Yoiyama Maze

That morning, when I woke up at seven like always, my mother wasn’t there.

From the dining room, which stayed cool even in summer, came the aroma of miso soup and the sounds of the morning news on television. I peeked through the glass door that looked out onto the courtyard and found the view rather strange. Behind the crepe myrtle was a storage shed, its plaster wall reflecting brightly in the sunlight. The door was ajar. I opened the glass door and called, “Mom.” Her reply came from inside the shed. What was she doing?

I headed to the bathroom sink to gargle with salt water before breakfast, a habit passed down from my father. The light coming in through the small window spilled over my mother’s red toothbrush. A short while later I heard the back door open, and the soft slap of slippers coming toward me.

“It’s this late already?” she said as she passed behind me.

When I came back into the dining room, she was standing in the kitchen.

“What were you doing in the shed so early in the morning?”

“A call came from Kinezuka Enterprises yesterday. I thought I’d search one more time.”

“They’re pretty persistent.”

“But I’m curious about it too.”

“We’re busy planning the memorial, so it’d be nice if they would stop calling.”

My mother came over to the table, murmuring, “Yeah, that would be best.”

I stared at the television. “Today is Yoiyama.”

“Hm? What did you say?”

“Today is Yoiyama.”

“Right,” she said softly. “Of course.”

After breakfast, we left the house together.

Every day, we walked along Shōkokuji’s long outer wall, entered from the east gate and crossed the temple grounds.

Seeing the vibrant green groves of trees reminded me of yesterday’s rain. When I left the art gallery around seven in the evening, Karasuma Street was already lit with the glow from the street stalls. I had thought there would be few people due to the rain, but the narrow road was full of multicolored umbrellas pushing up against each other.

“The weather is nice today, so there will probably be a lot of people.”

“Yeah.”

We took the Karasuma line subway from Imadegawa Station. Yanagi Gallery was on Takakura Street, just off Sanjō Street, on the first floor of a multi-tenant building, about five minute’s walk from Karasuma Oike Station. Originally, the gallery was managed by my parents, but after my father passed away, I quit my job at a gallery in Tokyo and came back to help her run the place along with a part-timer who was a student at the Kyoto City University of Arts.

We arrived at the office and began the day’s work. The moment we entered the gallery, my mother’s entire bearing changed. There was tons to do: exhibit catalogs and information pamphlets, payments for artists, sending out customer orders, and other bits of general housekeeping.

“Mr. Kōno hasn’t sent over his plan for the exhibition, has he?” My mother furrowed her brows. “I wonder how it’s coming along.”

“I’ll go see him later this afternoon.”

“That’d be a great help.”

　　　　　　　◯

That afternoon, I left the work at the gallery to my mother, and went to see Mr. Kōno at his atelier.

I walked along Sanjō Street toward the business district in Karasuma. Although there was still some time before traffic restriction would start, the street was already full of tourists. Outside the comfortable air-conditioned gallery, my forehead was soon covered in sweat. I turned off Muromachi Street and into a narrow alley. The number of people continued to increase. I suddenly stopped and looked up at the hanging lanterns of Kuronushiyama.

Kōno was painter who lived alone. His resident and workshop was a standalone house in Ryōtonzushi-chō, surrounded by multi-tenant and residential buildings. Up until just last year, my father often went to visit him, but now I went in his place. Sandwiched between a multi-tenant building and a cafe, and situated at the end of a stone-paved path, the building was quiet even in broad daylight. When I opened the front gate and stepped onto the path, sounds from outside died away as if I were underwater.

I rang the bell and slid open the door. It smelled like old wood inside.

“It’s Yanagi.”

“Ah, Mr. Yanagi, come in, please,” the painter said, looking half-asleep.

We always had our meetings in a small room facing the garden. Since his house was between two taller buildings, there wasn’t much sunlight. The little there was lit the artist’s face with an unhealthy pallor, as if he spent his life underground. I untied my furoshiki and brought out some tansan senbei.

He looked at the wrapping paper and said, “From Arima?”

“My mother went with her friends.”

“I’m glad she’s doing well.”

“Thank you.”

We moved from pleasantries to the business at hand: the gallery exhibition that was set to begin in autumn.

But the painter would only give me vague answers regardless of what I asked. His mind was elsewhere and he seemed to be listening for something in the shaded garden. Then, I suddenly remembered that today was Yoiyama, and cold sweat began to trickle down by back. I looked over at the photograph of the painter’s daughter sitting on top of a chest of drawers. There were two little girls in yukata. One was his niece.

The painter’s only daughter had gone missing the night of Yoiyama fifteen years ago. My father had told me numerous times, “Mr. Kōno still lives in that house because he is waiting for his daughter to return. It’s like time stopped in there fifteen years ago.”

How did I forget something like that?

I stumbled over my words, trying to change the subject.

