Mother - Chapter 6.2

The villagers peg us as outsiders the moment we arrive. As we navigate the network of bridges and piers, they abandon their routines to regard us with furrowed brows, or hastily point us out to other villagers, as if our presence is a bad omen.

Conrad attempts to introduce himself to a spindly man tugging a cartful of cabbages. The villager quickens his pace, speeding around a corner with his cart in tow.

“He’s just busy,” I say to Conrad as he returns with a deflated expression.

I’m at a loss for where to start. If the villagers are uncomfortable in our proximity, how do I get information out of them? I didn’t expect to go door-to-door and hand out questionnaires, but if we can’t even say hello without them recoiling, then that doesn’t leave me with much wiggle room.

We find a market square in the centre of the village. Most of the piers and walkways lead there, like the spokes of a wagon wheel. The merchants behind the stalls are slightly less apprehensive of us, shouting offers and bargains as we pass. Guess they still have to make money.

I decide to start ticking off the items on Father’s list. Maybe we’ll find a merchant who will be more forthcoming once I flash some cash. As I dig the bag of coins out of my pocket, Conrad strolls over to an elderly fisherman, who’s hanging mackerel on a wooden rack to dry.

“Hello, I’m Conrad! We want to find the lonely animal that comes out at night!”

“Conrad!” I hiss, rushing over to pull him away. Or launch him off the pier.

The fisherman laughs, leaning down to speak with him. “Is that right?”

I reach out to grab Conrad’s arm, but pause. His actions are certainly reckless, but to his credit, he’s got someone talking. Perhaps I’ve been overthinking the situation. I don’t need to stay under the radar as much as I do in Shinpi; the villagers don’t seem to have a close enough relationship with the farmers to report suspicious behaviour to them.

“We’re not scared,” Conrad says, hands on hips.

“Then you must be new around here,” the fisherman chuckles, righting himself to meet my gaze instead.

“We moved to Shinpi Farm,” I confirm, following Conrad’s careless lead. “Just want to learn more about the kind of place we’re settling into.”

“Then I might suggest you learn a trade instead of chasing ghost stories.”

“You don’t believe?”

I can see the novelty of the conversation is wearing thin. He resumes stacking fish onto the rack. “Listen, kids. This might be an unpopular opinion around here, but I’ve personally lived in Hato near on seventy years and I’ve never seen anything to get excited about.”

The thought crosses my mind that I could lift my sleeve and frighten the life out of him. But I’m not ready to be that reckless.

“Others have,” I say. “We just want to hear their side.”

“I know exactly where you can start,” he says, rolling his eyes. Is he referring to the witness? If he isn’t a believer, then it makes sense he doesn’t think highly of her story after thirty years of hearing it.

“Will you point us in the right direction?”

A sly smirk lifts the corner of his mouth. “Sure. If you do something for me first.”

He sweeps his hand along the rows of mackerel. “Take a few of these beauties off my hands.”

The fish look as old as the man selling them. Shrivelled. Colourless, like they’ve been cut out of a black-and-white photo.

“Were they ever alive?” I ask, scrunching my nose.

“Suit yourself.” He turns away to holler a deal to a passing couple.

Conrad gently taps my arm, eyes wide, pleading. “We’re going to find the lonely animal, aren’t we?”

I check the bag of coins. If we waste money on fish, we won’t be able to get all of the items on Father’s list. I’d have to make up a story to account for the loss. Worse, I’d have to resort to the desperate act of paying for information. Allow myself to be manipulated. Something about that makes me feel vulnerable, weak.

I return the coins to my pocket. Conrad pouts and hangs his head.

#

A barrage of rain comes from nowhere, hammering the market, kicking up an earthy scent of damp wood. We wander around in the torrent, clothes sticking to our skin, scouting for supplies before the merchants cover up their stalls.

I’m haggling a stubborn merchant for a new andon lamp when Conrad chirps with excitement.

“Look, it’s Miiko!”

My head snaps in the direction he’s pointing. Sure enough, Miiko is hobbling along a pier, away from the market. I squint, trying to make her out through the downpour. Something seems off about her. She isn’t quite as hunched over. And her hair isn’t entirely snow-white.

