A MIRACLE IN OCHOBO SHRINE

　　One June evening in 1910, Hisakichi Shimizu, the young manager of a soybean paste and sauce shop, was walking along a street after finishing his days’ work of collecting bills. Suddenly, he heard the sound of the fire bell of a fire-watch tower. Several people were running with the skirt of their kimono rolled up, shouting, “Fire, fire!” Agitated, Hisakichi ran. When he saw the fire, he was surprised that his customer’s house, a caterer Suzuno-ya, was on fire. He elbowed the onlookers aside and advanced to the front. The flames from the first floor were rising up to the eaves and to the second floor.

   Fumi Suzuya, proprietress of Suzuno-ya, recognizing Hisakichi, cried, clinging to him, “Hisakichi-san! Hisakichi-san! Help me. Keisuke is on the second floor. Keisuke is….” Her hair was disheveled. Her kimono was untidy, almost exposing her breast.

   Hisakichi instantaneously thought of his 10-month-old daughter, Chiyo, who was the same age as Keisuke. He rushed into the fire. He knew where the stairs were. He had seen them whenever he had delivered soy sauce kegs. He rushed through the fiery kitchen and climbed the stairs. He heard the shrilling cry of a baby. He picked the baby up and returned to the stairs. They were ablaze. He couldn’t climb them down. He retreated and opened the window. He saw onlookers and firefighters down below. He shouted at the top of his voice.

   “Hey, I’m gonna throw the baby.”

   All the spectators looked up at him and gave a roar of awe. One of the firefighters approached the fire, stood just below him, and waved his hand. His eyes met with

Hisakichi’s. When he threw the baby, he caught it firmly. The next moment, Hisakichi jumped onto the ground. The blazing house collapsed over him, shooting up sparks into the air. Hisakichi died.

A MIRACLE IN OCHOBO SHRINE　(2)

 

   A hundred and two years passed since Hisakichi died.

   Taiji Shimizu was reading the Chunichi Newspaper while wearing glasses in a sofa on April 23, 2012. He was the late Hisakichi’s grandson. He had retired from his university five years before and was leading a leisurely life with his wife. He was a chubby, bald-headed old man, resembling a bespectacled plump Ebisu god.

   Reading the newspaper closely page after page, he came to the local news page, where a large picture of red torii shrine gates caught his eyes. The succession of about 20 gates formed a tunnel. The article about it read, “The shrine was constructed in 1947. It is dubbed with the friendly name, Ochobo-san. Walk along the red tunnel and you will feel as if you were in a different dimensional world.” Looking at the picture, Taiji felt like he was being pulled into a red world.

   Taiji’s specialty was chemistry, but he thought there was something inexplicable by chemical symbols, beyond human intellect, in this world. He was captured by the words “a different dimension.”

He checked the location of the shrine in a map so that he could visit it sometime soon. He found that it was near Nagoya University Subway Station near Yagoto Hospital. He would visit the shrine when he went to the hospital the next time.

Three days later, he went to the hospital to get his heart checked. The doctor said there was not especially a problem with it. After receiving medicine, he took a subway and went to the shrine.

A tunnel of  red torii gates stood there. The path in the tunnel had a gentle slope. Taiji began to walk along the slope. Each torii pole had a metal plate inscribed with the donator’s name. Outside the tunnel there stood a number of red flags with white Chinese characters that read Chiyoho Shrine.

When Taiji climbed the path for about ten meters, his heart suddenly began to ache. He felt dizzy. He tried to hold a nearby torii pole, but the ground swayed and he fell down on the path. He felt as if a dagger was being thrust into his heart. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to get up, but he couldn’t. He tried to shout, “Help,” but in vain.

The rain began to fall. It rained on his body lying on the cold wet path. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. He was shivering. Thirty minutes, forty minutes, and fifty minutes, but no one appeared. Gasping for air, with pain in his heart, he feared he would die, in the rain, alone.                                    

The rain began to fall. It rained on his body lying on the cold wet path. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes passed. He was shivering. Thirty minutes, forty minutes, and fifty minutes, but no one appeared. Gasping for air, pain in his heart, he dreaded he would die, in the rain, alone.

A MIRACLE IN OCHOBO SHRINE　(3)

Rei Ohara, a junior of the Japanese literature department of Nagoya University, dreamed about a fire. She told her mother, Chieko,  about it during breakfast.

“Mom, I saw a fire in my dream last night,” Rei said.

“That’s a good dream. You will soon encounter a good incident,” Chieko said.

“What? Do you believe in dreams? That’s a superstition, isn’t it?” Reina said.

“It’s not a superstition. Everybody says a dream about a fire is a good dream.”

“That’s a weird interpretation.”

After breakfast, she hurried to Gifu Station, for it took about an hour and a half to go to Nagoya University from Gifu.

When the first class ended, Reina went to the library and read the Chunichi Newspaper. In the 14^th page she saw a large picture of a succession of red torii shrine gates. The gates formed a tunnel. When she saw the picture, she felt as if she were being pulled into a red world. The stone path in it was covered with fallen cherry blossoms. She was fascinated with the view. The article about the shrine read: “The name of the shrine is Chiyoho Inari Shrine. It is located in Sonoyama-cho, Chikusa Ward, Nagoya.” She wrote the name and address in her notebook. She went to the library computer corner and googled the shrine. She was surprised to know that it was around the corner from the north gate of Nagoya University. It also said, “If you insert your name card in a grid of the front wall of the shrine and pray, your wish will come true.” Although she did not believe in the shrine’s power, she was interested in the statement, because she was writing a short story for the O. Henry Short Story Contest.

