Afterword

In my college days, one of my dreams was to take a lover with me to Yoiyama. I used to be under the impression that going to Yoiyama with my lover would make my student life complete.

Of course, that notion turned out to be nothing less than delusional.

When I finally did take a girl to Yoiyama, I realized that the experience was really not so great after all. It was hot, and the crowds were massive, and it was tiring: in short, the perfect storm of conditions to snuff out the budding relationship of a young couple.

That is why you should never take someone who is dear to you to Yoiyama.

What would you do if that person were to disappear into the festival crowds and never come back?

As a child, I did not handle festivals well. I hated crowds, and the heat and hubbub of the festival was enough to petrify my timid heart. I was also afraid of getting lost in the crowds. I am still a scaredy cat, but as a child I saw fear lurking in every corner, and at night I would lie awake, wondering to myself, “How is a scaredy cat like me ever going to turn into a grownup?”

On the other hand, I was fascinated by the feeling that I was entering a mysterious, unknown world whenever I went to a festival. Rather than going deliberately as a spectator, I loved to wander into them by chance in the midst of my daily routine. Festivals happen here and there all over Kyōto. Going to Kitashirakawa-tenjin or Yoshida Shrine or Shimogamo Shrine and running into an unexpected festival was always a treat. The Gion Festival’s Yoiyama was the biggest of these festivals.

Festivals can be both fun and scary, but the root of these two aspects is the same.

At the time that I was writing this novel, I lived in Kyōto by the intersection of Shijō and Karasuma.

My residence was one street south of Shijō Street, in an elevator-less apartment building on Ayanokōji Street. It was so quiet it was hard to believe that it was so close to Shijō Street, and my commute was very convenient, which made living there quite comfortable.

On Yoiyama, the neighborhood around my flat transformed into that of another world.

The Shijō Karasuma intersection is essentially the heart of Yoiyama. Each time after getting off the train from work, I would be swallowed up into the crowd, making the return to my flat rather difficult. I would walk around the throngs and buy a dinner of yakitori and beer from the street stalls. After pushing my way through the crowds, I would go home and fall asleep, the clamor of Yoiyama still ringing in my ears. My experiences of that time are reflected in this book.

Following the completion of this novel, I have gone to Yoiyama on many occasions.

But I have never been to the parade that takes place on the day after it.

Perhaps I will end my days never having seen that parade. Whenever that thought comes across my mind, I begin to feel that just maybe, I am reliving the night of Yoiyama over and over, in a loop that never ends.