Aki: Autumn unchaptered

by ladyjanegray2106

unchaptered, corrected version Sumi wants to make a life with Kazama. She'll have to overcome her father's wishes and her own fears.

Aki: Autumn

ladyjanegray2106

Disclaimer: The characters Sumika, Kazama, Tomoe and Miyako are the intellectual property of Ikeda Takashi. The haiku 'fireworks vanish' and 'becoming lost' are the intellectual property of Inahata Teiko. This story is not for profit and is not intended to infringe on their rights. This story is the intellectual property of the author and may not be distributed for profit in any form.

Aki: Autumn

Disaster struck at 7am 14 July: Kazama gave her the news by phone. "Sumi-chan? They found my uncle alive! I mean, we thought he died in the earthquake, but they found him in a shelter. Granma wants us all to go up there. And I want to. We spent all night packing and we're just leaving now."

Sumika had a gift: discipline and focus, to unite mind, will and body. She threw on shorts, a tee, and ran like hell. Kazama and her brother were waiting, standing by a packed Subaru wagon. When Kazama saw her run up, she broke down, sobbing like a child. It was exactly like old times together, when Kazama would get hurt yet again by a crush on some cutie, role of 'that girl who made Kazama cry' now played by Sumika. So much for her vow to always protect Kazama.

She took Kazama in her arms, stroked her hair gently. They moved, together, swaying, and Kazama's tears tapered to a sniffle. Whispering, so softly that only Kazama could hear, Sumi told her "No-one wants to see the one she loves crying." Kazama was startled, blinked away the last of her tears, half-smiled.

"So long ago? You never said."

"Mmm."

"Sumi-chan is cute when she's shy. But …."

Kazama pulled down Sumi's head, leaned into her and kissed her. Gently at first, brushing lips, returning, lingering: then forceful.

What was supposed to happen next:

Sumi smiled at her, and they held hands, walked over to get crepes (strawberry for Kazama). Then they stopped in front of Sumi's place, and Sumi said 'take care.' Kazama, suddenly shy, blushed and said 'later, huh?' turned to go, then turned back. "Well, then." And she left. Both knew they'd share the next day and the next.

What did happen:

Kazama told her "I have to go now, Sumi-chan. I'll be back for Obon." Kazama brushed Sumi's lips with her fingers, got in the car, waved, and drove off.

Sumika walked home. Festival of the Dead — mid August or even later, maybe, up there — wherever Kazama was going. How was she supposed to wait almost two months, after that kiss? Also what did Kazama mean, stroking her lips? Was it like a promise? Maybe she was just being affectionate? Wait! When Kazama used to take her hand, walk holding hands, was she was being affectionate? Did Kazama love her back then too?

Discipline and focus, huh? She was gonna need it.

Noe helped; she said if Sumi ate only her own cooking, she'd learn to cook really fast. After a week where Sumi lost five pounds, Noe took pity and started laying out the ingredients, telling her what to do.

Her Dad helped out too: telling her to be strong and get over 'that girl', he had her cleaning, arranging the dojo for an 8am children's class, then more classes straight through to one. He even enrolled her in a kind of cultural cram school, in the traditional arts of Japan. More good luck, classes started with haiku. It could have been worse: say, kimono, as in trying to look elegant wearing. She started thinking in the 5-7-5 haiku pattern of syllables: Kazama would probably be good at it too; and they'd play renga together.

Evenings, after making dinner with Noe, after her bath, she took some quality time, lying on tatami, head on a pillow. You know that saying, 'All train lines go through Shinjuku'? So, just like the trains, right on time, she was thinking about Kazama. Even though it was about ten days into withdrawal, she still thought about those kisses. Actually she didn't remember the first; she was in shock: Kazama? wanted to give her, Sumika, a first kiss? It took Sumi two hours that day to even walk straight, and she still didn't believe it.

Since we're talking about kissing: like Kyori said, the path to perfection lies in practice. Thus, whenever they were alone . . . they practiced. Kazama took the lead; she was affectionate, she was fierce and demanding, she was gentle.

Voices downstairs: she heard Noe, then another voice, deep, commanding, then a third, annoying, shrill. Tomoe and Miyako. The exact last people she wanted to see. But their voices faded; they weren't coming upstairs to her room.

Which didn't stop her from glancing defensively over at her picture of Kazama: Miyako was fast with a marker pen. She played with the idea of using the North Pole Fist, wondered if it would stop the brat.

Also it wasn't just one picture: more like a 'picture wall.' One afternoon she'd come home to see a small forest of snapshots in classy rosewood frames: her and Kazama dancing at the bonfire, also their 'cutest couple' photo, a few of Kazama in a bikini and, of course, The Kiss, taken from multiple angles. Noe. She'd gone online (where do you even go to search for kiss photos?) and constructed a whole history of their romance. Included were some very creative and highly suggestive photoshopped efforts based on the bikini shots, which she really hoped weren't from Noe.

The wall-of-Kazama didn't sit very well with her father; he said, with sadness, 'Now you will never find a good husband,' which was probably true.

The suggestive photoshops, Sumi took down and hid in a small memento box Kazama had given her. Last April, during the cherry blossom festival, they'd walked through Inokashira park, holding hands. The breeze blew falling blossoms into their hair, and they emerged speckled in pink. Later, they had tea, stopped by a paper store near Kichijōji station. They found a cherry blossom print and they each bought one sheet, as a memento. Then Kazama, all sneaky, used hers to wrap a box, gave it to Sumi.

Distracted, she wiped away a tear, which was why she hadn't heard the footsteps, coming upstairs: right there in the doorway was

"Murasame-kun! Forgive me for bothering you. I . . . "

Tomoe held a small, flat, package, handed it to her. "It's small and unimportant, but I wanted you to have it.

"You have a lot to bear, right now. This will help you understand." Then she bowed deeply, rushed out. WTF?

The package was the size and weight of a thin light novel, elaborately wrapped in ginko-leaf patterned paper. Weird, but it looked like the ginko were metallic. Uhh . . . gold? Who has wrapping paper made with real gold?

Unwrap, save the paper: Noe would like it. It was just a book after all, titled ' Woman Same Sex Love Poetry.' How romantic.

Sumi laid back down, picked up the book, put it down. It was already hard enough; this was gonna help?

Picked it up again, opened a page at random: "I look at you and suddenly a subtle fire races under my skin."

Now arriving on track seven . . . right back to Kazama's kisses. So they'd practiced, and soon Sumi stopped being nervous, or worrying about what to do next, or, finally, thinking. Kazama knew: surprisingly direct, she'd lay Sumi down on her on her back; Sumi felt Kazama's weight on her, felt her determined kisses and, yup: a subtle fire raced through Sumi's body. So now she understood: her body belonged to Kazama, and Sumi needed her to return, to claim it.

She sighed deeply. She was gonna have to change underwear. Again.

Next morning, she'd just finished making the last dish for her breakfast tray, and was sitting down to enjoy it - remarkable she could enjoy it, but, it was the only food she would get. As we said, she'd just finished when Tomoe and Miyako walked in, wearing light jackets against the morning chill. Tomoe looked, sat down next to Sumi, said "Mmmm. That smells good."

"You haven't eaten?"

"Miyako had a MacMaki at the drive in. I had tea." She sounded virtuous.

"Here." Sumi pushed the tray over. "You can have mine." Probably she was feeling generous, for the book. Maybe.

"No, no: it's too much trouble," she said, formally. Then, looking at the tray again, "Let's share."

"Wouldn't that be like an indirect kiss?"

"I don't mind. In fact, I wouldn't mind a real" Tomoe stopped, turned her head and started to kiss her.

Sumi shouted " No way! Hachiiii!" threw herself back, kicked the tray, which spilled hot tea on Miyako's feet. Hachi's momentum carried her forward, and she landed on top of Sumi, on her breasts, smiling. The noise and scream of pain brought Noe, who smiled: "My, so lively. You girls are having fun."

It wound up with Noe making breakfast for all three. As they ate, Tomoe went right back to the subject at hand.

"I should apologize. Murasame-kun, the truth is I like and admire you."

"So this is your idea of a confession?"

Miyako, in fine form after the tea incident, interrupted with "Ha! No way. You haven't even done it with miss big titties yet."

"How do you know that? Stop reading my mind!"

"Please, you two. Yes, in a way it is a confession. I haven't been completely open with you. The truth is"

"That you're Hachisuki Tomoe, the granddaughter of Hachisuki Ichiro, the industrialist who owns about five percent of the country?" Sumi asked, innocently.

Tomoe was momentarily deflated. "So true, so true," was all she said. Then she brightened. "So that's why I'm here: I want you, Murasame-kun. To work for me, that is. You have brains and discipline and . . . you don't give up, even against impossible odds."

"Also you have the courage of a small mouse." Miyako.

"I'll start you near the top. You'll be working under me, of course. So, please consider this."

"No kissing!" This, directed at Miyako, who was making kissy-faces.

"A hard bargain, but, agreed. Now, I want something in return. Miyako and I are going on a cultural trip, following Bashō's route: 'the narrow road north.' Also to hot springs. But we'll take a car. Come with us; we can get to know each other better. It'll be like a Girl's Club outing. "

"I can't; I have to help my father run the dojo. And I have"

"We asked his permission last night. You can leave with us tomorrow morning."

"Because he said you're useless." Miyako finished happily.

Thinking it over later, while cleaning the dojo: the 'useless' part hurt, but, Sumi knew it was true. She lacked passion.

She was beginning to feel a tension, a distancing from her father. Murasame Tenkai seemed to only worry about the future of the dojo. But her real passion was Kazama, and that was the one thing he couldn't face; that was becoming clearer every day. She really was useless.

It wasn't that Sumi was against the trip itself; she did need a break from her family. It was just, why would she lock herself up for a couple of weeks with two nut-cases?

She already knew the answer: Kazama told her. Tomoe had outed her ultra top-secret Crush (Kazama never mentioned her own crush on Sumi). She thought her relationship was private: at first she was angry at the interference. Later she realized Tomoe had opened the path to Kazama's love. All paved in gold, beyond price.

She owed Tomoe, big.

When she woke next morning, Noe had breakfast waiting for her. It was so nice to have really good food that she didn't think to ask why. While she was eating, Noe snuck upstairs, came down again with a travel bag all packed.

As expected, Tomoe & Company were late; they pulled up in a very large Mercedes SUV. Packed full with only the gods could know what. Tomoe came out, took her bag, caught Sumi's eye. "It was a graduation present" she said as she wedged the bag in amongst the boxes. Noe brought out a sweater and a book for her, also three lunch boxes for the trip; Miyako got out to take them and Sumi saw. . . OK, was it really possible for boobs to grow that big that fast? Cuz Miyako had 'em.

Sumi looked at Tomoe, asked "Graduation present?" and Tomoe flashed her a smile.

It's really only 150km or so from Tokyo to Nikkō, their first stop on the road north. But, you have to get out of Tokyo, its surroundings, bed towns, industrial support. The first few hours were just electrical pylons, factories, apartment buildings crammed together. If they'd taken the express trains they'd have already been there. But no, Tomoe had to show off her driving. At least Tomoe and Miyako kept to themselves, in the front, trying to figure out the navigation system. In German, apparently. For herself, stretched out, lying in the back seat, she was beginning to appreciate the Mercedes. And the air conditioning. The rhythm of pylons, the motion of the car, made her sleepy. She read Noe's present: 'Footsteps on the Narrow Path,' which, it turned out, was a mix of travel guide, comments on Bashō, and a Buddhist take on the whole thing. It seemed there was a lot she didn't know about Noe. She was just reading about how Buddhism came to Japan when she dozed off.

She woke to a sense of things changing: passing Saitama, she started to see more fields, homes with gardens. Eventually the road became lined with trees, then with embankments. By the time they left the Tohoku Road north, turned on the 119 west, there were already heavy forests and the foothills of some serious mountains.

The sight of forest and mountains made her . . . queasy? She grew up near Nagano, and should feel right at home. But this, Bashō's journey, was at the cultural heart of the country. She knew people who took bus tours, stopping at every site Bashō mentioned, taking a photo with their group and then having a nice group dinner, with plenty of osake, every evening. Not her style.

The book said 'Narrow Path to the Interior' meant 'the hard path to enlightenment.' When Bashō left on the journey, he was already old, too old to be walking hundreds of miles in the sweltering July heat. He expected to die on the journey. But he also expected to be transformed, and to transform poetry, to something deeper, more spiritual.

Sumi was as Buddhist as the girl next door, but she'd never thought about anything in those kinds of terms. For so long her path was Kazama; now she'd won her, then immediately lost her. Can you get more Buddhist than that?

She really, really needed the journey to give her something. She was in fact running away, from a life where she went to university and married the man her father chose, had children, preferably sons. Of course, she 'had the courage of a small mouse.' Much as Miyako annoyed her, and that was a big much, the brat had a way of seeing into things.

Thus, the forest, the mountains: her home, but a not any kind of safe home: a home where everything would change. Her queasiness was fear.

Tomoe turned off the 119, took the 121 north again. That wasn't right, but the two of them seemed absorbed in the navigation system. Hmm . . . she had an idea. Pulling out a notebook and a pen, she jotted down a few lines . . .

"Hey! Give that back!" Before the ink was dry, Miyako had grabbed it. "Brat!"

"Oooh, look Tomoe! It's a love poem. Wanna hear it?"

"That's private." It wasn't easy to fight, with Miyako in the front seat and her in the back, but, as one says, 'they did their best.' Only the seat belts kept them from getting really serious. When it became clear no-one was winning, Tomoe ordered, "Miyako, give it back. Murasame-kun: I would be honored if you would share the poem with us."

"It's nothing. Not worth hearing. Nothing to waste breath on."

"You came on this trip to show us who you are. No more hiding." Tomoe was gonna make a formidable boss. Sigh:

becoming lost. well!
it's the essence of journeys
look! a red flower

They were quiet, long enough for Sumi to regret saying anything, when Tomoe cleared her throat.

"Interesting. The word for path in 'losing your path' reminds me of Bashō's 'narrow path.' The 'losing' is interesting too; does it mean getting lost, or does it mean 'lost' as in not knowing the correct path? And yet, even with your uncertainty, your fears, you find beauty. Really quite nice, Sumika-san.

"But this is a Bashō trip! You know what that means?"

Sumi didn't, but Miyake jumped in: "Renga! Linked verse! Mine!" She thought for about a second, came up with the 7-7 linking verse,

back seat, a freaking giant
look: bemoaning her lost love

"Me next. Wait." It took Tomoe a bit longer. Hopefully because she was thinking about her driving too.

Sumi's cute girlfriend
left her for the north mountains
can Sumi find love?

"You guys are unexpectedly fast at this."

"As expected, you're slow." Miyako's contribution.

It wasn't fair: she and Kazama were supposed to be the ones who played renga. How was it Tomoe and Miyako had so much time, together? But she and Kazama had only a moment?

"By the way? Losing your path? For the record, the way to the Tokugawa shrine at Nikkō is on the 119. You're lost."

Miyako just smiled: "Slow."

"Hey, look at this: my guidebook says that when Bashō visited, he met a guy who was 'unwise and undiscriminating.' Sound like anyone we know?"

Another hour, and Tomoe pulled the car into the Kamiyama Onsen Ryokan.

Onsen Ryokan meant a traditional Japanese inn with hot spring. Hot spring meant a communal bathing pool. Bathing pool meant Miyako would show off her big, new boobs. As expected: Sumi was slow.

Tomoe checked them in, and Sumi noticed her count out ten ten-thousand yen notes. Uh.

"Tomoe-san: I can't afford 35,000 yen a night. Maybe I should just sleep in the car?"

"No, no: the Company is paying. Enjoy it; the place tomorrow will be very rough. Deep country, very Bashō. I think they said it was even built in Edo period. Umm . . . obviously Miyako will be bathing in the communal women's pool tonight. Will you join us? Like I said, no hiding."

So she was fleeing one family, to become just as deeply embedded in another. Also, instead of working off her debt to Tomoe, she was getting in deeper.

