Kamo Onmyoushi had determined the fourth day after death was the most propitious time for a funeral. On the night of the third day, we gathered one last time at the chapel. Surei and Benkon joined us. The monks who had been praying for Akiko waited outside. We wore mourning robes and straw sandals. Surei had donned a full hat and veil. We all took one last opportunity to say some prayers. The children huddled together in the corner, crying.

Benkon took them aside. “You probably feel sad because you are not going to see your mother again, right?” They nodded. “Well, I want you to think about this.” He pointed to the coffin. “That is not your mother. Your mother is on her way to a better place. There, she will join your father and be happy. That body is just what she left behind after her spirit departed. So, don’t feel sad as we burn it, it’s nothing but an empty husk.”

The children cried even harder as Benkon spoke to them. When he finished, he called for the bearers. They hoisted the casket and set out. A monk picked up the painted scroll and walked behind.

We made quite a procession as we traveled to the funeral site near Mount Hiei, outside the city. First came four monks with drums and gongs to scare away any evil spirits who might wish to attach themselves to Akiko’s shade as she followed the coffin. Next came eight monks chanting Buddhist prayers for the dead and carrying censers they swung back and forth. The smoke from the burning incense lingered in the air. They beat the drums and gongs and chanted quietly while we were inside the city. The casket and icon followed the monks. The family group of children, servants, Surei and I walked behind the coffin. Men bearing large screens to hide the bier and the family group walked to each side of us. Each member of the family group had a lantern, which cast eerie shadows on the buildings as we passed.

We took a roundabout route to our destination to avoid three Shinto shrines. If we passed too close to the shrines, the death pollution would have angered the resident kami.

No one spoke as we walked the streets of the capital. The sound of the drums and gongs and the chanting of the priests in the still night air gave the entire experience a dreamlike quality. The smell of the incense only deepened the feeling of unreality. I had a hard time believing this was going to be my final farewell to Akiko.

I thought back on our time together—the way she smiled, the peace I felt in her presence, her delight in her children, and the pride with which she related their daily accomplishments, no matter how small. She was the first person I had felt truly close to since the murder of my family.

Surei leaned over and murmured into my ear, “Your performance at the ministry was outstanding. In the last two days, the condolence letters have come flooding in. Akiko’s passing is no longer going unheralded. She is deeply mourned.”

That made me feel a little better.

It was still dark when the procession reached the funeral site. Many gyusha were pulled up alongside the road with more arriving all the time. The bearers maneuvered the casket through the groups of people standing by the entrance to the site. The monks ceased their playing and chanting.

Benkon had chosen an empty field at the base of Mount Hiei for the funeral. A four-sided fence made of wooden poles and cloth surrounded the cremation site. Each wall had a Shinto-style torii gate, two round columns surmounted by a bowed timber wider than the gap between the columns. These gates marked the symbolic passage from life to death. The casket made four trips around the cremation site to represent the four stages in a Buddhist’s life, going from delusion to enlightenment. First, the bearers entered the enclosure through the east gate, then exited out the south. They wove in and out of the gates until they traveled around to the north gate, entered the enclosure once more and lay the coffin on the hearth erected in the center of the site with Akiko’s head to the north.

The hearth rested under a temporary pavilion, a simple structure with a roof of unfinished wooden slats held up by four columns. The platform-like hearth rested in a pit lined with wooden planks. The hearth itself had several layers, mats on the bottom to protect the body from the anger of the earth spirits that might have been offended by the digging of the hole, then layers of charcoal and firewood to speed the burning of the casket. Finally, planks were laid on top to provide a stable platform to hold the coffin. Around the pit were stacked bundles of firewood, charcoal, pine branches, and straw to fuel the flames of the pyre.

The family and other mourners knelt on low platforms on either side of the hearth. After the bearers laid the casket out, those of us with lanterns placed them around the enclosure to provide light for the ceremony. The family group and other mourners knelt in their places on the platforms. Surei knelt among the well-wishers, some distance from the family group.

A temporary wooden altar stood by the edge of the pit, near the foot of the casket. Benkon hung a picture of Akiko on the altar, then opened the bier. Each of us picked up a log from a nearby stack and placed it in the coffin along with some small personal item.

Aoi-chan left one of her favorite dolls with her mother. Sachiko put in a set of lacquered combs that had belonged to Akiko. Yoshi-kun gave her a kite she had made for him on Boy’s Day the previous month.

