Author's Notes:
I bow in admiration before two amazing stories, Guardian and The Road to Somewhere, which you will undoubtedly be reminded of.
Many thanks to my wonderful beta Hana no Kamisama for her help and support.
The series of books mentioned in the text is Max Frei "The Labyrinths of Echo". They are light-hearted detective stories with a fantasy background, witty and fun.
Not so long ago, touring temples was mainly a hobby of the elderly. But nowadays I encounter older people there much less often. […] The most enthusiastic habitués of Buddhist temples and Shintō shrines nowadays are unquestionably young adults.
Shimada Hiromi "Japanese Religion Comes Full Circle: Millennials in Search of Their Spiritual Roots", 2014. 04
Disclaimer: all the characters belong to Hayao Miyazaki and Studio Ghibli, except Sir Max, who belongs to himself and to a certain bird-lady, I hope.
Readjusting was hard at first. The house was too empty and spacious. Three people couldn't possibly need so much room. With her things unpacked and arranged, Chihiro largely found herself with nothing to do. Her mother was surprised when the girl asked if she could help about the house, but it quickly became a routine. Thankfully, her parents asked no questions. They acted as if nothing had happened, but they seemed jumpy and studiously avoided any mention of the lost week, at least in front of her. Then there was the fact that her father lost a lot of weight in the following months, and became an adept of healthy eating. Mother didn't even seem surprised. Chihiro asked no questions either. They were frightened enough as it was.
As summer progressed, Chihiro explored the neighborhood and made some friends. Two of them turned out to be in her class. School was nice as far as schools go. She wondered why she had been so scared of it before – but then, after working alongside spirits, riding on a ghost train and almost getting eaten; few things could be considered daunting. Life moved on, and Chihiro moved on with it. As she grew older, she had a few boyfriends - relationships based on curiosity and hormone surge rather than serious feeling – a typical thing, a bit of fun over in a few months.
When she had a few hours to spare, Chihiro would sometimes amuse herself by recollecting everything that had happened in the Spirit World: the beings, the places and the people. As she grew older she often found herself stalling at things that seemed out of place in the vibrant memories: peeling paint, vague backgrounds, vanishing stations. But it was only when she started reading extensively on mythology that she was finally able to put her finger on it. Hastily she resurrected her memories to refute the idea that was forming in her mind. Carefully she counted them off: images she was now able to understand: spirits pale and weak; spirits in groups with one or several members missing, or only one remaining; whispers of spirits that were not coming anymore… Mythology offered a simple explanation: religion has become an outcast. People have changed. People have built a rational predictable world around them. People believed in science, progress and weather forecast – but hardly anything beyond that. And as they stopped believing, people started forgetting. Old shrines stood abandoned. The number of kami modern children would be able to name was hardly a handful, and then they knew next to nothing about those they could name. Old rites and ways were embedded in tradition, but they hardly carried any meaning, and as such were empty. There was no place for the old Gods in the modern world. And thus, they had to go. Chihiro tried to persuade herself it was just a wild guess - an ungrounded speculation - but as she looked back, she felt it was true. Slowly, one after the other, the gods would fade into non-existence. Less and less guests would come to the bathhouse until the bathhouse itself would start to vanish. It tore at Chihiro's heart. Gods were not supposed to die! They were supposed to live and reign forever, envied and awed by the humans. It was unfair. It was terrible. Yet what could she do? We all have to live, day by day, with the understanding that everyone around us will die, and we will, too. Time took the poignancy out of Chihiro's pain.
And then somebody recommended her the books about Max Frei.
One evening after finishing the last book in the series Chihiro lay in bed, mulling it over, tying all the events to the unexpected ending. And then it hit her. She jumped out of bed and switched on her laptop. Hastily she scrolled down the search page. What was the name of the author? Oh, dang it, couldn't she at least remember some words from the title? Her hands shook when she found the article. She read it twice, hanging on every word. Fantasy worlds, the author said, had replaced religion in modern society. Faith was gone, but people wanted to believe something that couldn't be explained away. They craved magic and miracle. Mass culture responded with the supernatural and alien stories, and fairy tales for all ages. People absorbed them happily, and made them a part of their lives, all the while knowing the worlds were simply fantasy. Tolkien fans didn't really think they were hobbits or elves, but they played at hobbits and elves with such zest as to make them practically real.
