Water Moon

by Samantha Sotto Yambao

Time has no borders except those people make. On this particularly cold autumn day, Ishikawa Hana fashioned that border out of the thinnest layer of skin. Eyelids were useful that way. Because as long as she kept her eyelids shut, she could keep the two halves of her life apart: the twenty-one years she had lived before she opened her eyes, and all that was going to happen next.

“I apologize if I have offended you, Takeda-sama.” Toshio bowed his head. “But I have been doing this job for a very long time. I can tell when people are happy and when they are not, regardless of how well they are dressed or how bright their smile is. Happiness has little to do with what you have, and everything to do with what you do not.”

“But no one ever really dines alone, do they?” Toshio said. “Our thoughts share our meals with us. They keep us company whether we invite them to or not and are especially noisy when they are the only ones at our table. They chatter about all the things we cannot say aloud.

Living without a dream made things simpler. Routine was a good substitute for anything life lacked.

“Do you love him?” Izumi stared at her hands. “Does he love you?” “Love is something that people are taught to want. But all we really need is to not be alone when we come home and to have someone to wave goodbye to us at the door when we leave.”

Wandering thoughts were the stealthiest of thieves, and Hana was never allowed to forget the consequences of dwelling on choices that could never be hers.

He stared up at the night sky, searching for the constellations through the clouds. As a boy, he’d taken pride in knowing all of their names. He later came to realize that the names were just another of man’s early attempts to impose an order to things he didn’t understand.

When Keishin asked her why she liked painting reflections, she told him that it was because the most desirable things were the ones that you could see, but never touch.

On their own, one man’s eyes were not more memorable than another’s. It was how they looked at you that made you remember them. Hana understood, in the moment that Minatozaki Keishin had told her about his lie, that his were going to be impossible to forget. No person’s eyes had ever invited her in. Her father’s had always been guarded, their clients’ more so. But Keishin’s eyes were an open door that drew her inside, offering her a seat and hot green tea.

Second times were almost always more enjoyable than firsts. Kisses. Sex. Lab experiments.

“Where are we? What is this place?” “A story. You read them in your world. We walk inside them.” Keishin watched a sketch of a fallen leaf tumble in the breeze. “I’m beginning to think that nothing will ever make sense again.” “Things don’t have to make sense for them to be real.”

Stars were interesting but did not hold his attention. In life, as in science, he was more drawn to the unseen. And he had never met a person with more secrets than Hana. He didn’t mind that she kept them. He was used to it. The universe was like that too. It hid its most compelling secrets behind clouds of nothing and noise.

Hana fit next to him perfectly, a complement of angles and curves. Had he believed in destiny, Keishin might have allowed himself to think that their bodies had been carved exactly for this moment, for this one rickshaw ride in the rain. But as he did not, Keishin kept his eyes forward, away from Hana’s face and the memory of her smile.

There were nightmares you woke up from and there were nightmares you woke up to. Mornings were powerless to stop them.

Hana stowed the rice cakes in her bag and moved down the street. Keishin caught up to her. “How did you just happen to have the exact book the vendor wanted in your bag? What else do you have in there?” “Nothing.” Hana slipped off the bag and gave it to Keishin. Keishin looked inside it. “It’s empty…” “I thought the rice cakes might get crushed, and so I left them on the table in my kitchen. And I got the book from my father’s shelves,” Hana said. “It would be a pretty useless bag and would get very heavy if I had to carry around things inside it.” Keishin laughed. “Is something amusing?” “Yes. My world.” Keishin’s cheek creased into a lopsided smirk. “We’ve sent people into space and built massive underground detectors to study the universe, but somehow, we haven’t discovered how a bag is really supposed to be used.”

“There is something about autumn that makes things more beautiful. Out of all the seasons, it is the most honest about time. Summer and spring blind you to its passing with their colorful displays. Winter paints over everything in white. But autumn is not shy about things coming to an end. It welcomes it, waving leafy flags of red, yellow, and gold. It celebrates its sadness.”

“But what does the museum want with our mistakes?” “This is the Museum of Education. How else are its visitors supposed to learn if not from other people’s mistakes? Some lessons are bigger than others, but all are grains of wisdom.” “Should I be worried that what you’re saying makes perfect sense to me?”

“I never believed in ghosts.” “Oh? But isn’t that why you moved to Japan? To find them?” “Neutrinos aren’t ghosts.” “You told me that they are remnants of the past. Wisps of nothing that you cannot see or touch. Echoes that carry stories of dead stars. How are they not ghosts?”

Last times almost always came in disguise, never revealing who they were until they were gone and all you could do was miss them. But Hana had known that the day she met Keishin was the beginning of a long goodbye. On their first and possibly last night together, Hana made sure to remember every detail. To each other, they were already ghosts.

“I don’t think that I ever mentioned to you that I’m afraid of heights.” “I hate heights too,” Hana said. “My father used to tell me to keep my eyes on the ladder and to never look down.” “Did it help?” “Not at all.” “Wonderful. Thank you for the advice.”

“What can I help you with this time?” Ramesh sipped his Bintang beer. “Are you still pretending not to be the least bit interested in that woman you met at the pawnshop?” Keishin pulled out a chair and sat down. “I lost that battle.”

This rumor traveled faster than most, not because it was thrilling, but because once they had heard it, people could not bear keeping such misery to themselves. They passed it on quickly, hoping that if they shared it, they would have less of it living in their minds. I can tell you from my own experience that it did not work.”

Hiroko led them to a dark corner of the library whose shelves were covered by cobwebs and a thick layer of dust. “This section houses all the stories with happy endings. As you can see, it is not very popular. Even the fireflies avoid this place.” “Why?” Keishin said. “People come here to escape, not to envy.”

“I don’t like maps.” “Why not?” “They remind me of all the things people pretend to know, all the things we make up to make us feel like we understand everything and are in control. Maps are more of an art form than a science. They’re designed at the discretion of their makers. Some things are shrunk, others are enlarged, some places are kept, and some are left out. We draw thick red lines around spaces we claim as our own as if we could actually see where one space ended and another began. But borders are simply constructs. They exist only in our minds.” Hana kept quiet, unsure how to completely yet politely disagree. Borders were real, and the ones that were the most difficult to cross were not the invisible lines between towns, but the walls people built around themselves. Borders were necessary. They kept secrets safe.

“Welcome. I am Ono Aritomo. I can always tell who the new arrivals are.” The man flashed a nearly toothless grin. “They are the ones in a rush. I was that way too when I arrived here with my mother.” “Your mother?” Keishin tried and failed to hide the surprise in his voice. Aritomo smiled. “I was a young boy then, barely twelve. I wed and raised a family here. My wife’s train arrived ten years ago. Our son went with her.” “I am sorry to hear that, Ono-san,” Hana said. “Why?” Aritomo scratched his chin. “My wife was on her own journey and I am on mine. When her train arrived, she had to get on it. There is nothing to feel sorry for. I have lived a good life. I have been a son, a husband, and a father. To many of the people here, I am a friend. I have grown a garden and fed the hungry, and built a tent where strangers have found rest. What more can a man ask for? Arriving at one’s destination is never promised. Only the journey is. Waiting is part of that journey.”

I have met all sorts of people over my years at this train station. Some pass through quickly, some stay for a while. Everyone I have ever encountered, no matter how brief, has either taken something or left something behind. Rude people can rip the smile from your face. Kind ones can give it back. I have learned that there is nothing to be gained from stealing other people’s happiness. No matter how much you have stolen, it is not something that you can ever use for yourself.”

“Why did you do it?” “For the same reason all fools give up good things. We look at our hands and wonder what we could hold if they were empty.”