Yoiyama Corridor

Chizuru had never lived alone before.

She grew up in the Katsura neighborhood of Rakusei, the western part of Kyōto, and during college simply commuted from home. Little changed after she graduated and got a job: to get to the head office in Yodoyabashi, she took the Hankyū line to Umeda Station, and after her transfer to the Karasuma branch in Kyōto during the spring, it was a simple matter of waiting for trains and transferring lines at the station.

The bicycle ride to Katsura Station took about fifteen minutes, passing old neighborhoods along the ancient highway, by open canals, through fields and groves. When the rain was too heavy for umbrellas, she would go to the nearest station and take the bus instead. After getting off the train at Shijō Karasuma, she walked to her workplace on Karasuma Street.

Some of her colleagues were jealous that she could commute straight from home. Though it was now her workplace, she had frequented the area around Shijō Karasuma since she was a child, and knew a few faces around this part of town. She had attended Suzaki Ballet Studio in Koromonotana-chō until middle school, and her uncle’s place was just a short distance away in the middle of town.

The sudden appearance of Ms. Suzaki at her counter came as quite a surprise.

Seeing Chizuru in uniform, Ms. Suzaki greeted her courteously.

“Hello, Chizuru,” she said. “I didn’t you know you worked around here; why don’t you ever pop in and say hello?”

Her tone was half-joking, but Chizuru hadn’t forgotten how strict she could be, and felt herself freeze up. She was astonished that Ms. Suzaki still remembered her. Thrown off-kilter, she found it impossible to respond in her normal way as she went through the motions of opening a bank account.

“How unreliable she must think me,” she later reflected, burning with embarrassment.

Her usual affected maturity was quickly stripped away whenever she ran into someone who was familiar with her past.

How difficult it was working in a place that had known you since you were a child, Chizuru thought to herself.

　　　　　　　◯

One Saturday afternoon, Chizuru departed for Shijō Karasuma.

Stepping off the Hankyū train, she ascended from the platform and emerged in an underground corridor, running east to west directly below Shijō Street. The dreary tunnel lined with colorless tiles had remained unchanged for as long as Chizuru could remember. This station was always crowded on weekends, being the junction of the subway’s Karasuma station and the Hankyū line, but today’s crowds were exceptionally large, and among them could be seen quite a few yukata.

Today was Yoiyama.

As she walked west along the tunnel, the noise that reverberated from the ceiling lessened and the traffic became thin. At the end of the corridor she climbed up a short stairway on the left-hand side. The stairway led to the basement level of an industrial exhibition hall, which was populated with an old-fashioned barbershop, a hole-in-the-wall café, and a tiny travel agency. Her father and uncle had often taken her to this café when she was a child. The dingy row of shops felt every bit as morose as it had when she had been small. She was oddly fond of the place, and sometimes made it a point to stop by on her way home from work. By the time Chizuru got off work, though, the café was already closed, and she rarely saw it open for business except on the rare weekend visit.

Chizuru’s attention was drawn to a red balloon floating in front of the entrance to the public toilet that lay between the barbershop and the café. The gaudy splash of color looked out of place in the otherwise bleak hallway, and the sight of it made Chizuru strangely unsettled.

She stepped inside the travel agency that lay past a bend in the hallway.

Chizuru was going on a trip with her coworkers, and somehow it had fallen to her to make all of the arrangements. She didn’t particularly enjoy traveling with others, and making all these preparations was a pain, but now that she had finally settled into her job she didn’t want to refuse lest she seem selfish. The man in the agency was quite amiable, though, and their business proceeded swiftly. By the time Chizuru left the shop, she felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

She hadn’t decided what she would do afterwards. Perhaps she would stop by Yanagi Gallery, or pop into Suzaki Ballet Studio.

She was still pondering what to do as she walked back through the corridor when she heard a voice behind her call out.

“Chizuru?”

She looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Yanagi standing behind her.

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Mr. Yanagi wasn’t yet thirty, yet his genteel demeanor and calm, gentle tone perfectly befit him as the owner of an art gallery on Sanjō Takakura. Chizuru couldn’t help but think that he was the very model of a modern self-made man each time she saw him.

Her uncle had a long association with the Yanagi Gallery. She had met Mr. Yanagi last winter while visiting her uncle’s studio, and since then she had always taken the opportunity to visit the gallery whenever he sent tickets for solo exhibitions in the mail. She had never bought a painting, but Mr. Yanagi always received her warmly.

