Hayashi
no Jinjya:
The
Shrine in the Woods
Word
Count: 2,466 words
Her scratched
fingernails slid aimlessly over the worn keys. The soft glow of the
menu highlighted small cuts and dirt smeared across her face. But no
matter what settings she tried, or where she waved her arm, she could
not get any of those five stubborn bars to light.
Frustrated, she
slammed the cellphone closed and pulled her knees beneath her chin.
She eyed the empty
festival stalls dotting the lane. Their plastic banners, boldly
coloured, hung limp overhead. A deceptive peacefulness filled the
front of the shrine. The only sounds penetrating the thick copse of
trees were the distant cries of an absent child. Her mother stood on
the edge of the tree line, frantically peering between the trunks
into the gloom. A colourful pinwheel was clutched to her chest. To
Carla it seemed like she had been standing there for hours, never
attempting to leave the front court in search for her wayward kid.
Carla flipped her
phone open again. The reception bars were still empty.
It was a strange
emotion: feeling utterly alone, yet surrounded by so many people.
Carla couldn't remember how long she waited on these steps. Time
seemed to move slowly at the reclusive shrine. At least the shaking
had stopped.
A fire crackled in
the late winter night, the glow from a large iron barrel belching
thick plumes of smoke into the twilight. Four older men sat around
the barrel warming their hands and chatting softly. The kindling came
from the same middle school where Carla spent her days teaching. She
felt a twinge of guilt when the students' wood projects were broken
for fuel but knew it was not her place to say anything.
A tapping overhead
caught Carla's attention and she looked up at the thick shimenawa
rope. It was a massive knot of woven rice straw with pristine white
zig-zag pieces of paper dangling like thick icicles. She never
understood their meaning only that they demarcated the transition to
places considered sacred.
Carla glanced at
her phone. Still no response.
An overbearing
sense of anxiety filled the front of the shrine like an unwanted
guest. Were they through the worst? Was this just beginning? They had
no information and everyone was left literally in the dark as the
power had been off since Carla awoke.
The gas lantern at
her side hissed at the crunching of gravel beneath soft runners. She
looked up from her self-imposed exile to see a round face smile
encouragingly.
“Oh,
Carla-sensei,” the girl whispered bowing respectfully. Her long
black hair tumbled over awkward shoulders. The girl still wore her
school clothes which always reminded Carla of an outdated navy
uniform.
“Hello Ai. How
are you?”
The girl chewed her
lip. She was shy – a common trait in her students - but one of
Carla's favourite pupils. Ai's eagerness to learn impressed Carla,
even if she possessed the typical teenage awkwardness and
uncertainty. Thankfully, she took her lessons seriously and could
converse rather well with Carla. And it was a rare soul who even
tried to bridge the language divide.
“I thought you
are hungry,” Ai said in that slow drawl the students adopted when
they first began speaking English. Carla could almost see her
flipping through a mental dictionary as she translated her thoughts.
She produced a small round can from behind her uniform.
“It's pan!” Ai
offered as if that made things clearer.
Carla gave a polite
bow as she took the can with her hands – you always accepted gifts
with both hands. She turned the tin over slowly. It was light and the
metal cool to her touch. There weren't any labels or familiar
markings to suggest what lay within.
She hoped it wasn't
fish.
A tab, much like a
pop can, was fastened to the top. She caught Ai plucking at the air
as if Carla might need further instruction. Carla's cheeks prickled
at the implication. She was a foreigner, not an idiot.
She breathed away
the indignation. She was stressed and tired. Perhaps food, even
smelly salmon, was all she needed.
The can gave a soft
pop as she pried the lid off. Instead of a pungent seawater smell,
Carla found a soft, spongy yellow substance inside.
“It's pan!”
Confusion knitted
Carla's brow as she poked at the food. Pinching a small amount she
brought a tentative piece to her lips. Surprised, she tasted the soft
linger of pineapple sponge cake. She felt a moment of brief
embarrassment wash over her as she made the correction.
“It's bread.”
“Oh yes, so
sorry. It's bread!”