The painter looked out onto the desolate garden and murmured, “It’s Yoiyama, isn’t it? Almost one year since your father passed.”

“Yes.”

“Yoiyama is a restless time, for both you and me.”

“I apologize for coming today of all days.”

“Not at all.” He waved his hand. “That’s quite alright. I apologize as well for being so unfocused.”

“I’ll call on you again some other day.”

“You’ve gone through a lot in the past year as well, I assume,” he said, gazing serenely at me. “You look tired. Try to get some rest.”

　　　　　　　◯

Coming back out onto the main road from the stone path, I noticed that the number of people walking around had increased considerably. It seemed a bit unreal to me, like I was watching it all happen on a screen. Maybe the painter was right and I was more tired than I realized. It had been a hectic year since my father died.

Soon after I started down Rokkaku Street, I saw a sign for Kinezuka Enterprises. It was on the first floor of a building that also included a language school and real estate company. It was a secondhand goods store my father had worked with for years, but since his death, their persistent phone calls were becoming a thorn in my side. I was about to go in and complain about it when I noticed that they weren’t open. The glass door was shut tight and it was dark inside. Old cardboard boxes were piled almost as high as I was tall, making it impossible to tell from the outside what they were selling. It had always been a strange store, and the owner, Kinezuka, was an equally strange man.

I came out onto Muromachi Street and headed toward Shijō Street.

As I passed Koiyama, I heard a shout from above. Leaning out the balcony of a third-floor apartment facing the street was a middle-aged couple who frequently visited the gallery.

The husband held up a beer can and said, “Care to join us for a cold one?”

I smiled and waved. “I’m still on the clock.”

“Some other time then,” the wife said.

On Muromachi Street, from Sanjō to Shijō, were Kuronushiyama, Koiyama, Yamabushiyama, and Kikusuihoko. When night fell, their lanterns would be lit in a dazzling display visible all through the street. It’d be nice to come see it after work, I thought.

Turning onto Shijō Street, I entered the cafe in the basement level of the Industrial Exhibition Hall. I took out my papers and a pen, intending to put together a plan for the exhibition. As I turned toward the tables that looked out onto the underground street, I saw something bright red out of the corner of my eye. Floating in front of the barbershop across the street was a red balloon, as if a piece of Yoiyama from above had drifted underground.

Just as I was thinking this, a girl walked past the window in front of me. She stopped for a second and looked at the balloon. I saw her profile as a small smile appeared on her face and felt as if I’d been suddenly stabbed in the chest. It was Mr. Kōno’s niece, Chizuru.

We’d first gotten to know each other last year in the winter, when I brought Mr. Kōno a kaleidoscope that had somehow come into my possession. I remembered being slightly embarrassed when she came upon the two of us sitting on the veranda, peering into the kaleidoscope. Since then, she’d visited the gallery a number of times.

I watched Chizuru walk away down the underground street.

I turned back to my papers but wasn’t able to make much headway, as I kept getting distracted by the conversations around me.

Giving up, I sipped my coffee and let my thoughts drift.

Almost one year since your father passed. Mr. Kōno’s words echoed in my mind.

A year ago, the night of Yoiyama, my father was found collapsed on a mountain road in Kurama. If there hadn’t been students hiking nearby, he would’ve died without anyone knowing. There were no suspicious injuries. When I hurried back to Kyoto from Tokyo, my father was unconscious. The cause was determined to be a stroke, and my father passed away a week later, never having woken up. It all happened too quickly.

There was no reason to suspect the cause of his death, but there was one thing that unsettled me. Why was he in Kurama?

That morning, my father had appeared so tired that my mother suggested he take the day off. He had nodded and gone to go lie down in the bedroom. So why did he purposely go to Kurama? A ceramist he was good friends with lived there, but apparently my father hadn’t gone to visit him. I’d thought about this often the past year, but in the end could only conclude that he had gone on a whim. He’d probably felt better after resting and suddenly felt like going somewhere.

But still, the whole city had been full to bursting on the night of Yoiyama, why did he have to collapse alone on a deserted road in Kurama? I knew there was no point asking, but the contrast was almost more than I could bear.

I looked out the glass window of the cafe.

The red balloon suddenly burst without a sound.

　　　　　　　◯

When I got back to the gallery, my mother was taking a tea break.

“Chizuru came by,” she said.

It seemed like she had headed to the gallery after I saw her in the underground street.

I worked until evening. My mother left early, complaining of a headache.

The man from the corporation came right after she had gone.

I thought my mother had come back to get something she’d forgotten, but thought it was weird that she wasn’t making any noises, so I left the office and went out onto the gallery floor. A man about the same age as me stood there, smiling slightly and admiring the paintings.

“Welcome,” I said.

He turned, smiling pleasantly. “Yanagi, I assume?”

“That’s me.”

