Chapter Seven, in which my Situation Improves and then Worsens, or Maybe it Just Worsens

* * * *

For a while I just sat on a floor cushion, sipping some of the tea the uncle’s wife made. The table was a small one, so even though the uncle sat across from me on the far end, he still held a close and intimidating presence. His questions were of the everyday variety, so I came up with everyday answers. Fortunately he took several breaks to savor the tea. It was your average green tea, and the earth-colored cups in turn had no particular embellishments. These elements combined to paint a hope that nothing out of the ordinary would happen and I could be on my way quickly.

“So you’re a traveling merchant,” the uncle said. “Does that ever get boring? How do you pass the time when you’re not selling anything?”

Made-up stories worked best when you weaved at least a little truth into them. “I’ve gotten into the habit of playing shogi and go at inns as I travel from town to town.”

“Board games, huh?” The uncle turned toward the adjacent kitchen unit, where his wife was watching over some rice she was boiling. It was obvious she was listening in on the conversation. “Did you hear that?”

The aunt glanced around, as if trying to figure out who was talking to her. “What was that?”

“Get the mahjong tiles,” the uncle said. “It’s better with four players, but three can still work.”

The aunt laughed. “Oh no, let’s not be rude to our guest.” She looked to me and smiled—the same sort of forced smile her husband had pulled off earlier. “Sorry, I forgot your name. How are we related again?”

“Oh, you can just call me your great grand-cousin.”

A long pause. “I’ll get the mahjong tiles.”

She came back with a thin box of them a minute later, and I felt a bit relieved—perhaps everyone would just focus on the game, and then I could depart when it was over. Spirit-san had been silent this whole time, which made the whole situation feel even more awkward.

The aunt knelt down to my left, between me and her husband, and the three of us drew different wind tiles to determine our table positions. The aunt got the east tile of the dealer, and to avoid having to change seats the husband accepted north while I stuck with south. While the aunt shuffled all the tiles face-down, the uncle looked at me with a bit of a smug expression.

“You’ve probably played a lot of games, but no need to go easy on us. Especially where my wife is concerned. Since the village started holding annual tournaments five years ago, she’s won four times.”

“That is impressive,” I said.

“My victories were flukes; it’s nothing special,” the aunt said. She had seemed an unassuming middle-aged housewife at first, with her orange and brown-striped kimono and her hair tied back in a bun. But now I noticed a subtle smirk to her expression and a glint in her eye.

“Don’t be modest at a time like this,” the uncle said. “You are the mahjong pride of the Kijimuta line; you’ll have to win here if you intend to uphold your title.”

The aunt placed a hand in front of her mouth and turned away slightly, as if embarrassed. “Well, I would hate to lose to the likes of a Great Grand-Cousin-san.”

“At least it’s clear you’re not wholly unbeatable.” I began forming my wall of seventeen tiles, two tiles high. “You did lose at least one year, right?”

“Mahjong is a fickle game. Sometimes you just can’t help losing.” The way she said it was tinged with a sadness I wasn’t expecting, given the general atmosphere of the conversation.

“Well, time for me to make my big comeback then,” the uncle said. “Perhaps an outsider can shake things up a bit and leave an opening for me to finally claim victory.”

Though the game was meaningless, I wasn’t about to take it easy on my newfound relatives. Every day of my life had been a bit like mahjong, or perhaps any board game in general. With the basic know-how and enough focus, you can get by pretty well. But it’s always a struggle.

And ultimately, everyone is an opponent.

* * * *

I lost the game.

The loss did not play out the way I anticipated, however. The aunt was every bit as good at mahjong as could be expected of a four-time champion, but she made a couple mistakes that I managed to easily take advantage of. In the end, the aunt and uncle were both focused on working against me for the most part, and a stroke of bad luck on the aunt’s part provided the uncle the environment necessary for him to declare mahjong.

“That was a refreshing game,” he said. “Looks like my practice is starting to pay off.” He didn’t look so pleased with himself though.

The aunt closed her eyes and smiled. “It was as you predicted. It was difficult to pin down Traveling Merchant-san’s strategy. He has a knack for mahjong that puts him well above average.”

“Then perhaps he is related to the Kijimuta line in some way,” the uncle mused. “He’s got the spirit of a Kijimuta in him, at least.”

If there was one commonality that seemed shared by Kijimuta family members, it was their ability to denote the impossible through absurd happenstance, and all without realizing it.

“That was fun,” the aunt said. Her smile lessened a bit, but in turn felt more natural. “It reminded me of… old times.”

