The Night Parade (3 page)

Saki blinked and brought her face closer to the delicate patterns and the silver thread of the moonlight on the water. It was stunning.

“Wow, thanks, Grandma.” For once, the enthusiasm wasn't feigned. “It's really pretty.” Saki wove the threaded end of the strap through the loop on her phone. The polished metal gleamed in the light of the fire and clinked against the edge of the plastic case.

“Let's just call it your reward for helping me with that branch, all right?” Grandma smiled.

A knot of guilt twisted in Saki's stomach. “Oh, right. Yeah.”

They ate their watermelon, letting the seeds drop freely on the ground. When the fire was low and everyone was ready to leave, Saki's father grabbed a pair of her mother's buckets and sloshed the water over the logs until not an ember remained. Saki went inside to wash the smell of ashes off her face before she changed for bed. She still felt guilty, but there was nothing she could do now.

On her way back from the bathroom, her towel and toothbrush in one hand, Saki passed another door that Grandma had left open to the woods. The wet summer air sank into the folds of her clothes as she braced her hand against the frame to slide the door shut. Away from the city lights, the moonlight coated the forest. The leaves rustled in the wind and looked like silver fish scales in a black ocean. Her body was hot, but she shivered. She blinked and thought she saw it again: the path winding up to the mountaintop. Another breeze shifted the leaves, and the path was gone.

Saki shut the door.

After a heavy breakfast of brown rice and pickled vegetables, Saki lay with her brother on the floor beside the fan until their parents started to shout for them to get going. Outside, their father had the rakes hoisted over his shoulder, and their mother had stuffed a few rags in one of the empty fire buckets. Once Saki and Jun had kicked on their shoes, they all began to walk the short distance to the temple. Down the road, the cars parked in a line as families arrived for the annual grave cleaning.

Grandma had arranged the grave offerings on a tray—simple foods that included many of Grandpa's favorite dishes. She straightened as far as she could with her crooked back and gave Saki a smile.

“It's so nice to have the four of you here again this year. I know Grandpa will be glad that you've come to visit.”

Saki and her brother looked at one another.

“Yeah, Grandma, it's great,” Jun said. “Hey, do you think I could catch a bug and put it with the offerings?”

“Junnosuke, what in the world are you talking about?” their mother asked. “If you have so much energy, then you can scrub the stones.”

“No, come on! That job sucks!”

Their father shot a warning glance over his shoulder.

“I mean, I always used to go collecting bugs with Grandpa, right?” Jun said, mischief at work in his eyes. “So if I'm going to leave an offering, it should be something that has a good memory attached to it.”

Grandma smiled. “I think that's a wonderful way to celebrate Grandpa, Junnosuke. He'll be very happy to receive a gift like that from you.”

Saki rolled her eyes. “Mom, come on. He just wants to play around while the rest of us are working.”

“Saki,” her mother warned. “Don't talk like that around your grandmother.”

“But, Mom!”

There was no room for argument. Saki trudged the rest of the way to the edge of the graveyard enduring Jun's maniacal grin. Inside the low stone walls, people from the village had begun to gather around their family plots. Incense burned and filled the air with a heavy musk. Grandma struck up a conversation with almost everyone she came across, though the solemn ritual of the grave cleanings spared Saki from an endless parade of introductions. The old villagers simply smiled, bowed their heads, and went on their way.

Only one face caught her off guard. As Saki dragged her feet through the rows of gravestones, a girl with long, straight hair glanced up from the stone she was scrubbing and smiled. Saki was too surprised at seeing another girl her age in the crowd of old people to return the gesture. When she looked again, the girl was laughing and talking with her own family, and the chance was gone.

At the family gravesite, Saki's mother and father exchanged only paltry words as they decided who would rake the leaves around the gravestones and who would sweep the smaller debris into piles. Jun had long since disappeared on his quest for the perfect beetle, and Saki was cursing her luck once more when her father tapped her on the back of the head.

“Up all night on your phone again?”

Saki opened her mouth to protest, but he saw the rebellion stirring in her eyes and cut her off.

“Hang up the daydreams for now and bring some water for scrubbing.”

With a sigh that would have made Cinderella roll her eyes, Saki trudged toward the tap on the far side of the graveyard. Wooden buckets and ladles for purifying the graves were stacked in the far corner near the old temple compound. Before he died, Saki's grandfather had been the priest in charge here too. He had woken up at dawn every morning and come to the temple, cleaned the grounds, and maintained the buildings. Judging by the peeling shoji paper in the temple's doors and windows, his replacement wasn't up to the task.