She had heard that Mr. Yanagi had been working at an art gallery in Tokyo, but had come back to Kyoto to take over the family business when his father had suddenly fallen ill. She wasn’t familiar with any of his work, but was too uncomfortable to ask him to show her, for fear that she wouldn’t be able to give a meaningful opinion and thereby disappoint him.

“Are you busy at the moment?” he inquired.

“Not at all,” she said. “I’m just having a stroll.”

“Then, would you care for a cup of coffee?” asked Mr. Yanagi, motioning to the café.

Warm music and the aroma of coffee enveloped the pair as they entered the café. Regulars wearing everything from windbreakers to suits were seated around a long oval table, perusing magazines and newspapers. An old man wearing a cap silently smoked a cigarette, while a group of four old spinsters chatted happily, filling the café with their laughter.

“I haven’t been to this café in forever,” Chizuru admitted. “My father and uncle used to take me here.”

“Your uncle does seem fond of this café.”

“I don’t think there’s anything particularly special about it. It seems kind of, I don’t know, dated.”

“Well, I would say that is one of its advantages. I would never be able to relax in a café that was too trendy. It would never do for a hideout.”

“A hideout?”

“There are times when one requires a degree of solitude. I live with my mother, you see, and she comes with me to work as well.”

The conversation drifted on without pause. Each visit to the gallery was spent much the same way, in idle gossip about her uncle’s paintings or anecdotes about the eccentricities of Mr. Yanagi’s father, the previous owner of the gallery. Mr. Yanagi was quite masterful at weaving floating threads of conversation together in such a way that the conversation never fell into a lull or moved to a new topic unnaturally: it simply flowed. Visiting the gallery and talking with him always soothed Chizuru.

A small painting by her uncle was hanging on the wall of the café.

“Are you going to pay a visit your uncle after this, Chizuru?” asked Mr. Yanagi.

“I’m not sure. I mean, I was thinking of it, but today might be…”

“Because it’s Yoiyama?”

“...Well, yes.”

“My father told me the gist of it.”

“I still remember it, or pieces of it anyway. It used to be so frightening before, but now that it’s been fifteen years…”

Chizuru tried to recall what her cousin looked like, the one with whom she had visited Matsuno’o-taisha, but all she could remember was a photograph in an album at her parents’ house. The photo was of the two of them all dolled up on the grounds of Matsuno’o-taisha. They bore a strong resemblance to each other. Her father and uncle had taken them to the shrine together to celebrate Shichi-go-san, so there was an identical copy of the picture in her uncle’s house.

“If I may make a personal request, Chizuru...would you go visit your uncle?”

“Huh?” Chizuru said.

At a loss for words, Mr. Yanagi averted his gaze, something that Chizuru had never seen him do before. He must have been worried about something. There had to be something on his mind.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Yanagi?” asked Chizuru. “Has something happened with my uncle?”

A silence fell over them.

Finally, Mr. Yanagi said, “Look, over there.”

Chizuru looked up. Mr. Yanagi was pointing at the window into the corridor. In front of the glass door of the barbershop floated the red balloon.

“That balloon,” Mr. Yanagi muttered.

No sooner had he spoken those words than the balloon popped on the other side of the glass without a sound.

　　　　　　　◯

Earlier in July, at the beginning of the month, Chizuru had been walking back after work.

The sky was covered with dark rainclouds brooding over the canyon of buildings. The constant rain that had fallen all through the afternoon gradually abated, turning into a fine drizzle that, despite being an imperceptible patter on the tops of the umbrellas, still blew in from the sides. The sticky air was so oppressive that a few minutes’ walk on the bright, rain-slicked sidewalks was enough to leave one clammy with sweat, intensifying the steamy haze that lay over the nightbound streets.

Reaching the northwest corner of the Shijō Karasuma intersection, she walked south over the zebra crossing.

She was in front of the exhibition hall, preparing to descend to the subway as usual, when she heard the ringing of a gong intermingling with the high piping of a flute. She stopped in her tracks and looked around. The sound seemed to be coming from the second floor of a building on the other side of Shijō Street. Behind the glass she could see youthful members of the Kankohoko Preservation Society carrying instruments, practicing for the Gionbayashi. She joined the queue of people waiting at the bus stop and watched the group play, listening as the music wafted through the streets and dissolved into the softer pitter patter of the rain, paying no attention to the rivulets of sweat streaming down her temple.