“Has it been a while since you last played?” I asked.

My question was met with silence for longer than was comfortable, so I added, “Might not be many people to play with in this village to keep it interesting, I suppose.”

“It’s not that,” the aunt said. “It’s just a game, and I grew tired of it.”

We should probably get going, Spirit-san said. I nearly jumped to my feet, but instead bashed my knee into the table. Piles of mahjong tiles scattered about, and I leaned back clenching my teeth to keep from making a scene. Well, any more of a scene than I already had.

“Are you okay?” the uncle asked.

“Sorry, just a cramp. I’ll walk it off.”

While the uncle and aunt cleaned up the tiles, I stood up and hobbled around the room a bit. There wasn’t much space to work with, so I ended up standing beside the kitchen. Nearby was an alcove with an open wooden cabinet containing a variety of everyday items. A candlestick and incense holder both showed signs of extensive use, and a tiny bowl of rice and supplementary persimmon made it clear this was a small household shrine. Hanging in the center of it all was a small ink painting. The image was unmistakable—this was the face of a smiling young girl with flowers in her hair.

I don’t want to bother them anymore, Spirit-san said. We should leave.

I couldn’t talk to Spirit-san right now, but it was nice to know she was still there. Perhaps I could deal with her issues somewhat while speaking with her relatives here.

The uncle walked up to me, clasping his arms through opposite sleeves. “How familiar are you with… recent family events?”

“Perhaps more than you’d imagine,” I said, still staring at the picture. “Your daughter… She had an illness, if I understand correctly.”

“She was born with a weak stomach,” the uncle said. “It might have been a long time coming, but she passed away almost two years ago. She was only twelve.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I should have been here.”

“It’s all right,” the uncle said. “There was nothing anyone could do.”

“You have relatives in this village though, right?”

“My brother and his wife live here. If you know them at all though… Well, do you know them?”

“They’re a bit different, aren’t they?”

The uncle sighed. “That’s an extremely mild way of putting it. People with a couple amusing quirks are different. My brother and his wife are…”

The aunt stood up. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not worth speaking ill of them.”

“Right,” the uncle said. He walked over to his wife and place an arm on her shoulder. “Regardless, we’ve learned to manage.” He turned back to me and smiled a little. “But we appreciate your coming out here to visit. Since you knew of this, I’m assuming that’s why you came.”

In a roundabout way. “Yes. And… there’s someone else I wondered about as well.” I motioned toward the familiar ink strokes that composed Hana-chan’s portrait. I knew I was taking a gamble with this, but it felt worth taking. “The woman who painted this picture. I believe she cared about your daughter a great deal.”

I thought Spirit-san would try to intervene, but she remained silent. Perhaps she was curious to see how things would play out? Or maybe she was just shocked I was willing to bring her up at all.

“So you are aware. That’s surprising,” the uncle said. “You have heard of my brother’s daughter—Kijimuta Michiko.”

“I’ve actually met her, believe it or not,” I said. “A skilled artist, but one who went unnoticed.”

The uncle seemed to ponder this a little. “That is… accurate. I certainly never knew of her talent. Not until she presented us with this painting. To be honest I never interacted with her much at all. She was a very reclusive girl.”

“Was that by her own choice?” I asked.

The uncle remained silent, so it was the aunt who eventually responded. “It’s impossible to know at this point. She has also passed away. It’s probably been a year now, actually. Her parents kept the funeral private, and the cause of her death has been left to rumors.”

“I take it you never interacted with her much either?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” the aunt said. “I remember accepting her painting… It really is a perfect likeness of my daughter. The most beautiful painting I’ve ever seen. But I could only manage to thank Michiko, and nothing more. I was still lost at the time, so overwhelmed by the tragedy. I couldn’t bring myself to care about anything for a long time after my daughter passed away.”

“I take it this past year marked your loss at the mahjong tournament,” I said. “Didn’t participate, I imagine?” She perhaps hadn’t played a single game at all since then—not until until today.

The aunt glanced down toward the floor. “It didn’t seem to matter anymore. Most things just don’t matter.”

“It’s difficult, living on after a death of someone you’re close to.” I spoke to the aunt and uncle, but I also spoke to Spirit-san. “It’s difficult to know how to react. And suddenly every aspect of your life, of your day-to-day living, is performed with the knowledge of that death. The very act of living is a constant reminder of that death.”

The uncle and aunt stood silent and motionless, their eyes focused on mine.