Ai bowed hastily in
deference to her teacher. Carla smiled and motioned to the stone
step. Pulling her skirt beneath her, Ai sat.
The one thing Carla
could never appreciate was the sweetness of their bread. Of
everything she missed from home, it was a simple fresh, crusty bun
that she longed for the most.
“Where did you
get this?”
“I find it down
way...” Ai paused, struggling with some idea she couldn't quite
express. Instead, she merely turned and waved down the road.
“Offering for strength and happiness.”
Relief supplies,
Carla thought. It would explain the lack of labels. Perhaps things
were worse than she thought. There hadn't been any news over the
town's public announcement system but that was probably due to the
lack of electricity. But she still didn't have contact from her head
office. She flipped open her cell but there was still no signal.
“You hear from
family?” Ai asked, leaning in to look at the screen.
Carla offered the
empty inbox as a reply.
“Don't worry,
Carla-sensei,” Ai smiled.
“Thank you,”
Carla said, offering Ai a piece of sweet bread.
The girl merely
shook her head and rubbed her stomach.
“Ippai.”
No subject, past
tense - full. No doubt she had already eaten before thinking of
Carla. Carla only wished she knew they were handing out supplies. She
could have helped instead of sitting here feeling completely useless.
Carla licked dry
lips as she searched for something to say to the third year student.
“Where's Yuki?”
The two girls were
best friends and almost inseparable. Ai cocked her head sideways in
that curious fashion her students had when asked a question they
didn't fully understand.
She gave a short
sigh and reached into her pocket, pulling out six hundred-yen coins.
She looked morosely at the small collection before turning and
glancing at the shrine behind her.
Carla followed her
gaze, spotting a pair of vending machines not far from where they
sat. Was she thirsty? Carla reached into her pockets and was
surprised to find her wallet missing. Then it dawned on her; she'd
left her purse in the teacher's office.
Ai looked very
curious to see Carla remove her empty hand from her pocket.
“Gone home.”
“Home?”
Carla looked around
at the gathered solemn faces. The shrine was an evacuation area
indicated by the green sign hanging from the gate. With the worst
over, everyone should have returned home. Yet no one here seemed
ready to leave.
Carla was waiting
for more information. This wasn’t her first earthquake, but it was
the worst. She didn't know what to do but the thought of being alone
in her dark apartment kept her on the steps before the shrine.
“Yuki was at
4-C,” Ai whispered.
Fourth floor, third
room from the front stairs - the music room. Ai was an avid member of
the Band Club so it seemed reasonable for her friend to be there.
Perhaps she was working on the upcoming student rehearsal for the
cherry blossom festival. The trees about them were just about to bud
and Carla was excited for that brief week when they would bloom and
surround the town in a cloud of soft white and pink.
Carla nodded but
was surprised to see tears welling in the girl's eyes.
“What about your
parents? Are they coming?” Carla asked.
Ai wiped her eyes
with her palm before looking around and shaking her head.
“They're not
here.”
“Maybe they will
come later.”
“No,” Ai
whispered. “No, I do not think they come. It is good. They are
safe.”
The girl smiled.
Carla looked at her
phone. Still no reception.
“I am sad for
Carla here,” Ai said slowly. “You should be home. Gomenasai.”
“Oh, no! This is
good. I'm happy to be here!” Carla said.
“Happy?”
Ai tilted her head.
“Of course!”
Carla sighed. “To tell you the truth, I was very scared. When it
started, I didn't know what was happening. It wasn't until Takuma
stood and shouted that I knew something was wrong.”
Carla paused but Ai
sat patiently, staring at her. She couldn't tell if the girl was
waiting for her to continue or completely lost in the words. Oddly
enough, Carla didn't care.
“I crawled under
a desk with everyone else. That's when I felt it. The whole school
seemed to shake and the windows sounded like they were going to
shatter in their frames. But it was the floor that scared me the
most. It bent and waved beneath my hands like it was made of water. I
thought... I really thought it was going to collapse.”
Carla could feel
that fear building up in her again. She shuddered and pulled her suit
jacket tighter about her.
