tsurune book 3...

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In the main house of the Momokawa Sake Brewery, there was a strange contraption called a cooling machine. A rectangular box contained a round fan; once wound up, it would swing back and forth, producing a breeze. However, the air it produced was usually warm. The air actually felt cooler after the fan stopped spinning.

Although it was summer, the atmosphere in the parlor felt chilly. It appeared that the cooling machine had finally come in handy for the first time.

Separated from Kuga by the rosewood table, Inako’s older sister Noriko was sitting with her back ramrod straight.

Noriko had snow-white skin, and long and lustrous black hair that hung straight down, a section of which was tied back with a red ribbon. She wore a high-quality white kasuri summer kimono of Omi Jofu hemp and a purple obi neatly tied in place.

As Kuga sipped the tea Noriko made, her closed eyes opened slightly.

“Your sudden visit made me assume something happened.”

“Inako invited me to stop by. It would have been rude of me to refuse.”

“What a strange uniform you’re wearing. Are you meddling in other people’s business again?”

“The Salvation Army’s Kyoto branch was established this year, and a friend asked me to come help out for a short while.”

“You didn’t waste your hard-earned merit pension from the war, did you?”

“I didn’t squander the money. Most of it went to charity.”

“Following prostitutes around all day is truly a noble form of charity.”

Their eyes met in a fiery and silent exchange of “What did you say?” and “What do you think?” Inako put her hand on her forehead.

Kuga and Noriko were already engaged before the war began. Kuga was the second son of the Kuga Tsunekichi Store, a rice wholesaler in Otsu that sold rice for sake brewing. He and Noriko had known each other since they were little.

But what was troubling was that the two were completely incompatible. Kuga always commented on Noriko’s every move, to which she would respond with snide, barbed words. Even so, the two still met often out of courtesy. Everyone thought that the wedding would be held after Kuga retired from the army after completing his military service last year, but there was no sign of anything so far.

Kuga was preoccupied with philanthropic work, and it was rumored that Noriko, fed up, would put a hold on the marriage. Even when Inako inquired about the details, Noriko remained silent.

Kuga was twenty-four this year, and Noriko was twenty, yet both were still unmarried.

Their gazes locked in a tense standoff until the cooling machine stopped. Kuga frowned and glanced at it.

“I’ve always been curious. Why don’t you buy a battery-operated electric fan?”

“I guess it’s because this is cheaper than an electric fan. You get what you paid for, as the saying goes.”

“I see,” Kuga said, then finished the rest of his tea and placed the cup on the table.

“Another cup,” he said coldly, and Noriko poured him another cup with equal indifference.

Inako was feeling exasperated by the two’s behavior when the sliding door suddenly opened. “Kuga-kun, you’re here,” her father, Jinemon, said. Inako felt her stomach clench with nervousness.

Jinemon was wearing an Oshima tsumugi kimono and haori, looking composed and unruffled. His neatly trimmed handlebar mustache stretched above his tightly closed mouth. He sat down and glanced at Inako.

“So you finally came home. Did you tire yourself out playing?” he said disdainfully. He lit a Golden Bat cigarette, exhaled a smoke ring, and made a face that suggested that the cigarette wasn’t very pleasant.

“Jinemon-san, I heard an important guest is visiting later.”

“You should stay and meet him if it’s not inconvenient for you, Kuga-kun. His name is Mizoe Yousuke-san, the heir to Mizoe Trading. He seems to have recently become the branch manager of the Fushimi branch of the company and is coming by to give his greetings.”

Mizoe Trading was a wealthy company headquartered in Matsusaka. They had been a liquor retailer since ancient times, and after the Meiji era, they followed the examples of the Mitsui and Sumitomo Groups and expanded their business into banking and mining, leveraging their substantial capital. (1)

When the Battle of Toba-Fushimi ended, the streets of Fushimi were severely damaged. (2) The Momokawa storehouse was one of the casualties, making it difficult for them to continue operating. Thanks to the help of the Fushimi branch of Mizoe Trading, which sold Fushimi sake as “Kyoto sake” to the untapped Tokyo market, sales rebounded. From then on, the Momokawa Sake Brewery was in Mizoe Trading’s debt.

“The former branch manager was already elderly. I don’t know if Yousuke-san has any business experience.”

“There’s no need to worry about that. After all, he’s the famous Professor Paikaru.”

“Professor Paikaru?” Kuga’s eyes widened in surprise.

During the Russo-Japanese War, there was an Imperial University professor who strongly advocated that Russia’s Lake Baikal should be ceded to Japan. He was called “Professor Baikal” for that reason. The incident was very famous at the time. (3)

At the same time, an eccentric character also appeared in Kansai. This man travelled around the world at a young age and tasted all the wines in the world he visited. When he returned to Japan, he set up a foreign wine import department in his own store and used the contacts and sales channels he accumulated overseas to improve sales performance in a short time.

“Speaking of Professor Paikaru, all I’ve heard are unreliable rumors: ‘He downed two sho of wine on a German country road,’ or ‘After drinking eighteen litres of wine in China, he composed a hundred poems,’ or ‘He becomes increasingly aggressive in arguments when drunk,’ and so on.”

His true character remained unknown, and what circulated was nothing but absurd and unfounded rumors. However…

“Although I’ve tasted countless fine wines, the best is still the baijiu of China—also known as paikaru.”

It was said that Professor Paikaru once boasted this, and this seemed to be the only information that could be considered credible. He was classed with the aforementioned professor with the saying, “Baikal in the East, Paikaru in the West.”

This Professor Paikaru was said to be Mizoe Yousuke, the heir to Mizoe Trading who brought enormous profits to the company through importing Western liquor.

“He is the one who will inherit the Mizoe family business. …So, Inako, you must not embarrass yourself in front of him.”

Jinemon glared at her, and Inako’s face stiffened. Just then, a maid called out from the other side of the door.

“Master, Mizoe-sama has arrived.”

“This is my eldest daughter Noriko, and my younger daughter Inako next to her.”

After Jinemon introduced her, Inako looked up from the floor and met the gaze of the faintly smiling Mizoe Yousuke.

Yousuke sat cross-legged on a cushion in the parlor. He was on the thin side, wearing a three-piece suit. His sideburns were a little long, and he was beaming as his bright eyes constantly darted around the room.

“Your daughters are beautiful. I’m almost thirty and haven’t yet married, and although I don’t quite understand the feeling of being a parent, you must be very happy to have raised such lovely girls.”

“They still have a long way to go. I have plenty of trouble with my clumsy second daughter in particular.”

“Inako-chan, yes? How old are you?”

Caught off guard by Yousuke’s sudden question, Inako’s voice trembled with nervousness as she answered, “F-fifteen years old, sir.”

Yousuke stroked her chin, looking at her with interest. Inako, sitting upright on her heels, felt her heart pounding. Jinemon, sensing something was about to go wrong, cleared his throat loudly.

“Now that the pleasantries are finished, let me show you the storehouse.”

The oblong, two-story sake storehouse was built next to the main house. It was where the brewing and storage took place. Because Japanese sake required low-temperature brewing, it was mostly done in the winter when the temperature was easier to maintain. Right now, the workers had all returned to their hometowns to farm, so the storehouse was deserted.

Jinemon pointed to the different sections of storehouse using his favorite bamboo root walking stick and introduced them to Yousuke. Inako watched them from a distance. Kuga stood beside her with his arms crossed, and Noriko, who couldn’t stand the smell of sake, covered her grimacing face with a handkerchief.

“What a magnificent storehouse. In this age of mechanization, it’s amazing that these traditional tools and processes are still preserved,” Yousuke exclaimed, spreading his arms dramatically. Just when everyone thought that even Professor Paikaru, who had tasted all of the world’s finest alcohol, was proud of his country’s liquor, he stomped his foot, clad in a Western-style boot. “However,”

“That’s precisely why I’m so uneasy about whether Japanese sake can keep up with the new century,” Yousuke said with a pained expression. Inako thought she had misheard. “Sake relies entirely on the labor of the workers. The risk of failure is high, and the brewing process largely relies on human intuition. How can unstable sake, bound by the old ideas of so-called ‘tradition,’ compete with Western liquor?”

“You’re being rather harsh on us, sir,” Jinemon could only manage a forced smile even as his work was being so blatantly belittled. In contrast, Inako, furious, drew closer to Yousuke.

“You’re wrong! The brewers and workers’ techniques have been passed down through generations over hundreds of years. They are actually quite sophisticated. Even without a thermometer, workers can judge the temperature using their own fingers.”

Yousuke’s eyes widened, and then he grinned like a child who had come up with a mischievous prank.

“But how many years does it take for someone to learn those techniques? And even if they master them perfectly, how would they prove it? I still think using a thermometer is much faster and more convenient.”

“Well…” Inako couldn’t come up with a rebuttal. “Even so, it’s refined and precise work. Sake is the drink of the gods.”

Yousuke looked stunned. After a moment, his laughter echoed in the spacious storehouse.

“Very well, very well, I raise my hands in defeat. I can’t win when the gods are brought up in a discussion. …But if sake is so precious, why does some of it spoil during the brewing process? If the quality of sake can only be determined by the gods’ whims no matter how devout you are, then such faith is worthless.”

Inako was about to retort when Jinemon’s cane struck her arm.

“Don’t interrupt. Didn’t I tell you not to involve yourself in brewing?” Jinemon looked at her coldly as she groaned in pain. Inako was still unwilling to give up, but Kuga gently grabbed her shoulder, and she had no choice but to remain silent.

“What an amusing girl,” Yousuke smiled, his gaze fixed on Inako.

That night, Inako and Noriko, dressed in their nightwear, reclined on the brightly lit veranda. The two were wearing white crepe yukatas. They both had indigo patterns—Inako’s was butterbur, and Noriko’s was iris patterned.

They both had their hair down. Noriko played a relaxed tune on her shamisen, while Inako sat on the veranda, swinging her legs and listening intently. The starry sky could be glimpsed in the gaps between the persimmon tree and the eaves. Inako gazed at the stars, her nose occasionally itching from the mosquito repelling incense.

“I was nervous when you suddenly got into an argument with Professor Paikaru during the day,” Noriko said calmly, without stopping her playing.

