Everyone is staring at me. Of course, they are. I’m a gaijin. Sitting in a hospital. In her pyjamas. I’ve never felt so out of place. Beats talking to police in my PJs, I guess. Oh gosh, is someone going to call the police? Maybe someone already has. My fists clench in my lap. Two more months and I would have been free! I can’t have a criminal record now; I was doing so well … No, Cybelle, it’s fine. You’re fine. Why would anyone need to call the police? It’s fine. But I try to play cat’s cradle with the handles of the plastic bag in my lap to keep myself from fleeing out of the hospital waiting room, into the night.
For someone who bragged about being fluent in Japanese just a few weeks ago to the world’s bitchiest co-worker, it turns out I have a long way to go. Getting Zaniel out of that horrible place and into a cab was the easy part — he was surprisingly lighter than I’d expected — but when we arrived at the hospital, I was at a loss for words about what exactly was wrong with him. I managed to explain to a nurse that my friend was unconscious and that he didn’t look hurt. He woke up just enough to say something to her that I didn’t quite catch. Then it was all rush-rush as the nurse hailed a barrage of orderlies to lift Zaniel from my arms onto a gurney and whisk him away with an oxygen mask on his face and an IV in his arm. It was like a TV show — running down the hall with him, holding onto his hand until someone wrenched me away before a set of double doors could smash me in the face. At least I was able to understand that Zaniel would be fine and that I was to sit in the waiting room and fill out some forms for his admittance.
And that is where I am now, what has to be a solid two hours later. Pen still in hand, with the only box filled out reading “ザンイエル” where his first name should go. Or should I write “ザ二エル”? “ザ二エール”? I don’t even know where to begin with his last name, let alone his age, address, oh gosh, his blood type … No, wait! Yes, I do. I stick my face into the plastic bag on my lap, remembering the smartphone I took with all the other things on that tiny table. The pleather case holds half a dozen cards, and sure enough, one of them is a driver’s licence with a handsome photo on it. Guess I’m not so stupid after all. I grin to myself.
I happily fill out the basics of the form, which are all I can read at this point. Maybe “friend” was a strong word to use. Still, I can’t just up and leave him here. It doesn’t feel right, and I’m certain a doctor or nurse will come around asking questions. So instead of attempting the rest of his medical information, I sit and deal with the stares. After that gets boring, I check my phone. It’s almost four. Dawn will come soon, and then I’ll have to head to Zozo. Maybe I should send someone a quick text about where I am. Yoshino would be the best person for that. Whoa, hang on. I can’t tell her what happened. She’d never believe me. Or she might never stop lecturing me about crawling into an abandoned restaurant like some overzealous tourist. She’ll be so worried. But I’m out of ideas. With a heavy sigh I text her some gibberish about being at Osaka General with someone, and if she could give me a rough play-by-play on how to fill out this freaking form for him it would be great. I throw in a couple of screenshots and send it, praying she wakes up in the next couple of hours to see it.
Dumping the forms and clipboard on my chair, I get a drink from the nearest vending machine. Everyone in the waiting room watches in awe. One elderly man in a wheelchair even lets out a small “Ehhh, sugoi” as I press the button for a C.C. Lemon water and return to my seat. I chug half the bottle, staring back at him the whole time.
“Oishii desu ka?” he asks me.
I nod. “Meccha oishii.”
“Eh, sugoi na! Nihongo jouzu da na!” He orders a nearby nurse to wheel him over. We have a nice chat about what I’m doing there (waiting for a friend, earning me another “sugoi” ), what he is doing there (he maybe broke his ankle slipping on the floor of his local snack bar, he’s waiting for his X-rays to be sure), where I’m from, what I do, if I like Japan, can I teach him English, do I like lemons, if the friend I’m waiting for is my boyfriend, and would I like a Japanese boyfriend. A nurse comes by to wheel him away to see a doctor before I have to answer that one.
I check my phone again. That chat killed thirty minutes. Nothing better to do now than take a nap. Maybe in the next hour someone will wake me for an update on whether or not I should stay. Spa World isn’t too far from here. I can afford a thousand yen to squeeze in a quick nap there if someone comes along to release me soon. I find three seats without handles in a relatively vacant part of the waiting room and spread myself across them with my nice puffy coat as my pillow, kicking off my boots before lying down. When a nurse passes by, she asks if I would like a blanket. I graciously accept and set my iPhone alarm for 6:30. If anyone needs to find me before then, well, I shouldn’t be too hard to locate, being the only gaijin here.
I relax, despite the harsh fluorescent lighting and the sporadic announcements on the hospital PA system. The images of that place still float in the darkness of my mind, like photographic negatives: the musty descent down the flight of stairs, the clutter of abandoned sake casks, the hazy lights in that room … and Zaniel, lying there like Sleeping Beauty. None of it makes sense. My body grows heavy with sleep. Just before I doze off completely, I hear a sound like rushing water, and I faintly smell something like salt. Maybe it’s the ocean about to close over my head in a tidal wave.
No … it’s applause …
“Omedetou, Baku-sama!”
“What?” I mumble. I open my eyes and find myself surrounded by strange faces, animals on two legs, people on all fours, creatures no taller than my knee, animals bigger than cars, monsters in modern-day suits and ancient yukata and kimono, and they’re all clapping (except for the tenome, who wave and twist their hands in the air to sign for applause). “You did it!” they cry. “You found him!” “Hooray, hooray! Callooh! Callay!” “Omedetou, omedetou!”
“Huh? Oh, no. It was nothing. I just did what you all told me. I think.”
“Good! Now, there is one more thing you must do, Cybelle.”
“What’s that?”
“Cybelle?!”
“That’s my name.”
“CYBELLE!”
I sit upright in shock. Yoshino is kneeling before me. “Oh my gosh, you’re okay! What happened?” She hugs me without waiting for an answer. “Are you okay? Wow, you’re so dusty. How’d that happen? And you have something in your hair …”
“I’m okay, it’s just — gah!” I recoil in horror as Yoshino draws a spiderweb from my hair and lets it fall to the hospital floor like it’s nothing. “Um. I’m okay. It wasn’t me who got admitted; it was my … er, I … he’s, um …” I glance at the clipboard just past my feet. It’s devoid of paper now.
“Oh, don’t worry about that. Lieko has it. She’s already filling it out for you.” She sits down next to me. “Tell me what happened.”
As I wipe my face for drool, I look over toward the entrance. Lieko is talking quietly with another nurse. “What is she doing here?”
“I called Manager as soon as I saw your text. I’m sorry, I panicked! I didn’t know he was going to call her. I guess it makes sense; she lives closest to this hospital. He figured she could get here faster than I could. We ended up running into each other just outside the doors.” Lieko is too far to hear her, but Yoshino drops her voice to a whisper, anyway. “I wouldn’t get too friendly with her though. She technically offered, but she’s still got a stick up her butt about it.”
Lieko heads toward us with her own clipboard as the nurse trots off in another direction. She doesn’t sit with us though; she takes a seat back where I was sitting with the old man and whips out her cellphone. Yoshino gestures with her head and we get up to go over.
“So,” I begin awkwardly. “Tricky form, eh?”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to worry about it,” Yoshino cuts in before Lieko has a chance to speak. “We’ll wait for him to wake up and he can give us all his information. Hey, we’re just glad it isn’t you in a hospital bed!” She shakes her head. “Who is this person, anyway? A friend of yours or something?”
“What? Yoshino, he’s the guy you —”
Lieko looks up from her phone, directly at me, horrified. In all the months I’ve known her, I’ve seen this look on her face only once before. She looks like she’s about to cry.
“Um, he’s … you know, the guy you see passed out on the street, and you can’t, you know, help feeling sorry for? So, I bent down and asked if he was okay. He wasn’t, but when I started to call 119 he said not to. So, I did a quick Google search and saw this hospital was nearby. Cab ride took less than five minutes.”
“Damn, girl, you’re a hero. I would have stepped right over him. May I ask what you are doing in Osaka this time of night, anyway?”
Lieko rolls her eyes like she’s back to her old self. “Cybelle has been talking about visiting Spa World, Yoshino-sensei. That must be where she was. Why else would she be in this part of town?”
“Um …” I shrug with an embarrassed grin. “Yep, you know me. I’m all about my onsens?”
“Oh,” Yoshino nods. “That makes sense.”
A nurse comes through a set of double doors and over to us. “The man you brought in is awake,” she says in Japanese, directly to Yoshino and Lieko. “He’d like to thank you. Please, come with me.”
“Just a moment, Yoshino-sensei.” Lieko stands up abruptly. “Maybe, only Cybelle should go. She can take the form to the gentleman while you inform Manager that everything is all right. He must be worried.”
“Yeah.” I grin. “Manager’s probably shitting himself right now.”
“Okay, sure. Good idea.”
I bow, thanking her. “Azassu!”