After that day, Chizuru always made sure to pass by the bus stop on her way home from work. It wasn’t that she enjoyed the way that music made her feel all melancholy—on the contrary, she found it quite eerie—but she just couldn’t bring herself to leave it alone every night. No lights on the second floor meant that there was no practice today. Each time Chizuru saw that the windows were dark she felt let down, yet simultaneously relieved at not having to hear that music.

Back in the present, Chizuru walked up with Mr. Yanagi and emerged up on the street, where across from the bus stop Kankoboko towered into the sky, straining to pierce the heavens. With Mr. Yanagi by her side, the music of Gionbayashi no longer seemed weird and unsettling.

The awning of the Gion Festival Information Center was displayed in front of the exhibition hall, as were stacks of pamphlets detailing the locations of the floats as well as the route for tomorrow’s parade. Chizuru took a pamphlet. With the day wearing on, both Shijō Street and Karasuma Street had been closed to automobile traffic, and pedestrians roamed the wide boulevards. Police officers patrolled the crowds, and here and there could be seen people holding one-way only traffic placards.

From the middle of the Shijō Karasuma intersection, all that could be seen was an ocean of people stretching out in every direction. Watching the stream of people walking this way and that was enough to make one’s head spin. Rows of street stalls extended along Karasuma Street to the north and south, seemingly to go on forever.

“I do apologize,” said Mr. Yanagi, “for being so presumptuous with you in regards to the matter of your uncle.”

“No, I appreciate your concern. I’ll be sure to drop in on him,” said Chizuru.

“Many thanks. I’m sure he will be quite pleased,” said Mr. Yanagi, bowing his head earnestly as they stood in the middle of the intersection.

As they began to part ways, Chizuru felt a sudden anxiety come over her, and had a strong urge to stop him from leaving. Overwhelmed by the notion that she was being abandoned in this sea of people, she wanted to have him accompany her to her uncle’s house, but he had already disappeared into the crowd.

“For goodness’ sake,” she chided herself. “Stop being a child!”

The sky was gloriously clear above the buildings. Only a few clouds drifted along beneath the golden rays of the sun. Chizuru was nervous walking along the middle of Karasuma Street, which was normally filled with cars. It felt as though she would be swallowed up into the sky at any moment.

Glancing by as she walked past Takoyakushi Street and Rokkaku Street, Chizuru noted that even these alleys were packed with sightseers. The air rang incessantly with the shouts of children hawking chimaki. Karasuma Street was much wider and easier to navigate than the narrow side streets, so Chizuru took the opportunity to look through the stalls as she continued to stroll down the avenue. Spectators were seated here and there in front of the office buildings. A flock of birds circled overhead, drawn by the mouthwatering aromas coiling up from the food carts. Chizuru bought a mini castella at one of the carts.

Still reluctant to head over to her uncle’s house on Rokkaku Street, she passed by the intersection and circled up to Sanjō Street. Turning at the brick bank building at the corner of Sanjō Street, she came to the front of Suzaki Ballet Studio. The old-fashioned, dark green electric lamps at the sides of the entrance; the tall, narrow windows dotting the facade of the building; everything looked just as it had when she had attended classes here. One of her uncle’s oil paintings hung in the lobby of the old building.

As Chizuru stood there taking a long look at the building, two primary school-aged children, probably sisters, pushed open the door and spilled out onto Sanjō Street. The two girls both had their hair tied up into glossy buns, looking for all the world like two acorns rolling about. They skipped past Chizuru, laughing. It was hard not to smile at the sight of them, scampering along holding hands so tightly it was as if they were tied together by a string.

We were like that too, mused Chizuru, watching the girls run off together.

　　　　　　　◯

The normally deserted side streets were positively swarming with people here to see the floats. Chizuru wended her way through the crowds, heading for her uncle’s house.

The house had originally been the residence of her grandparents, and over many years the fragrance of incense had seeped into its walls. After Chizuru’s grandfather passed away, her grandmother had come to live in Katsura, and for a time the house had stood empty. It had been ten years since her divorced uncle had begun to use it as his studio-cum-residence. Chizuru liked the old wooden house, out of place as it was tucked away between modern shops and apartment buildings, like a relic from another time. Because of its location, the property was often in shadow, but in the back there was a proper garden, filled with flowering dogwood trees that had been planted by Chizuru’s grandfather. The house was right in the heart of downtown Kyoto, and the only way in or out was through a narrow paved stone path that squeezed in between tall commercial buildings. All of this made the house feel like a hidden getaway, which Chizuru had found mysterious and enchanting since she was a little girl.

