Novel "The Forty-Ninth Day Game" by Makoto Hasegawa

I did not cry even once at my grandmother's funeral.

I remember the relatives looking at me as if to reproach me for it. Even my mother, the chief mourner, looked at my dry eyes and smiled in a slightly troubled way.

She must have thought it couldn't be helped.

My grandmother and I were not particularly close. We would see each other during the Obon and New Year holidays, have harmless conversations, and then not meet for another six months or so. That was the kind of relationship we had.

That is why, when my grandmother appeared on the night of the seventh day after her death, I felt an out-of-place sentiment before I felt any surprise.

—She is a dutiful person.

"Why didn't you cry, you?"

In front of the Buddhist altar, beyond the smoke of the incense, my grandmother was sitting in the same form as she had been when she was alive.

She was not wearing her apron, but the navy kimono I had placed in her coffin on the day of the funeral. Her voice was also the same as it had been in the past. It was a little hoarse, and the ends of her sentences were strangely drawn out.

I stared at my grandmother for a while.

"……I can see them."

My grandmother did not answer.

She simply crinkled her wrinkled face into a smile.

"They say I can stay here until the forty-ninth day."

"Who told you that?"

"I don't know. You'll understand when you die."

It was a rather vague explanation.

"But, it seems you can't find the path to enlightenment unless you're with someone. ……Are you free?"

"I'm not free, but..."

"Then, play with me."

The way they asked was so abrupt and so childish that I couldn't help but laugh.

Perhaps that was the first time the situation of being asked by a dead person to 'play with me' felt real.

'What should we play?'

'Anything is fine. Karuta, origami, whatever. You used to love playing with Grandma, didn't you?'

'Did I?'

'You're such a heartless child.'

Grandma laughed.

That night, we played karuta in front of the Buddhist altar.

Even in death, Grandma was a sore loser.

Every time I took a card, she complained, 'I got that one first.'

"Don't cheat, you dead person."

When I said that, my grandmother burst out laughing.

I had no memory of ever laughing with my grandmother like this.

From then on, my grandmother appeared every night.

We did origami.

We pulled weeds in the garden.

We sat side by side on the veranda and gave the neighborhood stray cats whatever names we pleased.

My grandmother was much more talkative than she had been when she was alive.

"You know, once you're dead, you don't have to worry about tomorrow, so it's easy."

She said that and laughed.

Little by little, I began to look forward to the coming of night.

I should have talked to my grandmother sooner.

I even started to think things like that.

I first sensed something was wrong when I entered the second week.

While I was weeding the garden, my grandmother suddenly said,

"That child was always good at getting things done."

"Who?"

"Your mother."

My grandmother pulled out a weed.

"That child was always good at getting people to believe her."

"What do you mean?"

My grandmother's hands stopped.

It was only for a brief moment.

"...It's nothing."

"I'm curious, though."

My grandmother looked at me.

It was her usual smile.

"Your parents, when they were young, they... someone--"

She cut her words off there.

"Someone?"

My grandmother stood up and brushed the dirt off her knees.

"Let's stop here for today."

"Why?"

"If you hear the whole thing in one day, it wouldn't be any fun, would it?"

My grandmother laughed.

That night, I couldn't fall asleep easily.

About a certain person.

I made up and erased the rest of the story in my head over and over again.

There were still forty-two days left until the forty-ninth day.

After that, my grandmother was reluctant to talk about the rest of that day.

Instead, she began to drop only strange fragments.

In the middle of playing cards,

"That child has always been strong-willed."

she said.

While pretending to drink tea on the veranda,

"Your father also tried to leave home just once."

she said.

When I asked for the rest of the story,

"It's a story from long ago."

she said with a laugh, ending the conversation.

It was as if she were carefully measuring out a poison that could only be administered in small doses and making me drink it.

Even so, the time I spent with my grandmother was enjoyable in itself.

One night, we made paper cranes together.

Even though my grandmother's fingers were translucent, for some reason, she was able to touch the paper.

"You're bad at this."

When I said that,

"I used to be good at it."

My grandmother looked annoyed.

The finished crane had wings of different sizes.

I laughed.

My grandmother laughed, too.

"Here, keep this."

"Why?"

"Because it will still be here even after I'm gone."

That one sentence made me feel a little lonely.

I put the paper crane away in my desk drawer.

It was the third week, at night.

My grandmother suddenly started telling a story from the past.

"When your mother was still a child, she had a close friend in the neighborhood."

"A girl?"

"Yes. We were always together, like sisters."

My grandmother was looking at the garden.

"And yet, one summer, that child died."

"Of an illness?"

"The river."

That was all my grandmother said.

"Did she drown?"

"That is what it has been decided to be."

The way she said it bothered me.

"Was it not an accident?"

My grandmother did not answer.

"That day, that child and your mother went to the river together."

"And then?"

"Only your mother came back."

A feeling of unease stirred deep in my chest.

"What did Mom say?"

"She said she didn't remember."

"Remember what?"

"The moment that child fell into the river."

I looked at my grandmother.

“Are you saying Mom did something?”

My grandmother slowly looked back at me.

And then she laughed.

“Who said anything like that?”

“You did, Grandma.”

“Grandma didn't say anything.”

That was true.

My grandmother had only laid out what seemed to be facts.

I was the one who had connected the dots on my own.

“Well, that's a story from a long time ago.”

My grandmother stood up.

"That's all for today."

From that night on, I could no longer look my mother in the face.

I began to investigate.

I did not tell my grandmother.

I pulled an old album out of the closet at my parents' house.

Photos of my mother's girlhood.

Sports day.