Lieko hands me the clipboard as Yoshino turns away on her phone. She holds onto it a second too long, giving me a slight but meaningful nod of her head. It’s almost a bow. “Tomodachi o tetsudatte … onegaishimasu,” she mutters under her breath, too quiet for Yoshino to hear. Go help your friend … please. I nod back, then follow the nurse. I didn’t see it coming, but we’ve come to some level of understanding. That, or she just wants me to get rid of him. Most likely the latter. Either way, I’ll take it.
“Cybelle-sensei will be all right, won’t she?” I hear Yoshino say behind me.
“She is gaijin,” Lieko replies. “If gaijin cannot do their best, they should not live in Japan.”
I groan. Two steps forward, three steps back, Lieko.
The nurse leads me into an already-busy short-stay room. At least a dozen beds are spread around with thick curtains drawn and hushed voices on the other side. The nurse stands in front of one bed, ready to draw the curtains once I step in. She says something very soft and muffled about keeping quiet because many residents are sleeping, etc., etc. I ask the nurse in Japanese what happened to him. She puts her hands together under her face and cocks her head to one side. “Sleep,” she says in English. But she quickly adds something in Japanese that I don’t quite catch. I don’t stop to think about asking her to slow down and repeat herself. I just want to see him.
The nurse bows and closes the curtains around me. Zaniel opens his eyes and looks up at me. They’re so clear and piercing I can’t help holding my breath. “Hey, look who’s here,” he smiles. “My hero.”
I grin. “Ha, ha. How are you, Mr. Kamisawa?”
“You remember me now, do you?”
“I peeked at your licence. Cute photo. But seriously, how are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been asleep for a hundred years.”
I take a seat next to him on the bed. “Well, you certainly look well-rested.”
“Hmmm,” he says, closing his eyes again. Geez, even his lashes are beautiful. I wait a moment for him to say something else. His chest rises and falls. He’s asleep again. I nudge him gently in his thigh. “Huh? Who’s there?” He stretches like he’s waking up from a late-afternoon nap. “Cybelle?”
“That’s my name.” I laugh a little. “Listen, my medical Japanese isn’t great, so this is for you.” I plop the clipboard of forms and the plastic bag with his belongings right on his chest. “This is all yours, too. You’re lucky I have two co-workers here to help me with translation. Er, I didn’t call them here, they just … um, showed up. Don’t worry, I skipped the part where I found you in the basement of an abandoned restaurant.”
“I appreciate that.” He gives the clipboard and the bag half a glance before moving them next to his leg. “Not that your school is going to hire me anytime soon.” He chuckles grimly. “Guess I shouldn’t’ve gone through with that ploy. Could’ve saved myself all this excitement.”
“Hey, you know me. I’m all about excitement. Or maybe you don’t know me. I don’t know. How did you end up down there, anyway?”
He’s still grinning. “Long story. Too long for now. Let’s save it for our next date.”
“Yeah … We did go on a date … didn’t we?” I thought that old place looked familiar. The main room did, at least.
“Technically, two dates. There was food and handholding, and long philosophical conversations. Sounds like a date to me. I can’t believe you forgot all about me.”
“Hey! I didn’t! Well, okay, maybe I did … but I’m here now, aren’t I?” I shake my head. “My memories are still pretty fuzzy. Consider that my excuse for not calling you?”
The curtains suddenly jerk sideways. A young doctor steps in and reels back when he sees me. “Uwaa! Oh! Sorry! So sorry!” He bows. “Hontou ni sumimasen. Anou, tomodachi … uh, friend? You bring … in taxi?”
“That’s me.”
“Anou … Japanese, okay? Anou … friend … needs rest. So, please, excuse us. Home, okay?”
I turn to Zaniel. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yes, dear. I don’t think any demons are coming to kidnap me anytime soon. And I have you to thank for that.” He takes my hand and presses it against his lips.
I shrug, grateful I’m not blushing. Whatever drug they have running through his IV drip, it’s working wonders. There’s nothing more I can do by staying. Zaniel is still holding me as I get up to leave. “Phone, please.”
“It’s in the bag.”
“I mean your phone, silly.”
Confused but entertained, I hand it over. He sends a text, then types his number into my contacts and hands it back to me. “I promised to explain, and I will. In time.”
“Okay. Keep me posted, eh?”
Zaniel chuckles. “You said ‘eh.’”
Yup, that IV drip is definitely working its magic. With a bow to the doctor, I let the nurse (who is already shooing at me to leave) guide me back to the lobby where I inform Yoshino and Lieko that all is well. We walk together in comfortable silence to Tennoji station, just a few minutes from the hospital. I thank them again for coming out to help when I get off at Namba. Yoshino squeezes my hand, Lieko focuses all her attention on her phone, of course. It’s still pretty early in the morning, so I pop into a Lawson for two beef onigiri and wolf them both down before getting on a train to Nishibe. My stomach begins to growl again two stops later.
Thank goodness it’s still super early on a weekend: my reflection in the window looks like I just rolled out of bed and I’m grateful there’s no one around to see it. I’m the only one in the train car again. I could stretch out on the seats and take a quick nap if I wanted, but the last thing I need is someone boarding at the next stop and taking pictures of me or something equally awful. Instead, I lean back and watch the bay pass by the opposite window, and let my mind catch up to everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours. The weirdest part of it all is how I thought running into Zaniel again would recover that piece of myself I felt was missing all this time. But it hasn’t. How the hell did I find him, anyway? What made me think I’d find him when I first stepped out the door last night? What led me to that restaurant in the first place? I shudder at the thought of October repeating itself. I only have two more months to survive the rest of my contract and leave with my last shred of sanity. If that’s my problem to begin with. He said he’d explain it all to me in time. When? What time? I don’t have time. I’m too busy and I’m leaving in the spring. Which I didn’t tell him. It never came up. Not that it’s any of his business … right?
I also wonder what he meant by “demons”; maybe it was just the morphine or whatever they gave him, but something about that statement of his still haunts me. Weird guy. What am I talking about? Weird night.
The door connecting my car to the next slides open. A giant cloud of fluff with tiny black horns waddles through, down the aisle, straight to me. It takes a moment of staring to realize it’s Yagi-sama, Nishibe’s mascot. How cute. “Baku-sama.” A pair of fluffy white-gloved hands extend a sheet of thick pink paper to me. “Onegaishimasu.”
“Oh. Thanks, bro.” Yagi-sama bows and toddles away, off to the next car. Good old English, the number one conversation killer. Wait a second — what did he just call me?
My head lurches to one side and my eyes open wide. They take a moment to adjust to the Japanese sign outside the open doors of the train that reads “Nishibe” in kanji. Shit. It’s my stop. I must have dozed off. With two agile strides I make it just in time for the doors to slide closed behind me. Phew.
Something crinkles in my hand. It’s a flyer, for a festival at a shrine I’ve never heard of. Hang on. I squint at the kanji characters and a tiny map. This place is all the way back in Osaka, near Shin-Imamiya station. I was just there. No thanks, local shrine. As promising as you sound, I can just go to the one down the street from me. I fold up the flyer and stick it in my pocket without a second thought. I’ve got to get home.
My mind plays through the whole evening as I shuffle down the empty streets. I don’t feel the slightest bit sleepy, and my bike will be fine at Zozo; it’s too old and crusty for anyone to steal. Relief washes over me stronger than the hot shower I’m dying to take when I get inside my apartment. The living room is still a mess from whatever I was doing before I ran off into the night: a big empty chip bag, onigiri wrappers, a carton that used to hold my favourite brand of peach iced tea, and then some. I ate and drank it all, watched Spirited Away and that weird yokai movie … then I must have fallen asleep. Is that all that happened? That doesn’t help. Think, Cybelle. This isn’t something you can “oh well, shou ga nai, Japan!” your way out of this time. Something happened to me last night, and it brought me straight to him. But … what?
Hold up. What am I doing? I have the rest of the weekend to wallow in my thoughts and figure out this whole thing. Right now, it’s time to get ready for enjoying English. It’s still Saturday. If last night’s adventure is the strangest thing to happen all day, it’ll be a major win.
I make some eggnog from scratch and add it to some instant pancake mix for breakfast. Then I change into a professional-looking red sweater and dress pants and watch some Doraemon on TV as I devour my pancakes. Before I bundle up into my winter coat, I catch my reflection in the genkan door. I look pretty decent for someone who went spelunking in an abandoned restaurant and didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Professional, polite, and playful. That’s all I need to be today. Then I can worry about food and rest. I walk to Zozo with only my coin purse and my phone, ready to plow through another busy-ass Saturday.
The lobby is as busy as ever when I get there. The walls are now covered in red paper hearts over all the neon orange, yellow, and green everywhere. Yukie and Shigeyo say good morning as they run past me, arms loaded with boxes of teaching supplies. Ryoko and Kana are handing out 100-yen sheets of red, creamy orange, and pink papers to a grabby crowd of young children at their feet. Yukako and Yoshino are behind the reception desk. “Ohayou gozaimasu!” They bow in sync to me.