“I’m Otogawa from Kinezuka Enterprises.”

Before I had time to frown after recognizing that name, he quickly added, “I’m very sorry for the constant phone calls—but there was simply no way for us to give up on this.”

“I was actually just thinking about contacting Mr. Kinezuka, so you’ve come just in time. What does he want to talk about?”

“Kinezuka is on a business trip, so I’ve come in his stead.”

I offered Otogawa a chair and poured him a cup of black tea. He sipped with apparent relish.

“Traffic restrictions have started, and the street stalls are out in full force. It’s quite a sight to behold.”

“It is Yoiyama after all.”

“Indeed, it is all because of Yoiyama.” He nodded to himself. “It really is something special, you know.”

“Right. So, the reason you’ve come—”

“Okay, okay.”

“Last autumn, we showed Mr. Kinezuka all the stuff we had in storage. The things he could take are pretty much all gone, and all we’ve got left is some junk.”

“Not all junk, I’m sure.”

He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious.

“Why do you think we have anything else?” I said, starting to get annoyed.

“Because it can’t be anywhere else. It was last in your father’s possession, and it hasn’t been seen out on the market. Therefore.”

“You must be talking about the crystal ball.”

“That’s right,” he said happily, making a small grasping motion in the air with his hands. “That’s exactly it.”

“I haven’t seen it though.”

“I know. That’s why, if you would be so kind to look again—”

“But we’re swamped with work here. My father’s memorial is coming up soon.”

“That’s fine. We’re not in a hurry, as long as you do try to find it. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, the day after the day after tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. Kinezuka is willing to wait as long as it takes. So please, take your time,” Otogawa said earnestly, his hands clasped on his knees.

Seeing his expression, I didn’t have the heart to refuse him outright.

“I understand,” I sighed. “I’ll look into it when I have time.”

“Thank you so much. And my apologies for being such a bother.”

Otogawa bowed and left.

I sat for a moment and gazed off into space. I was extremely unhappy, partly because I couldn’t refuse Kinezuka Corp’s request, and partly because I couldn’t get a read on Otogawa. The moment he had left, his impression of affability disappeared and left me feeling a bit creeped out.

Above it all, why was Kinezuka Corp so interested in something my father had left behind?

I finished cleaning and locked up the gallery.

To clear my mood, I went for a walk around the city.

It had been a long time since I had walked around Yoiyama. Since my father had collapsed the night of the festival last year, it was already over by the time I came back from Tokyo. And when I was still living in Tokyo I didn’t have any pressing reason to return to Kyoto when the crowds were at their worst. To be honest, I’d felt that I had had enough of Kyoto altogether.

When I turned from Sanjō Street onto Karasuma Street, the usual office district had been transformed into a city of street stalls as far south as the eye could see. The smell of grilled chicken and corn mingled in the air. The sky was beautifully clear. It was a pedestrian’s paradise; people wandered freely up and down the wide street. As I walked slowly through the stalls, two girls with their hair pulled back in tight buns ran past, holding hands. Just from their hair, I could tell that they were students at the ballet school on Sanjō Street. I couldn’t help but smile when I thought that Chizuru probably looked just like that when she was a child.

All the alleys going west off of Karasuma Street were stuffed with sightseers and vendors. Floats towered above their dark heads like glowing castles.

I walked all the way to Kita-kannonyama, but the crowds were unpleasantly thick. I was surprised to find Yoiyama this congested. There was a frightening amount of people from Muromachi Street to Shinmachi Street, and it reminded me of my first time in Tokyo. I gave up on trying to exit at Shijō Street and turned back.

The sounds of the festival faded as I went farther north.

At the intersection of Muromachi and Rokkaku, I saw Mr. Kōno. I was about to call out to him when I saw his expression. He was staring fixedly ahead, but his eyes were empty. It was as if he were a ghost slipping through the flood of people, moving so quickly his feet didn’t seem to touch the ground. I had no idea where he was going.

I felt an oppressive gloom pressing down on me. I didn’t know if it was caused by my meeting with Otogawa, or by the painter’s past, or by my father’s death. Rather than finding Yoiyama as beautiful as I remembered, I felt like I was attending a festival in a foreign land.

Lost in thought, I continued walking until I was north of Kuronushiyama. Suddenly, I stepped on something that felt like a small lump of rubber. It was too dark for me to make out what it was. When I bent down to look, I realized it was the dead body of a goldfish.

　　　　　　　◯

When I woke up at half past seven the next morning, my mother wasn’t there. I looked through the glass door. She was rummaging in the storage shed again. When I called out to her, she responded just like she had yesterday. As I was gargling at the bathroom sink, I heard the back door open and the soft slap of slippers coming toward me. “It’s this late already?” she said as she passed behind me. At that moment, I was hit with a feeling that something was terribly wrong.

When I came back into the dining room, breakfast was ready.