“That’s because he was being disrespectful to the workers.”

“You should just turn a blind eye in times like that. There’s no need to take everything seriously.”

“You can say that because you’re so much sharper than me.”

Inako often thought that there were so many things she couldn’t do compared to her sister.

The well-mannered and talented Noriko could do anything well. She knew countless shamisen tunes, her tea was praised by guests, and her sewing was good enough for kimonos worn at weddings.

On the other hand, Inako was clumsy and awkward at everything she did. She broke countless shamisen strings, her tea made guests frown, and her sewing, if hung under the eaves, looked like giant teru teru bozu. (4)

“If I had to say what my only redeeming quality is, it would be praying to the gods.”

“That’s not true. You have plenty of good qualities that I don’t have.”

“Really?” Inako turned her head to look at Noriko, but her sister simply continued playing her shamisen like she hadn't said anything. The shamisen was resting on her right thigh. Inako rested her head on Noriko’s left thigh and lay down.

“Inako, you’re in the way,” Noriko admonished her, but she didn’t stop playing.

Inako enjoyed the soft sensation, playing with Noriko’s long hair that flowed down her yukata.

Inako’s navy blue kimono was made of Oumi Jofu hemp, just like Noriko’s white kimono, but because of frequent rubbing, the fabric was badly torn. So every time she wanted to borrow Noriko’s white kimono, her sister would refuse, saying, “If I lend it to you, it’ll become a rag after you’ve worn it.”

With her beautiful face, long jet-black hair, and elegant white kimono, Inako greatly admired Noriko. At least her own hair, which was slowly growing longer, was almost as long as Noriko’s, which secretly delighted her.

“Hey, Onee-chan, when are you going to make up with Kuga-san?”

“Why are you asking this all of a sudden?”

“I’m trying my best to create opportunities for the two of you to meet, but you always end up arguing as soon as you see each other.”

“Stop meddling in other people’s business. Think about your own future. You’re already at the age to get married, after all.”

Inako’s heart leapt. Yes, she was of age to get married as well. Although she had fantasized about what kind of man she would marry, she still didn’t even know if anyone would want her.

“If I’m going to marry, I want to marry someone like Kuga-san. Someone strong and reliable.”

“Oh, really. I can give you someone like that anytime,” Noriko said calmly, without a hint of jealousy. There was a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. “Then, what about Professor Paikaru?”

“No way. His sideburns look like centipede antennae. Just looking at them gives me chills.”

“I think so too,” Noriko smiled faintly as she spoke, and Inako giggled.

A week passed. The sun was intense from morning to night, and the sweltering heat made one feel as though they were boiling in hell. Yousuke visited again that day. He and Jinemon seemed to have something important to discuss, and they were talking intently in the parlor for a long time.

Because the maid seemed to be a bit overwhelmed, Inako helped her carry the cooling machine to the living room. When she was at the door, she heard the two men talking from the other side of the door and stopped.

“—So, in my opinion, the treasured sake that you made in the past is indeed a sake befitting the twentieth century. Would you be willing to brew it again?”

Treasured sake? What is he talking about? Inako’s ears perked up.

“I’m not sure what you heard from the previous branch manager, but the treasured sake is most likely not what you expected, sir.”

“As you know, we are currently in a post-war recession. This may be discourteous of me to say, but your sake isn’t selling well, Momokawa-san. If you don’t brew something truly impressive soon…” Yousuke smugly snorted as Jinemon remained silent. “If you can’t do that, why don’t you take the opportunity to try transforming into a beer brewery?”

Inako, caught off guard, dropped the cooling machine.

“Ah!” she cried out, but it was too late. The cooling machine fell to the ground with a loud thud.

“What happened?” Jinemon poked his head out of the parlor and glared at her upon seeing the mess.

“Um, well, it was so hot, I thought I’d bring the cooling machine over…”

Jinemon shoved Inako aside and picked up the cooling machine. He put the disconnected fan back in place and wound it up. Inako prayed that the machine wasn’t broken, but the fan made a rattling sound as the gears failed to engage. She felt a pang of nausea as she stared at the completely unmoving fan.

“Look at what you done! You can’t even carry things properly, you good-for-nothing!”

Inako shrank back in fear at her father’s scolding. Just then, Yousuke calmly walked over.

“Haha, it turns out you really are clumsy.”

“My deepest apologies, sir, for forcing you to witness this shameful display,” Jinemon bowed his head.

“U-um, excuse me,” Inako timidly spoke up. “Is what you said about the beer brewery true?”

Yousuke looked surprised, then burst into laughter.

“Of course it was a joke. Did you really believe it? How naïve!”

A joke. Inako froze. “Don’t meddle in family matters! What are you planning to do about this mess?” Jinemon snapped. His angry voice made Inako remember the current situation, and she shrank back once again.

“Oh, right. I know someone who can fix this.”

Inako fled the scene and retrieved the Hourai Buddhist Altar Shop flyer from her room.

“A Buddhist altar shop does machinery repairs?” Jinemon asked suspiciously when he took the flyer.

“I found it strange at first too, but the person who gave me the ad seemed very knowledgeable about machines.”

“It’s still suspicious. Even if they have a phone number, there’s no way to verify it.”

“Then let me help you check,” Yousuke said, pulling a Kyoto phone book out of his thick bag. “I always carry it with me for work. I’m glad it’s coming in handy.”

Inako anxiously awaited the result as Yousuke searched for the phone number on the flyer. After a while, he looked up. “Found it,” he smiled. Inako thought she was saved.

“But, it’s the number of a shop called Rokkaku Kimono Shop.”

Hearing this, Inako’s brightened expression instantly froze.

Jinemon let out a deep sigh that seemed to be wrung out from the depths of his body.

“Making a fool of yourself in front of a guest, and then being tricked by a stranger…how badly do you intend to ruin the Momokawa family’s reputation?”

“Father, please listen, I never intended to—”

Jinemon struck Inako on the head with his cane. A sharp pain shot through her, and tears welled up in her eyes. Yousuke chuckled slightly. “Now, now, Momokawa-san,” he said. “Inako-chan is a very pure and naïve girl. After all, she even believes that sake is the drink of the gods.”

“No, she’s just slow-witted. …Let us go back inside, sir. I apologize for the interruption in the middle of our conversation.”

Jinemon, still angry, returned to the parlor.

“What a disaster,” Yousuke remarked. He was about to return the flyer to Inako when he noticed something written on the back.

“What’s this?” His smile vanished instantly upon scanning the contents. “Electrical Catalog…”

His tone was filled with disbelief. When he noticed Inako looking at him, he returned the flyer. “Well then,” he put on a smile and returned to the parlor. The hallway fell silent. Inako stared dejectedly at the phone number on the flyer, and her attention was drawn to the address written next to it.

It was in Shinkyogoku. Inako’s eyes filled with determination as she stared at the flyer.

That afternoon, Inako carried the wrapped cooling machine in her arms, boarded a tram and headed north along Kawaramachi Street.

The last time she had been in this area was as a child visiting the Great Buddha at Hoko-ji Temple. Looking out the window, Inako was amazed by the sudden appearance of a pointed-roof red-bricked Western house. A woman next to her said that it resembled St. John’s Church, which was built this year. (5) Faced with this striking and immaculate sight, Inako instinctively clasped her hands in prayer.

The tram travelled along Takase River, past Kiyamachi Street, lined with verdant willow trees, and arrived at Shijo-kobashi Station. Inako got off and walked west along Shijo Street, a narrow street that cut through the city, until she reached Shinkyogoku.

Built in the early Meiji era, Shinkyogoku Street was Kyoto’s most flourishing district. Hat shops, geta sandal shops, and playhouses lined the street. A diverse crowd ranging from students and ladies with maids to bald old men came and went. Under the scorching summer sun, almost everyone was fanning themselves with folding fans or round fans.

Tea shops everywhere Inako looked displayed signs for “ice shops.” Laborers sat on benches under the eaves, enjoying sugared ice and ramune. Girls in hakama laughed and chatted outside the Komachi Kurenai lipstick store. (6) Inako glanced at them as she walked towards the address on the flyer, but couldn’t find a shop that looked like it sold Buddhist altars.

“It should be around here…”

Just as Inako was wandering around all over the street, she bumped into a passing boy. The boy fell, and walking sticks in the basket on his back all clattered onto the ground.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking!”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it. I’m blessed with good fortune to have bumped into such a beautiful lady,” the boy joked as he stood up. He wore a happi coat with the words “Yagura Bamboo Crafts Shop” written on the collar. His grimy face beamed with a cheerful smile.

Inako thought the boy resembled a miniature version of Kihachi. She handed him the canes she picked up, and the boy noticed the flyer.

“Onee-chan, are you looking for the Hourai Buddhist Altar Shop?”

“Huh? Y-yes, I am, but I think I’m lost.”

“I can show you the way. It’s on my way anyway.”

Without waiting for her response, the boy started walking. Inako was conflicted as to whether or not to follow him, but for now, she had no choice but to rely on him, so she followed the small back.

“Do you know Sakamoto-san?”

“My name is Yagura Yajirou. Onee-chan, are you looking for Kihachi-niichan?”

“Yes. I want to ask him to fix this cooling machine.”

“Fixing a machine, huh. Nii-chan will be thrilled. Look, it’s over there.”

The Hourai Buddhist Altar Shop was located at the entrance of a small alley. Passing through the entrance with a large signboard overhead, the dimly lit shop displayed candles, incense, prayer beads, and other Buddhist-related merchandise.

“Excuse me, it’s Yagura,” Yajirou called towards the back. “Nii-chan, I’ve brought a customer. Hmm…”

He glanced at Inako. “Momokawa Inako,” she told him.

“Her name’s Momokawa Kinako-san.”

“Inako!” she corrected him, and a burst of laughter came from within the shop.

“Yajirou, you’re back from selling?” Kihachi walked out with a smug smile, just like the last time they met.

“I went out to show a customer some samples of our walking sticks, and then ran into Kinako-san on my way back.”

After chatting with Kihachi for a few minutes, Yajirou said happily, “I’ll see you at night school,” and left. Kihachi watched him leave, then turned to Inako with that smile on his face.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, ah, Kinako-san.”

