where the voice comes from, she sees a young girl, one of the high school students. She walks to the side of the building and the girl looks around nervously before speaking.
“They took Mr. Yamai away last night.”
“Who?” she asks, although she doesn’t need to.
“Some administrators,” the young girl says. “I’m not sure who.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, but some people said that he asked for rubber boots for the laundry workers.”
“He had told me he wanted them. The skin on the workers’ feet was tearing from the water they were always standing in.”
Their eyes meet, then break away.
“It’s not because of the boots,” she tells the girl. “They don’t like him and his stories; his mind scares them. Thank you for telling me. I have to go now.”
The young girl grabs her by the arm.
“Here.”
The girl holds out her hand and in it there is a clean bandage.
“I saw Mr. Yamai sneak you an extra one each morning.” The girl blushes.
“Thank you.” She stuffs the extra bandage in her pocket and hurries away.
ARTIFACT Number 0438
The large bell atop the Hill of Light
She is shaken from her sleep.
“Miss Fuji. Miss Fuji.”
She turns over on her left side, away from the person who is shaking her, thinking it is one of the patients, wanting some medicine.
“Miss Fuji.”
When she opens her eyes, she is surprised to see Miss Min leaning over her.
“Miss Min, what is it?”
There are others awake in the room.
“It is Mr. Yamai. Mr. Yamai has died, Miss Fuji.”
“But . . .” And she stops there.
She goes into the washroom, throws water on her face, and even when she dries off, it feels as if it is still there. While brushing her teeth, she turns and sees several of her roommates near her. She spits into the sink. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
They give her quick apologetic bows and go back down the hallway. She rinses her mouth, throws more water on her face, runs it through her short hair, more on her face and through her hair. She takes a deep breath, releases it slowly, like she used to do before beginning her dives, thinks of the way Mr. Yamai read that night less than two months ago, the way he held the book with such care, such sacredness. Not sure why, but a line from Yasunari Kawabata’s
Snow Country
comes to mind: “Moths, how many kinds he could not tell, dotted the screen, floating on the clear moonlight.”
Back down the hallway, carrying the kerosene lantern low, she passes other rooms with people still sleeping. Quickly, she changes her clothes, leaves the building with Miss Min. Mr. Shirayama is outside with another dozen patients.
There is no moon; she has no idea if it is yet to come up or has already set. She has no idea of the time. It could be midnight as easily as five in the morning. So quiet as they walk away from the buildings, down toward the Inland Sea, then turning right before they get to it, heading up the small, winding path leading to the top of the Hill of Light. She follows, knowing where they are going but not sure why. It takes about three minutes to get atop the hill and there, in the clearing, is the large bell—the Bell of Blessing.
“Miss Fuji, do you want to get us started?”
Her eyes pass over everybody; she hesitates before approaching the bell, which towers over her, over the hill, the island. She grabs the wooden pole hanging from two large chains, holds on to it for a while before throwing it forward against the giant bell, the sound exploding through the night, devouring the whole country’s sleep. And she does it again and again, giving the bell little time to finish before making it bellow out over the Inland Sea. Again and again, she throws the pole at the bell, hoping that the sound reaches Shodo Island, wakes up every last person over there. Wakes them and doesn’t let them back to sleep until she herself goes to sleep. She continues pushing the pole into the bell until she no longer can. Covered in sweat,
“They took Mr. Yamai away last night.”
“Who?” she asks, although she doesn’t need to.
“Some administrators,” the young girl says. “I’m not sure who.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure, but some people said that he asked for rubber boots for the laundry workers.”
“He had told me he wanted them. The skin on the workers’ feet was tearing from the water they were always standing in.”
Their eyes meet, then break away.
“It’s not because of the boots,” she tells the girl. “They don’t like him and his stories; his mind scares them. Thank you for telling me. I have to go now.”
The young girl grabs her by the arm.
“Here.”
The girl holds out her hand and in it there is a clean bandage.
“I saw Mr. Yamai sneak you an extra one each morning.” The girl blushes.
“Thank you.” She stuffs the extra bandage in her pocket and hurries away.
ARTIFACT Number 0438
The large bell atop the Hill of Light
She is shaken from her sleep.
“Miss Fuji. Miss Fuji.”
She turns over on her left side, away from the person who is shaking her, thinking it is one of the patients, wanting some medicine.
“Miss Fuji.”
When she opens her eyes, she is surprised to see Miss Min leaning over her.
“Miss Min, what is it?”
There are others awake in the room.
“It is Mr. Yamai. Mr. Yamai has died, Miss Fuji.”
“But . . .” And she stops there.
She goes into the washroom, throws water on her face, and even when she dries off, it feels as if it is still there. While brushing her teeth, she turns and sees several of her roommates near her. She spits into the sink. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
They give her quick apologetic bows and go back down the hallway. She rinses her mouth, throws more water on her face, runs it through her short hair, more on her face and through her hair. She takes a deep breath, releases it slowly, like she used to do before beginning her dives, thinks of the way Mr. Yamai read that night less than two months ago, the way he held the book with such care, such sacredness. Not sure why, but a line from Yasunari Kawabata’s
Snow Country
comes to mind: “Moths, how many kinds he could not tell, dotted the screen, floating on the clear moonlight.”
Back down the hallway, carrying the kerosene lantern low, she passes other rooms with people still sleeping. Quickly, she changes her clothes, leaves the building with Miss Min. Mr. Shirayama is outside with another dozen patients.
There is no moon; she has no idea if it is yet to come up or has already set. She has no idea of the time. It could be midnight as easily as five in the morning. So quiet as they walk away from the buildings, down toward the Inland Sea, then turning right before they get to it, heading up the small, winding path leading to the top of the Hill of Light. She follows, knowing where they are going but not sure why. It takes about three minutes to get atop the hill and there, in the clearing, is the large bell—the Bell of Blessing.
“Miss Fuji, do you want to get us started?”
Her eyes pass over everybody; she hesitates before approaching the bell, which towers over her, over the hill, the island. She grabs the wooden pole hanging from two large chains, holds on to it for a while before throwing it forward against the giant bell, the sound exploding through the night, devouring the whole country’s sleep. And she does it again and again, giving the bell little time to finish before making it bellow out over the Inland Sea. Again and again, she throws the pole at the bell, hoping that the sound reaches Shodo Island, wakes up every last person over there. Wakes them and doesn’t let them back to sleep until she herself goes to sleep. She continues pushing the pole into the bell until she no longer can. Covered in sweat,
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