“What were you doing in the shed so early in the morning?”

“A call came from Kinezuka Enterprises yesterday. I thought I’d search one more time.”

I looked at her. “Today too?”

“What do you mean ‘today too’?”

I looked at the television. The screen showed an image of Yoiyama as the announcer said, “It is estimated that three hundred thousand people will attend Yoiyama today.”

“It’s Yoiyama today?”

My mother tilted her head toward the television. “Of course,” she murmured.

“Wasn’t it Yoiyama yesterday?”

“Are you still asleep, silly? It’s today.” She pointed at the screen.

“Guess it was just a dream,” I muttered.

I had a very strange day.

I had experienced deja vu a number of times before. It was an uncanny sensation where I could vividly remember seeing the current scene in an old dream, while the present situation itself seemed far away. Today, that feeling continued for about half a day. The trees inside Shōkokuji, the clear skies, the smell of the gallery, working together with my mother, the faces of the customers who visited the gallery——all of it was the same as yesterday.

Just after noon, my mother said, “You’ve been acting weird all day. Like you’re completely spaced out.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Why don’t you go out and clear your head.”

“I’ll go see Mr. Kōno.”

Out in the heat, my forehead began to prickle with sweat; floats towered over sightseers going this way and that in the streets.

It was Yoiyama again.

I made my way to Mr. Kōno’s house and halted in front of it.

The shady, stone-paved path stretched out in front of me. The coolness of the air as I walked down it, the smell of wood as I opened the sliding door, sitting face to face with Mr. Kōno, I could remember it all in perfect detail. The photo of his daughter on the chest of drawers. The room that had been frozen in time for fifteen years.

“Today is Yoiyama,” I muttered to myself.

I left without opening the gate.

　　　　　　　◯

I came out onto Muromachi Street and headed toward Shijō Street. As I passed Koiyama, I heard a shout from above. Leaning out the balcony of a third-floor apartment facing the street was a middle-aged couple who frequently visited the gallery.

The husband held up a beer can and said, “Care to join us for a cold one?”

“Sounds good,” I said, “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Come in, come in.”

The wife greeted me on the third floor. Her husband was forty and worked at a bank near Karasuma. A painting from our gallery hung in their living room. Next to it was a tank with red goldfish. The husband stood up when went out onto the balcony.

“Nothing better than drinking in the middle of the day,” he said, laughing.

I accepted a beer and the three of us started chatting. The wife said that her grandfather used to run a kimono fabric shop, so she was familiar with this area. I called my mother.

Looking down from the balcony, I thought I could see myself walking through the throng on Muromachi Street. Of course, that wasn’t actually possible. But why did I feel like I was reliving Yoiyama in the first place? Even if all of “yesterday” was just a dream, it was much too vivid. If that was the case, then if I chose to act differently than I did “yesterday,” then the sense of deja vu should fade. Still, I couldn’t help but think that right about now, Chizuru was probably walking through the underground street in Shijō on the way to the gallery.

The couple had visited us often enough that we were fairly familiar with each other, and they were good conversationalists, so I ended up staying for quite a while. In doing so, I felt the sense of deja vu lessening, lifting my mood. I was sure that all the things that had happened “yesterday” were nothing more than a dream.

It got cooler as the afternoon went on, and the wife said she wanted to go out for a bit. She suggested enthusiastically that all three of us should go together, but the husband didn’t seem to be in the mood. In the end, she left by herself, looking disappointed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” I asked.

“I don’t really want to go wandering around; crowds aren’t my forte.”

“It can get pretty tiring fighting the crowds during Yoiyama.”

“On days like these, relaxing and watching from the balcony is ideal,” he said, taking a swig of beer.

We fell silent for a bit.

“One of our clients is Kinezuka Enterprises,” he said, suddenly serious. “Yesterday, someone called Otogawa paid us a visit.”

“Otogawa?”

“He had some other business, but also mentioned that there was a message he wanted to pass on to you. So you can imagine I was pretty surprised to see you earlier.”

“Huh. What did he say?”

“He said you’d understand if I just said that you had a message from Otogawa. It was a pretty strange conversation.”

I had just managed to convince myself that “yesterday” was just a dream. Now I was at a loss for words. The husband seemed worried by my silence.

“If you want to talk about it, I’m happy to listen.”

I waved my hand hurriedly. “No, it’s nothing serious. It’s to do with my father’s estate.”

“I see. Kinezuka Enterprises deals in antiques, doesn’t it?”

“I think that’s what he’s talking about.”

“That makes me feel better. I was worried by Otogawa’s cryptic way of talking,” he said cheerfully. “There’s chilled champagne.” He headed toward the kitchen.

Alone on the balcony, I thought hard about Otogawa. I met him “yesterday,” but the fact that the husband also met him meant that Otogawa was a real person. In that case, I really did meet Otogawa, and “yesterday” wasn’t just a dream. What in the world was going on?

