Tomo: Friendship through Fiction: An Anthology of Japan Teen Stories by Edited & a foreword by Holly Thompson

Author:Edited & a foreword by Holly Thompson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stone Bridge Press
Published: 2012-01-26T00:00:00+00:00

Olegs awoke the next morning, a bit later that usual, to find that the family Peteris boarded with was already getting ready for cherry-blossom viewing. The landlord had left bright and early to help the local neighborhood association set things up.

Knowing he would be of little help in preparing the boxes of traditional picnic fare, Olegs headed out for a walk. The trees were sure to be in bloom everywhere, not just at the famous sites, so he decided to head toward Yanaka. His map showed dozens of temples there. According to his guidebook, the Nezu, Sendagi, and Yanaka areas were all considered one continuous neighborhood. A residential area, it was also a tourist destination popular for its old-fashioned workshops and cafés.

Wandering through the narrow one-way lanes, Olegs noted the small temple gates scattered among the old-style row houses. Most of the temples to which they led consisted of just a main worship hall, a priest’s residence, and a modest graveyard, but all were meticulously maintained. Everywhere the cherry trees were in full bloom.

As he ambled along enjoying the scenery, Olegs soon realized he had lost his way.

Early April in Tokyo was quite warm, comparable to early summer in Riga. But when a gust of wind carrying a scattering of cherry petals blew across the back of Olegs’s neck he tugged his jacket closer against a sudden chill. Sensing a flicker of motion just out of sight he looked up and saw a small, weathered temple gate at the end of the alley.

Although it looked similar to the other small temples he had already passed, Olegs found himself drawn to this one and stepped hesitantly through the gate. The approach led directly to the main hall, passing a narrow graveyard on the right. A cluster of stone monuments with moss-covered bases stood between the graveyard and the path.

Something white had been set at the base of the large monument at the rear. Drawing closer, Olegs saw it was a bottle of sake wrapped in white paper. He was astonished to see Peteris’s full name written on it in Japanese.

The inscription in the stone was weatherworn and the old-fashioned calligraphy would have been hard to make out even for a Japanese, but Olegs felt reluctant to give up without trying to decipher a character or two. Running his fingers over the rough stone, he suddenly brought them to a halt.

“Kiyohime . . . ?”

He was certain he had read it correctly. Absorbed in the inscription, Olegs was startled by the unexpected crunch of footsteps on the gravel path behind him and whirled around.

A young priest stood before the main hall, having appeared as if from nowhere. Olegs often found it difficult to gauge how old Japanese people were, but he knew the man had to be somewhat older than he was. His well-shaped head was cleanly shaven, his facial features composed, and he wore stylish black-rimmed glasses. As the priest stepped closer, a single cherry petal slipped from the shoulder of his black robes and fluttered to the ground.

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