Continuing with the 'company' theme, Tomoe had arranged a suite: a large central area, with a table, charcoal brazier. To the east, individual sleeping areas, with storage closets, chests for clothing, and very large windows looking out on Nikkō-san, the volcanic mountain. The windows were open, to let in whatever breeze they could get.

Tomoe and Miyako immediately changed into ryokan uniform: summer weight yukata, the symbol of the vacationer. They left for a walk in the village; she made excuses: she needed quiet time, some time unobserved. Some time to think.

She'd never seen Tomoe in anything but school uniform or a simple black dress. In traditional Japanese clothing . . .

Kazama was cute, was beautiful, but Tome was stunning. So why wasn't she attracted?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. . . it was the hotel manager; coming to ask if the room was acceptable, whether she needed anything, to explain that that electricity would be on until later that evening and as an honored guest she was welcome to use the air conditioning.

Apparently, being Hachisuki Tomoe, granddaughter of etc, etc, carried some weight.

And somehow the whole episode fit her: Tomoe would always be Hachisuki Tomoe, never just Tomoe. She began to understand, a little, the granite quality of Tomoe's beauty.

Just like the tour groups, they ate together; dinner was served one course at a time. On individual plates. The first course was set on a heavy clear plate. Tomoe muttered 'Baccarat." It was a green sour plum, topped with ice made to resemble raindrops. It should have been too sour to eat, but the ice was slightly sweet and together there was an interplay of mildly sour and mildly sweet. It was only a mouthful, followed by a small bowl of tomato soup, again in a transparent bowl so you could see the red on the bottom mingling with a topping of a pure white soy cream. The soup was like eating the essence of everything tomato, but with the acidity cut by the cream.

And so it went, through ten courses: tofu with sea eel, in miso; small fish grilled at the table. She looked accusingly a Tomoe, who blushed slightly. "No, I do not eat like this every night; the chef is trying to impress me. For the record, it's working: this is good."

Right. Sumi had only ever eaten plain home cooking: substantial, served family style. Noe was a good cook, she looked forward to her meals. This . . wasn't just food, it was art, it was food transformed. She bowed to her hostess, Tomoe, and said with complete sincerity, "Thank you for the feast."

Tomoe decided to skip the communal hot springs; the bath in the room was big enough for three. And again, like the tour groups, there was a bottle of osake, with three cups. They lounged. Miyako started them out, pouring a stiff drink for Sumi. She only sipped her drink, but poured for Miyako. This would be interesting: Miyako weighed in at less than 40% of her or Tomoe. After her third drink . . . it went like this:

Sumi: "I'm below the drinking age."

Tomoe "But I'm not. It's what we Japanese do: we bathe naked, drink together, learn about each other."

Miyako: "What's the matter? Afraid you'll say something revealing? About you and miss big boobs?

Sumi: "Big boobs? Isn't that you, Miyako-chan? Hmm, what's revealing? That you're a brat?"

Miyako: "You know, if you don't drink osake, you can't do the traditional marriage 'san san kudo'. Ushio won't like that. At least she knows what she wants."

Sumi: "You have remarkable insight for a drunk. Is sex all you think about?"

Surprisingly, Tomoe (whose drinking kept up with Miyako's) said "Yes." Was that a trace of sadness?

"What is it with you two? Can we talk about something else? How about you tell me how you met?" Trying to steer the conversation to safer waters, but Miyako continued on the express line:

"I pounced on her in the hallway. Grrr! We did it in the dining room."

"Too much information, Miyako."

"The way big titties looks at you . . . she wants it. Why are you waiting? I never did."

It got to her; she downed her whole drink in one gulp. "Can we get off my sex life?" Miyako giggled. Enough: Sumi got up, left for her own room.

So it turned out that osake wasn't such a good idea: it depressed her, leading down paths she wanted to avoid. For example, the one thing nobody wanted to say: if she worked for Tomoe, she could afford to disobey her father, have the money to live with Kazama. All she had to do was put up with this insanity. Like a game of i-go, where she was completely blocked. Just as her father could block her from dating Kazama.

They said Nikkō used to be named 'two disasters.' She had her two disasters, right there: her father and Tomoe.

She heard snoring from the other room; Miyako must be out like a light. She herself was restless, couldn't sleep.

A memory she'd hidden for fourteen years crept up on her, pounced. It was a freak accident. They were walking in the mountains; she was between them, each held one of her hands. Then her mom slipped on a muddy patch, and twisted, almost pulled her away. She let go, her dad grabbed her and her mother fell down the side of the mountain.

She cried, for a mother she never quite knew, for loves she never had.

The screen between rooms slid back; someone laid down next to her, strong arms took her, held her. Sumi wept, openly, in those arms. She also didn't resist when Tomoe kissed her. By then it was already too late.

They had a very late morning. One good had come of the evening: now no-one wanted to even see anyone else, much less talk to them. Though Miyako did leer at her, once, the ride was very quiet. Again, Tomoe consulted her navigation system and headed exactly the wrong direction. The next stop on the Bashō tour would be Sendai, on the east coast. Tomoe was heading northwest, into the mountains.

At least the scenery was spectacular. And after a few hours, she got it: Tomoe was avoiding the seacoast where the tsunami had hit. Even the train lines were still iffy, which was why the car. She really was slow.

Eventually, they hit real Bashō country: mountains with steep paths, plunging down to rice paddies, small towns. Farmers wearing pointy hats and blue hand-made clothing, looking just like they would have four centuries earlier. She had never seen this Japan. It was humbling.

Progress was slow, the road ascending, descending, twisting. At its height, the road showed them a river, a few hundred feet below. At the bottom, they passed gardens: beans, shiso, then a truly narrow road between two rice fields. It was late afternoon when Tomoe stopped, programmed something into the system. She drove looking at the navigation screen. It turned out she was looking for a tiny dirt road - again explaining the SUV. Another tortuous climb, though a stream ran alongside: a pretty sight, comforting sound. Finally they stopped in front of a large house - well, a group of small sheds and other outbuildings and a fairly large house, complete with traditional thatched roof. It did look like Tomoe's 'built around Edo period,' namely: old, worn and slightly falling down.

"This is your idea of a guest-house? There isn't even a sign." As they all got out, a small, old figure appeared at the door. They walked towards it - she couldn't believe -"Grandmother?"

Kazama's grandmother.

"Grandmother, is it? Hmmph. She's at the top of the mountain, Sumika. It's a ten minute walk. Go, child, before it gets dark. Ushio waits for you."

The sun was setting, the forest path quiet, intense and darkening. The trees crowded over her, thickly, and the damp created a heavy earthy smell. She passed a small fox-shrine, the statues throwing long, distorted shadows. The night was already cool.

Then she heard . . . a wailing. Foxes? No, wait: someone was singing. She walked slower, quietly; the sound grew and she could just make out the words:

Romance, with you; dreams, with you

She stopped, struck by a memory, she just now got it: her mother used to sing that. It was a children's lullaby, and was probably the earliest memory she had of her mother. Now it was seriously creepy: was her mother's ghost waiting, up there, for her?

She turned a corner and there was a red gate, leading up to a shrine and, sitting on the steps was Kazama. She had a view of mountains, rice fields and shadows thrown over the valley, but Kazama just sat, rocking herself, singing:

Love, with you; flowers, with you

Romance, with you; dreams, with you

The world is for us

The world is for us.

"Kazama!" In the forest, the shrine, it sounded too loud but she didn't respond. Sumi tried to take her hand, but it slipped away. She squatted in front of her, smiled, waved her hands, but Kazama just sang, lost in herself, rocking, until the sun set. When she got up, walked down the mountain, Sumi followed. Why wouldn't she say anything? Did she know?

Kazama stopped at the fox shrine, clapped her hands twice, bowed, said "Mountain spirit, please take care of me. Bring my love back to me." Sumi was too stunned to even cry.

When they got to the house it was almost dark: a flickering light from inside, orange glow in the near dark. More surprises: no car; in its place a small pile of boxes. Kazama went inside, humming happily to herself. Grandmother sat waiting outside, wrapped in a shawl.

"Pardon me ... but why . . . I mean, Kazama?"

"Been like that for a week."

"Uh . . . my friends?"

"Had family in Kesennuma. Going north, to see if any survived. Had to leave while it was still light, get down the mountain. Said they might be back before Obon. Might not. Left some gifts, supplies. Notice you didn't bring anything."

"What's going to happen to me? For a month?"

"Since you're here and she's useless, you can help, carry the packages in.

"Sumika: now we're stuck with each other. And your Uncle Tōru will be here in two days. I want Ushio back to normal."

"Kazama's uncle?"

Grandmother was weary, yet, she looked at Sumi sharply. "Child, you are either part of this family or you aren't. Which is it?"

Here it was, again: family. This time, it was odd, it was a feeling. Oh! like she wanted to cry. She was crying. Wiping a tear with her sleeve, she bowed deeply: "Please take care of me."

"Sit down, daughter. Your uncle will be here in two days. Before then, I need you to clean the house, to help in the garden, to chop firewood, to make repairs, to change the doors for summer. But the most important thing you must do: return Ushio to normal."

"Grandmother? What's wrong with her?"

She took her time in answering; when she did, she seemed much older. " When I was growing up we visited here: it was cool in the summer. Of course I played secretly with the local children. Just to scare me they told stories: ghosts and spirits. They told me not to wander off in the night, or a fox-spirit would get me, take my body.

"Well, I was from the city, after the war: scary was radiation and no food and men with horrible wounds. I didn't need foxes to scare me.

"So I didn't believe the tales and I wasn't scared. Now it's different. The moment Ushio got here, she walked to the top of the mountain, went there every morning like something was calling her. She'd pray at the fox-shrine, which I had better sense than to ever do.

"Sumika, child: I don't know what happened. I'm a modern woman; I'd say she went mad from grief, when she lost you. I've seen it before, many times. But. But, you know? Well, maybe you wouldn't know the old ways. Mountains are the place, where our world and the world of the spirits meet. Did you see the Shinto shrine at the top? That's what I mean.

"When Kazama prayed, did the fox spirits hear her? Take her soul? Should we take Ushio to a doctor? Or summon a Shintō priest to do an exorcism?"

Grandma had just brought creepiness to a whole new level.

A night chill descended on the mountain, pushing the two inside. Sumi carried Tomoe's gift boxes into the entryway; it was damp with a kind of musty smell. Inside the house was . . . well, it was a very old farmhouse, with ceilings high enough to be lost in the evening gloom. A traditional firepit in the center of the room gave a small glow, smoke ascending to the rafters. Probably high style in Edo period. Four hundred years ago.

"Put away those boxes, then have dinner." OK by Sumi; let's see: boxes of candles, which the place sure could use. No wonder Kazama was haunted. Several large round tins of iodine powder for purifying drinking water, answering her question whether the village had restored running water yet. Grandmother probably forgot one chore: 'and another thing you must do: go to the stream and get water.' No water, no light, no heat: evening baths were gonna be fun.

The pile contained several small boxes of elaborately wrapped gifts, from ultra-expensive Mitsukoshi Depato in Ginza. Was this Tomoe's compensation for leaving Sumi with Grandmother? Think about that later.

She turned back quickly to examining boxes. They had labels - this one apparently contained 'foodstuffs certified radiation free.' The gift business was so competitive, these days. One letter-sized envelope, addressed to her. No idea who wrote it, though the envelope did have a single ginko leaf, gold-embossed, in the upper corner.

How thoughtful: a note from Tomoe. Why couldn't it be something really exciting, like an invitation for a date with Akemi-chan, to go clothes shopping?

"You aren't finished?"

"It's just candles and iodine and gift foods."

"Of course. Get Ushio for dinner." Sure, she could do that. Kazama probably thought she was a ghost or something . . . how do ghosts call you for dinner? Maybe she could appear to Kazama as a giant sushi roll?

She fumbled around the house in the dark, searching for her girlfriend. Two sleeping rooms, toilets and baths apparently outside, no, wait: a connecting door to an addition, must have been a modern add-on. The toilets really were modern, thankfully, but the bath was really old. Place for a wood fire to heat the water, a hand-pump to fill the tub. Woulda been modern in 1915. At least she wouldn't have to fill the bath with a hundred or so buckets of water carried from the stream. Another room, also an add-on: Kazama, sitting there. Small room though it'd be the perfect size for just the two of them why was she thinking about that?

She sat next to Kazama, who was looking though a scrapbook. Umm . . . apparently Noe had given her the kissing pictures too. Or maybe Kazama gave them to Noe? That wasn't right; Kazama wouldn't do those photoshops of them in compromising positions. Would she? Miyako said Kazama 'wanted it' but

"Sumika! Ushio!"

Right: dinner. How was she gonna move Kazama? The obvious thing was to just take her hand, drag her. But . . . well it was like when she first fell in love. She couldn't touch Kazama because then she'd know. Kazama was the one who always took her hand, touched her, kissed her. Miyako had a point about courage, because right now she'd lost it all. Touching Kazama was like forcing her and oh there was Grandmother:

"So. I see. Useless, Sumika. Ushio, come with me, that's right, take my hand." Grandmother glared at Sumi, on the way to dinner. She had a really first-class glare.

Dinner was: well, there was a lot of food anyway. Fresh rice, pickled eggplant, stewed burdock root. A serious lack of meat, fish, or even tofu. But Grandmother was on her own; how would she get those? Sumi could see her list of chores expanding.

"Sumika! Pay attention! Clear the dishes. Tonight I'll bathe Ushio; tomorrow you can gather wood and get the bath working."

Now she was stuck with the dishes, too. Like every good Japanese girl, she'd fantasized about getting married, living together, making a home.

Like every good Japanese girl, she'd forgotten one thing: the mother-in-law, or, in this case, Grandmother. Whose appointed task in life was to retrain her daughter in law, to being a good Japanese wife for her child. Sumi had no idea what she signed up for, when she bowed and said 'please take care of me.'

As it turned out, there wasn't a lot to do at night; if there were, she was pretty sure Grandmother would have her doing it. She was sitting near the firepit, the only actually warm place in the house, reading from her Bashō guidebook, when Grandmother asked,

"I suppose Ushio hasn't told you much about the family, has she?"

Sumi scratched her head, "Um, no, she"

"More interested in kissing, I suppose. You think I don't know. I saw her room; wondered why she had a plastic mask, some cartoon character, on her wall."

"Ultraman" Sumi squeaked out.

"Pink lipstick all over the mouth. I suppose it wasn't Norio-kun's."

"I'm, er, I" Did she have to be doing this? With Kazama's Grandmother?

"So Ushio didn't tell you about your uncle Tōru, then. Thought not.

"Well, it was after the war, a few years. The neighbors over there" she pointed, Sumi figured she was pointing down the hill "the Kitayama's. Sons, nothing but sons. By the fifth one, it was more than Yukia could handle. We only had one of our own, so we adopted the youngest. Just born; he was a squealer, no wonder they wanted us to take him. Yukia was so worn down; couldn't even feed him. So that's him. Still a talker."

"He was in the earthquake?"

"He and his Umeko had an inn, a proper ryokan, right on the coast. Sumika, it was beautiful: the ocean right at your feet. They'd harvest fresh seaweed, the best fish; he was famous for his local fish. A chef; Umeko was the one who ran the inn. Such a pretty girl, when they married.

"Right on the ocean. Must have been over in the first minute. Well, you can't help that. But, there it is; he made it. Maybe his Umeko survived; maybe she's in some shelter too.

"I'm telling you this so you'll know: he's had a lot to bear. Lost his house, his business, his wife. I want Ushio back to normal; you two take care of him, Sumika. And don't you two be bothering him with your silliness, do you understand? I'll be the one to tell him what he needs to know."

Sumi took a candle, went to her room. Noe had packed warm night clothes and cool day clothes. And certain photos.

She got out the futon, spread it, raising dust; it'd probably been sitting there in the alcove since last year. Looking around, in the shadows, there was a smaller alcove with a single yellow flower in a green vase. Just above it, a scroll; she couldn't quite make out the calligraphy. Could be as old as the house itself.

Well, maybe Grandmother had some redeeming features. She did raise Kazama, after all.

