If Fox is wise and cunning,

And Tanuki a reprobate,

Then why does the fox have seven disguises,

And the tanuki have eight?

Gintaro knelt upon the stiff tatami flooring, pondering over this old riddle, waiting patiently for his daughter to choose an outfit for the upcoming summer festival. He watched the old shop owner pull tightly on the obi around his daughter’s waist. It was a white-colored sash set against a deep crimson yukata, a kind of light robe, adorned with a pattern of white hibiscuses.

His mind shifted away from trivialities back into the moment. He knew what was coming next. His daughter would surely ask for his opinion, though he could not understand why.

“If I say that I do not care for it, she will likely try on another. If I say that I like it, she will definitely try on another.”

“Just a little tighter miss,” the grey-haired shop owner said, picking up the slack of the obi and pulling it taught once again. “Thank you for your patience, Gintaro-san. Perhaps this will be the last one?” she ventured, sounding hopeful.

“It cannot be helped,” he said with a glint of amusement in his eyes. There was nothing he enjoyed more than seeing his daughter light up with joy. It was the one thing that kept him going, kept him sane. His former life had been as bitter and solemn as a graveyard. Their reunion had given him a renewed purpose, and something else that he could not describe. The color crimson meant only beauty and extravagance to his daughter. It had always meant something else entirely to him. He thought that he would never see it any different, but slowly, with her help, things were beginning to change.

It was the day before the first day of summer, which meant it was the day before the summer festival. Gintaro knew that his daughter took great delight in such events. He had surprised her earlier in the morning when he told her to prepare for an impromptu trip into the village. She could hardly believe it, for her father had bought her a brand-new yukata just last year, and it still fit. They were quite expensive after all, and for being a rice farmer with little land, he did not make much.

“It is worth it to see her smile,” he thought. “Though, I wish she would smile more.”

“This one is not so bad,” Yukiana commented, examining herself in the mirror. A smile flitted across her smooth face, and her father’s heart lifted. When she smiled, she was nothing short of radiant. Her deep dark eyes peered back from the mirror with such a pristine brightness. Her lithe frame carried itself with the vigor of life. Her jet-black hair, which fell to her mid-back, seemed to shine marvelously against the sun that poured through the open windows. He could hardly believe how much she had changed these past ten years.

“What do you think?” she said, lifting her arms out. The shop owner had just completed the finishing touches and sat back with nervous anticipation.

“Perfect,” he said with an approving nod.

She then looked back into the mirror with more scrutiny than before.

“But I see no harm in trying on a few more,” he offered, trying his best to conceal his grin.

Her eyes seemed to radiate with delight. “Of course!” she answered, despite the look of obvious disappointment from the shop owner.

An hour later the two emerged from the clothing shop with the beautiful crimson and white yukata from before. It had been a bit more expensive than the others, but he could not forget his daughter’s look of approval when she saw herself in the mirror. She even tried to dissuade him from buying it when she heard the price.

“I have a good daughter. It was well worth the price I paid for it,” he thought.

It was already well past noon, and they had about a half hour’s walk back to their house upon the ridge. At that time of the day, it was oppressively hot. Beads of sweat gathered on Gin’s brow from the moment they stepped into the sun.

“Let’s eat the midday meal here,” he suggested. “I’m hungry. Watching you pick a yukata is more exhausting than planting rice.”

“Really?” she said, stopping suddenly. At first, she seemed relieved, but then her smile turned to concern. “But I’ve already prepared the midday meal.”

“That is all right, we can always eat it this evening. It has been a while since I’ve had a meal down here in the village.”

Yukiana nodded obediently but seemed reluctant.

“Besides,” he continued, “Wouldn’t you like to eat someone else's food for once? You don’t like mine.” He chuckled and cooled himself with his half-crescent fan that folded down and fit like chopsticks into his pocket. “Come on, it’s hot!”

She followed him into the nearby inn where they had a heaping serving of buckwheat noodles, steamed vegetables, grilled pork, and soup with miso. He even indulged in a small bottle of cooled sake.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself today,” Yuki commented as she filled his sake cup with the last of the bottle's contents.

“What do you mean?” he asked, swallowing down the cup in one gulp. He reclined back, supporting himself with his arms.

“Well,” she ventured, “First with the yukata, I knew that it was too expensive for us, but you bought it anyway. Now this meal…”

“You don’t like the yukata? We can take it back and find another one.”

