The Sound of Sinking to the Bottom of August

On August 1st, 1975, I was ten years old and standing on the deck of a ferry heading toward Naruiwa Island.

The ship creaked slightly in its white belly as it made its way off the coast of Izu. Once we left the harbor, the sounds of the town quickly faded, replaced by the low drone of the engine and the sound of waves slapping against the hull. The sea was less blue than it was like deep glass that went on forever. The sun shattered against it, leaving countless glittering shards floating on the surface.

Because my mother was going to be busy with things at home for a while, I was to be left with her older sister for the duration of summer vacation. My mother's sister, Aunt Sayo, ran a small guesthouse called "Hamazukiso" on Naruiwa Island. Every time I heard the name, I imagined the moon falling onto the beach and getting half-buried in the sand.

On a map, Naruiwa Island looked like a tiny bean. But as the ship drew closer, the bean grew larger, revealing black rocky shores, a white breakwater, green mountains, and houses with low roofs. Behind the harbor was a steep slope, and the houses clung to it as if the entire island were desperately holding on to keep from falling into the sea.

When the ferry arrived at the harbor, Aunt Sayo was standing there with a straw hat in one hand.

“Kasumi, over here!”

She called my name as if throwing it out to the sea. As I stepped off the boat, the smell of the tide rushed into my body. The air in Tokyo didn't have a scent this strong. Fish, oil, sun-warmed rope, wet wooden crates, seaweed left on the rocks. It was as if all of that together was what they called summer.

Hamazukiso was a short walk up the slope from the harbor. It was a two-story wooden building, and the glass door at the entrance made a clattering, old sound every time it was opened. There was one electric fan in the tatami room, and every time it oscillated, it puffed out a sleepy breeze. I could see the harbor from the window. Two children were running along the breakwater, their shadows swaying long and thin on the white concrete.

“This will be your room for the rest of August, Kasumi.”

Aunt Sayo said this as she pulled a thin futon out of the closet.

That night, I couldn't fall asleep. As I stared at the wood grain on the ceiling, I felt as if the island were still swaying on the waves. A dog barked in the distance, and the sound of a television from some house drifted in for a moment before vanishing. The sea didn't sleep even at night. In the darkness, it breathed like a giant living creature.

The next morning, I was woken up at six.

“Time for radio calisthenics.”

Aunt Sayo said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. I rubbed my eyes and went outside. The island in the morning was cool, as if someone had just washed it with thin water. About twenty children and adults had gathered in the square in front of the harbor. Music flowed from the radio, and everyone stretched their arms in unison. I followed along, my movements slightly delayed.

When the exercises were over, a boy with a card hanging around his neck looked at me and said,

“You’re the kid from out of town, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you swim?”

“A little.”

“Then don't go past the breakwater yet. The bottom drops off suddenly over there.”

The boy said that and ran off without waiting for my reply. His sun-tanned shoulders shone like a fish in the morning light.

His name was Toru. He was a year older than me and the son of the island's clinic doctor. Though it was called a clinic, it was just a room in an old house with a medicine cabinet and an examination table, and the letters on the sign were half-faded. Toru was always barefoot in sandals, and he walked the island's paths faster than anyone. He knew everything: where the crabs were, which trees the stag beetles came to, and where the rocky path was that you could only cross when the tide was out.

"Why is it called Naruishi Island?"

On the afternoon of the third day, I asked Toru.

We were walking along the black rocky shore behind the harbor. The rocks were rugged, and there were small tide pools here and there. In them were transparent shrimp, tiny spiral shells, and small, glowing blue fish. Every time I peered into a tide pool, I felt like I was looking at a small world that had trapped the sky upside down.

"Because the stones ring."

Toru said simply.

"The stones do?"

"Yeah. At the tip of the cape, there's a big stone with a hole in it. On windy days, it makes a low, booming sound."

"Hmm."

"But on the last day of August, it makes a different sound."

"What kind of sound?"

Toru was silent for a moment. Then, he said with a serious face,

"A sound like someone calling your name."

I tried to laugh. But I couldn't. Because the way Toru said it wasn't the way someone tells a joke.

After that, I walked around the island every day.

In the morning, I caught insects. On the narrow path leading to the mountain, there were many sawtooth oak trees, and the scent of sap drifted sweetly. The rose chafers were green like jewels, and the stag beetles raised their pincers in anger. Toru was good at catching insects, but he usually let them go afterward.

"They'll just die if I take them home."

Toru's profile as he said that looked a little like an adult's.

At noon, I would return to the guesthouse and drink cold barley tea. In the kitchen, Auntie Sayo would be filleting fish, and the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board was refreshing. Sometimes families from Tokyo or men who came to fish would stay at the inn. At night, the adults would drink bottled beer, play shogi, and talk about rumors from the harbor.

“They say the road will be extended a little more by next year.”

“It’s good that it’ll be more convenient, but it won’t be quiet anymore.”

“All the young ones are leaving, anyway.”

