A Natural History of Hell: Stories by Jeffrey Ford

spring, and crouched down again. Michi moved closer to him. A breeze blew through the pines, a cricket sang in the dark.
    “Was there any inspiration?” he asked.
    “I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s time for you to tell me your story of autumn.” She drew closer to him, and he backed up a step.
    “I don’t tell stories,” he said.
    “As brief as you want, but something,” she said and smiled.
    He closed his eyes and said, “Okay. The autumn I was seventeen, I worked on one of the fishing boats out of Numazu. We were out for horse mackerel. On one journey we were struck by a rogue wave, a giant that popped up out of nowhere. I was on deck when it hit, and we were swamped. I managed to grab a rope, and it took all my strength not to be drawn overboard, the water was so cold and powerful. I was sure I would die. Two men did get swept away and were never found. That’s my natural history of autumn.”
    She moved forward and put her arms around him. They kissed. He drew his head back and whispered in her ear, “When I returned to shore that autumn, I quit fishing.” She laughed and rested her head on his shoulder.
    They dined by candlelight, in their robes, in the alcove off the main room of the farmhouse. Grandmother Chinatsu served, and Ono followed a step behind, so that every time she leaned forward to put a platter on the table, there was the dog’s leering face, tongue drooping. The main course was thin slices of raw mackerel with grated ginger and chopped scallions. They drank sake. Michi remarked on the appearance of the mackerel after Riku’s story.
    “Most definitely a sign,” he said.
    They discussed the things they each saw and heard at the spring as the sake bottle emptied. It was well past midnight when the candle burned out and they went down the hall to his room.
    Three hours later, Michi woke in the dark, still a little woozy from the sake. Riku woke when she sat up on the edge of the bed.
    “Are you alright?” he asked.
    “I have to use the toilet.” She got off the bed and lifted her robe from the mat. Slipping into it, she crossed the room. When she slid back the panel, a dim light entered. A lantern hanging in the center of the hallway ceiling bathed the corridor in a dull glow. Michi left the panel open and headed up the hallway. Riku lay back and immediately dozed off. It seemed only a minute to him before Michi was back, shaking him by the shoulder to wake up. She’d left the panel open and he could see her face. Her eyes were wide, the muscles of her jaw tense, a vein visibly throbbing behind the pale skin of her forehead. She was breathing rapidly, and he could feel the vibration of her heartbeat.
    “Get me out of here,” she said in a harsh whisper.
    “What’s wrong?” he said and moved quickly to the edge of the bed. She kneeled on the mattress next to him and grabbed his arm tightly with both hands.
    “We’ve got to leave,” she said.
    He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn’t perfect anymore. He carefully removed his arm from her grip and checked his watch. “It’s three a.m.,” he said. “You want to leave?”
    “I demand you take me out of this place, now.”
    “What happened?” he asked.
    “Either you take me now or I’ll leave on foot.”
    He gave a long sigh and stood up. “I’ll be ready in a minute,” he said. She went across the corridor to her room and gathered her things together.
    When they met in the hallway, bags in hand, he asked her, “Do you think I should let Grandmother Chinatsu know we’re leaving?”
    “Definitely not,” she said, on the verge of tears. She grabbed him with her free hand and dragged him by the shirtsleeve down the hallway. As they reached the main room of the house, she stopped and looked warily around. “Was it the dog?” he whispered. The coast was apparently clear, for she then dragged him outside, down the porch steps, to the silver car.
    “Get in,” he said. “I have to put the