“You mean everyone just ignores it?” “Ignores what?” “Well, um, the animal . . .” “I guess this is why he needs a name. Except, yeah, everyone’s always ignoring him anyway. Who knows, maybe they never even noticed him. People always fail to notice things. Animals, cicadas, puddles of melted ice cream on the ground, the neighborhood shut-in. But what would you expect? It seems like most folks don’t see what they don’t want to see. The same goes for you. There must be plenty you don’t see.” As we got closer to the river, my brother-in-law was practically jumping sideways. He didn’t move like someone who was in his right mind. Maybe my husband and his mother had a reason to hide him from me. “It’s tragic. He’s been out here this whole time, just digging, with no one to keep him company. I’ve seen him out here for years, but he doesn’t seem to gain or lose any weight. I have no idea how old he is, or how long he’s going to live, but he never looks any different. All he does is dig holes, crawl inside, then climb back out. Maybe he’s a bit like me. Well, I mean, I’ve aged a little bit, but ever since I moved out back twenty years ago, not a damn thing’s changed. Maybe the girls on the magazine covers at the convenience store, the flavors of Cup Noodles, the lunch options. Now they’ve even got authentic Szechuan mapo tofu and goya chanpuru yakisoba. Except, at some point, they started charging for salad dressing. You have to pay extra for that.” I didn’t know how to respond. My brother-in-law wasn’t even sweating. He actually looked like he didn’t feel the heat at all. His cheeks were pale as ever. He didn’t have the slightest tan. Did he have an AC unit inside the shed? He had to. Otherwise he’d die from heatstroke. Maybe he was just used to this kind of weather? He was walking even more strangely now, leaping forward as far as he could, then stamping down hard where he landed. I did my best to stay right behind him, but I had no idea how to keep the right distance.
As we got closer, I could see the riverbank, just like before. The same smell filled my nose. I could see a grassless stretch of sand covered in rocks that I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it was because of the rain we’d had the day before, but the river looked fuller. Even though it was surrounded by houses, the water was anything but muddy — it was clear and green as if we were close to its source. My brother-in-law pointed at something. In the tall grass, I saw a little girl wearing a yellow hat. She leapt out, jumped into the river and splashed her way downstream. A bird that had been walking on the water took flight. I stopped where I was and watched the girl’s exaggerated paddling. She dunked her head into the water. Parts of the river had to be deeper than they seemed. Her yellow hat came loose, floating on the surface of the water. When the girl emerged, she rubbed her eyes with both hands. It looked like she was smiling.
As we started walking again, more children appeared on the riverbank, one after another. Some were smaller than others. They were on the bank, in the river, carrying nets for catching fish or insects. They were throwing rocks, chasing small fish, yipping with delight. A few were wearing swim caps and trunks. At the edge of the water, little shoes were lined up in pairs. There were children with fishing rods in their hands and baskets at their hips. Their rods strained as they pulled in fish that looked blue in the light. In their creels, I saw heads and tails.
Deep in the grass, I saw something dark, moving quietly. It was the heads of children. Weren’t they worried about ticks? Did they ever get cut by the grass? In a fortress of leaves, it looked as though children were playing a game, but I had no idea what the rules were. Every now and then, a child would shout something and hop out into the open. When this happened, the others would break into laughter. Then the one who jumped out would start counting while the others hid in the bushes. Another group was playing house. Pairs of girls were picking wildflowers and sticking them in each other’s hair.
I could see violence, hear consolations. Reconciliation. Pain and anger dissolving in a deafening chorus of rock, paper, scissors. What was going on? Where had all these children come from? Why were they playing here like this? “It’s summer break.” “Summer break?” My mouth fell open. He was right. It was summer vacation. In my day-to-day life, I never really thought about what the date was — not anymore. I knew the day of the week. I had to know when to put out the trash and when the big sales were. But aside from that, I’d lost track of time. “It’s almost Obon. If they’re not playing, what else can they do?” Obon. We’d be visiting my parents soon. I’d set it up to coincide with my husband’s time off — Obon was just around the corner. I barely ever looked at my schedule now. My planner was stashed in my bag, together with that stupid 30,000-yen bonus from my old job. I know I brought my bag when we moved, but couldn’t even remember where I’d left it. Had I even looked at a calendar in the last two months? Where did the days go? Boys and girls were singing “The Cuckoo.” I couldn’t hear them very well, but I was pretty sure they weren’t singing the actual lyrics. Some older children were having younger ones build a dam out of rocks. Taking everything in, I kept on walking. The sky was blue and I could see large clouds hovering in the distance. The grass was green and the water was clear. A large bird swooped into the river and the children cheered and shrieked. In a voice full of pride, my brother-in-law asked, “What do you think? It’s a nice river, a wonderful river. A treasure trove of wildlife. A play place for children . . . Believe it or not, it used to be even more beautiful, back when I was a kid. In those days, the river was full of sweetfish, but now it’s mucked up with wastewater from all the houses and high-rises. Then again, not all is lost. The birds still migrate here. We get a lot of fish, too. No sweetfish, but lots of little guys no larger than your thumb. We have plenty of insects, too. Mole crickets, dragonflies, grasshoppers with wings and legs missing. The kids are always catching them, then cutting them loose. If there’s anything you want to know about the river, ask away. I’m your man. Everyone else graduates. They grow up and move on. They stop playing here, stop coming to read comics at the store. I’m the only one who’s in it for the long haul.”
“Sensei!” a shrill voice cried. A few boys ran up the bank toward us. One of them was carrying a one-liter plastic bottle. “Sensei, look! Sensei!” “Are you their teacher?” My brother-in-law shrugged at my question and said, “I told you. I’m unemployed.” Then he got closer and spoke quickly and softly so no one else could hear. “What else could kids call a grown-up who spends all day playing with them? I’m too old for them to call me by my name, and it’s not like I want them calling me ‘sir’ or anything like that. They’re just sticking to what they know — and I’m not sinister enough to make them do otherwise.” Before he could even finish speaking, the boy with the bottle spoke up. “Sensei!” He held up the bottle so my brother-in-law could see. It was dry inside, with black centipedes crawling around, climbing upward, then tumbling back to the bottom. The boys seemed to enjoy it. My brother-in-law grabbed the bottle, held it up to the light, tilted it sideways to get a better look, then handed it to me. It was heavier than I expected. The centipedes climbed over each other as they moved up the sides of the bottle. I could feel them wriggling, their tiny movements tickling my palm. One of the boys said, “Nana’s gonna soak ’em in oil!” Then another one said, “And it’s gonna smell real bad when she does.” I looked closer. The centipedes had white parts on their backs. “Gross,” I said — to the boys’ dismay. The one closest to me snatched the bottle back and quickly stuffed it under his shirt, revealing a suntanned stomach. I could hear little legs in motion, squeaking against the plastic. “They’re great centipedes! Real specimens!” my brother-in-law said, scratching at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, don’t let the centipedes bite!” “Who cares if they do? That’s what the centipede oil’s for!” “But that stink is out of this world! The smell will kill your nose dead!”