“Ohayou gozaimasu.” I smile. “Busy day!”
“Busy day,” Yoshino sings. “Watch out for the demons,” she adds.
My eyes widen. “The who?”
Right on cue, someone down the hall screams. The cries get louder and louder. Two young children appear, chasing down another crowd of kids, wearing red and blue masks covered in straw. They stop at my feet. “Oni wa soto, fuku wa uchi!” I hear their muffled cries.
“Oh,” I laugh. “You mean these demons. Ha, ha. Who’s under there?” I stoop down and touch the red-masked child’s nose. “Is that Reiki?”
The one in the blue mask rips it off. “I am Reiki!” he beams. “He is Honoki!”
“Fukumame choudai,” the red-masked boy growls.
“Ah, he wants you to throw beans at him,” Yukako calls out to me. In the second it takes to turn back around, the twins are already gone, running to the reception desk and demanding Yukako and Yoshino hand over whatever beans they’re hiding. Another surge of people emerges from the elevator, and the boys terrorize them, too. I watch, fascinated, hoping this will be the hardest my heart beats today. I can’t believe I forgot all about Setsubun being today. That explains Yagi-sama’s flyer. How time flies.
The day speeds by without any mishaps. Even my trip to Daiei to get sushi for lunch is uneventful, with maybe the exception of how excited the sushi guy gets when I order the lucky Setsubun ehoumaki. That earns me a few good stares. Back at Zozo, I’m so busy getting organized for my classes and running back and forth between rooms that I forget about what happened last night until my Zozo Zone 2 class. Twins Reiki and Honoki are sprawled on the carpet in Room Five with me and another student, Mako, colouring in our homework books. I notice Reiki is vigorously using a lot of red in his picture of Zozo the Clown jumping into a giant rain puddle. The two aren’t related, but when I liken Reiki’s picture to a scene from a horror movie, I can’t help thinking about how last night could have ended differently. I was lucky. Very lucky. “What colour is that, Reiki?” I ask, mostly to disengage from morbid thoughts.
“I know, I know!” Mako shoots her hand into the air. “It’s red!”
She always precedes her answers with the phrase “I know.” Today, I’m ready for her. “Okay, Mako. How do you know it’s red?”
Mako bares all her baby teeth in a wide smile and a serene voice. “Red is the colour of Jesus blood.”
I blink. “Well, you’re not wrong.” She giggles, and proceeds to colour her puddle red, too.
Sakura and Ayuna come and go for their respective private lessons. I catch Sakura with a notebook where she has written the world’s cutest “cheat notes” on how to ask me how I do my hair, and Ayuna reads me a short fanfic she wrote about our most recent chapter in The Two Towers. After translating for my parents, Kana informs me that Mana hasn’t arrived for our trial lesson yet. That’s cool. It gives me a good ten minutes to hide in the staff room and sneak in some downtime. I check my phone and see a single message on the lock screen. It’s from Zaniel, from several hours ago.
The hospital let me go. I need to see you.
Wow, that was fast. Guess there couldn’t have been anything seriously wrong with him. Good news. In a way. Wanna go to a festival? I type. I don’t know why this idea pops in my head. There’s a voice in there, telling me to meet him somewhere public, that I can’t argue with. Low-key, I’m way overdue for some festival fun, too. I start to type in “Nishibe Shrine,” then the voice in my head deletes it all and adds the name of the shrine in Osaka instead. It’ll be easier for him to get to that one. That’s probably it. I add that I can get to Shin-Imamiya station around 7:30 if I get out of work in time. He replies with a thumbs-up. Easy-peasy.
Mana comes two minutes late but leaves right on time. I collect all the garbage from the empty classrooms, sign out, and bid everyone farewell. Outside, the sky is dark as midnight, as if the whole day never happened. There are a few snowflakes floating down. That will be a nice touch, tonight. Since I don’t have time for a full dinner (the festival is bound to have tons to eat, anyway), I just grab a couple of lemon Baumkuchen cakes from the conbini and devour them. They’re wonderful, but oddly, not as good as all that mochi I ate last night. Must have been a while since I had mochi, that’s all. The cakes at least somewhat dampen my craving for lemon. Just a bit. Man, this shrine better have food nearby. That ehoumaki did not last nearly as long as I’d hoped.
My stomach is itching on the inside when I arrive at Shin-Imamiya station. Zaniel is easy to pick out among the commuters in his long black winter coat, his head peeking three to four inches above everyone else’s. For someone who spent the morning in the hospital after being dragged out from someone’s basement, he looks pretty damn good. I march right up to him and poke him in the arm. He jumps but looks pleased to see it’s me. “So, what’s the verdict? No alien eggs in your stomach, I take it?”
“Nope. For a guy who’s been asleep for three months, I’m perfectly fine.” He reads the look on my face and laughs. “You look surprised.”
“Well, yeah. I’m surprised because that’s freaking impossible. If you’ve been comatose for three months, what are you doing out of the hospital? Shouldn’t you be hooked up to a dozen IVs or walking with a cane or at least somewhat suspicious about your state of health?”
“I wasn’t comatose. It’s a little more … well, complicated than that. Let’s just say they couldn’t find any reason to keep me. But to make sure …” He unzips his coat a little and takes out a bag of pills from an inside pocket. “They gave me souvenirs, naturally.”
“Naturally. Hold up. Have you not gone home yet?”
“No. I’ve just been hanging around Namba, charging my phone and shopping.” He gestures to his coat. “I wanted to see you, remember?”
“Hmmm … I don’t know. You’re sure you’re okay for a festival?”
“I think I’m in good hands.” He playfully nudges me with his elbow. “Besides, you and I need to talk.”
He says this, but he doesn’t elaborate. The shrine is about five minutes from the station — maybe ten, with all the people around — but the air above us is already thick with smoke from the fire rituals that must be going on. I can hear the ominous beating of drums and the reedy sounds of shou when we leave the station, joining the herd of people all bundled up as they shout “Uwaa, samui” and pat themselves on the backs for dressing for the weather. Snow is really coming down by the time we get there. Scores of people line up around food and sake stands nearby. There’s a decent-sized crowd at the shrine. We join the short line to wash our hands at the temizuya and stroll through the gate to the main grounds. Photographers with massive telephoto lenses position themselves atop stepladders throughout the grounds. Small children sitting on their fathers’ shoulders cry at the men dressed as scary red-faced oni in paper armour running around yelling and growling at everyone. The older kids approach some of the oni to smack them and run away before they can catch the sharp ends of their prop spears. Around the shrine building itself, large crowds of people yell and laugh as they try to catch packs of soybeans thrown from the upper floor by gorgeous bundled-up maiko with silver kanzashi ornaments in their hair, shimmering from the glare of giant spotlights everywhere. There are giant speakers set up around the grounds, too, and a woman somewhere is chanting “Oni wa soto, fuku wa uchi” as the crowd goes wild. It’s pretty easy to walk around because most of the shrinegoers who aren’t jostling each other for the fukumame are huddled around all the giant bonfires to warm their bare hands.
The fires make me wish I brought some marshmallows and sticks. I suddenly have the worst craving for s’mores.
“You hungry?” Zaniel asks. His words are thin white clouds of carbon dioxide.
“Starving.”
“Looks like we can beat the lines before the mamemaki ends. Unless you want to join in?”
“No, thanks,” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not really in the mood for obaachans elbowing me for beans.”
He laughs lightly as we head back to where all the food stands are. He doesn’t eat much — understandably, since he was in the hospital this morning — but I can’t suppress my hunger. What starts as a few polite, tiny bites turns into me hoovering down the beef yakisoba we agree to share, followed by a round of takoyaki and two warm, fresh taiyaki (Zaniel insists he doesn’t want his anymore).
“Zenzai!” I grab Zaniel’s arm as we pass by a stand serving out heaving bowls of steamy dark-red soup. “I didn’t think I’d see any after New Year’s! Can we get some, pwease?”
He laughs at my puppy-dog eyes. Unfortunately, they’ve also attracted the attention of an old man with a giant camera. The man takes our photo, then winks at me and holds it. Yuck. Zaniel skirts me away as I’m handed my soup. “Well, that was exciting,” he says with a big grin.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He chuckles. “Some sake will cheer you up.”
He lets me find us a bench while he goes to another stand and returns with a box of something called Oni-koroshi. He offers me the straw first, winking. “Sorry, there’s only the one.”
“You’re not sorry,” I grin back, but the sake is so disgusting it makes me gag. “Ugh. Gross! That certainly got the taste of that guy out of my system.” Zaniel laughs at that, making a face when he takes a sip, too. I inhale my bowl of zenzai as best as I can, endangering my heat-sensitive tongue but effectively washing out the taste of bad alcohol with the sweet, thick adzuki soup and mochi.