“Woah,” said the husband as he came back with the champagne.

I looked up and saw him staring at the top of the building across from us. On the roof floated a red carp the size of a steel barrel. It looked like it had gotten stuck on the water tower, and flapped miserably upside-down in the wind.

“Is it a balloon?” he asked, sitting back down.

“Yeah. Surprised me.”

　　　　　　　◯

Around half past six in the evening, the wife came back from her stroll around Yoiyama. She came out onto the veranda holding a balloon.

“Ah, it’s so hot,” she said, wiping away sweat.

“What’s that?”

“Isn’t it neat? A monk on Shinmachi Street gave it to me.”

The clear balloon was painted with green seaweed, and inside it floated a small, fake goldfish. It looked like a floating fishbowl on a string.

“How did they make this?” he asked, turning it this way and that.

“Don’t break it,” she said, smiling. “You’re such a kid.”

“It’s pretty interesting.” He sounded impressed. “Yanagi, why don’t you stay for dinner.”

“I couldn’t—” I began.

“Great idea,” the wife said, getting up.

I looked over at the two of them in the kitchen.

The sky was deepening to indigo, and sparse, pink clouds drifted above the building across from us. As we carried our plates to the balcony, the floats were lit, bathing the streets in their glittering light. I sat down. Directly to my right was Koiyama, and across the street on the left was Yamabushiyama. The sightseers moving through Muromachi Street created a pleasant din. Smoke from the street stalls swirled around incandescent lights and lanterns, licked twisting utility lines and the kimono shop sign, and disappeared into the navy blue sky.

“Look,” the wife said from beside me, looking down onto the street. “Those kids are acting strange. They’ve passed by a number of times now.”

“Maybe they’re lost.”

“Doesn’t seem like it. They keep circling around the same area…it looks like they’re having a lot of fun.”

As I watched, the girls in red yukata made their way effortlessly down Muromachi Street.

Despite the crowds, they moved lightly, like they were slipping through the small gaps between people. It reminded me of goldfish being carried on a current. As I followed their movements, I became aware of a man standing in the light of Koiyama. It was Otogawa from Kinezuka Enterprises.

He watched with apparent interest as the girls slipped by. Then, as if he knew exactly what he was looking for, he lifted his head and met my eyes squarely. A small smile appeared on his lips and he bowed.

“What’s wrong, Yanagi?” the wife asked, seeing my face.

By the time I left the couple’s house, it was already eight in the evening. The heat from the crowd was fearsome. I made my way as quickly as possible to the Karasuma and Sanjō intersection and got on the subway.

When I got to Shōkokuji I finally felt like I could breathe freely. The trees in the garden were pitch black under the dark blue sky. The residential area was completely silent.

Streetlights dotted the roads.

As I walked along Shōkokuji’s outer wall, I could faintly hear the Gionbayashi. I figured it was coming from someone’s television, but it still felt kind of eerie. I didn’t know why I was so unsettled.

A red light flashed twice, thrice, behind the temple wall. I stopped and stared, but there was only darkness once again.

All of a sudden I recalled the feeling of stepping on the dead goldfish.

That night, I had a strange dream.

I was walking through the crowds at Yoiyama. My father was walking ahead of me. He was holding a balloon with goldfish inside.

“What is that balloon?” I asked. For some reason I was a child once again.

“It’s not a balloon,” my father said, turning around.

He jerked the string, caught the balloon in his hands, and held it out to me. “Look.”

I took it. It felt like it was filled with water, or like I was holding a crystal ball. Goldfish swam in circles inside the transparent orb. How strange. Suddenly there were two more goldfish. Oh! I thought, as dozens of red grains appeared, swelled rapidly and filled the ball with goldfish. They burst from the surface and fell in a stream, making unpleasant plaps as they hit the ground. I tried desperately not to step on any, but still ended up squishing some every time I moved my feet.

My mother woke me as I was moaning.

“What’s wrong?” She held her hand to my forehead. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“No, I don’t remember what it was.”

“You’re such a child.”

When I got up, the smell of miso soup was drifting from the kitchen. Sunlight streamed in through the glass door. I turned to the television. The screen showed an image of Yoiyama as the announcer said, “It is estimated that three hundred thousand people will attend Yoiyama today.”

“It’s Yoiyama today?”

My mother tilted her head toward the television. “Of course,” she murmured.

　　　　　　　◯

I didn’t step foot outside the gallery that day.

Every time I stopped working, all sorts of images flooded my mind. My meeting with Mr. Kōno, the feeling of dead goldfish, the view of Yoiyama from an apartment in Muromachi. Overlapping memories of Yoiyama piled up in my head. It was hard to think of them as just a long dream. But how was I supposed to think of them?