And that held her. Practically real. That was certainly better than practically gone. If the problem with the Spirit world was that people had started to forget, would Sir Max's solution apply? If belief was lost, could wanting to believe become a surrogate? She turned the idea this way and that in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more logical it seemed. There was nothing impossible about it, either. After all, she had written essays at school. She wouldn't even have to invent the plot. All she had to do was write down her own experience.
Writing a book, however, turned out to be more daunting than she had expected. She read on creative writing. She tried the stream-of-consciousness approach. She divided the narration into chunks and developed a detailed plan for each. She would work late into the night to produce a page or two. In the morning she would re-read them only to admit that if she had come upon such a story herself, she wouldn't read beyond the first few paragraphs. Perhaps, unlike Sir Max, she simply didn't have the talent for it. True enough, her text got better with time. She believed if she tried hard, after a while she could produce a passable book.
Only she didn't need a passable book. She needed a bestseller.
Giving up was hard. For a while she brooded in melancholy. And then it occurred to her.
The next Monday her stand began.
"I have told you before, and I'm telling you again: he is busy. He can't see you," the man towered over her irritably.
"I'm happy to wait," Chihiro answered as she had many times before.
"You've been here for a week, don't you have something better to do?"
"It's holidays."
The man scowled for a moment, then continued in a softer tone,
"Look, it is really bad timing, the deadline is upon us and we are all working from morning till night. Can't you come in a couple of weeks?"
"I hear you are always busy," she answered mildly.
"Well, just tell me what you want to tell him, and I will pass it on."
"I'm sorry, but it has to be him."
They'd been through this several times before. As the man stomped away Chihiro sat down on her backpack and settled for a long wait. However, several minutes later the man returned.
"Come on," he huffed waving her along, "But make it quick."
Master motioned her to a chair across from him. Chihiro told herself not to fidget as he regarded her with mild curiosity. If anything, Master looked tired.
"You are rather insistent, aren't you?" he murmured.
"I'm sorry," she blurted. "I know you are busy and I'm encroaching on your time, but I must speak with you!"
Master sat back, folding his hands in his lap.
"Speak, then."
So she told him everything. It took a while. He listened without comment. Several times people poked their heads through the door, but he motioned them away. Finally she was done. Tired and drained, she waited as thoughtfully he looked into the distance.
"So," he finally said. "It's a plot?"
"Yes," she answered.
"And you are giving it to me?"
"Yes," she repeated numbly.
He was silent for a few moments longer.
"It has an open ending."
"Yes."
Somewhere in her foggy brain there must have been a smarter answer, but she simply couldn't come up with one.
Master smiled.
"I like open endings."
The film came out a year and a half later. Chihiro went to see it on the second day. Master had followed her story closely, but filled it with his own images. The restaurants, the bathhouse, the spirits looked different from what she remembered – and yet, somehow, they rang true. It was uncanny how with a few strokes of colour and a few choice words Master managed to bring out the essence of each – then, perhaps, she shouldn't have been surprised.
Chihiro in the film thankfully had a different family name. This movie Chihiro looked nothing like her own childhood pictures, and still there were things about the character – the spindly legs, the shy awkwardness – that Chihiro remembered only too well about herself. She wondered how Master knew, and how much he could actually tell about a person by simply watching and listening.
Haku looked different, too, but Chihiro wondered if the people around her saw now what she had also seen back then, at the bathhouse: he changed smoothly, adjusting his appearance to different situations, like growing older and taller to gain authority, or looking shorter and younger to earn the trust of a little terrified girl.
Chihiro cried when she watched the ending. Oh, she remembered Master's words, but somehow she had hoped he would forge a happy ending for Haku and herself. Then at least on the screen it would come true. Of course, theirs was a happy ending of sorts: they were both free, and could return to their worlds and live their lives, and make their own choices – from a limited scope, naturally, but a choice was always precious.
In the end, it did not matter. Master managed to capture the very atmosphere, the feeling of the Spirit World: the flowing brightness, beauty, magic – and also decay. And if that was not enough to form the link, then nothing else would be.
The film was an instant success, collecting movie awards, topping the box-office lists nationally and then moving abroad. Interviews were given, merchandize was sold and internet communities formed and filled in quickly. At some point amid this craze the studio agent contacted Chihiro. How they had found her was a mystery.
"We think it only fair," the agent said. "That you have your share of the returns."
Chihiro recoiled from the idea.