Saki picked out the cleanest ladle and tried to fill a bucket from a hand pump near the wall. The water sloshed against the wood with every press and splashed all over her legs. It was cold and crisp, pulled from some underground mountain spring that filtered through the ground, and it was soaking all the way down into her socks. Just her luck.

“Do you need help?” The smiling girl from earlier stood behind Saki with her own empty bucket. Her hair was black and smooth, and her face was very pretty. When she spoke, every word was polished and polite. “The water pushes the bucket around sometimes. I could show you how to do it, if you like.”

The girl seemed too perfect to be real. She stood dry and serene as she watched Saki struggle with the water pump, waiting for a reply. It was mortifying. Saki's cheeks burned with annoyance at being hovered over like some helpless tourist who couldn't do anything on her own.

“I'm fine,” Saki said with a grunt. Another pump of water made it only halfway into the bucket. The rest of the water pooled on the ground. At least she'd kept it off herself this time.

“Are you sure?” The girl smoothed the skirt of her plain gray dress and leaned in.

“I said I'm fine,” Saki told her. “Besides, you don't even know me.”

“Our families do. My dad was friends with your dad back when they were kids. I'm Maeda Tomo,” the girl said. She bent her head into a little bow.

“Yamamoto Saki. Sorry, I'm kind of busy…” Saki turned her head for a split second, then looked up at the girl once more. She didn't like being stared at like an animal in a zoo exhibit. “Just because I'm not from around here doesn't mean I'm helpless, you know.”

The girl turned away as Saki finished filling up her bucket, her cheeks bright red. Saki bit her tongue. The words sounded sharper out loud, but at least she'd gotten her point across. Until the last pump, they both remained silent.

Saki held the brimming bucket with both hands and hoisted it up. She shuffled sideways like a crab, and the water spilled over the sides, soaking her shoes and socks again. She was halfway back before she realized that the ladle had gone missing, and she had to set the water down to retrace her steps from the pump.

The village girl held the missing ladle out to Saki without a word. She had abandoned her own half-filled bucket under the water pump.

“Thanks,” Saki muttered. She snatched the ladle back and retreated before Maeda could see her flush in embarrassment.

The family gravestone was swept clean by the time Saki arrived with the water. Half of the bucket had sloshed over the sides on the way from the pump, but Grandma insisted that there was enough to wash the stones. She took the ladle from Saki, who was more than happy to give it up. Without a splash or a splatter, the rivulets of water trickled down the polished rock.

• • •

The sun dipped below the trees, but evening was just as sticky and hot as the daytime. After a light dinner, Saki was the last one to the car. She sat between Grandma and Jun, wedged into the backseat like rush-hour commuters as they drove down the mountain and into town. The corner of her phone dug into her ribs, the little iron-etched charm dangling outside her pocket.

Every year, the community center by the river held a fireworks festival above the dam. They passed dozens of people on bikes and on foot, all headed to see the fireworks. As the crowds grew, so did Saki's dread of the forced conversation and the many prying eyes.

A few makeshift food stalls stood around the edge of the concrete square selling yakisoba, baked sweet potatoes, and baby castella cakes in what was usually the community center parking lot. A gaggle of younger children huddled in a circle near the center's front door, lighting sparklers and racing to see whose would snuff out first. Jun pressed his nose against the window to watch as they drove toward the festival parking area, while Saki kept her hand over her pocket just in case her phone buzzed. She had promised her mother she'd leave it at Grandma's house, but the middle of the village was the only place where the reception was reliable enough for Saki to be sure she wasn't missing any important messages.

The parking lot was an empty field down the road, where the Toyota wedged into a spot between a small white truck and a rusty motorcycle. The air outside was stifling, even with the sun gone. Saki left her jacket in the car and trudged after her family through a shortcut between two rice paddies, the water between the rows of plants reflecting the heavy moon overhead.

At the community center, most of the people gathered for the fireworks were dressed in yukata. Saki and her family, still in Western clothes, stuck out like red beans in white rice. As the eyes turned their way, Saki lowered her gaze. Grandma had offered to dress her in a yukata, but Saki had put off the favor with endless excuses. Maybe refusing her grandmother hadn't been the best idea after all.

“I want sparklers!” Jun turned on his heel. “Dad, can I have money?”