“I don’t think that’s Miiko,” I say, uncertain, watching the woman with narrow eyes. “Could easily pass for her sister, though.”

I begin to turn away when something clicks in my head. Father said the incident caused a rift within Shinpi Farm, driving families apart. Some commit to their beliefs of the supernatural, while others were unable to abandon logic and reason. Did Miiko find herself in a similar situation? I recall how bitter she sounded when she spoke of the witness—like she’s carried a deep resentment for thirty years.

Could the witness be her very own sister?

I hastily thrust the rest of our coins into the merchant’s palm and snatch the andon lamp.

“Let’s meet her,” I say, to Conrad’s delight.

We amble in pursuit of the woman, careful not to slip on the sodden walkways, but also desperate not to lose sight of her. Once we catch up, I try to keep an inconspicuous distance, stopping Conrad from getting too close and startling her.

On the edge of the village, the woman ascends a set of stairs and rushes into her home to escape the aggressive weather.

Hesitation dawns on me. Perhaps I should come back at another time, without Conrad. I know where she lives now, after all.

But what if I don’t get another chance? We’ve already taken much longer than Father will expect. He may insist on coming next time.

I climb the stairs and thump on the door, loud enough to be heard over the rain beating down around us.

“Oh!” says a startled voice from inside. She recovers quickly. “Please come in.”

Before we enter, I want to tell Conrad to dial down his excitement, or even better, not say anything at all. But that would be like asking a fish not to live in water.

Conrad opens the door and bolts inside.

There’s a tiny entrance area, just wide enough to remove our footwear and leave our dripping supplies. The woman is standing in the next section of her home, which is floored with tatami mats. Now we’re so close, vision unobscured by the rain, there’s no mistaking the striking resemblance she has to Miiko. Her face is softer, though, like she hasn’t spent as much time scowling.

She’s surprised by our sudden presence, but not troubled by it. She welcomes us with a bow.

“Welcome. Please come in and sit with me by the fire.”

We step onto the tatami mats and follow her to a fire pit, where a twist of flames dance beneath a hanging pot of water.

“Please excuse me; I’m not prepared for guests,” she says, fetching two cushions from a stack in the corner.

“Your home is beautiful,” Conrad says.

Perhaps he will be useful after all; I’d never have thought to say that.

“Thank you,” she says, lifting the pot of water off the hook. Conrad has already found a tray of porcelain cups. He brings them over and helps her pour tea.

“May I ask who I have the pleasure of serving?”

“I’m Conrad. This is my big brother, Henrik.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Sayuri.”

“We live on the farm!” Conrad says, beaming at her.

The effect is immediate. Her hand falters and she spills tea onto the tray.

“It’s okay,” I assure her. “We know.”

“You cannot know,” she says, shaking her head. For a moment, the same bitterness I saw in Miiko’s eyes flashes in hers. “The farmers of Shinpi do not speak of what happened. Even my own sister denies my story.”

“We won’t,” I say. “We’re here to listen.”

Her gaze falls to the blaze crackling in the hearth.

“There’s a reason you’re still telling the villagers your story,” I say. “You wouldn’t face the ridicule unless you believe you’re helping people.”

“Yes. For a while they did ridicule me. But now many have seen it for themselves.”

“The lonely animal?” Conrad asks, voice light.

Sayuri looks up, jaw tight with determination. “It’s not an animal. What lurks in the forest does not belong in this world.”

The blue eyes open again in my mind. Watching.

“Is that what took the children?” I ask.

Sayuri flinches.

“I’m sorry.” I say.

“No. You should hear this. You need to stay safe.” She finishes pouring the tea and passes us both a cup. I wrap both hands around mine, letting the warmth melt the chill from my fingers. She takes a moment to arrange her thoughts—I hope she isn’t softening her story for Conrad’s benefit.

“I believe it’s a spirit,” she says, pausing to gauge our reaction. Conrad is happy as a clam. I simply blink back at her. The symbols on my arm have desensitised me to these topics.

“It mostly appears to children,” Sayuri continues. “Because it wants to lure them into the forest.”

“Maybe it just wants to be friends,” Conrad suggests. Sayuri smiles, the expression of a mother touched by the innocence of a child.

