IN THE EAST CHINA Sea, typhoon number four fisted and swirled, bearing down with menace on the Ryukyu Islands and gaining speed over open water. Still estimated to be a day away, wind and dense clouds preceded the storm like emissaries, darkening the sky above Shibushi, on the opposite side of Sakurajima, in the easternmost reaches of the prefecture. For two days Caitlin had followed the progress of the storm, leaning in close to her television set whenever satellite images revealed the tight knot of clouds creeping up the bottom of her screen. One moment she was relieved, the next sickly panicked, that after all these years to summon the nerve, her return to Kyoto might be postponed because of a summer typhoon. Ash had dashed against the car as Carl drove them white-knuckled toward Shibushi Bay, now whipped and frothing in the wind. Just offshore, the tiny island of Birojima had almost completely disappeared in cloud.
But late Friday afternoon, on schedule to the minute, the captain of the Sunflower passenger ferry blasted the whistles and began to pull away from the Shibushi piers, anxious, Caitlin guessed, to slip around Cape Toi and head northeast well before the storm began its first lashings of Kyushu. She and Naomi jostled through the passengers leaning into gusts on the upper decks, and at the rails they joined in near-futile attempts to toss rolls of crepe paper through the wind to waving crowds on the pier below. Their first, second, third, and fourth rolls fell short and dropped into the churning waters by the ferry’s hull. But when Caitlin heaved the fifth, a man lunged and caught it, and they motioned wildly for him to hand it down the crowd. He passed the still-coiled end of the red tape over heads and from person to person, and finally Carl and Caitlin each held opposite ends.
Together Caitlin and Naomi gripped their end of the tape, and below, Carl and Akiko slowly uncoiled the roll as the ferry pulled away. Akiko was shouting, then Carl was, but over the wind and the engines neither Caitlin nor Naomi could make out the words. Up and down the length of the hull, tapes draped and stretched, snapped and shimmied wildly in the wind before dropping to the water. Carl and Akiko had their arms around each other, and Caitlin and Naomi waved as the ferry hastened into the bay. People on the pier became smaller, and when the wind grew harsh on Caitlin’s and Naomi’s faces, tearing their eyes, with a final wave they descended to the lower decks to one of the large open rooms where they’d dropped their bags when they’d clambered on board with the other walk-ons.
They had an entire corner to themselves; the ferry was relatively empty considering the number of people that would normally be traveling for the holiday—cancellations had apparently been rampant. Caitlin lay down on the raised, carpeted floor with her head on her pack and felt beneath her the rocking of the boat and the grinding of the motors—the movement penetrated her back and abdomen. She sat up and unfolded a map, traced the route around Cape Toi, and guessed they’d be in the worst of the weather within an hour, then in calmer waters in the early morning.
Naomi was stacking square foam pillows to make a soft backing against the wall for them to lean on. “Here, claim your spot,” she said handing Caitlin a long sleeping pad and blanket. Caitlin laid it out then leaned back on her pack again. She twirled a cord of her pack around her index finger, then off again, over and over, winding and unwinding. Naomi beckoned for Caitlin to join her against the foam pillows, but she shook her head and stood. “I think I’ll try to find the bath.”
“The bath?” Naomi said rising. “Mind if I come?”
Caitlin shrugged. They extracted their towels from their bags and followed signs down to the lowest level of the ship through long narrow passageways where the motion of the ferry was augmented. Naomi groaned. They found the sign for the women’s bath and opened the door to the changing room timidly. Two baskets were filled with clothes.
“It must be open,” Naomi whispered. They peaked inside the bathing room and were pleased to discover a long, deep tile tub, larger than the women’s tubs—which were nearly always smaller than the men’s—in many of the inns and hotels Caitlin had been to. Naomi called out to the mother and young girl soaking off to one side: “Is it hot?” Just right, they answered, and by the time Caitlin and Naomi had washed under the spigots, the mother and child had left, and they had the bath to themselves. The water really was hot, perfect, though it listed from one side to the other and often poured out in a great cascade. “Weird,” Naomi said watching the waves that sloshed back and forth. “Maybe if you floated in here the whole ride you wouldn’t feel seasick.”
Caitlin sank down so the water just brushed her lips and the lobes of her ears. Though she sat still, she was sharply and uncomfortably aware of their movement, charging through the sea, fast-forwarding in time. She imagined a push on her back, a shove, hurtling her toward Kyoto, and she was unsettled by the fact that she would have no control over her precise geographical location until she disembarked the next day in Osaka. She wished she could swim, even on board the ferry; at least then she’d feel like she were cutting through the brine, displacing the seas herself.
Caitlin sat up so the bath water reached just below her shoulders.
“What time do we get in tomorrow?” Naomi asked.
“I forget exactly. Late morning.”
“Oh. What are your plans?” Naomi had her head back on the tub rim and her legs stretched far out in front of her, toes just breaking the surface now and then.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you won’t be going to Kyoto until the next day.”
“Oh, right.” Caitlin had forgotten she’d shared this with Naomi. “I don’t know, I thought I’d just see what Osaka’s like.”
“Well, you can have a ride all the way to Kyoto if you want, you know—my aunt’s driving to the pier to meet us.”