Alone in the dark . . . apparently her personal train had gotten derailed somewhere, because kissing was no longer her biggest worry. What was wrong with the girl she loved? It was like someone had scooped out all the Kazama and left just the shell.

Ick.

With nothing better to do, she brooded. Noe had packed warm clothes; she knew Sumi would be staying a while, precisely here, in the mountains. How'd she know? In fact – she couldn't have rushed out and got that guidebook in one evening, either; Noe must have known about the trip from the start.

And what was Tomoe up to? Pretending it was a Bashō trip: why the secret?

There was the letter. She took it out: nice ginko leaf. Tomoe was in her house, talked to her father, came upstairs.

Her father. She really was slow: Tomoe and Noe made up a story that would get Sumi north to Kazama. Because Murasame Tenkai of the North Pole Fist would never let her go see Kazama. Miyako got to laugh at her: she said 'slow' and meant 'you really can't figure out we're taking you to see your girlfriend?'

She folded the letter, hid it. From now on, she and Kazama were gonna be together and they'd take care of their own life. Surprisingly, she slept.

Morning came early in the mountains. She wandered the house, looking for Kazama.

"Gone to watch the sunrise. No concern of yours. Here: eat up; you have a lot of work to do and you'll need the energy." Grandmother had made a rice omelet, probably using her last eggs. Sumi also got salted mushrooms, chrysanthemum flowers, and something like celery but stringier. Of course miso soup.

She was just starting when Kazama wandered in, sat next to her. Looking at her own bowl of rice compared to Sumi's tray, she got a sad face. Sumi offered her some rice omelet on her chopsticks, and Kazama ate it.

Kazama wound up eating most of Sumi's meal, fed, one mouthful at a time. Grandmother watched, intently.

Then it was time for Sumi to work, while Kazama wandered. She took up all three futon they had, aired them out. Then, while it was still cool, she started on the firewood. She'd thought it out: small sticks for the cooking stove, large, slow burning chunks for the baths and firepits. She'd show Grandmother who was useless.

The mountainside was beautiful in the morning mist, with the sound of the stream rushing past and a smell of wood smoke. And the quiet. Chopping wood was like a martial art: you had to find the weak spot, then hit it, at just the right angle; the ax an extension of your hand. She couldn't have asked for, well, a more centered workout. She made so much firewood Grandmother had to stop her, again with the weird look on her face.

Fetching water was its own thing too: she got two wooden buckets and a pole from a storage shed, went to the riverbank. The water was very cool, tumbling over rocks, swirling in small side pools. She did feel a bit silly carrying it: put her in blue farmer's clothing and she'd blend into the landscape. Like in one of those shin-hanga prints about daily life in 1750.

The nasty chore was weeding the community vegetable garden. Grandmother had shared the food grown there but couldn't do any hard work, so it was up to Sumi to uphold the family name. She guessed. Sumi looked: row after row of cucumbers, daikon, eggplant, beans, shiso leaves and other stuff she didn't recognize. She got on her knees, started weeding: this was hard. About ninety minutes in, she heard a voice: "You're living with Grandmother Kazama, aren't you? It's so nice to see young people helping out in the gardens. Almost everyone wants to live in the city, these days. Soon there won't be any of us. Now here, I brought you some cold water; you're going to need it."

Sumi stopped, looked up: it was an older woman; she was dressed like a farmer from medieval times, but she had a pink plastic basket and a thermos with cold water. Like Grandmother said: worlds meet up here.

"You're Sumika, aren't you? I'm Mrs. Kitayama."

"Then you're related to us, right? Through Uncle Tōru?"

"Oh, I'm sorry: I thought – I didn't know you were a Kazama too." She looked very confused, then went on. "No, it's almost all Minamiyama's and Kitayama's around here. But we aren't related."

"Then how?" The cold water was just what she needed, and the rest wasn't bad either.

"Oh, you are new here! It's from old times. So far back we didn't have surnames. Then the shogun – that would have been old Tokugawa – wanted to tax the farmers, so he gave us all names. Minamiyama on this side of the road, Kitayama on the other."

"What about the Kazama's?"

"Didn't your parents tell you? Ah! I heard Norio-kun just got married. And here you are, helping out your new grandmother. You're so nice; I wish I had a granddaughter like you. Mine wants to be a tv idol. No one said Norio's wife was so beautiful, either."

This was actually working better than Sumi expected; the conversation kept her from thinking how boring it all was.

"Well, the Kazama's were rich, even then. Look at the house, all those outbuildings: they were storage sheds, for the rice. Your family used to own most of the fields in this valley, back then."

"So what happened? It doesn't look rich now."

"Wars, taxes, taxes and wars. But they still were well-off, until – well, it would have been your great-great grandfather, I mean on your Kazama side, decided he wanted to be a gentleman, move to the big city. Taishō period, it was: he sold all the fields. Every single one, but he kept the house. And it was the summer house, from that day to this, it still is.

"Now, you've done enough; you go tell your grandmother Mrs. Kitayama said so. And here, I picked some cucumber and eggplant for her."

Sumi took the basket, bowed, left for the farmhouse. 'The Kazama side of your family.' Wow. There was a certain . . . illicit thrill, there. Nothing like weeding to put a smile on a girl's face.

When she returned, Grandmother gave her a nice cup of steaming hot tea. Her brows furrowed when Sumi passed on Mrs. Kitayama's comments, but she brought a plate of rice crackers and they sat quietly in the shade of the porch. Then it was back to work.

"I need you to go down to Mrs. Urusai; she's five houses down the road so I can't go myself. And don't get her all confused about whose family you're from. Bring her these pickles and here's some persimmon I picked this morning. And this box of sweets your friend brought us from Tokyo; she's a thoughtful one. And don't let that old lady talk your ear off; you have more work here."

Five houses down the mountain was a long way, and it was like visiting the poorer side of town: no stream running by, no terraces. They did have a small koi pond: it made sense, they'd always have fresh fish. Grandmother could use one of those; maybe she and Uncle could build one.

What was she thinking? She'd be gone in a month. Less, if she was lucky.

Mrs. Urusai was thrilled to get her visit; she set Sumi down, brought tea and a plate of – grasshoppers?

"It's the rain, this year is so wet, they're all over the fields. Oh, you're from the city, I bet you don't get treats like this in Tokyo! You pull the legs off like this, then pop 'em in your mouth!" And to Sumi's horror, she found one in her mouth. Too late to get out of this gracefully: she bit down and it crunched.

"Ha! Good, isn't it? The secret is, you put some grated ginger in the soy, marinate it just a little, then saute it. I made these today but they last. Now let's see what old Grandmother Kazama brought me."

While she looked through the basket, Sumi quietly munched grasshoppers. They were good, and unlike rice crackers had real protein. Also Kazama had eaten most of her breakfast, and Sumi was hungry enough to eat pretty much anything.

"Pickled eggplant! Hers is always the best in the whole valley; some day she'll tell us how she does it. Well, she's one who had a lot to bear in her life. Her husband dying, then her son in that accident!

"I made a little tofu this morning; you bring that back up to her. She must have a hard time taking care of herself; I heard that granddaughter of hers isn't quite right in the head, either." She looked at the expensive wrapping from Tomoe's gift: "Here. You better take these eggs too."

Sumi walked back up the hill. Whether Mrs. Urusai meant Kazama's recent problems or just liking girls wasn't clear. Both, probably. Interesting though: a barter economy; she learned about it in school. Was it the earthquake, or was this what villages all did? Weird, though: everyone seemed to be worried about taking care of Grandmother. You didn't see something like that in Tokyo.

She took the food to Grandmother, started noticing things. Like the entryway: it was just hard-packed dirt, and had mosses growing in patches. It was the same inside: now that she could see the rafters, they were all black with smoke from the firepit. What was that word? Meaning 'rustic beauty?' This place was stuffed with it.

Other than that, it was hot inside. Grandmother did her best, opening all the doors to let air through. But she was right: they needed to trade out the solid winter doors, get the summer ones that let air pass through. Only one problem: the first one she tried, she couldn't lift off its track. Probably the humidity made the wood swell and made the door stick. After about a half-hour, she was sweating and exhausted. Grandmother came over to evaluate the situation.

"I can't move it. Now's time to tell me I'm useless." She'd tried, but it looked like nothing was gonna be good enough for Grandmother.

"Sumika!" She spoke sharply, again. Here it came . .

"This is work for two, we'll just have to wait until your uncle gets here. Now, what I really need are the futon. Look at that sky: it'll be raining soon. Usually rains around four.

"So, take the futon in; they've got a good airing, first time in a year. I'm looking forward to sleeping on mine tonight! Then when you're done, you can fetch Kazama. I'm afraid she won't come in from the rain."

Was Grandmother trying to be nice? Well, maybe she could open up a little, too. Like she said, they were stuck with each other.

"I'll try, but I don't know if she'll listen to me, Grandmother. Sometimes it's like I'm not even there. Then other times she acts like she's about four years old. I don't know what to do."

Flash bulb, going off over Grandmother's head: "Sumika! Of course, I should have remembered. When Ushio lost her mother, she was four. Or was it five? She was just like this, wouldn't speak. Took months, then it was still a long road for her."

"How does that help? Excuse me; I was rude. How can that help us to bring her back?"

"Get those futon in. Go see her, and think of her as a little girl. Maybe that will help; nothing else has."

She was supposed to go up the mountain, past the fox shrine and there'd be a marker and she was supposed to turn right, into the forest. Bashō described something like this, a forest so dense he could barely walk through it. Lots of grasshoppers, too. She was still hungry and they were looking very crunchy.

The forest opened to a large clearing, sloping down and at the low point there was a pond and lotus flowers and dragonflies, circling. And there was Kazama, sitting right next to a bunch of stones, regularly spaced, in a large rectangular pattern. There must have been a building here, long ago, so far in the past only the foundation stones remained. Bashō wrote about the mountain monks; maybe a temple, here, in his time.

But you'd have to wander a lot, to find this place. Was it like Grandmother said yesterday: the shrines were calling Kazama? Little Kazama sure had a weakness for them. But that wasn't going to help. Probably.

She was prepared: all she had to do was try and sound like Grandmother. "Ushio-chan!" she said in a feminine, lilting voice completely unlike herself. That got little Kazama's attention. "It's time to come home and take your nap." The kid shook her head, vigorously: no. "Look, Ushio! I brought you a candy bar. You can eat it when we get home."

That worked; little Kazama walked beside her, skipping a little. Sumi didn't know how much longer she could take this.

Kazama stopped at the fox shrine, to pray. That: well, after what Grandmother said, maybe that wasn't a good idea. "We can't stop here" but of course Kazama ignored her. Sumi touched her shoulder, to no effect. Then Sumi took her hand, tried dragging her away. She was too rough; she knew it instantly: you don't do that to a little kid.

Kazama slapped her.

It hurt. Not physically; she'd been slapped professionally, by her father. This was a baby slap, from that small child inside Kazama, and suddenly it hurt so much: it was every nightmare she'd ever had, Kazama rejecting her. She felt tears starting. Kazama looked at her, concerned, and brushed away the tears.

That was it, the breaking point: no-one could be expected . . . she held Kazama's head and kissed her. She was waiting for an even bigger slap but Kazama didn't even move. The kiss went on, as gentle as she could make it. Kazama only blinked.

She shouldn't have done it, none of it. They walked, almost to the house; Sumi bright red with shame, ashamed of taking advantage of a little kid. Then Kazama said "Sumi? When did you get here?"

"Just now. Tomoe drove me up. But she had to go on, up North."

Kazama, the real one, snuggled up, grabbed her arm. "I'm sorry I missed her, but I'm glad you're here. Hey! Look over there." A flower by the side of the road; Kazama went over, picked it.

A red flower. Of course: the mountain spirits had it in for her.

She smiled up, sunnily, at Sumi, "I'll give it to Granma" then she ran into the house, stopped in the entryway: "Granma! Here's a flower for you! I just found it and I wanted to give you something pretty."

Sumi got a certain kick, watching Grandmother's confusion. The look she gave Sumi was worth a week of weeding.

"How nice. It is pretty, let's get a vase. Thank you, child."

Kazama didn't have time for that:

"And guess what else? My girlfriend Sumi is here! She's gonna visit."

"Then we'll have to make her welcome. We'll cook her a special dinner tonight." OK, now it was getting weird. Kazama turned to her, said "Sumi-chan, you have to see my room; it's so cute. C'mon!" She grabbed Sumi's hand, dragged her along. "Hurry up!"

Her room, right: when they got inside, Kazama slid the door shut, threw Sumi against a wall and kissed her. Hard; no subtlety: she pressed her body into Sumi, grabbed her waist and kissed.

"Sumi." She drew a deep breath. "We have got to get time alone, Sumi" then buried herself in another kiss.

Suddenly, marriage wasn't looking so bad.

"Ushio-chan! Can you come help in the kitchen?" Kazama wrinkled her nose, stuck her tongue out. "I'm coming." Then quietly, to Sumi, "Can you sneak back here tonight?" Sumi doubted it; she'd bet Grandmother could hear a pin drop. "It's old style, Kazama. Thin walls." Now she stuck her tongue out at Sumi. Kazama was back.

While Kazama chopped vegetables, Grandmother took Sumi to the bathing room. "Here's the pump; you have to prime it with this jar of water. Fill the tub, then start a slow fire to warm it. We'll keep appearances for Ushio: since this is your first night here, you're our guest and you can bathe first. After that"

"I'm the youngest daughter-in-law so I bathe last and clean out the tub." Of course.

"You're learning, Sumika. You're learning."

It wasn't clear what made dinner special, though the cucumber was cooling and the eggplant more plentiful. Inevitably, Kazama asked 'how did you find me.'

"Tomoe was pretty good at hiding it, but does the name 'Hachisuki Ichiro' mean anything to you?"

Grandmother looked startled, Kazama curious. "He's one of the biggest industrialists in the country. Tomoe is his grand-daughter. She's rich. They probably have a private investigation unit. I bet she used that, because she was always checking her navigation and GPS."

"I know! I think." Now Kazama was excited. "Remember granma just after we got here a woman came here she said she was American from Operation Tomodachi but she spoke real Japanese? And she asked us our names and put them in her little computer an she showed us where we were on the map?"

"So it was. And the young woman asked about our needs. I told her we could rely on ourselves if we had light and pure water. Then what did Tomoe bring? Candles and iodine.

"You children should also know: I went to school with Ichiro. Our families even wanted us to marry. But there was something cold about him. Always giving orders, trying to arrange people's lives. Well, I'm not a bunch of flowers; I wasn't about to be arranged! But Ichiro ran off and . . . well you wouldn't understand about arranged marriages."

Sumi and Kazama looked at each other, then Kazama spoke for both: "Sumi's father wants her to marry a man, a karate instructor. Then he can pass his business to his son-in-law."

"Well, well: so nothing changes."

The rain started during dinner, killing Sumi's plan to take a walk alone with Kazama. After the two of them finished cleaning up, Grandmother announced bath time. Sumi didn't expect to get to bathe with Kazama, and she didn't. Still, it was nice to get some quiet. Also, her whole body ached.

So far, it was a very Bashō trip: she was seeing a new way of living. She did understand why all the 'youngsters' left for the city, but she was content to spend time here. She felt good, the work meant something. And, any day ending in Kazama's kiss had to be good.

She thought about Tomoe: so things didn't change, the coldness in the family. Bashō , huh? Well, her guidebook said nothing about the part of your inner journey where your best friend gets drunk and tries to have sex with you. Like Grandmother, she was in no hurry to see any Hachisuki again.

"Sumi!" Insistent. "It's my turn. Hurry up." Mmmm now should she wait, make Kazama come to her? Or . . . maybe Kazama didn't want that . . . Sumi hurried.

Baths finished, it was getting cold again; Sumi and Kazama migrated to the firepit. Grandmother had put a few large pieces of wood there, set a table over it, a heavy cloth and a box of Tomoe's gift-food on top. Sumi and Kazama sat warming their feet in the pit, the blanket over them. "This is for you girls, especially Sumika. I'm going to bed. Have a nice snack, and then get some sleep. We have a lot of work to do, before your uncle comes tomorrow."

