There's a very fleeting time, one which comes around just after the sun has disappeared from the sky. The last traces of light and warmth are fading fast, but for now, they remain as reminders of the day. For most people, most days, this transitional moment goes by unnoticed. But out there, the dusk has its own heralds. Birdsong gradually gives way to the chirping of nocturnal bug Pokémon, and cities flicker into a different kind of life.
It was during these few minutes that Buson paused to take in the sight of Viridian City illuminating, light by light, in the far distance. On any other evening, he might have made a remark about it, but this seemed like a good time for practising silence. He continued on his way, taking bigger strides through the long grass to catch up with Bashou. The night was coming in swiftly, and just as Buson was wondering if he should reach for the torch, he saw the torii gate in front of them, rising out of the darkness like a red mirage.
As though they were racing the dusk, both men quickened their pace. Still ahead, Bashou slowed to a stop just before the open archway.
"First lesson," Bashou announced as Buson reached him. "Let's bow here."
He briefly bent forward at the waist, and Buson followed suit, glad that nobody was around to watch. It was strange, Buson thought, that he'd lived in Kanto for so long, and yet this common gesture still felt alien to him at times. Or maybe he was just imagining things. He had never bowed to a god before, after all.
The narrow road that lay ahead of them was murky, shielded by the forest from what little light remained in the sky. Since the silence had been broken, Buson took the opportunity to ask.
"Torch?"
"Hmm. Might be a good idea."
Buson took the torch from his belt and switched it on, bathing their path in a warm white light. The two men crossed the gate's invisible threshold side by side, passing beneath the scarlet crossbar of the gate. After a few paces, Bashou stopped. He gently reached out and grasped the sleeve of Buson's jacket, pulling the other man towards him.
"If you really want to do it properly, you shouldn't walk down the middle of the path. That's for the…spirit. Or whatever you wish to call it. The guardian of the shrine."
"Oh. Sorry."
Buson fell into step behind Bashou, awkwardly holding the torch at his own shoulder so that its light wasn't being blocked by the shorter body in front of him. This revealed a wider section of the path, and Buson noticed that the way was flanked with stone pillars that looked like empty lanterns. He wondered when they'd last held any light.
As they drew nearer to their destination, the gentle sound of running water could be heard. While he couldn't see its source, Buson imagined a small garden with a waterfall up ahead, just beyond the threshold of the torch's light.
Closer still, he realised he was wrong. Instead, there was an ornate structure: four pillars supporting a wooden pagoda-style roof. Beneath the roof was a stone trough filled with water, served by a slow-trickling tap. The basin was overflowing, but it was surrounded by a trench, where the excess water would flow - to be recycled, Buson assumed. Several wooden ladles rested on the sides of the trough. Despite his best intentions to take this seriously, Buson thought of soup, and felt his stomach rumbling.
"You should probably watch me."
Buson realised that he had been moving the torch around, trying to get a better picture of their surroundings. But on Bashou's suggestion, he concentrated the light on a spot next to the water basin, where Bashou now stood with one of the ladles in his hand. When he had Buson's attention, Bashou began to narrate his actions.
"Hold it in your right hand. Fill it with water. Pour it over your left hand. Then…do the reverse."
"Seems easy enough."
"Yes." Bashou hesitated before putting the ladle down. "You're supposed to rinse out your mouth, too, but I think that's dirty. So I won't do it."
"Alright. Guess I gotta go hands-free!"
Buson let his companion take the torch from him, and they swapped places. Standing by the stone basin, Buson copied the ritual that Bashou had just demonstrated. Once he had rinsed both hands, he began to raise the ladle to his mouth, mischievious eyes darting in Bashou's direction.
"Do you, like…gargle with it? Like mouthwash?"
"Buson, it's not a spoon. You'd pour the water into your hand first. Then just spit it out. On the floor. But it's dirty. Don't do it."
With a grin, Buson replaced the ladle on the side of the trough and wiped his hands on the sides of his jeans. As he took the torch back, its beam of light fell upon a short flight of steps leading to another structure, larger than the one which sheltered the water fountain. This one had complete wooden walls supporting its decorative roof. To Buson's eyes, it resembled a tiny cabin. Bashou beckoned with his head and they started up the stairs, pausing halfway at a small red box with a slatted lid.
"Oh. Here we should leave an offering."
Buson couldn't help but laugh - not just a chuckle, but a booming sound that seemed to rattle the trees. "You're offering charity? When nobody's even watching? Who are you, man? Where's Bashou gone?"
"I'm showing you what the traditions are. Besides, it's only a tiny amount."
Bashou reached into his pocket and took out two small coins. Rather than just tossing them into the box, he knelt down and put them carefully through the slats, so that they barely made a sound.
Behind him, Buson smiled, thinking back to the donation plates that had passed beneath his nose on the few occasions when he'd attended church with his mother. As a child, he'd wondered whether anyone ever took something from the plate. Now he couldn't help but wonder if someone could slip their fingers through those slats and engage in some reverse charity. But the box seemed to be designed to prevent that. There was no carrying it away, either, since it was fixed firmly to the ground.
Maybe that's all it is. Just money. No matter what religion, or where you come from.
They continued to the top of the stairs, until they came to rest in front of the rustic wooden hut. Though it looked big enough to hold a few people, Buson could see no way in. The wooden wall in front of them had no door, yet it was not a solid wall, but a grid that reminded Buson of a confession booth. He tried to shine the light through the small gaps in the grid, burning with curiosity as to what lay inside, but Bashou reached out and took the torch from him, turning it upwards to illuminate the end of a thick braided rope that hung above their heads. It seemed that Bashou had found what he was looking for, and he placed the torch back into Buson's hand with a smile.
