I Was Falsely Confessed to and Exposed in Front of Everyone, so I Jumped off the Roof - Chapter 17

I don’t know where God is. Even without knowing, I dance, hoping someone or something will see me.

“Your forms are starting to take shape. Wipe your bodies and change into your shrine maiden clothes.”

For once, he looked like a real priest. Sumire and I changed and followed him. He led us deep inside the shrine, to a place few ever see.

“No one is allowed past this point.”

“What’s there?”

“It exists. And it is nothingness.”

It sounded like a riddle from a Zen monk.

“Long ago, a Catholic priest who was somewhat of a leftist, I’d say,  attacked Shintoism, called it idol worship.”

I didn’t really understand. I didn’t even know what made one religion different from another. All I knew was that none of the gods seemed to like me very much.

“Ridiculous. There are hardly any idols in shrines. The stone guardian dogs, maybe. But who really worships them?”

“I’ve never prayed to them.”

“Exactly. Then have you ever wondered what lies deep inside a shrine?”

“No.”

“Do you know the name of the god enshrined here?”

“Now that you mention it, I don’t.”

I at least knew the phrase eight million gods.

“The Japanese people have forgotten the names of their gods. They’ve even forgotten that there were eight million of them. All that’s left is just prayer.”

So what is it we’re really praying to, then? There are so many things I want to pray for, and yet.

“The sacred treasures beyond this point are the same. No one has ever seen them, not even their true owner…”

“Then what’s really there?”

“Pure prayer. Only a longing for something we call God. It has no form. It is everywhere and nowhere. But between people, it surely exists. And it’s your job to connect it.”

His eyes were kind.

“I can’t forgive myself.”

“That’s normal.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Don’t forgive yourself. Pray that someone else will. And keep forgiving others.”

“I don’t really understand.”

“You don’t need to. You never will. Just pray. Offer your prayer. Even if it never gets answered, just keep praying.”

His voice echoed through the empty shrine grounds. What am I really?

“This time, you’ll be the lead in the sacred dance. Lose yourself in it. Pray until it drives you mad. Let someone see you.”

And so the stage was set. I would pray, not to something that exists, not to something that’s anywhere, but to something that is not there at all.

♢ ♢ ♢

I finally understood that it was truly over. My daughter had grown so weak she couldn’t even stand on her own anymore. After so many years fighting cancer, she was completely worn out. It reminded me of O. Henry’s story, The Last Leaf. She was just like Johnsy, thinking only about when she would die.

I couldn’t stand it. None of us could. So our family decided to take her on a trip to Japan. She loved Japanese manga and anime. We went to see a Sailor Moon stage show, visited Akihabara, and made our final memories together. We even went to Kyoto.

Then, out of nowhere, my husband said that we should go to Ise. I think he was trying to rely on some kind of Eastern mystery. Honestly, I thought it was foolish, nothing but old-fashioned orientalism. We had prayed so many times at church, and nothing changed. Why would the gods of a foreign land save people who weren’t even Japanese? That’s what I thought. Don’t they agree?

Still, we went to Ise. There, we saw a sacred dance being performed. At first, I thought it was just a show for tourists. The rhythm was slow, the movements plain. Other foreigners around us seemed to enjoy it, but I felt nothing. My heart was cold.

Then RUIKA appeared. A beautiful girl with black hair, like a pearl from the East. She looked exactly like the image we foreigners imagine when we think of a Japanese shrine maiden. I thought it was all part of a fancy act. The red hakama pants, the white robe, the golden hairpin. Her movements were slow and graceful, and I couldn’t tell what she was expressing. To people used to the grand gestures of ballet, it seemed dull.

But then I noticed something strange. There was music at first. A soft flute, gentle drums, the light sound of strings. They were definitely there. And then, at some point, they were gone. Completely silent.

Yet I could still hear something. Yes, something was still ringing inside me.

Later, when I rewatched the video, I saw that the sound had really cut off halfway. But at the time, almost no one noticed. Everyone thought they could still hear it. We were all under her spell.

No, that’s not the right word. It was ecstasy.

When I was younger, I was once addicted to opioids. That floating happiness I felt back then was exactly like that. A soft and dizzying kind of bliss.

“It doesn’t hurt, Mama. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

My daughter said that while watching RUIKA dance. I felt a chill run through me.

A dance that could make a dying girl forget her pain, what was that? What could it possibly be?

I have a husband. I know the warmth and comfort that come from touch. From love, from closeness, from sex. That’s human. That’s how we ease our loneliness.

But RUIKA never touched us. She didn’t even come close.

So what was it that touched my daughter’s heart?

Even after the dance ended and RUIKA disappeared backstage, the crowd of foreigners stayed frozen where they were. They began shouting, all saying the same thing in all kinds of languages.

Bring RUIKA before us!

Amène RUIKA devant nous!

Bring RUIKA vor uns!

Porta RUIKA davanti a noi!

¡Trae a RUIKA ante nosotros!

Приведи RUIKA перед нами!

把RUIKA带到我们面前!

RUIKA를 우리 앞에 데려와라!

RUIKA को हमारे सामने लाओ!

För RUIKA fram inför oss!

Traga RUIKA diante de nós!

Φέρε τη RUIKA μπροστά μας!

RUIKA’yı önümüze getir!

RUIKA را پیش ما بیاور!

Bawa RUIKA ke hadapan kami!

Hãy đưa RUIKA ra trước chúng tôi!

นำ RUIKA มาต่อหน้าเรา!

أحضر RUIKA أمامنا!

Voices from every corner of the world, different tongues, the same plea. They were all calling for her.

Everyone must have been shouting the same thing. The priests looked panicked. One of them called out in English, “All right, all right, just wait!” And then, RUIKA came out again.

This time, there was no music at all. She just danced endlessly. And everyone watched her in silence… faces soft, almost melting.

I had never been so afraid in my life.

My daughter was smiling too. A smile I had never seen before. No matter how hard I tried, I could never make her smile like that after she got sick. But RUIKA did. RUIKA did it.

…I’m sorry. I lost control for a moment.

It took until night for the crowd to finally calm down. RUIKA looked exhausted by then.

Afterward, people began placing money on the stage, quietly and naturally piling it up like an offering. When people see a rock star, they usually rush forward, try to touch them, grab them. But this was different. They just laid down their money and walked away, one by one.

Even my daughter did. Yes, my daughter! She had stopped walking long ago, but she got up on her own feet, walked to the stage, and laid her offering before RUIKA. Then she said,

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, Mama. Let’s go home. I have things I want to do.”

And so we went back to America.

The doctors had already given up on her. She was supposed to be in the final stage of cancer. But the tumor began to shrink, faster than anyone could believe. Within a year, she was completely healthy again.

She started taking ballet lessons. Now, she’s famous in New York both in ballet and in musical theater. Famous enough that we could build a mansion in Gated Town. She’s even won several prestigious awards. I’m so proud of her.

But she still watches that video. That video of RUIKA dancing. She studies it, over and over.

“It’s not enough. I still can’t reach her.”

She looks at RUIKA as if something has taken hold of her.

Tell me, please. A shrine maiden is supposed to be a holy woman, right? A saint? Is that really true? Because to me… RUIKA looks like a witch.