Field trip.

Swimming at the beach.

Among them, there was one photo of my mother standing next to a girl I didn't recognize.

Both of them were in swimsuits, with their arms around each other, laughing.

On the back of the photo, in childish handwriting, it said,

'With Misaki-chan'

was written.

I mentioned that name to an old man in the neighborhood.

The old man was silent for a moment.

'Ah... yes, she was there.'

'What kind of girl was she?'

'She was a girl who laughed a lot.'

"They say he died in the river."

The old man's expression changed.

"That was a long time ago."

He seemed unwilling to talk about it any further.

As I turned to leave, the old man spoke to my back.

"But, on that day..."

I turned around.

"I wonder if it was only the children who were at the river."

"What do you mean?"

"No..."

The old man tilted his head.

"I have a feeling there was an adult here, though."

"Who is it?"

"I don't remember."

The old man closed his mouth after that.

That night, my grandmother appeared as usual.

"What shall we play today?"

I stared intently at my grandmother's face.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"What a strange child you are."

My grandmother laughed.

In the past, it would have been a reassuring smile.

Now, it was different.

I felt as though something was hidden in every single wrinkle on her face.

A few days later, I found a small diary among my mother's old belongings.

Several pages had been torn out.

Even on the remaining pages, there were marks where things had been strongly erased with a pencil.

When I held it up to the light, I could read a small part of it.

—I told you never to tell anyone about that day.

The line before that was torn.

I don't know who said it.

It might have been my father.

It might have been someone in the neighborhood.

It might have been my grandmother.

I closed the diary.

That night, my grandmother said with an innocent face,

"Shall we play cards?"

I sat in the same place as I did on the night of the first seven days.

Watching my grandmother's profile as she lined up the cards, I suddenly thought.

Did this person really come to me to pass on to the afterlife?

The night of the forty-ninth day had arrived.

"This is the end, then."

My grandmother did not look lonely.

If anything, she was in a strangely good mood.

"What shall we do for the last time?"

"Shadow puppetry."

"You're like a child."

"You loved it when you were little."

I turned off the room lights.

The shadow of my grandmother's hand was cast on the shoji screen.

A fox.

A bird.

A dog.

My grandmother changed the shapes one after another.

"Do you remember?"

"Just a little."

"Grandma remembers."

I made my hand into the shape of a fox.

Two foxes faced each other on the shoji screen.

My grandmother said.

"It seems you've been looking into various things."

My hands stopped.

Only my grandmother's eyes were moving.

"Did you know?"

"You were going around asking about Misaki-chan, weren't you?"

My grandmother smiled.

"I'm not going to get angry. There isn't much time left anyway."

I asked.

"Who really killed her?"

The fox's shadow stopped.

It was a long silence.

Before long, my grandmother's fingers uncurled, and the fox returned to being a human hand.

"Your mother was indeed at the river that day."

"Yes."

"Misaki-chan was there too."

"Yes."

"But you know..."

My grandmother turned to face me.

"I wonder who it was that called that child to the river first."

A chill ran down my spine.

"Grandma?"

My grandmother did not answer.

"Did you summon it, Grandma?"

"Who knows."

My grandmother laughed.

"I've already forgotten about the past."

"That's a lie."

"The dead don't lie."

"Then tell me the truth."

My grandmother stared at me for a while.

Then, just as she had on the night of the first seven days, she crumpled her wrinkled face.

"Playing with you was fun."

The other side of the shoji screen was beginning to turn white.

"Wait."

My grandmother's outline grew faint.

"Why was it me?"

At that moment, my grandmother's smile froze.

It was the first time.

For forty-nine days, my grandmother had smiled at every question, but that was the only one she did not answer.

Before long, she laughed again.

"Thinking about that is part of the game, too."

My grandmother vanished.

Morning came.

My grandmother was not there.

I think I truly enjoyed those forty-nine days.

The card games, too.

The weeding, too.

The origami, too.

The shadow puppetry, too.

Even the thought that I should have talked to my grandmother sooner is not a lie.

I opened the desk drawer.

A misshapen crane folded by my grandmother remained.

The wings were different sizes on each side.

The moment I saw it, I cried a little.

It was a tear that hadn't fallen even a drop at the funeral.

However, while crying, I was thinking.

Was it really my mother who let Misaki die?

Who was the "other adult" said to be by the river?

Was it my grandmother?

And why did my grandmother spend forty-nine days planting that suspicion in me?

A few days later, I went to my parents' house.

While eating dinner with my mother, I asked in a casual tone.

"Do you remember Misaki?"

My mother's chopsticks stopped.

It was only for a split second.

"...Where did you hear that name?"

It was a voice I had never heard before.

"An old photo album."

I lied.

My mother looked at me.

I opened my mouth, about to say something.

And then, I stopped.

The moment I saw that gesture, a chill ran deep through my chest.

It was just like my grandmother.

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

My mother smiled.

Even the way she smiled was very much like my grandmother.

That night, I returned to my room and placed an origami crane on my desk.

I remembered the forty-nine days I spent with my grandmother.

To the very end, there was one thing I never asked.

Among the countless relatives, why was it me, someone she wasn't even particularly close to?

Was it truly necessary for someone to be there for her to pass on?

Or perhaps—

Did my grandmother have a reason why it had to be me?

I never found the answer.

Yet, the smile on my grandmother's face that day remains burned behind my eyelids even now.

—Playing with you was fun.

I looked at the paper crane on the desk.

One of its wings, which were different sizes on the left and right, was

Even though there was no wind, it slowly lifted up. (End)

-This work is a short story by Makoto Hasegawa-