She had no class on the afternoon of April 26. After finishing lunch, she headed for the north gate to go to Chiyoho Shrine. It began to rain on her way. The weather forecast had been right, she thought. She opened her umbrella and walked to No. 3 building of the department of agriculture. When she turned left at the corner of the building, she saw the north gate.

Passing through the gate, she walked along the road westward for 7 or 8 minutes to find a signboard, “Entrance, Chiyoho Shrine Parking Lot.” She entered the densely wooded precincts of the shrine. She reached the main shrine and stood in front of the offertory box set against the wooden grid wall. About thirty grids had name cards inserted in them. Rei, having no name card of her own, tore a corner of her notebook to make one. Writng her name on it, she inserted it in one of them, threw a 10-yen coin into the box, and clapped hands in prayer—may I win the O. Henry prize.

Walking deeper into the shrine, she saw the shrine office on the right, and a succession of torii gates on the left. Even though it was raining and slightly foggy, the red tunnel was beautiful against the green trees. She went to the entrance of the tunnel and looked through it, to find someone lying on the tunnel path about 10 meters away from her. Startled, she hurried down to the person. It was an old man soaked in the rain.

“Say, sir,” she said in a loud voice, stooping over him. He slightly opened his eyes. Immediately she took out a cell phone and dialed 119.

“Emergency, please. An old man is lying on the ground. He’s dying. Yes, he is barely conscious. The address? Wait a moment,” she took out her notebook from her bag, opened it, and said, “It’s Sonoyama-cho, Chikusa Ward. Chiyoho Shrine. Yes? I see. I must not move him. All right.”

She said to the old man, “I’ve just called an ambulance.”

He seemed to have nodded.

He looked cold. She had to make him warm, but there was nothing to do. She couldn’t carry him to the office. All she could do was to cover him with her umbrella. It was small and covered only his head.

The ambulance was late. The more time progressed, the more frustrated she became.

“The ambulance will come soon. In no time,” she said to him to encourage him, but the encouragement was meant for herself. Her left shoulder and back were all wet. She prayed hard, “Hurry, hurry, come on.”

Five minutes passed. Six minutes. Seven, and eight.

She heard an ambulance siren in the distance.

“It’s coming!” she shouted. “Hold on, mister, hold on!”

Tears stood in her eyes unknowingly. The old man opened his eyes, looking relieved. The siren gradually became louder and louder. At last the ambulance reached the shrine. The ambulance attendants, carrying a stretcher, rushed to the feeble old man.

In three minutes, the ambulance disappeared, flashing the lights and wailing the siren, in the rain. Reina watched the gradually diminishing vehicle, stupefied.  

She came back home extremely exhausted.

“What’s the matter with you? You are all wet,” Chieko said.

“I’ve had an awful experience today,” Reina said.

“An awful experience?”

“Yes, I found a dying old man in a shrine.”

“Really? What did you do with him?”

“I called an ambulance.”

“Great. You’ve done a good job. Well, didn’t I tell you this morning that a good incident would happen today.”

“But it didn’t happen to ME.”

“But, a good incident did happen.”

“Well, yes, but….” Reina puffed her cheeks unsatisfactorily.

                    

A MIRACLE IN OCHOBO SHRINE　(4)

 

The ambulance took Taiji to Yagoto Red Cross Hospital, where he was successfully treated and escaped death. After a three-week rehabilitation, he left the hospital.

   On August 15, Taiji got off the subway at Yagoto Station and went to Koshoji Temple to visit the grave of his late grandfather, Hisakichi. He passed through the main gate, walked to the five-story pagoda, and turned right. Then, he climbed 30 stone steps and reached the top. There was a well ahead of him. He scooped up water into a wooden bucket, put some flowers in it, and headed for the gravestone. It was a hot summer day. Innumerous cicadas were chirping. The gravestone was a 3-meter high statue of the Buddhist Kannon Goddess of Mercy. On the left side of its lotus base were inscribed: Hisakichi Shimizu, Died on June 7, 1910, Age 30, and on the right side: Constructed by Shigenori Suzuya on a lucky Kichijitsu day of October, 1911.

   Taiji joined his hands in prayer in front of the Kannon statue and said to himself,

   “Thanks to your mercy, I escaped death miraculously. A young woman I don’t know saved me. I have to compensate her for this.”

One day in 1910, a few days after the first anniversary of Hisakichi’s death, the manager of Suzunoya, Shigenori Suzuya, visited Denjiro Shimizu, the owner of the soybean paste and sauce shop. Shigenori was 65 years old. He was Fumi’s father and Keisuke’s grandfather. He was the founder of Suzunoya, a caterer. Although he lost the kitchen and two-storied house in the fire, his annex, storehouse, and leased houses remained intact. Within a year after the fire, he established a restaurant named Suzuya, which is well known in and around Nagoya City.

   Shigenori prayed in front of a Buddhist family altar, turned to Denjiro, Hisakichi’s father, and said,

   “Today I’ve visited you to ask a favor. I am sorry that your son passed away trying to save my grandson. I don’t know how to thank him. After I thought about how to compensate for him, I’ve come to an idea. I would like to build a gravestone for him. Could you let me build it?”

   Although he understood Shigenori’s feeling of thankfulness, Denjiro, four years older than he, said, “Oh, no. You don’t have to do that. It was my grandson’s destiny. I’m sure he is grateful to hear how you think about him.”

   “But I cannot live a peaceful life until I have compensated for him. The gravestone I’m talking about is not an ordinary one. I am thinking of a statue of the Buddhist Kannon Goddess of Mercy. I would like to build the statue to express my thanks to him. Please let me build it so that I can have peace of mind.”