The road leading to the house was guarded by an iron gate, beside which was mounted a letterbox with the name “Kono Keiichi” on the front. Even at noon, the stone path beyond the gate was only dimly lit, and as Chizuru crept forward the noise from the street behind her quickly diminished. Looking up, she saw only a thin cutout of sky between the tops of the buildings.

Underneath the overhang of the house was a red fire bucket. The wooden lattice door was shut.

Just as she was about to knock, the door was abruptly pulled open, revealing the face of her uncle peering out.

Chizuru sucked in a breath, and let a beat elapse before angrily snapping, “Don’t scare me like that!”

“Er, sorry,” her uncle muttered. “I figured you’d be showing up any minute now.”

Chizuru found it somewhat curious that he knew that she would be coming today, but she was even more concerned about her uncle’s appearance.

“What’s happened to you?” she gaped.

“What do you mean?”

“You look awful! It’s like you’ve become an old man overnight!”

“You sure do like to harp on that, don’t you…”

“No, I’m know this is the first time I’ve mentioned it.”

“Really? Well alright, come on in.”

Her uncle smiled wanly and turned around to go inside. Chizuru followed him into the entrance hall, which gave off a faint odor of decay. She noticed that the back of his neck looked just the way her grandfather’s had just before he died. It had only been a month since her last visit, yet his hair was much whiter than she remembered it, and he seemed to have become worryingly absentminded. Anxiety began to gnaw at her.

The corridor continued on past a staircase leading to the second floor. Her uncle headed into a six-tatami room.

“I’ll make tea,” Chizuru called, walking towards the kitchen further down the hallway.

“I’ve already made it,” grunted her uncle, settling down on a tatami mat.

Stopping to look in the room, Chizuru saw that there was indeed a tray holding a teapot and teacups, along with a burbling electric water boiler.

“Are you psychic?” she gasped.

“Come on here and sit down. Let’s have us some of that mini castella,” said her uncle.

“Could you smell it?” she asked, shaking the bag.

“Something like that,” mumbled her uncle.

The living room was quite cool, even without air conditioning. The paper sliding door was thrown wide open, opening out onto a narrow veranda, beyond which they could see the garden. The two of them contemplated the view as they sipped tea and ate the castella.

“You met Yanagi earlier, didn’t you?”

“Did he call you?”

“He’s a fine man,” her uncle said, ignoring her question. “His father was a fine man too, but the son is something all of his own. I owe him a great deal.”

“I visit his gallery from time to time. He sends me invitations in the mail.”

“How kind of him.”

Chizuru pointed at the small, black tube that her uncle was holding. “Is that a kaleidoscope?”

Yes, I bought it at a stall around the way.”

“It’s beautiful. Can I see?”

Her uncle shook his head, squeezing his fingers around the kaleidoscope. “Nope.”

“Don’t be such a scrooge!”

“You just break things too easily, Chi.”

　　　　　　　◯

Talking with her uncle was always tiring.

He’d known her since she was a baby, knew all her faults and flaws. Now that he was getting on in years, he often looked to the past to find things they could both talk about over tea. Occasionally this involved dredging up Chizuru’s past misdeeds, many of which she could hardly remember.

Her uncle still called her “Chi”, like she was still a child. Chizuru was in her twenties, but sometimes her uncle still seemed to see her as a seven-year-old girl. Every time Chizuru thought about this, she imagined her cousin tightly holding onto her sleeve, still looking just as she did in that photograph.

There had been a time when they hardly ever talked about her cousin. Back then, it had been very difficult to hold conversations. All of the experiences the Chizuru shared with her uncle involved her cousin in some fashion, so avoiding the topic made it almost impossible to say a word to one another. Even after that taboo was lifted, they stuck to memories of happier days gone by, always dancing around the elephant in the room. They could talk about anything, as long as it wasn’t Yoiyama.

“How’s work?” asked Chizuru.

“I’ve painted enough, to tell you the truth,” chuckled her uncle. “More than enough for a lifetime.”

“Oh, don’t be such a downer. It’s not like you’re over the hill yet.”