Inako kicked him in the shin. He groaned in pain.

“Why did you kick me all of a sudden?” he complained, and Inako gave him a frightening look.

“Because you gave me a random phone number. I got in trouble thanks to you.”

“Random?” Kihachi didn’t seem to understand what she meant. Just then, the phone next door suddenly rang loudly.

Eventually, the call was answered, and the ringing stopped. There was a moment of silence, and then…

“Is Bunshichi there?” an elderly white-haired man shouted into the shop.

“Yes,” a sleepy-sounding voice came from inside. A middle-aged man wearing a happi coat and glasses came out, scratching his disheveled hair. This man, who had dandruff falling from his hair, must be Bunshichi. “Grandpa, you look quite energetic today.”

“Energetic, my foot! Someone called me again looking for you.”

“Sorry about that. What did they say?”

“They hung up as soon as I answered! Take off my number from your flyers right now!”

“What’s going on?” Inako asked Kihachi as she listened to the kimono shop owner and Bunshichi talk.

“A phone number on advertisement flyers increase customer trust. But because we can’t afford the annual phone fee, Uncle just wrote down the phone number of the kimono shop next door.”

As Kihachi stood there in exasperation, Bunshichi calmly comforted the old man.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa. I’ll pay whatever you ask for to borrow your phone.”

“Then shouldn’t you also pay compensation for emotional distress? I get calls asking for you all day long.”

“That kimono shop owner has a lot of guts answering so many calls. I’m terrified of the phone.” Inako whispered to Kihachi as she watched the two of them.

“Why? Are you nervous talking to the operator?”

“What if the person on the other hand has cholera? I heard it can be transmitted over the phone.”

“How would that even be possible? You’re like someone living a few decades ago,” Kihachi rubbed his temples.

“Alright, alright, there’s a customer here,” Bunshichi said as he led the still-angry kimono shop owner to the back of the shop.

“Won’t something bad happen if they keep going like that?”

“Don’t worry. Grandpa loves to talk. He probably took advantage of the wrong call to chat.”

Inako was still worried. Her eyes met Kihachi’s, whose arms were crossed.

“…Um, sorry,” he looked away and mumbled. “I forgot to mention the phone number when I gave you the flyer.”

“It doesn’t matter now. Anyway, I came here myself and confirmed the shop really does exist.”

“Did you come all this way because you believed me?”

“Believing is my specialty. Besides, I really wanted you to fix this.”

Inako uncovered the cooling machine from the wrapping cloth. “A cooling machine?” Kihachi leaned closer, examining it.

“It stopped working after it was dropped. Here’s the advance payment.”

“Ah, biscuits. And fancy-looking ones, too.”

They were snacks Inako had taken from the shelf reserved for guests. Kihachi accepted the biscuits from her and quickly took one out. He chewed it little by little with his front teeth.

“This shouldn’t take long to fix. Why don’t you wait here for a bit?”

Inako nodded. Suddenly, a loud chime rang through the shop, startling her.

The clock face told her that it was three. Kihachi put the cooling machine on the workbench in the corner and immediately began disassembling it. The workbench was piled with clocks of all shapes and sizes, as well as a machine and parts whose purpose she couldn’t discern.

As Inako studied the objects, so different from the Buddhist items, she heard Kihachi say, “All fixed.”

“Huh, you fixed it so quickly?”

“Machines like this that don’t use electricity are a piece of cake. It was just a gear that was knocked loose.”

Inako was amazed at his swift work. Kihachi wound the machine up in front of her, and the fan began to move smoothly, delivering the long-awaited warm breeze.

“Wow, thank you so much!” Inako’s heart finally settled down, but Kihachi crossed his arms, looking dissatisfied.

“Even if it’s fixed, it can only produce this warm breeze. What’s there to be happy about?”

Inako wrapped up the cooling machine, and then the same sharp chime rang out again.

“Perfect timing. Look, the tea is ready.”

Kihachi pointed to the machine on the workbench. Inako looked at it, wondering what he meant. She saw a kettle, supported by a device, pouring hot water into the teapot by itself. Surprise rendered her speechless.

“Amazing, right? I assembled this myself, modelling it after an English tea maker. It’s connected to an alarm clock on top. When the time comes, it lights the alcohol lamp for boiling water, and then, using the same principles as a mechanical puppet, it pours the water into a teapot containing tea leaves.” (7)

Kihachi poured the tea into a prepared teacup and handed it to Inako. Though it wasn’t as good as the tea made by Noriko, the taste was surprisingly decent. Kihachi added a biscuit as a tea snack.

“This is a Buddhist altar shop, right?”

“That’s our main business. Because I can do simple mechanical repairs, we sometimes get repair business. If someone pays for the raw materials, I can also make a machine according to their requirements.”

“Is this tea-making alarm clock also for sale?”

Kihachi, his mouth full of biscuits, nodded. Inako grimaced.

“Don’t look at me like that. I test out all my products before delivery.”

Inako wondered if that was really okay. She glanced at the machines on the workbench.

“Do you have any other alarm clocks? If there’s any that can help me stop oversleeping, I’ll think about buying one.”

“I’ve got plenty. I happen to have a modified prototype. It’ll definitely wake you up.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Upon hearing the word prototype, Inako showed Kihachi the flyer. “Something called an ‘Electrical Catalog’ is written on the back. This must be something important, right?”

Kihachi, who had been so cheerful a second again, suddenly looked slightly gloomy.

“…Oops, I think I accidentally gave you a flyer I was doodling on.”

“Is it for making another product? I should return it to you.”

“No need. They’re just machines I predicted before, things I designed for fun to pass the time.”

“Predictions?”

“Twenty things that can be achieved with electricity a hundred years from now. It’s for a book called the Electrical Catalog.”

Inako felt a mischievous urge as she looked at the slightly embarrassed Kihachi.

“So you mean there are other prophecies? Let me take a look at that book.”

Anyone would feel embarrassed showing someone what they scribbled as a child.

“…It’s all in the past. I lost it a long time ago,” Kihachi smiled wryly.

“I see,” Inako said dejectedly, then sipped the rest of her cold tea.

“You must feel sad that the material you can use to tease with me is gone.”

“I-I wasn’t thinking about stuff like that.”

Inako was startled that he had guessed what she was thinking and munched on the biscuit. They started chatting about trivial things. Suddenly, laughter rang out from the back of the shop. Just as Kihachi said, the kimono shop owner, now calmer, was having a lively conversation with Bunshichi. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized that a considerable amount of time had passed.

“It’s so late. I should go home.”

Kihachi said that he would walk her to the nearby tram station, so the two of them headed out of the shop together. Walking along Shinkyogoku, bathed in the setting sun, they descended a slope and turned right onto Sanjo Street, famous for its brick post offices and other similar buildings.

Inako, glancing at the clock tower of the Yabetoku Clock Store, asked Kihachi a question.

“Sakamoto-san, are you going to pursue a career related to mechanics in the future?”

“I’m more interested in electricity than mechanics. I want to study at university, then work for a light bulb company or a company that makes electrical products. My dream is to work for the company with the ‘Edison of Japan.’” (8)

The man known as the Edison of Japan worked at Nijo, manufacturing physical and chemical machines. He was a very perceptive individual; it was said that when he was Kihachi’s age, he could replicate an exact replica of a Western generator simply by looking at a picture.

Later, he successfully jump-started the domestic manufacturing of batteries, which were used in the navy’s new wireless communication equipment, making a significant contribution to the Combined Fleet’s victory over the Russian Baltic Fleet in the Battle of Tsushima.

“I heard that his factory is currently manufacturing medical X-ray devices.”

Inako was half-listening to Kihachi’s slightly difficult to understand rambling as she walked. Ahead lay the St. Francis Xavier Cathedral, adorned with stained glass windows. Inako reflexively clasped her hands together before the pristine white cathedral.

Kihachi jutted out his lips in displeasure, perhaps because he had been interrupted.

“Are you a Christian too?”

“Of course not. But Jesus-san is an amazing god, isn’t he? I heard from a man named Kuga-san that he can heal the sick and even bring the dead back to life. I’m sure I’ll receive blessings if I pray to him.”

“That sounds fishy. How could Westerners living in civilized countries believe in such nonsense?”

“Didn’t you grow up in a temple, Sakamoto-san? I can’t believe you could say such rude things about people’s beliefs.”

“It’s because I grew up in a temple. I watched monks chant those incomprehensible sutras every day. Religion is just a way to make money by scaring believers with things like hell and divine retribution.”

Kihachi’s eyes as he looked up at the cathedral were filled with hatred, just like at the altar.

“But the era of blindly worshiping gods and Buddhas is over. Just like how X-rays can show things previously invisible to the naked eye, electricity will continue to expose the true nature of these miracles and divine punishments.”

Exposing the gods. Hearing this, Inako felt a painful ache in her heart.

“Electricity will replace those useless gods, driving machines to bring prosperity to people and the world,” Kihachi confidently proclaimed, looking up at the sky. “The twentieth century is the age of electricity.”

“…Replacing the gods? That’s impossible.”

Kihachi looked bewildered, not expecting cold water to be thrown on his words.

“The gods exist. That’s what Mother said. Countless unseen gods lived in sake. If you cut corners, the gods will ruin the sake. If you respect the gods and brew carefully, the gods in the sake will help make it taste good. No matter how powerful electricity is, it can’t replace the gods—”

“You idiot.” Kihachi interrupted Inako’s appeal. “Now, electron microscopes can see tiny things. If we use that, we can see what these so-called gods truly are. In the twentieth century, things like workers’ intuition and traditional methods are too inefficient. Electricity can brew sake too. You can still brew delicious sake even without praying to the gods.”

Recalling Yousuke’s expression when he mocked the storehouse, Inako’s anger flared up.

“‘Sake brewed by the power of the gods’ is utterly suspicious. It sounds like the sales pitch of a con artist,” Kihachi scoffed, as if to provoke her. “Inago, your mom sounds like a con artist.”

Inako’s anger, rising the way up to her head like boiling water, had reached its limit.

“I think it’s electricity that’s completely useless!”