I continued: “I believe it’s important to note how your lonely niece must have felt back then. Your niece was with your daughter not long before she died. With that in mind, look at this painting. How do you believe Kijimuta Michiko felt about your daughter?”

The uncle stared at the painting a few seconds. His eyes gradually widened, and his body started to tremble ever so slightly. He turned around and looked up toward the ceiling, covering his face with one hand.

Meanwhile, the aunt just kept staring at the ground. She couldn’t bring herself to look up at the painting at all. Her frown tightened, and she began shaking her head.

“As far as I am aware…” She had to pause to take a careful breath. “That girl only spent time with my daughter every once in a while. Maybe just a few times a year, even. I never learned a thing about her. And yet…” She looked up at the painting, and immediately tears trickled down her face. “That girl. She had to have placed her entire heart into that artwork. It doesn’t just look like my daughter. There’s something more to it, than just ink on a scroll. It makes me wonder just how close they really were, and how much I never knew about her. And maybe I never will know… but I can at least feel the love Michiko-chan must have had for my daughter.”

They’re looking at this the wrong way, Spirit-san said, her voice shaking. It’s just a painting. It could never make up for what I did. I failed to take proper care of her that day. She may have always had an illness, but it was my fault she died at the time she did. I don’t deserve any sympathy here.

“I have two more questions,” I went on. “How do you feel about your niece?”

The uncle turned around, his eyes a little bloodshot. “I don’t know… I just didn’t know her. And like you said… it’s hard to know how to react to these things. For the most part, I didn’t want to react at all. It was… thoughtless of me.”

“We weren’t the only ones suffering,” the aunt said. “Perhaps if we had understood Michiko better, we could have helped her somehow.”

They said it themselves, Spirit-san said. They don’t know me, so they don’t know how they should feel about me. If they had the full picture, they wouldn’t worry like this.

Once there was a long enough silence, I continued. “Last question. How do you think your daughter feels about her cousin, Kijimuta Michiko?”

The uncle frowned. “How could any of us know? And besides, they’re both…”

I had to wait for an answer. I couldn’t influence their response.

The aunt finally spoke. “If my daughter and Michiko-chan were to ever meet again… I believe they would be the best of friends. If they ever cross paths once more, I think they’ll be happy.”

I couldn’t be certain if Hana-chan could have been considered a true friend of Spirit-san, a woman whose loneliness was the prime motivation behind their rare interactions. But if the memory I lived through was any indication, it felt highly unlikely that Hana-chan could bear any sort of grudge against Spirit-san. And Hana-chan’s parents felt the same way.

“When did you meet her?” the uncle asked. “When did you meet my niece?”

It was time I made my exit, so I decided to answer in a way that would bring a fitting conclusion to this chain of events.

“Would it surprise you if I said I wasn’t actually your relative?”

The uncle and aunt both answered at the same time. “Not really.” “Obviously not.”

“You both seemed fine going along with that premise, though!”

“It became obvious once you asked us that question,” the uncle said. “But that doesn’t explain how you know about everything here.”

“I’m an expert on ghosts,” I said. “An onmyoji, if you will. There fortunately wasn’t any otherworldly activity to deal with today, but checking up on areas of potential disturbance like this is part of my job. Once all parties involved in an unusual set of deaths fully understand one another, it’s much less likely for there to ever be any kind of serious incident with lingering spirits.”

“An onmyoji?” the aunt said. “Please, tell us more.”

“I can’t go into specifics, but suffice to say there is no cause for concern when it comes to matters of your daughter’s spirit. As for your niece, I believe she will be all right. I will probably need to do some more work in the village before I can be sure though.”

The uncle smiled. “This explains a lot. Will you be able to stick around a bit? I feel like we just barely got to know you.”

“I’m not really your great grand-cousin,” I said. “You don’t have to—”

“You’re still a guest,” the aunt said. “If you have business to deal with we won’t stop you, of course. But please feel free to come back if you need a place to spend the night.”

It was a good option to have if I couldn’t leave the village by the time evening arrived, so I accepted it as a possibility.

The uncle added, “And I can show you around the village if you need to find anyone or anything specific.”

I thanked him for the offer, and he and his wife in turn thanked me for visiting and helping them better understand the circumstances regarding their niece and daughter.

And with that, I took my pack and was on my way.

I had been thanked for my work on many occasions before, but things felt different here. To say it felt good wasn’t quite accurate. The situation entailed a much more complex and delicate atmosphere.