  Saying so, Shigenori showed a picture of a statue of the Buddhist Kannon Goddess made of white granite stone. It stood on a lotus base, her left hand at her chest level, making a ring with her thumb and middle finger, her right hand hanging down. Her gentle eyes and graceful posture. It was beautiful. The moment when he saw it, he liked it. Thinking the statue would bring peace to Hisakichi’ soul, he consented to his proposal.

   Because Shimizu’s grave was in the graveyard of Koshoji Temple, the Kannon statue was built there. About half a year later, Shigenori moved his grave from Gifu Prefecture to the Koshoji Temple graveyard. Since then, whenever Shigenori took his daughter, Fumi, and his grandson, Keisuke, to pray in front of their grave, they also prayed for the repose of Hisakichi’s soul before the Kannon statue.

 

A MIRACLE IN OCHOBO SHRINE　(the last part)

 

  On the afternoon of August 15, Reina was visiting her ancestors’ grave in Koshoji-Temple. Every year on this day she visited it with her mother, Chieko, but this time Chieko stayed home because of a hangover. On the previous day, Chieko had been so happy to meet the man she had loved in her youth at the alumni reunion that she had drank much.

   As Reina was climbing the stone stairs, she remembered the dream about a fire she had dreamed the previous night. She had told Chieko about it.

   “Again a dream of a fire?” Chieko said. “Then, as you see, something good will happen to you soon.”

   “It was a coincidence that I saved the old man,” she retorted, fed up with Chieko’s belief in superstition.

   When Reina climbed the stairs to the top, she saw, about 15 meters ahead of her, a beautiful Kannon Goddess statue looking down gently at the surrounding gravestones. When she reached the family grave 7 or 8 meters short of the statue, she saw an old man walking slowly toward her. He was bald headed and fat. She recognized him.

   “Excuse me, but you are the man who was lying in Chiyoho Shrine the other day, aren’t you?” Reina said.

   Bewildered by her abrupt inquiry, the man stopped and looked at her with his mouth half open. A moment later, he said,

   “Thank god, why, yes. You saved me in the rain, didn’t you?”

   “Yes, I did. You’ve recovered. That’s good.”

   “Thank you very much. I was wondering who you were. I have almost given up on meeting you. It’s a miracle that I should meet you here.”

   Reina thought the word, miracle, was a little too exaggerated.

   “So, your grave is also in this graveyard,” he said.

   “Yes, this is the grave,” she said pointing at the gravestone just beside her.

   On the grave were inscribed, “The Suzuya Family’s Grave.” Taiji was surprised to see the word, Suzuya. His mother, Chiyo, had often told him that the name of the baby his grandfather had saved was Keisuke Suzuya.

   “Is this the reputable restaurant, Suzuya?” he said.

   “Yes,” she said wondering why he asked in a surprised voice.

   Taiji read the epitaph: Keisuke Suzuya, Age 80, May 17, 1990.

   “Is this Keisuke your grandfather?” Taiji said.

   “No, he is my great grandfather.”

   “Is that so?” Taiji said. After a moment pause, he continued, “Actually, about a hundred years ago, my grandfather died trying to save a baby named Keisuke Suzuya.”

   Reina was stunned and covered her half-opened mouth with her hand.

 “Oh, no,” she said to herself. She remembered that her grandmother had used to say to her whenever they had visited the grave, “Reina, your great grandfather was saved by this Kannon statue. It was built for Hisakichi Shimizu’s soul. Pray for him.”

 Reina pointed at the Kannon statue and said, “Then, you are the grandson of Hisakichi Shimizu, that Kannon statue over there?”

Saying, “Yes,” Taiji wondered why she knew that the statue represented Hisakichi.

“But, why do you know that it is the tomb for Hisakichi?”

“My grandmother often told me about it whenever we visited here.”

“So, your grandmother is Kieisuke’s….”

“Daughter.”

“Oh,...”

Taiji felt that fate had linked them together.

“Keisuke, who was saved by Hisakichi, saved me in return,” he said.

Reina felt as if she had momentarily entered another dimension. She said to herself, “Is it possible? Has Keisuke really saved this man using me as a medium? Is there something beyond the scope of human intellect in this world, something that you cannot explain by the term, coincidence?”

When she returned home, she told her mother about the incident in Koshoji Temple.

“Didn’t I tell you this morning that something good would happen?” she said.

Reina did not respond immediately, but a moment later she mumbled in a mystified manner,

“Isn’t it strange?”

In that instant, she conceived an idea for a short story.

 

The end

ANTI-BOY

When Hoshito was five years old, he was playing swords with his friends in the shrine near his house. He wore a furoshiki hood and mask to look like Kurama Tenngu, a masked samurai hero. He wielded his sword the moment Yoichi attempted to slash him. He moved a step backward and cocked his sword over his head and said sneeringly with a dramatic tone, “You are a competent swordsman, but not an expert.” The hood had come loose. He held his sword with his right hand and tried to adjust the hood with his left hand. That instant Mitsuo slashed him from shoulder to hip from behind. Hoshito groaned histrionically, “You, dirty coward!” and fell onto the ground.

   The yellow ginkgo leaves were shining brightly reflecting the setting red sun. It was the fall of 1946.

   Yoichi’s mother came to the shrine and shouted, “Come back home, Yoichi. Supper is ready.” Yoichi threw away the stick on the ground and went home saying, “See you tomorrow.”

  Mitsuo’s mother also came to call him back. The other boys said, “I’ll go home,” or “Me, too,” and all the boys went home leaving Hoshito alone in the spacious shrine ground.