“…What did you say?”

“This age of electricity thing is nonsense. We use gramophones and clocks by winding them up, and your shop doesn’t even use electric lights. How many people actually rely on electricity in this day and age? Kerosene lamps are perfectly sufficient, and trains are faster than trams. You can boil water with gas. Isn’t it all the same whether we have electricity or not?”

This time, it was Inako’s turn to scoff at the speechless Kihachi.

“Sakamoto-san, your devotion to electricity makes me laugh. In the end, what you said was no different from what those monks you hate say. You’re just desperately clinging to electricity when it’s completely worthless.”

The furrow between Kihachi’s brows deepened, and his clenched fists began to tremble slightly.

“The Electrical Catalog must be a book of prophecies written by a con artist.”

Clang, clang. An out-of-place bell rang. Before she knew it, they were at the tram station.

“Alright, you can go home now,” Kihachi said quietly in a low voice. Inako jumped onto the already-moving tram without turning her head.

After settling into her seat, she rested her forehead listlessly against the cooling machine.

Misfortune came in pairs. Back in Fushimi, Inako had to eat dinner with Yousuke, who was still at her home.

At the table laden with food, Yousuke reached for some mackerel sushi with his chopsticks. “Does it suit your taste?” Jinemon asked, pouring him a drink. “It’s delicious,” Yousuke said politely.

“Yousuke-san, do you have any favorite fish?”

Yousuke’s face was flushed slightly from the alcohol. He thought silently about Jinemon’s question for a moment.

“Saury, I suppose.”

“I see. Autumn saury, full of oil, is indeed delicious.”

“No, I prefer saury caught just before autumn. I’ve had saury sashimi from that period, and it tasted exceptional. The flesh had a hint of sweetness, and more importantly—”

Yousuke suddenly looked at Inako, who froze as if under a spell.

“Unlike fully matured saury, its flesh was firm, and its texture is simply irresistible.”

Inako felt as though thousands of centipedes were crawling over her under his gaze and quickly looked away.

She couldn’t bear being with this Professor Paikaru any longer. From the very beginning of dinner, Inako had a heavy, uneasy feeling weighing on her chest. It felt as if time was dragging on endlessly.

When she was drinking tea at the Hourai Buddhist Altar Shop, time seemed to fly by.

Recalling Kihachi’s sneer, Inako felt a pang of sadness. To calm herself, she set down her chopsticks, bowed to everyone at the table, and left the room. She wandered aimlessly around the house until she ended up at the kitchen.

The maids were all out, and the pot of water used to warm sake was bubbling on the stove. Seeing that, Inako rolled up her sleeves and gently dipped her index finger into the boiling water.

The temperature was just enough to trace the character “の” on the surface.

Before, she had learned from her mother the proper temperature to heat sake—in order to sterilize it. If it’s too hot, the sake would taste bad, and if it was too cool, the bacteria wouldn’t be killed and the sake would spoil.

Inako felt the water wasn’t hot enough, so she added a few more pieces of firewood.

“You don’t like being in that kind of place?”

Yousuke had suddenly appeared behind her, peering over her shoulder into the pot. Inako tensed. When she turned around and backed away, Yousuke, his face and neck crimson from drinking, let out a hiccup.

“Are you practicing heating sake right now? Why are you doing this?”

“Sometimes, I practice when I want to relax. It helps calm me down.”

“You’re as puzzling as ever,” Yousuke chuckled disdainfully. “But, from now on, there’s no need to do this kind of thing anymore.”

Yousuke leaned in closer without warning, forcing Inako to back up against the stove.

She felt the warmth behind her. “What do you mean, sir?” she asked, face tense.

Yousuke’s face was so close that she could smell the alcohol on his breath. His mouth twisted into a malicious grin.

“Because you’re going to be my wife.”

The firewood crackled and popped.

Inako didn’t understand what he was saying. She must have misheard.

“Um, are you very drunk, sir? I’ll bring you some water.”

“I’m serious. I’ve taken quite a liking to you. You must marry into the Mizoe family.”

Yousuke placed his hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly as though to extinguish the last vestige of hope.

Inako felt as if all the blood had drained from her body. The ground seemed to disappear beneath her feet.

She shook her head repeatedly, trying to speak but unable to utter a single word.

“If you become my wife, you won’t need to use such foolish methods to clear your mind anymore. Jewels, luxurious kimonos, beef steaks, and cakes—you’ll have everything. You’ll live like you’re in paradise, with no time to have those worries.”

Inako silently mouthed the word “paradise,” but then shook her head vigorously to dismiss the thought.

“T-thank you very much for the offer, sir, but I don’t think someone like me could be worthy of Professor Paikaru.”

“Even so, I want you to be my wife. I’ve already talked it over with Momokawa-san.”

Inako couldn’t think anymore. Her mind was as full of holes as a lotus root. “Mizoe Trading has done everything we can to help your brewery, even lending you money from our own bank at times. But when we needed your help to brew a new type of sake, Momokawa-san flatly refused. I don’t follow the logic there, but… I’m not heartless, so I half-jokingly suggested this plan.”

Yousuke raised his index finger.

“If your father marries you to me, I will allow the current brewing techniques to be preserved intact.”

“…Did you threaten my father?”

“You really are a spoiled, sheltered little girl. Think about it. A dull-witted daughter gets married, and the brewery is saved. For Momokawa-san, it’s a win-win situation.”

“Shouldn’t my feelings be considered as well?”

“Your feelings?” Yousuke scoffed contemptuously. “Besides marrying me, what else are you worth? Do you think you have the privilege to make demands?”

Yousuke’s smile turned vulgar as he looked at the heartbroken Inako.

“If you refuse this marriage…this morning’s joke might actually come true.”

He’ll discontinue the production of poorly selling sake and convert the brewery into a beer factory.

A surge of anger welled up within Inako, and she glared fiercely at him.

“If you think I’m so useless, why did you choose me?”

Yousuke suddenly placed his hand on her right cheek. She froze.

“The way you tremble so fearfully can stir a man’s heart. That unpretentious innocence of yours is truly—”

That nauseating feeling, like centipedes crawling all over her, returned. Just as Inako was about to scream, a maid, who had returned to the kitchen, cried out in alarm. “Miss! Get away from there!”

Inako was relieved, thinking that she was saved, but then the maid pushed her to the side. “Fire!” she shouted.

Inako straightened up and saw that the firewood, not fully packed into the stove, was burning brightly right before it.

“What’s all this noise about!” Jinemon ran to them and quickly figured out what was happening. He gave the maid instructions. “Quickly, use the water from the jug!”

Then, he saw Inako on the ground and widened his eyes.

Jinemon entered the kitchen, picked up a cleaver from the sink, and walked towards her.

I’m going to be killed. The thought made her legs go weak. She shuffled backwards on the floor, but Jinemon easily caught up to her and roughly grabbed her braid.

“Forgive me, forgive me.”

A faint light reflected off the raised blade.

Inako tightly closed her eyes. But it was her hair that was severed from her body.

For some reason, her head felt lighter. Trembling, she opened her eyes. Jinemon looked down at her, the braid he had cut hanging down like the neck of a dead bird.

Inako instinctively reached behind her back, but felt nothing. Her hair was gone.

Her hair, which was almost as long as her sister’s, now only reached her neck.

“Why…why…”

She raised her tear-filled eyes and found Jinemon staring coldly at her.

“…Now you’ll at least reflect on your actions, right? How many times have this happened? You’ve never done a single good thing.”

“I…I just wanted to clear my head by practicing how to heat sake in this spare pot.”

“I don’t understand a word you’re saying…” Jinemon put his hand on his forehead, a wry smile playing on his lips as though he had completely given up. “Can’t you pull yourself together already?”

That was exactly what Inako wished for. Jinemon’s pained expression hurt her more than his angry shouting. Behind him, Yousuke was covering his mouth as he laughed.

“Don’t worry about such a trivial thing. Your hair will grow back.”

“I’m so sorry you had to see this, sir. I apologize if it upsets you.”

“Rest assured my feelings haven’t changed. I’ll take my leave now.”

Yousuke left with a spring in his step. Inako stared blankly at his retreating figure.

“Is it true that…Yousuke-san wants to marry me?” she asked weakly.

“He said he took a liking to you from the first time we met. He wants to marry you immediately, since he’s taking office as branch manager.”

“Immediately…”

“Yousuke-san’s inauguration celebration is taking place next week. Although the timeline is tight, he seems to want to combine it with your wedding. There probably won’t be time to prepare a trousseau or anything like that, so we’ll just hold a simple ceremony to get the marriage registered for now.”

Still dazed, Inako remained on the floor. Jinemon looked down at her with a perplexed expression.

“What’s with that look on your face? Don’t tell me you’re unhappy about this marriage?”

“Am I just a bargaining chip in a business deal?”

“…What did you say?”

“You’re just brushing off the most important event of my life with a ‘for now’?”

“You’re so hard to please!” Jinemon shouted. “You’re useless at housework and studies. You’ve always been a disgrace to the family, and now you don’t even listen to your father?”

Tears spilled down Inako’s cheeks as her father mercilessly scolded her. “No, that’s not what I meant,” she cried. “The fire just now was Yousuke-san’s—”

“Trying to shift the blame? Someone as slow-witted as you can only come up with excuses.”

Inako glanced to the side. The maid, who should have witnessed the scene, was looking at her with disdain.

“I’ll give you your punishment. Come.”

Jinemon dragged Inako down the hallway to an earthen storehouse at the far end of the courtyard and pushed her inside. It was dimly lit, and the air was thick with dust. Inako broke into a coughing fit.

“You and that cooling machine are the same,” Jinemon spat in a stern voice. “All you do is cause trouble. Utterly useless.”

The heavy door closed, plunging the storehouse into darkness.

Perhaps Jinemon thought Inako, like ordinary children, was afraid of being locked inside a storehouse. But for her, being there was as safe as being in bed. As long as she was in the storehouse, no one would get angry at her, she would not cause trouble for anyone, and wouldn’t bring shame.

All she did was cause trouble and be utterly useless. Even Inako herself knew this was true.

Why couldn’t she do anything right? Why couldn’t she ever have people understand her?

