"Mabuchi Movement"

The second morning of August is another hot one. Not a single cloud in the sky, just a perpetual dome of blue that seems to amplify the boiling sun like a magnifying glass. The moment I step out of the subway station, I want to slink right back down the stairs inside it, but Shizuko and a whole lot of history is waiting for me. I find both of them on the other side of a clear river running through the center of the city.

While ancient castle walls loom over her, Shizuko sits on a sparkling new bench in their shadow. She’s given ground to the heat - she’s wearing just a long-sleeve shirt now instead of a full-on sweater. She’s leaning back on the bench, her head tilted upwards, almost backwards, gazing at the moss and vines spouting upwards, climbing up centuries-old stone and brick. The sound of my footsteps give my approach away; Shizuko tilts her head and waves her hand in greeting.

When I make it to the bench, I sigh in relief upon feeling the cool of the shade. For reasons I can’t really describe, Shizuko’s presence calms me down, too. She glances away for a moment, then looks back at me, her mouth slightly moving before she speaks.

“I’m sorry for not talking much yesterday,” she says in a quiet voice. The apology sounds incredibly rehearsed and incredibly sincere. There’s a long pause before she speaks again. “I’m not good at talking with new people. I can’t talk that fast, either.”

“Yesterday was fun,” I reassure her. “Thanks for showing me around. And talk at your own pace. I’m in no rush.”

Shizuko looks off to the side and nods again. She runs a hand through her dyed hair, briefly revealing the black roots on her scalp, and then regains her stoic face. The yellow strands of hair bob around as she gestures toward the castle gates, and I follow her into the overgrown stronghold that once belonged to the most powerful man in Yoshiaki.

Tourists have already flooded the castle of Yoshiaki Nobuhide, the daimyo of Yoshiaki who lived five hundred years ago. As we stroll through the parks and gardens surrounding the inner keep, I spot the American from last night. Fanny pack strapped tight around his chest, Johnson takes pictures of everything in sight, whether it be tiny petunias, cracks in the stone walls, or the two women playing an impromptu performance in a corner of the greenspace. Both are armed with guitars; one’s drunk, the other wears a pink tracksuit. They’re little more than living pop culture references, but can’t you say that about all of us by this point? Hell, this writing style isn’t even my own - it’s just as Frankenstein’s amalgamation of three or four different authors.

In any case, the references can play a pretty decent tune, Johnson laughs from behind his camera, and Shizuko and I decide to head somewhere a little quieter. Nobuhide built a large castle, but the tourists have done a good job of besieging it. To be fair, considering that Shizuko and I are both visitors as well, this is a bit similar to people complaining about being stuck in traffic when they are the traffic. We pass by a stone statue of Nobuhide pointing with narrowed eyes at those who would harm his land, threatening his curse upon such a person.

As I look into his eyes, I tilt my head and point in mock confusion at myself. Me?

The warlord’s snarling expression doesn’t change. Shizuko just chuckles and shakes her head.

We end up taking a long trail away from the inner keep, toward an emptier corner of the outer walls. It’s as good of a place as any to finally rest, and best of all - we find some shade under a large cherry blossom tree. I slip off my backpack, but when I sit down next to Shizuko, there’s a tiny clinking sound - I inadvertently crushed Aki-chan when I placed my backpack on the ground.

“You still have that?” Shizuko asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I paid over two thousand yen for this little thing,” I answer, unconsciously wiping dust off of Aki-chan. “And besides, she’s yours.”

I imagine poor Aki-chan frowning when her own mother just shakes her head. “I gave her back to you.”

“I guess we’ll have to let the courts decide.”

She nods with a smile. But then, when she slumps in her seat and watches the patches of light streaming through the tree leaves dance on the dirt, her face grows more serious. “I heard you came here for your university’s newspaper club. Did you come here by choice? Or did they send you?”

Some pride creeps into my voice. “By choice. I was the only one willing to come here.”

“How come? Mabuchi doesn’t have a whole lot compared to Tokyo. And Yoshiaki just feels so slow-paced in general. It feels like you’re going back in time.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here.” She understandably looks perplexed at this, so I elaborate. “I’m not here just to write about the province. I hope that, by studying the province, I can find something. Something important to me.”

“You mean…you’re like a shonen protagonist?”

I pause for a few seconds. “...huh?”

Birds chirp as Shizuko glances away, red creeping onto her face. “Nothing. What’s the thing you want to find?”

Something like that can’t easily be explained with words, and not even motioning with my hands helps me extract its exact definition. “It’s hard to describe. I guess it’s not a thing. It’s more of a feeling. A feeling I used to have. Confidence? No, that’s not right. More like, if life is a path, then I used to have sure footing. But in these past few years I find myself slipping more and more. I’m trying to regain my footing by coming out here. Like trying to stop a candlelight from flickering out of existence.”

There’s a splash of sunlight on Shizuko’s face as she nods in understanding. She pushes a strand of hair out of her eyes and gazes back out into the courtyard.

“What about you?” I ask. “Minister Azawa said you grew up here.”

“I go to college in Tokyo, too. I came back for the summer.”

“By choice?”

The birds fly away. Shizuko’s mouth motions, but no words come out for a second. “Not exactly.”

I scratch the back of my neck. “They didn’t force you to be my tour guide, did they? ‘Cuz if you don’t want to spend your August break out here, you don’t have to stay.”

That earns me a quick shake of the head. “No, it’s alright. They suggested it to me and I accepted. And besides, I don’t mind staying.”

I join her in looking at the courtyard. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Sitting in the cool shade, we people watch for a while. Johnson the American never made his way over - he must’ve gone inside the keep - but a whole horde of tourists do. Packs of families push strollers and roam and point and laugh and admire. The two pop culture references eventually head past us as well, the younger one taking off her track suit to escape the heat, the older one still drunk.

A familiar face soon arrives - that of the elderly man from last night. In his sandals, he traverses the stone pathway across the courtyard slowly, at ease. Upon reaching the point in the walkway closest to us, he notices our presence and gives a wave, beckoning us to come over to him. A little reluctantly, Shizuko and I brave the heat.

“My friends,” he greets in that distant voice of his. “What a nice surprise. Please, you must tell me a little about what you’ve seen in this castle. I’m afraid I’m limited to just the stone path here.”

“You can’t touch grass?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “When I was a mere child, my father and his platoon planted landmines all along the coast on the other side of the prefecture to defend against possible landings. When he returned home, he told me every night, over and over, to beware his landmines, for he had spread them far and wide. They might be under any blade of grass, for he worked so hard and diligently and planted so many that he could no longer remember where he put them all.”

I take a look at the dirt I’m standing on. “Even here? We’re almost a hundred kilometers from the coast.” Not to mention, we’re inside a castle that tourists have covered entirely in their tracks.

The old man strokes his white beard. “Yes…yes, perhaps it is so. My father once told me that the fool lives in an apartment complex, while the wise man finds it rather simple.”

He wanders off, back down the stone pathway, leaving Shizuko and I standing on the dirt. When I glance at her, she makes a confused, amused expression on her face. With a dramatic, theatric step, I take another step on the dirt.

It must’ve been a delayed-action mine, because it takes a moment, and then Shizuko struggles out an explosion noise.