Spirit-san had kept quiet ever since her aunt and uncle made it clear the spirit of Hana-chan had no desire to haunt her. Was she going to accept this truth that readily, however? The more I learned of Spirit-san, the more I felt hesitant to guess how she was really feeling about everything. She knew what type of girl Hana-chan was, and yet she still sought retribution. She still wanted to be cursed. Would this meeting with her aunt and uncle have actually changed her mind about anything?

* * * *

Spirit-san soon took control of my body and led me straight out the village. Did she want to give up on her bizarre retribution goal after all? When I began to walk up a trail toward some rocky hills, however, it felt more likely Spirit-san had somewhere specific in mind she wanted to go to.

“Where are you taking me now, Spirit-san?”

The next item. You need to summon a ghost.

“Do you really think anyone would want to haunt you?” It would be too much of a hassle, I felt.

I expected them to haunt me while I was still alive, but for some reason they couldn’t. It’s something an onmyoji should be able to work out, though.

“We can’t just do anything that has to do with ghosts.” I continued up a path that steadily grew steeper and rockier. There were less trees in this area than anywhere else around the village, and nothing of interest to see. I had to assume there was something to find up this mountainside trail.

I’m sure you can handle it, Spirit-san said. Perhaps Hana-chan is at peace, but there’s still two others I need to find. You can decide what to do once I bring you to those mementos, but I have to at least try to make up for what I’ve done. I don’t want things to end unhappily for anyone.

Anyone but herself it seemed, but there was no use arguing it. Chances were there was no reason to attempt contact with the remaining individuals Spirit-san had in mind, particularly since they likely didn’t exist as ghosts at all in the first place. Regardless, I had no choice but to make the best of my current predicament. If I could access Spirit-san’s other memories in relation to the deaths she was involved with, I could perhaps help her understand everyone had moved on, and it was time for her to move on too.

It meant an inevitably sad ending was in store for Spirit-san. A life full of regrets, and the regrets kept piling up even after death. Perhaps that’s just how it is for most people. There are three losers for every winner in mahjong. How many poor moves had I made throughout my own life? It’s difficult to know if you’re doing anything right when you’re on the shogi board itself, with no decent vantage point to look from. Every single day you could be bringing yourself straight toward utter defeat.

Was there still hope for Spirit-san though? She had already given up her very life, so was there anything left for her to lose at this point? She was a ghost. She didn’t have anything. She didn’t even have much of a desire to escape a fate of exorcism. Was there anything she wanted at all?

I thought back to all the things I went through with her the day before. She said she just wanted to enjoy herself a little bit. Was that really enough though?

Without warning, I stopped in front of a large pile of rocks, several of which were half my size.

I placed the item here. Spirit-san made me point toward something being held down by a couple stones larger than my hands. It looked like some kind of strange hat.

“What is this, a rice farmer’s hat?” It had an insignia of some sort on it though, more reminiscent of a samurai’s traveling hat in the old days.

It’s modeled after a monk’s hat. The symbols I added were meant to be for good luck.

“Did you make this hat then?” I asked.

Yes, back when I was seventeen. There were bells and strings and such tied to it as well, but I guess they might have come undone and blown away at some point.

“So this was a gift. I don’t really see how anyone could die from a hat, though.”

You’ll find out for yourself in a second, probably. Just make sure you locate his spirit, okay? Find out what you need to know in order to summon him. I promise to not bother you any more once I meet the ghosts who still require retribution.

“I’ll try.” I knelt down and placed a hand on the hat.

* * * *

Immediately the hat changed. All of its holes and scuff marks disappeared, and a number of streamers emerged from its base. Small bells were tied to the ends of some of them, while others carried a tiny wooden outline of a fish or bird. It was a sturdy hat of woven rice straw, formed in a conical bowl shape large enough to cover one’s eyes.

Mother had said this type of hat was used by traveling monks to avert their eyes from the many distractions that constitute the world of attachments. It didn’t make much sense to give such a hat to Iseki-san, but Mother said he was the type of boy who would appreciate it. Perhaps that was true to some extent—he did seem to visit the temple quite often.

With these thoughts passing through my head, I realized I must not have been myself anymore. I looked to my hands and saw I was wearing a blue yukata with bright yellow sunflowers in its pattern. And from the way I was kneeling on this tatami floor, I could tell I must have been Spirit-san again. Kijimuta-san.

Was I really going to give this ridiculous-looking hat to some boy? Did Spirit-san recognize this as ridiculous-looking? I did spend a lot of time working on it, but I wasn’t sure it would amount to anything. I couldn’t think of anything else I could give Iseki-san though—not when I didn’t have any money. And this was Mother’s suggestion when I said I wanted to make something to wish Iseki-san good luck for his big chance to achieve his dream.

