Strange Light Afar by Rui Umezawa

and the churning in my belly is to drink more, but relief fades as soon as it appears. I vomit more times than I can count.
    â€œLeave me be!”
    I flail my arms as Oto’s hands flutter about me. She implores me to bathe, then to sleep. I seek oblivion while terrified of it. Fear hands me the sake cup, which I throw at her. It narrowly misses her head and shatters when it strikes the pillar behind her.
    She leaves with a remarkable calmness and does not return for a long time. I cannot eat or sleep so instead thrash about in a pool of anger and self-pity.
    When Oto returns to the chamber, there are two imperial guards with her.
    â€œI think it would be best if you leave,” she says firmly. “My father allowed me your company only to please me, which you are no longer able to do.”
    I sneer. “But you will be all alone again.”
    â€œAnd I shall be the better for it. I for one do not mind being secluded among the pleasures of this palace. Besides, someone else will come along soon enough. You do understand that, don’t you?”
    She turns her gaze to the floor, then waves over a guard who is holding a silver tray. On it sits a lacquer box tied with braided gold rope.
    The hardness in her voice is suddenly gone.
    â€œDo not think ill of me. I truly am very fond of you. Please permit me the honor of presenting you with this gift.”
    I fidget nervously, not knowing where to put my hands. She ignores this and gives me the box.
    â€œShould you decide you can enjoy what this palace has to offer in a civilized manner, bring this back to me unopened. I shall be more than pleased to see you return. If you choose to stay away, however, I shall understand. Open this gift then to remember me by.”
    I want to smash the box on the floor. But I notice one of the guards firmly grasp his sword and know to still myself.
    She turns and walks away. I hear faint music floating from down the hallway.
    The turtle does not offer me any words of comfort on the return journey. I know better than to expect it. The shore is barren when we break the surface of the water. The turtle drops me off on the warm sand before disappearing back into the depths. The sea breeze is as gentle as the sky is blue. So blue.
    A few children scatter about the huts as I walk back into the village, but they are not the same boys who had been tormenting the turtle a few days earlier. A woman draping wet laundry over a bamboo pole nods at me politely but cautiously. I do not recognize her. She must be visiting one of my neighbors.
    I loudly announce my return before crossing my threshold. Our hut is barren, and a few moments pass before I notice that everything is covered in dust. Streams of cobweb hang from the corner of the ceiling, swaying in the draft.
    I call out to my mother  — once, then three times more. Her absence is at once annoying and unnerving.
    I leave the hut and walk back to the woman who has just hung her last piece of laundry. She wrinkles her nose. The wind has picked up.
    â€œSorry to disturb you, but have you seen the woman who lives in that hut over there?”
    â€œNo one lives there.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo one has lived there since Mrs. Urashima  — ”
    â€œThat’s my mother. Where did she go?”
    The woman arches her brow. “You must be mistaking her for someone else. Mrs. Urashima had no family. Her husband was killed in a storm and her only son  — ”
    â€œThat’s me! I’m her son! Where is my mother?”
    The woman seems genuinely confused now. She takes a few cautious steps backwards.
    â€œShe’s dead,” she offers carefully.
    The words fall to the ground like anvils. I feel my knees give but somehow manage to remain standing. Dizziness returns, muddled with anger and confusion. This must show in my face. The woman retreats a few more steps.
    â€œI tell you there’s some mistake,” she assures me. “Mrs.