They looked at each other, Kazama giggled. "She thinks we're having a pajama party."

"Don't remind me."

"Oh? Like when I told you I love you and wanted to be with you forever?"

"You said 'friends.'"

"You're against it? Being friends?"

"Aaargh!"

"Sumi, don't explode. You're so much fun to tease; you get all cute." Kazama got up from her side of the table, climbed in next to Sumi, pushed her over, half lay ontop of her. "Is this better?"

"When granma and I came I pretended you were here and we were living together. I started dreaming that you really were here."

"Now I am here." Sumi stopped. Should she say it? "It's like we are living together. It would be almost like . . . I mean."

"Like we're married? Kazama took off Sumi's glasses, looked into her eyes. Oh, gods and spirits of the mountains, she'd said she could live within the depths of those eyes. How little she understood, back then.

"Are you getting shy on me, again, Sumi?" Kazama laid her head on Sumi's chest, started singing, "Watching the sky, with you; walking the path, with you. The world is for us; the world is for us."

"That was my . . . my mother used to sing it to me, when I was real little."

"Mine too; I just remembered it now, cuddling with you."

Sumi felt . . . something, she didn't know what. She put an arm around Kazama. It wasn't the thrill you got from kissing. Kazama's body was warm, and it was soft and she smelled like a mountain meadow, lying there, quietly, on her. No thrill, just feeling happy. Feeling complete. She fell asleep. Tomoe's expensive chocolates sat on the table, gathering dust.

She found them, still sleeping, in the morning. She still didn't think it was right. But they were very cute. Like little kids.

"Sumika! Ushio!" They jumped up, looking guilty. Just like children, caught stealing snacks.

"Get up; both of you. There's a lot to do." Well, maybe not all that much. "Ushio, would you like to take your friend to see the sunrise, from the mountain top? While I get breakfast?"

By the time they were dressed and washed, Grandmother had tea in a thermos. They walked, quickly, up the mountain: it was cold. When they reached the top, there were a few tiny rays creeping up, over the next mountain. Sumi sat, and Kazama sat in front of her, leaned back into her arms. There it was, that feeling again, touching Kazama like this, not trying to kiss her, or stroke her: just holding her. It was complete and perfect in itself. The sun rose, slowly, warming them.

Walking back: "I'm guessing Grandmother has chores for us. How are you at gardening?"

"I can hold my own against a weed. OK, my guess, now: I guess you'll be chopping extra firewood: four baths."

"Oh, right: your uncle is coming today. I mean, Uncle. My uncle too."

"Sumi?" Kazama looked at her . . . this could be fun.

"Ummm . . . Kazama? I have a confession to make. No, not that kind; about Grandmother. Your grandmother. This isn't working."

"What's wrong, Sumi-chan?" She tried her most helpful voice; Ushio knew Sumi well enough to tell she was gonna work herself up.

"I talked with her. She thinks . . . she asked me if I wanted to be part of the family. I said yes. I'm sorry, Kazama, she already thinks we're married and I know I should have asked you. I mean I don't want . . if you don't want. We don't have to . . ."

"Sumi! Stop!" She turned to Sumi, kissed her. Would that calm her down? Knowing Sumi, she'd have to do it a lot. "Welcome to the family. OK?"

Sumi was so worked up, she could only nod. This time, though, Sumi actually took her hand, first. Well! Ushio thought: Sumi really was coming along. She hoped Sumi would never stop being so unbearably cute, though.

As expected, Sumi got chopping duty and Kazama got to go see the neighbors, pick vegetables in the community garden. Grandmother sat in the sun, stringing up persimmons, to hang, to dry for later. Like ornaments, they made a pretty orange pattern against the dark bamboo screens of the house. Sumi was just starting on a new pile of wood when a strange man came up in front of their house. He looked like a wild mountain man, in his mid-forties, with a scraggly beard, holding a walking stick, and with a heavy pack on his back.

"So, you're my new niece."

"Um . . I'm sorry!" Sumi bowed. "This is the first time we've met! So please take care of me!"

"You don't have to be so formal, young one. Mother!" he called over to Grandmother. "Tell this child she can relax around family."

"Hmmph! Sumika has good manners; she knows to treat people with respect. Unlike someone I can name."

Then something completely unexpected and wild happened: Uncle hugged Grandmother. What? Was this some kind of America soap opera?

"Son. You're safe.

"Now tell me, how did you know about Sumika?"

"Well, Mrs. Kitayama, the one with the grand-daughter in Tokyo, told me. And Mrs. Minamiyama, who has her husband's father living with them, she told me. Also Mrs. Urusai." He got a mischevious look on his face. "She gave me some grasshoppers for Sumika. Make a nice snack."

"Anyway, I heard how Norio finally got married. Welcome to the family, Sumika! Now where is that rascal of a husband of yours? I haven't seen him in ages."

Sumi looked at Grandmother. Grandmother looked at Sumi. They both looked at Tōru-oji.

"Uh . . "

"Quiet, Sumika." Grandmother drew a deep breath, then came out with:

"Tōru: Ushio has also chosen her . . . wife. Sumika is . . . Ushio and her are . . . "

"I see! So that's the way things are. I see!" He was clearly shaken, but 'did his best.' He took a few seconds to recover.

"So where's that cute little . . . wife, of yours? She was so small when I last saw her; I bet she's a real beauty now, though." He turned to Sumika, "You are one lucky . . . girl. I mean, being in the Kazama family is always lucky, right, mother?"

He did try, a little too hard, but Sumi had to give him credit. Grandmother 'did her best' too: "Sumika, why don't you take your uncle to the garden? Ushio is probably still there. Tōru: you go there and pick some good vegetables for dinner."

When in doubt, give orders. She'd have to remember, if she ever got to be a mother-in-law. Which was a disturbing thought all by itself.

Uncle left his backpack, but took the grasshoppers: they alternated munching. "Your grandmother didn't grow up here, so she never learned to make 'em. Now, Mrs. Urusai's family has been here over a hundred years so she's an expert. But I like Mrs. Minamiyama's best. She deep fries 'em, then rolls 'em in sesame seeds. That's a treat.

"Stop here for a minute." they were in a patch of sunlight. "Let me look at you. Sumika, is it? You know who you look like? That Murasame Sumika, the national champion"

"If you listen to Grandmother, it's 'Kazama Sumika' now."

"So you are the national junior champion! Ushio-chan is really marrying up, isn't she?"

This time Sumi heard the laughter in his voice. Then . . .

"You know, your aunt's parents were against my marriage. Folks were still poor, for a long time, after the war. Well, she was a teacher: educated. Upper class. I was just a boy, working at the docks. A fish-porter; that's where I learned about fish. Remember that, Sumika: whatever you work at, you can learn something, use it later."

Sumi guessed he wasn't thinking about chopping wood, but you never knew with older people.

"So where did kids like us meet? At the movies! We saw all the classics: Tokyo Story, Floating Weeds. Godzilla! They got that one right, the great ocean beast, destroying the nuclear plants. They got that right."

"Uncle? Which was your favorite?"

"Totoro, of course. Mountain spirits still live, you know? You can feel them here, that's what I like. You"

"Sumiii-chan!" Kazama's sing-song happy voice. She skipped up, then: "And Uncle!" She ran up, threw herself on the man, hugged him. What was with all the hugging?

"Look at you. All grown up and beautiful."

"She's also the student council president." Sumi couldn't help herself.

"Proud of her, are you? Well, I am too: Ushio-chan, you grew up to be a very fine woman.

"You know, I feel a special meal coming on. A banquet, that's what we all need. Something to celebrate."

They walked back, Kazama holding her hand. Uncle glanced over, decided to join in and hold Kazama's hand. Sumi was beginning to get the hang of this guy; more important, Kazama seemed to like him.

"Uh, Uncle? There isn't a lot of food. I don't think there's enough for anything more than vegetables."

"No food, is it?" Uncle got that look on his face. Like she was going to be teased again. Probably gave Kazama teasing lessons, when she was little.

"Sumika: I kind of remember an old, old clearing in the mountains. Is it still there?"

"Mmm. Kazama and I were there yesterday."

Uncle Tōru and Kazama both gave her a weird look.

"Right. There's a pond at the lowest point; I bet that's pretty big, with all the rain. Were there any lotus flowers? Because, you know, where there's flowers there's roots."

Uncle was just warming up. He stopped walking, looked around, plunged into the forest by the side of the road. "See this? Rain means the bamboo will grow. We'll get the baby bamboo shoots, and grill 'em. Oh, yes: I built the kitchen at our summer cottage. It isn't ryokan standards, but we'll cook a pretty good meal.

"Now, what else do you see around you?"

Trees? OK, not bamboo; already covered that. No tofu plants. "Uh, trees? A stream?"

"This is a great stream; the water is pure. You usually get trout, maybe some eels. I like ocean eel myself, but freshwater eel isn't bad. We might get lucky and get some mountain shrimp, too."

It could have been embarrassing, but somehow with Uncle it wasn't. He looked up at the trees. Were they edible too?

"Just thinking: you should get a good harvest of acorns. I bet the wild pigs are nice and fat. They reproduce fast, too.

"But, I think we won't hunt today. I'll do a little fishing; you girls go help your grandmother."

Today was 'clean house' – mop floors, wipe down screens between rooms, and do a little light laundry. She didn't have to talk with lonely old mountain ladies, and she got to work with her girl. Not a bad deal, in all. Uncle returned with trout, no eels, and an entire basket of what looked like weeds. "Mountain vegetables. 'Course, some of 'em are poisonous. You have to grow up here, to know."

"Anyway, Sumika: I need your help. Come into the kitchen with me." She followed, while Kazama mouthed a silent "No, no, no." Hmm . . . Kazama didn't know she'd been practicing. If she could impress Kazama . . . !

"I always like to have apprentices in my kitchen. So, what do you think you should do first?"

"Wash the vegetables?"

"Right. Now I'll get a little fire going – no, stay here and watch. You need just the right amount of heat; you have to get some tiny branches. Everything in life is to teach us a lesson. If there wasn't an earthquake, I wouldn't have met you. Who knows! You could be my assistant chef. You know" he looked around "this is a fine old house. I bet city folk would pay to stay here. Well, not in the summer, but can you imagine this place in the winter? Just a little fixing up and we'd have ourselves a ryokan!"

Uncle actually got several fires going. "We'll have to grill the baby bamboo shoots, the fish too– you can never tell, there might be parasites, so let's be safe. We'll boil some of the vegetables. Rice. I think – Sumika, why don't you get the firepit going too; we can use it. Hot in here, isn't it. Let's eat on the porch. Ushio-chan! Ask your grandmother to set up a table on the porch.

"It's all about the rhythm. I bet you know that! I still can't believe you're Murasame Sumika. I used to do some karate, myself. What do you say? Are you up for a little match with an old man? No? Well, for now, how about a rice match?"

This, at least, Noe had taught her:

"At first it bubbles, Then it hisses, Even if the baby is crying, Don't touch the lid."

"Just like my mother taught me. So, Sumika, you'll be the rice chef tonight. Rice is the foundation of the meal, so I rely on you. Another night we'll talk about sushi rice."

Sumi did fine with the rice, then watched. She learned how to clean a trout and prepare it for grilling. "Any idiot can fry a fish, but this is where we Japanese excel: grilling. You can spend all your life learning to grill different fish. Now this trout isn't very fatty, so what do you think we'll have to do?"

After the meal, Tōru sat back. It was exhausting, and he'd been walking all day, for a week. He was very glad to have an apprentice, even Sumi. It did turn out to be the feast he'd hoped; it seemed that neither Sumika nor Ushio had tasted much real cooking. But even better, they understood what they were tasting. He knew that now they'd tasted real food, it would be hard for them to go back. Who knew? Maybe Sumika would even learn to cook. Maybe he could start a real ryokan, again.

Let the kids clean up. With eight courses, there was a lot to clean.

"They're good kids. They worked all afternoon, and not one complaint."

"Sumika might do. Ushio is still Ushio. You never know."

"I never really understood Ushio, all her problems in school. I wanted to be a good uncle, tell her to stick with it, be strong, work harder.

"But, you know? Before today I never saw Ushio happy."

"Hmmph. Maybe that's so; I still don't like it."

"Well, unless things have changed, there's still only three futon in the house."

"You take Sumi's room; Sumi will move into Kazama's, and Kazama will sleep with me."

"I think it's even easier that that: Sumika moves in with Kazama. There. One less move."

Then he got serious. "They're young, and yet there's so little time in the world. Their lives can change, in just one day, or even in one hour. Keiko: let them have their time together."

She was shocked: no-one called her by her given name. But, how could she contradict her son, on this? He lost his love and his whole life, in one hour.

"Very well. But bathing together would just give them a chance for their foolishness.

"Ushio! Sumika! Come here, I need to talk with you two. Now, Sumika, I want you to start heating the bath water. After you're done with that, I want you to clean out your room and move your things in with Ushio. There are only three futon in the house, and you will just have to share. It can't be helped, so please don't argue.

"After the baths, we can all come back and have some of that chocolate you were too busy to eat last night."

That would keep them on their toes. Teach them to argue with her.

When they did get together for desert, Uncle asked Sumi what she thought of the chocolate. She was puzzled, took her time answering.

"I like chocolate. But something is wrong with it. It doesn't go with the whole meal."

"Ha! You are so right. If we were at my ryokan, we would have finished with some fresh fruit, just in a light sauce. Let the real flavors stand out. This is western-style food and artificial; what's needed here is something authentic.

"So, Sumika, tell me: do you really want to be part of this family? Can you be a good wife to Ushio-chan?"

Sitting beside her, Kazama was nodding, mouthing silently 'sayyessayyessayyes.'

"I want to stand by Kazama's side and" . . . what? They were all looking at her. Kazama was giggling; Uncle Tōru laughed openly, and even Grandmother had a smile. Uncle answered:

"Sumika, we're all Kazama here. Don't you think you want to call your wife by a more . . . a nicer name?" Kazama had a very satisfied look on her face. Oh, well,

"We still have college and a job ahead and there's a lot we don't know. If you and Grandmother could take care of Ushio and myself, I think we could learn.

"But I will protect her and be by her side as long as she lets me."

Uncle and Grandmother exchanged glances. Again, he spoke.

"And you, my dearest little Ushio-chan? Are you ready for this? With Sumika?"

Kazama didn't take any time at all; she stood, exclaimed "Yes!" and bowed. Defiantly.

"Well. Sumika, that's a half-decent reply. You're more ready than you think. But shouldn't we have a ceremony?" Uncle got up, returned with a bottle of osake and an old, old box.

"This is for the 'san-san-kudo' ceremony. Do you know why we do this, to celebrate when two people become a couple?"

Sumika first: "No. But I can't drink osake, Uncle. It makes me feel bad."

"Oh! Tried it, then? Then don't drink it, just let it touch your tongue. You should be fine.

"Now, to answer my own question: I don't know either. But it's an old ceremony, maybe as old as this house, because check this out."

He opened the box, took out three cups, each smaller than the next. They were glazed green, each with a deep red streak running through it.

"I found this here in a shed, maybe twenty five years ago, got it appraised. Definitely late 1600's, they said. Probably a lot of things hidden away in this old place.

"Now, before we start, I want the two of you to think, how many ceremonies this old set has seen. It's not just you, but our family, our village, stretching all the way back. Ready?"

Sumi poured for Ushio, then she for her. They couldn't keep their hands from trembling, but maybe that was because the cups were so small. Three sips each, from three cups, nine in all. A perfect number, indivisible, as they would become.

They left for bed, but Uncle stopped Sumi, so Ushio went ahead. He pulled Sumi aside, whispered, "Be gentle, Sumika. And take it slow." Wow did Uncle not understand who was who in the couple.

'The couple.' Wow.

Kazama had already changed into her pajamas: a soft white cotton, but with so many cherry blossoms on 'em, they looked pink. As expected, it was very, very cute on her. Kazama (did we really think Sumi would jump right into calling her Ushio?) blew out the candle, and Sumi changed by the light of a half-moon. She wished she had something nicer than a tee and sweatpants.