   Left alone, Hoshito took the furoshiki hood off from his head and jammed it into his shorts pocket. Then he walked in the shrine cutting the air diagonally on his either side alternatively with his stick sword as if he were trying to distract himself from his loneliness. Two crows were flying above him toward the setting sun cawing.

   Hoshito’s mother died of subarachnoid bleeding when he was two years old. His father, Jyunji, remarried Takako when he was four. She had a snub nose and her lips were as fat as bicycle tires. Takako got rid of all Hoshito’s mother’s belongings: her chest of drawers, mirror stand, kimono, obi-belts, footwear, hair sticks made of turtle shell. She threw away even her photographs and notebooks. So, Hoshito had no way to figure out what his mother looked like or what her handwriting was like.

   He was passing through a tunnel made of about 30 red torii shrine gates which stood in succession. He walked hitting each torii gate pillar with a stick in his hand making a rattling noise.

   Suddenly a gust of wind blew; the sunset was covered with dark clouds and looked threatening. Hoshito rushed and almost reached the end of the tunnel. He had only a few torii gates to pass through, when he stumbled on a tree root and fell on his buttocks.

“Ouch” he said and looked at his dirty kneecap. It was bleeding. He wiped the dirt and put saliva on the cut. The dirt and blood mingled. When he stood up, he happened to see the torii pillar on his right hand. It was inscribed in black ink with the contributor’s name, Mitsuo Mochizuki. “Mochizuki is the same as my family name,” he thought.

   Then, thunder cracked and the lightning flashed. The thirty torii gates blazed white. Sharp thunder rumbled again as if it would split the earth into pieces. Hoshito crouched down with his eyes shut covering his ears with his hands. The wind whirled taking innumerable gingko leaves high up in the dark sky. Relentless lightning brightened the gingko trees, the shrine, and the graveled ground. Hoshito was motionless.

   Ten seconds….twenty seconds….

   Gradually the thunder abated. Hoshito opened his eyes and looked around. It was foggy. He looked through the fog to find about 30 torii gates standing in front of him. He wondered, “I was almost at the end of the tunnel before the thunder, but why are there still many torii gates in front of me? Have I been blown backward by the wind?” He stood up and looked at the torii gate pillar just beside him. It had the name, Mitsuo Mochizuki. “This is the place where I stood when the thunder clapped,” he wondered and looked forward again carefully.

   He saw a boy standing about three meters away from him in the foggy tunnel. He was just like Hoshito. He looked about the same age as Hoshito, wearing the same light blue sweater and the same brown shorts, with close-cropped hair. His kneecap was slightly bleeding. A stick of the same shape and length with Hoshito’s lay just beside him. Everything about the boy was the same as Hoshito.

   This was an illusion. There shouldn’t be a giant mirror in the tunnel, he thought and as an experiment he raised his right hand. Then the boy raised his “right” hand (on the observer’s right) just like in a mirror. Hoshito was startled. He tilted his body to the right. Then the boy tilted his body to the “right,” too. This must be the Shrine Fox trick, he thought, and jumped twice. Then the boy jumped at the same time and landed at the same time with Hoshito. He was scared, but boldly advanced three steps. Then the boy also advanced three steps.

  Hoshito thought if he advanced some more, he would collide with the boy. He was a hero swordsman, Kurama Tengu. He shouldn’t be afraid. He advanced further. When the distance narrowed down to 50 centimeters between the two boys, Hoshito adventurously extended his hand to touch the boy. The boy also extended his hand. As soon as the distance between the two hands was about five centimeters, thunder struck the shrine again. Hoshito shut his eyes petrified. Thunder roared and lightening flashed. It became foggy.

   Ten seconds….twenty seconds….

   Gradually the thunder abated. Hoshito opened his eyes and found that the boy had disappeared.

   The roof of the shrine was shining, reflecting the setting sun as if nothing had happened. The gingko leaves were waving in the breeze. The bell of a temple tolled in the distance.

   Hoshito did not want to go back home. His new mother, Takako, had had a baby a year after she married his father, Jyunji. Hoshito thought that she had changed after she gave birth to his brother.

   When Hoshito got home, Takako rebuked him in a gravelly voice, “What time do you think it is now? How many times have I told you that you must come back after the sunset?”

   At supper Hoshito talked about the strange incident he had experienced in the shrine.

   “Dad, I saw a strange boy in the shrine.”

   “A strange boy?”

   “Yes. Do I have a twin brother?”

   “No. You don’t, but what are you talking about?”

   “I saw a boy just like me in the shrine.”

   “What nonsense! Have you gone mad?” Takako snorted.

   “But I SAW him. He was wearing the same clothes as me.”

   “It’s your imagination, isn’t it?” Jyunji ignored Hoshito.

   “I know what I saw,” Hoshito protested.

   Hoshito felt disappointed to hear his father. Dad had been kind enough to listen to him more attentively before he remarried. Hoshito bit his lower lip slightly.

   Since that day, the strange boy never appeared again. After Hoshito entered elementary school, he continued to play with Yoichi and Mitsuo in the shrine. After his friends went home in the evening, Hoshito walked through the torii tunnel to the pillar which was inscribed with “Mituo Mochizuki.” He thought he might meet the boy again, but he never appeared again.

   When Hoshito was a first grader, he asked Yoichi, “Have you ever seen a boy who looks like you?”

   “What do you mean? Are you talking about my twin?”

   “No, not your twin, but he looks just like you.”

   “Like me? And not my twin? A ghost?” Yoichi responded like Hoshito was a stupid.

   “Not a ghost. I saw him. I saw a boy who looked exactly like me.”

   “Impossible.”

