own home. When he stood up, every bone in his body made an audible crack.

Outside the window was a clear blue sky. The rainy season must be over. There hadn’t been a hint of rain yesterday, and the sky this morning was particularly clear. Not a single cloud.

Wataru looked at the clock. It was near eight already. His uncle had his back turned to the sunlight and was sleeping soundly. Even Wataru’s muddled head remembered that it had only been a few hours since they fell asleep. If he didn’t wake his uncle, he’d doubtlessly sleep for a few more hours.

Not a sound came from his parents’ room. He wondered how his mother was doing. Was she sleeping? Was she pretending to be asleep? Did she not want to get up? Either way, Kuniko didn’t know that he’d come home the night before.

For a moment he was tempted to go in and talk to her, but eventually he thought better of it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone this morning. He didn’t want to be seen. Quiet as a mouse, he would run off to school. He’d be late if he didn’t hurry.

He washed his face, brushed his teeth, patted his hair down, and changed out of his wrinkled clothes. He had just shoved his textbooks and notebook into his schoolbag when it occurred to him that he didn’t need to go to school. He could go anywhere. He didn’t even have to come home.

He could go to Vision. He could forget everything.

No, I can’t. He would just be caught again by one of the karulah, and that’s if he was lucky. He could just as easily end up as screw-wolf food. In the end, he realized he didn’t have anywhere else to go but school.

His usual morning walking buddies had already left for school. The rule was firm: miss the meeting time and get left behind. Otherwise everyone would be late. Wataru was on his own today. By the time he reached the schoolyard, he could hear the five-minute bell sounding. He ran for the front gate, just like he had the day before. Nothing had changed. Nothing was different. He had just slept in and skipped breakfast, nothing else.

Unbelievably, class that day was completely normal. Their teacher was even a little more cheerful than usual. She chatted with them about how nice it was now that the rainy season was over. The Mitani household had imploded, and nothing had changed at all. The world went on.

A while ago, somebody-or-other’s Book of Prophecies had made the rounds at school. They even talked about it on TV. Apparently, the prophecies had originally been written on a stone tablet they found in an ancient ruin, and one of them predicted that mankind would perish in the year 2014. Among the guests appearing on the show was an expert on pyramids. He had annoyed the moderator by saying that, although it was fun to discuss these sorts of things, one shouldn’t take them too seriously. Even if you thought the world was coming to an end, there was no good reason to believe this particular prophecy. That makes sense, thought Wataru at the time. He was able to go to bed that night without thinking anymore about it.

The world went on. People could be destroyed, so simply it was almost comical, but the world went on. For the time being.

When the first-period class ended, the teacher called him to her desk.

“Wataru, the principal’s office just had a call from your mother. She wanted to know if you were in school or not. I told her you were sitting in class, but I wondered…” his teacher raised an eyebrow. “Is something the matter at home?”

“Mom’s been sick,” Wataru hurriedly explained. “She was sleeping when I left this morning, that’s why.”

“Oh, I see. That explains it. You came in all by yourself, then, didn’t you? When classes are over, you go straight home so your mother doesn’t have to worry too much.”

Wataru nodded and said yes and went back to his seat. For the rest of the day, he sat in class, the words around him blowing like a breeze over the smoking husk that was Wataru Mitani’s world.

By the time he left school at noon, the sun was hot enough to make him sweat. He heard a voice calling frantically. It made his ears throb it was so loud.

“Hey! Trying to give me the slip, are you? You still snoring there, sleepyhead?!”

It was Katchan. Wataru stopped. It seemed like forever since he had last seen his friend. Ten, twenty years, was it?

“Hey man, you’ve been totally out of it all day,” said Katchan, jogging up to him. “What’s up? You get your hands on a demo version of Saga III or something?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Huh, too bad. Hey, you should come over after lunch! My dad was out playing pachinko, and he got this soccer game as a prize. I tried it, and it’s totally addictive. You wanna play?”

Wataru looked at his friend’s smiling face in silence. He couldn’t think of anything to say. All he could think of was how nice it would be if he were Katchan. I want to be you.

“Hey! Why are you looking at me like that? Whoa, there something on my face?” Katchan began swiping at his face with his fingers.

“No,” Wataru shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t play today.”

Katchan noticed something was wrong. His searching eyes stopped a moment. “What is it, Wataru?”

“It’s nothing, really.”

“You got a cold? Stomach bug, or something? Or maybe…the plague?!”

“No, I’m fine.”

Katchan stared into Wataru’s face a moment. “Something’s wrong, that’s for sure.”

“Nothing’s wrong, really.” Wataru smiled a thin smile.

Katchan stepped back. “Well, guess I’ll be going home then.”

“Okay.”

“If, uh, something comes up, you give me a call, ’kay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be home the whole time.”

“Right.”

“Okay, bye!”

Katchan ran off, pausing occasionally to look back. Wataru resumed walking only after he lost sight of his friend. Other kids who took the same route home passed him by. He walked on slowly. Soon, he was alone, like he had been that morning.