I didn’t understand even half of what those words meant. I just wondered why the adults looked a little sad whenever they talked about the future.

In the afternoon, I swam in the sea. At first, I only stayed in the shallows by the beach, but with Toru’s help, I was able to go a little deeper little by little. The inside of the sea was much livelier than it looked from the outside. Fish darted in and out of the gaps in the rocks, seaweed swayed slowly, and light shattered on the surface, casting shimmering nets of light onto the seabed.

One day, I found a blue marble on the seabed.

It was buried between shards of glass and seashells. When I picked it up, I saw a tiny bubble trapped inside the marble. It felt as if a breath from long ago had been preserved just like that.

“That’s a drifter marble.”

Toru said.

“A drifter marble?”

“Something that drifted in from the sea. That’s what the island kids call them. Anything whose origin is unknown is a drifter marble.”

I held the marble up to the sun. A blue light fell onto my palm. Looking at that light, I felt as if I could see all the way to the sky of a town I didn’t know.

“Can I keep it?”

“If the sea gave it to you, I don’t see why not.”

Toru said that and dove back into the sea.

By the time August 10th passed, I had grown accustomed to the island’s rhythm. Morning radio calisthenics, mountains in the morning, barley tea at noon, the sea in the afternoon, the harbor in the evening, and a picture diary at night. Every day felt the same, yet every day was slightly different. A cat that hadn’t been there yesterday was sleeping in front of the fishmonger’s, the sound of a shamisen could be heard from the back of the general store that was always closed, and the color of the water in the harbor looked green or gray depending on the day.

On the night of the 15th, there was a small Bon dance at the harbor.

Bare lightbulbs were hung in the square, and the sound of drums rolled out toward the sea. Aunt Sayo helped me put on a yukata. The navy blue yukata was scattered with white morning glories, and when she tightened the obi, it became a little hard to breathe.

Toru wasn’t wearing a yukata; he was in his usual shorts.

“Aren’t you going to dance?”

When I asked, Toru shook his head.

"I prefer watching."

"Why?"

"Because when you dance, it ends."

It was a strange answer. But that night, I felt like I understood it somehow. Joining the circle and dancing is fun. But fun things get closer to their end the more they begin. As long as you are watching from afar, it hasn't ended yet.

After the Bon dance, we sat on the breakwater and drank ramune. The marble rattled inside the glass bottle. Toru was looking toward the horizon.

"On August 31st, shall we go listen to the Naru-ishi?"

"On the last day?"

"Yeah. Not in the morning, but in the evening. A little before the sun sets."

"Does it really call out a name?"

"I don't know. But there are people who hear it that way."

"Have you ever heard it, Toru?"

Toru took a sip of his ramune.

"Only once."

"Whose name was it?"

He didn't answer. He just rattled the marble inside the bottle. It made a small clinking sound, which was immediately swallowed by the sound of the waves.

By the second half of August, I had gotten a tan, and the skin on the tip of my nose had peeled a little. Aunt Sayo laughed every time she saw me.

"You've become a real island girl."

When she said that, I felt happy. But at the same time, a small ache formed deep in my chest. I am not actually an island girl. When August ends, I will board a ship and go home. The room at Hamazuki-so, the harbor, the breakwater, and Toru—none of it will be part of my daily life anymore.

On the afternoon of the 26th, Toru took me to an old fish-spotting hut.

The fish-spotting hut was on a cliff halfway up the cape. It seems it was used long ago to spot schools of fish and notify the harbor. No one uses it anymore, and the wooden walls have turned whitish from the sea breeze. Inside, there was a broken chair, an old pair of binoculars, and a torn net.

Looking down at the sea from the window, the breakwater, the harbor, and the roof of Hamazuki-so all looked like a small model.

"Looking at it from here, the island seems small, doesn't it?"

When I said that, Toru nodded.

"But it's big when you walk it."

"Yeah."

"It's big for a child."

When I heard those words, for some reason, I felt like crying. I thought that the day would come when I, too, would realize that the island is small. This island, which is vast as far as the eye can see right now, will become just a small dot on a map when I grow up. That thought suddenly scared me.

On the night of the 29th, the edge of a typhoon grazed the island.

Even with the shutters closed, the wind found its way through the gaps in the house, whistling through the hallway. The sea was pitch black, and all I could hear from outside the window was the sound of waves crashing against the rocks. There were no guests, and Aunt Sayo checked the shutters early and kept the radio on low in the kitchen.

I clutched a blue marble in my futon. The marble was cool. Outside, it felt as if the entire island were swaying in the wind. I wondered if the island might just be swept away into the sea like this.

The next morning, the typhoon had passed.

Driftwood, seaweed, and bottles I had never seen before were washed up in the harbor. The sky was unbelievably clear. Toru and I walked along the beach and picked up the things that had washed ashore. A single sandal, a detergent container with a foreign language written on it, a broken glass float, a red comb.