Ultimately, if she could go to Paradise after death, why did she have to stay in this hellish world? All the embarrassing things she did before, Jinemon’s yelling, the maid’s disgusted gaze, Yousuke’s repulsive smile—they all flooded Inako’s mind. Finally, she couldn’t even be bothered to think anymore.

She had no strength left to try.

“I want to die.”

Those weak words were undoubtedly Inako’s true feelings.

Previous || Index || Next

On Mount Inari, located in Kyoto’s Fushimi Ward, stood the Inari Shrine, renowned for its deity who governed business prosperity.

Other than the main shrine at the foot of the mountain, subordinate shrines and rock altars were scattered throughout the mountain. Even now, in Meiji 40 (1907), rock altar worship—treating the deities residing in the shrines and altars as one’s own family deities—remained thriving.

The worshippers’ path wound its way through the mountain like a thread stitching together the numerous altars and shrines, bracketed by countless torii gates. On this treacherous road, which could hardly be called a mountain path, Momokawa Inako was braving the August heat to climb the mountain.

Inako wore a navy-blue kimono with white kasuri patterns and a yellow-green obi sash. With each step, her obi clasp, shaped like a mouse and rice sack, along with her braid, bounced back and forth. Her wooden clogs clattered gently in the mountain that was filled with the sounds of cicadas, rustling leaves, and prayers being recited from the altars and shrines.

From the crossroads halfway up the mountain, a long flight of steps led through a dense area of rock altars and then through a thicket of trees until it reached a slightly more open space. From there, one could see the Kyouden trams (1) crossing the Kanjin Bridge over Kamo River, the barracks of the 38th Infantry Regiment in Fukakusa, and the Shichijo railway station.

Located in this open area was a rock altar dedicated to Akubi Daimyoujin. Part of the rock face was exposed on the nearby hillside, and a donation box and a barely acceptable pedestal standing close to it, upon which were placed numerous torii gates and offerings of various sizes.

Facing the altar, Inako put offering money into the box, bowed and clapped her hands twice, and then took a deep breath.

“Gracious Deity, I wish to do better next time.”

She closed her eyes tightly, rubbing her clasped hands together rapidly, as if trying to spark a flame.

“I wish to not be so slow and clumsy anymore. I wish to not make Father angry next time. I wish the shamisen strings won’t break when I practice. I wish I can become as beautiful as Onee-chan soon. And—”

After praying to her heart’s content, Inako began reciting the great purification chant. (2)

“Takamanohara ni kamuzumari masu sumera gamutsukamurogi kamuromi no mikotomo chite—”

The air was filled with the scent of candles. Inako felt her voice blending into the chirping of cicadas and the rustling of the greenery. She truly felt that this was the abode of the gods, far removed from the hustle and bustle of the world. Her heart gradually calmed down.

As if accompanying her voice, kagura music drifted towards her ears from somewhere. (3)

Inako wondered if there was a kagura hall nearby. While reciting the chant, she tried to pinpoint the source of the sound. Strangely, the music seemed to be coming from the lush vegetation on the rock face.

When she looked up, the music stopped. It was followed by a cry of “Ah!”

The vegetation trembled violently, and suddenly, a boy slid down from it.

He screamed as he fell, smashing the offered torii gates, and landed on his backside. He groaned, clutching a box-like machine in his arms.

Stunned by this sudden turn of events, Inako covered her mouth with her hand. Could it be? She thought.

“The Gracious Deity has finally appeared before me…!” Inako clapped her hands as joy welled up within her and started to prostrate herself before the boy. “Akubi Daimyoujin-sama, Akubi Daimyoujin-sama, please hear my wishes—”

“You idiot.”

The boy removed the horn-shaped part of the machine and whacked Inako’s bowed head with it.

“Ow! What are you doing, Gracious Deity?”

“That’s supposed to be my line. Who bows to someone who slid down a hill without even checking to see if they’re alright?”

Inako calmed down and carefully examined the boy. He wore a cotton kasuri kimono over a shirt and kokura cotton hakama pants—in other words, he was just a regular boy. Realizing this, she hurriedly lowered her head.

“Sorry, I thought you were a god who appeared in response to my faith.”

“What kind of person would think that?”

The boy sighed and put the horn back on the machine. Seeing Inako looking at it curiously, he asked, “Is this your first time seeing a phonograph?”

He placed the phonograph on the shrine’s pedestal and started winding the handle on the side. Once he finished winding it, the horizontal cylinder in the center began to spin. The moment he placed the thin needle attached to the front of the horn—which Inako later learned was called a speaker—on the cylinder, kagura music emanated from the speaker.

“It’s the kagura from before! Amazing! How can it make sound by itself?”

The boy turned off the phonograph, removed the chikuwa-shaped cylinder, and carefully placed it in Inako’s hand. (4)

“This is called a wax cylinder. You see the little grooves engraved on its surface, right? When the needle is placed on them, its vibrations reproduce the sound recorded in the cylinder. A single wax cylinder with a recorded song costs about a yen.”

Inako was so shocked by the price that the wax cylinder almost slipped from her hand. The boy managed to catch it before it fell to the ground. He looked genuinely panicked. “Idiot, I told you to be careful.”

“S-sorry. I was just surprised. You could take a hundred Kyouden rides with that money.”

“It’s still cheaper than a disc record. And wax cylinders have an interesting feature.”

The boy took out another cylinder from his pocket and affixed it to the phonograph, but unlike before, no sound came out.

“Why is there no sound? Is it broken?” Inako tilted her head in confusion. The boy returned the needle to its original position.

“Why is there no sound? Is it broken?”

Inako jumped in surprise when she heard her own voice come from the phonograph. The boy smiled smugly.

“With this, anyone can easily record sound. That’s the advantage of a wax cylinder phonograph.”

“What an impressive gadget. Why are you walking around with something like that?”

“This phonograph belongs to a parishioner who lives nearby. They gave it to me to repair it. I tried to test it on the altar before returning it, but then I accidentally slipped down.”

“Oh, so just now—”

With the relaxed atmosphere, Inako only just now noticed that the torii gates and offerings beside the altar were in disarray. “The gods will punish you for this!” she cried.

The boy frowned when he saw how furious Inako was. “The gods?” he put the lid, which had a handle attached to it, over the phonograph and lifted it up, looking at her with disdain. “Unfortunately, I only believe in what I can see.”

The boy prepared to leave, but Inako grabbed his obi and pointed to the scattered torii gates on the ground.

“Whether you have faith or not, you should at least tidy up the mess you made.”

Though the boy made a face, he straightened the torii gates and the other objects, then clasped his hands together in front of the altar.

He’s actually praying properly. Just as Inako was about to utter this thought, she froze at the look in the boy’s eyes.

The boy, with his hands clasped together, was glaring at the altar with eyes filled with hatred.

His gaze was terrifying, as though he was looking at his parents’ killer. He didn’t even bow before turning his back on the altar. “Is that enough?” he said, then walked away nonchalantly.

Startled, Inako quickly apologized to the altar for the boy’s disrespect and continued reciting the purification chant.

“Ooyamato hidakami no kuni wo—”

Perhaps because the boy’s angry look had made such an impression on her, Inako had completely forgotten the prayer she should have memorized perfectly. Just as she racked her brains to recall the words…

“Ooyamato hidakami no kuni wo Yasukuni ni sadmematsurite.”

The boy, standing a short distance away, recited the remaining words of the prayer. He glanced disdainfully at the speechless Inako, and then left.

What’s with that boy!

After finishing her prayers to Akubi Daimyoujin, Inako, her cheeks puffed out, walked back along the pilgrimage route.

The altar was messed up, and to make matters worse, she was helped by someone who held no faith. Nothing could be more humiliating.

Frustrated, Inako walked through the woods to the foot of the mountain, where a wooden fence blocked her path. There, she saw a beggar leaning against the fence. Only one foot was visible beneath his white clothes.

Inako stopped in front of the beggar. “Excuse me, sir, what happened to your left foot…?” she asked.

“I lost it during the Russo-Japanese War.”

Just as she had suspected, the beggar was a wounded soldier from the war, often referred to as a disabled soldier.

“If you’re from around here, then you must have been a soldier in the 4th Division, right?” (5)

“Yes, three years ago, during the attack on Hill 203, an enemy shell exploded right next to me…” (6)

Perhaps recalling wartime memories, the beggar’s lips trembled, his voice almost becoming hoarse. Seeing this, Inako took out a one sen coin from her pouch.

“Um, I only have this much, but…”

“…Thank you, kind young lady.”

Just as the beggar reached for the coin, he suddenly let out a strangled cry.

Inako was startled, not knowing what happened. She saw the beggar twist his body, and suddenly his supposedly missing left foot appeared through the fence. There was a centipede coiled around his ankle. Inako let out a squeak, frozen in place. The beggar completely ignored her and dashed down the pilgrimage path.

Beneath the fence next to where the beggar had stood, there was a hole just big enough for a foot.

“Did he stick his foot in here and pretend he lost it?”

“Of course he did, you idiot.”

Inako was peering into the hole when a face suddenly appeared on the other side. This time, it was her turn to scream and fall flat on her backside. The boy from earlier laughed at her and nimbly vaulted over the fence.

“The 4th Division had never been dispatched to Hill 203. You were completely tricked.”

“You’re that—”

“I was walking back after delivering the phonograph when I saw you listening that strange man. There happened to be a centipede on the ground, so I used it to get rid of him.”

Just thinking about the centipede gave Inako goosebumps. Ever since she was stung by one when she was little, she had been terrified of centipedes.

“Never mind that. I got rid of him for you, so you’d better thank me properly.” The boy’s mouth twisted. Inako looked down at the coin in her hand and gave it to him without hesitation.

“This is all I have.”

The boy recoiled. Perhaps her reaction had been unexpected. “Don’t take jokes so seriously.”

“This is my thank-you gift for you. Thank you for helping me when I almost fell for that con artist.”

“It doesn’t need to be that much money.”

“Consider it to an offering to the gods. I want to thank the mischievous god for helping me.”

Finally, the boy gave in, reluctantly accepting the coin. “Thank you, um…” he tilted his head.