Then it was my turn. I laid the bundle of our poems next to Akiko and looked down upon her one last time. I was forcefully reminded of Benkon’s words to the children as I stared at the bloated corpse and was assaulted by the stench of death, easily detectable even over the smell of the incense and perfume. This was not the woman I remembered, not the woman I had loved.

My thoughts were interrupted by cries from the children, who were standing a little away from the casket with tears coursing down their cheeks. I took them by the hand and led them to our places.

Closing the casket, Benkon returned to the front of the pyre, lit the incense brazier, and tossed several pinches of incense in among the coals.

He drew out a large wooden tablet on which he had written “Anshin” in golden ink. His writing was crisp, flowing, and beautiful. The gold ink on the tablet was supposed to absorb the spirit essence of the body and prevent it from escaping.

“We are here to mark the passing of our friend. Before her death, she chose the Buddhist name Anshin, or peaceful heart, and that is how she will be remembered in the Western Paradise. Amida Buddha, accept our beloved Anshin into your merciful presence.” He leaned the tablet against the foot of the casket.

Then, he stood behind the body, faced the crowd and started the official service. He recited a passage of scripture:

Just as the dewdrop, at the tip of a blade of grass at sunrise, soon vanishes in the morning sun and does not remain for long, just so, the life of man is short and fleeting in this world. As the bubbles of foam on a flowing river burst and vanish, just so, the life of man is unreal and like a dream.

As he read from the Lotus Sutra, his words had a power and conviction I had never felt before. It was as if something in the air magnified his voice and exalted his presence. I was not particularly devout, but even I was touched by his description of man’s wretched existence on earth and the joys of the Pure Land. I began to understand why he was one of the most popular clerics in the capital.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

After he finished the first reading, he nodded to me and began the second reading. I stood and walked over to the casket. I remembered our last moments together.

Could I have done something more to ease her passage into the next world?

I was concerned that her final, faltering nenbutsu had not been enough to gain her passage into paradise. I bowed as I cast a pinch of incense into the brazier and prayed, Amida Buddha, receive this good woman into your care. If her final efforts were weak, it is my fault, not hers.

I bowed twice more. When I finished, I spoke to Akiko directly. I miss you. I think I always will. It is my dearest wish that you had not left us like this, but I promise you I will do everything in my power to see your children receive their due.

I could almost feel Akiko’s sweet presence surrounding me, but it faded after a moment. I returned to my place.

Each of the children performed the ritual in turn. They managed to remain calm through the process, but couldn’t control themselves once they knelt back down. They both began sobbing quietly. Sachiko gathered them up in a hug, and all three of them wept together. When her turn came, she passed them to me.

I felt empty. I didn’t have it within me to cry anymore. Other well-wishers and mourners filed past the casket to pay their respects. Surei was one of the first in line. I sat in a daze as Benkon’s words about the unreality of life passed through my mind. Life didn’t feel like a dream—it felt like an unending nightmare.

I roused from my torpor near the end. Ikeda Minbukyou stood in front of Akiko’s casket and threw his incense into the brazier. Outraged that he dared to come to the funeral and debase it with his presence, I started to stand, but Masanori, sensing my movement, put his hand on my shoulder in warning, and I settled down.

Finally, the last mourner had paid his respects. Benkon had been chanting the Lotus Sutra continuously as people filed past, his voice clear and strong. I had no idea how he did it, I was sure I would have been reduced to croaking like a frog long before everyone finished.

Benkon removed the likeness of Akiko and brought it over to me. He cast one last pinch of incense into the brazier, then picked up a torch and stuck it into the brazier to light it. With the torch, he ignited the four corners of the pyre and stepped back as the flames began leaping around the casket and the altar.

Members of the family and other well-wishers stood up and cast papers with blessings and Buddhist scriptures into the flames. When Ikeda Minbukyo cast his, a stray gust of wind caught it in mid-air and carried it away from the flame, blowing it wildly across the open fields until it was lost from view.

I could hear the surprised murmur of the crowd as they watched.

When Surei cast her blessing into the fire, she passed behind us on her way back to her seat. Softly, she spoke to me. “Did you see that? It almost seemed like Akiko rejected Ikeda’s offering. Have you noticed how no one will sit near him and people are reluctant to look at him? The Minister of the Left is looking very uncomfortable, and Ikeda’s wife was so upset she left early. The rumors are doing their work.”

Within a brief time, the flames rose above the top of the casket. We watched it burn as the horizon lightened and the sun emerged. With the breaking of day, we could see the pyre’s long, unbroken plume of black smoke rising up to the heavens. When I saw the rising trail of smoke, I finally and truly accepted Akiko was gone. The last traces of her earthly form climbed into the sky and headed for the next world.

