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That afternoon we went to the cat temple of Go To Ku Ji. Behind
the temple there is a cemetery. The cat tombs are identical
to human tombs, just cat-sized. Cats and humans are separated by
a low wall, I imagine the shades of cats are agile enough to jump it,
malicious enough to steal offering from the humans and bring
them back purring. K. didn’t pray; her mother had enjoined her
not to. When one prays in a foreign cemetery one risks bringing
home foreign souls. The day of my departure, we went to pay
homage to the Forty-Seven Ronin, those faithful samurai who
avenged their master and then committed suicide to set the disorder
aright, like the Bake-neko. Many people come ti pray at their tombs.
I took my last photo there. Thinking about the length of the trip to
Narita, I glanced at my watch. There were three of us, the two girls
and me. There were forty-seven ronin. My watch said « 3: 47. »
I showed it to them, there was no need to say a word. It was a
moment of harmony.