Two elderly women plop down on the bench next to Zaniel, squeezing themselves in although there isn’t much room. “Samui desu ne,” they say to him. He agrees with a shy nod. Then they notice me. “Eh?! Gaijin? Zenzai o taberu no? Sugoi na! Shusshin wa? Eh, tabun nihongo wakaranai na. Nee, anata no koibito na no? Kanoujo ni kite mite!” They poke at Zaniel with sharp-looking knuckles, tittering.
He turns to me. “They want me to ask you where you’re from.” Poor boy.
“Is that all they want to ask?” I tilt my head, intrigued he left out the fact that they think I’m his girlfriend. He blushes. “Canada desu,” I tell them.
“Ehhh, nihongo jouzu desu ne!” the obaachans applaud. One of them asks if we can all take a picture together with her phone, but the other smacks her, saying they should let me finish my soup first. As they wait, they barrage Zaniel with the history of the shrine and force him to act as my translator. Then they go into more detail about Setsubun itself, prodding Zaniel to translate how it’s the day before the beginning of spring on the Japanese lunar calendar, and how the beans we throw are meant to drive away the bad spirits and bad luck and bring in the good.
“Did you know that eating ehoumaki started in Osaka?” Zaniels interprets politely.
“Honestly, I had no idea,” I reply.
The obaachans seem very proud of this fact. Then they change the subject and start talking to Zaniel directly. They ask where he’s from and why his eyes are so pale, and that they’ve never seen a foreigner with such pale eyes. They’re shocked when he tells them he’s half-Japanese. They insist our relationship must be difficult, but seeing the two of us together is “beautiful” and we will have spectacular-looking children. We have to do our best together, especially in a world where everyone is so afraid of difference. My ears and cheeks warm as they say all this, and it’s not from the zenzai.
Then they start talking about something else that’s too fast for me to catch. “Okay, now they’re getting political,” Zaniel murmurs instead of interpreting.
“Sorry. I’m done!” I put my empty bowl down on the ground and we all squeeze together for Obaachan #1 to take several selfies. When they get up to leave, the second woman insists we take all the packs of soybeans she caught in the crowd. The first notices my bowl on the ground and insists she take it to find a garbage can for it. “Ookini,” I thank them both, earning another round of cooing and “nihongo jouzu.” Once again, they make Zaniel and me promise to ganbare for the sake of our future children before they take off and disappear into the crowd, which looks like it’s starting to thin. The shrine workers must have run out of beans to throw.
“They’re not wrong,” Zaniel raises his eyebrows at me. “Issho ni ganbarimashou, ne?”
I give him a haughty look. “Slow your roll, young man. We’re not in relationship mode yet!”
“What are you talking about? This is our third date. Whether you remember the first two or not.”
“Ahem. I did not ask you out. You said you had to see me.”
The smirk disappears from his face. “Right. About that.”
“What?” His seriousness wipes the grin off my face. “What’s wrong?”
“I need you to explain something.” He takes the plastic bag he’s been carrying from his arm and opens it up. I’d forgotten he was even carrying anything. “I thought the worst was over. But then I found these.”
He reaches in and produces a small but heavy sack. It looks like something you’d get from a health food store and spins in the air a little when I take it from Zaniel’s hand. It reeks. “Mmm, pungent.” I sniff again. “Beans?”
“Soybeans.” He pauses. “Why do you think you got these?”
“Me? You’re the one holding them.”
“They were in the plastic bag you gave me with all my stuff in it. The things you picked up from that table next to me, right? Only this isn’t mine.”
“Well, they’re certainly not mine!”
He waves a hand. “Never mind. Blessed soybeans are the least of my concerns. Look inside.”
He opens the bag up and lets me lean in to take a peek. “The bracelets? Yeah, I thought those looked familiar.”
“… you don’t remember them, do you?”
“Um … aren’t they for praying, or protection?”
“You have no idea how they got there?”
“Why would I? I have no idea how you got there. Or even how I ended up there …”
He studies my face for so long I squint back at him, waiting for him to break. “Why do you think it wasn’t until Setsubun that you were able to find me?” he finally asks. “Convenient, don’t you think?”
I smile. “You’re beginning to scare me, guy. What, are you saying that springtime demons led me to you? You sure the morphine they gave you this morning wore off?”
He ignores my questions again. “How did you find out about this festival?”
“I got a flyer from Yagi-sama.”
“Who?”
“Oh, he’s Nishibe’s mascot,” I reply, digging through my pockets. “I got it from some guy in a costume this morning. Shoot, where did I put it? I could’ve sworn I just had it … unless I left it somewhere at work …”
Zaniel doesn’t seem to care. He’s looking around at the people, now. “Makes perfect sense they’d tell you about this festival.” He sounds like he’s talking more to himself. “They know you, now. They’ve seen what you did. What you do. They wouldn’t want you here unless it was for a good reason.” He stops me in my futile search by taking both my hands. “It’s okay. I don’t think you’ll find it.” For someone not wearing gloves, his hands are strangely warm. “Listen, Cybelle, I … I wanted you here to say thank you, in person. You saved me. I owe you my life.”
My face warms up again. “Don’t mention it?”
“I think I have to. I don’t know where I’d be without you. No, scratch that. I do know where I’d be. Hell, I’d still be there if it weren’t for your little nighttime adventure.”
“Pouring it on a little thick, aren’t we? And by the way, I am done with adventure. No more for me. I’m going back to a normal life in Canadian suburbia, where nothing happens. After seven years of adventure, it’ll be great.”
Zaniel laughs, then stops. He lets go of me. “Wait, you’re going back? For how long?” he asks, slowly.
I raise my hands in a shrug. “Forever?”
“What do you mean, ‘forever’? You can’t! We just — I mean, you just — you’ve never talked about leaving before.”
“Okay, I may not remember much, but I’m pretty sure I never said anything about staying in Japan forever.”
“I guess.” He looks down at his feet. “I just, I don’t know … maybe I assumed you felt like you belonged here. Last I saw, you seemed happy.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t when I signed my re-contracting form. I really wasn’t.” He wouldn’t know. He wasn’t there to see. No. I’m not going to think back on it. “Whatever. It’s fine. It’s not like I’ll never come back. I can always visit.”
Zaniel doesn’t look up. “You don’t know that. A lot can happen. People change, places change. The things you can do now, there’s no telling if you’ll be able to do them again. Ichigo ichie, remember?”
I didn’t think I’d have to deal with this feeling until I got on my plane home, this hollow drop in my stomach like the last time I went on the Do-Dodonpa roller coaster. “So, if we’re different people when we meet next, what’s the problem?”
“You say ‘when.’ You’re being optimistic. I’m thinking about if we see each other again at all.”
“Why wouldn’t we?” The words come out sounding angrier than I meant them to. So many things are reeling through my mind, but I’m too scared to say any of them. So, I tell him what I’ve told countless others, hoping it’ll end the discussion: “I’ve already signed the contract. The plane ticket is booked. I can’t do anything about it now.”
“Of course, you can! You can do anything. You’re …” He stops and rubs his naked fingers into his eyes like he’s fed up with trying to explain something to me. “Okay. I get that you weren’t happy before. How do you feel now?”
I shrug again. I can’t help it. “Fine, I guess.” It’s an aloof response, but I don’t really care. This whole conversation has gotten too weird and too deep, too fast.
“If that’s the case, why go back? Why leave forever?” Zaniel shakes his head. Snowflakes fall from his hair. “I don’t understand.”
“I don’t know, okay?! I don’t know. I thought I did. But now …” I sigh. “It just felt like the right thing to do. I mean, look at me. Look at me. I don’t belong here. Maybe I never did, and I just stayed so long thinking I could change everyone’s minds, but I can’t. I’ll always be treated like I don’t know the culture, or understand the language, or follow the rules. I’ll never be normal here. Don’t get me wrong, people are nice to me — finally — and the students I teach are adorable. But when Zozo asked if I wanted to stay … I couldn’t say yes because something has been missing. Some part of me just … vanished. I don’t know who or what took it, but I need to get it back. I need to feel whole again. I need things to go back to normal.”
“And you think you’ll find that part of yourself … by leaving?”
Zaniel’s voice is gentle. Almost sad. Feeling defensive all of a sudden, I’m unsure of myself for the first time in months. “I hope so,” I finally say.
But what if you don’t? That’s the question I know he wants to ask, it’s as clear as day on his face. I’m grateful that he doesn’t, but what he says next really hits me, harder than his piercing gaze. “I guess I’m not in any position to convince you to stay. And consider it an understatement when I say how much I’ll miss you. But you said it yourself: you can pick up your life and move ten thousand miles away but still be stuck with the same situation you ran away from.”
My blood runs cold. I do remember saying that. Or at least believing it.
“And I don’t know what you think is missing from yourself, but take it from me: you’re never going to go back to ‘normal.’ Your life will be the farthest thing from it. Trust me on that one.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I leap to my feet, trying to look distracted by the crowd so I don’t cry. “It’s freezing out here,” I snap. “I’m going to find some shougazake. I’ll be back … I guess.”
