Eshin's fire

'You're going? Already? Can't you stay one more day? . . . Then we must have a goma ceremony. Please wait.' Eshin disappers. I don't know where to or for how long. I wonder if they'll let me leave. I look at the temple. Eshin has been building it for 5 years, on his parents' land.

'I've never spoken to a foreigner before,' says his mother. She scratches her hand. Looks nervous. Later in the evening she looks from Eshin to me and smiles. 'Foreigners aren't really any different from us, are they. Just the same as us.'

Eshin returns in his formal robes. Egg yolk and purple. He kneels at the square fire place, lights kindling and chants. I hear names. I hear my name amongst the train of Japanese. The ceiling is black from smoke. All the doors are open. It is chill and silent except for the fire and Eshin. Late autumn.

I am touched that Eshin does this for me. I thank him and thank him again and bow. 'Ring me when you finish. Come and stay again. I have a car. I'll come and pick you up from anywhere in Shikoku.'

Copyright Edwina Breitzke May 1997