Outside, the Yoiyama festival carried on as usual. Almost no one visited the gallery.

At just past four in the afternoon I heard my mother calling me and left the office. Chizuru was standing on the gallery floor.

“It’s been a while,” she said, bowing slightly.

“Good afternoon.”

“I had an urge to come see some paintings.”

“That’s great. Take your time.”

She went quietly around the gallery. I left her to it.

When she was finished, my mother made tea for the three of us. Chizuru seemed quieter than usual. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. Was she thinking about Yoiyama as well?

Since there were no other visitors, we were able to relax and chat. My mother deliberately chose happy topics to cheer Chizuru up.

When my mother left for a moment, Chizuru looked like she had something to say.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“I want to ask you for a favor…will you come with me to visit my uncle?”

“Right now?”

“Yes. I know you’re busy, but…”

“Not at all.” I waved my hand. “I’ll go with you.”

Leaving my mother to take care of things, I went out with Chizuru.

The clouds were dyed pink as the floats were lit.

The light above the door to the painter’s house glowed at the end of the dark stone path.

Chizuru opened the door and called out, but there was no response. It was dark and silent inside.

“I guess he’s not home,” she said quietly.

Taking off her shoes, she entered and turned on the hall light. After checking the room facing the garden and the dining room, she gave a half-shrug.

“Should we wait a bit?”

“Yes, please have a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

The noise from Yoiyama was barely audible here.

When was the last time I had spoken to the painter? I hadn’t met with him after Yoiyama started looping. As I sat there, I felt like I could almost see his dimly lit face.

Chizuru and I waited for him to return.

“I originally wanted to come earlier,” she said worriedly, looking at the clock on the wall. “But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Sorry for keeping you at the gallery for so long.”

“It’s not because of that.”

“Was it because of Yoiyama?”

“…I suppose so. I thought I would be over it after fifteen years, but I guess not. You know about it?”

“I heard about it from my father.”

She looked over at the photo on the chest of drawers. “I only remember bits and pieces. My cousin and I were both seven years old.”

“It’s a tragedy. My father also often thought about it.”

Suddenly we heard the front door open.

“Oh.” Chizuru turned toward the sound. “I think he’s back.”

But there were no other sounds, just the feeling of someone’s presence. Our eyes met. Chizuru’s face was pale.

“Excuse me,” a small voice said.

“Who is it?” She made to stand up, but I stopped her.

I went to the front door. Under the fluorescent light stood Otogawa from Kinezuka Enterprises. He was looking at the ground, but straightened up and smiled when he heard my footsteps.

“You must be Yanagi.”

“Yes.”

“I’m Otogawa from Kinezuka Enterprises.”

“I know.”

He nodded. “I saw you come this way earlier. I’m sorry for imposing, but no matter what we need——”

“I know. But following me around like this is making my life pretty difficult.”

“I apologize.”

“Please leave for today.”

He sighed and nodded slightly. “Just one thing.”

“What?”

“Just that we’re not in a hurry. As long as you do try to find it. Tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, the day after the day after tomorrow, it doesn’t matter. Kinezuka is willing to wait as long as it takes. So please, take your time.”

He bowed again, opened the door, and left.

“What happened?” Chizuru asked as I went back to the room. “You look kind of angry.”

“It’s nothing, just someone trying to sell something.”

The only sound left was the ticking of the clock. The garden was already invisible in the dark.

“If there’s a tomorrow…” I said, without thinking.

“If there’s a tomorrow?” she repeated, cocking her head.

　　　　　　　◯

When I woke up at half past seven in morning, my mother wasn’t there. I looked through the glass door. As expected, she was in the shed. I didn’t have to look at the television to know that today was Yoiyama.

I slumped over the table with my head on my arms. I heard my mother’s footsteps.

“Are you alright?” she asked in a worried voice.

“I don’t feel good,” I said, looking up.

“You don’t look too great either.”

“I guess I’ve been working too much.”

“Why don’t you take the day off.”

I went upstairs to my room.

Sunlight leaked through the blinds like reflections on water. I lay on the cool bed and stared at the ceiling. After a while I heard my mother leave for the gallery. Every time I was about to doze off, my body would cramp up and I’d wake up again. I drifted in and out of a restless sleep as I tried my best to forget about all that I had experienced during Yoiyama. I didn’t do anything else. I simply stared as the light coming through the blinds got brighter and brighter.

At around four in the afternoon, my cell phone rang.

“Yanagi,” came Mr. Kōno’s voice.

“Sir.”

“Are you alright? The other day, when you brought over the souvenir from Arima, I thought you looked exhausted.”

“Sorry for making you worry. I’m taking some time off, as you suggested—” I choked on my words.

There was a moment of silence.

“When did you bring over the souvenir?” he asked quietly.

“Sir.”

“You’re looping too, aren’t you?”

I said nothing.