   “I know, but I . . . .”

      Hoshito asked the same question of Mitsuo, but he replied, “You must have dreamed it.”

   Since then he stopped asking the question of his friends lest he should be treated as a fool.

   After graduating from elementary school, he went to a local junior high school. He commuted to school walking along the road near the shrine. Once in a while he walked through the tunnel. What was the boy? Was he an illusion? Did an illusion raise his hand just like me? Did it jump together with me?

   The junior high school classes were not interesting at all for Hoshito. Takako always criticized Hoshito for his bad grades.

   “Why are your grades so poor? You should follow the example of Hideki,” Takako praised his brother. Hoshito was frustrated. Would his real mother say such a disappointing thing? He faintly said to himself, “Mom….” He was not able to remember anything about his mother: her face, voice, smell, and feeling. He wished he had her picture, even only one single picture.

   His grades in senior high school were bad. One day he was in physics class. The teacher’s hair looked like Einstein’s. It grew long in all directions as if it were an exploding bomb. He wore black-framed round glasses and a white lab coat. His name was Furuta, but his nickname Old Fox prevailed among the students. Hoshito thought his class was tricky. When Old Fox was confronted with a difficult question, he seemed to throw up a smokescreen by giving seemingly correct answers. Hoshito thought that not all of his lectures were scientifically based. Hoshito thought Old Fox were trying to attract the students’ interest in his class by saying extravagant things such as: a boy and a girl are pulled by each other by an unseen force; everybody would be able to go to space by using an elevator in the future; and theoretically speaking time travel into the past was impossible but into the future it was possible. In one of his classes, Fox said that the Bermuda triangle was the entrance into another dimension and that the other entrance should be on the other side of the earth. Hoshito did not believe what Fox said, but he looked for the other entrance by consulting the world globe in the school library just for the fun of it. It seemed like the entrance was located in Japan, or more precisely speaking, in the central part of Japan, where Hoshito lived.

   That day Hoshito was taking Fox’s class absent-mindedly. He wanted it to end soon. Mr. Fox was yelling the words “antiparticles” repeatedly.

   “Therefore, every chemical substance is made of atoms, which are made of particles called protons, neutrons, and electrons. Interestingly enough, there exist counterpart particles that have the same mass as protons, neutrons, and electrons, but have a negative charge. They are called antiprotons or positron, antineutrons, and antielectrons. Therefore, antiatoms, which I have often mentioned before, are substances consisting of positrons, antineutrons, and antielectrons. Well, do you have any questions so far?”

   “Yes, I have a question,” Yukawa, who sat beside Hoshito, raised his hand. “You say there exist antiatoms. Then, does it mean that there also exist antimolecules?”

   “A good question. You are right. For that matter, there exist antiprotein and antiameba. And, ultimately speaking, antihumans could exist.”

   Hoshito was staggered to hear the word, antihumans, and raised his hand despite himself.

   “OK. Hoshito,” Mr. Furuta said.

   “What kind of thing is this antihuman?”

   “Well, it is an exact counterpart of a human being. In the antihuman world, everything is reversed. Our right side is their left side, so is our left side. Time flows backward. Incidentally, my students, I would like to introduce an interesting theory about the birth of the universe. According to this theory, when the universe was made by the big bang, a counterpart universe was also made at the same time caused by negative force. In that counterpart world, time flows in reverse. Unlike this universe which is expanding, the antiuniverse is deflating.”  

Hoshito did not fully understand what Fox was talking about. He was afraid that Fox was making some tricky lecture. However, when Fox mentioned “anti-human,” Hoshito instantaneously remembered the strange boy he met in the shrine years ago.

Hoshito continued to ask questions.

“If there is an anti-universe, does it mean there is an anti-earth? Then, is there an anti-boy exactly like me?”

“Yes, you are right. Theoretically speaking, there exists your anti-boy, your duplicate.”

   Hoshito was overwhelmed by Mr. Furuta’s answer. His classmates were surprised to see Hoshito, who never asked questions, asking questions earnestly.

   “Mr. Furuta, can I, can I meet my anti-boy?”

   “No, it’s impossible because the anti-universe exists in a different dimension. However, some scientists claim that there are warp holes on earth that lead to different dimensions. You know, such as the one at the Bermuda triangle zone.”

   A vivid image of the strange boy in the shrine revived before Hoshito’s eyes.

   “Mr. Furuta, to tell you the truth, I have…, I have met my anti-human.”

   That moment, all the students were taken back. The next moment, they roared into laughter.

   Mr. Furuta was different. His eyes sparkled and said, “Really? When? Where?”

   “At Takakura Shrine. When I was five or so.”  

   The next Sunday, Hoshito took Mr. Furuta to the shrine. It was an affiliated shrine of Atsuta Shrine, and was famous for its power to help child-raising mothers. Walking along an approach to the shrine, Mr. Furuta said, “Hoshito, do you remember that I predicted that there might be a warp hole at the other side of the earth from the Bermuda triangle zone? It’s here. I’m amazed. So, a tremendous thunder must have roared immediately before you saw the boy, I guess.”

“Yes, it was ear-splitting.”

“I thought so. When the right conditions were met, the anti-boy, or I should say, the negatively charged Hoshito was positively charged by the thunder, and appeared before you. It means that the anti-universe momentarily broke into this universe.”

“I see,” Hoshito said, although he did not follow Mr. Furuta at all. “But, Mr. Furuta, doesn’t the anti-universe exist billions of billions of light-years away from this universe?”

“Not at all. The anti-universe seems to exist at the farthest place from this universe, but it exists at the nearest from our universe.”