"I couldn't possibly," she said firmly. "It is an honour that Master used my story in his film. Seeing it on screen is all the reward I could ever want."
The agent opened her mouth to argue, and then closed it without a word. She studied Chihiro curiously. When she continued, it was in a soft unhappy voice. "He is doing it from the heart, you know."
That brought tears to Chihiro's eyes. The last thing she wanted was to offend Master. But she couldn't, wouldn't be paid for this!
"You may have heard about the Save Totoro Forest project," the agent said thoughtfully. "Its aim is to buy land in Sayama forest in the outskirts of Tokyo to preserve it from development. It is a beautiful place," she sighed. "The land there is ridiculously expensive."
Chihiro smiled gratefully at the older woman.
"I have always wanted to participate in something like this."
"Good," the agent nodded.
The hustle continued. Home video appeared, along with soundtrack, and those were sold by dozens. Internet communities bloomed. And then, somehow, the second phase began: children taking their parents to visit old shrines, mythology courses abruptly rising in popularity, enthusiasts cleaning a grove here, a lake there, all topped by a group of students who fiddled with a spring in a National park, re-routing it onto an old dry river-bed, then closer to the boundaries of the park directing it to the nearest lake. The trickle that resulted was proudly named the Kohaku River. How the students escaped being caught in the process was a mystery, but the pictures were all over the internet. The ecologists flew in a rage. Only amateurs of the worst kind would do something like this, they said. The strain would suffocate the spring and in the end make the area even drier that it had been, upsetting the frail ecological balance. It was an irresponsible action for a laughable aim.
The stream, however, refused to be suffocated. If anything, it swelled, and though it wouldn't come close to filling the old banks yet, it already justified the name of "river", albeit a small one. The ecologists hastily thought of an explanation. The internet communities gloated.
Chihiro went to see the river one Saturday. She knew what she'd see, and yet it shocked her. The banks teemed with people. Children dipped their heads in the water, "Honestly, Mom, I've seen him – just there!" Groups of teenage girls snapped pictures, squealing. And a little off to the side were cosplayers in full gear and full swing. It was gross. And yet it would feed the source, and as such it had to be alright.
Slowly the craze subsided. A couple of manga and a TV series appeared, and a cartoon was advertised, all exploiting the same topic. They wouldn't be half as good as Master's movie, but they would serve the purpose. The internet communities thrived. All was coming along well.
A year after the film was released Chihiro decided to celebrate by taking half a day off. She drove to the boundaries of the National park and then walked along the sun-drenched path till she met a new road sign. She stood there for a short while, smiling. The Kohaku River, the sign read, officially stating the ecologists' surrender. Still smiling, Chihiro made her way to the river itself. On a weekday afternoon the banks were empty. The place itself had changed. There were pretty benches here and there and a painted wooden bridge connecting the two parts of the meadow near the lake. Behind it stood a tiny shrine, new paper streamers swaying in the wind.
It was working, Chihiro thought. Something worth living for.
She walked upstream until she entered a grove. The shade was more than welcome. Slowly she made her way along the bank among the twigs and stones. The air smelled of leaves and water, birds chirped and fussed in the trees above. And then at a certain moment, Chihiro simply knew. She turned her head and he was there, keeping pace with her along the opposite bank. Wordlessly, she stared, then squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.
"Hello," he said when she opened her eyes again.
"Hello," she managed in return, still staring.
"Watch your step," he cautioned with a small smile.
Of course she had forgotten about the long gnarled branch lying across the path. She made her way around it carefully. She had spent enough time in the sun today. In the dappled shade over the stream it was easy to start seeing things, especially if for many years one had tried to see them so hard. By the time she got back, there would be no one, and she would return to her nicely settled life instead of getting it all turned upside down in one moment.
She practically ran back. He was standing across the stream. The wind was playing with his hair and rippling his shirt.
"It is so nice to see you!" she hushed.
He made a little bow.
"I am happy to see that you are well." He resumed walking, and she hurried to keep pace with him. "I am also happy to finally be able to convey our gratitude to you. Everyone is in awe of what you have done. The idea itself was simply brilliant!"
She shrugged, embarrassed.
"Wasn't mine. Nicked it from a book."
He cocked his head to the side.
"You applied it wisely then. Already power is surging back into our world. Old shrines restored… Gods returning to former strength… The river is back!"