“No that’s not it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not saying that. I just...I wonder why you’re doing this?”

Gin shrugged. “I just want to see you happy. That’s all.”

Yukiana nodded but did not smile. She then tapped her two pointer fingers together. “The clothier’s daughter who folded the yukata for us was very pretty. What did you think of her?”

“What did I think of her?” he repeated, leaning forward again, and furrowing his brow with frustration. “I don’t know. She was nice, I suppose.”

“So, should you not talk to her?” She suggested this meekly, but with a curious eyebrow raised.

“I told you, Yuki, you are my only concern right now.”

“I know but, I am nearly full-grown. You know that I can look after myself. I did it before.”

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His features tensed but before he could reply he was interrupted.

“Gin-san…” a voice came from beside him. It was a quiet voice, almost quivering with modesty.

Gintaro, who was grateful for the distraction, turned his head immediately. “Ota-san!” he said with some surprise. “Nice to see you!”

Ota was a fellow farmer who had several rice fields across the valley from them. He was an older man, with a tiny frame, a nearly bald head, with only small white patches of hair, whose children had grown and left him. He was very suspicious of Gin when he first moved into the village but had come around to him in recent months.

“I’d like to give you this. It’s just a trifle,” the man said quietly, setting a cloth bag of figs on the table. “After what you did earlier this year, I’d just like to say thank you.”

Gin nodded, looking deep into the man’s eyes. “Thank you, Ota-san.”

The man bowed quickly and then departed. For a few moments, the two remained quiet.

“What was that about?” Yukiana asked after the old man had left the inn.

“Ah…” her father began, examining a fig and keeping his eyes down. “I helped him with the preparations this spring. He was having some…troubles.”

“Oh,” said Yuki with an air of concern. “I think I remember that.”

“Anyways,” said her father, rising quickly to his feet, “It is time to go home.”

After paying, Gintaro and his daughter made their way through the tiny mountain village of Kokoro, which was nestled in the heart of the southern island, Minami-shima. It was a relatively remote place, as it was almost an entire three or four-day trip to the nearest major road, and from there, it was several days to the nearest city.

Kokoro was a typical mountain village in many ways. Its buildings were made of dark cedar and had thatch roofs. Linen sheets often acted as makeshift doors and small vegetable gardens were common. Mountain streams carried fresh water down the slopes and were often used for irrigating the fields. They eventually gathered to become the Miho River that bisected the town in the shallow valley where most of the houses stood. The most notable landmarks in Kokoro included the inn, which was the only two-storied building in the village and had several bedrooms for travelers. There was also a small old temple on the knoll that had been abandoned for many years, as there were few monks around these days and none living in the village to tend to it. The last landmark was the crescent wooden bridge that crossed the wispy river in the heart of the village. It was centuries old, but artisans had done a fine job at repairing it over the years. It was called Hoshibashi, the Bridge of Stars, as on clear nights, when the glittering sky was reflected in the river, it made it seem for those who crossed it that they had passed from one side of the cosmos to the other. It was easily the most recognizable and famous structure in all Kokoro Valley.

Kokoro was part of the ancient Kagi Province but sat near the far edge of its southern borders. It had no mansions or vast estates, it never hosted any major battles or skirmishes, and it fostered no legends or heroes. Despite this, Kokoro was a lively place, where people who lived throughout the valley came to trade, rest, or simply gossip. And every so often, it held a rather impressive festival.

“Gin-san! Gin-san!” some of the local boys shouted at them as the pair made their way out of town, trying to catch his attention. They found him interesting and naturally admired him because of his stature, hoping that they too would look like him when they were fully grown.

Masaki Gintaro, or simply Gin-san to most, was taller than almost everyone in the village and the surrounding region. He was also well built, with taut, sinewy limbs, broad shoulders, and muscular arms. Standing aside some of the village youth, he seemed like a giant, and to the group of local farmers, most of whom were far past their prime, he was like a carved temple statue. He typically wore a simple indigo yukata that was too short on him, which left his venous forearms and calves exposed. He kept his thick black hair pulled back in a messy bun, but strands always seemed to escape and burst away in all directions. He wore a short beard that shaded his cheeks and jawline and converged at his chin and around his mouth.

