Chapter 10: The Mourner No one Remembered.
The old man entered the mourning house without a word.
He did not remove his worn straw sandals at the entrance until someone silently slid a pair of house slippers toward him. He stepped into them without a glance.
He did not acknowledge the grieving parents.
He did not bow before the family altar.
He did not offer incense.
He did not whisper the customary words of condolence.
He simply walked past the clusters of mourners, past the children sleeping against their mothers, past neighbours speaking in hushed voices beneath the scent of burning incense.
He found an empty space near the far wall.
He sat down.
No one seemed surprised.
The room was filled with the gentle crackle of candles.
At the front of the room stood the family altar. A framed photograph of Yuki rested beside white chrysanthemums. Incense drifted upward in thin streams while mourners quietly approached one after another, placing a pinch of incense into the burner before bowing their heads in silent prayer.
The old man never moved.
He never approached the altar.
He never offered incense.
Yet no one seemed to notice.
I watched him from across the room.
His clothes were patched, faded, stained by years of travel.
His face was lined with wrinkles that seemed far older than any person I had ever seen.
His hands rested quietly in his lap.
He stared ahead without blinking.
No one looked at him.
Kiri leaned closer.
"Who is that?"
I glanced toward her.
"I don't know," I said.
“I thought you knew him.” She replied.
"This is the first time I have seen him." I replied.
She nodded, though her eyes remained fixed on the old man.
"You've never seen him?"
"No."
Kiri slowly shook her head.
I wanted to answer.
Instead, I found myself looking back at the old man.
The grieving family quietly moved among the guests.
Despite their swollen eyes and exhausted faces, they continued serving bowls of rice, pickled vegetables, simmered dishes, tea, and small cups of sake to everyone who had come to keep vigil through the night.
When they reached the old man, they stopped.
Yuki's mother knelt.
With trembling hands, she placed a fresh bowl of rice before him.
Her husband carefully set a small cup of sake beside it.
Neither spoke.
They simply bowed politely before moving to the next guest.
The old man did not thank them.
He did not nod.
He did not touch the food.
Hours passed.
Mourners quietly shared memories of Yuki.
Children eventually fell asleep against their parents.
Some neighbors whispered prayers.
Others took turns approaching the altar to offer fresh incense, ensuring it never went out.
The old man never moved.
His bowl of rice remained untouched.
His sake remained untouched.
No one questioned it.
Everyone behaved as though this were perfectly ordinary.
Only I found it unsettling.
***
Kiri quietly told me stories about the city.
Normally, I would have listened.
Tonight, her voice sounded far away.
Every now and then my eyes drifted toward the old man.
Each time I looked away almost immediately.
At first, I blamed the candlelight.
The skin beneath his eye seemed to ripple.
Not much.
Just enough to make me blink.
When I looked again, it was still.
Then it happened again.
Something pressed gently from beneath his skin.
Not a twitch.
Not a muscle.
Something...
pushing outward.
A tiny fingertip.
No larger than a child's.
As though someone trapped beneath paper-thin flesh had gently placed their hand against it.
I blinked.
Only wrinkles remained.
I looked down at my hand.
Then I looked back...
The skin beneath his cheek slowly bulged.
A rounded forehead.
Then a tiny nose.
Closed lips.
For one impossible heartbeat...
it looked as though a child's face was trying to emerge from inside him.
Not screaming.
Not struggling.
Simply... pressing against the boundary between flesh and air.
Something about the face tugged at a memory.
The shape of the eyes.
The curve of the cheeks.
It reminded me of someone...
Before I could remember who, the face melted back beneath the old man's skin.
I thought I saw another hand beneath his neck.
Smaller.
Moving.
Slowly.
Like something shifting beneath still water.
I forced myself to keep looking.
The longer I watched...
the harder it became to understand what I was seeing.
The old man's face remained perfectly calm.
Yet...
The shape beneath his skin seemed to change whenever my eyes tried to focus.
Another hand pressed against his temple.
Before I could focus on it, the skin smoothed over.
Then something shifted beneath his jaw.
A tiny elbow.
A shoulder.
Gone again.
My stomach tightened.
The room suddenly felt colder.
I looked away.
My heart hammered inside my chest.
I pressed my hands against my knees to stop them from shaking.
It had to be exhaustion.
The past few days.
The funeral.
The lack of sleep.
That had to be it.
I said nothing to Kiri.
I couldn't bring myself to look at him again.
The wake continued.
The scent of incense lingered heavily in the room.
The candles burned lower.
Neighbors spoke more softly.
Someone yawned.
Another answered with a tired smile.
A child curled against her mother's shoulder. Her mother followed a few breaths later.
Conversations became whispers.
Whispers became silence.
The candles continued burning.
My eyes grew heavy. I tried to keep them open.
The candlelight blurred at the edges.
The old man's face seemed to shift, to ripple, to breathe.
Then the darkness came.
I didn't feel myself fall.
I was simply gone.
***
Morning sunlight filtered softly through the paper windows.
I opened my eyes.
Every muscle in my body felt heavy.
Kiri stared at me, her hands tucked inside her sleeves.
"I feel like I forgot something."
I looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know."
She frowned.
"It feels important."
I searched my own thoughts.
For a moment...
I felt the same thing.
Then it slipped away.
I shrugged.
"Probably just lack of sleep."
"...Maybe."
Around me, everyone slowly stirred awake.
People rubbed their eyes.
Several looked around in confusion.
"I don't remember falling asleep..."
"...Neither do I..."
Yuki's father frowned.
"Who stayed awake last night?"
Silence.
Everyone looked at one another.
No one answered.
Not even the grieving parents.
No one remembered.
They simply assumed exhaustion had overtaken them.
The neighbors quietly began cleaning the room.
Fresh tea was prepared.
Empty bowls were gathered.
Kiri suddenly stopped.
She was staring toward the far wall.
An untouched bowl of rice rested on the tatami.
Beside it sat a small cup of sake.
She frowned.
"Was someone sitting there?"
Nobody answered.
Several people looked toward the far wall.
There was nothing there.
Yet no one looked away immediately.
Then she saw something, and her eyes grew wide.
There.
Beside the untouched bowl rested a neat pile of ashes.
Not scattered.
Not blown there by the wind.
Deliberately placed.
No incense burner stood nearby.
No stick remained.
Only ash.
As though someone had accepted the family's offering...
remained through the night...
and quietly disappeared with the coming of dawn.
Who is this mysterious old man, really?
What is happening in this village?
Why does no one remember him?
Why did he sit in silence and speak nothing?
Why did he disappear at dawn, leaving only ashes behind?
Was Yuki's death truly just an illness?
Or was there something more...
What did Hinata really see on that mountain?
What did she know?
What is she trying to forget?
Questions pile up.
Answers remain distant.
The night continues.
Until everything is revealed...
Continues next week, same time, same place.