Mother explained how she made a hat for Father to get his attention back when they were young. The hat she made for him though was more like a basket that covered his entire head. He still wore it from time to time, so perhaps that truly was how Mother won his heart. If it worked for Mother, perhaps it could work for me too? I was already seventeen years old. I had to take whatever chance I could at this point.

* * * *

There was a festival. I was at a summer festival. For a moment I found it entirely sudden. I placed a hand over my chest and took a couple deep breaths. Was this sudden? No, I had been planning for this event for quite some time. It was the perfect opportunity to give this present to Iseki-san. I looked to the hat I held in my other hand. It really was ridiculous. Was that my thought though, or my thought as Michiko?

I was wearing the same sunflower yukata from before. It was the most festive of my clothes, and the only thing I could wear that felt suitable for this occasion. I would have liked to dress up a bit nicer today—at least wear a cute hairpin of some sort—but I didn’t have anything more than this. Mother didn’t have any hairpins I could borrow, since she had never cared for them.

I looked about the small wooden stands nearby, where locals were selling some of the foodstuff they prepared for the occasion, and where passing merchants displayed their wares and trinkets. There wasn’t a large crowd here; everyone was enjoying the sunny late afternoon at a relaxed and casual pace. And even once the entire village would gather in the evening, it still wasn’t going to be that crowded. There was only so much excitement a region like this could produce. I couldn’t hide amid long lines of people here. Everyone would see me, and everyone would know who I was.

It was making me feel all the more nervous. Should I have bothered coming? Perhaps I should have stayed at home with my parents.

My hand clutched at my obi sash, and I could feel my beating heart rise in speed and intensity. What was I supposed to do once I saw him? Would I find him, or would he find me? What was I supposed to say? Hadn’t I gone over it in my head dozens of times back at home? I even practiced saying it out loud while Father and Mother were out. The idea was to just be casual about giving him the gift. To wish him luck for his big examination. Other people were probably going to give him something too. He was well-liked by everyone. And he was always nice and friendly to everybody. He would accept this hat at least, even if he didn’t actually like it. This wasn’t going to be so strange. And maybe we could talk more in the future? Maybe we could become friends one day.

Why was I getting worked up over this boy? I hadn’t felt this way before. What was it about this boy that I liked so much? All he did was say hello to me every now and then. He was one of my closer neighbors, and one of the only villagers to actually acknowledge me. Was that all it was? There wasn’t anything between him and me at all, was there?

I walked about the festival grounds, an open area near the village shrine. Though the event was a fun occasion, there were a couple village traditions that took place every year as well. I never felt a part of the village enough to join in, however. I never attended when I was younger since my parents didn’t, and I didn’t have anyone to enjoy the festivities with in recent years.

My aimless wandering ended when I stopped in front of a boy staring me straight in the eyes. We were the same height, but he looked a couple years younger than I was. He was a very ordinary boy in a plain earth-colored yukata.

Yes, just some everyday, dumb, boring… and attractive boy. I couldn’t help but glance up and down a moment or two, so I tried to be as inconspicuous about it as possible. Or was it obvious from the start? I needed to focus.

“Good morning—I mean, good evening, Iseki-san.” My slip-up only made my heart beat faster.

“If it isn’t Kijimuta-senpai,” the boy said with a dumb—no, cute?—smile. “Perchance our paths stand betwixt once more.”

I had forgotten he liked to speak this way. Was forgotten the right word for it though? I couldn’t dwell on this thought when my mind was already in a state of mild panic.

“I… I…”

I what? What was I trying to say? I needed to give him the hat, right? To save myself, I retreated to whatever I could think was normal to say.

“How are you doing?”

“Indubitably well,” the boy said. “And yourself?”

“Oh, um…” I was very anxious to see him of course, but I couldn’t say something so blunt. “Oh, I’m… I’m ha-o-kaaay.”

What was that? What language was I speaking? This wasn’t like Spirit-san at all, was it? Or was it? Well, it was, since I was Spirit-san, and I was going through what actually happened to her.

The boy motioned toward my hat. “Do mine eyes deceive me, or have you already secured yourself a curious prize!”

It took me a few seconds just to piece together what it was he was saying. He thought I won this hat at a booth? This was my chance to give it to him—I just needed to explain it somehow.

