Chapter 118
Part 3, The Daidai God
We dragged our heavy feet along the coastal road.
My wet jeans clung to my thighs, and the cold was enough to evaporate the moisture. It felt like ghosts were flying out from under my feet. Dried salt flaked off in white pieces.
Kirima was in even worse shape. Since he had been subrged up to his chest in the sea, his suit was soaked through.
A muffled fishing boat horn could be heard from across the sea. Kirima said nothing. I looked up at his tense profile.
"It's not your fault."
"......I know."
He didn't look like he believed that at all.
The sky, which had been red just monts ago, had turned a cooled indigo, making it feel even colder. Instead of stars, sparse streetlights dotted the sky, illuminating the rusted barn and bicycles with the sea breeze.
The place we arrived at was a rundown business hotel, clearly in a rural area.
A massive rectangular block, like spoiled tofu, jutted from the ground. As if they'd given up on cleaning, beyond the double glass doors tinged with dust and salt, I could see a red carpet and a black phone.
Kirima borrowed the front desk phone and told Ryoko that the investigation would take longer.
He received a skeleton key from the old man behind the counter and said curtly, "Let's go."
"You never said we'd be staying overnight."
"There are no more trains. And we haven't gotten to the heart of the Territorial Divine Offenses yet. Besides..."
Kirima fell silent and shook his head. His dusky skin looked paler than usual.
When we opened the green iron door, a room lit with a faint orange glow like candlelight spread out before us.
Two plain white beds, and a tiny desk in the center that left no room for anything else when a lamp was placed on it. It was a room that felt like a prison cell.
Kirima spoke while removing his suit jacket.
"I'll go wash these in the laundry downstairs. Want to take your clothes too?"
"I'll... do it later."
"Don't sit on the bed while you're still dirty."
"What are you, my parent?"
"I don't rember raising a con artist."
Kirima quickly threw on a gown, neatly hung his tie—now stained miserably—on a hanger, and left the room.
The unfamiliar, silent room suddenly made the loneliness feel more intense.
It felt like when I was left alone at a family gathering during my parents' lifeti. Like Kirima was never coming back.
The loud ticking of the clock overlapped with my heartbeat. To distract myself, I pulled over a clear ashtray and lit a cigarette.
By the ti I finished two cigarettes, Kirima had returned.
I exhaled deeply.
"Don't sigh just because you saw my face."
"That's not it... more importantly, are you okay?"
"What do you an?"
Kirima sat on the opposite bed, placed the cigarette box on his crossed legs. His calves had several old scrapes.
"You lost your lighter, huh?"
Kirima struck a match lying next to the ashtray and lit his cigarette.
On the matchbook, it read: "360-degree ocean view, an oasis in the port town – Hotel Daidai." Even in a countryside with nothing but the sea, words can sell anything—I almost laughed.
Kirima spoke while exhaling smoke.
"About the Daidai God—you saw it, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I saw it twice—once at the bottom of the well, and once in the sea. It was an old man with a huge head, about twice the size of a human. Bald, white beard, wearing a kimono."
"......Sounds like Fukurokuju."
"Fukurokuju?"
"One of the Seven Lucky Gods. You often see them as decorations during New Year's. Fukurokuju is the god of longevity and long life."
"That fits this village."
Kirima made a difficult face at my reply.
"But originally, Fukurokuju carried a peach, not a daidai."
"So it's a different being, then."
"Probably, the ritual of dropping daidai fruits ca first. And as the villagers kept praying for health and safety, their faith reshaped it to resemble Fukurokuju."
"I see. So once again, human wishes distorted a god."
I muttered as if talking to myself.
"He didn't seem like a bad god, though..."
"The god who erased a child, you an?"
Kirima furrowed his brow. I waved both hands.
"Don't take it out on . I an, when that kid disappeared, the Daidai God looked incredibly sad."
Kirima exhaled deeply and at length. A bridge of mist ford between the beds.
"Originally, the Daidai God was probably just a guardian god. But after the war, when people were in chaos, they began clinging to it, demanding things beyond its capacity. It never had the power to completely prevent injury or illness."
"So it erased the injured and the sick. If they never existed to begin with, it's as if nothing happened. That it?"
Kirima nodded. His face was tense as he stared at his crossed legs.
I thought he'd vent his anger at the god, but instead, Kirima crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and suddenly lay down on the bed.
"What, slacking off now?"
"I feel sick."
It didn't seem to be about the god's actions. Kirima's face was pale, and sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Hey, Kirima. Are you okay?"
"It's nothing serious. I just got a little ssed up jumping into the sea like a kid. I'll be fine soon."
Kirima rested the back of his head on the pillow, as if even talking was too much effort.
What he'd tried to say at the front desk was probably that he couldn't go ho like this because he wasn't feeling well.
I stood up from the bed and began pacing back and forth.
"Is it heatstroke? What are you supposed to do in tis like this? Water, right? There's so in the fridge, yeah? Is it okay to drink it?"
"It's not. You have to pay for it when you leave."
"Then doesn't that an it's okay to open it now?"
"Sounds like stealing..."
Just as I ran to the mini-fridge, I heard a tap against the window. Maybe a pebble hit it? But that couldn't be. We're on the third floor.
The air, which had been warm due to the weak air conditioning, suddenly felt cold. The curtain swayed silently.
I headed to the window, pushed aside the curtain with the daidai grass pattern, and gasped.
Below the window, a white semicircle floated in the blurry night. It was a head clinging to the window fra.
That smooth, round shape was the Daidai God.
In this village, the existence of the sick is not allowed. If there were a heatstroke patient—
I turned to look at Kirima. He lay limp like a corpse. The window fra rattled.
I hastily opened the window.
"Don't screw with —I won't let you erase him!"
A gust of wind slling of the sea rushed in. The god was gone. All I could see was the dark sea blending into the night sky.
I looked around and noticed sothing teetering on the window fra, about to fall. When I reached for it, I felt a hard rind and the citrus scent burst forth.
The old woman's voice ca back to . It helps with heatstroke.
A white robe fluttered at the edge of my vision. I grasped the sumr orange, chilled by the night wind.
"Uyuu?"
I heard Kirima's voice. I shut the window and took a bottle of water from the fridge.
When I poked his stomach with the bottle's bottom, Kirima raised his head.
"What happened?"
"Got a souvenir."
I placed the sumr orange on the tiny desk. Kirima looked puzzled.
I peeled the pale orange skin.
The Daidai God is just a guardian god. Trying to answer human wishes, making mistake after mistake—maybe all he really wanted was to offer sothing small like this.
I tossed half of the sumr orange to Kirima.
"Don't get erased, Kirima."
Kirima nodded as if he understood everything.
"I wasn't erased, was I?"
"I'm not just talking about this ti."
Kirima said nothing, picked up the matchbook, stared at it for a mont, then tucked it into his pocket.
Sohow, it felt like that would beco a gravestone, and it scared . He's the Daidai God too—trying too hard to answer to others.
I bit into half of the sumr orange and looked out the window. A red light from a night fishing boat floated in the waves. It looked like a match's fla.
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