It was crowded on the single futon, especially because Kazshio rolled over ontop her almost immediately. "Sumi-chan?" she said quietly. "A big day, huh? Did you like Uncle? He's my favorite. Usually he brings presents but I guess not this time. How'd you like the food? He's"

"Ow!" This, from Sumi.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, I think I'm just sore. Chopping wood is harder than I thought."

"I can massage you!" Ushio jumped right in (even if Sumi can't quite wrap her head around the U-word, we'll do our best). She stuck her hand right down Sumi's pants, "Ahh!"

OK, after Sumi shrieked with surprise, Ushio rubbed her tummy. "Wow, Sumi, you're hard. It's all that muscle, isn't it? Here, feel my tummy, see? It's all soft." And Ushio grabbed Sumika's hand, stuck it in her own pants.

Or tried to, anyway. As soon as Sumi touched her, she became rigid as bamboo, and Ushio almost lept out of bed.

"Sumi! I'm sorry! I didn't mean. I didn't want to do . . . I mean you're a normal girl and I just."

We all probably noticed that thinking quickly in romantic matters isn't Sumi's strongest point. But even Sumi knew she had to say something quickly.

"Heh. No, it was, I mean I thought my hand was too cold. I didn't want to . . . " Was that as fake as it sounded? No-fake! Hurry, no-fake: "Kazama, I was scared."

At least Ushio knelt back down, next to Sumi. "That I would do something – I mean something weird?"

"No. I mean, when two girls love each other, it isn't weird. Is it? I mean, I don't think it is but if you do, then."

"No." Ushio said it very quietly. "It doesn't feel weird, Sumi." She put her own hand back – there, very tentatively. "Not if it's with you."

"I'm scared of seh. Seh. Sex. What if I do something wrong?"

Ushio got the biggest smile on her face. "Contestant One: can you pick out the real Sumika? On the left, the one who's gonna protect me against everything. On the right, the one who's scared."

"Ushio? Please?" In a very small voice.

"Sorry. You're just so much fun to tease." I bet you're the shyest lover, ever." She laid back down ontop of Sumi. "It's just like kissing, right? I mean, if we practice? Here. I'll start."

Ushio probably had already thought a lot about how to do this, because a bit later that night, a very loud "Kazama!" rang through the house.

Four sleeps: they all woke late, next morning.

Keiko:

For a long time, Keiko barely had hope for the family. With the earthquake and tsunami, she had no choice: Norio would have to marry. He seemed such a slender thread, to hold the weight of the family.

Now family and hope were folded about Sumika. Tōru took to her immediately, as she herself had. Even Ushio, in her own private world of need and love, even Usiho was happy. But what mattered was family: what could Sumika bring to it? how hard would she work?

So Sumika's absorption into the family was rough, noisy, indiscreet: it was the cost of hope.

Tōru:

He woke from nightmares of destruction, endless searching over wasted cities. For months he'd woken to simple futility and despair. This morning was subtly different, events seemed more distant, and other thoughts crowded his mind. Ushio and Sumika would need a substantial breakfast, stamina for all the rebuilding, restructuring, to come. Sumika and Ushio brought promise: there was just a chance, a slender hope, for a life after complete death.

Ushio:

She woke, remembered: Sumi so shy about touching her, so inexperienced. But Sumi focused, listened, responded. And when Sumi had finished, something Ushio never expected: Sumi so excited by making love to her, that all Sumi herself needed was a few touches.

Ushio held her secret passion, believed it was hers alone. Finally she knew: Sumi felt the same. Years of hope and uncertainty were over; life stood in front of her, smiling. Life looked a lot like Sumi.

She felt Sumi stir, start breathing heavily: as usual, Sumi was working herself up about something. Ushio smiled, crawled right ontop of her (the one place Ushio always felt safe), gave Sumi a slow, sloppy morning-after kiss.

Sumika:

It was light when Sumi woke; she had a moment of disoriented panic. Saw Kazama was naked, remembered why, and went directly into full-blown panic.

She hadn't even known what to do; Kazama had to explain. She was such a klutz: uncertain, awkward. Kazama was probably wishing right now that she was with some really cute girl, instead of the big klutz.

Kazama rolled over, lay ontop of her, kissed her. Sumi had no idea what hit her last night; she was still in shock. So she kept quiet, let her body speak for her. Her body was doing a lot of the talking, these days, though mostly what it said was 'more.'

Uncle came up with a pretty impressive breakfast for the new couple: grilled eel on a bed of fresh sushi rice, topped with a beautiful orange egg, the dish like sunrise over the mountains. It was exactly like being at a fancy ryokan, except as employees, because while Ushio cleaned the rooms, aired the futon, Sumi worked in the kitchen. Skinning, deboning, and multiple grillings of the eel: it was all finicky; then there was the issue of the sauce, which had to be the right balance of salty and sweet. Sumi was beginning to get the sense that all kinds of daily work required this finicky attention. Noe had insulated her from real life; now she thought about it, four years of obsessing over Kazama insulated her too, in its own way. It was a different world, up here.

Uncle said it was traditional for inns to serve grilled eel on the hottest day of the year, because it provided stamina for the coming month. The food, with deep flavors, salty sweet sauce and slippery texture was . . . well, now she knew the right word: sexual. Though Uncle had obtained the ingredients, designed the dish, guided her every step of the way through it, he insisted that Sumi be the one to prepare it, serve it to Ushio. Now she understood why: the food was her gift, to her lover.

She had to wonder, again, if Uncle was laughing inside.

Breakfast done (and dishes cleaned, put away), he called them to the porch: "Too bad for you two, but you'll have to move again. Mother and I can't sleep in those drafty rooms in the old part of the house. Now don't feel sad; you'll take a room in the back of the house; it's close to the stream and the sound will help you sleep." (Ushio had planned on helping Sumi sleep) "And it's bigger; you won't be falling all over each other." (Sumi had planned on falling all over Kazama)

The back room was pretty big, with screens they could open to see the stream, trees. And it was hidden from the road; they'd have privacy.

Sumi felt a kind of weirdness, moving their stuff, a 'just married' feel but with something missing. Kazama had her cute clothes, also a giant plush octopus, . Sumi had her own clothes, books, pens, but neither had anything explicitly 'theirs.' They lacked the kinds of things couples had: gifts to each other, trinkets, jewelry.

Sumi did feel her body now had a very conspicuous 'Kazama slept here' historical marker everyone could see. Maybe that was it: she wanted something to say who they were, that she belonged to Kazama.

They took a break, started a quick hike to the top of the mountain, but got only about a quarter of the way up before Sumi stopped in the shade, grabbed Ushio and kissed her. Kazama even let her take the lead, snuggled up against her, said "It's OK, Sumi-chan, I love you too." and she

"Hey! What are you two kids doing?" An older man, driving a green three-wheeled truck, had stopped in back of them.

Ushio led with an "uh" which prompted ever-protective Sumi to stand in front of her, look right back at him, and say, "We were kissing. So what?"

He snorted. "I see that. Your business. I want to know what village committees you're on. This late in the day, you should be working."

When they looked blankly back at him, he softened. "You're new. We're rebuilding the village; there's plenty of work to be done. You might as well get in the truck; I'll drive you down and we'll find something for you to do."

They squeezed themselves in amongst packages, bottles, various foods and some huge daikon roots. "I'm Sato Jin; used to be the postman and delivery service. That makes me mayor, now. Of what's left.

"I heard you're from Tokyo. You probably don't know a lot about what happened up north, here. Well, you'll find out soon enough. I guess I should stop by old Grandmother Kazama's place and tell her what we're doing."

They stopped; Uncle came out, then Grandmother, and Mr. Sato talked with them for a bit. Uncle came over, told Sumi and Ushio to change into work clothes "and remember it'll be hot, down there. Ushio, you'll work at the shelter; lots to do there. Sumika, I put you down for construction work. The village got a bunch of prefab housing, but you'll have to help assemble. Both of you do your best.

"And, I want both of you back here before the rains start. Sumika, think about dinner. Maybe you can find a market."

The road forked; Mr. Sato took a direction different from the one Tomoe drove, leading down to the river. "You can see what happened, the quake drove the water right up the river. Wouldn't have been so bad, but the river channeled it, made it go higher. I was lucky, I had to deliver some food to Mrs. Minamiyama, the one with the bad foot.

"We don't have tsunami sirens, this far inland, so I didn't know until I got down. Now look over there."

It was like getting the guided tour of, say, hell. Mr. Sato pointed out the west side of the river, low and flat and demolished. Everywhere, just garbage. No, not garbage: what the waters had left, after taking away people's lives.

By this time they were down the mountain, driving through mud alternating with small patches where the highway hadn't been washed away. "All that was water when I came down, buildings floating, boats too. Now look, in back of you.

"You can see how high it got, even up the mountain. See that part, over there? The water just tore that part away that." What it looked like was the bare bones of a mountain: rocks, trees with roots exposed.

"Now over there" he pointed to the northeast "that's 'big boat ridge'. The last time, nineteen sixty, the water left a big fishing boat stranded there. So the people that time started rebuilding the village up there. If we knew what we were doing, we'd have put everything there. People never learn. That big building on the ridge is the school; all the kids made it. We never learn.

"Anyway that's where you'll go, Ushio-chan, after we drop Sumika here off at the construction site. You can see it from here" he pointed west, where they saw a gate and piles of wood, some construction machinery.

They drove along what must have been the main street in the village, because on either side was what was left: pieces of houses mixed with whatever the tsunami brought. They passed a grandmother, in front of a pile of wood and bricks; she was sweeping, like she'd done for forty years, like nothing had changed; keeping her part of the street clean.

Sumi got left off in front of a construction site; she wanted to kiss Kazama good-bye but was pretty sure that'd be the wrong thing to do. She whispered, right in her ear, then got out, waved as Mr. Sato drove them off.

They'd poured concrete foundations and put up the frames of some very small houses. Looking through the skeleton of the new house: it'd be two rooms: one common kitchen bedroom living area, and one small room for a toilet. No bathing area. Enough for a basic existence. Sumi was starting to appreciate Grandmother's house: after four centuries, the Kazamas once again had the fanciest place in the town.

They'd built a big gate in front of the construction site. The sign on the left gatepost was in English; she sounded out the letters 'USMC 31st MEU, Logistics Battalion 31. Improvise, adapt, overcome.' but none of it made any sense to her, though the word 'ganbarimasu' was written in Japanese next to it.

The other gatepost also had writing, this time in Japanese: 'Co-sponsored by Hachisuki Industries.' which she read and understood and it sent a chill down her spine. There was no escaping her.

"Impressive, isn't it? Old Hachisuki's grand-daughter herself stopped by, donated the money to set up the housing the Americans gave us. She's a real lady, an aristocrat. You can tell by her manners."

A man in his mid-forties, like Uncle, stood in back of her. He was wearing work clothes, but he kind of had an attitude, he was used to being obeyed.

"So you're Murasame Sumika? Sato-san said you were coming. I'm Tsukamoto, foreman on the project. Before, I used to do contracting, work on houses in the village. Now it's all different, isn't it?

"So let's get you working; there's a competition for the team that gets the most done. Can you do electrical? Well, plumbing? Any experience with heavy machinery? No? Well, Murasame, is there anything you can do? Can you read English?"

""Um. . . yes. I could just help. Lift things. I'm pretty strong."

"Right. Well, then. We'll put you down for two jobs. Hey! Yamabaka, come here!"

Yamabaka was a big man, as tall as Sumi but thick, muscled. "Yamabaka, this is Murasame. You'll be her sempai, except when I need her for help with English. She'll just do unskilled work for you."

He looked at her, snorted. "How's she gonna help, boss? Look at her" and he moved to hit her on the chest, push her over. Block: effective. Bought a thick arm to slap her back: block. Tried to

"What do you two think you're doing?" Mr. Tsukamoto was shouting. "Look at you, Yamabaka: fighting with a girl. You should be ashamed. And you, Murasame! No respect at all for your elders. I ought to send you right back; your family would be ashamed of you.

"Now listen, both of you. Yamabaka, you take care of her. Teach her what she needs to know. Murasame, you apologize, right now. Do it properly."

Things simmered between them all morning: Yamabaka would tell her to fetch some wood; she'd bring the whole stack, at once. Unskilled: she'd show him.

The mini-houses came in pieces, all pre-fab. She'd bring a chunk over, hold it in place, and he'd nail it to the rest of the frame, secure it to the foundation. It all came to a head with a heavy piece, she was holding it up but she overbalanced on the foundation, fell backwards, grabbed the frame and the whole thing started to fall on her, when she felt Yamabaka's hand steadying her and she pushed back, placed the frame into position.

About then the bell announced lunch-break. It was actually just a furin, a wind chime someone had picked from the wreckage. There was a kind of pathos to it, but if you whack it hard enough with a hammer, even a furin can give a respectable sound. Sumi and Yamabaka sat on a foundation slab, together.

"I'm sorry. I really messed up. I guess I'm pretty useless."

Yamabaka sat, nodding to himself. "Yeah, you're not half bad. The thing is, you know, this isn't some karate match, 'point this, point that'. You can really hurt yourself out here.

"An you're just an outsider; we lost family."

Tsukamoto sat on the other side of Sumi. "Yamabaka's family had a car repair business here - what was it, sixty years now?"

"Yeah after the war. 'Was' is right; all gone now. I shoulda never left 'em." Yamabaka got his lunchbox out, opened it.

"He and his wife were visiting friends in Kyoto. His father, brother were in the shop when it hit."

"An my mom was at home too. You probably didn't bring any food. Here." He handed Sumi a piece of yam jelly with a miso and red bean paste spread ontop. It was pretty basic food and Sumi was almost ashamed to take it from him, but she was really, really hungry. Tsukamoto had his own lunch, just rice balls. Like everything had been thrown back to basics and they were rice farmers, a hundred years ago; they'd eat like this.

Tsukamoto continued the conversation. "Right. Sumi, when you go back home after work, try if you can spot an auto repair business."

"Yeah," Yamabaka added. "I got a hint for ya: it's on main street." The two men laughed. Seeing as main street was a pile of trashed buildings and skewed chunks of pavement.

The men were interrupted by the arrival of - this was embarassing - Mrs. Urusai, the one with the koi (was she really getting the hang of village life so quickly?), who brought a substantial lunchbox for Sumi.

"Here; Grandmother Kazama told me you were working with the men. Yamabaka, don't you bully her."

"Yesmaam. Hey! She got better food than us!"

"Sumika's a growing girl. And you two men both have wives at home to take care of you."

Sumi let that one slide. After the older woman left, Sumi looked at her lunch: "Anyone want grasshoppers?"

Nothing could ease the men's resentment: they'd lived and their families had died and Sumi, all clean and strong and well-fed was a reminder, from the past, of what life used to be.

It wouldn't go away quickly, but things were easier after lunch. Yamabaka started telling her what they were doing, so she could make her own decisions. So even while Sumi slowed down, worked more carefully, and helped Tsukamoto tranlslate English blueprints, it sped up the work. They'd become a team. By the time Tsukamoto looked up at the sky, announced it was gonna rain in the next hour so cover the houses with tarps, Sumi and Yamabaka had finished one more unit than any of the other teams.

"Okay, men! And honored guest worker Murasame-kun." The gathered men laughed and Tsukamoto continued, "Today's different; everyone's getting paid. For the first time. Look, I know this is all volunteer, and you men would work here anyway, but . . . well the Hachisuki Foundation gave us all this money and the idea is that with money, we'll buy more local things, and then . . . well anyway it's supposed to rebuild the local economy, somehow."

"What about the girl? You sayin' she's gonna get paid the same as the rest of us? We got family." A voice from behind her; Sumi couldn't see who, but Yamabaka came up next to her. "Yeah. She should get yours too, Kusai-kun, cuz she can do twice as much as any of you men." Then Yamabaka slapped her so hard on the back that she staggered forwards. The construction crew laughed and it was OK.

Sumi hung out after work, sitting on a concrete slab, counting out the cash. In a way, the money was a problem. When Kazama found her, she smiled shyly so Sumi said, "Hey, look: I got paid." She showed her: ten thousand-yen notes, all crisp and bright. And the thousand bonus for best team.