“What do you mean?” Hoshito asked, confused.

“Well, let me give you a metaphorical example. This is called Möbius strip. Take a paper strip and give it a half-twist, and join the ends of the strip together to form a loop. Now, if you were to stand on the strip and start walking along its length, where would be the farthest from the starting point? Well, it would be the point on the other side of the starting point. But if you make a hole at the starting point, the point on the other side is the nearest. Therefore, the farthest is the nearest. The hole is the warp hole. Do you understand?”

   Listening to Mr. Furuta, Hoshito thought he was bewitched by a fox, but on second thought, he concluded Mr. Furuta was telling the truth. He had said that there would be a warp hole at the other side of the Bermuda triangle, and just as he had predicted, he was standing at the very spot where he had met his anti-boy.

   When they came to the Torii inscribed with the name, Mitsuo Mochizuki, Mr. Furuta took out a terrestrial electromagnetic wave sensor out of his bag, and switched on it.

“Oh, it’s abnormally high,” he said looking at the indicator.

“So, there is a warp hole here,” Hoshito said.

“I can’t say for sure, but this is a most likely spot. If conditions are met, you could go to the anti-universe.”

“Conditions? What conditions?”

“Oh, there are many. When solar storms generate a great level of radiation that affects the earth's magnetic field, or when positive electrical charge is replaced with negative charge due to tremendous thunderbolts, or when the planetary alignment takes place, I mean, when the planets form a straight line from the sun outward disturbing the magnetic field.”

   Mr. Furuta gave several conditions so spontaneously that Hoshito reasured that the teacher had not been throwing up a smokescreen before the students. He believed what Mr. Furuta said.

   “Then, if the conditions are fulfilled, can I go to the anti-universe?”

   “Sure. If you study the nature of anti-particles and negative electrical charge fully, you are most probably capable of entering another dimension. If you are interested, I recommend you to study it.”

   Since that day, Hoshito’s attitude during Mr. Furuta’s class changed dramatically. He began to read books on universe, electrical charge, atoms, and particles. He often asked questions of Mr. Furuta. He had given up going to university, but thanks to his hard work, he entered the department of science, Kyoto University, two years later.    

After graduating from the university, he went on to the graduate school of science and studied anti-particles in the elementary particles research laboratory in Kyoto University. Then after finishing his PhD, he studied terrestrial electromagnetic wave and cosmic electromagnetic system in Massachusetts Institute of Technology as a visiting researcher.

Hoshito married at the age of 31, became an assistant professor at the age of 42, and professor at 53. After retiring from Kyoto University at 65, he continued his study and experiments as an emeritus professor at Nagoya University, but years passed without any concrete progress from his studies. His father passed away from heart failure at the age of 67 and his step mother, Takako, died when she was 77.

   In July 2012 when Hoshito was 78 years old, he flew to Geneva, Switzerland, as a research associate for the European Organization for Nuclear Research to attend the experiment to discover Higgs or God particles inside the Large Hadron Collider. He was overwhelmed by the discovery, but that was only the starting line for his life’s work.

   When he was 80, his son who lived in a condominium in Tokyo suggested to him that he should live with his family, but he declined because he did not want to leave his home city of Nagoya, where he was born and bred. He was thinking only of meeting his anti-boy, or now his anti-old man in Takakura Shrine. He had almost given up meeting him. Although he had mastered astrophysics, cosmophysics, planetary electromagnetics, particle physics, space-time geometry, atmospheric electricity, and other fields of physics, he had not yet detected even an anti-H2O molecule.

   Hoshito was alone on his 82^nd birthday, but he was not so feeble to have to ask his son to support him. After taking breakfast, he went out for a walk to Takakura Shrine routinely. He had given up meeting his anti-human. As he was walking in the Torii tunnel, he wondered what had made him work so hard. Why had he wanted to meet his anti-human so much?

Then, he realized that he had long desired to meet his mother. Mr. Furuta had said that time flew backward in the anti-universe. So, if he met his anti-human in the anti-universe, he would see him grow younger and younger until he would meet his mother.

When he was five years old, he envied Yoichi and Mituo when their mothers came to call them back home for supper. On the morning of the enrollment ceremony for elementary school, he was chided by his stepmother, Takako, “Why can’t you walk faster, you, blockhead.” Whenever he was playing in a park or walking along a street, he saw children accompanied by their mothers. Such scenes hurt his heart. His elementary school teacher had said, “When you tell a lie, your heart gets a black stain. The more you tell lies, the darker your heart becomes.” Hoshito thought his heart had gotten tainted with dark blue stains which, in his mind, were the signs of sorrow and loneliness.

   When his heart was saturated with such stains, loneliness showed on his face. However cheerful he looked or however loudly he was laughing, his eyes betrayed his motherless sorrow. Takako looked kind to Hoshito before her husband, but behind his back she took only Hideki under her wing. Hoshito saw her give candy and money to Hideki, saying in a small voice, “This is only for you. Don’t tell your brother.” Even after he grew up to be a high school boy, he craved for his mother who would embrace him warmly. Even after he became a man, and married, and became 40 or 50 years old, his loneliness lingered in his heart. If you carefully looked at his face, you would notice a slight blue mark under his eyes. His face reflected his motherless heartache.

  It was a fine May day. Hoshito walked to Takakura Shrine for a walk. He threw money into an offertory box in front of the shrine, clapped his hands twice, and bowed. He walked to the torii tunnel. The green leaves were shining. As he was walking in the tunnel, he thought his anti-boy was 82 years old, too.

