Where the river widens into an estuary, the valley is steep and narrow. Wheatie and the Anbo old people call it the Neck. It is the most haunted place, but I’m not afraid. I half-fear and half-hope Anju will ambush me. The faces between the pine trees are not really there. Where the water floods the track in the rainy season, a tori gate marks the beginning of the path that winds up the hill to the shrine of the thunder god. Wheatie warns us not to play there. She says that apart from the Jomon cedars themselves, the thunder god is the oldest living thing on Yakushima. Show any disrespect to him, and the next time you cross water a tsunami will come and drown you. Anju wanted to ask if that was what happened to our grandfather, our mother’s father, but I made her promise not to. Mrs Oki told a kid in our class that he drowned face down in a ditch, drunk. Anyway, the villagers never bother the thunder god with small-fry favours like exams, money or weddings – they go to Father Kakimoto’s new temple next to the bank for that. But for babies, and blessings for fishing boats, solace for dead relatives, they climb the steps to the shrine of the thunder god. Always alone.
I check my Zax Omega watch. Plenty of time. The road to the World Cup starts today in Kagoshima, and I will need all the help I can get. Finding our father is big fry. No fry is bigger for Anju and me. Without another thought I sling my sports bag behind a mossy rock and, fuelled by energy from my awesome brainwave, start running up the muddy steps.
I replace the receiver. Weird guy, the way he kept apologizing. Maybe the telephone call will break the insomnia spell. Maybe my body will realize how tired it is, and finally shut down. I lie on my back and stare upwards doing chess knight-moves on the ceiling tiles until I forget which ones I’ve already landed on. Then I begin again. On the third attempt I am overwhelmed by the pointlessness of the exercise. If I can’t sleep I may as well think about the letter. The Other Letter. The Big Letter. It came – when? – Thursday. Yesterday. Well, the day before yesterday. I get back to Shooting Star utterly exhausted. Thirty-six bowling balls were left on platform nine, the farthest platform from the lost property office. Suga had performed his disappearing act so I had to lug them over one by one. They were claimed later by a team who were waiting for them at Tokyo Central station. I am learning that laws of probability work differently in the field of lost property. Mrs Sasaki once had a human skeleton wind up on her trolley, stuffed inside a backpack. A medical student left it on the train after his professor’s leaving party. Anyway, I get back to Shooting Star, dripping sweat, and Buntaro is perched on his stool behind the counter spooning down green tea ice cream, studying a sheet of paper with a magnifying glass. ‘Hey, lad,’ he says. ‘Want to see my son?’ This is weird because Buntaro told me that he hasn’t got any kids. Then he shows me a page of inky fuzz. I frown at my proud landlord. ‘The miracles of ultrasound scans!’ he says. ‘Inside the womb!’ I look at Buntaro’s belly, and he glares. ‘Very funny. We decided on his name. Actually, my wife decided. But I agree. Want to know what name we decided?’
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘“Kodai”. “Ko” as in “voyage”, “dai” as in great. Great Voyage.’
‘That is a really cool name,’ I tell him, meaning it.
Buntaro admires Kodai from various angles. ‘See his nose? This is his foot. Cute, huh?’
‘The cutest. What’s this shrimpy thing?’
‘How do you think we know he’s a he, genius?’
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘Another letter arrived for you. I would rig up a special mailbox for you, but then I’d miss out on the fun of steaming open my tenants’ private letters. Here you go.’ He hands me a plain white envelope, originally postmarked in Miyazaki, and forwarded by Uncle Money in Kagoshima. I slit it open and unfold three sheets of crumpled paper. On the video screen helicopters collide and buildings explode. Bruce Willis takes off his sunglasses and squints at the inferno. I read the first line and realize who the letter is from. I shove it