“This is…” I clutched the hat tight and glanced away, not sure how I was supposed to finish this sentence. I could think of all sorts of words, but moving my mouth… giving the words a voice… Was I sweating? I was starting to sweat, wasn’t I? I couldn’t help but blush, and that only made me feel worse.

“Hey, Katsurou!” a boy called out. “Over here!”

Katsurou? Katsurou? Wait, that was—

Iseki-san turned toward the boy and seemed to recognize him immediately. There were a couple other boys with him, I realized. Were they all friends of Iseki-san?

“I must be going,” Iseki-san said with a quick bow. Before I could begin to think about anything at all he slipped away and joined his friends. They all walked off, and everyone went about enjoying themselves at the festival.

I stood still for a couple minutes, trying to decide what to do next. I failed to give him the hat. Was it worth giving in the first place, though? It was a pretty dumb idea from the start, wasn’t it?

It was an anticlimactic conclusion, but that’s how it usually was. I was used to things ending this way. Did other people have to fail all the time like this? Everyone at this festival—essentially the entire village—appeared to get along well without any issues.

Connecting with people just didn’t work for me, however. Why was it so difficult to relate to others? Maybe it had to do with how I was raised, or maybe it was just something about me at some fundamental level. Either way, there was something off about me.

* * * *

I found myself back on the mountainside path. Was that all there was to Spirit-san’s memory? It didn’t explain how the boy had died. As I tried to piece together the implications of the memory, I realized I was walking all on my own. Was Spirit-san controlling me?

I looked down and saw I was still Spirit-san. It seemed I was older now. About the age I was when I died.

It was another memory. One where I was walking alone, just after sunset. A part of me thought of returning home, but I didn’t feel up to it. I didn’t feel like doing anything. So I just walked about the reclusive trail aimlessly. There was nobody in sight. Nothing but trees and the cacophony of crying cicadas. It was a hot summer evening, and I was wearing the same sunflower yukata I had worn back at the festival several years beforehand. I felt sweaty and tired, like I could just lie down and melt away, and just not care.

And just not care.

How long had it been since Hana-chan died? Had it been a few months now? There was nothing I could do to make up for it. All I could do was go about everyday life. A dozen or so hours a day, just wishing I could go back to sleep. That wouldn’t help matters of course, but was there anything I ever could do in the first place? I didn’t know who I could possibly ask for an answer in all this.

There was no escaping this feeling that nothing would ever really change. I could walk around and think about things, and that was it, and it was useless, and I just had to be okay with that somehow. I wanted to cry, and I wanted to hate myself for just wanting to cry.

I sat on a large smooth rock, which turned out a bit hotter than expected. I placed my palms flat against its surface to either side of me, and just stared out at the trees in the distance. All the forest felt restless, but my heart beat quietly. The thought of what it must be like to be a tree settled in my mind, a random thought I had many times over the years in my hours of meaningless reverie.

A tree doesn’t have much to worry about. But a tree never gets to do very much, either.

Of course, I never got to do very much myself. Or at least, very much that was any good. I was certainly about as useful as some mundane tree. Actually, I was less useful—a tree could at least be used for houses, paper, or firewood.

“Oh, it’s Kijimuta-san.”

I remembered that was my name. But who said it? I found myself already turning while I was still piecing these thoughts together.

It was that boy from the festival who I wanted to give a terrible hat to. His name came back to me immediately somehow: Iseki-san. Iseki Katsurou. Of course I knew his name; I had thought about him many times over the years.

He wore a plain black yukata, almost blending in with the shade from an overhanging rocky ledge in the vicinity. He held a sort of half-dead expression in his gaze. “What brings you to this lonely trail?” He had given up on the antiquated speech years ago, but he still carried a careful, reposed tone.

“Um… I… I don’t know.” I looked down in embarrassment, clasping my fingers together on my lap and bunching my shoulders up toward my neck. I guess I didn’t want to burden him with all the depressing facts. The same way I always said I was fine when my parents ever asked how I was doing.

Did Iseki-san know about my connection with Hana-chan? No, he couldn’t possibly know. We hardly ever spoke to each other. I hardly ever spoke to anyone at all. He probably knew about Hana-chan’s death (if only because the village was so small), but he couldn’t know what that actually meant to me.

There was a long silence. Or maybe it was just a couple seconds. It felt long. “Oh, how about you?” I finally thought to say. I glanced back to see Iseki-san was sitting on another rock. He was staring up at the sky before he turned back toward me.

He looked confused. “Hm?”

“Why are you… over here?” I asked.

“I walk around here to think every now and then,” he said. “Just to be alone from time to time.”

