John Hawks - The Golden City

“Is she still there?”

“Nobody knows, man. He said the Itako lives in the ‘dead place.’” Billy rolled his eyes. “So I guess we know what to look for.”

An hour later, Hollis found himself riding in a two-car train that was about as large as a cross-town bus in New York City. Steel wheels clicked and clattered as they passed though bare volcanic mountains. Fog. White snow on black rocks. And then the train entered a tunnel that plunged them into darkness. When they emerged, the ocean was about fifty feet away. The train cars shook slightly-like pack animals glad to be finished with such a cold journey-and they rolled into a small train station built next to Mutsu’s harbor.

It was cold and windy on the station platform. Rubbing his hands together, Billy hurried off to find a taxi driver. He returned five minutes later with a shy young man who was trying to grow a beard.

“He says he’s a part-time driver.”

“That means he’s going to get lost.”

Billy laughed. “We’re always getting lost in Japan, but this driver knows how to find the dead place. It’s where this company built a pesticide factory. After they killed every tree in the area, they transferred the business to China.”

The three of them squeezed into a mud-splattered Toyota and drove away past a row of fast-food outlets. At the edge of the town, a pachinko parlor with a huge neon tower stood out against the overcast sky. The young driver turned onto a gravel road, and they entered the dead area around the abandoned pesticide plant. Although the ground was covered with snow, Hollis could see that all the trees had died. A few brown spruces remained standing as if too weary to fall.

There were a dozen homes in the area, and they stopped at each one so that Billy could ask about the Itako. “ Japan is like this weird party where everybody has to be polite,” he explained. “People will lie and make up directions so they won’t lose face.”

For more than an hour, they wandered through a maze of country roads. Coming down a low hill, the Toyota skidded across a patch of an ice and slammed into a snow bank. Everyone got out of the car, and Billy started yelling at the driver.

A prefabricated home with aluminum siding was about thirty feet away. Hollis watched as an old woman wearing a black parka and red rubber boots came out of the house and hiked down a gravel driveway. The woman walked in a slow, solid way through the slush as if it would take a bolt of lightning to knock her over. Her face was strong and her eyes focused as she examined the three intruders who had blundered into her world.

When she reached the car, she put her hands on her hips and began asking questions. Billy tried to answer with some rock and roll swagger, but his confidence quickly melted away. When the old woman had finished her interrogation, she turned away and climbed back up the driveway to her house. Billy stood in the middle of the road staring at the toes of his motorcycle boots.

“What’s the problem with the old lady?” Hollis asked. “Are we on her property?”

“That’s the Itako. She says she’s been waiting for you.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Maybe it’s a story or maybe it’s true. All I know is that we got to follow her into the house.”

“And then what happens?”

“It’s just like you want. She talks to the dead.”

The two men entered the foyer of the house and took off their jackets and shoes. The Itako had disappeared, but a door was open to the living room where an old man sat on a western-style couch and watched a karaoke show on television. He turned his head slightly-showing no surprise or curiosity-and pointed to the left.

Billy led them down a hallway. He slid back a thick-paper door and entered a room with a lace curtains covering the only window. There were a few floor pillows on the tatami mat, but the only real furniture in the room was a low wood table that had been turned into altar. The table was covered with cat statues. A few of the smaller cats were carved from wood or jade, but most were ceramic souvenirs with painted-on whiskers. All the cats stared at a bowl containing three shriveled up oranges and a martini glass filled with polished stones.

Hollis sat down on one of the floor cushions and tried to figure out what to do. He had traveled thousands of miles to find this place. Three men had been killed, the Tabula were looking for him, and here he was sitting in a house with a crazy old lady who collected ceramic cats.

The Itako came back in the room wearing a short white cotton jacket with Japanese symbols printed on it. She extended her hand, said something in Japanese, and Billy Hirano gave her five thousand yen. The Itako counted the money like a peasant who had just sold a pig and slipped the currency beneath one of the cats. Then she bustled around the room lighting candles and incense.

When the candles were burning, the old woman knelt and opened up a polished wooden box. She took out an elaborate necklace and carefully draped it around her neck. The necklace was a dark rawhide strand that held old coins with holes in the middle, yellowed bear claws and a few twisted pieces of wood. She stared at Hollis for a few seconds and spoke in Japanese.

Billy translated. “She wants to know what you’re looking for.”

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe Sparrow actually talked to this woman. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Don’t make her angry, Hollis. An Itako is very powerful.”

“As far as I can see, she’s just an old lady with a lot of souvenir kitty cats.”

“Do what she says,” Billy pleaded. “Tell her what you want.”

Hollis turned to the Itako and spoke in English. “A friend of mine has died. I want to talk to her.”

Billy translated the request. The Itako nodded calmly, as if someone had just asked her for directions back to the train station. She reached into the box, took out a long strand of stone prayer beads, and held a fistful of the beads in both hands. Closing her eyes, she rubbed the beads together as she began to chant a Buddhist sutra.

It felt like the cats on the altar were staring at him with mischievous smiles on their little white faces. The Itako looked old and tired, and a few times she seemed to lose her way through the long recital of prayers. Suddenly, she stopped chanting and her chin slumped down to her breast. Seconds later, her head snapped back up and her entire body became rigid. A convulsive force passed through her body and the prayer beads fell onto the mat. The Itako sucked air into her lungs and, when she exhaled, a sound emerged from her slack mouth.

At first, it was nothing but nonsense syllables, and then a mix of Japanese and English words. It felt as if someone were moving a tuner, scanning through different radio stations. More words. A garbled phrase here and there.

“Hollis.”

It was her voice. Vicki’s voice. But he couldn’t believe that was possible.

“Hollis?”

“I-I missed you so much, Vicki. And maybe I’m just hearing your voice in my mind. This can’t be real.”

A long silence. The Itako’s body shivered and her eyes rolled upward.

“The first time we made love was in the loft in Chinatown. Maya and Gabriel had gone somewhere and we were finally alone. You placed themattress on the floor. Afterward, we lay together for a long time. It was so cold in the room that steam came off our bodies and melted into the air.”

Hollis felt as if he had cracked open and was falling apart. “Where are you?” he asked.

“Gone. But here.”

“I’m so lost, Vicki. So goddamn lost. I don’t know where I’m going.”

“You’re on the right path, but you still can’t see it. If you remember who you are, you’ll know what to do.”