by Kristin Ronzi

The light barely peered for the thickly covered forest ceiling, there was just enough light left to travel a few hours up the mountain, but deadly mistake that most people made was starting the climb too late and getting stuck on the mountain.

           It didn’t matter anyways; I wasn’t planning on being here for a while. The nearby sign posted on one of the trees wrote in scrawled kanji, “Think of your family.” Another, just down the trail read, “Please turn back.” The walking stick gave way in the muddy turf, and I momentarily stumbled but continued along the way.

            As a child, the forest was somewhat of a mythical place at my school. My friends called me on a dare to come to the forest and walk into the depths of it. I did. At that time, the rumors of Aokigahara were nothing more than children’s stories and fantastical myths. With my friends waiting at the trees edges, tethered by a red string, I walked into the forest. Not only was it the first time that I had adamantly disobeyed my parents, but it marked my first encounter with death.

           The spool of red thread had almost run out when the putrid smell of decay suffocated the air. I nearly gagged on the stale air. In the heart of the woods, nestled in the embrace of the tree roots hung a decaying body. The noose wound tightly around the neck and the rope frayed from the burden of the body.

           A corpse, it was no longer. The body was little more than bones and sinewy tissues that in some abstraction remained connected. The eye sockets were just empty holes from where a bird had plucked out and eaten the lifeless contents.

           The spool of thread fell to the ground as I screamed. My legs carried me as far away from the body as quickly as they could, for a while I ran without direction, aimlessly moving throughout the darken woods.

           My acquired bravery escaped me and hid in the dark corners of the woods. As the sun sank below the horizon line, and tears dribbled down my chubby cheeks, the faint silhouette of an arthritic old lady appeared between the trees. “Obasan, where are we going?” There was no response except for the echo of breaking tree branches in the thicket. She hobbled over slowly and outstretched her hand and pulled me through the woods.

           Her grasp had more strength that her body revealed as she dragged me along silently. My small legs matched the pace of her arthritic ones and we walked in silence for a long time. Long after the lights had completely diminished beyond the trees. The obasan walked with a determination of someone who was familiar with the area.

           Finally, she dropped my hand and after taking another step, I tripped over the red string that I had held from the beginning. My fingers wound tightly and gently pulled on the end of the rope; it didn’t budge. Tied around my wrist, the string led me out of the woods and to a small clearing where the faces of my three friends looked up in shock.

           “We were going to call the police,” Ichiro said as he jumped off of the log stumped that he’d camped on.

           “I didn’t get lost. Wasn’t even scared,” I lied with false bravado. The tale spread quickly throughout village and word of my excursion eventually made it to my parents. That evening my father came home and hit me with his leather belt as both he and my mother scolded me for disobeying them.

           The second time, I walked in the forest with a resolve to not return. The hem of the black ceremonial suit trailed on the ground. Dirt coagulated on the edge and with each further step crept higher up the pant leg. Tears streamed down my face as I walked slowly as I marched to my encroaching death. I had managed to swindle a few moments of freedom as my mother took Akira back home. As the urn filled with ashes was transferred to the family grave,

Tears streamed down my face as I walked slowly as I marched to my encroaching death. The translucent silhouette of my wife stood in front of me and I reached out to touch her. As I did, she stepped back, moving just out of my reach. “It’s not your time yet. Go home,” She said quietly and walked throughout the woods with dexterity, though she couldn’t have been in the midst for a long time. Each moment that I lingered in the woods, the resolve that had been s concrete when I had entered faded quickly.

           And much, like the first time, I ran from my spot in the woods, though this time reaching the clearing faster. In the open grassy area, in the privacy of my own thoughts, I cried for the life that I lost. That time, my wife took it and held it captive in the forest.

I returned home and my son greeted me offering his ball up in response. “I thought you left like haha,” I picked him up and buried my face in the crook of his small neck, hiding the dripping tears from his view. “I’ll always come home for you.” And with this renewed vision, my life began once again, though never entirely complete.

            Now, for the third time, I walked through the woods, now with the cane to steady my tilted gait. The same tailored ceremonial suit now hung loosely off of my thin bones. This was the fourth time that I’d worn the suit, first for my wife’s funeral, then okaasan, otousan, and now Akira’s. The stains in the hem never did come out, the trek in the woods now made them larger. The further into the woods, the more the putrid scent of death filled the air. In the middle of the thicket a young woman, unchanged by time, stood holding the hand of her son, now a grown man.

            Physically they could have been mistaken for siblings, but the affection between them remained that of only a mother and child. My wife had not aged a day since I had last met her in these woods all of those years ago. My son, looked exactly as he had before his own death. They both smiled at me, warm welcoming smiles. “Okaerinasai.” Each of them outstretched a hand to me and held mine tightly in theirs. For the first time in a long time the grip was full of warmth. “Tadaima. I’m home,” I momentarily released their hands to unscrew the cap of sleeping pills that my doctor had prescribed years ago. My fingers clumsily pulled a few of the small capsules from the container and swallowed them, handful after handful.

            My eyelids drooped shut and the forest no longer was the place that I had once feared. Instead the birds lulled me to sleep and I sat under the dimly illuminated tree, resting my aching joints on the roots of the giant tree.