Zaniel calls out after me as I storm off, but he doesn’t pursue. Good. My heart is pounding too hard for me to think. Now I really do feel like I’m on a G-force roller coaster; one ill-timed word and I’d probably throw up on him. I don’t know why I’m angry and nervous and dizzy all of a sudden. Maybe it’s hunger. No, it isn’t any of those things: It’s fear. Fear that he’s right, fear that circumstances will change so much we won’t see each other ever again. I couldn’t handle that. And he’s right about one thing: I was happy here. I mean, I am. Especially with him. But I get the feeling he wants me to stay for his own sake. That’s nothing new. He’s not going to miss me. I’ve met tons of guys just like him, three this past month alone, looking for someone to replace the ever-revolving door of gaijin they befriend over time. Unless he really does see us as more than friends. But it’s not like we have the time to do anything about it.
Wait. Why am I even talking like this? There was never any “we” to begin with. Three dates don’t make a “we.”
I wander around the other food stands to see what’s left: corn dogs, cotton candy, and other stuff no one wants because it’s hardened by the cold exposure. Everyone seems to be getting ready to close up for the night. I’m ready to head home myself. This was a bad idea on the tail end of a string of bad ideas. I head back empty-handed to our bench. Zaniel is now standing beyond one of the bigger bonfires, looking cold and irritable. His face brightens again when he sees me, then goes slack like he is about to see a small animal get hit by a car. “Cybelle!”
“ABUNAI!” someone shouts behind me. Look out.
Something large and heavy crashes through the giant bonfire next to me. A burst of flames sends bits of charred wood and hot embers into the air. I duck and curl up on the ground. Everyone around me screams. Then the crowd starts to surge toward me, running for their lives. I scramble on all fours and hide behind a bench. I hear a woman scream something, her voice high-pitched and frail, followed by the sound of an animal growling as it tears through what I assume is flesh.
“Inoshishi,” someone screams. “Inoshishi! Minna, nigero!” It’s a boar. Everybody, run.
Someone collapses right into me as they take shelter behind the bench. “Did you see the size of that thing?” a man next to me says in Japanese. “It’s bigger than my damn car!”
There’s a family hiding against a neighbouring bench. “Did someone call the police?” the mother cries.
“Cops?! What are they gonna do? We need the zoo, bitch!”
Another explosion through a bonfire sends a fresh wave of heat through the air. Even behind this bench I can feel it above my head, up my back. I turn around to look under the space of the bench and scoot away just in time to avoid the pool of dark liquid coursing through the dirt toward me.
Now, I scream.
The man next to me hauls me to my feet and pushes me ahead and out of the way from the crowd fleeing the shrine grounds. He disappears before I can even try to thank him. Zaniel is nowhere to be seen. I yell his name over the tide of frightened people herding me toward the street. The sky opens up again and I am standing on the main road, pushed and shoved by the people streaming around me with shocked, tear-stained faces. Standing there in a daze, I wonder what my own face looks like. I can barely fathom where I am or what I should do next. All I can think about is the fate of those two elderly ladies.
Something grabs my arm and practically pulls it out of the socket. No! Not again! flashes across my mind. I scream and try to shake it off.
“It’s okay,” Zaniel doesn’t release his grip. He keeps running, away from the shrine, away from the crowd. “I’ve got you.”
A guttural sound quakes the ground and people scream in response. Those who are running pick up an extra burst of speed while the people standing around to catch their breath or take out their cellphones lose composure and join them. It had started to snow, but everything feels hot, like a wave of fire is coming toward us. A tsunami of heat. The idea of such a thing makes me hyperventilate. Zaniel doesn’t let me stop to catch my breath. His hand is strongly clutching mine as we duck down a short alley.
I remember this alley. Metallica. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see. Come on.”
It’s a rhetorical question. Deep down, I already know the answer.
We’ve slowed down, but it’s still hard to keep up with Zaniel’s long-gaited speed-walking as we pass the flickering lights of Love Drug and the tiny shrine on the corner. We hurry down the empty road with that skewed torii gate. Zaniel abruptly turns and pulls me through it. We’re trapped between two short buildings now, in the same dark cul-de-sac I found myself in less than twenty-four hours ago. Zaniel finally lets me go and slumps against the wall, all colour drained from his face. I take this as my cue to lean against the cold brick and catch my breath. What are we doing back here?
“It’s him. He’s here.”
Right on cue, a shriek pierces the air and echoes into the night. I’m afraid to ask who he’s talking about. And yet, deep down, I already know the answer to that question, too. “No.” I shake my head, backing away from Zaniel, from the dark hole he’s already heading toward. “I don’t want to go back in there.” Something tells me I won’t be coming back out.
“It’s going to be okay. Trust me.” He extends a hand. “Please,” he begs. The solid comfort of his grip seems much more promising than the prospect of running through the empty streets of Osaka with some feral creature on the loose. So, I take it.
Zaniel takes out his phone and uses the flashlight to guide us down into the dark remains of the decrepit restaurant. The dead sakura tree I trip over does not comfort me, but I feel somewhat relieved when we reach the main room. There’s enough light coming in from where there used to be a ceiling that Zaniel doesn’t need his phone anymore. I’m less comforted when he pulls me deeper into the room, approaching the giant stage, and ducks under a clothed table. “What the —? Ow!” He reaches up and pulls me down with him. “What the hell are we doing now?”
“Listen, Cybelle. I know you don’t believe me, and I don’t have time to explain, but what happened to you three months ago … it’s going to happen again if we don’t do something about it. As long as we’re both here, he’s just going to keep coming. This has to end. Right now.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I only have one pressing question on my mind. “How?”
Zaniel bites his lip, steeling himself. “You have to go back to sleep.”
I blink. “I have to WHAT?!”
“You heard me,” he gasps. I can practically hear his eyes lighting up. “The room downstairs. You can sneak down there to sleep. I’ll buy you as much time as I can while you —”
“Ew, no! Have you completely lost your mind?!”
“It’s the only way to get to a place where you can defeat him. You can do this.” He proceeds to rip off his coat and wrap it around me like a blanket. He’s got to be kidding. “This might be the last thing that’ll convince you of anything … hell, I won’t be surprised if it makes everything even worse for you. But at least you’ll be in a position to finally understand.”
Uh-oh. Understand what? “Zaniel … what are you about to do?”
He leans across the space between us and wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me into him. As weird as this all is, I allow myself a moment to rest against him. He smells amazing.
“Here. Take this.”
He digs something out of his coat pocket. For some reason I half-expect him to produce a weapon. But no. It’s the small, burlap sack I took from the basement.
“The fuck? Your soybeans? What am I supposed to do with these?!”
“ZANIEL,” says a deep, growling voice, its echo so loud that it sounds like it’s right behind me. I hear sniffing, snorting, and then: “Ceeeeeeebelle …”
My eyes water in fear. “Zaniel, what the hell —?”
“I’ll distract him. Stay here,” Zaniel commands me. He doesn’t give me much choice, dropping the cloth back down over the table after he slinks out from underneath. The clop-clop-clop-clop on stone stairs gets louder and closer. I’m sweating and shaking, hot and cold at the same time. What the hell am I doing? I don’t have to stay here. I should make a run for it. I can shout for Zaniel and we can get the hell out of here, instead of whatever he thinks I’m about to do with these freaking beans. But why would he give them to me when running away would be the logical thing to do?
A deep, clear growl ringing through the dark restaurant freezes me in place. “Well, well, well … look who’s up and about, eh?” I know that voice.
“No thanks to you,” Zaniel’s retort echoes off the walls.
The resultant laughter sends chills up my spine. “You know,” the voice continues, “I gotta hand it to that bitch. Crossin’ my territory, gettin’ past the moat, all the way to you. And then she goes and eats my fuckin’ nightmares — AGAIN. You picked one hell of a yokai to be on your side, kid. Now, tell me where she’s hidin’ so I can kill her nice and slow.”
There’s a scuffling sound, like someone bumping into a far-off table, and the sound of utensils and glass being jostled. The voice snickers, then bursts out laughing. “A fork? Seriously, kid? Who do you think you are now, Momotaro or somethin’? Please. Zanielkun. Look at me. Look at me. I’m not your enemy.”
“Oh, really, Akki? Was it some other demon who took three months of my life?”
Akki. I know that name.
“Hey, you wanted my protection, and I fuckin’ gave it to you. Did anyone bother you all those three months? I fuckin’ did you a favour, kid. I protected you, just like you asked me to, all those years ago.”
“Right. And that whole time, you were lying to me. Stealing souls behind my back. And like a sucker I helped you do it. Well, it’s over, Akki. You’re going to leave us alone from now on.”
Stealing what? Am I hearing things right?
“What? You’re leavin’ me? For what — HER?”
Zaniel lets out a breath. “Yes,” he says steadily. “But mostly for myself. Let’s face it; you were never going to let me live a normal life. In the end you would have taken my eyes, too, when my looks faded and I’d outlasted my usefulness. I was just a fool not to see it coming.”
