Free Strange Light Afar by Rui Umezawa

tending to his pets.
    The waves never stopped crashing against the barren shore.

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    SIX
    VANITY
    â—Š

I am a man who loves too much. One who gives too much for too little. Who loves the fire that burns. Who offers his heart to the knife.
    I fell in love for the first time when I was four years old, a lifetime before I shaved my head and donned these monk’s robes. Even then I had more energy, more joy than was good for me. My knees were always bruised and cut. Dirt was a shadow cast over my brow and chin. My nose was constantly running, and so was I.
    Her name was Miho. Her father owned a vegetable and fruit stand on one of Kyoto’s main throughways. She was just two years older than I, but mature beyond her years. More alert and attentive than most adults, she one day noticed drool hanging from my gaping mouth as I stood over the cucumbers. I was too busy being hungry to notice her slip one into the sleeve of her kimono.
    I jumped when I felt her hand on mine. She led me around the corner into a side street.
    Once we were out of sight, she handed me the plump, juicy cucumber. She ran off before anyone missed her, and before I had a chance to thank her. She was as graceful as a falcon in flight. The sound of my teeth crushing the cucumber was deafening.
    I went to the vegetable stand every day after that. Miho gave me more things to eat for a few days, but then suddenly stopped. She told me I could not stand in front of the stall if I was not going to buy anything. This did not matter. I loved her. I kept watch over her from across the street.
    Our eyes met several times over the following week. Then her father appeared out of nowhere and told me to go away or he would put a broomstick to my head.
    It was at this very moment that I realized I not only loved Miho, but also this man who cared for her. I smiled at him. He raised an eyebrow and warned me that he was serious, then went back to work.
    He did remain true to his word, and chased me away with a broom later in the afternoon.
    My love poured forth in all directions. I brought home stray animals  — cats, dogs, rabbits, turtles, birds  — and kept them in cages behind the back fence until the neighbors complained about the smell and the noise. My mother cursed the day I was born as she opened the cages and shooed my new friends away.
    One crow seemed reluctant to leave  — it had probably grown accustomed to being fed  — but my mother threw stones at it until it flew away toward the mountains.
    The second great love of my life was Sayuri. She ran errands for her father, who owned the biggest kimono shop in our section of the capital. Among her regular stops was my uncle’s dumpling shop where I worked. I felt thunder explode behind my ears when I first looked upon her beauty.
    I gave her so many free dumplings that my uncle began to dock my pay. This did not matter. I would have given her all the dumplings in Japan if I could.
    In truth, I loved all the women who came to the shop. I also gave them free food when my uncle was not looking. Sayuri, though, made my heart race the fastest.
    My dream of our future together shattered one winter’s day when the kimono shop ordered five dozen skewers of dumplings and some rice flour cakes to celebrate the first day of work in the New Year. I, of course, volunteered to make the delivery.
    How could I have known that by coming through the back door I would find Sayuri in the arms of another man?
    Gozo was the son of a sandal maker. Sayuri explained to me that they had been seeing each other for more than a year and were planning to make use of the New Year’s celebrations to announce their love to their families.
    I threw my hands over my head. What about us? What about our future? What about all those free dumplings?
    She looked at me as if I had just turned into something very unappetizing and asked Gozo to show me out the gate.
    I realized for the first time that my