“Can you come over tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“I think this has something to do with your father’s death.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. But with all these strange things happening at the same Yoiyama, I have to believe that it has the same cause. It’s human nature.”

He hung up.

I sat up. Father’s death. His estate.

I left my room and went down to the shed.

It was cool, almost chilly inside, and mostly empty. There was nothing apart from a few large boxes and some of my mother’s things. Inside the boxes were some of my father’s books that I kept to read at some point. I spent about an hour methodically looking through the boxes but didn’t see the crystal ball Otogawa had talked about. I searched through my mother’s stuff as well, but it wasn’t there either.

I sat down on an old suitcase.

It was starting to get dark outside. I hadn’t found anything. I looked through the half open door and thought about my mother looking through the shed each morning. She’d said, “A call came from Kinezuka Enterprises yesterday. I thought I’d search one more time.” But was that true?

An unpleasant chill suddenly ran up my spine.

I listened carefully.

I could faintly hear the Gionbayashi.

　　　　　　　◯

When I got off the Eizan train at Kurama Station, it was completely deserted. The sky was beginning to darken, and lights fluorescent lights lit up the platform. I was enveloped in cold air coming down from the mountain.

Why had my father come to Kurama?

I stood on the platform, thinking. Maybe he gone north in an attempt to get away from the phantom Gionbayashi. Maybe there was no reason it had to be Kurama; he had simply been running away from the vision of Yoiyama that followed him everywhere. In other words, had he, like me, also been living in an endless loop of Yoiyama? Perhaps he had died before finding a way out.

The reason we were trapped in this was because of the object he had left behind.

Whatever the reason, I decided to first take a look around the area. As I headed toward the exit, I saw something red flashing out of the corner of my eye. Turning, I saw a girl in a red yukata sitting at the end of the opposite platform, swinging her feet back and forth. I felt like I could hear the Gionbayashi again. A balloon floated away in front of me.

“You must be Yanagi,” a voice said from behind.

I turned and saw a man come through the station gates.

“I’m Otogawa from Kinezuka Enterprises.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Your father? Of course not.” He waved his hands hurriedly. “I would never do something like that.”

“But my father—”

“From what Kinezuka said, he died of an illness. Not by someone’s hand. But he, like you, was living through repeated Yoiyama.”

“Are you looping too?”

Otogawa smiled. “I’m not a demon. Today is my first time meeting you. But you know who I am. That’s quite strange.”

“You may not be one, but what about your client?”

“I can’t tell you about that. Sorry.” He sighed. “Well, in any case, I’m sure you know—”

“Yeah, I understand perfectly.”

“Meet me in the storage room of the traditional wooden house south of Sanjō Street tomorrow at five in the evening. If you do, you’ll know what I mean. The front door will be open.”

“I can’t guarantee I’ll have a tomorrow…”

“If you don’t, tomorrow will just be another repetition. You know, Yanagi, your father picked it up by chance. He was fixated on something he shouldn’t have. I can only say he got what was coming.”

“In that case…why am I also stuck with it?”

“Do you need a reason? What for?” He smiled. “You’ll forget everything once you return it to its rightful owner.”

　　　　　　　◯

It was cold inside the shed this early in the morning. The faint light that came in through the small window seemed to bleach the color from the odds and ends lying around the room. I sat down on an old suitcase to wait. The door had been left ajar.

A short while later, I heard footsteps approaching. They seemed surprised that the door was open. There was a short silence.

“Shinichirō?”

“I’m inside.”

The door opened and my mother peeked in. “What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“I want you to return the crystal ball.” I made a round shape with my hands. “You were about to hide it.”

She sighed. “How did you know?”

“Just had a feeling.”

“It was really important to your father. He wasn’t willing to give it to Kinezuka, no matter how much they pestered him. So I figured I could at least keep this one thing.”

“This has caused a lot of trouble for me.”

“Why?”

“I can’t really explain, but I’m telling the truth. You have to give it back to them. It wasn’t something that belonged to father to begin with.”

She stared steadily at me. “Your face looks just like your father’s on that day. Also…he was just like you in that he always knew what I was up to.”

“It’s alright. Once you return it it’ll all be okay.”

“I’m scared.”

“I won’t become like him. Where is it?”

“Inside the suitcase you’re sitting on.”

I stood and opened the suitcase.

Inside was a clear ball wrapped in cloth.

　　　　　　　◯

That afternoon I went to the painter’s studio. He showed me to the sitting room without a word. The dim light from the garden illuminated his unshaven face. He poured tea. I looked at the picture frame on the chest of drawers. There was a photo of his daughter.

He took out a black kaleidoscope and said he had gotten it at a street stall in during Yoiyama. He said that through it, he had seen his daughter who had gone missing fifteen years ago, and gotten lost in the endlessly looping world.