“Guess you’re not as stupid as you look, kid. But you’ve forgotten one thing. Momotaro needs three creatures to help him win against the demons. And he doesn’t defeat them. He just makes them promise to behave. Well, hate to break it to ya, but I have no plans to behave! Once I’m finished with your new friend, her eyeballs will be the least of her problems.”
What the hell are they talking about? Who is Zaniel even talking to? Something on the floor skitters across my hand. It feels like a giant cockroach. No. I’m not sticking around to find out any of this. I’m out of here.
A high-pitched screech, like the sound of metal being torn, pierces the air. I clap my hands over my ears and try not to cry out. It almost sounds like a wild boar, bleating, but it’s way too loud and too close. There’s the sound of scuffling, and tables being knocked over. I hear Zaniel shout, as if struggling against something. “No, no!” he begs, and then there is a moment of silence before the air whistles and something heavy crashes into the table next to mine. Someone groans in pain. I peek out from the tablecloth and see Zaniel lying on a broken table. It’s like something threw him across the room.
“Zaniel … get up!” I forget about everything he said before and scramble out from under the table to his side. His coat falls from my shoulders, and I drop the bag he gave me to touch his waist, to gently shake him. He cries out in pain. He must have broken a few ribs. “Shit …” Why do I have to keep getting him out of this godforsaken place?
“Cybelle …” he moans. “Run …”
His warning comes too late. Someone grabs the neck of my coat and pulls, hard, dragging me away from him. I choke out a scream, grabbing the cuff of my coat and kicking out my legs in panic.
“YOU. DON’T. TOUCH. HIM.”
The words echo all around me. My flailing arms catch the legs of nearby chairs and tables to slow my attacker down. Bad idea. With an angry roar, my attacker reaches down to grab my belt buckle and jerks upward, hard. I find myself hoisted at least seven feet in the air like I weigh next to nothing. I already know what’s going to come next.
I scream, anyway.
And then I’m flying, sailing over all the tables and chairs, praying that I land on something soft. In the dim light, I can see the stage getting closer and closer, and I briefly think to myself that the curtains look like they might soften my landing.
Unfortunately, I don’t make it — not by a long shot. My body twists in the air and the first thing I feel in my back is the solid slam of hard wood before I bounce off and land on a table, breaking my fall, and everything goes black.
Sweltering heat and the scent of trees hit the Yokai as she steps off the plane, grateful to finally be out of that cold, stale, boxy compartment. She bows to the flight attendants who bid her farewell, and saunters down the metallic staircase that leads straight into the heart of a tropical jungle. Palm trees and coconut trees sway above her in the ocean breeze. The ocean. She can hear it nearby. Waves … and music. Better change here, while there’s no one around. She drags her giant suitcase to a shady spot and digs out a black bikini from among the massive bottles of water, clothes, sandals, and a heavy orange block that appears to read “American Cheese.” She quickly puts the bikini on before anyone can spot her, shy despite the fact that there is no one around, and continues on, abandoning the suitcase. It will be fine out here.
The jungle makes way and opens up to a long, cement building that looks like an abandoned bubble tea shop. “Om Nom Nom Nom,” a crumbling sign reads. “Oc—n C—nti-a.” The Yokai ventures inside, meandering through dozens of neatly arranged circular tables, toward the other side of the building. The wall here is missing, exposing a crowd of creatures dancing on a gorgeous beach. She has found the source of the pleasant tropical music: a giant pink octopus in a red loincloth with the biggest head she has ever seen towers above the crowd, playing several adequate-sized marimbas. There appear to be other, smaller octopi nearby playing accompanying instruments, but it is the giant that has the crowd moving and shaking. The Yokai takes up an empty reclining chair as the octopus sings:
“I suck
Submitted by ‘Isaac’
Admitting that I suck
I suck
I suck”
The Yokai wrinkles her brow. “What an odd song.” Then she bursts out laughing. “Oh! He sucks because he’s an octopus. I got it! Speaking of octopus, man, am I hungry. Garçon!” She flags down a nearby waiter in board shorts, carrying an empty tray.
“Yes, miss.”
“Do you have any takoyaki?”
“No, miss. Only chicken and tropical foods.”
“Okay. I’ll start with twenty chicken nuggets, and all the sweet-and-sour sauce you can give me, please.”
“Sorry, miss, we don’t have chicken nuggets, anymore, but we do have a new chicken sandwich — it’s only twenty bucks.”
“What’s my tab now?”
“With the sandwich, altogether it’ll be $88.89.”
“Charge it,” says the Yokai; she pours a handful of sand onto the waiter’s tray. He leaves, confused but silent, while she produces a large pair of sunglasses out of thin air and leans back to take better stock of her surroundings. Funny how she is one of only three human-looking creatures on the beach. On either side of her lie two gorgeous futakuchi-onna in bikinis fanning themselves and sticking maraschino cherries on toothpicks under their hair for their extra mouths to enjoy. A gaze of tanuki emerge from the water to ogle them at a closer distance. A herd of gigantic green cows, all with three eyes, now wander onto the sand from the cantina, looking confused and out of place. A large black lacquered Daruma with two eyes rolls up behind them, followed by a pack of huge, scruffy-looking cats with forked tails. More odd-looking animals and people and demons appear to be playing and relaxing all along the beach. But no one, not even the futakuchi-onna, look anything like the Yokai. For once, she thinks as she lies back with a peaceful sigh, this does not bother her so much.
“Whoa, ho, ho,” says one of the cats, looking around. “Where the hell are we? Okinawa?”
“I don’t think so,” says one of the three-eyed cow demons, its eyes trained on a waitress with a heaving tray of steamy, caramelized plantain. “I have a feeling we’re way farther from our neck of the woods.”
“Don’t you mean, neck of the mountains?” says the fan in a futakuchi-onna’s hand.
“Whatever, Sensu-sama. How did we get here?”
“Forget about us! What is she doing here?” Another fork-tailed cat points a claw at the lounging Yokai. “What are you doing, freaking sunbathing?”
“Yes. I sunbathe. So what? You know, y’all are really messing with my vibe. I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
“You’re supposed to be fighting the Nightmare King!” the Daruma wails.
“Who?”
“Akki! You know, the King of Nightmares? The boar god that’s been after you? Hello?!”
“Akki?” The giant octopus stops mid-chorus. “Oh, hell no.” It drops its sticks and slithers away as best an octopus can slither across a sandy coastline.
“You guys are weird. I don’t see any boars.” The Yokai looks up and down the beach, then reclines back against her chair. “Besides, this place is all sand. Boars don’t — whoa, what’s up with that? Sunset, already?”
The other yokai turn to the sky. It is indeed changing, muting from a light tropical blue to a deep orange and, following that, it dims to the blood colour with which they are so familiar. Many breathe a sigh of relief and exchange smiles. Then a few voices cry out in horror. “Look! Mite, mite!” The ocean horizon has become a string of fire, blazing from one end to the other like ignited kerosene, and it is climbing up the blood-red sky. A tsunami of fire accompanied by the telltale screech of a bleating boar.
It is Akki, and Akki is angry.
“Chikushou! I knew this wasn’t over!”
“It was too good to be true!”
“Fuck, we’re all dead!”
“Nigero! Run, run!”
Everyone scrambles for the shore. The now-bewildered Yokai finds herself tumbling into the sand as the burly cow creatures crash into her chair. A futakuchi-onna is kind enough to help the Yokai to her feet, but not patient enough to stay. The Yokai lets the tide of monsters carry her through the abandoned cantina, into the jungle where there is enough open space for her to run. Here, the ground is still covered in hot thick sand, slowing her down. Struggling to breathe, she braces herself behind a thick coconut tree as multitudes of yokai stream past her. She braces herself for the wave of heat to come crashing down on her, and is thankful when the waves that rush over her legs are not flames, but water, albeit a disturbing shade of red. She cannot outrun the tsunami, whether it consist of fire or water. She has to think of something else. If only she could get higher —
“That’s it.”
The Yokai runs once again, but instead of fleeing farther into the jungle behind the others, she breaks off from the group and heads uphill. The trees here are farther from one another, and much, much bigger. Or perhaps it is she who is getting smaller. It makes perfect sense. She is getting hungrier.
“Damn,” she pants. “This sucks. I’m starving.” She kisses her teeth. “I never got my sandwich.” Alas, there is no time to wallow in remorse for chicken sandwiches that could have been. She pushes onward as hard as she can, the sounds of monsters crying out in pain as the presumable wall of fire reaches them, creating more and more incentive to climb. She too can feel the heat, all the way up here … No. The heat is not in the air. It is under her hands and feet, radiating from the ground itself. It rumbles with power. The Yokai looks up; sure enough, the blood sky has become dark with ash and soot. “A volcano. Great.” But it is better than whatever is happening down below.