“I am practically a dinosaur, I’m afraid.”

“My mom would burst out in tears if she heard you say that.”

“Well, if I’m a dinosaur, that makes my sister a fossil, eh? Can’t blame her for crying.”

“That’s not the point…”

Her uncle’s mouth bulged as he worked on a mouthful of castella. He slowly turned his head, looking out towards the garden. He looks so old when he does that, Chizuru thought somberly to herself.

Hardly any light made it to the garden, even during the day, and now that evening was falling the garden was steeped in shadow. The streets that fenced in the house were filled with the tumult of Yoiyama, yet neither the noise nor the lights of the lanterns could find their way into the room. Chizuru breathed in the scent of the mosquito coils on the veranda as she strained her ears. It felt as if all the commotion she had passed through to get her had been only a dream.

“It feels so unreal…”

“What does?”

“Today’s Yoiyama, but It’s so quiet here, you know?”

“Well, it’s always quiet here,” her uncle said absentmindedly.

“Is everything okay, uncle?” Chizuru ventured to ask.

“Is what okay?”

“You don’t look so good. Mr. Yanagi was worried about you too.”

Her uncle leveled his gaze at her. “You’d never believe me anyhow,” he muttered.

“Believe what?”

“But I guess I’ll tell you anyway.”

“Please do.”

“Yanagi, he’s a good fellow. He told me to tell you.”

“Tell me what? Please, you’re scaring me!”

“I’m not trying to scare you. It’s a very simple matter,” was her uncle’s cryptic response. “After today, we won’t ever see each other again.”

The calmness with which he said this only frightened Chizuru even more. She was the one pressing him for answers, yet at the same time she wanted to cover his mouth to stop him from saying any more.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, trying and failing to hide her discomfort with a laugh.

In response, her uncle handed her the kaleidoscope. It was an unusual lacquered piece, not at all like the ones she had played with as a child. Several exquisite goldfish were painted upon it, looking as if they were floating on the water’s surface.

　　　　　　　◯

The kaleidoscope—or mangekyō—a tube containing several mirrors and filled with a patchwork of colored paper and glass that, when held to the eye and rotated, produces revolving patterns that come to life and fade just as quickly. In the Meiji era, they were also called hyakuiro-megane and nishiki-megane.

Chizuru’s uncle had begun to show an interest in them last winter, about six months ago.

Mr. Yanagi always brought a gift whenever he came to her uncle’s studio to see how his latest work was progressing. Sometimes he would bring food, worrying about her uncle’s health; sometimes he would bring in curios that he had picked up in thrift shops as conversation starters; and on occasion he would bring a piece from the young artists who were exhibiting at his gallery.

“He’s like a walking antique store!” her uncle would chortle.

One day, after shooting the breeze for a while, Mr. Yanagi produced a kaleidoscope.

“Now that’s something I haven’t seen in a long time,” her uncle remarked.

“I found it the other day when I was going through some of the things my father left. It struck me as quite an interesting find at the time,” said Mr. Yanagi.

“Lemme take a look.”

Kaleidoscopes were truly fascinating playthings, if you thought about it. A close observer would notice that the swirling patterns would never repeat themselves, like rippling waves on the surface of a pond.

Her uncle peered into it, transfixed. “Fascinating thing, this is. I never thought much of them when I was a kid.”

“If it interests you, you may have it.”

“You sure?”

“I was already wondering how best to dispose of it.”

“Don’t mind if I do, then.”

Chizuru walked in on the pair huddling on the veranda, trying to catch scant rays of sunlight as they peered at the kaleidoscope.

Looking at the two men hunched over facing away from her, she asked, “What’s going on?”

“Ah, Chi,” exclaimed her uncle, turning towards her.

Mr. Yanagi carefully placed the kaleidoscope down and shuffled his kneeling posture around to face her, bowing his head politely.

Chizuru couldn’t help but smile seeing them abruptly adopt such serious demeanors, when they had been so eagerly examining the kaleidoscope only a moment ago.

“This is Mr. Yanagi, from the art gallery,” her uncle said, with a staid expression. “May I introduce my niece, Chizuru.”

“I’m Chizuru. Thank you for taking care of my uncle.”

“Yanagi. The pleasure is all mine.”

