sixteen

THE CRIME COMES LAST OF ALL

鬼の居ぬ間に洗濯

When the cat’s away the mice will play

It is long past the sunset hour, when monsters and demons emerge from their places of slumber to visit upon the human world. Now they are alert and active and wide awake. The Yokai watches in awe as they parade down the street, drumming and singing, leaping from rooftop to rooftop with the agility of gazelles, swinging from electric cables by their monkey-like tails, clawing up and down buildings, gleefully knocking over trash cans and prancing with the goodies they find inside: egg sandwich crusts, fish bones, umeboshi pits, and Ghana bar wrappers with bits of chocolate still stuck to them. There must be hundreds. Many demons the Yokai does not recognize; yet they all shout passing greetings to her as if to an old friend:

“Well, well, look who’s here!”

“Baku-sama, konbanwa!”

“Hisa-bisa, Baku-sama!”

“Good to see you again!”

“It’s been ages. Where have you been?”

“Welcome!”

The Yokai can stand here forever, counting the monsters, the creatures, and the human-looking characters that pass her: umbrellas hopping on single legs, people with shamisen-shaped heads walking koto dragons on leashes, giant spiders the size of vans, giant-back televisions with tiny legs, a seven-foot tall mountain goat with a cartoonish grin walking on its hind legs, a dog with a human face, electronic toilet seats scuttling along the ground like Roomba vacuums (the Yokai does her best to avoid stepping on those), an androgynous-looking woman with a long swan neck handing out hot spring eggs, a giant cloud of smoke drifting above her head … The Yokai could spend hours trying to count and describe them all.

A little boy and girl, no more than two years old in appearance, hair and clothes drenched with water, stop at her feet. “Look, sister,” says the boy. “It’s that girl.”

“Wait, brother. That’s no girl. We know you. You’re the one who wants Akki’s boy.”

The Yokai looks back and forth between the two children. They indeed appear to be children, but judging from the rest of the crowd, the Yokai deduces they are not. “I have to find him again, before it’s too late. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Sorry, Miss Baku. We don’t know where he is anymore.”

The boy cocks his head. “Aren’t you cold?”

“No,” the Yokai looks down at her body. She is barefoot on the snowy pavement, wearing nothing. “I don’t feel anything,” she adds, mystified.

“Well, we haven’t seen him in the woods for months. He hardly wanders around alone there, anyway. Certainly not anymore.”

The Yokai sighs. “Okay, thanks.” She watches them rejoin the procession, holding hands. Had she and the man ever held hands like that? She cannot remember. She watches them go with a longing that makes her stomach sink.