“That’s sweet of you to say” she says. “I wish I could believe that to be true.”

“What did you see that night?” I say, urging her on, mentally begging Conrad to keep quiet.

“I will share my story. Not to scare you, but warn you.”

Sayuri pauses for another moment, and the only sounds are of wood crackling in the hearth and rain pattering on the roof.

“It happened thirty years ago, in the middle of the night,” she begins. “My husband never slept much, and because of that, we were the only farmers to witness what happened to the children.

“He had a habit of checking on our daughter throughout the night. Tami always slept peacefully until morning, but still he would check on her all the same. One night, things were different. Tami was not in her bed. My husband woke me, and together we searched our home, but we did not find her.

“When we rushed outside, onto the farm, we saw it immediately; there was a blue glow in the forest, moving between the trees, further and further out of sight.”

I pinch my arm to my side, instinctively hiding the symbols.

“We ran as fast as we could, following the light. We were barefoot, and the terrain tore into our feet, but we were determined to find our daughter. Eventually we did catch up, but not just to Tami. All of the children were walking together in silence, deeper into the forest.”

“Couldn’t you stop them?” I ask.

“We tried. But they continued to walk as if they couldn’t hear us. When we tried to pull them back, our hands passed through their bodies like they didn’t exist, and we fell to the ground.”

“Did you see the spirit?” Conrad says.

“No. Not yet.”

“But the blue light?” I ask.

“It came from the children. They each had a message written on their skin, in a language unlike anything we had seen before. The ink glowed.”

“Like magic,” Conrad says, repeating Father’s words.

Sayuri nods. “There was nothing we could do. Still, we followed the children, pleading for them to stop. But when they finally did, it wasn’t because of us.

“The spirit was waiting for them, at the place it enters our world.”

Sayuri’s voice sounds so empty, so feeble. It’s clear she doesn’t feel sad anymore, just nothingness, an empty shell living to share her story for the good of others.

“What did the spirit look like?” Conrad asks. His childish excitement causes an anger to boil inside me. Does he really believe the spirit means well after what Sayuri has told us?

“In many ways, it was beautiful,” she says. “Maybe that’s why the children followed it.”

Sayuri has bravely shared much about what happened, and for that I am grateful. However we’re not quite done just yet. The only missing piece of the puzzle is the location the children disappeared. I feel in my gut that this is where I will find the answers I’m looking for.

I start to urge her to finish her story, when Conrad’s cheerful voice cuts across me.

“We’re going to find the spirit, Sayuri! Maybe we’ll find Tami, too!”

Sayuri flinches, eyes flying open with horror. I try to arrange my expression, but it’s too late—she sees me shoot Conrad a look of fiery rage, confirming the truth to his words.

“No! You must stay out of the forest!”

“Wait outside, Conrad,” I snap, words sharp enough to hurt. “We’re leaving.”

Conrad does as he’s told, pouting, confused, unable to understand what he’s done. Once the door closes behind him, I attempt damage control, though by the look of agonising guilt on Sayuri’s face, the destruction Conrad inflicted is irreparable.

“I wouldn’t have told you my story if I’d known your intentions,” she says. “I will visit Shinpi tomorrow. My husband will put an end to this.”

“He still lives on the farm?” I ask, stalling for time, even though there’s nothing I can say now that will make her finish her story.

“We couldn’t stay together. Not after what happened. Protecting his family was all that ever mattered to him, and so the moment Tami was taken, he was no longer the same man. He blamed himself terribly. From that night on, he never spoke another word.”

“Mr Tanaka,” I say, before I can stop myself.

“He won’t allow you to carry through with this.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Sayuri,” I say, rising to my feet. “Thank you for sharing your story.”

Outside, I find Conrad standing at the edge of the pier, staring into the horizon, the salty wind whipping his blond hair into a frenzy.

I pass him our new lamp and some of our supplies, but don’t say a word the entire journey home.

Because of him, things are set in motion. Tomorrow, Sayuri Tanaka will visit Shinpi Farm, and when she does, her husband will know what I know, and that I’m trying to find the place their daughter disappeared.

That means I have one night to learn the location from him, or things are over before they’ve even begun.