“Me? I’m Momokawa Inako.”

“…Inago?”

“It’s Inako!” she kicked the boy’s shin.

“W-why did you suddenly kick me? That’s rude.”

“You were rude first. So? What’s your name?”

The boy was still teary-eyed from the pain of the kick, but he still managed a smug smile.

“Sakamoto Kihachi.”

Since they were going the same way home, Inako and the boy named Kihachi walked back along the pilgrimage route together.

Kihachi was slightly taller than Inako and fifteen years old, the same age as her. He grew up in a temple in Otsu and was working part-time at a relative’s shop while going to junior high school in Kyoto. Right now, he was on summer vacation.

They talked about the phonograph again, and when Inako heard that it was invented by someone named “Edison,” she asked, “Who’s that?” Kihachi stared at her in shock.

“You don’t know who Edison is? He’s the god of invention!”

“Huh, a god? What kind of blessings does he bestow? Where can I pray to him?”

“He’s not dead. He’s living a good life in America.”

Hearing this, Inako clasped her hands together in the direction of where she thought America was probably located.

“What are you doing?”

“I was thinking that if I prayed to him, maybe I could receive some blessings.”

“How about going to Otokoyama Hachiman-gu Shrine? Edison used bamboo from around there as filaments for his incandescent light bulbs, and he was very successful.”

“Fila… I don’t know what those are, but that sounds like it will bring good fortune. I’ll go there to pray next time.”

“Are you going to ‘wish to do better next time’?”

Kihachi’s wry smile made Inako’s face burn with embarrassment. It seemed he had heard all of her prayers.

“…If I mess up like today, I might wish for that.”

Inako was the second daughter of the Momokawa Sake Brewery, which made Japanese sake in Fushimi.

Her father, Jinemon, was a samurai-like man who had instilled etiquette and lessons into her from a very young age. Unlike her older sister, who was good at anything she tried, Inako was clumsy and made mistakes almost daily, often incurring her father’s wrath.

The worst incident occurred this morning.

Because an important guest was arriving in the evening, the whole household was busy cleaning the house thoroughly. Inako was getting rid of flies with a fly trap—a tool that utilized the stench of petroleum in a small metal basin to repel flies—when she suddenly remembered another task and left the trap in the hallway.

She hadn’t walked far when she heard a loud thud in the corridor. Worried, she rushed back and found her father with the basin on his head, his face dripping with oil and flies. He scowled at her.

“I got a severe scolding, then he told me, ‘You’ll just cause more trouble,’ and then I was kicked out.”

Next to her, Kihachi was laughing so hard that he couldn’t breathe. Inako was annoyed, but couldn’t argue with him.

The two descended the mountain and reached a backstreet. It was lined with souvenir shops with rows of Fushimi dolls, a local specialty, and several teahouses selling iced water and sweet sake.

Kihachi, seemingly hungry, took out a biscuit wrapped in paper and began to chew it slowly with his front teeth. He offered one to Inako, but she declined because of its unappealing appearance.

“Inago, did you pray at that altar because your family worships Akubi Daimyoujin?”

“No. My family’s altar is at Gozendani. I went to Akubi-san’s altar because…if the god acknowledges my devotion, he’ll send me a letter.”

Kihachi’s face tensed as he chewed his biscuit and moved slightly away from her.

“I see…hmm…I guess strange things can happen sometimes.”

He looked at her with pity in his eyes. His expression said, “This girl is crazy.”

“It’s true. When I was little, I saw a letter that Akubi-san sent to my sister.”

“I’ve only heard of believers from faraway places sending prayers to gods, not receiving letters from gods.”

But the gods really do send letters, Inako thought defiantly.

“Anyway, that’s the reason I worship Akubi-san. I also vent my frustrations to him. I’m slow, so I don’t have a lot of friends, which is why I have to confide in the gods. The money I offered is payment for chatting.”

“You really think the gods are listening to your complaints?”

“Believing is my only strength,” Inako said confidently. Kihachi let out a hmph and brushed the biscuit crumbs off his hands.

“Why did you visit Akubi-san’s altar, Sakamoto-san?”

“My family worships Akubi Daimyoujin. My grandmother was blessed by that god when she was undergoing ascetic training.”

It was said that by training under an “Odai-san” (7) at Inari Shrine, one could be blessed by the power of the gods. Although Kihachi’s family was Buddhist, his grandmother specially enshrined a shrine with a bunrei of Akubi Daimyoujin in their household altar. (8) “Never open it, or the god will escape,” she would tirelessly warn him. Thus, Kihachi and his brother called it the “Never-Open Shrine.”

“So you do worship properly!” Inako exclaimed, but Kihachi denied it with a laugh.

“It’s because the view there is beautiful. I often sit there and eat my bento.”

Inako changed her mind when she heard such disrespectful words. This boy is annoying after all, she thought.

At the Kyoto Electric Railway station, a white and brown tram resembling a rice cake was stopped there. When the tram was running, its bell rang, and it was known by the affectionate nickname of “Kyouden.”

Until a few years ago, there were boys acting as “safety officers” who would run in front of the trams and shout, “Tram’s coming! Pay attention!” to warn the people around them. But because this position was too dangerous and strenuous, it was abolished a few years ago, replaced by safety nets installed at the front and rear of the tram.

“Oh, right, since we’ve met, I’ll give this to you.”

Just as Kihachi was about to board the tram, he stopped and gave her an advertising flyer. It featured a picture of the Seven Lucky Gods and the name of a shop called “Hourai Buddhist Altar Shop.” There were also the words “We provide machine repair services,” an address, and, unusually, a telephone number.

“If you have any broken machines, come to us. It’s free for your first visit. Just bring some tasty biscuits.”

How could a Buddhist altar shop do machine repairs? Inako was puzzled, but then the tram bell rang.

“If you want to vent to someone, bring a coin. I’ll listen to you instead of some god you don’t even know exists or not,” Kihachi said jokingly, then jumped onto the already moving tram and left.

“Saying such disrespectful things again!” Inako glared angrily at the flyer, then noticed something written on its back. “Electrical Catalog…?”

Besides those words, there were also names like “Night-Repeller” and “Electric cannon,” and some explanatory text hastily scribbled next to them, along with some drawings. Some parts were also crossed out as though this flyer was used as a memo. Inako wondered if it was okay to accept this, but she couldn’t return it. Though she was concerned, she folded the flyer carefully and put it away.

After heading south from Inari Shrine, passing by Fujimori and approaching Sumizome, you would reach the entrance to the geisha quarter.

Although it was much smaller than the geisha quarters in Gion and Shimabara, it was rumored that Oishi Kuranosuke of Chushingura fame used to frequent it. (9) It should have been quiet during the day, but currently, a lively chorus could be heard.

“The world is collapsing, our compatriots are suffering, to save them, we’ll fight as one—”

“The Salvation Army is here!”

The Salvation Army marched along the brothel-lined street, wearing navy blue caps and uniforms embroidered with the words “Salvation Army.” Taiko drums and trumpets accompanied their song.

Since the emancipation law for prostitution was passed in Meiji 5 (1872), the buying and selling of women was explicitly prohibited. However, a considerable number of women still ended up in brothels due to poverty and unemployment.

The main force driving the anti-prostitution movement was the Salvation Army, a Protestant Christian organization.

Although called an “army,” their activities were peaceful. They were currently engaged in what was known as “field” missionary work, distributing literature such as magazines and leaflets to passersby.

Suddenly, Inako saw a familiar figure in front of her. Just as she was about to run up to him, a bald man stood in front of the group. “What are you doing here?” he shouted in a coarse, vulgar voice. She hurriedly hid behind some barrels piled under the eaves.

“Who do you think you are, messing with other people’s business?”

“We’re here to help women who have been mistreated.” The man at the front of the group was of Western physique, a size larger and more muscular than the men around him. “You’re sinners, like us. Without sincere repentance, you can’t become honest people. Please wake up.”

“I’m awake, alright. You spout this same nonsense every time.”

“The law allows prostitutes the freedom to abandon their profession, and no one may obstruct them. If they join us, they’ll receive training that will allow them to rehabilitate into society.”

A second-floor window of a brothel opened, and an ashtray came flying out, hitting the Salvation Army man on the head. His military cap was knocked off, revealing short, neatly cut hair. He seemed completely unfazed, his sharp gaze fixed on the second floor.

“I knew it, it is Kuga-san.”

The tall man was indeed Kuga Kengo, whom Inako knew well. Just as Kuga brushed the cigarette ash off his uniform, a group of laughing men emerged from the brothel one after the other, instantly surrounding the Salvation Army.

“Get them!” the men shouted and attacked the Army. The geisha quarter erupted into chaos.

Amidst the swirling dust, although the Army was being beaten by multiple men, they offered no true resistance. “Listen to our voices!” Kuga persisted in his appeals.

Just as Inako was worrying about Kuga, the bald man from earlier spotted her and glared menacingly. Inako, terrified, cowered like a frog caught in a snake’s gaze. He strode over. “Are you with them?” he barked and roughly grabbed her wrist. Inako let out a small shriek, and Kuga, noticing her, stopped shouting.

Initially stunned, Kuga quickly grasped the situation, and a terrifying expression appeared on his face. When he walked towards them, two men lunged at him.

Like a fierce deity, he easily grabbed their wrists and effortlessly flung them away.

The group recoiled in fear when they saw their comrades fly over their heads. Kuga rushed forward, kicking away the men surrounding him, and ran to Inako. He grabbed the shocked bald man by the collar with one hand and lifted him up.

Inako collapsed limply to the ground. “I didn’t expect to find you here. Stay here and don’t move,” Kuga said to her gently.

The bald man, thrown by Kuga, plunged head first into the barrels and got buried by them.

Kuga ran back to the group of men attacking his companions and grabbed them by their necks, flinging them away one by one. Then, like a train, he dragged the men who pounced on him as he charged wildly.

“No wonder his nickname is the ‘Kuga Train.’” (10)

During the Russo-Japanese War, Kuga distinguished himself in fierce battles at Nanshan and Fengtian. Because he was fearless even against enemy machine guns, charging forward relentlessly, people added the word “train” to his surname, which was how the nickname “Kuga Train” came to be.