The Yokai’s ascent ends at a sharp cliff. She pulls herself up over the face and finds the air is much clearer here. She can even see the top. “What the …?” There is something already up there. A majestic-looking hawk-eagle with a bald patch perched in a nest, unceremoniously shredding a freakishly large, oblong vegetable with its beak and talons. “Weird,” says the Yokai. “Not the weirdest thing I’ve seen today, but still —”
“Hold it right there, tiny missy!” A muffled voice shouts. “This is my volcano!” With an echoing screech, the hawk-eagle flies down, landing with an impressive thud and a dramatic spread of its wings to block the Yokai’s path. “I don’t allow climbers. If you want to get to the top, too bad. Go find your own volcano, now. Shoo! Shoo!” It flaps at her.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your volcano. It’s just that there’s a fiery tsunami down below and a possible boar on the loose. Everybody made a break for it. Maybe you should be, you know, fleeing like the others?”
The hawk-eagle makes a shrugging gesture with its outspread wings. “Well. You know what they say: kuu ka kuwareru ka. Now beat it.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“It means I want you to leave.”
“No, the other thing you said. Kuu wa … nandakke?”
The hawk-eagle sighs. “Kids today. It means, ‘Eat or be eaten.’ Take my eggplant, for example —”
“‘Eat or be eaten’? By an eggplant? I doubt you have to worry about that.”
The hawk-eagle looks about to offer a surly retort, then points a trembling wing at her. “Behind you!” it squawks, a moment too late. It takes to the air while the Yokai’s hair is pulled so far back behind her she loses her balance and tumbles into her attacker. They roll a painful, pointy journey down the volcano, all the way back to the valley. Gasping, Akki crawls toward the prostrate Yokai.
“Well, fuckin’ well. Looks like someone’s little nightmare snack’s been all digested up — nothin’ for you to chomp on, now. Look at ya, you’re already shrinkin’ down to nothin’. And I thought killin’ ya was gonna be difficult!”
A giant hand shoves the Yokai’s face down into the sand. She lashes out with a high-pitched squeal and twice connects an elbow with Akki’s shoulder. He grunts and reels back, giving her the split second required to gasp for air and cough. He kicks her in the stomach, winding her further. When she rolls onto her back, Akki does not waste time. He tackles her, pinning her still-shrinking arms to the ground.
No! The Yokai squeezes her eyes shut, struggling to think straight. There has to be a way out of this before the flames hit. Think, damn it, think. Her mind begins to steel itself. The flames. The fiery tsunami. What happened to them? It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. The beach, the giant octopus, those other creatures, the hawk-eagle. How could any of it be real?
It can’t be. It isn’t. It’s a dream.
Akki barks a laugh in her face. “It’s a dream, all right. My dream. You’re in my world now, ya puny little bitch. Once I’ve eaten the rest of ya, the kid’s mine. His eyes are mine. This world is mine. I’m takin’ ’em all back, and there ain’t a fuckin’ thing you can do about it this time.” He sees the Yokai is about to make some kind of scathing response, but he will not entertain any witty comebacks this time. Still pinning her down, he smothers her face with his body.
Nope, not a dream!
The Yokai tries to scream, but Akki only hears a muffled cry underneath him. His laughter is a deep, evil bellow of triumph. The upper hand is finally his. How long can half-yokai half-humans go without oxygen? Ah, who cares? Another minute or two of suffocating against his stomach ought to do the trick. All he has to do is wait for her to stop struggling and die, and then her salty caramel flesh and eyes will be his to consume.
Winning has never been so easy. Almost easier than the last time.
“Ow.” Akki feels a pinch in his stomach. He almost reaches to scratch at it. No. He cannot get up yet. Thirty more seconds ought to finish her off. But something is wrong. “Ow …!”
Very wrong.
“Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!”
He tries to get up and finds he cannot. Something has attached itself to his stomach. It is the Yokai. More specifically, it is the Yokai’s teeth. Thirty-two long, sharp needles, all puncturing the skin, sinking into his flesh, and trapping him to her. Akki does not know what to do except panic. Even when he releases her now-growing arms, she does not let go. Blood pours from his wound and spills down his leg, into the pale sand. She does not let go. She is growing longer, heavier, amassing to the point where she could be twice his size, and still she does not let go.
Frantic, he starts screaming for help, for mercy. “I give, I give! Uncle, okay?! Uncle!” He tries to pry her off by pushing against her shoulders. The Yokai smacks his hands away as if batting a fly, then does the unthinkable: she wraps a hand over his face as if to silence him, grits her teeth, and wrenches her head to one side. Akki’s flesh gives way. A substantial chunk of meat goes flying through the air with a spray of red. More in shock than in pain, Akki collapses into the sand, watching helplessly as the Yokai sprints away on all fours and pounces on what used to be part of his torso.
“Aw, yes,” the Yokai sings. “Pork belly!” Even at her size she needs both hands to pick it up and eat it. She savours every bite — the chewy texture of soft, smooth fat yielding to her teeth, the sizzling warmth against her snaky tongue, the sensation of juices dribbling down her chin as much as they course down her throat — she cannot even remember the last time she had braised pork belly. That’s what this is, right? She pauses in her devouring. “Yup, looks like it. Close enough.” The last strips of meat disappear in seconds. The Yokai knows it is impolite but sucks the last shred of meat from her finger and thumb. She already craves more. She looks around, her face slathered with boar blood, her pitch-black eyes twinkling with the prospect of more of that salty, succulent flesh. But all she sees is a wounded baby pig, squealing for all it is worth. Or perhaps it is not a baby; yes, she concludes, it looks like a full-grown adult. She is just that much larger than this particular animal. The Yokai examines herself. How did she get so big so quickly? (She does not remember being this size at the start of her day, but now it feels appropriate.) It does not matter. She wants that boar, the apparent source of that delicious morsel of meat. The way it whines as she stares at it almost brings pity to her heart. It must know what the Yokai wants. No, she should not … but on the other hand, she reasons, if that boar gets the chance, it will most likely do the same and take a bite out of her. She shrugs and gets down on all fours.
“EAT OR BE EATEN.”
Her voice is a deep, throaty, feline growl. Her words cross Akki’s yumego threshold. He understands every one of them, and the intention behind each one. He is screwed.
“Eep!”
Holding in what remains of his side, Akki summons the last of his dream strength. He crawls away with very little haste. In fact, he only gets about three feet before the thundering sound of the Yokai’s footsteps reaches his ears. He flips over onto his back and tries to drag himself, but it is a fruitless endeavour. He collides up against a coconut tree, sending a few down to earth.
The Yokai stalks toward him. “Here, little piggy! Come here, little guy!”
Akki hoists a giant coconut into the air with his good hand and launches it in the Yokai’s direction. She catches it one-handed with a sharp snap. Akki squeals again and throws another. She catches that one, too, and to his horror sinks her teeth into it, ripping out a chunk of the diamond-hard shell, tilts her head back and lets the milk flow into her mouth. She gulps and laughs victoriously.
“Is that the best you’ve got? You’ll have to do better than that if you want to — uh-oh.”
A third coconut hurls toward her. She does not drop the other two in time. It smashes the Yokai in the face, knocking her out instantly.
“Ow … shit …”
It hurts to open my eyes. I feel like I’ve been kicked in the face. My back is killing me for some reason, too. Somewhere close by, someone is breathing heavily. It’s a raspy, gaspy, old-man-on-his-last-legs kind of breath. I jerk upright, surprised at the sensation of hardwood under my palms, wet and sticky with some unknown substance.
This isn’t my living room, and I’m not dreaming.
There’s a man kneeling next to me, naked as the day he was born. He’s clutching his side and staring at me, hard. His one good eye burns green into mine. I scuttle back on my hands as he stumbles to his feet. He balls up the fist of the hand not holding his torso and gestures in my direction, a bleating sound gurgling in his throat.
In the back of my mind, I know what I should do. I should run away from him, run away from wherever the hell this place is, whip out my phone, call the police, let someone else take care of this giant, messed-up dude who is clearly about to punch me in the face, if not worse, and tell myself it’s all a dream. Just a long, realistic, and horrible dream. But I don’t. Instead, I get far enough away to scramble to my feet and swing around, ready to face him with a growl of my own. Ready to punch, kick, scratch with all my might. I’m not going down without a fight.
Not this time.
But something happens. The man’s giant fist stops halfway in its follow-through, and the sound of beans scattering across the stage floor bounces off the rafters like applause. The man has stopped moving completely, frozen on the spot. His head is turned away from me at an awkward angle, like he’s just been slapped. Then his head snaps back to look down at his chest. He touches it and pulls back a blood-drenched hand. Did someone just shoot him? Am I missing something?
“F … fucking … gaijin …” he croaks before slamming hard into the stage floor face first, unconscious. Good.
“Cybelle?! You okay?!”