During the passing of the mourners, the children had stopped crying, but the melancholy sight of the smoke rising up and then disappearing into the morning overcast had a profound effect on them. They began crying again. This time, I couldn’t help myself, and I joined them, giving myself over completely to weeping.

I had a hard time responding to the well-wishers who came to express their condolences. I didn’t know who they were, and I didn’t care what they had to say. I just wanted this to be over. It seemed to take forever.

As we were walking away from the funeral site, I saw Ikeda Minbukyou among the crowd. Surei was glad everyone was avoiding him, but that wasn’t enough for me. His not being invited to the best parties was a poor trade for Akiko’s life. I strode over to him. Nearby members of the crowd turned to watch.

Just before I reached him, Masanori appeared at my side and gripped me by the upper arm. I stopped, then carefully removed his hand. Turning back to Ikeda Minbukyou, I told him in a low voice, “I should kill you. You have no business being here.”

He responded angrily, “I have every right to be here. She was a dear friend of mine. Her death at this young age is a tragedy. I had to see her off.”

“See her off? You were the one responsible for her death!” I said in a savage voice pitched low enough no one else could hear.

“It was not I that caused her death. When people meddle in affairs above their station, the repercussions can be severe. I think you know whose interference brought about this tragedy. You need to look much closer to home.” He turned and walked away.

I started to go after him, but the bushi gripped my arm again.

“Let him go, Yoshi-san. This isn’t the time.”

I brought my anger under control and returned to the children. Surei had joined them. “What were you doing?” Surei murmured to me. “You should stay completely away from him.”

“I know, but I couldn’t bear to see him here after what he did.”

“We will exact retribution for Akiko in due time,” Surei assured me.

“One way or another,” I agreed.

We went to a nearby temple to rest and wait for the pyre to burn itself out. Late in the afternoon, we returned to the funeral site. The fire had done its work, and there was only a large patch of glowing embers remaining in the bottom of the pit.

Several monks arrived carrying buckets with specially blessed water. They poured it over the coals with a loud hiss and a blast of warm steam. When the pyre was nothing but wet ashes, we went and sifted through the remnants, looking for any bits of bone from Akiko’s corpse. When we found them, we put them into an urn.

I noticed Kamo standing nearby. “I am surprised to see you out here. I wasn’t aware members of the Onmyouryou attended the funerals they were advising on.”

He smiled a wintry smile. “I wanted to make sure the ceremony went well.”

I wondered what he was really doing there.

Now that the funeral was over, we removed our straw sandals and walked over to the river to perform the ritual ablutions, washing our hands and feet to remove the pollution of death. It was early evening, and the sun had gone down. We got into a nondescript gyusha Surei had obtained and traveled back to the Spring Palace.

When we arrived at Surei’s house next door to the saké house, the butsudan from Akiko’s chapel was set up on the hearth. Professor sat next to the butsudan, his left arm in a sling. He explained, “We went to get the altar after you left for the funeral. When we got back to the house, there was an intruder here. I surprised him as he was looking through your things.” He looked down at his arm and gave me an embarrassed smile. “I didn’t expect to have any trouble with someone that small, but he hit me on the arm with a club and escaped. I’ve never seen anyone swing a weapon that fast.”

Alarmed by Professor’s story, I rushed into my room to see what might be gone. My first thought was to my naginata, but it was still put away in the closet where I kept it. Relieved, I went back and looked at my other belongings, but nothing seemed to be missing.

I was baffled. Aside from my weapon, I didn’t have anything anyone would be interested in stealing. Professor had followed me, and I turned to him, confused. “Why would anyone want to rob anything from me? I don’t own anything that has any worth.”

Professor answered, “I don’t know, but we saw another group in the garden later. They left when they saw us in the house. Someone wants something you have.”

After Professor left, I sat and stared at my things, trying to puzzle out which of them might be valuable enough that someone would want to take it. Could the thief be after the deed? I was glad I had given it to Surei for safekeeping, but, if someone were trying to steal it, who would be looking for it other than Ikeda? Was the brown-coated man working for Ikeda? If he was, then who was that second group in the garden? Just thinking about the situation made my head spin.

I finally gave up and went and got three jugs of saké. I may have sworn off the drink, but after the funeral, I decided to make an exception that night. I was going to get some sleep, even if I had to drink myself into unconsciousness to do it.