Wataru found himself standing in front of the haunted building. It looked the same as always, blue plastic tarps shining in the afternoon sun. Mr. Daimatsu had promised to beef up security on the building, but nothing seemed different today.

Wataru thought back on what he’d experienced beyond the gate. Oddly, the details of his adventure were getting fuzzy. That big red bird—what was it called again? His memory was fading like an old photograph. It seemed flat, less vivid. What was happening?

“Wataru…”

Hearing his name being called snapped Wataru back into reality. Who’s there?

It was Mitsuru. He was staring at him from beneath the red torii gate of the Mihashi Shrine. He waved for him to follow, and walked into the shrine grounds. Wataru was exhausted, but as soon as he saw Mitsuru, he remembered the scene by the gate.

What are you doing here?

He ran after the other boy like he had the day before. Mitsuru didn’t even look back to see if he was following. “Sit,” he said curtly, pointing to one of the shrine benches. Wataru did as he was told. He sat where Mitsuru had been sitting when they had first met at the shrine, days before.

From this vantage point, the shrine interior seemed somehow different. He had looked in countless times as he passed by the front gate, he had even sat right in this spot the other day, but he was sure he had never seen this shrine before. It was quiet here, a little world, surrounded by green. Even the old roof tiles of the main shrine, spotted by plaster filling in cracks here and there looked different. It had always seemed shabby before, but now he felt like he had come to some unknown place in a faraway land.

“Enjoying the view?” Mitsuru said, standing ahead of him, his arms crossed on his chest. “This is sacred ground.”

“Sacred ground?”

“A place where the gods reside,” Mitsuru said stiffly. His voice was harsh, his expression severe. Even the priest who ran the shrine never looked so serious, Wataru thought. A short and cheerful man, he always looked after the younger kids. He would emerge from the shrine every afternoon holding a yellow flag. He wanted to make sure cars would stop for the children crossing the street. He never would have talked about the gods without a generous smile.

Mitsuru looked toward the shrine, furiously silent. Just as Wataru felt like he should say something, anything to break the silence, the other boy spoke.

“So you went?”

“Went where?” Wataru asked, even though he knew the answer. Mitsuru meant that place over there, there…what was it called again? He couldn’t remember. Uh-oh. He was sure that just a moment before he would have been able to remember, but for some reason his mind was drawing a blank.

Mitsuru turned and, for the first time, looked Wataru straight in the eye. “You went to Vision, right? Beyond the gate.”

Wataru opened his mouth. Vision? Was that the, that place—right, the desert. Something horrible had attacked him, he remembered that much. Wait, but hadn’t that been a dream?

Mitsuru stared at Wataru and took a step closer. His eyes narrowed, and the pupils became hard and focused.

“I…I went into the haunted building,” Wataru said with a shudder. “I went with my uncle.”

“Yes, I know. We met there.” Mitsuru said. “I haven’t forgotten. It was only yesterday.”

“Yeah, but…”

Mitsuru turned his head and spat. Wataru started wondering why he always felt like a fool whenever he met this boy. Still, he heard a voice inside saying that somehow, it was his own fault. It was a little Wataru inside him, shouting as loud as he could, jumping and waving his arms, trying to get his attention, and yet still growing smaller and fainter by the moment.

And then, the second before that tiny, tiny Wataru disappeared, it shouted out one thing with all its strength.

“You will forget about this place before you see one sunrise and one sunset.”

Wataru’s mouth opened and the words came out, but the voice was not his own. It was a low voice that resonated with power.

Mitsuru, who had been looking off, suddenly whirled around. His eyes were wide. Wataru, flustered, still not entirely convinced the voice had come from himself, put both his hands to his mouth like a giggling schoolgirl.

“I see.” The corner of Mitsuru’s mouth curled upward. “So one of the karulah caught you, did he.”

Wataru looked up at Mitsuru. That handsome face was smiling. He seemed very pleased. He looked as though he might break into dance any moment.

“The officiants do not lie. So,” he chuckled, “you’re not qualified. You’ll forget everything about Vision in a day.” Mitsuru went on, sounding immensely pleased with himself. Wataru had no idea what he was talking about. “Your memory won’t go away immediately. That would leave a suspicious blank. They allow it to linger for a day—no more. That way if kids think they’ve had a particularly vivid dream and tell their parents about it, it’ll sound like an absurd, unbelievable story. Nothing to worry about.”

He clapped his hands together, as if making a grand realization, then, looking up at the sky, Mitsuru began to laugh. Wataru stared at him, wideeyed. He’s crazy, and I’m getting mad.

“What do you want with me?” Wataru asked. “Why do you always make fun of me?”

Mitsuru, still chuckling, folded his arms again. He shook his head. “I never made fun of you.”

“Sure you did.”

“When?”

“The other day. When I asked you about the ghost picture.”

“Oh, that?” Mitsuru nodded. “Well, what you were saying didn’t make any sense. Sure, I gave you the benefit of the doubt. Yutaro said you weren’t a dummy, but when I talked to you, well, you seemed a little childish. It was funny.”

“Then again,” he added, “Yutaro’s a bit childish himself.”

Something about that made the bile rise in Wataru’s throat. He stood up from the bench. “Yutaro’s a good guy!”