"You're becoming a regular salaryman, aren't you?"

"'Wife! Beer!' Isn't that what I'm supposed to say?"

"Sumi, I'll warn you right now: I am not going to be a regular stay-at-home wife. One day at that shelter..." Kazama shuddered.

"That bad? What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it. Boy, do I ever want a crepe. Strawberry. You're buying, you provider, you."

Sumi stood, said, "Hey, wanna go shopping in Shinjuku? It'll take your mind off things." Was this being supportive? Helping Kazama through it?

"Yeah, Shinjuku sounds good. Seriously, where do you go here to get anything?"

"Well Uncle said to find a market. Anything look market to you?"

"Ahh . . . I guess . . . on the river? I mean, it was a fishing village, right? Because it was on the river? So if there even was a market, that's where it'd start up again?"

Ushio did know her shopping, because near the river (nothing survived but foundations, surrounded by mud: silt scoured from the riverbed, just left there by the receding waters, and wrecked hulls) a small group of women sat, their wares on small cloths.

It was pretty much local: one section was household goods and Ushio gasped, grabbed Sumi's arm "So that's it. Sumi, it was a mess, just kids with no-one minding them. The babies all crying and needed changing and then the toddlers crawling around. It's like the worst day of my life.

"Now I got it: the women left all their kids at the shelter, so they could go on salvage. Look at this stuff!" Plasticware, battered pots, some crockery, though mostly chipped. Blankets, clothing: everything they could find, recover, sell.

"Enough! Tomorrow's gonna be different; I'm getting those kids organized." Kazama's eyes gleamed, with a certain 'Madame President' look. If she was taking charge, the village had better watch out. And Sumi felt . . . was it ok to think these things? Cuz Kazama-in-charge seemed really sexy.

A separate section of the market, just for food, but it was still all local: a woman with eggplants, burdock root. They didn't need that, they had their own garden plot. Home-made miso and pickles; again Grandmother and Uncle made their own. Fish!

"Hey, Kazama? Can you tell if fish is fresh?"

"You're the cook in the family; better ask Uncle. I think he likes teaching you. How about that squid? It looks good."

The squid had a translucent skin, shimmering, with deep blue around the eyes. It just had to be fresh. She got five, then looked around. Another group of women were selling salvaged canned foods, liquids in unmarked bottles. She got a small jar of sesame oil; passed on the osake.

No ride back up the mountain: they walked, holding hands. Look at them: you'd mistake the two for teenagers anywhere, out for an innocent shopping trip. All that was now deep in their past.

Sumi was worried about the money. She wanted to buy something, kind of inconspicuous but something, that would say. Well, that they were together. But the shopping used up most of her earnings. And it really belonged to the family and she'd have to give it to Uncle, what was left. But she could keep the bonus, right? It was hers anyway. She'd save up a little every day and she could buy something.

"Sumi-chan? You OK? You're zoning out." But different, Ushio thought: Sumi wasn't obsessing, she had a relaxed look. Sumi smiled at her and . . . well, Ushio blushed. Definitely a different Sumi.

Should she call her a different name? 'Sumi-chan' was when they were just friends (because Ushio didn't want to think back to her own secret crush and all the silly things she did). Now it was different; Sumi was earning money and they were. Lovers. Yeah, lovers. Why shouldn't she say it?

Ushio walked a little faster. "Sumi, love? Do you like it here?"

Sumi took a long time answering, but Ushio was used to it: she knew Sumi, knew she'd be figuring out all the angles. It was kind of nice, comfortable. Like they

"Mnn! I like the peace. A different speed, quieter too. And I feel like I'm doing good things. I mean, helping Grandmother and Uncle and today I helped build shelters.

"Maybe it's being like grown-up? I like it." She squeezed Ushio's hand but Ushio didn't get it.

"But Sumi, did you see that market? Zero on the fashion scale.

"It's nice to be here but I think I want to live in a big city. If we, ever. I mean: it's kind of like we're just playing, here. Isn't it?"

"No." Sumi said. "It feels very real." And Ushio understood what she meant. And, as reality has a way of expanding, filling every little corner, the afternoon rain started. They arrived home soaked and chilly. Sumi was dirty and Ushio looked forlorn. Uncle met them.

"OK, girls, I heated the bath. You two wash up and jump in; you look like you need it. Yes, together: I built it for Umeko and me, so you two will fit right in. Get a good soak and I'll make some tea and snacks. Jin-san stopped by, told us about you; he said I was lucky to have nieces like you. I knew that. Ushio, I'm not hugging you; you look like a drowned ghost. Hey, Sumika? I'll call you Sumi, alright? I found this envelope in your room; it's addressed to you. Gold, yet: I thought it was the imperial palace, some prince wants your hand. For a fee I could arrange that. Oh, right: you're married already. Ushio, don't look at your old Uncle like that. Hurry up, you two: go take a bath."

They'd never seen each other naked, so washing was a little awkward. Sumi covered it up by asking, "Is Uncle always like that? I mean, high-energy?"

"Yeah, really he is, but I think it's worse now. I bet" Ushio hesitated "his wife probably got caught in the tsunami and he doesn't want to think about it. And he always wanted a daughter and now he can't. I think you're the daughter he never had. He isn't very much like most Japanese men, is he? I mean, they always want sons."

That got them through to the tub; they sank up to their necks, safe again. Used to be, Sumi could relax in the bath, but with Kazama there . . . "Hey, Sumi? I always wanted to wash your back. I mean, wash a back. I mean. Oopsie."

Sumi caught the tone, knew something had happened. Did Kazama feel? even back then? Now Kazama was blushing. Should she tease her? No, that wasn't Sumi; she never wanted to see her love embarassed or hurt.

"Ushio. I'd like that."

There. And not only did she get a really nice kiss, getting her back scrubbed was relaxing in its own way.

Uncle had the firepit going and tea and . . . grasshoppers. They'd been deep-fried with something sweet, then rolled in sesame, and were crunchy delicious.

"Right. So, Sumi: what you think I used? Yup, mirin: it's the only thing that gives you that delicate sweetness. You have to cut it with some good osake, though, or it'll be too sweet. What'd your letter say?"

Ushio also looking eager to hear, there wasn't going to be a way out of this. She opened the letter, read to herself:

'I apologize for last night. I really wasn't going to force you to have sex, I just wanted to give you some ideas for using with Kazama-kun. You didn't have to hit me so hard.

'I did all the best for you two and I hope you can work it out.

'With Love, Tomoe'

Sumi passed it to Ushio, whose eyes got wide. She was gonna . . . she was . . . she broke down in helpless giggles. When she had control again, she looked at Sumi: "Poor Tomoe. What did you do to her?"

"Bearing in mind she was drunk . . . I used the North Pole First. I got the idea across."

She almost giggled again, but returned the letter to Sumi, who threw it into the fire. Uncle, looking on, was clueless, but added, "You know that saying? 'Throw silver into the fire, the fire returns gold?"

"What if you throw in gold?"

"Then you get happiness. Sometimes. C'mon, Sumi: we got work to do. Great squid, by the way. The guests are gonna be expecting something delicious. What should we give 'em today?"

Cooking with Uncle was hard work, and finicky, and he was demanding. She liked it anyway: he always asked her to think about what she was doing; he explained things, like why you have to marinade the squid, or what kinds of flavors go together. His food was delicious and always different from anything she'd ever eaten.

"Uncle, how long does it take to learn to cook?"

"Like this? Well, you start as an apprentice, then when the master is ready to retire, you can take over and finally you start to really learn. So you learn the traditions, maybe twenty years. Then you start to learn who you are. That takes the rest of your life. After that, you can teach.

"So, you know, it's not a career, like a salaryman. It's a life."

"Uncle? How do you tell if a fish is fresh?"

"Ah, now that's hard."

Going to bed was even more awkward than the bath. Ushio watched Sumi as she changed, apparently interested, and smiled when she lay down, but on the futon, under the blanket, they were unsure, apart.

"Sumi, love? I'm sorry I laughed at you about Tomoe. I just thought - there's my brave Sumi, protecting her virtue. Was it bad?"

"I hate her; I wish she'd just leave us alone. But if she hadn't told you about, you know, me"

"That crush we don't talk about? Hey! Do you think Tomoe had a crush on you? So that's why she tried to get you drunk?"

As before, Sumi took her time answering, though Ushio wasn't nearly as patient this time.

"No, I don't think she likes me. I mean, she didn't kiss me like you do, yours is more"

"You kissed her?" Now Ushio was sitting straight up.

"She kissed me! I didn't try. She started it!"

"You let her kiss you? Alright, Murasame Sumika, you better tell me everything. And don't leave things out, like who touched where. And just in case you haven't figured it out, you're in deep trouble."

As expected.

So Sumi told her the whole drunken, tawdry episode. When she got to the part about her mother, Sumi teared up. Ushio leaned over her, brushed Sumi's cheek with her hand. But she didn't say anything, just listened quietly, to how Tomoe stripped off clothes, kissed Sumi's breasts, touched her, and kissed her on the mouth.

"And then I hit her. Her kiss said like, like she owned me. Like I was easy."

Ushio breathed deeply, "Believe me, Sumi, you are not easy. Uh, my kisses? Are they?"

Another hint, there was something Ushio needed to say but could only hint. If she were a different person she'd tease and say 'You have to remind me;' they'd kiss and it would all be like before. But Sumi felt the tension, that there was something serious and important happening and for the life of her she couldn't tease.

"You kiss like you want to know me. Ushio, it was the deepest thing I've ever felt. Like you loved me and you wanted to see inside me and"

Ushio's fingertips brushed Sumi's lips. "That's not getting you out of it. I'm not that easy!" But she was smiling, and her caress was gentle.

"Penalty! You have to pay, for letting Tomoe touch you. Now what should I make you do? I know! You have to just lie there, and I'm gonna do you. No touching me, back."

There were worse punishments in the world. And, when she was thoroughly and completely finished with Sumi, Ushio couldn't resist adding, "See? Isn't this better than Tomoe?"

No ride to work in the morning, but they each got a very nice lunchbox from Uncle. Sumi should know, since she had to do half the cooking. And since she prepared the box, she shaped the pickled eggplant in Ushio's: the characters 'su' and 'ki'. "Kiss?" Uncle asked.

"Love. Uncle, sometimes I can't tell when you're teasing me."

"When in doubt, assume I am. Now, Sumi, today I think we need some more osake. Don't let them charge you more than two thousand. Since it's salvaged, they think they can charge anything. But you're the only ones with money, right now, so you'll have the bargaining advantage. Bargaining is half of running a good ryokan; remember. OK, now off with you kids; I've got work to do."

They walked to the village. As usual, Sumi was distracted, thinking she liked when Ushio was assertive, in bed, and wondering how Ushio knew she would like it, and wondering what Ushio was trying to tell her about crushes, and wondering if she should ask.

She was also thinking how most of it no longer even mattered, because Ushio actually loved her. Everything else was small stuff.

"Sumi? Was it OK? You're not angry are you?" So Sumi took her hand, said,

"I was thinking, how I always had to call you 'Kazama' because I was afraid you'd find out I liked you. It was really silly back then. I was just wondering what you would have done if I told you?"

Ushio stretched up, gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "That, probably. Just to see what you'd do next." And Ushio winked at her.

The advantage to working on the construction site was you could see most of what was going on in the village, because it was just off main street. Not a lot of traffic, except Mr. Sato driving Ushio and a load of really young kids up the mountain. Ninety minutes later, driving Ushio back to the school. Thirty minutes later, driving Ushio and older kids . . . to the village. They all stopped by the site, and Sumi waved, while the kids swarmed through, then left. Madame President was up to something.

She ate lunch again with Mr. Tsukamoto and Yamabaka. She and Uncle made fried squid balls that morning, with the leftovers: no refrigeration, so food had to be eaten right away, and there was plenty to share.

"Pretty good stuff. So he's a chef, huh?"

"He was but he lost everything; I think his ryokan was right on the seaside. His wife died, too; I don't know why he lived."

Mr. Tsukamoto nodded, looked serious. "Sumika, one word of advice. From us who went through it. When he's ready to tell you, he'll talk. Just let him be." Then to lighten things, he added, "So, you have a big chance, here. Learning anything from the master?"

She nodded, slowly. "He's teaching me. I was thinking, maybe I could be a chef. But he says it takes years." Yamabaka looked at her, open mouthed.

"What? You think I can't?"

"Nah. I figured you for a college kid. Not cooking in any restaurant. Not any office lady either. One of those lawyer types. Classy, you know what I mean?"

"I thought that too. Father had a school all picked out. But being here on the mountain, it changes things."

She thought about it, that afternoon, while she worked. She was always competing, best marks in school, best in the country. Why? Like Uncle said: you work and learn who you are.

Late in the afternoon, Ushio and the truck returned, full of kids again, and stopped by the site. "Sumi, I have some things to finish up, so I'll be late and we'll meet at home, OK?" She gave a wink, headed out again. Very mysterious. Yamabaka came up behind her: "That's yer gal, right? Hey, don't look like that; it's a village an we know everything an if we don't, we find it out. A real beauty. Now back to work; Hirofumi-Takahashi are catchin' up an I need that bonus money. I shoulda told you, my wife Michiyo is gonna have a kid, this winter. So we sure can use that bonus."

By the time Tsukamoto-san called it quits for the day, they were just ahead of the Hirofumi-Takahashi team, and of course, Sumi just had to give Yamabaka her share of the bonus. "Umm. . . I might not be here when the baby comes, so it's a kind of early baby present" which earned her a punch on the arm and a significant bruise. She liked it better when she could block. Couldn't guys just say 'thanks' instead of hitting something?

There was something different about the market: new vendors and they weren't women at all, they were kids, fourteen or so. They all had the same sign "Kid's Recovery Co-op" and everything was salvage. She suspected Ushio's hand in it, but scored a bottle of osake at a thousand yen, which allowed her to buy some nice looking mackerel (check the eyes and gills for freshness, Uncle said).

Walking back uphill, alone, was already weird, after what? three days? Her hand missed Ushio's, her body missed those random kisses. The reality of being in love was nothing like her fantasies. Holding hands, kissing, snuggling on the futon: all the different kinds of touching, shaping them into one couple. She craved some way to show it, to everyone (though, like Yamabaka, most everyone who saw them together could figure it out). She wanted to buy jewelry, and the whole letter incident showed she'd need a good place to hide her savings.

When she got home only Grandmother was there, in the front, stringing up sour plums to be dried. "Your Uncle is out hunting" Grandmother snorted "whatever that means; he's out with his friends. We'll be lucky if he doesn't come home drunk. We'll wait on the baths, though you could certainly use one now. Well, why don't you take some time for yourself, Sumika. I'll cook tonight."

Since that's exactly what she hoped, Sumi didn't pause to wonder what had gotten into Grandmother (which in fact was: contentment, a feeling everything was going to be alright; that she would be alright), but changed clothes, started looking for a hiding place. Behind the Shinto shrine? Someone might leave an offering, or a token; she need some place, well, hidden: duh. Then she thought: she'd bet - their room was a really old part of the house; it must have had its own firepit, once, a long time ago. She tested the floorboards, one by one, until, surprise! a small group came loose and just like she thought, the remnants of an old firepit. Ashes, half-burnt charcoal; putting one hand into the ashes, she felt something iron and crumbly, and rusted-out. Then something hard.

She heard Uncle come home "Ahh: miso soup and chopped green onions. That's the smell of home, mom. Thanks for cooking. We didn't get one today, but I bet we''ll bring home a good one tomorrow. Right, right. Well, my old buddy Yamasuke, remember we used to play samurai? He didn't make it; he was in the village, shopping, when it happened. His wife is barely getting by; we'll give her the biggest piece, of course. Maybe we can take her some pickles and I think some of those persimmon. I'll go tomorrow morning, chop some firewood for her."

It grew quiet again until Ushio came home, excited, 'Sumi! Guess what I did today', saw Sumi sitting, right hand black with soot, floor opened, a large tin box next to her.