“Oh.” I wasn’t sure where to go from there. Why did he want to be alone? I guessed I could relate though—I was here to get away from home for a little bit.

I heard movement, and worried that Iseki-san was already leaving. But he was just idly moving his sandals a bit over the dirt and rocks at his feet. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he wanted to leave though. I was as boring as could be.

I pushed myself to form some semblance of a conversation. “What do you… think about?”

He smiled, and I felt a little nervous about looking at him for too long.

“It’s nothing interesting,” he said. “Just life in general.”

“What are you up to?” I asked. “Are you still playing karuta?”

Iseki-san’s smile faded. “No.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure how to go about it.

So he just stopped there.

I tried to think back to the events that transpired after the summer festival a few years ago. Iseki-san was going to become a professional karuta player, wasn’t he? That was the plan, at least. But he didn’t impress the judges who came to the village to test his skills. Or at least, not quite enough.

I wanted to say something, but we rarely talked much. And never like this. This couldn’t be considered a continuation of our conversation back at the summer festival, though that was what occupied my thoughts. What if I had been just a little more proactive that day? Maybe there was something I could say now. Something that could mean something? Anything?

“It’s hard to know what to do,” I said, cringing once the words left my mouth. “I mean, I never know what to do.”

That long pause again.

I quietly added, “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” Iseki-san said. “I was just thinking.”

I decided to let the silence linger after that. Iseki-san seemed content to just think to himself for a minute. Perhaps I had helped him in some small way? I didn’t have anything important to say, but sometimes it was nice just to have someone to talk to for a bit, if only to help you approach your thoughts in a different way.

“Kijimuta-san…” Iseki-san stopped in mid-sentence. The ground was shaking violently.

I stood up in reaction to the sudden movement and immediately tumbled forward several haphazard steps. I fell to my hands and knees, my breath whisked away before I could scream. A loud crash erupted somewhere behind me. Was the whole mountain falling apart? In a panicked frenzy I looked to my left and right, trying to figure out where Iseki-san was. There were rocks falling behind me. Far away? No, some were close. Where was Iseki-san? I kept looking.

My whole body was shaking, and it took a while to realize it was just me. The earthquake had already passed. How long had the tremor actually lasted? The cloud of dust left behind sent me into a coughing fit. Tears welled up in my eyes, and it hurt to stand up. I fell back on my hands and knees, and struggled to force the tears out by shutting my eyes as tight as I could.

When the layers of dirt in the air had cleared a bit I found myself entirely lost. I looked up and down the path, up and down the mountainside, left and right, toward the trees, toward the village.

Where was I looking? Was that where Iseki-san was? Or was he over there? Wasn’t he there?

Wasn’t he right there?

* * * *

I stared at the rocks. Just kept staring at them. Some had shifted once more, it seemed. Or maybe it was just the lighting that had changed. Everything was brighter now?

This was the present day and I was myself again, I realized. I was alone on the mountain path. Alone with Spirit-san.

“That boy… the one you wanted to give a hat to. I take it he died,” I said. “A landslide?”

Spirit-san didn’t respond right away. It was frustrating to think something that unlikely had happened near Spirit-san, and only a few months after someone else close to her had died. There was something almost laughable about it, actually. The sheer unlikelihood of rocks falling on someone in such a random earthquake…

Well, technically it was possible. And perhaps it happened more often than one would expect. I tried to think of what this had to mean to Spirit-san. If she wanted the spirit of the boy who died here to haunt her, then she truly felt it was her fault that he died. She truly felt that the boy was lingering on, blaming her for his implausible demise.

“You can’t blame yourself for an earthquake,” I said. “I’m going to assume you blame yourself for talking to him near that cliff with the loose rocks.”

If I hadn’t been there, he would have just kept on walking. He probably would have been closer to the village by the time the earthquake hit. The village didn’t suffer much damage. He was the only one who died that day.

It was difficult to argue this. Obviously Spirit-san had no ill intentions for Iseki-san or for Hana-chan, but she still felt her actions had led to their deaths.

After Iseki-san’s body was recovered, I returned here so I could finally leave him that hat I made for him. The one I couldn’t bring myself to give to him while he was still alive. I knew he wouldn’t care for it, but it was the best I could do. Or so I thought at the time. But there’s still more I can do, I eventually realized. I can appease his soul.

“Spirit-san…” I had to word this right somehow. Was there a way I could persuade her to give up on this? It was truly meaningless. “Iseki-san won’t find relief in your suffering. He has moved on, and does not blame you for his passing whatsoever.”