No one in the geisha quarter could stop Kuga anymore. The troublemaking gang scattered and fled back to the brothel. Kuga, gradually calming down, exchanged a few words with his companions. The Salvation Army, having regrouped, left him behind and departed the area.

“Inako-kun, are you alright?”

Kuga came to her after he watched the Salvation Army leave, straightened his military cap, and dusted off his uniform. His anger had completely dissipated, replaced by his usual serious expression.

“Thanks to you, Kuga-san. You saved me.”

“As long as you’re unharmed. It’s not convenient to talk here, so let’s leave this place.”

Urged on by Kuga, the two left the geisha quarter. Walking south, they soon reached the bridge spanning the Sumizome Dam. Just below them, they could see steel cables suspending a boat on a cart.

“That ashtray hit you in the head just now? Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing, but what I did afterward was unforgivable. Using force to subdue people isn’t how missionaries should operate.”

“That’s true, but thanks to that, I was saved.”

“Even so. Charging ahead without thinking is an old bad habit of mine.”

“By the way, if you have time, come to my house. I want to thank you.”

Kuga hesitated at Inako’s invitation. “Ah, well…” he looked awkward.

“Onee-chan should be at home right now.”

“It’s because she’s home that I don’t want to go,” Kuga muttered. They’re still like that, Inako frowned.

“Don’t worry about it. Let’s go drink some of that delicious tea my sister makes.”

Kuga’s eyebrows twitched, but he reluctantly followed Inako, who was already taking small steps in the direction of her house.

|| Index || Next

“This is the beginning of the twentieth century.”

How many people in the Meiji era felt the arrival of a new century when they heard those words?

The first year of the twentieth century was 1901 in the Western calendar. In the Meiji era, it was the thirty-fourth year, which was no turning point for Japan. Thirty years had passed since the Meiji Restoration, and topknots and katanas had finally become a thing of the past. It can be said that Western civilization had made great strides, but for Japanese people who had long been accustomed to era names, the term “twentieth century” was still unfamiliar.

But it was precisely because it was unfamiliar that "twentieth century" had such a fashionable ring to it.

Just like when the Murai Brothers Company started selling cigarettes called “Twentieth Century,” the merchants all started using it as an advertising slogan. “Twentieth century” was seen everywhere from store banners to advertisements.

They didn’t know what the twentieth century was. But it was most certainly an auspicious thing because all the important people were talking about it, and it was used as a sales pitch. It was the Japanese spirit to go along with auspicious things.

Just as slapping a shaven head made the sound of modernity, when commoners tried saying “twentieth century” out loud, they felt as if they had been completely transformed into people of a new era. (1)

The term “twentieth century” was new. New words had authority. If you showered someone who clung to old ideas with the words “in the coming twentieth century,” you would be able to unilaterally brand them as “outdated.” It was the very return of the Imperial standard that boasted tremendous power during the Boshin War.

As the young people marched forward carrying the flag of the twentieth century and preaching new ideas such as naturalism and women’s liberation, the people of the old era cheered them on with “Oi, twentieth century!”

It was the first New Year of the twentieth century. In a small Buddhist temple named Zenshokuji located in Otsu, Goshu-Omi Province, rice cakes were busily being made as offerings to the principal deity, and New Year's sake and osechi were being served to visiting followers, just like any other New Year. There was not a single trace of the twentieth century there.

The son of the head priest, Sakamoto Kihachi, was turning nine this year. After finishing his duties, he was praying in front of the home shrine in the back room when his older brother, Seiroku, came in with a grin on his face.

“Oi, twentieth century. What are you doing so enthusiastically?”

“I was giving the New Year’s greetings to the ancestors,” Kihachi answered, turning towards Seiroku and tilting his head. “I’ve been wondering about it for a while, but what is this twentieth century?”

“Oh, you’re interested?”

Seiroku sat down next to him while shivering from the cold in his large padded kimono. He would be eighteen next month, but his smiling face was dignified yet somewhat childish.

“Unlike the Western calendar, a century is counted as a century every hundred years. It’s been 1900 years since the birth of Jesus Christ, so the twentieth century is starting this year.”

“Why do we have such a complicated way of counting even though we got the Western calendar?”

“Who knows? Well, if it’s a long period of time, you can describe that era concisely. If it’s a century with a lot of wars, you can call it the ‘Century of War,’ or if it’s a century with a lot of industrial development, you can call it the ‘Century of Industry.’”

“So what kind of century will the twentieth century be?”

“I’ve got something good to show you.” Seiroku then took out a newspaper clipping from his pocket and handed it to Kihachi. “Read this. It’s an article that predicts what kind of era the twentieth century will be.”

The newspaper contained an article entitled “Prophecies of the Twentieth Century.”

There were twenty-three prophecies in total, centering on technological developments, such as, “Cordless telephones will be developed, making it possible to call from New York to Tokyo,” and “Railways with air conditioning and heating will enable travel between Tokyo and Kobe within two and a half hours.”

“This prophecy says that electricity will replace firewood and coal as fuel, but what does that mean?”

“Electricity will power everything. Not just telephones, but also locomotives, temperature control devices, and cameras.”

Electricity.

Just like the twentieth century, that was also something Kihachi wasn’t familiar with.

When he heard the word electricity, he thought of electric lights, but those weren’t something ordinary people could easily afford. Oil lamps were used in this house. So when he went with Seiroku to see the electric lights that were lit in Otsu for the first time four years ago, he was shocked to see how much brighter their lights were than lamps or candles.

This was the age when that profoundly mysterious, smokeless light drove machines.

“I see, so the twentieth century is the Century of Electricity.”

Seiroku looked dumbfounded at Kihachi’s words, but then he grinned, showing his white teeth. “You’re right. The twentieth century is the Century of Electricity.”

Feeling a stirring in his chest, Kihachi took out a blank folding book from the chest of drawers in the back room.

“I’ll try writing predictions for the twentieth century too.”

Kihachi’s clumsy handwriting was engraved in pencil into the book, which would normally contain sutras, prayers, and other sacred texts. When he finally finished, Seiroku peered inside.

“‘Number 1: Night-Repeller: Garments made of electric lights. You can walk around at night even without a lantern.’”

After Seiroku urged him to write more, Kihachi added two more items in a row.

“‘Number 2: Spirit camera: Photographing the spirits of ancestors and family members manifested by electric lights. Number 3: Electric cannon. …Allows humans to move at the speed of lightning.”

Seiroku collapsed into laughter after reading what he wrote. “Stop laughing at me,” Kihachi pouted and tried to hide the book, but Seiroku snatched it from him before he could.

“Wait. Since you wrote all that, I’ll give this book of predictions a name.”

Though no one asked for it, Seiroku quickly grinded some ink and hmmed in thought.

“From what I can read from these predictions, it seems you’ve become interested in electricity...alright, I got it.”

With that, he handed Kihachi the folding book with something scribbled on the cover.

Electrical Catalog.

That was the name of Kihachi’s book of predictions.

“From now on, write your electricity-related predictions here. Since it’s the twentieth century, write twenty.”

The year was Meiji 36 (1903). Two years have passed since the brothers’ exchange.

While enduring the humidity of early summer, Kihachi was crouching down in the storehouse.

The doors of the storehouse were closed firmly, and the inside was musty and deathly silent. In the darkness, Boys’ May Festival dolls, old furniture, and Buddhist items seemed like lurking, silent monsters about to pounce on him.

Kihachi squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned against the wall, breathing raggedly. Just then, he heard the bar on the doors lifting and jumped up. The double doors swung open, and the bright daylight dazzled him.

“Oi, Twentieth Century! What are doing, locking yourself up in this gloomy place?” a self-assured voice rang out. Kihachi opened his eyes a crack and found Seiroku standing imposingly at the storehouse’s entrance.

“Nii-chan, why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be at the store?”

“I was given a holiday, so I came home. Were you locked up in the storehouse again?”

“...Dad yelled at me today because I was spacing out during Otsutome.” (2)

“That old man, it’s not like the tolerant Amida-sama would get mad at something like that.” (3)

“You’re one to talk. You don’t even believe in Paradise or Buddha.”

“My principle is not believing what I can’t see with my own eyes,” Seiroku said, laughing uproariously.

Though Seiroku grew up in a Buddhist temple, he did not believe in the gods or Buddhas at all. For that reason, he constantly clashed with their father and chief priest of Zenshoku-ji, Kumagorou—priest name Shaku Enki. After graduating from a commercial school in Otsu, he went to live and work at their uncle’s Buddhist altar store in Kyoto.

Since Seiroku only visited home once in a while, it had in fact been a few months since the brothers last saw each other.

"Anyways, it’s unusual for you to space out during Service.”

“...I was wondering what Sukhāvatī is like.” (4)

Zenshoku-ji mainly worshipped Amida Nyorai, who was said to save people with infinite light, no matter where or when, even in the darkness of ignorance. The land he created was called the Pure Land of Sukhāvatī.

It was a paradise said to be to the west of this world, on the other side of one hundred thousand million Buddha-lands. It was said to be a world without suffering, filled with beautiful flowers and music, where birds sang like celestial maidens, and where the light of Amida Nyorai enveloped all.

The main hall, where the Buddha was enshrined, was resplendent and magnificent with its gold decorations, supposedly to represent the Pure Land. It was part of Kihachi’s daily routine to perform Service with Enki in the mornings and evenings, but as he stared at the main hall this morning, he found himself daydreaming about the Pure Land and ended up making a mistake in his recitation of the scriptures.

Suddenly, Seiroku spotted the object Kihachi was clutching to his chest and nimbly pulled it out.

“I was wondering what you were hugging so preciously. It’s the Electrical Catalog.”

Kihachi tried to get it back, but Seiroku lightly evaded him as he opened the notebook, then started cackling.

“Number 6. Electric mover: Delivering items automatically by hanging items from an electric line.”

But he stopped laughing when he turned the page. He knitted his brows, looking bored, and thrusted the Electrical Catalog back to Kihachi.

“That’s it? You haven’t even filled up half the notebook.”

“I don’t know anything about electricity at all,” Kihachi pouted. “It’s the same with the Pure Land. I can’t understand things I haven’t seen, no matter how much I think about them.”