Among them, I found a small aluminum lunch box. The lid was rusted shut and wouldn't open. Toru looked at it for a while.

"Let's return that to the sea."

"Why?"

"Because it might belong to someone."

"But it's just drift, right?"

Toru shook his head.

"There are things you should keep, and things you should return."

We placed our lunch boxes at the water's edge. The next wave came and nudged them slightly. Another wave followed, and the lunch boxes turned around. It was as if they were searching for the way home on their own.

And then it was August 31st.

There were fewer people than usual at the morning radio exercises. Someone said that since it was the last day of summer vacation, everyone was doing their homework. I had the last stamp pressed onto my card. The red circle announced the end of August.

At noon, Aunt Sayo boiled somen noodles for us. The noodles, submerged in ice water, looked like a school of white fish. I ate more slowly than usual. Once I finished eating, it would be afternoon. Once it was afternoon, it would be evening. Once it was evening, summer vacation would have one foot already in September.

In the evening, Toru and I headed toward the cape.

The path went through the mountains. The sound of cicadas rained down, but it had grown somewhat weaker. The shadows of the leaves were long, and the wind carried a slight scent of autumn. I had a blue marble in my pocket. Every time I walked, it tapped against my thigh.

At the tip of the cape, there was the Singing Stone.

It was a black rock as tall as an adult, with a round hole in the middle. Through the hole, you could see the sea. The setting sun had already dropped near the horizon, and the sea was swaying between gold and purple.

Here.

Toru said.

We sat in front of the rock. Every time the wind blew, a low sound came from inside the hole. It was a sound that resonated deep in the belly, a low, booming hum.

Is this the sound of the Singing Stone?

Not yet.

Toru said, keeping his eyes on the sea.

For a while, nothing happened. I hugged my knees and watched the setting sun gradually wane. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want tomorrow to come. But even if I thought such things, the sun would sink just the same. It wasn't something that would stop just because of a child's wish.

At that moment, the wind direction changed.

The wind from the sea passed straight through the hole in the Singing Stone. A sound emerged. It wasn't the low sound from before. It was thinner, further away, like someone calling from the other end of a long hallway.

Kasumi.

I felt like that was what I heard.

I held my breath. When I looked at Toru, he had his eyes cast down as well. What did he hear? I wanted to ask. But I felt like I shouldn't.

The sound happened only once. The wind changed direction again, and the singing stone returned to being just a black rock. The last light of the setting sun sank into the sea, and the island's shadow deepened.

"Did you hear it?"

Toru said.

"Yeah."

"Whose name was it?"

I thought for a moment.

"My name."

Toru nodded.

"Then the island remembered it."

"Remembered what?"

"That Kasumi was here."

I took a blue marble out of my pocket. In the twilight, it looked almost black. I placed the marble into a small hollow beneath the singing stone.

"Are you leaving it behind?"

Toru asked.

"Yeah."

"Is that okay?"

"Because the island gave it to me."

Toru said nothing. He just smiled a little.

The next morning, I boarded the ferry.

Aunt Sayo was waving at the port. Toru was standing on the breakwater. I watched the two of them from the ship's deck. As the ship began to move, the breakwater gradually receded, and Toru's figure became a tiny dot on the white line.

"I'll come back again."

I said it out loud. But the sound of the engine and the waves drowned it out, and it probably didn't reach anyone.

As the island grew more distant, it returned to a single shape. The harbor, the slope, Hamazuki-so, the fish-watching hut, the Naruishi rock—everything became a mass of green, black, and white. Before long, it became a tiny bean floating on the sea.

It was then that I realized for the first time that summer vacation was over.

A long time passed since then.

I returned to Naruishi Island only after I had become an adult. The ferry was new, and a large concrete waiting area had been built at the harbor. Hamazuki-so was no longer operating as a guesthouse, and white curtains were drawn over the glass door at the entrance. There were more houses I didn't recognize on the slope, and the general store had become a vacant lot lined with vending machines.

Even so, the smell of the sea was the same.

In the evening, I headed to the cape alone. The path was a bit overgrown, but the Naruishi rock was in the same place as before. Beyond the hole in the black rock, I could see the sea.

I peered into the hollow beneath the rock.

There, a blue marble lay.

I didn't know if it was truly the one I had left there, or if some other child had placed it there. But inside the marble, a single small bubble was trapped. It was a bubble like a breath from the past, like the dying embers of August.

The wind blew.

The Naruishi rock let out a low, hollow sound.

I closed my eyes. There was no sound of my name being called. But that was fine. Even if the island didn't call my name anymore, it knew that I had been here.

August of 1975 no longer remains anywhere.

But at the bottom of the sea, a little bit of the light from that day is still sinking.
The whiteness of the breakwater, the sound of the ramune bottle, Toru's profile, the coldness of the barley tea, the Naruishi rock at dusk—everything is sinking.

I returned the marble to its original hollow.

And then, I looked at the sea one more time.

Summer becomes most like summer after it has ended.
That is what I learned on Naruishi Island.