Where the Dead Pause, and the Japanese Say Goodbye: A Journey (79 page)

“I always use flowers,” he said to me. “When you go to sleep tonight, and you remember the funeral, you are going to see two white flowers.”

“Does everyone do this?” I asked.

“No,” he said cheerfully. “My own idea. The last thing I want anyone to remember is the sight of bones. Or the bags. I want you to see white flowers.” He didn’t close the tomb then. He left it open, explaining that he would take time later to make sure that the tomb was put back together properly. It wasn’t something that I needed to see.

We lit candles and incense, and then Daisuke and Semp
chanted sutras again, and my mother and I bowed our heads.

When I remember that day, it is as Semp
said. I can still see the golden ashes belonging to my grandfather. But the impression that remains in my mind is that of a white flower against red earth.

M
Y MOTHER AND
I spent the night at Sekinoyu, the spa that faces the ocean and whose fate had so worried me after the tsunami.
At breakfast the following morning, we were greeted by Rumi, a woman who’d taken care of us many times over the years. I thought she looked a little bit drawn and even thinner than usual, but I didn’t want to comment on her health. I simply said, “Hello. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Welcome back,” she bowed.

At one point, I went over to the self-serve station to get myself a cup of coffee. Rumi came over to me.

“Excuse me, but are you by any chance related to Mita Semp
?”

I said that I was.

At this, she became excited, and her eyes brightened. “I thought so,” she said. “
En desu ne
.” It’s fate, isn’t it? “Semp
is a very fine person,” she said to me earnestly. She explained that her son and his young wife had been living with her since their marriage. The wife had become pregnant. Then came the March 11 catastrophe and the subsequent problem with the nuclear power plant.

Rumi’s daughter-in-law began to fret that she could not properly raise her son in Iwaki. How could any of them know if the water, the milk, or the air was safe? What if something happened to the baby? In despair, the young woman hanged herself not long after the baby was born. Suddenly, Rumi found herself with a small child and a grown son to take care of.

An immediate complication was that the young woman was not from Iwaki and did not have a funeral plot, or a temple to which she belonged. Rumi confided her troubles to the owner of the spa, who turned to Semp
for help. Now, said Rumi, her daughter-in-law’s remains were at Empukuji. Rumi and her son could not afford a funeral plot, but Semp
made everything easy and cheap and placed the bones in a small cubbyhole behind the shrine. They had an altar in the house too, she explained. And every day, they took the baby to the shrine and explained that this was where his mother was now and where he could visit her. And on the special memorial days,
they had a place to go—to Empukuji. “I’m grateful to your cousin,” she said to me. And then she repeated, “What a fine man.”

I have seen Rumi several times since then, and we always greet each other now with small gifts. She brings things for me to give to my son, and I bring her chocolate from New York, or a small present for her grandchild. One time I went to Japan with my husband and my son, and in the morning Rumi was waiting to serve our breakfast.

“I helped prepare your room the night before,” she said happily. “And I thought—I wonder if they are coming! And here you are!”

FIFTEEN

A
UTUMN
C
OLORS

B
Y THE START OF
September in Japan, shopping alleys in cities hang plastic colored leaves to add a bit of seasonal décor. Mixed in with these branches you’ll see other symbols of Japanese fall: chestnuts, chrysanthemums, rice cakes, and the moon.

The latter two require some explanation. The Japanese inherited from the Chinese the practice of viewing the autumn moon. Because of the earth’s position relative to the sun and the moon during this time of the year, the full moon is said to glow with exceptional intensity. A beloved folktale involves a rabbit who lives on the moon, and who pounds rice cakes, which can bestow immortality if eaten. During September, it’s not uncommon to see decorations of rabbits along with the moon and rice cakes. Even McDonald’s gets into the action with a special “moon-viewing hamburger.”

One September I went to visit my friend Isao, who was then still living in his hometown, Ky
t
. He had researched seasonal activities for us and discovered that K
daiji temple held a special moon-viewing event for a limited period of time during these early fall days.