“Then this will be perfect,” Seiroku’s expression brightened for some reason. He held out his hand to the light shining in from the outside. “I’m taking you to the Pure Land.”

“...To where?”

“The Pure Land! If you don’t understand something, then you should see it with your own eyes.”

“Are we going to commit double suicide?”

“Dummy, do you really think we’re going to the other side of the one hundred thousand million Buddha-lands in the west? It’s still in the west, but it’ll take around two hours by train to get there.”

“The Pure Land can’t be that close. Are you taking me to see a play or something...” Kihachi, clutching his head, remembered something he must not forget and looked up, his face pale. “Have you told Dad yet?”

“Not at all. We’re sneaking out of the house. And I didn’t even tell him I’m back.”

“No, no, he’s definitely going to yell at me later.”

“You won’t die, you’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Even so, Kihachi hesitated. “We’re going now,” Seiroku dragged him off. “Everything looks dark when you’re locked up in a storehouse like this.”

Kihachi was disoriented by the strong sunlight as soon as he stepped outside. At some point, the trees in the garden had become covered in new green leaves. Before he knew it, summer had already begun outside in earnest.

“If we’re going out without telling anyone, then we should have gone to O-Ise-san,” (5) Kihachi muttered as he sat on the hard seats of the train. Next to him, Seiroku laughed. “Like a nukemairi?”

In the past, when mass pilgrimages to Ise Grand Shrine were popular among the masses, apprentices and maids would sneak out of their houses to visit the shrine. This was called nukemairi. Those who returned from nukemairi were said to have received divine blessings for business prosperity, so they weren’t punished by their masters.

“Dad might forgive us if we are on a nukemairi. Anyways, the place you’re taking to me to is like a temple festival street stall, right? There’s nothing surprising about that kind of place.”

“Then where should I take you to surprise you?”

Kihachi thought about it for a little bit. A postcard with a picture of a French townscape he once saw came to mind.

The alabaster and magnificent Arc de Triomphe, the resplendently decorated Palace of Versailles, and the Eiffel Tower which pointed upwards to the sky. That foreign scenery was completely different from anything in Japan. It didn’t even seem like a place that existed in this world.

“Got it. I’ll be surprised if you took me to France.”

Kihachi assumed that Seiroku would chuckle and say he couldn’t do that, but on the contrary, Seiroku’s expression turned more and more triumphant.

“Well then, that works out perfectly.”

A few hours later, Kihachi was in France.

A giant gate, painted white and resembling the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, rose before his dazed eyes.

He was quite sure that just a few minutes ago, he had gotten off the train at Umeda Station in Osaka and walked to Tennou-ji. “Well? Are you surprised now?” Seiroku, standing next to him, puffed out his chest. “This is the venue of the Fifth National Industrial Exhibition.”

The National Industrial Exhibitions were Japanese “expos” that were staged five times since the Meiji era began.

Since Japan was opened to the world, the nation was absorbing the culture and technology of the Western great powers in an effort to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with them and developing the ability to eventually become a leading nation. However, compared to the Western nations, there were still things that hadn’t yet been achieved in Japan.

One of those things was holding an international exposition. “International expos” was the common name for them.

The Western nations all held international expos for the goal of showcasing the newest technologies and promoting industries, but it was an impossible task for Japan, which only possessed immature technologies, to hold an international expo. So, it was proposed that Japan would hold its own expo instead. This was the National Industrial Exhibition.

As the exhibitions were increased, so were the positive reviews. And so this year, in Meiji 36 (1903), the fifth National Industrial Exhibition, said to be the grandest yet, was held in Tennou-ji, Osaka.

Kihachi would only know all this afterwards. At this time, he felt as if he had been spirited away to an unfamiliar world.

After Seiroku took out the tickets he had bought in advance, they passed through the gate and emerged onto an avenue with flower beds and fountains arranged down the middle. The long avenue was packed with visitors, and it was lined on both sides with elaborately decorated white Western-style houses.

“These buildings seem to be the exhibition halls. Let’s go to the Machinery Pavilion first.”

As soon as they entered the Machinery Pavilion, their ears were assailed by a thunderous roar that sounded like monster snores. The pungent smell of metal and oil made it hard to breathe, and Kihachi saw with his own eyes rows of gleaming black machines producing soap and tobacco.

The machines here all seemed to be powered by electricity. Electric fans relieved the heat inside, and Kihachi, enjoying the breeze, marveled at the power of electricity powering the various machines.

He quickly grew accustomed to the machines. But in the Wonder Pavilion, which they visited next, he found even more astonishing things.

The exhibits were all ghastly and extraordinary. During the wireless telegraph demonstration, Kihachi was terrified by the invisible radio waves; and during the X-ray demonstration, he was so frightened by the light that could penetrate human skin and reveal bones that he couldn’t even stand up straight.

“That’s enough, I’m scared. Let’s go home,” Kihachi grumbled.

“Then this will be our last stop,” Seiroku said, and led him to the adjacent theater.

The audience was buzzing amongst themselves in the darkened seats. Kihachi was uneasy, wondering if something was about to happen. Just then, the stage lights came on, and a Western woman in a white dress began to dance to music.

The dancing woman, her white skirts unfurling like wings, was illuminated by colorful lights, making the skirts appear to shift and change colors. This beautiful dance, reminiscent of fluttering butterflies or flowers, was the electric fire dance performed by the actress Carmencella. (6) Before he knew it, Kihachi was entranced.

“That dance was incredible! I want to see it again!”

Even after the performance, Kihachi was eager for more. “I don’t have that much money,” Seiroku said, looking unusually troubled. He carried Kihachi out of the theater. By then, Kihachi’s fear had completely transformed into interest.

At the Canadian pavilion, canned fruit and boxes of sweets were stacked almost to the ceiling.

Kihachi looked at the confectionery tower with longing. Seiroku, smiling wryly, bought him a jar of cookies tied with a red ribbon. Kihachi quickly grabbed a cookie and shoved it in his mouth. The crisp texture and an incredible sweetness filled his mouth.

The amusement in which wooden horses spun around in a circle—called a carousel—was also quite fun. Seiroku and Kihachi sat on the horses, laughing innocently with the children and adults around them.

The two went on to tour the entire expo, finally ascending the observation deck of the Obayashi Tower.

From there, they could not only see the panoramic view of the entire venue bathed in the setting sun, but also the cityscape of Osaka with its towering factory chimneys, and even the city of Minoo in the north.

“The view is amazing. I wonder if we can even see Kyoto from here.”

“It is beautiful, but the ‘box’ we rode up in was scary.”

The Obayashi Tower was fifty meters tall. To get to the observation deck, one must use a conveyance called an “elevator” in the West. Kihachi was amazed by its convenience.

“Like the machines on display, that is powered by electricity.”

“Electricity really is amazing. It can even move people to a place this high.”

“But Japanese technology is still undeveloped. It’s still a far cry from the Paris Expo three years ago.”

Seiroku was referring to the Paris Expo held in Meiji 33 (1900). The moving walkways that carried people and the hundred-meter-tall Ferris wheel were all hot topics.

“Ah, I really want to go to Paris,” Seiroku sighed as he gazed at the view before him. “I want to climb the Eiffel Tower just once.”

“You still love going up to high places, huh, Nii-chan.”

In the twilight sky, the moon hung faintly in the corner. Kihachi recalled the first moving picture he had ever seen in his life. It was called A Trip to the Moon. It was based on a novel by the French author Jules Verne and told the story of a group of Westerners launched to the moon in a giant cannonball.

“There wasn’t a rabbit pounding mochi on the moon in that moving picture.”

“What, don’t tell me you still believe in that?”

“You don’t believe in things like that at all. You even said that the Pure Land doesn’t exist.”

“I’ve told you many times that I don’t believe in anything I can’t see with my own eyes.”

“…Even the Pure Land? Then if it doesn’t exist, where do people go when they die?”

Seiroku placed his hand on the slightly uneasy Kihachi’s head. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “But after I die, I plan on going to the moon. The moon is higher than anywhere on Earth. I want to see with my own eyes if there really is a rabbit pounding mochi.”

He smiled his usual confident smile as he spoke, but it felt more solemn than usual. The sun was already setting, and the sky was dyed a deep, dark red. Night was about to fall.

The two descended from the tower and headed towards the gate, preparing to go home. The closing bell rang, and visitors emerging from the various pavilions gathered on the main road. Kihachi felt nervous amidst the clamor of this unknown land and wanted to go home as soon as possible, but Seiroku walked leisurely beside him.

As if to further unsettle the already anxious Kihachi, Seiroku suddenly stopped.

“Sorry, I need to go to the restroom.”

Kihachi was about to make a noise of protest, but not wanting his brother to think he was a coward, he nodded reluctantly. “I’ll be back in five minutes,” Seiroku said, and left.

Kihachi sat down on a bench by the fountain and opened the jar Seiroku bought for him at the Canadian pavilion.

The red ribbon tied to the jar had gone missing at some point, which he found a shame, but his bad mood vanished instantly after eating the sweet cookies. Five minutes passed quickly as he chewed on the precious cookies little by little.

“The restroom must be pretty crowded.”

The cookies were all gone. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, then thirty, forty minutes. Kihachi, waiting for so long, began to realize that something wasn’t right. He stood up from the bench and looked around, but there were no familiar faces in the crowd.

The sun had now completely set. The chalk-white buildings gradually turned a dim, deep blue. Kihachi felt a chill run down his spine. He couldn’t calm his mind down.

“Nii-chan!” he shouted those words with all his strength, but received no response. His anxiety only intensified. The thought of being stuck in this unfamiliar place at night, not knowing how to get home, made his teeth chatter. Tears streamed down his face.

Will I never be able to go home again? I don’t want that. I don’t care if Dad beats me as long as I can go home safely.

A wave of fear washed over him, as though something was about to attack him in the darkness. Kihachi crouched down on the ground, tears streaming down his face, desperately chanting, “Namu Amida Butsu, Namu Amida Butsu.” (7)

O-Ise-san, Amida-sama, anyone will do.

“Somebody, please blow away this darkness.”