From that winter on, her uncle began to read up on kaleidoscopes, even incorporating them into his paintings. He took a special interest in teleidoscopes, which consisted of a tube with a glass marble inserted at the opposite end from the peephole, like an old spyglass, and whose revolving patterns were refracted images of whatever was on the other side of the marble.

As July rolled around, her uncle plunged headlong into preparations for a kaleidoscope exhibition that would be held at Yanagi Gallery in the fall. Once he got focused he would hole up in his house for days at a time. After working feverishly for a few days, he came out to find the streets filled with merrymaking. Turning the corner at Muromachi Street, he was met with the sight of the Koiyama float looming over him. The array of lanterns set the passersby faces ablaze.

It was the night of Yoiyama.

As he walked along, his mind went back to the events of Yoiyama fifteen years previously. He still felt the same sadness there in his chest, but these days he no longer let it show on the outside. You keep coughing hard enough, he would occasionally say, eventually you won’t have the strength to cough anymore, but that doesn’t mean the sickness is gone. The people passing him on the street probably thought him just another yukata-wearing sightseer.

He passed several floats, each blazing with light, and finally stopped to rest at a corner in front of a tobacco shop, taking advantage of the presence of an ashtray to smoke a cigarette. A narrow alleyway trailed west from the shop, exuding the kind of solitary atmosphere that made one long for company. It seemed to be one of the few places where the tumult of Yoiyama did not reach.

Hardly a soul was to be found wandering this street, but even here there was a lone stall, drawing him in with an assortment of curios. Perhaps it was only the odd lighting of the bare lightbulb that illuminated them, but there was something bewitching about the wares on display. A cantankerous-looking old man sat in the midst of the display, pouring water into a teapot.

Her uncle looked over the stall. Displayed on top of the tired wooden stand was an array of kaleidoscopes of all colors and sizes. He picked one up and put it to his eye, watching the stand and its assorted kaleidoscopes burst and multiply into glowing shards as he rotated the tube, each tinged with the orange glow of the lightbulb.

It wasn’t cheap, especially considering it was being sold at a roadside stall, but he bought it on the spot, not even bothering to haggle the price down. Walking back towards the festivities, he stopped here and there to take a peek through the kaleidoscope. With the streets filled with tourists and drunkards, he didn’t feel particularly embarrassed about letting himself being a kid for a little bit.

Her uncle marveled as he watched the lights of festival floats, streets stalls, and streetlamps blur and shift through the kaleidoscope. The flushed faces of passersby dissolved into countless iotas and disappeared. He saw young couples holding hands, police officers directing traffic, middle-aged men wearing yukata like he was. He saw children trailing along with their parents. He saw little girls wearing red yukata darting in and out through the crowds like goldfish flashing in the dark waters of the canals. And in the midst of all these things, he saw the white porcelain face of a girl appear in the images shifting and unshifting through the lens.

As he rotated the tube, the face multiplied, each with the same beguiling smile on its lips. Her uncle’s heart skipped a beat, and he snapped his face away from the kaleidoscope. He reached out to grab the red wisp that flitted by in the corner of his eye, but his fingers grasped only air.

There was no doubt in his mind. It was his daughter Kyōko.

By the time he turned around, she had already disappeared into the crowd.

　　　　　　　◯

“I couldn’t catch up to her,” he said.

He had searched for her into the night until he was utterly exhausted, returning home and collapsing into his futon, still clutching the kaleidoscope. Day had broken by the time his eyes fluttered open again, but feeling as if he had just woken from a long nightmare, he was enervated of even the strength to even get out of bed. He spent the day studying the kaleidoscope he held onto. Fifteen years had passed: there was no way his daughter could have appeared before him, not having aged a day. The pain he felt at having hallucinated such an illusion was unbearable, and he resolved to hole up until the last traces of Yoiyama had faded away.

He passed another night like this, and when he finally shuffled on the stone path out into town, it was to be met with the raucous din of Yoiyama.

“I spent every day after that in Yoiyama,” he said. “I would wake up in the morning, the day of Yoiyama. I would wait until nightfall, I’d go into town, look through the kaleidoscope, find Kyōko, reach out to her, watch her run away, again and again, I don’t know how many times…”

“Hold on, Uncle. Just calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me!”

“But I do. That girl was in Yoiyama the entire time. And so, I will always be in Yoiyama.”

The garden grew steadily darker. If only there was something to break the tension, thought Chizuru, but she was unnerved that she could hear the sounds of the Gionbayashi all the way over here.