"Sumi? What's wrong? What's that? Oh!"

She opened the lid, showed Ushio: the box was full of gold. "Could you ask Uncle to come here?"

Tōru typically didn't walk into rooms where two young women were living together, but there was one thing he recognized amongst the clutter of clothes, underwear in various stages of being washed, cosmetics (but that's a different story, probably by Milk Morinaga), loose floorboards and gold coins: the guilty look on Sumi's face. "Ushio, dear: could you wait outside a few minutes? Sumi and I have to talk."

He closed his eyes, shook his head: "So what now, Sumika? What were you trying to hide? Looks like somebody got there first, right?"

One thing she'd learned from l'affair de Tomoe: she might as well be honest right away. She took two crumpled, wet thousand-yen bills from her jeans pocket.

Uncle cuffed her, on the side of the head. Lightly, but Sumi got the point. "I don't know which bothers me most: that you're hiding money from the family, or that you're so stupid you can take two thousand but not twenty million."

"The money wasn't mine."

"Oh, so now you're not a Kazama? So I have to ask this: if you're not a member of the family, what's Ushio mean to you? Some easy conquest? A summer fling you can forget when you go to college? Oh, hell Sumi: stop crying. Look, I'm sorry. Ahh . . ." and then something extraordinary happened: he held Sumi, stroked her.

"Look: I went through the same thing. You know I was adopted, right? So I know it isn't easy, being part of our house. I just don't want you making the mistakes I did. You OK now?"

Sumi nodded, sniffled "I just wanted to get her something. Just for us."

"You mean like wedding rings? Two thousand won't help much, there. Let me think about it; I won't tell Ushio. Now, you promise me one thing: you think about this: 'You' - I mean your 'us' - it isn't just something you do in a bedroom. It's about Ushio knowing she can rely on who you are; about Grandmother and I knowing the two of you will be there for the family; about the village knowing the family will be here. Think about it, Sumi.

"OK, now go wash your face and we'll all have dinner. The family has a lot to decide."

Dinner was back to just mountain vegetables, served in basic ways. Grandmother's fish skills didn't include mackerel, because it came to the table tasting strong and oily. No-one commented; the main topic of conversation was the gold.

"See this?" Uncle held up a coin, a rounded, oblong thing, with dozens of little lines, and two stamped words. "It's called a 'koban' - really old style money. It's supposed to be worth three years of rice for one person. Ushio, can you read what it says?"

She looked, squinted, turned it around "Nope. Is it Japanese?"

Grandmother answered: "Remember your family history, child. We were rice farmers; that's where the family money came from. This coin could have been from Tokugawa times; it's old-style Japanese we can't even read anymore."

"So that's where the 'lost fortune of the Kazama's' went."

"In a way, you're right, dearest Ushio. Well! Maybe I'm not as much Kazama as I thought (he winked at Sumi).

"See, the story the family tells about itself is that we were rice farmers, we owned so many fields and collected the rent in rice then we sold it to Tokugawa and we saved the money.

"You think about it, though, that's not how the world works. We had people working for us and we probably extracted those payments and we probably collected taxes for the regime and we took our cut. That's how it really worked, in the old days, and it all kept the peasants poor and in line."

Now Ushio was excited. "So the money rising from the firepit is like in a ghost story, all the people we hurt rising up against us. Right?" She smiled. "For revenge." She added, helpfully.

"You have a way of telling it, child." Grandmother was thoughtful. "It is odd, the money rising up just when the village needs it most.

"Why don't you children take a walk, maybe to your mountain-top, Ushio? Your uncle and I have a great deal to talk about. And don't stop at that fox shrine, either. It's a cursed place."

Grandmother had started going mystical on them. Sumi more practically, asked,

"Uncle? Do you really think it could be worth two million yen? That's a lot."

He handed the box to her. "Feel it, apprentice chef. About two, three kilos, hmm? With gold At about five hundred thousand a kilo ... but, you know, these are antiques, if you auctioned them just right, maybe ten times as much. I have a friend, in the city (he probably meant Sendai, because if it were Kesennuma, he would have said 'I had a friend') who could arrange it.

"Meanwhile, your Grandmother and I will count this, then put it back. It's been safe for hundreds of years; it'll be safe another week. You two just-marrieds go have a nice romantic walk."

It was darkening as they walked; the sounds of grasshoppers chirping filled the cooling night air. Sumi smacked her head: "Kazama! I got so caught up, I completely forgot to ask how your day went. You were very mysterious with your private bus service. And somehow 'Kid's Recovery Co-op' has a Kazama ring to it."

It was the right thing to ask, because Ushio grabbed her arm, clung to it. "I said I'd get them organized and I did. See, first I was thinking, there are all the little kids. A lot of them don't have parents anymore; that's why they're running loose at the shelter. And also these lonely old ladies on the mountain, with nothing to do but gossip. So I put two and two together. . . "

"Or, babies and granmas together. Ushio: you didn't try, I mean with Grandmother and a baby?"

Ushio shuddered, then giggled. "So I was back at the shelter and all the young kids were running around with nothing useful to do. I mean, they had parents but the dads were working with you and the moms out looking for salvage, so - well, now we're the Kid's Recovery Co-op. We clean up trash and if we find something, we sell it at the market. I don't know what to do with the money, yet." She looked wistful, like there was something just beyond her vision.

"I guess you could pay the grannies? I was hearing Uncle say, some of the women who lost their husbands could use help.

"You know, Ushio: you're really impressive. I mean, Tomoe came here acting all Hachisuki and industrial and giving money to restart the village economy. And here you're doing the same thing all on your own. Wow! What did I mmm marry into?"

It was dark when they reached the top of the hill; Ushio sat on the top step at the temple gate, looking out over the valley. Sumi would have sat next to her but got motioned, somewhat peremptorily, to sit on the next lower step.

"No, over here. Now, relax. Lean back." she did, head on Ushio's breast, held in her arms. "Sumi, look: it's the heavenly path,"

There it was, streaked across the sky. Living in Tokyo, she'd never seen it before. Thought for a second,

a woman stands
all alone, ready to wade
across the milky way

"That's you, Kazama-kun. How I think about you." Ushio's only response was to lean down, kiss Sumi's cheek. Then put her hands on Sumi's chest, warming her neck.

In her own backward way, Sumika once told Ushio she never once wished she'd been born a boy. Since Sumi won't say it, we'll say it for her: now, held in Ushio's arms, she was really, really enjoying being a woman.

The next day, Uncle left early, to 'hunt', whatever that meant; he left with Grandmother, visiting Mrs. Kitiyama, the one he was actually related to. As it was Sunday, Ushio and Sumi were left with the choice of finding something to cook chop or repair, or going back to bed.

Sunday was the beginning of Autumn, marked by a light morning rain. Sumi opened the screen doors in their room so they could watch, hear raindrops falling in the forest. She lay with her head on Ushio's shoulder, watching raindrops on the eaves growing fat, then falling, to splash on the porch.

Poets mark the season with the phrase 'a new coolness' but for Sumi it was marked by a new kind of gentle warm, Ushio's body. A new way of feeling, almost a kind of meditation, a quiet contemplation of

"Sumi? Are we sexually incompatible? I mean, here we are together and you haven't even touched me."

Sumi didn't know words like 'sexually incompatible;' she figured she must have done something wrong and

"You could start by kissing me, Sumi." Ushio was teasing again, but did lift herself up on one elbow and say, 'like this' then demonstrate.

While most people in Ushio's position would be thinking 'what am I going to do with this big box of gold we found', Ushio's thoughts were more like 'what am I gonna do with this big Sumi I just got.' It was really a matter of the law of supply and demand.

Ushio had spent the last, say, six years learning that to tell a girl you liked her was the quickest path to rejection, humiliation, and eating lunch alone.

Now, her love, in all its explicit sexuality, was out. It ate up her thoughts, her, and Sumi.

There was also the whole issue of figuring out how to use this new Sumi thing. Ushio had a small knowledge of how the basic knobs, and so forth, worked, but she was also pretty sure that more sophisticated options were available, and she was determined to discover every one.

In short: she had Sumi. Who needed gold?

For Sumi, lying next to a now-sleeping Ushio, the sky wasn't deep blue, and she wasn't feeling any light melancholy, just a kind of lazy contentment. She wasn't sure she could handle all this lack of angst in her life. She had the whole day to. . .

Stop: rewind. Of course she had the whole day: Uncle had set it up for them, like a honeymoon. What would other couples do? Go to a hot springs? A big-name American-style hotel? A Kyoto inn. For her, this by itself worked fine.

It struck her, though: the fates seemed to be conspiring, to bring them together. Well, not so much the fates. Uncle, certainly. And Tomoe.

What if she did trust Tomoe (she didn't), believe her. That Tomoe wanted Ushio and her to be happy? They certainly were; she no longer felt even the slightest jealousy for Tomoe's relationship. Now she had her own unique time, for all her life.

Still, why couldn't Tomoe have come right out and told Sumi: 'We're going up to see Kazama-kun (Tomoe would say). Pretend to like Bashō and don't tell your father.' She'd have run, jumped in the car and leaned forward to make it go faster.

"Sumika! Ushio! Aren't you up yet?" Ushio shook herself awake, looked at Sumi with one eye, snuggled, and fell back asleep.

Well, maybe she was overthinking it. With any kind of luck, she'd never see Tomoe & Co. again.

Uncle arrived home mid-day, scratched, clothing torn, blood on him, and kinda soaked. Also holding a large plastic bag containing something mis-shapen, like say a monster. Mutant monster.

"Uncle-chan! What happened? Did you fight a bear?" Ushio sure was cheerful. Tho, actually, Sumi figured she knew why: that extra nap time.

Also Uncle smelled of osake, pretty strongly. He shook his head, breathed in, "Worse, little Ushio. A couple of the guys and me, we went hunting wild pigs. Wow, they're vicious. Anyway, look at this." He pulled the monster from its bag; it was a whole pig head, bloody from the slaughter.

"Sumi? Sumi-chan? Sumika!" Oh, right: Kazama was leaning over her. Why was she lying on the floor?

"You fainted, Sumi. My big brave lover. Maybe you can be a vegetable cook?" Ushio giggled, making everything worse.

"Sorry for worrying you, I just, I." She felt like she was gonna be sick: breathe in, breathe out. "I just never saw meat before. I mean, except in littler pieces."

"S'ok Sumi" Uncle was slurring his words now. "Many a chef couldn't do this baby up.

"Tell ya what: let's take it old Mrs. Yamabaka. She'll make it all pretty an ya'll never'd know"

"Tōru-kun! You'll do no such thing. You're a disgrace. Sumika and Ushio can go; you're heading straight for a bath. Sumika: start the fire. And you, Tōru, go wash yourself down while the tub warms."

Sumi hadn't seen Grandmother so happy in days.

She wasn't sure how many Yamabaka families there were on the mountain; her own Yamabaka-kun said his mother died and so it probably was a different one. She put on her best jeans-and-tee; Ushio a very pretty blouse over stretch slacks. Waa? She was thinking about clothes? What was happening to her? Maybe possessed by mountain spirits?

The Yamabaka's were way down the mountain, so they had a fairly long walk; more time to be alone. Together-alone, an odd concept, unless you think of a couple as two pieces of one unit, which they were starting to become. What would they be called? 'the Kazama'?

"Sumi! Pay attention. I guess I better carry the boar-head? So you don't get all confused about whose uncle is whose?"

"Ushio-chan? I was just thinking:

fireworks vanish
leaving the darkness
changed from before"

"Sumi-love, you keep surprising me."

"I think I'm changing." Sumi took a deep breath. "Maybe I'm getting more like a girl? I mean, that's good, isn't it? Since you like girls?"

"Especially since I like only the very cutest girls, mmm? Hey, look! Isn't this it?"

The Yamabaka's had a really nice house, modern (just the name told them the family was new) but clean, uncluttered, lacking the kinds of things working farmhouses had. Also it looked like there was a family re-union, because the room was full of people, young, and older, and old.

"Hey, it's that Murasami from the Hachisuki project! An this is yer gal. Sorry I'm really bad with introductions an stuff. This is my aunt, and my cousin 'Big Yamabaka' (about six inches taller than him) and cousin Emiko. An a bunch of kids if they'd stay in one place. It's great you're here. Hey, wife! More beer!"

"Uh, thanks. Everyone, this is Kazama Ushio. My, um, we're together. A couple. Anyway" she rushed on "Uncle Tōru said Aunt Yamabaka might want this. It's nothing really but he was hunting and . . . " she bowed, offered the pigs head. Aunt peered inside the bag, clapped her hands "I'm not wasting any time cooking this. Yummy, yummy! I haven't had one of these for years. You kids sit down, join us, and I'll start."

Michiyo brought a beer and rice crackers (apparently the grasshopper thing wasn't them). "I'm sorry, I really can't drink. I"

"It makes her go crazy" Ushio broke in. "Don't give her any alcohol at all. You'll regret it."

Emiko, who was a serious young woman wearing glasses, leaned forward, stared at them. "Let me get this straight: you're a couple? What's that mean? Like you sleep together?"

"Hey, sis: back off. No more beer for you." This, from Big Yamabaka. "Hey, Mirasumi, you watch baseball?"

"Nah." his cousin, 'Little Yamabaka', answered "She does judo or somethin. She's some kind of black belt. Watch this." and he hit Sumi, same place as the day before, which was still bruised. She winced in pain. "Oh I get it; you weren't ready, try again" he said as Sumi started to stand; this time he hit her right in the abdomen and she fell back into Kazama's arms. "Hey I thought you knew judo?"

Ushio held her, stroked her hair "My poor Sumi."

"Alright, I get it." Emiko started back in. "You guys love each other an everything. But what are you going to do for kids? You gonna just let the whole family die out?"

"Don't be silly. They can adopt; there's plenty of kids without parents, at the shelter." Aunt Yamabaka appeared at the kitchen door, holding the pig head by one ear; she'd been burning the bristles off it, and there was a smell of blood and burnt hair. Sumi fainted again.

The couple was a great hit with the Yamabaka clan; they left with a gift of some sort of fish, wrapped in paper. They'd made it through their first public appearance as a couple, with dignity and grace.

Or, not.

Uncle, who was clean but slightly hung-over, received the fish critically.

"Hmm, loach. Feel it here, Sumi; kinda slimy, right? First thing, we get rid of that: go get some salt, scrub it down, until they're all clean. I'll make a spice rub. We'll do this one 'barbarian style.' When the Westerners came over, they brought their own cooks. A lot of their deep fried foods with chilis we call 'barbarian style.'

"Hey what's this newspaper? 'Miyagi Prefecture Peace and Local Culture Journal'? Wow, I remember them; bunch of hippies, lived in Tibet. Then they decided they wanted to live simply in the countryside. Simple-minded is more like it! I'd trade a thousand candles, if they'd just get the electrical grid up again. But, I got to say, they were right about it, I mean the anti-nuclear thing. Give them credit for that."

Listening to Uncle was its own entertainment, while she learned to cook.

"You done, there? OK, let's rinse, now you check again, see if there's any slime left. No? Good job, there. We cut these guys open; we can wrap the innards with that paper, where is it? Didn't think they'd still be publishing. Ha! it's March 1, just before. If only they knew, Sumi.

"So mince the ginger and I'll do the chili pepper, you gotta keep that out of your eyes. Damned knives need sharpening.

"Sumi, it was as stupid as that. Umeko told me to go into the city, stock up on the osake we served guests, and get a new set of knives. She gave me the money and I took the ferry to the mainland; got there at noon. I was at Matsuda's warehouse for the osake, it was one of those old-time places, solid brick about four stories, when we heard the sirens. Old Matsuda just grabbed me, pushed me up the stairs.

"Seven minutes, Sumi: that's all we had; we looked out the window on the third floor and there were bodies, washing away. That old man was a hero; he leaned out the window and he grabbed the bodies; anyone he could reach: a few were still alive. He'd give 'em a shot of osake, revive 'em."

Uncle stopped, hands on the counter, shaking his head. "Alright, you got the pepper, the ginger, minced onions; just rub the outside with that, and stuff the cavity. We'll let 'em sit.