“But you know, I don’t mind being stuck in Yoiyama. But why are you lost in here too? What did you do?”

“Do you remember this?”

I untied my furoshiki and took out the crystal ball I had found in the shed. Looking puzzled, he held it up to the light and stared closely at it, then shook his head.

“I don’t remember seeing this.”

“It’s something my father left.”

“What is it?”

I explained the whole series of events regarding Kinezuka Enterprises.

After I was done, he picked up the ball again. “It might be part of a kaleidoscope,” he said, showing me the small crystal ball embedded at the end of his kaleidoscope.

“Are there even ones that big?”

“Probably none that belong to humans.”

I nodded.

“If you succeed, you’ll be able to move on to tomorrow. I won’t be there though.”

“Are you sure?”

Even though he had experienced the same thing as me, I still didn’t quite believe him. I thought that someday he would break the loop and return to the normal world.

“I’m sure. Give Chizuru a proper goodbye for me.”

“She’ll be devastated.”

“Please take care of her.”

Leaving the painter’s house, I headed toward the lively crowds of Yoiyama. If tomorrow really came, I would probably never set foot in Yoiyama again.

I went down to the basement level of the Industrial Exhibition Hall.

I took a seat by the cafe window and sipped my coffee. Across the street floated a red balloon. It was a familiar scene. Before long, she came by. She stopped for a moment to look at the balloon. The small smile that appeared on her lips sent a stab through my chest.

Standing up, I prepared to call out to her.

　　　　　　　◯

I arrived at the house Otogawa specified right on time.

The front door had been left open, and hordes of university students were going in and out. It seemed like they had booked the place for an event. I stopped a girl wearing a straw hat and a toolbelt.

“Is Mr. Otogawa here?” I asked.

“Yeah, he should be in the storage room,” she said, showing me the way.

I opened the door and stepped into darkness so thick it was almost stifling.

“Mr. Yanagi?” Otogawa called brightly from the other end of the room.

“Yes.”

“It’s Otogawa from Kinezuka Enterprises. Sorry, do you mind closing the door?”

“I’ve brought the thing you’ve been asking for…”

“Alright, wait just a moment.”

I heard some rustling and a thin light appeared. The storage was just as empty as the shed at our house. Projected on the walls were strange images made of shards of colors spinning around, colliding, and breaking apart into various shapes. It was mesmerising to look at.

“It’s a kaleidoscope projector. We have a few prototypes,” Otogawa said.

I held out the crystal ball. He took it and squinted at it.

“This certainly is it.”

“It was in the shed.”

“Just as I thought. I’m glad you got it back without any trouble.” He smiled wryly. “Or maybe it wasn’t so simple? I have no idea, since it’s my first time meeting you today.”

“I know.”

“In return…”

I held up my hands. “I don’t want anything in return. Instead, can you explain what it is?”

“My apologies, but we’re not allowed to talk about our clients.”

“Is it a kaleidoscope?”

He looked surprised. “How did you know? Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Well, let’s just call it a day,” he said, showing me to the door.

The house was now empty save for the glare of the lights.

“Oh, are they at rehearsal?” Otogawa muttered to himself.

He held the crystal ball up to the light. “I can tell you one thing. This ball is apparently outside our world. Tonight, we are in the world you see inside the ball.”

I thought I caught a glimpse of a red goldfish zipping across the inside of the ball.

Turning, I saw girls dressed in red yukata spilling out of the empty storeroom, laughing merrily.

　　　　　　　◯

Under the deepening sky, floats glittered as if enchanted. I leaned against a row of vending machines in front of a wall and stared off into space.

How much time passed?

In the direction of Muromachi Street, I heard Chizuru call out to her uncle. I straightened up and waded into the crowd.

Right in front of me towered Koiyama with its dazzling lanterns. Sightseers jostled below it. Chizuru stood in the middle of the throng. In front of her was Mr. Kōno, looking back toward us. As I was about to approach them, a wave of red erupted like flames all around me. Girls in red yukata streamed by on both sides, running toward Koiyama. Chizuru made to grab the fluttering fin-like sleeves of the yukata.

“Please stop my uncle!”

The girls passed the painter. He held his hand out toward the last one, but only grasped empty space.

He turned and made his way toward the light of Koiyama. For just one moment, he looked back and whispered something to Chizuru.

She stumbled as she tired to go after him. I caught her before she fell. She shook me off.

“Calm down, Chizuru,” I said. “You mustn’t go after them.”

She watched her uncle and the girls disappear, breathing heavily. Her face was still very pale, but she wasn’t struggling anymore.

“Steady, that’s it,” I said.

She leaned her head against my chest and was still for a while. Even after her breathing returned to normal, she didn’t open her eyes.

“You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you,” she whispered.

“I believe you,” I said quietly. “I believe you.”

“It’s too strange.”

“I’ve lived it. So I believe you.”