Yakumo, you began to laugh and slap your knees. Nishida-san caught my eyes briefly, as if he were seeking my permission, and then he joined you.

Setsu dropped her head into her hands. Into her palms, she vowed to keep a stronger hold on her limbs, her heart, her body as a whole.

The conversation between you and Nishida-san resumed, while the sea breezes kept the mosquitoes at bay.

I awoke at dawn to seabirds squawking for their first meal of the day. As I finished dressing, I heard footsteps in the inn’s passageway. I slid open the door, hoping to see a maid, as I wanted my morning tea served earlier than usual. Instead, I saw Nishida-san’s back. He turned around and nodded. I followed him down the stairs, where he bid me good morning, formal as if I were his own Mother. Then he offered his apologies.

“An unexpected business matter awaits my attention in saka,” he claimed. “A change in travel plans is unavoidable,” he said and handed to me a list of the villages and inns where he had intended to travel with you—but not with me—in the weeks to come. “You may find this helpful,” he added.

I nodded but could not think of anything appropriate to say. Nishida-san did. “A honeymoon is a ritual for two,” he said, his eyes cast downward, as though he were reading an inscription on the tatami.

Habit took over once again, and I said, formal as if he were Father, “I see. I will try my best.”

Nishida-san could not hide his smile. The vision of me “trying my best” during a honeymoon was embarrassing to us both. Upon exchanging a deep bow to hide the color of our cheeks, he departed for Ōsaka, and I returned to your room.

To travel with you, Yakumo, was to be always by your side.

Nishida-san had taken care of every detail during our stay in Kitzuki and our day trips thereabouts, from hiring the small boat that took us from Inasa bay to Hinomisaki—where you were pleased to learn yet again that you were the first Westerner to visit a remote village and its Shintō shrine—to interpreting every question that you had for the two fishermen who rowed that boat.

“Is there a name for these rock formations?” you had asked Nishida-san, and he had asked the fishermen. “Why do the people call them ‘tortoise-shell stones’?” you wanted to know, and Nishida-san asked on your behalf. After some back-and-forth between the two fishermen, one of them offered Nishida-san a story, and he offered it to you. I was left to enjoy the passing seascape with its huddles and crags jutting from the depth.