   A gust of wind blew. A dozen of birds flew away from the trees in all directions chirping noisily. Black clouds invaded the sky, threatening to rain. Hoshito hurriedly passed through the tunnel for fear of the rain. His legs did not move smoothly because of his age. When he reached the torii inscribed with Mitsuo Mochizuki, ear-splitting lightning struck. Hoshito crouched down and put his hands over his ears. Fog hung thick and low.

   Ten seconds….twenty seconds….

   When the thunder faded, Hoshito opened his eyes. The fog had cleared and the black clouds had disappeared, revealing a clear blue sky; dozens of birds flew to the trees from all directions chirping noisily and a gust of wind stopped blowing; he walked backward in a haste with tottering steps in the torii tunnel under a threatening dark sky; he saw green leaves shining under a fine May sky; he bowed and clapped his hands twice; a coin jumped from the offering box into his hands.

   Why had the coins jumped out of the box, Hoshito wondered. Why had he bowed twice even though he had bowed a short time ago? Just then, Hoshito realized that he had entered the anti-universe. Time was flowing backward. He was looking at himself like a dying man’s spirit was looking at his body.

   He was watching a rewinding movie. His past events were unreeling before him. He became younger and younger. Now he was eighty years old. He saw his wife’s funeral. Six men in mourning dress were dragging a coffin from a hearse; carried it back to a funeral hall and put it in the center; a man opened its lid, and a dozen of sobbing people in black were taking flowers out of the coffin.

   Ten years flew backward, then another ten years. Now he was 70 years old, reading a physics book at home; now he was 60, giving a retirement commemorative lecture on “The Symmetric Balance of Particles and Anti-particles”; then he became a professor and then an assistant professor. Another ten years flew back and he saw the scene of the first date with his would-be-wife in a restaurant. He was wiping the spilt coffee on the table; he took a napkin; coffee spread on the table and spilt out from the cup; it tumbled and his hand knocked it down; he put it on the table and was sipping coffee talking with her.

   Now he was watching Mr. Furuta’s class. His classmates burst into laughter and Hoshito said, “Boyantimymethavei.” Yukawa, putting down his hand, said Questionahavei.” Mr. Furuta said, “?farsoquestionsanyhaveyoudo.”

   Now the scene was showing a five-year-old Hoshito facing his anti-boy clad in the same clothes as Hoshito’s, when the fog cleared and then thunder rumbled. Both of them drew back their hands, walked backward a few steps, and jumped twice.

The scene changed into the torii tunnel, where Hoshito was walking backward hitting the torii pillars with a stick. Yoichi left the shrine with his mother, and said, “Tomorrowyousee.” Now Hoshito was sword fighting with Yoichi and Mitsuo. His furoshiki hood covering his head loosened and then it tightened.

Now he was two years old. He was sitting in his mother’s lap. He saw his mother for the first time in his life. He cried, “Mom!” Her sloe-eyes and eyelids without a fold; her neat nose and lips; and her soft round cheeks. She resembled a beautiful woman in the Edo era ukiyoe woodprint. She was smiling at a one-year-old Hoshito. While he was looking at her, he felt warm, happy, and shy. His motherless sorrow and loneliness had dissolved. He wanted to jump to her bosom and be hugged by her. He heard her saying, “Hoshitomouthyouropen.” He heard her voice for the first time, but he thought he had heard it before.

When his mouth was about to shut, she slowly pulled a spoon with some food in it from his mouth. How tenderly, he thought.

   He became six months old. Now she was changing his diaper; now he was suckling from her breast; at last he saw the moment he was born with a sharp cry. That instant, Hoshito died.  

His body lay beside the torii pillar inscribed “Mitsuo Mochizuki.” The dark blue sorrow mark under his eye had completely disappeared. He looked content, peaceful, and fully secure.

 

                                 The end

 

 

A FRUSTRATED VIOLINIST

At last his shinkansen train arrived at
Nagoya Station. Takashi Kinoshita picked up his violin case and bag and stepped
down onto the platform. He had not told anyone that he would return to Nagoya
that day, because he did not like to be surrounded by his fans, newspapermen,
and TV reporters. He had had more than enough of camera flashes in New York,
London, and Paris. His performance had been labeled “God’s fiddling.”
　　While Takashi was walking on the platform, he wore his hat low over his mustached
face so that no one would identify him. He returned to Japan after a 20 year
absence. He had left Nagoya for New York at the age of 17. He had won the first
prize in the Tokyo International Violin Competition and received a grant to
study the violin in New York. Since that time he had not returned to Japan.
He took a subway to visit his former music professor
at Chubu University of Arts. He thought some passengers would notice him. He
hated too much commotion around him but deep in his mind he wanted some people
to notice him. To hear them say, “Look, isn’t that Mr. Kinoshita, the famous violinist?” and pretend that he was not hearing them gave him satisfaction. However, the passengers were texting, reading books, talking with their friends, or taking a nap.
　　A little bit irritated at their indifference, he coughed intentionally. Nobody
paid attention to him. He thought, “People in Nagoya are all blind. Here I am, a
world famous violinist, and no one notices me. What country bumpkins!”
　　Soon he reached the Chubu University of Art. He
walked slowly towards the Music Department. Several students were walking
towards him, some with violin cases in their arms. “Surely, they will notice
me,” he said to himself and purposefully walked slowly with an erect posture. As
he was passing them, he looked at them hard. He even locked his eyes on one of
them, but they did not identify him.
　　Disappointed, he walked onto the Music Department campus. No one noticed him. He could not believe that he was walking on the music department campus.
　　He entered the university building, and walked along the corridor to the professor’s room, when he passed the music hall. At the entrance there were pamphlets which read that Ms. Kanako Yamada’s violin performance was to be held in 30 minutes. He knew the violinist. He had taught her violin when she visited him in New York two years before. He opened the door. Suddenly he remembered how he played the violin there just before leaving for New York. He almost heard the applause and
saw the bouquet of flowers given to him on that day. In the hall there were
hundreds of students waiting for the performance.
　　“I am her teacher, and yet nobody has paid attention to me. I will surprise them,” he thought. Before he noticed, he was standing at the wing of the stage. Nobody was there. The curtain was not drawn yet. Breathing deeply, he walked to the
center of the stage in front of the curtain expecting the audience’s surprised
voices and looks.But none of the student gasped nor looked surprised. Some were talking with their neighbors, some looking at the program pamphlets, and others using smartphones. He became angry. He thought, “Once I begin to play the violin, they will stop talking and listen to my beautiful music. Just you wait.” He began to play one of the most difficult violin pieces, “Carmen Fantasy” composed by Sarasate. No one noticed his performance. Combating tress and irritation he continued to play the violin. After playing for one minute, he stopped. He got angry, felt slighted, and went out of the hall.
　　“What cabbageheads! I’ll have to scold the dean of the Music Department. What is he teaching them?” he thought. It was incomprehensible for him that none of the
students paid attention to a great violinist like him.
He walked in long strides towards the main entrance of the Music Department building. When he approached the entrance, he saw a statue. The statue was playing the violin. “Who is this?” he wondered, and looked at the name plate. It read:

MR. TAKASHI KINOSHITA
THE GREATEST VIOLINIST JAPAN HAS EVER PRODUCED
February 20, 1970 – January 4, 2007

TO MARRY A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN

Takao, a stout 28-year-old company worker, was taking a subway train around seven o’clock in the evening that day. He was so exhausted after the day’s hard work that he soon fell asleep as soon as he sat on the seat.
　　About seven minutes later when he awoke, he saw a beautiful woman around 23 years old sitting on the seat opposite from his. “She must be an actress or a fashion model,” he thought. He could not help appreciating her beauty by looking at her stealthily from time to time. As she was absorbed in reading a book, she did not notice him. Her long eyelashes, well proportioned red lips, waving hair, and her slender body in a green sweater—everything about her was irresistible.
　　When the train stopped at the next station, several passengers got on and a middle aged man stood just in front of him obstructing his sight as if the man knew what Takao had been indulging in. Takao wanted to shout, “You are blocking my view!” Instead, he leaned his body to the left to secure the vision.
　　The train reached Kanayama Station, where he had to get off the train. He reluctantly stood up, when she also did the same. He watched her walk hurriedly toward the ticket gate. When she reached it and took out a commuter pass from her purse, she dropped a small notebook. Not noticing it, she went through the gate. When Takao passed through it, he bent down and picked up the notebook. He ran to catch up with her and cried, “Hey, Miss, you’ve dropped something.” She did not stop but walked hurriedly to the Meitetsu Line station. He tried to catch her but gave up, because he thought he would miss his train.
　　When Takao got on the train, he opened her notebook out of curiosity. It was just an ordinary notebook full of schedules. At the end of the notebook was written her name (Kaori Hanai) and telephone number.
　　When Takao returned home and switched the light on, he called her up remembering her face which was firmly embedded in his memory. While the beep was ringing, he was excited. “I can talk to a super-beautiful girl,” he thought. After a few beeps, he heard her voice.
　　“Hello,” Kaori said.
　　“Hello,” he said. “I think you dropped your notebook? I happened to pick it up.
　　There was a moment of silence.
　　“Are you still there?” he said.
　　“Yes, yes,” she said a little surprised. “Thank you. I am very grateful to you. I thought I would not be able to get it back. Could you return it to me? It’s important.”
　　“Of course. Is it all right with you that we meet at Kanayama Station tomorrow?”
　　“Yes, what time shall we make it?”
　　“How about seven in the evening? I’ll be standing in front of the Japan Railway ticket machine.”
　　“That’ll be fine. How can I identify you?”
　　“Oh, my name is Yamada. I am 28 years old and will be carrying a black bag.”
　　“Fine, I’ll be there at seven. Mr. Yamada,” she said.
　　That night Takeo could not sleep. He would be meeting with the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. She would say, “How can I thank you?” he would say, “No, no, you don’t have to thank me.” She would say, “But, could I treat you to dinner?” “No, don’t,” he would say. She would insist. So, he would have dinner with her. She would become fond of him, and, and . . . .
　　Ten minutes before seven, Takeo was standing in front of the ticket machine. She might appear at any moment. He searched for her among the busy people.
　　At seven o’clock she did not appear.
　　At seven fifteen, she did not appear. He thought she had some urgent business. He decided to wait for her for another fifteen minutes, when a man’s voice called him from behind, “Mr. Yamada, I presume.” Takao turned around and saw a handsome man around 30 years old. He felt like his head had been struck by an iron bar.
　　“Yes, I am. I’m Yamada. Are you . . . .?”
　　“My name is Hanai. I am sorry to have kept you waiting, but Kaori has an urgent business and asked me to meet you.”
　　“Oh, I see.” Takao said totally disappointed not unable to see her. “So she is married to this man,” he thought.
　　The man said, “So, could you return the notebook?
　　“Yes, of course,” Takao said and returned it.
　　“Thank you. This is a token of our thanks. Please accept it,” he said trying to hand in an envelope, apparently containing some money.
　　Takao refused to accept it in spite of his insistence.
　　Soon they parted ways. The man walked briskly into the crowd, and Takao plodded wearily. He thought he had no chance at all to marry her. He did not know that the man was her brother.