His eyes were shining. Certainly worth living for, Chihiro thought again. Worth anything.
"It is not my achievement anyway," she said. "If it had not been for Master, nothing would have worked."
"His work will always be blessed," Haku answered. "But I cannot thank him myself, and I am not sure I can ask you to convey our gratitude to him."
Chihiro pictured doing just that. The giggle that escaped her seemed out of place, so she smothered it in the back of her hand. But his eyes, too, were dancing with amusement. And then she felt she had to do something about the sudden weakness in her knees and the heat that was creeping up her cheeks. Oh, she hadn't been so stupid before! But then, what had she known?
Humour, as always, was a coward's way out.
"So, how do you like being famous?" she asked.
He humphed.
"It is… strange. At the beginning all those children stated so surely they could see me that for a while I wondered whether people would start praying to me or trying to capture and dissect me. And then there were those people in costume," Haku continued in a baffled tone. "They acted out bits and pieces..."
Chihiro cringed.
"I know… At least you haven't seen the internet."
"The internet?"
Did he even know what that was?
"Well," she opted for an easy explanation. "People write stories… about the Spirit World."
About you and me.
Chihiro had read some of those. Later she wished she hadn't. Oh, some of them were really good as far as stories went, but on reading them she was thankful Master had not chosen a happy ending. It was easier that way. And then, she never read past the kisses. What else the authors described she could only imagine. Could, but rather would not. Now, that didn't help her stupid blush.
"They have a vivid imagination," she finished lamely.
Haku arched his brow but said nothing.
She grasped at a bad joke like a lifeline.
"With all this popularity next thing you know they'll be bringing you brides and tossing them in the water."
"That would be extremely unwise of them," he replied coolly. "Anyone versed in the area would know a bride should be claimed by the groom. What is tossed in the water is food."
"No, seriously?" she was intrigued. "Would a dragon eat a girl if she fell into the river?"
He turned to fully face her.
"What do you think?"
She looked away, mortified.
Well done, Chihiro.
"I think," she mumbled. "That depends on the character of the dragon."
"No," Haku answered sententiously. "It is clearly determined by tradition. And the tradition is this: the dragon chooses the most beautiful girl in the village. The village returns the girl to the river. The dragon carries the girl to the bottom and eats her. Then he does not require food for a whole year."
Seriously, for a moment she even believed him. Then she saw a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She drew a sharp breath, but the indignant words died on her lips. His eyes were alight with laughter. The dappled shades flitted across his face. It wrenched her heart. Oh, what was the use? All that waiting and hoping – in the end it was worse than fan fiction happy ends. The stream was narrow here, but not narrow enough for her to reach out and touch him. And if it were, would her fingers find anything?
"Can you get across to this bank?" she asked breathlessly.
She knew the answer even before she heard it.
"No."
She closed her eyes against the unwelcome tears.
"But you can," he continued. "If you choose to. And it is one-way, too."
He was not smiling any more.
"And what would I be on that bank?" she asked quietly.
"The dragon's bride."
She knew that soft look. It had haunted her dreams for many years. And for many years she had read about dragons. There were some questions, however, that the stories never answered.
"And how many brides would a dragon have?" she blurted before she thought better of it.
He drew himself up, raising his chin, and she wondered uneasily if she had offended him. But his voice was still soft when he replied:
"Only one. So he chooses with care."
Then she knew her answer. Way back she had braved the Spirit World to earn the right to return to her human life. But all the important things she had done in this human life seemed to lead where she truly wanted to be in the end, and if she was honest with herself, the many reasons burned down to only one. It was funny, really, how after so many years she still read the same things in her heart. And it was good, then, that those same things were written all over the face of the one waiting across the stream.
The water felt cold around her ankles, but only at the beginning.
It made a nice story in the news afterwards: a young woman named Chihiro gone missing to be traced by the police to the Kohaku river, but not any further. The internet communities flew in frenzy. The news was reposted and shared, and translated to be shared with other-language communities, along with pictures of the swelling river and the blooming area around it. Stories appeared and multiplied, in which Chihiro and Haku were finally reunited and lived happily ever after. Trolls reappeared, too, gloating that soon the girl's body would be found in parts somewhere in the grove, or that the girl would be found down the coast with a very human lover. Else they would post reproductions of old prints typically showing a repulsive sea monster about to devour a terrified girl. The communities were unruffled. They were certain they knew the truth.
And we do, don't we?