“I thought you were taking a train.”
“I was, at first, but she offered to come by car.”
Caitlin was calculating what it would, in fact, cost to spend a night in Osaka then train to Kyoto. She didn’t really have a friend to meet, and at this point couldn’t care less about seeing Osaka or the castle; she just wanted a night on her own, to gain a sense of balance, or to opt out if need be, since she wasn’t expected at the Oides’ until Sunday. She’d assumed she’d want to be free of Naomi by the time the ferry docked, which is why she’d added fuel to the story about wanting to see Osaka, but now she liked the sound of a ride. She could just as easily spend her night alone in Kyoto as in Osaka. “I might take you up on that,” she said.
“If you have time, you should come see my aunt’s house. It’s old Kyoto style, with wooden slats on the windows and down low at the edge of the street. And it has this little teeny-tiny courtyard in the middle. And stairs outside that go up to the roof. That’s where they dry the laundry—up on the roof, not out back.”
“Wouldn’t work in Kagoshima.”
“No, but there’s a little roof covering up there. You should come see it.”
“If I have time.”
“You can stay there if you want. My aunt and uncle already offered.”
Caitlin took a deep breath. “Thanks, but I’ll probably be busy.”
Naomi eyed her. “With what exactly?”
“All sorts of things,” she replied, stepping out of the tub as several other women arrived. “There are people I haven’t seen in a long time. And Kyoto—I don’t know if I’ll remember much, any of the temples, you know. I want to see what I can while I’m there. But guess what?” Caitlin said, pouring a bucket of cool water over her back.
“What?”
“No more ash for two weeks. It’s all down there.” She pointed to the drain beside her bathing stool.
* * *
After their baths, Naomi unpacked the picnic dinner Akiko had sent them off with, sat back, and hardly touched the food. “I don’t feel well,” she said. She leaned against the vinyl pillows and nibbled on a rice ball. The boat listed and dipped and climbed the swells and now and then a huge slap of spray doused the bow-facing windows of the cabin. Caitlin rummaged in her pack and pulled out some motion sickness tablets she’d picked up at a pharmacy the day before. “Have one,” she said, and they washed the tablets down with barley tea. Caitlin was squeamish too, but even more hungry, and had no trouble sampling everything from the foil and plastic containers.
“So you like temples and things?” Naomi asked when she finally leaned forward to pick through the food for something she could stomach.
“Well, sure. Don’t you?”
“Some. Quiet ones. I like sitting on those verandas where you can look out onto the gardens. Imagining what it would be like without any other people around, you know, if it were your own house. Oh no.” She put her hand to her forehead. “I forgot to bring my shuincho.”
“Your what?”
“My stamp book, goshuincho, for temple stamps. Every time I come to Kyoto I add to it. And whenever I go to a different temple in Kyushu. I’ll have to get a new one.”
“So, what else will you do in Kyoto besides collect temple stamps?” Caitlin asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. I have to visit that school my parents want me to go to. And my aunt will probably take me shopping. And maybe we’ll go to Arashiyama. Oh, and she said we’ll see Daimonji. Will you?”
“Is that a temple?”
Naomi laughed. “I thought you used to live in Kyoto. You know, the big dai character on the mountain—they light it on fire. You probably saw it when you were little.”
“Oh, that. I don’t know. Maybe the first summer. The second summer I’d already left; we went back to the States in early August. When is it?”
“The last night of O-Bon. Friday, I think.”
Caitlin sat up rigid and set down her tea. “That’s right, O-Bon starts this week.”
“Yup, time for the dead to come back,” Naomi said. “Here deady-deady,” she called in a high-pitched coo as if to a cat.
Caitlin could feel the blood draining from her face.
“But doesn’t it seem kind of stupid to you?” Naomi went on in her normal voice. “I mean, how can they possibly come back? When you’re dead, you’re dead. And anyway, how can the spirits be in so many places at once? They’re supposed to be in the altar all the time, but then at O-Bon you escort them from the grave to the altar. And when my grandfather sees a dragonfly near the house around O-Bon he says, “Rei ga haitte-kita”—the spirits are back. Like the dragonflies are the spirits too. When we were little he wouldn’t even let us catch them in our insect nets till after O-Bon. It’s ridiculous. When you die, you die; you become bones and rotting guts and flesh, then finally earth or dust, right? And when you’re cremated, just bits of bone and ash.”
Caitlin nodded, trying to concentrate on Naomi’s mouth forming the sounds of the words, so she wouldn’t have to think about the words, about O-Bon at the Oides’ or Mie’s bits of bone and ash. She chewed her lower lip, wishing Naomi would stop, wishing she could say something to make her stop, but she sat frozen and Naomi chattered on. “My grandfather’s the only one in our family who really celebrates O-Bon. He always makes sure the little meal is set out for the spirits, every morning, as if my grandmother—who’s been dead for ten years by the way—as if she really eats off it. Then he empties the little dishes into the cat’s bowl when the new offerings are ready, but sometimes the cat jumps up to the altar and eats right off the offering stands, and then my aunt has to make the food all over again so my grandfather doesn’t yell at her. What’s wrong?”