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve been living the same day over and over again?”

“That’s why I look so old, see, all these white hairs.”

“I don’t believe it…”

“That’s why I wanted to tell you, properly, because I’m never going to leave this day. Tomorrow will come for you, but it won’t come for me. I’m staying here, with that girl. I think it’s for the best.”

“You’re just imagining things, Uncle.”

I need to call mom, Chizuru thought.

“You’re thinking about calling your mother, aren’t you?” inquired her Uncle. “That’s what you did last time. She’s going to ask you when you’re coming home.”

“She always asks that.”

“She’s making gyoza. Go ahead, call her.”

Chizuru dug her phone out of her bag.

Her uncle turned to watch the darkness gather in the garden. “I’ve found her, Chi,” he murmured. “I’ve found Kyōko. It’s alright now. You don’t have to feel guilty anymore.”

“Stop that!” she said sharply, standing up.

“You’ll understand too, when tomorrow comes,” he finished.

Chizuru left him sitting on the tatami and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, where she hastily called her mother.

“Chizuru? What time are you coming home?” came her mother’s voice over the phone mildly. It was exactly as her Uncle had predicted.

“Mom? You’ve got to come, quick!”

“What? What’s going on? I’m making gyoza right now.”

“Uncle’s acting really strangely.”

Her mother’s voice changed. “Is he ill?”

“No, not really, but he’s saying very strange things.”

Chizuru’s mother quickly grasped how serious Chizuru was.

“I’ll be right over,” she said. “Are you okay by yourself? Call Mr. Yanagi, I’m sure he’ll come straight away.”

Chizuru hung up and immediately dialed Yanagi Gallery, but no one answered. Listening to the hollow, tinny ringing, her mind drifted back to the events of Yoiyama fifteen years ago.

Her cousin had vanished that day. Considering how crowded the streets were on Yoiyama, lost children were hardly a rare occurrence. But that night no one would have thought that she would still be missing by daybreak, or the next day, or the next year, or fifteen years hence. For years afterward, the girl’s parents, and her grandparents, and the rest of her family all searched for her: filing missing child reports; pleading for witnesses to come forward; looking for clues anywhere they could. But their efforts were all in vain.

Chizuru could no longer recall what her cousin had been like. The only image that remained in her mind was the smiling girl from the photograph.

It had been such a long night.

Her uncle and aunt stayed out for a long time searching for her cousin.

Images whirled through Chizuru’s head: the pale, silent expression on her aunt’s face; her uncle stating merely, “I’m going for another look,” and turning around at the door to head straight back into the crowds of Yoiyama; her father pacing back and forth in the hallway on the phone; her mother’s worried expression when she came to collect her; the commotion of the festival that surrounded her as her mother led her by the hand out of the shadowy footpath; the lights of Yoiyama that hid her cousin away.

She stood in the hallway holding her phone, paralyzed for the moment.

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Twilight had fallen over the tatami room by the time she returned to find her uncle gone.

Her grasp tightening on her phone, she walked back into the hallway.

“Uncle!” she called, but there was no response. She listened hard, thinking that he might be on the second floor, but not a sound stirred inside the house.

Going to the vestibule, she realized that his shoes were missing. She hurriedly put her own shoes on and slid open the lattice door, but no sooner had she dashed out onto the stone path than they came flying off. She clicked her tongue impatiently and put them back on, glancing up at the inky sky. Save for the small round light glowing beneath the overhang of the roof, the house was dark. Chizuru hurried up the path.

As she opened the iron gate and stepped out onto the street, a wave of light and sound crashed over her. It was almost suffocating. She took a deep breath and began to walk, looking for her uncle.

The air in the narrow street was stifling, and Chizuru’s skin prickled with sweat as she squeezed between people and stalls alike. Her senses were bombarded with the sweltering closeness of the crowds, the blazing lights of the parade floats, the smell of food from the stalls mingling in the air. The feeling of being hounded fueled her ire, and more than a few people grumbled at her as she pushed her way through the crowd. Still there was no trace of her uncle.

Uncle’s gone mad, Chizuru thought to herself. Losing her cousin had been extremely difficult for her, but she couldn’t even begin to imagine what the loss of his daughter had been like for her uncle.

She thought about what he had said previously: You keep coughing, eventually you won’t even have the strength to cough anymore.