“Zaniel …”
I hop over the man’s naked figure, kicking him in the side for good measure. Then I make my way over the edge of the stage and leap down. The massive room is spinning, but I manage to stumble over the broken debris of restaurant furniture, right into Zaniel’s arms. I’ve never felt so relieved. “I’m having the weirdest day,” I pant.
“It’s okay. We did it,” he mumbles against my neck. Then, he doubles over. “Ah! Shit, I think I broke something. Yep, I broke something. Definitely a rib. Maybe two.”
“Let’s get the hell out of here, then.”
I’m still breathing hard as we half-guide, half-drag one another through all the detritus toward the torn rice-paper doorway. “It’s okay,” he keeps murmuring. “It’s over, it’s over.”
There’s a good chance I’m concussed because I can barely put together what just happened. I just want to get out of this awful place. “It’s fine,” I eventually say to calm Zaniel down. “Everything is going to be fine. We just need to get out of here. Careful. Watch your foot. That’s it. Now, we just need to tackle these stairs and —”
I freeze. Someone is already at the top of the stairs.
“You can’t come in,” Zaniel’s voice is sharp. He’s not talking to me. “I’m not inviting you in.”
“Nor do you need to,” echoes a soft, deep voice. “This was always technically a public place. Besides, you are mistaken; I was just leaving.”
Zaniel pushes me back behind him, ready to protect me despite his injury. The shadow blocking the doorway seems to shudder but does not move out of our path. “Relax, dream walker. I am not here for either of you. I always wondered what those beans would do to our kind. Now I know. You would do well to make your escape from this place while you can. You are welcome for this advice, no need to thank me.”
“Thank you? For what?”
“A great many things, human. Did you not wonder who took care of you all those months? Akki imprisoned you without any idea of how to keep you. He does not remember what it is like to be human. Perhaps he never was, even in his youth. I too had forgotten how much food and care humans require. It has been so long since I was one myself. At any rate, grateful as I was for Akki allowing you to sleepwalk about that little room of yours, keeping you alive was tiring. So, I went searching for her. It was not easy. You are welcome.”
Zaniel is quiet for a moment. “Must I guess what the great Hino-sama wants in exchange for my care?”
“My only request is that you do not destroy me, too. It is only fair. Right, Baku-sama?”
The shadow is no longer addressing Zaniel. I find myself pushing Zaniel away, approaching the dark shadow in the entranceway. It’s that girl from weeks ago. The one outside of the bar. And the girl who sat across from me when Zaniel and I came here on our first date. It doesn’t make sense, and yet it makes all the sense in the world. “Hino?”
“You remember. I am honoured.” The shadow bows low. “Take care, Baku-sama, and why not? You, too, dream-walking human. I would hate to see you both end up on cereal boxes one day. Now, if you will excuse me, my search for the perfect lighter continues. Farewell.”
Cereal boxes? The perfect lighter? I don’t get it. But the dark figure of the leonine, long-haired girl is already turning away, a ghostly figure heading into the dimly lit night, disappearing forever.
“That was weird,” I mutter. What am I saying? What out of this whole day hasn’t been fucking weird? “Come on. Put your weight into me.” Zaniel groans as we climb the steps and step out into the open air. “There, see? We made it.”
“Yeah …” Zaniel turns to me, then stops in his tracks. “Uh, Cybelle? You … you’ve got something …” He gestures to his mouth.
“What?” With my free hand, I wipe my chin and it comes back sticky and dark. “The hell …?”
Whatever this stuff is, it’s all over my face. I carefully let Zaniel go and step farther out into what little light there is out here. My eyes begin to blur. Something is very wrong. I look down and my stomach roils. Behind me, leading all the way up to my feet, is a thick, greasy trail of red fluid and clots in pristine white snow. That’s what’s all over my face, all over my white coat. The scent on my fingers that’s like the time I left hamburger meat de-thawing for too long. Or dead, rotting fish.
It’s blood.
And none of it is mine.
I did this. This is what I did to that naked man. I remember sinking my teeth into his stomach … eating his flesh … and liking it.
I don’t scream. My voice doesn’t go high or loud enough. I just let out this soft moan as my body tilts to one side. Everything goes very dark in a split second. Somewhere close by, Zaniel shouts my name as I slip into unconsciousness; I feel his body against mine before I hit the cold, snowy ground.
“It’s okay.” I hear his soft voice all around me. “I’ve got you.”
Passing out isn’t so scary. It’s just like going to sleep, but very, very sudden. I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice. Safe, in this darkness, in Zaniel’s arms, out of my own body, away from the blood. Even if I could think straight, I do not need to dwell on any of it. All I can do now is sleep.
“Zaniel?”
Zaniel raises his head, eyes widening. He is not surprised to see the Yokai above him, emerging out of the dark entranceway. He is more concerned about her freezing, being naked in such cold. She does not seem to notice. She simply takes a deep inhale of the crisp winter air, minty and refreshing in comparison to the dank inside of what is left of Jibun Jishin. “Ooh,” she shivers. “It’s nice out here.”
Zaniel tries to roll over onto his knees. Every movement sends spikes of pain shooting through his torso. The Yokai rushes to his side to assist him. That is when she notices the unconscious body next to him. “Is that … is that me?”
“Well —”
“Why am I saturated in blood?!”
“Y … yeah, about that —”
“Am I DEAD?”
“No! No, you just passed out. And I … well, I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“Oh. Well. Um. That’s very kind of you. Are you…?”
“Yeah. I’ll be all right. Eventually.” He lets her gingerly help him to his feet. “But it looks like we have to make another trip to the hospital.”
“Oh, brother. You can’t seem to stay out of trouble, can you?”
“Like you said earlier: I think my days of ‘trouble’ are over.”
The Yokai slowly smiles, remembering: “I never said, ‘trouble,’ I said, ‘adventure.’”
“Oh. Right. Well, how about you? How are you feeling?”
Her arms wrapped carefully around him, the Yokai gazes up at the night sky, then closes her eyes. “Full.”
Zaniel starts to laugh, then winces, and clutches his broken ribs. “You? Not hungry? That’s a first.”
“Yes.” The Yokai gives him a sly grin. “But it won’t be the last.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah, nothing. Just a feeling. I thought I was done with Japan; now, I’m not so sure.” She glances down at herself. She strokes her naked arms and legs, as if she has not seen them in a long time. “Maybe I do belong here. But maybe I won’t really know until I leave. Does that make sense?”
“Does any of what goes on around here make sense?”
“Hmm. Touché. Makes about as much sense as me eating a demon twice my size. Oh, speaking of which, where are those bracelets of yours? I have an idea.”
“They were in my … Damn, I forgot my coat. Again.”
“I got you.” The Yokai gently props Zaniel up against the graffitied wall and dashes back into the restaurant. She re-emerges with the young man’s coat, which he gratefully dons, as she removes the plastic bag from one of its pockets. She unceremoniously dumps the bracelets from the bag onto the snowy pavement and tosses the bag into the burned-out trash can. She then picks up each bracelet from the ground, wipes off the snow and potential germs against her naked thigh, then lifts each one above her head and lightly drops them into her mouth, swallowing them in two gulps.
“There. They won’t be back anytime soon. That’s three good deeds I’ve done for the year. You’re welcome.” She points a stern finger at him. “By the way, this changes nothing between us. This does not make me your new bodyguard. I already know what you’re thinking.”
Zaniel smiles, trying not to laugh for fear of his ribs again. “It’s okay. I have a feeling I won’t need one anymore, but I’ll keep it in mind. Come on; let’s get as fucking far away from here as possible.”
“Wait,” the Yokai says. “I know you’re in a tremendous amount of pain and all, but … I have been running around for twenty-four hours on no sleep. More if you consider I’ve been bouncing between two worlds. Would you mind if I … if we … um …”
Zaniel braces himself. “What do you need?”
“I need to sleep. No dreaming. Just sleep, just for a minute or two. Then I’ll fireman-carry you back to Osaka General if you want.”
“Ha — ow. Why do you keep making me laugh?” He looks down at the figure sleeping peacefully on the snow-dusted ground. “Sure you won’t be cold?”
“Cold?” The Yokai cocks her head. “It’s not even ten degrees!”
Another bolt of pain shoots through Zaniel’s fractured bones. “Fine. If it’s just for a minute or two. I’m not in a rush to go anywhere. Except the hospital, but you already —”
The Yokai kisses his cheek. “Ookini, Momotaro.”
Zaniel blushes. “You’re welcome.” He lets gravity do the work as he slides down the wall to a comfortably seated position, trying not to stare at the Yokai as she walks away. He turns suddenly, to say something else, but she has already disappeared. He does not mind; he can wait.
Deep in the darkness, the Yokai feels the snow melt under her naked feet, rising inch by inch past her ankles, up to her knees. She steps backward into the restaurant entranceway, disappearing from view. Now standing waist-deep in opaque black water, the Yokai leans back and lets the tide take her to sea, floating on the surface like a starfish, out into the sweet, peaceful oblivion that is sleep.