1
The Shrine
I was traveling alone, no destination in mind. One afternoon, I found myself walking on a mountain road.
It was the first road up the mountainside after the highway; I liked how it felt to be walking there, hidden under its lush canopy of green.
When I first set out along the road, I’d been gazing down at the lovely patterns formed by the play of shadow and light.
My heart was light then; I felt like someone starting out on a walk.
Looking at the map, I saw that the road was marked as a hiking trail, and that it would eventually rejoin the highway.
I strolled along, feeling fine, under an afternoon sun so warm it seemed like spring.
But the road was unexpectedly difficult, with lots of steep slopes.
I kept walking, throwing my heart into the task, as the sun slowly began to sink; by the time I noticed the evening star it was already gleaming in the brilliant indigo sky, its light as clear as a jewel’s. To the west, in a sky still tinted with traces of pink, the long, thin, late-autumn clouds, dyed in soft colors, were gradually being swallowed up by the darkness. The moon had risen. It was a small sliver of a moon, no wider than a fingernail.
“If I keep going at this rate,” I muttered to myself, “who knows when I’ll reach the town.”
I had been walking along in silence for so long, I had almost forgotten what my own voice sounded like. My knees were tired; my toes were beginning to ache.
“Good thing I went with the hotel. I’d be too late for dinner at an inn.”
I thought about calling ahead, but I was so deep in the mountains that I couldn’t use my cell phone. All of a sudden, I felt hungry. It wouldn’t be that much longer until I arrived at the small town where I had reserved a room. As soon as I get there, I’ll go and have a hot meal, I thought, slightly quickening my pace.
Suddenly, just as I came to a bend in the road that led back into a slightly more remote part of the mountain, beyond the reach of the streetlights, I was overcome by an extremely unpleasant sensation. I had the illusion that space itself had bent gelatinously out of shape, so that no matter how long I walked, I would never make any progress.
I’ve never had any sort of supernatural powers. But at a certain point I learned to sense things, even if only faintly, that my eyes can’t see.
I’m a woman. Once, just once, I went out with another woman. She could see things other people couldn’t. Maybe it rubbed off on me, or maybe being with her sharpened an instinct that I had always had, I don’t know. All I know is that sometime after we started living together, I began to notice when there was something odd in the air.
A few years ago, during a car trip, on a mountain road just like this one, she and I parted forever. That day I was driving. If we aren’t going back to the same house, I’d rather travel on my own for a while before I return, so just let me out here, she begged. And she meant it. Now I know why you packed so much, I said. I realized that she had never intended to go home with me; she had made up her mind even before we left. For me to move out of her apartment was, in her eyes, a betrayal even more serious than I had imagined. I tried and tried to make her change her mind, but she remained firm. She was so determined I actually thought she might kill me if I didn’t do what she wanted.
She said:
I really, really don’t want to be there when you leave. I’ll take my time going home; you go on ahead. Just have your things out by the time I get back.
So that’s what I did. Even though it was her car.
The look on her face when we said goodbye. Her lonely eyes, the way her hair hung down over her face. The beige of her coat reflected forever in the rearview mirror. It looked as if she were about to be swallowed by the green that engulfed the mountain. She kept waving, forever. I had the feeling that she would always be there waiting for me.
Things that don’t matter at all
The Shrine
I was traveling alone, no destination in mind. One afternoon, I found myself walking on a mountain road.
It was the first road up the mountainside after the highway; I liked how it felt to be walking there, hidden under its lush canopy of green.
When I first set out along the road, I’d been gazing down at the lovely patterns formed by the play of shadow and light.
My heart was light then; I felt like someone starting out on a walk.
Looking at the map, I saw that the road was marked as a hiking trail, and that it would eventually rejoin the highway.
I strolled along, feeling fine, under an afternoon sun so warm it seemed like spring.
But the road was unexpectedly difficult, with lots of steep slopes.
I kept walking, throwing my heart into the task, as the sun slowly began to sink; by the time I noticed the evening star it was already gleaming in the brilliant indigo sky, its light as clear as a jewel’s. To the west, in a sky still tinted with traces of pink, the long, thin, late-autumn clouds, dyed in soft colors, were gradually being swallowed up by the darkness. The moon had risen. It was a small sliver of a moon, no wider than a fingernail.
“If I keep going at this rate,” I muttered to myself, “who knows when I’ll reach the town.”
I had been walking along in silence for so long, I had almost forgotten what my own voice sounded like. My knees were tired; my toes were beginning to ache.
“Good thing I went with the hotel. I’d be too late for dinner at an inn.”
I thought about calling ahead, but I was so deep in the mountains that I couldn’t use my cell phone. All of a sudden, I felt hungry. It wouldn’t be that much longer until I arrived at the small town where I had reserved a room. As soon as I get there, I’ll go and have a hot meal, I thought, slightly quickening my pace.
Suddenly, just as I came to a bend in the road that led back into a slightly more remote part of the mountain, beyond the reach of the streetlights, I was overcome by an extremely unpleasant sensation. I had the illusion that space itself had bent gelatinously out of shape, so that no matter how long I walked, I would never make any progress.
I’ve never had any sort of supernatural powers. But at a certain point I learned to sense things, even if only faintly, that my eyes can’t see.
I’m a woman. Once, just once, I went out with another woman. She could see things other people couldn’t. Maybe it rubbed off on me, or maybe being with her sharpened an instinct that I had always had, I don’t know. All I know is that sometime after we started living together, I began to notice when there was something odd in the air.
A few years ago, during a car trip, on a mountain road just like this one, she and I parted forever. That day I was driving. If we aren’t going back to the same house, I’d rather travel on my own for a while before I return, so just let me out here, she begged. And she meant it. Now I know why you packed so much, I said. I realized that she had never intended to go home with me; she had made up her mind even before we left. For me to move out of her apartment was, in her eyes, a betrayal even more serious than I had imagined. I tried and tried to make her change her mind, but she remained firm. She was so determined I actually thought she might kill me if I didn’t do what she wanted.
She said:
I really, really don’t want to be there when you leave. I’ll take my time going home; you go on ahead. Just have your things out by the time I get back.
So that’s what I did. Even though it was her car.
The look on her face when we said goodbye. Her lonely eyes, the way her hair hung down over her face. The beige of her coat reflected forever in the rearview mirror. It looked as if she were about to be swallowed by the green that engulfed the mountain. She kept waving, forever. I had the feeling that she would always be there waiting for me.
Things that don’t matter at all
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