If he isn’t here, then he must be somewhere else, Spirit-san said. Can’t you find him? I can’t just do nothing!

“That’s all we can do sometimes,” I said. “Sometimes we end up just living a life and we don’t see the point in any of it. We just keep pretending we know what we’re doing, and hoping that something works out. We lie to ourselves, we lie to the world, and we just keep lying, thinking that maybe the lie will turn into truth somehow!”

Without even meaning it, I had started to yell. What was I saying? I had to stop. I couldn’t take this any further. I couldn’t let Spirit-san know anything more about me. I had to get out of this. Just find some way to appease her, and be done with her. I couldn’t let her know who I truly was.

I can’t give up on Iseki-san! Spirit-san cried. You can’t tell me to just move on, like this is nothing. How can anyone just accept the way he died? It was too unfair. He was working hard to find his place in the world. And he would have found it! He was going to live a wonderful life. Everyone cared about him. He meant something to people. He meant something…

Tears were dripping from my eyes. I assumed they were because of Spirit-san, but for a brief moment I thought the tears were my own. Were they tears for Spirit-san? Or was something I had buried away deep inside of me trying to resurface?

I had to be blunt with Spirit-san. “He’s not here. Your entire plan was flawed from the very start, Spirit-san. If Iseki-san wanted to haunt you, he would have done so while you were still alive.”

He only didn’t because he couldn’t, Spirit-san said. He was stuck here, bound to the spot where he died.

“Bound by what? His disdain toward you?”

Maybe. Or maybe his grief.

“Neither situation is likely,” I said, wiping away the tears. “The circumstances behind Iseki-san’s death do not lend well to the formation of either a wandering spirit or an earth-bound spirit. Your belief that Iseki-san would wish to haunt you is unfounded. He held no attachment to you whatsoever. You were simply a neighbor—a neighbor he spoke to only on rare occasion. You were the peculiar Kijimuta girl and nothing more. If Iseki-san didn’t want to waste his time on you in life, he wouldn’t want to waste his time on you in death either. There is no spirit of Iseki-san to find here.”

There has to be something. There has to be something. There has to be something.

She was repeating it again and again, never taking a breath.

I wanted to tell her there was no reason for her to be here. She didn’t need to linger on anymore. She could be free from all this. She could just vanish, and it would all be over. There was no need for her to suffer. Why did she want to suffer?

There was no reason for any of this. There was no reason for any of this. There was no reason for any of this.

There has to be something! Spirit-san screamed.

I clenched at my hair and stumbled forward a bit. “There has to be something! Naoki-kun, please! Please, please, please, please, please…”

I kept repeating please over and over again. I had pushed Spirit-san too far. Was there a way through this? She had been told twice now by her ghost expert savior that there was nobody who wanted to haunt her. Was that all I really told her though? There was more that could be inferred from those words.

I had told her there was no reason for her to exist.

But was there a reason for her to exist? Shouldn’t she have stopped existing when she died?

Or was there something more?

I forced myself to stop talking, to stop breathing, to stop clenching at my hair.

It was true! There had to be something!

“There is something,” I said at last. “There is a reason you exist, Spirit-san. You can’t just wish to be a ghost. You need resolution.” Even I could grasp that much from the texts I had read over the years. There was something Spirit-san was looking for. Something she needed. She thought she knew what she had to do. Everybody likes to think they know what they’re supposed to be doing. But there was something else.

I took a few long, quiet breaths. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this all out, Spirit-san. You still have another item in mind for me, right? Perhaps we can piece everything together once we find that.”

Okay… We can try that if you want. I’m sorry, Naoki-kun. I didn’t mean to get upset. But I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I thought this would work. I thought their spirits were here, and I just needed to try harder… To just keep trying to find a way to reach them.

“Things usually don’t work like that.”

I stared at the rocks and the dusty hat. There was no simple resolution to be found here.

Things will work out some way though, Spirit-san said. I’ve given up on giving up.

She never had her way in life. That was a trend I had noted from her memories, at least. She was doing everything she could to change everything about herself, it seemed. This went along with many ghost stories, actually—upon becoming spirits, those who were powerless to change their circumstances in life suddenly gained extraordinarily zealous ambition in death, along with the means to enact the changes they so desired.

Of course, this was typically done through violent means. At least in the stories I read.

Not wanting to dwell on this thought any longer, I decided to ask, “Where is the final memento you had in mind?”

It’s in the cemetery, Spirit-san said. It’s right where my grandmother is buried.

* * * *