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Of all the things they did together, one memory echoed for longer in their minds. It was O-bon, a festival that fell in August, during Hana and Yui’s summer holidays. It was to celebrate the return of people’s ancestors, to welcome the dead back into their homes. “Let’s do things properly this year,” Takeshi announced. They hung chōchin lanterns outside the front door, as custom dictated, so that the spirits could find their way home quickly without getting lost. Hana worked tirelessly making horses and oxen out of eggplants, cucumbers, and toothpicks (“the horses are for a quick arrival, and
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Day of the dead
was November, and the temple was swarming with children dressed in kimonos in the bright colors of the Shichi-go-san, a festival for girls turning three and seven, and boys turning five.
Tradition
being loved comes with enormous responsibilities, at least as enormous as those of loving.
Love
Word spread that the woman who went to save the Wind Phone was instead saved by it. It became folklore that
Folklore
“But what was she doing there in this weather?” the man kept asking, not believing a body as slight as this one, now battered and bruised, had managed to carry out such a titanic endeavor. Yet everything at Bell Gardia had been carefully covered in sheets of plastic and duct tape, every piece secured to the earth. It must have been her; who else?
Who she is
