Chapter 82

Part 3: Prologue, The Slumbering God

It's not like a life-flashing-before-your-eyes moment, or a divine revelation—it's something else entirely.

A bad dream—it's not the best way to put it, but that's probably the closest.

When I was a kid, my grandfather used to tell me something.

He said, if you ever see a tiny window on a wall where there usually isn't one while walking through the village, never, ever look through it.

And also, when someone close to you dies, don't go near the shrine deep in the mountains for a while. No matter what, don't pray while thinking about the dead.

Weird story, right?

My parents told me to only half-listen to what Grandpa said. They said he came back from the war with his mind broken from the southern front.

He was quiet and hard to deal with, so people didn't know what to do with him, but to me, he was better than the noisy relatives always meddling in everything.

When I didn't want to go to the village festival, I'd fake being sick and spend the night in Grandpa's room.

Yeah, the reason people shunned Grandpa wasn't just because of his personality. It was also because he disrespected the village god everyone held dear.

Our god isn't the kind that brings obvious blessings like matchmaking or warding off evil.

There aren't any proper documents about the god, but there are a few old folktales.

And in every one of them, the people who appear are those who've lost someone important—a sibling, a partner.

The story Grandma told me was about a mother who lost her daughter before the girl even turned five.

The woman who lost her child in the river stopped eating and turned into a ghost of herself, praying every night at the shrine, begging to have her daughter returned.

Then, on the night of the ninety-ninth day, a window appeared in the shrine wall that hadn't been there before.

A round window with bamboo lattice.

Curious, the woman peeked through it, and unbelievably, a river was flowing on the other side. A dazzling summer river, like in the middle of the day.

Just as she thought she'd been tricked by a fox and tried to run, she saw her daughter standing on the riverbank.

Wearing the same kimono as the day she died, watching the ayu fish swim in the river just like before.

The woman lost herself, shouted "It's dangerous!" and leapt into the window.

After that, the woman vanished.

But sometimes, when villagers pass by the river, they see the woman happily walking along the water's surface with her now-grown daughter.

That's how the story goes.

According to Grandpa, all of that's just complete nonsense.

When he said that, Grandpa never looked exasperated or mocking—just pained.

About a month before Grandpa died, I went with him to the hospital.

On the way back, he bought me a soda popsicle at the candy shop, and we walked with our tongues bright blue. I remember it well because he was smiling, which was rare.

But when we turned the corner near our house, Grandpa's face turned even bluer than his tongue.

I thought he was feeling sick and rushed to him, but he just stared at the wall, frozen.

The popsicle slipped off the stick and melted on the asphalt.

There was a round window open in the wall Grandpa was glaring at.

I couldn't believe it. What I saw through the window wasn't Japan—it was a dense jungle, like something near the equator.

It was a hot day, but the heat pouring out from the window was on a whole other level.

Then, a group of young men in brown clothes, stained with mud and grime, passed by on the other side.

Grandpa let out a strangled gasp like he was being choked, grabbed my arm, and bolted.

I was so scared of Grandpa's face that I kept my head down as he dragged me along.

When we finally burst into the house, Grandma came to the entrance and was so shocked by our expressions she nearly fainted.

Grandpa told me, "Don't ever speak of what you saw," but I didn't even understand what it was I'd seen.

A few years after Grandpa passed away, there was this lecture at school where someone shared their war experiences.

When I saw the documents handed out then, I finally understood. What I'd seen through the window was the southern front Grandpa had been sent to in his youth, and those clothes were Japanese military uniforms.

I wonder what would've happened if Grandpa had jumped through that window back then.