Caitlin rose abruptly, cupped her hand over her mouth, and pretended she was about to be sick. She dashed out of the room and down the hall, but instead of turning in at the toilets, she bolted up the stairs and pushed open the door to the upper deck. The wind fought her, and spray or rain or a mixture of both cut into her skin as she staggered toward the stern. She grasped the railing and stared down at the water, gray and turbulent as it left the hull, then she inspected the darkening sky and the vague shadow of land to her right. They’d rounded Cape Toi, she supposed, and were beginning the northward haul, and she looked enviously at the scroll of land against the ominous dusk; had she taken a train, she could have disembarked somewhere along the way.
She strode back and forth across the less exposed quarter of the deck, but the lurching of the ferry made it hard to keep her footing. Now and then she’d hear people exclaim at the weather as they squeaked the door open and poked their heads out, but no one joined her outside there. What would it really mean, visiting them during O-Bon? Would they go to the river? Light fires? Chant sutras? She wished she knew what would be expected of her. With a shudder, she sat down miserably on a wet bin that held life preservers—the water immediately seeped through the seat of her shorts.
She rose and at the port railing leaned into the wind and stared at the last smudge of gray light between the heavy clouds and the horizon in the west. She searched the dark southern skies beyond the boat’s stern, trying to see the swirl of typhoon, the neat and compact knot they showed in satellite shots, but she couldn’t distinguish any variations in the light down there—just deep blackness of night and storm. She closed her eyes and let the spray pelt her face.
* * *
When she finally trudged back into the sleeping room, Naomi jumped up from the stack of pillows. “I was looking for you. Where’d you go? What’d you do, take a shower?”
Caitlin felt her hair, salty and wet. “I went up on deck—I needed some air.”
“You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You sure? You’re pale.” Caitlin sat down and looked away. Naomi dropped down beside her and spoke so softly that Caitlin felt her throat constricting: “Caitlin, you look terrible. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered coldly then grabbed a square foam pillow and lay down. Determined to fight tears, she curled up against the wall with clenched fists and closed her eyes. Finally, hearing Naomi rise, Caitlin relaxed at having been left alone, but moments later, Naomi knelt down close behind her. She felt her damp strands of hair taken up into Naomi’s hands, and she swallowed the rush of a sob as the girl gently patted and toweled her dry.
When Caitlin began to shiver, Naomi handed her another towel and led her down the corridors and back into the bath. They were alone again, and they soaked in silence until Naomi said, “I’ll rub your back if you’ll rub mine.” Caitlin nodded and still sitting in the tub turned her back to Naomi. But Naomi climbed out of the water, and at her beckoning, Caitlin followed, spread her towel on the tiles near the edge of the tub, then lay down on top of it and closed her eyes as Naomi’s palms and fingers began to knead her warmed skin.
At first the startling feel of her hands, the skin to skin contact, made Caitlin think of Hiroshi, long for Hiroshi, it had been so difficult to see him set out into the early dawn that morning. She’d hardly slept, clinging to him as though he might absorb her, keep her from leaving if she held tight enough. They’d had breakfast at five in the morning, at her insistence, a somber and sleepy affair. She wished she were back with him now, talking about anything, cooking dinner together, even arguing, she’d take it, if only the ferry would turn around and deposit her back at the piers near that ash-ridden town.
“Relax,” Naomi said, “you’re all tense,” and slowly Caitlin let Hiroshi’s image go, let Kyoto and the Oides go, and just followed the course of Naomi’s hands—down her spine at a creep to the curve and soft of her buttocks, to the top of her crack then out and over to her hips, up her sides and along her ribs, fingertips grazing the sides of her breasts, and up to the nape of her neck, under her ears, down her shoulders and out her arms. Naomi continued with slow concentration, leaning her body, rocking her body with the push of her hands, and Caitlin wondered if Naomi, too, was sensing the possibilities of skin on skin in that steaming room.
They returned to the tub for another soak, then Caitlin said, “Your turn,” and they stepped out, Naomi lay down, and Caitlin tried to reciprocate that smooth touch. She tried new routes up and down the back, light fingers segueing to deep palms, rocking with the rhythm of her hands. Naomi had nearly fallen asleep it seemed, and several other women and a mother and little boy entered as they soaked in the tub a final time. Naomi yawned incessantly. They dried off and dressed without speaking. “Thanks,” Caitlin finally said as they started out down the corridors, and Naomi nodded drowsily. She’d never persisted with questions to find what was wrong, and Caitlin was so grateful she wanted to hug her as they listed from side to side there deep in the shuddering hull of the Sunflower, battered by the pounding swells of the Pacific.
They returned to the open sleeping room, set out their blankets, and draped their pillows with dry towels as covers. Naomi soon dropped off to sleep, but Caitlin, just after the overhead lights were turned off, slipped out to the bathroom, found a Western-style stall, and sat down on the toilet. She waited until the last of the young girls and mothers had brushed their teeth and gargled at the sinks, then she closed her eyes, brought the image of Hiroshi back, brought his burnished skin in close to hers, put his tongue on her nipples, and held herself until the throbbing between her legs subsided.