"Do you want to pull the rope?"
"I don't know," Buson answered warily. "Do I…? You tell me…"
Buson realised that, at some point, both of their voices had descended into whispers. He wondered if it was a subconscious sign that they had crossed into sacred space, and with that thought, a tingle danced over his skin. It was silly, he knew. He didn't even understand this place, nor could he see what he was supposed to be 'worshipping', if that was why he was here. Even so, he couldn't deny that the place had an atmosphere, even if it was of his own making.
"Okay. What does the rope do?"
"Pull it and you'll find out."
"That doesn't usually end well, you know…"
Holding back an irreverent laugh at Bashou's choice of words, Buson tried to follow the rope with the torch beam, but it disappeared beneath the shrine's roof, leaving its purpose a mystery to him. With a sigh and a wince, he reached up and gently pulled on the rope's frayed end. The deep, sombre sound of a bell - or perhaps a gong? - could be heard within the shrine's walls. Birds fluttered away from the trees nearby, but once the beating of their wings had faded, all was incredibly still.
The silence was broken by a sharp wheezing noise, as Bashou clamped his hands over his mouth. When he opened his fingers, there was a trickle of laughter that quickly became a stream. Though he tried to keep his voice to a whisper, his words cracked and shuddered with amusement.
"Buson. You looked so scared. What did you think was going to happen?"
"Hey. For all I know, this is some kinda…prankster god's shrine. Thought maybe a bucket of water was gonna fall on my head, or something…"
Bashou quietly cleared his throat, disguising his remaining laughter in a cough. Silence fell once again, and Buson soon felt the same tingle dancing over his skin as he settled back into the mood of the place. The forest was dark now, with only the breeze as its soundtrack.
"You've just awoken the guardian of the shrine," Bashou whispered, totally composed and serious again. "Bow twice."
Buson followed his lead while shuffling to the side, as he was suddenly conscious of standing dead-centre before the shrine, whereas Bashou was not.
"Then clap twice."
"Clap?" Though he hadn't been pranked after all, Buson was suspicious now. "You joking?"
Bashou responded by clapping his hands softly, once, twice. This time, Buson briefly tilted the torch to shine suspicion on his friend's face. As he watched Bashou, he found him to be solemn, his eyes heavy with contemplation. With this assurance, Buson clumsily tucked the torch under his arm and clapped twice, cringing a little at how much more noise his hands made, and the fact that his claps were not of equal weight.
"What now?" he whispered, when no further instructions came.
"Well, this is the point at which you would pray."
"Right. So…is there some fancy words I gotta say, or…?"
"Introduce yourself, give thanks, then make any requests. My grandparents told me that some people start by giving their name and address." Sensing Buson's immediate skepticism, and the torch light shining on him like an interrogation once again, Bashou rolled his eyes. "Yes, Buson. Our gods are not all-knowing like yours."
"Dunno about that either…" Noting that Bashou's hands were still palm-to-palm at his chest, Buson adopted the same position, tucking the torch back under his left arm and closing his eyes. "Uh…hi, my name's Danilo James Wilson and I live at - "
"Hmm, you don't need to say it out loud." Another tremor of laughter rippled through Bashou's voice.
"Sorry."
Minutes passed in near silence, interrupted only by the occasional rustle of leaves, or the sound of something scurrying in the woods behind the shrine. Bashou was getting hungry, and tried to steal a subtle glance at his watch, but he was too far into the shadows. When he looked at Buson again, he saw the man's lips twitching. Now and again, it seemed like he was mouthing whole words, though Bashou couldn't make them out.
"Wait, are you actually praying?" Bashou whispered.
Buson nodded, his eyes still firmly closed.
Though he clicked his tongue in mild disapproval, Bashou placed his hands together and let his gaze drift out of focus, the wood of the shrine's walls blurring into the darker wood of the trees beyond. He couldn't - he would not pray, but he allowed himself to sink into the tranquility of the moment.
—–
"Buson. What did you ask the guardian for?"
"If I tell you, it won't come true!"
Bashou wriggled his shoulders excitedly, but it was only in appreciation of the instant noodle cup that had just been placed into his gloved hands. Sitting cross-legged on his folded sleeping bag, he shifted his weight to get more comfortable.
"It's not a birthday candle wish, Buson. I don't think it works that way."
Bashou was about to add that it surely didn't 'work' at all, since there was no such thing as a guardian spirit that heard and granted people's wishes, but he didn't want to deter Buson from answering.
As was often the case, Buson's attempts at being secretive didn't have much backbone.
"Well…I asked them to take care of my Mom, if she's still…well, wherever she is. And I asked if they would bless the house. Just…the usual stuff, ya know? Peace. Happiness. All that good shit."
Though his noodles were still extremely hot, Buson's stomach couldn't wait any longer. He tipped half of the cup into his mouth, using his chopsticks like a shovel. Bashou ate much more delicately, and Buson didn't distract him with further conversation.
He was doing quite well at this silence business, he thought. It was certainly made easier by the fire's calm crackles, the soothing warmth in his belly…and perhaps even the shrine itself. Though Buson couldn't claim a deep understanding of the customs that he'd learned that evening, the simple act of offering up his worries and desires to an unseen higher power - regardless of what it was, or any debates about its existence - had made him feel lighter. He knew that he would sleep tonight.
Maybe that's all it is. No matter what religion, or where you come from.