“We just got here. Can't you wait a bit?” Their father slipped a hand into his pocket but didn't pull out his wallet.

Grandma took a coin purse from the sleeve of her yukata. “Oh, let me. What kind do you want, Junnosuke? Grandma will buy you and Saki both some sweets too.”

“Really? Yes! Grandma, you're the best!” Her brother dragged the whole family around the square to the castella stand as more and more villagers arrived.

Bigger fireworks flared and fizzled as two gangs of unruly kids chased each other with sparklers. Her brother, his mouth full of castella cake, tried writing his name in the air with the tip of his.

“You're not eating your cake, Saki. Does your tummy hurt?” Grandma asked.

“Huh? Oh no, I'm just not hungry.” Saki rolled one of the small cakes between her fingers. It was shaped like a superhero cartoon character she'd watched when she was little. She squished the head between her fingertips.

“I know how much you like them,” Grandma continued. “We can save them for later, but we'll have to hide them from your father and brother. It'll be our secret, okay?”

“That's all right, Grandma. Jun can have them if he wants. I'm on a diet anyway.”

Grandma leaned closer and poked Saki's arm. “What? A diet? You're too young to worry about that.”

“All of the girls in my class are on diets,” Saki explained. “It's normal. Besides, you can get cavities if you eat too many sweets.”

“Oh yes, that's true. I didn't eat cake either when I was your age. We didn't have many chances when I was a girl. You're so lucky to be young in such an exciting time.”

Saki shifted her weight. What was she supposed to say to that? Grandma was trying to be nice, but they just had nothing in common. “Sorry, have you seen my mom? I need to ask her something.”

“Hmm, I don't know…”

“That's okay. I'll find her.”

Saki hurried out of Grandma's sight and ducked behind a group of parents to check her phone reception. The signal strength was barely there, but the phone connected. The few messages that had filtered in were all invitations sent en masse to things happening back in the city. She sighed.

A firework exploded nearby, and a toddler began to wail. Saki took a step back and shoved the phone into her pocket. A few stalls away, her mother was browsing a secondhand knickknack booth. Saki came up from behind and put on a deep frown while her mother bent to inspect a collection of porcelain cats.

“Mom, this is boring.”

“Oh, Saki.” Her mother picked up one of the tortoiseshell cats and flipped it over to check the price. “This is cute, isn't it? I was thinking I could put it on the shelf by the front door at home.”

“Mom, I want to go get my jacket.”

“It's summer, dear. Aren't you warm enough?” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “You were telling me it was too hot an hour ago.”

Saki crossed her arms. “I changed my mind. Can I go get my jacket?”

Her mother shook her head and fished the car keys from her purse. “Make sure to lock it when you're done, okay? Hmm…I think I'm going to get this.” She put the porcelain cat down to dig for her wallet.

Saki walked back to the car, where the sounds of the festival were loud but not deafening. She lingered long enough to glance over her shoulder and then continued down the road toward the center of the village. If she hurried, she could be back in less than thirty minutes.

There were no streetlights or any houses close enough to illuminate her path, but she took out her phone, and the light from the screen bathed the pavement in enough electric blue to see two steps ahead. At a three-way intersection, Saki took a right and headed down the street to the convenience store. With all its lights, it shone like a beacon of deliverance in the middle of the pitch-dark town. The eerie hum of cicadas buzzed all around. Even with sweat beading on her back, Saki picked up her pace and closed the distance at a trot.

The mechanized swish of the automatic doors sounded like Tokyo. The convenience store looked just like every other chain store across the country. The products were arranged in different places, but they were the same chips, the same cans of coffee, the same packaged salads. Even the employee behind the register could have been the same bored high school student from the convenience store down the street from her family's apartment.

“Welcome.” The employee was reading a magazine behind the counter and didn't look up when she passed.

A burst of laughter floated over the aisles from a group of teenagers in the corner. They didn't wear school uniforms, but they had blond streaks in their hair and too much attitude to be anything but the popular crowd. The two boys and two girls had spread out in a circle in the rear by the refrigerated drinks, their backs to Saki.

She kept her distance. She scanned the magazine rack by the front window, picked up a celebrity gossip tabloid, flipped to the most sensational article, and pretended to read.

The group of town kids laughed as a quiet voice tried to speak under their noise.

“I'd like to go now…”

“Come on, give us a preview of tomorrow night's dance first,” a loud girl insisted. “Your mom is on the festival committee, right? So it's your civic duty to perform for us.”