Aside from his stature and build, Gin also bore many scars on his body, which he did his best to hide. He never worked with his back uncovered, even when it was hot, and shunned public bathing for this reason. Still, a few of his scars were difficult to completely keep covered. Some appeared quite brutal, like the one coming down from the right side of his neck, and one along his left arm that appeared as if someone had once tried to sever it clean off.

Most of the villagers did their best not to stare at these scars but talk spread through town and all kinds of rumors began to catch on. His imposing appearance was not the only reason why he attracted strange looks from many in the village. He was also the enigmatic newcomer in a tight-knit and traditional village. His arrival shortly after the war ended was ominous. Typically, retired soldiers and war profiteers would return to their hometowns and seek shelter and aid among kin. Gin had no family living in Kokoro, and never had any relations, even distant, tied to the province or even the island if the rumors were true.

Moreover, he happened to hold the deed to an isolated old country house located high up on the mountain ridge, which once belonged to a known drunkard, who had deserted it during the war. This caused a tremendous amount of speculation in the village, where people began to imagine all the ill-gotten ways that he came upon the deed, and wondered why of all places, he would take up residence there. Unfortunately, Gin himself did little to alleviate the fears of the townsfolk, for when they asked him where he had come from and what he had done, he would curtly reply, “I fought for the Shōgun.”

This was a strange answer, and left more perplexed than satisfied, for everyone knew that there were two men called ‘Shōgun’ during the war, the former who had lost and the latter who had won. And to say he had, “Fought for the Shōgun,” was rather vague, as even cooks, millers, and smiths would use this language. But Gin would say nothing else of it, even when he was drinking sake, which he did very infrequently. His disposition was typically quiet, bordering on grim. He kept to himself and had little interaction with others unless out of necessity. Thus, the people of Kokoro came to distrust him because of what they did not know, and because they began to believe the stories that they had invented in their own minds.

“Father,” Yukiana suddenly said, looking up at him. “What kind of yukata did Mother usually wear?”

Gin blinked, breaking out of a hazy memory, as they turned to make their way up the gentle, sloping path that would eventually bring them to their house. The path followed a mountain stream that trickled over the grey stones as it made its way down from the high peaks.

“Ah, she had many beautiful ones. In fact, she had one much like the one we bought just today.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He paused. His daughter did not bring up her mother very often, but when she did, he tried his best to oblige. It was a tough subject for both of them, but he knew that it was important for her to know as much as possible about her.

“The first time I met your mother she was wearing one similar to the one you picked out today, except, it was a four or five-layered kimono. She had her hair done up, and her face was as white as snow on the mountains in winter. I do not know why, but for some reason, I always remember that particular kimono. I can still see it in my dreams sometimes. It was very beautiful.”

Yukiana nodded but kept her eyes down upon the dirt path. There was silence for a few moments, and he suspected that she might be upset. Like many times before, he did not know what to do when she cried for this reason. Perhaps, it was because he felt like crying too that he remained silent. After a few moments passed, she lifted her gaze once again. As he anticipated, her eyes were sparkling in the sunlight.

This made him stop in his tracks. His heartbeat began to quicken in his chest.

“Are you all right?” he asked, hesitantly.

“Yes,” she returned, though everything about her signaled to the contrary.

He could see a tear meandering down his daughter’s cheek, but her steady gaze did not waver.

“Then what is it, Yuki?”

“You helped Ota-san,” she said coldly. “I know that you helped him do more than prepare this spring. If you could help him, why couldn’t you help her?”

Gin’s heart was pounding now, as memories, pain, and guilt came roaring back. He swallowed hard. He turned and looked directly at his daughter this time.

“I…I wasn’t there when she died. I’m sorry,” he said with a slow exhale. That was all he could bring himself to say.

She stared back at him for a few moments, as if she were searching for something in his eyes. “All these gifts are very nice, and I can see you are really trying,” she said. “But you can’t make up for the past. You left her, and me. You left us for a long time. We needed you. We both did.”

Gin clenched his teeth together, holding back tears as best he could. All he could do was nod his head in acknowledgment. He had made many mistakes in his past. He made deep and grievous ones. He was still coming to grips with them. Yet the times that he thought he was finally making progress, finally beginning to heal, he was often reminded that it was not going to happen so easily, if ever.

Yukiana dried her tears and began up the path once again. The leaves from the tall trees overhead provided some respite from the intense heat of the sun. The rest of the way back they walked in somber silence as if lost in thoughts of remembrance, some of days past, and some of days that could have