Mitsuru was still smiling. “Who said he wasn’t?”

“You just said he was childish!”

“Well, it’s true. Being childish isn’t bad, you know. Why, if it was, kindergartens would be the most evil places around!”

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh? Is that what mommy and daddy say when they scold you?”

“Mommy” and “daddy” were the last words Wataru wanted to hear that day. Mitsuru’s way of saying them only made it worse.

“What do you know about my parents?” Wataru flew at Mitsuru. He swung a fist with all his strength and hit only air. The momentum sent him sprawling to the ground.

Mitsuru stood with the tips of his sneakers directly in front of Wataru’s face. From this angle, Wataru could see how scruffy the shoes were. For a moment he wondered why this otherwise perfect guy chose to wear such cruddy old sneakers. But now was hardly the time to ask.

Something had caught him in the stomach, and he couldn’t stand. He managed to lift his head and look up at his adversary. Mitsuru was no longer smiling.

“Stay out of my way. You annoy me.”

Then, in his calm voice from before, “I don’t have time to hang out with happy-go-lucky kids.”

Happy-go-lucky? Who’s happy-go-lucky? Who’s a kid?

If Wataru hadn’t heard him say that, it probably would have ended there. Mitsuru wasn’t his friend, like Katchan. He wasn’t a good guy, like Yutaro. Why should he tell him anything?

But now, he had to. He lifted his face, grimy with the dirt of the temple grounds, and spat, “That’s my line. I’m not happy-go-lucky enough to hang out with a happy-go-lucky kid like you.”

Mitsuru raised his eyebrows exaggeratedly. “Oh? That’s a surprise.”

“Shut up!” Wataru put his hands on the ground and somehow managed to sit up. The side of his mouth tingled as though it had been cut. “You talk all cool, and look all cool, but you don’t know a thing. You don’t know…you know nothing about me. My dad left us last night, okay? So I’m not—I’m not what you—happy-go-lucky—I’m not a kid. Okay?”

Wataru’s fatigue and overwhelming sense of defeat caught the words in his throat.

“Left?” Mitsuru asked, calm as ever. “You mean he divorced your mom?”

“Yeah. What else does it mean?”

“So what?”

The words hit Wataru like a pile driver.

“Wha…”

“I said so what. It’s only a divorce.”

I don’t believe it.

“He left me and my mom, he left us!”

“And? You think being all sad and crying like that is going to help you find someone else to pick up the pieces?” Mitsuru scoffed. “Well, come to think of it, it might be one strategy.”

Wataru was speechless.

“In fact,” the boy continued in a conversational tone, “It might be a fitting strategy for you and your mom. People will sympathize. Yeah, they’ll come running in flocks. You’ll get so much sympathy, you won’t know what to do with it all. But you won’t get any from me.”

Wataru merely sat, dumbfounded. He had nothing to say, no ready retort.

Mitsuru looked at him for a moment, then looked aside, and glared at the ground. “Stay away from the building next door. It sounds like you’ve got enough on your hands. Just worry about that for a while. I live near here, so I’ll know if you’re hanging around. Got it?”

Even after Mitsuru left, Wataru lingered at the shrine. It felt like some thing was sitting atop his shoulders, weighing him down so that he couldn’t stand. Maybe it’s a huge pile of trash. Debris from a world destroyed. Even when the whole world comes apart, somebody has to clean it up. Someone has to call the waste management company, get them to send out a truck. Somehow, he felt that no one would take on this particular job.

“Hey, you there,” an old man called out. Wataru glanced over to see the shrine priest approaching. He was wearing the same outfit he always wore at the annual shrine New Year’s celebration: a white kimono with a light green hakama skirt. His hair was white. “What’s the matter? Did you fall?”

Wataru was covered in dirt.

“You’re bleeding! Are you on your way home from school? Did you get into a fight?”

The priest came over and kneeled down next to him. “Are you alone?” he asked. Looking at the nameplate on his school bag, the priest continued, “Mitani? Eh… Wataru Mitani?”

“Yes, that’s me,” said Wataru. “Say, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes?”

“This is a shrine, right?”

“Of course.”

“There are gods at a shrine, right?”

“Yes.”

“You pray to the gods, right?”

“I pray and I honor them, yes.”

“What do the gods do when you pray?”

The priest gave him a curious look.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I just do,” Wataru said roughly. “Because, the way I see it the gods are lazy.”

The priest seemed at a loss for words.

Wataru spit. His knee was hurting, but he didn’t care anymore. “How can someone who hasn’t done anything wrong be so unlucky? The gods must be lazy. They don’t care. Why pray to gods like that?”

Standing, Wataru picked up his bag and ran. The priest of Mihashi Shrine looked after him, a worried expression on his face. Wataru never saw it. He never looked back.

When he got home, Kuniko was there waiting for him. As soon as he walked through the front door she began to cry. This was real. It wasn’t a dream. He wouldn’t wake up. It wouldn’t go away. He saw his mother’s tears, and everything was painfully clear. Wataru would never cry again. He turned to stone—a little stone in the shape of a boy.