“And then
everything was still. I remember Iwai-sensei opening the door and
yelling for everyone to evacuate. The class ran. I followed but just
as I reached the stairs, I remembered that Megumi asked to use the
bathroom. I was worried she would get left behind. I ran to find her
and then the building began to shake again. The floor shifted beneath
my feet and the walls rumbled so loudly. And then...”
Everything else was
a haze. Her best memories were a jumble of noise and chaos. She could
vaguely recall the burning of dust in her eyes and the sharp stabs of
pain running up her body. But she must have got out, how else could
she get to the shrine? The last thing Carla remembered was collapsing
against the wall with the girl's bathroom only feet from her. Had she
heard someone crying within?
She felt that
growing knot of worry in her stomach return. She had so many
unanswered questions. Were the rest of her students alright? What of
her co-workers? She didn't know them all that well even after a year
together. Few spoke with her, perhaps fearful of making a mistake
with their English, but Carla felt she was beginning to understand
them. Even if it was just a little.
She didn't notice
Ai move until she felt warm arms wrapping around her and the young
face pressing against her shoulder.
“Carla-sensei!
I... I thank you.”
“For what?”
Carla asked shocked that the shiest girl in her class would suddenly
embrace her.
“For being so
brave.”
“I'm not brave.”
“You are! I could
not... I didn't leave my desk. But you went for Megumi. You came here
and alone! Your stories of travel inspired me. I wanted to see your
world. I wanted to be you. You are brave and pretty. And... I say
thank you! Thank you for coming. I could not be brave without you.”
Her arms tightened
and Carla lifted hers to return the embrace. She was speechless. Not
because these people were reserved with showing affection but as a
teacher there had always been a distance between them. A gap created
more by her strangeness than her position. She wasn't Japanese and
this cursed her forever as an outsider in their world.
“Well, I think
that's a good goal,” Carla said. “I love travelling and I think
you will too.”
She wasn't sure
what it was, but the hug was comforting. Perhaps it was the contact,
that little bit of tenderness, Carla needed. For a moment the two
women sat on the steps of the shrine in peace.
A gust pulled the
trees, bowing their great heads to its passage and the thick rice
straw rope swung above them.
“Almost my time,”
Ai whispered.
The girl pulled
back, her hands briefly taking Carla's.
“Gambare, Sensei.
You will do well!”
An encouraging
phrase – good luck. As she stood, Carla felt the girl slip
something cold into her hand. She looked down to see Ai's six coins.
“I can't take
these!” Carla cried as Ai turned.
“Yes,” Ai said,
bowing respectfully. “Carla was brave. It is Ai's turn to be brave.
Don't worry, Sensei, I don't need them. I am good swimmer. I have
family who help me on my travel. I now help you on yours.”
The great shrine
doors groaned opened before a hunched priest with the barest wisps of
hair dotting his spotted head. Ai gave a bright smile before turning
and passing beneath the faded wood torii gate. The old man raised a
gnarled hand to stop her but Ai merely shook her head. Wordlessly he
nodded, moving aside. Carla cried out, standing and hurrying up the
steps after her student. As she rushed towards the gates, the aged
priest eyed her briefly before slamming the doors shut.
Carla stood there,
staring at the cracked wood. It was then she noticed the mural etched
on the front. She ran one hand over the stylized ukiyoe etching of a
grand, forked river. A trickling stream of downcast people made their
way towards the waters. Before them stood a balding man in faded
robes holding out his hand.
For those with
enough coins they passed over the river along a marvellous bridge.
Those with less picked carefully along a ford; the water pulling at
their exposed ankles.
The last group,
those without coins, passed naked by a tree covered in clothes. They
waded into the turgid waters; their faces petrified as the waves
curled around their bodies wrapping like thick snakes about their
arms and neck.
It was a passing
but not for the living. Carla looked down at the coins in her hand
then to the dead cellphone in her other. She began to realize that
she would never receive word from her family.
And yet, as she
turned back to the gate, there was a worrying fear those doors would
never open for her either. They were not built for her. They were
built for everyone else. They were built for the Japanese who looked
upon them and understood.
In the distance,
the unanswered cry of a lost child echoed through the night.
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