“Uncle! Uncle!” she called, coming to a halt. Passersby looked strangely at her, giving her a wide berth as they walked by. Now that she had stopped to catch her breath, she realized that she was in the middle of Yoiyama, and a sudden fear took hold of her. Even just standing there was unbearable. Everything around her seemed unreal, phantasmagoric, and her vision began to swim.

“I’m going to pass out…” she moaned, putting her hand to her forehead and stumbling to the side of the road.

In the distance, she heard someone call out.

“Chi,” said the voice.

She looked up and saw her uncle standing on the other side of the road. Seeing him squinting blearily at her, she wasn’t sure whether she felt pity or anger.

“Uncle!” she exclaimed sharply. “I was so worried!”

“Nothing to worry about, nothing…”

“Let’s go back. My mother will be there soon. I’ll fix dinner for you.”

Her uncle didn’t reply, instead staring fixedly into the crowd.

“She’s here,” he said.

In the corner of her eye Chizuru caught a glimpse of something red flitting by. It was a group of little girls all wearing yukata, their sleeves fluttering like flashing goldfish fins. The narrow alleyway was packed tight with people, yet somehow the girls darted along as easily as if they were floating along a stream. As the last one ran past, Chizuru reached out and grabbed onto her scarlet sleeve. “Kyo!” she blurted out.

The girl turned to look at her and giggled, “Chi! Aren’t you coming?”

“...I’m not going,” Chizuru replied, just as she had on that fateful Yoiyama night.

The memory of that night came crashing down on her.

They had been holding hands, she and her cousin, and walking along. It was just the two of them, having earlier been separated from her father and uncle.

They were standing beneath the eaves of a building, wondering what to do, when a group of girls their age called out to them. Unlike Chizuru, her cousin was fearless and willing to open up even to complete strangers. She soon hit it off with the girls and agreed to go with them to take a look at something. “You should come too, Chi!” she smiled.

Chizuru didn’t understand why her cousin was willing to traipse off with a bunch of girls neither of them knew. She wanted to go and find her father and uncle. Her cousin, though, loftily declared, “I know how to go home by myself! You can just wait here.”

Chizuru’s temper flared at how egotistical her cousin was being. Fine, be that way, she thought. See how father and uncle scold you for worrying them so.

“I’m not going,” she said, coldly.

Her cousin pouted. “Then I’ll go!”

She ran off with the girls and disappeared into the crowd, her movements so light it was as if she was dancing.

Now, her cousin stood in front of her, just as she had done on that day, and petulantly said, “Then I’ll go.”

As she turned away, Chizuru cried out, “No! Wait!”

Chizuru’s uncle stood in her cousin’s path. Behind him blazed the lanterns of Koiyama, filling up the entire street with light.

“Help, Uncle! Grab her!” pleaded Chizuru.

Her uncle reached his right hand out towards the running girl. But instead of stopping her, he merely brushed his hand lightly over her yukata. The girl continued on, taking no heed of him.

Beneath the glowing lights of the float, she stopped and turned toward him. Her long hair shimmered around her shoulders, just as it had that day. They gazed at each other for a moment, before she turned and skipped onward.

He watched her go, then turned and looked back at Chizuru. There was no sadness in his face. He gave a little wave, then followed his daughter into the lights of Yoiyama.

Chizuru stumbled after him, but her legs gave out beneath her, and only by the intervention of a man who rushed to catch her did she avoid crumbling to the floor. Even so, she tried to shake him off and run onward. Her uncle had already disappeared with the girls into the shifting crowds. As she fought to free herself and pursue them, she realized that it was her tears that were blurring the lights of the lanterns.

“Calm down, Chizuru,” the man said in her ear. “You mustn’t chase after them.”

Mr. Yanagi held her as she stared into the recesses of Yoiyama, where her uncle and cousin had disappeared. Each breath was heavy and agonizing. She felt again as if she might faint.

“Steady, that’s it,” said Mr. Yanagi, observing her pale face as she gasped for breath. Chizuru closed her eyes and banished the luminescence of Yoiyama, focusing on Mr. Yanagi’s voice to clear her mind.

Even after she was calm enough to breathe normally again, Chizuru couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. Around her swirled the feverish air and noise of the uncounted multitudes in the depths of Yoiyama.

Still holding onto Mr. Yanagi, Chizuru finally mustered the strength to gasp, “You’re not going to believe what I’m about to tell you.”

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