She was a renaissance doll hidden among a million pastel faces. Every line was formed as if created, each miniscule imperfection smoothed. Every centimeter of her was manufactured, even her fingernails that she had redone each week, to keep them novel, decorated with charms and glitter to add an extra array of jewels to her body. In a larger scheme, they added attention to another part of her body, another area for one of her clients to notice.
Hibiki approached the initial entrance of the Meiji Shrine, the torii gate hidden under the boughs of primeval trees; blood red columns seemed to fall from the branches. A light touch on her forearm made her gasp but when she looked to the sensation she saw the tired, soft face of Toshi. They said nothing to each other. His eyes told her to follow as he walked to the open gate, paused, and bowed before walking through. She watched this simple display with confusion. In all the years she’d known Toshi, she never heard him mention any kinship with religion. On the contrary, she believed him to disregard any form of tradition. To see him suddenly revere an inanimate object, a wooden gate, baffled her. They continued in, their feet crunching on the gravel beneath them, surrounded by the overreaching arms of the forest. She felt that they would entrap her. Toshi remained silent, fixated on traveling forward until they reached an area cleared of green. Ancient trumpets echoed throughout the shrine, never ceasing to usher the dead to heaven. A plain of grey stones were laid before the wooden shrine. She absorbed the scene. The lines of patrons standing behind wooden stalls, waiting to buy religious charms and prayer woodblocks. Every beam was hung with paper arrows and golden thread. The devoted wrote down their prayers on wooden blocks to be hung on the hexagonal rack where a thousand worn blocks already hung with the wishful desires of many. By pairs, they offered their prayers to the main shrine. Coins that were tossed into the offering box clanked against the worn wood. Innumerable claps echoed off of the walls, sealing the prayers of the faithful. She stood against the pillar, watching Toshi take part in the singular ritual. She wondered what he was praying for, that he found the need to go to such a powerful shrine. Watching the back of his profile, she saw his hunched shoulders and bowed head. When he turned around, he took a deep breath and joined Hibiki. She nodded to him and took his hand in hers.
“We took our wedding pictures here,” he said, “She was wearing the shiromuku. She looked so beautiful that day when. . . .”
He took a deep breath and uttered, “My wife is pregnant.”
“Oh,” she said, comprehending immediately.
“It was a surprise.”
“All the best and worst things are, aren‘t they?”
Eyes desperate, he looked to his doll and she gave him a familiar, false smile.
Hibiki approached the initial entrance of the Meiji Shrine, the torii gate hidden under the boughs of primeval trees; blood red columns seemed to fall from the branches. A light touch on her forearm made her gasp but when she looked to the sensation she saw the tired, soft face of Toshi. They said nothing to each other. His eyes told her to follow as he walked to the open gate, paused, and bowed before walking through. She watched this simple display with confusion. In all the years she’d known Toshi, she never heard him mention any kinship with religion. On the contrary, she believed him to disregard any form of tradition. To see him suddenly revere an inanimate object, a wooden gate, baffled her. They continued in, their feet crunching on the gravel beneath them, surrounded by the overreaching arms of the forest. She felt that they would entrap her. Toshi remained silent, fixated on traveling forward until they reached an area cleared of green. Ancient trumpets echoed throughout the shrine, never ceasing to usher the dead to heaven. A plain of grey stones were laid before the wooden shrine. She absorbed the scene. The lines of patrons standing behind wooden stalls, waiting to buy religious charms and prayer woodblocks. Every beam was hung with paper arrows and golden thread. The devoted wrote down their prayers on wooden blocks to be hung on the hexagonal rack where a thousand worn blocks already hung with the wishful desires of many. By pairs, they offered their prayers to the main shrine. Coins that were tossed into the offering box clanked against the worn wood. Innumerable claps echoed off of the walls, sealing the prayers of the faithful. She stood against the pillar, watching Toshi take part in the singular ritual. She wondered what he was praying for, that he found the need to go to such a powerful shrine. Watching the back of his profile, she saw his hunched shoulders and bowed head. When he turned around, he took a deep breath and joined Hibiki. She nodded to him and took his hand in hers.
“We took our wedding pictures here,” he said, “She was wearing the shiromuku. She looked so beautiful that day when. . . .”
He took a deep breath and uttered, “My wife is pregnant.”
“Oh,” she said, comprehending immediately.
“It was a surprise.”
“All the best and worst things are, aren‘t they?”
Eyes desperate, he looked to his doll and she gave him a familiar, false smile.