"That's what we did, sat there. All we had was the drink, and that was just fine with most of 'em; didn't want to think what was going on. I couldn't stomach it; had to get back to the island. Sumi, you wouldn't believe it: the water was on fire. Four days, Sumika; four whole days it burned."

Uncle looked longingly at the big bottle of osake on the shelf, the one they used for cooking. "I guess it burned out of me, Sumi. Umeko was alive or she wasn't, and I couldn't help. I still had the money she gave me, but what good was it? No ferry boats anymore. Couldn't pay anyone; money wasn't any good. It was a couple of weeks, a bunch of us got a rowboat and got back out there.

"It was flat; hundreds of feet around. You'd never know there was ever anything there; the sea took it back. Never anything there. Hey! watch that rice. Can't have bad rice; worst thing a chef can do, mess with the rice. It's the foundation."

They deep-fried the loach, panko crusted with the spices; it was basic food but like everything Uncle did, delicious. Still, Ushio had heard Uncle's story, and neither was in the mood that night. Sumi rested her head on Ushio's shoulders; Ushio held her, stroked her. Maybe Ushio was thinking the same thing: how could I live, if I lost her?

Uncle left 'for the city' early next morning, to hugs from all. He was dressed in his 'wild man of the mountains' costume, which would probably protect him: no-one would guess that he was carrying a couple of million in gold (less: for safety, he'd left a third behind, but only his mother knew that). "Five or six days, I guess; depends. I'll head west"

"East, you mean" Grandmother corrected him.

"West, mom: no tsunami damage so there's roads, cars. I'll hitchhike until I'm south, then take a train east. Like I say, a week, depending."

With Uncle gone, life lost a certain elan. Also, Sumi and Ushio had to do all the chores Uncle had done, as well as work in the village. Ushio seemed to be holding up really well, always cheerful. Sex: well, it was one of many kinds of sex, like her kisses, so long ago. She could be raging, dominant; slow, inviting; or just cuddly: the only constant was desire.

For Sumi, the time was a return to simple life, the kind Uncle mocked: chopping wood, carrying water became once again a kind of meditation in life. It allowed her to think that the rhythms were eternal: she and Ushio would live this close, this happy, forever.

It was early Thursday afternoon when Sumi and Yamabaka finished framing the last of the houses; as a kind of celebration, Tsukamoto gave them their pay, bonus, end-of-project bonus, and let them off early. The last, Sumi shared among the men, grinning silly, she suggested an extra beer. Big hit. Then, she was left alone. Extra shopping at the 'mall'? Boring without Ushio. Uh . . anything? Boring without Ushio. Wow! How long ago was it, Kazama(then) said 'Everyone has something like that, right, Sumi? Something that makes them happy?'

Inspiration: she decided to go pick Ushio up, from work. It was a small climb up the hill, and coulda been a nice view if there was anything left to see. 'Visit us again in ten years': that's what Uncle said about his ryokan, the one he used to have, in Kesunnuma.

Sumi stopped in the entryway to the school/shelter, to exchange shoes for slippers. Middle of the day, only a few outside shoes there, though one stood out: a tiny pair of well-used pink 'hello kitty' sneakers. A certain sadness to them, like something that didn't really fit, something that had floated in on the tide. Wow, she was maudlin today.

Inside, the classrooms had been partitioned, by big cardboard boxes, into tiny family units. If you were 'home' you lifted a flap of cut-off cardboard, chatted across the 'cardboard fence' with your neighbors. Even the one room temporary shelters she was building were better than the cardboard lifestyle.

And even that was one step up from the gym: a kind of a half-way house for new refugess, each space marked off by a small futon or just a blanket. At one end of the gym were tables, burners for communal meals. At the other, a nursery and oops! Ushio.

Ushio hadn't seen her; well, she'd been quiet, afraid of disturbing people in a place she didn't belong. But, there was Ushio, playing with a little girl. She was tiny, shoulder-length black hair with a cute barette (hello kitty, anyone?), and a round face. That is, a normal two-year old. Kazama and the baby were pushing a small plush animal back and forth to each other, along the gym floor, until the girl, tired of it, crawled over to Ushio, into her lap, and the two rolled on the floor in a tickle-fest.

Sumi backed away, out of sight, stunned. She'd just been replaced, by a new cutie, one she could never compete with. She left the building, as quietly as she'd come, sat on a rock a bit down the slope.

She sat there for almost an hour, oblivious to women returning to the shelter, thinking about those tiny shoes. Imagining them on the feet of a very tiny Kazama: they would be playing too, just like that. Sumi was wrapped in a storm of feelings: jealousy certainly, but also. . . well, she liked little kids. But seeing Kazama, there, kinda brought it all together. She felt like she might want children. But could that be even possible?

"Sumiii-chan!" There it was, that always-cheerful Kazama, running down the path, waving at her. "Did you get out early? Me too," Intertwined her arm with Sumi's. "Let's go play a little, OK? Before we go back home. I just feel so happy. Sumi-love what's wrong?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Just wishing we had a real place to go play. Like we used to, you know?"

"Sumi-love, that's so high-school! We're classy college students now. Sumi? I have a new girl-friend! Her name's Mei-chan, an she's new in the shelter so she didn't get a granma. I took her and now we're really good friends. She is soo cute!" Kazama, holding her hand, swinging hands in a wide arc. Unfortunately, bringing up the whole 'all I need is to see Kazama smile' cycle.

Unfortunately also, Kazama noticed something was wrong, looked askance, one eye open, at Sumi: "Oh, jealous, huh? I'm gonna run away with my new cutie?"

"I guess I am jealous. Cuties have a thing for you, huh? Well, like I said: I can't become any smaller or cuter."

Now it was Kazama's turn to be a little shocked, remembering the pain from that time. Even though it sounded like Sumi was teasing.

"Well, so far you're the only cutie who fell for my charms. But I have hopes with Mei-chan."

"So I better watch out in sixteen years? Ushio-chan? I was thinking. You know, about kids?"

Ushio responded by walking a little to the side, smiling, looking up at Sumi. Waiting.

"I want children! I want 'em!" Which earned some odd looks from the other women, returning to the shelter, except for one who told Sumi 'Take my husband; he isn't good for anything else."

"Sumi, you're such a natural. Anyway: yes, just, not now, right? I mean, in a little bit we have to go back."

Crisis averted. "Uh, Ushio? You know what would be neat? The village could really use a nice festival for Obon. Uncle could make crepes."

"An tako-balls! And there could be popcorn too."

"Let's go check out the market, see if we can find some strawberry jam. And popcorn."

Crisis averted, at least for the moment. But the festival of the dead was on its way.

Uncle returned, that Saturday. Sumi was outdoors, chopping wood, while Ushio helped stack it, and Grandmother helped by saying things like 'not that kind' and 'more of those big ones'.

"Uncle-chan! Did you bring me anything?" He did seem to have a full backpack.

"I did, favorite niece! I mean" he looked at Sumi 'no disrespect but" looked, as though to say, 'we're men of the world; you see how it is.' What he did say was "Got presents for all of you. I'll show you, after lunch. Sumika, dear: why don't you impress me with your mountain-style cooking?"

Ever since Ushio remarked on what a nice, rounded, womanly body Sumi had, she'd started cutting down on carbs and fried foods. So lunch was mostly veggie, served cold.

"You're getting the hang of this, Sumi. Which reminds me of your presents." He slowly unpacked, unwrapped (keeping the suspense, probably) two yukata. Clearly the robe with pink cherry blossoms was gonna be for Ushio-chan; Sumi's was a deep purple, adorned by mountain lily. They felt very expensive.

"Uncle! These are gorgeous. C'mon Sumi, let's try 'em on. I'm so excited." Right: new clothes. They returned, did their 'thank you for taking care of me' and bowed.

"Perfect. Sumika, I know you're feeling a little weird, but trust me: this is what the customers want to see. I mean, y'know, if this were a ryokan. It isn't just your cooking or your soft beds; it's your personality. You both are beautiful women; Ushio you already know it so I'm not giving you more complements. Sumika, you need to get used to the fact. Now both of you, come here." He took out two identical boxes, handed one to each. Inside, pieces of jewelry, on chains, each a katakana character; together spelling 'love'. Each by itself was a beautifully shaped, heavy piece of gold. But only together did they have meaning.

Impulsively, Sumi draped hers over Ushio's neck; on tip-toe, Ushio did the same for her. "ki-su?" Ushio said.

"No, 'su-ki. s'ki: love, dummy."

"You're the dummy. I want a kiss."

Washing up, bathing, and Ushio wore her necklace, the 'ki' buried between her breasts. "Hey, Sumi? How come you never look at me properly? Don't you like my body?"

"It's like in gym class: don't look. So you wouldn't think I was obsessed or anything. That I had a crush on you."

Ushio thought for a minute-that-seemed-forever. "Tomoe said you were in love with me."

"Is that the same?"

"Let's ask our audience. Random caller number one: what's love?" Ushio looked, expectantly, at Sumi.

"It's like every inch of you belongs to her. At least, that's what you said.

"That's when I first knew, what I was feeling." Finally, she did look up, right at Ushio. "Like you said, everyone has something that makes them happy. I was just happy, for a long time. Before I really knew."

Ushio took her time in responding, time for Sumi to feel a little of that old fear.

"Sumi, I was always so happy with you. I guess you were the same. Sumi?" Ushio moved, in the bath, straddled Sumi's hips, sat on her and looked her in the eye. "It doesn't matter who loved who first. It's mostly, I think, mostly that I didn't even know what love was, until I met you. Now hurry up and dry off so I can show you. It's only a few days left."

Sumi didn't budge. "I don't want to go. We can stay here. Tell me why we can't stay here."

"Sumi, your father? He already enrolled you in college and everything."

"Yeah, and he found a husband for me. I'm not ever gonna marry. I can't leave you, Ushio."

Ushio kissed Sumi's tears, buried her head in Sumi's shoulder. "We have to tell granma and uncle, you know. Now be good, Sumi, and come to bed with me."

Disaster struck at 9am 15 August. Sumi had made the breakfast, all by herself: got up really early, managed to catch some trout in the stream (sitting by the rushing water, waiting quietly while the sunrise crept up on her). Five dishes, cooked, arranged, rustic mountain style. She'd even gone through the family's antique plates and bowls, picking designs to enhance the food.

"Sumika, I seldom say this to other chefs: 'that was a feast.' You made good use of the ingredients, didn't try to be flashy, just let their flavors through.

"So: you're up to something. What is it?"

There was still laughter in his voice, which made it a bit easier, but, this was the big one, and Sumi was visibly nervous (actually, she was shaking, even sitting down). Ushio took one look at her, then took over.

"Grandmother, Uncle." She bowed, formally. "Sumi and I thought about this a long time, and we've decided: we don't want to leave. We want to stay here, and make our life together."

Uncle put on his most judicious face, nodded sagely, and said, "No way. You kids need to get a college education, real jobs. Then you can decide . . . Look, Ushio, crying isn't going to change my mind."

It took Sumi all of two seconds to go from sitting position to holding Ushio. She glared at him: public enemy number one, he made Ushio cry.

"Look, you girls are pretty transparent; your grandmother and I saw this coming. When I was in Sendai, I talked with your brother, Ushio. And, with your father, Sumika. We're all agreed."

Glare.

"We put the gold away, safely. When you graduate college, it belongs to you two. I'll make you a deal: we'll sell a few pieces every year and you two can see each other every weekend. You can even rent a small apartment during the breaks."

Ushio grabbed Sumi's hand, tugged her outside, began walking, randomly, down to the village. "I want to run away. We can both get jobs and"

And the earth shook; Kazama fell. Sumi knew what to do: "Just another aftershock", smiling like it was normal. But she had a gift: discipline and focus and at this moment, her focus was Kazama. She grabbed Ushio, held her, and the earth shook again. They looked on as the trees shook . . . and began to slide, topple. The path ahead slid, sideways, and they fell, still together. Then the sound hit, deafening, like the roar of a vengeful mountain spirit. The entire mountain began to slide, slowly, in front of them. "Ushio!" she shouted over the collapse of the mountain; Ushio buried herself in Sumi and the ground under them rumbled, moved. She covered Ushio with her own body and a tree limb fell on her and everything ended.

Tomoe arrived the next day, even before the emergency forces. She joined the villagers, but everyone could see: loosed by the heavy rains, freed by the constant aftershocks, the entire south side of the mountain had simply slid down, just missing the shelter: a giant pile of mud, trees and boulders, covering three rice fields. Even the path up the mountain was gone.

They stayed a week, worked with the rescue crews, probing the mud with long bamboo poles, to let free a bubble of gas, smell of death. Miyako was the stronger of the two, holding Tomoe when she couldn't go on, holding Tomoe's silence and tears.

They returned, alone, to Tokyo. The rituals at temple were supposed to cleanse her spirit, but images of rotting death returned in sleep. Tomoe accompanied both families to their ancestral graves, and, with tens of thousands of families that year, prayed for the souls of their lost.

Her own life went on: graduating seniors across Japan began college in September, but Tomoe joined the family business. At the bottom, so to speak: as Senior Vice President for Development. In December, Murasame Tenkai married his housekeeper in a simple ceremony; Tomoe held a small wedding party at the mansion. Kazama-kun and his wife were invited too: scattered pieces of families.

It was just after the last of the cherry blossoms had fallen when the envelope crossed Tomoe's desk. The mark of the company's private investigative service, inscribed with "Highest Priority" and "Eyes Only." Her agent in Kesennuma, sending the monthly report. What she wanted: remains, results of DNA tests, even just clothing. Something the family could see, something to bury. This - she opened the envelope - was just a few pages of cheap newsprint.

"Kyori: hold all calls and appointments. Get Miyako to my office."

Miyako tried her best to be late, but a summons from the effective head of the company was a summons. Kyori led her in; waited. "Kyori, please wait inside and close the door. Could you take this, read it aloud?" Handed her the confidential report; Miyako stood by, reading from behind.

"'Miyagi Prefecture Peace and Local Culture Journal. March, 2012.' If it talks about 'how to live simply with nature'‚ I'm gonna barf" Miyako said happily.

"Ahem. Tomoe-boss, is this it? Article heading: 'Miyagi Ryokan Is Michelin Runner-Up'? Are you buying ryokan for the company?"

"That's the article, yes. Diversifying in to the ryokan business, maybe. Kyori, please."

"I know, I know: read. But I wannasay, if we're doing ryokan, I should be the food guide."

"Miyako! Kyori! Will you please kindly just read the article!"

"Fine, boss. 'We're talking with head chef Kazama Tōru, of the region's newest ryokan 'Ushio no Uchi'. When we asked his inspiration for the new inn, he spoke of losing family in the great earthquake and aftershocks. He told us that he wanted to carry on, for his nieces. Reminding us, the Japanese spirit is to carry on.'"

By this time, Kyori was useless, and Miyako flipped the page, then gave a shrieking laugh: "The picture! If she wasn't so freaking tall!"

Even though the photo was blurry it could only be Ushio and Sumika. The girl who looked a lot like Kazama was wearing kimono; she was gorgeous in the traditional outfit and looked radiant. The girl who could only be Murasame-kun wore a chef's uniform (maybe it wasn't her?) and leaned on a cane.

Kyori fell to her knees, crying. Miyako took the opposite approach:

"Hey! Wait a second, we went to their funerals. I friggin' cried. Then they're alive? Oh, Murasame is gonna pay. She's gonna wish she died, she . . . "

"Enough! Both of you: focus, get back and do your work and let me get some work done."

When they'd gone, Tomoe sat, thought. She was as angry and hurt as either of the two, though she half understood Kazama and Murasame-kun's decision to disappear: family could be such a pain. Still …

On the intercom again, "Kyori, book a night at Uchi, for three. Use a false name, soonest opening, two rooms. Plane to Kesennuma, car with driver to meet us.

"Tell Miyako to go home, start packing for us, and ask her father to pick me up at four."

Maybe she should diversify into the ryokan business. Murasame-kun just had to be a good investment. And there was that unfinished business she had with her.

For the first time in many months, Tomoe smiled.

The End