3. The nameplate is not a door knocker.
Outside the front gate, in the very center of the ground,
lush green grass was piled up high.
When I went out shopping for groceries and came back in the
early afternoon, this was the sight that greeted me.
Minato, holding shopping bags in both hands, looked around.
There was no one around not a single person in sight.
The taxi that had just stopped a moment ago was leisurely
driving away along an unpaved road.
On this road, only overgrown vacant lots and rice fields
could be seen on both sides.
Ahead of the taxi, there was a one-lane road, beyond which
were more rice fields and a few houses, continuing up into the mountains. There
were no tall buildings blocking the view.
This was an unmistakable rural landscape.
The open view on one side was comfortable, but on the other
side, towering mountains rose high. The trees swayed gently in the breeze.
It seemed unlikely that anyone lived deep within the green
mountains.
It was also unlikely that the nearby rice fields and homes,
separated by the road, were offering any kind of share or exchange.
While pondering, Minato took another look at the scenic view
and turned back toward the gate.
He tread along the gravel path, ascending a low stone steps.
A fresh, green smell drifted from the recently picked grass.
It was a round, palm-sized object an ordinary thing that
often grows by the roadside.
"...Is this some kind of prank or harassment?"
Minato wondered.
Would anyone intentionally do such a whimsical, annoying
prank?
Minato was unfamiliar with this land and had no
acquaintances here.
He had only met a few gardeners and had no idea who else
might be involved. The people in the shopping district he visited earlier today
were definitely out of the question.
No matter whether in the countryside or the city, eccentric
people who act unexpectedly do exist.
"...I'll just watch and see," Minato decided.
He circumvented the grass mound and opened the lattice gate.
The mound was made of chidomegusa a medicinal herb
whose juice is known for stopping bleeding.
Minato, not knowing this, thought it was just weeds.
A strong wind blew, scattering some of the top stems of the
mound.
The next morning, Minato slightly opened the lattice gate
and peered inside.
The grass mound from yesterday had completely disappeared.
But instead, neatly arranged on the ground were new,
flowering grasses.
They had oval, opposite leaves, with two white, tubular
petals in between, emitting a sweet fragrance.
"These should be nectar-rich, right...?" Minato
thought.
Even someone not particularly interested in plants would
know that, having heard from his late grandfather.
"I already bought sweets yesterday, so I don't need
more sweets. Plus, I don't want to eat things placed on the ground," he
said coldly, closing the lattice door sharply.
Despite growing up in the countryside, Minato had no
experience of drinking the sweet nectar from honeysuckle flowers, which
saddened him a bit.
The flowers, arranged in a row on the roadside, vanished in
an instant, leaving not even a petal behind.
Two days later, Minato peeked again through the gap in the
lattice.
The stone stairs, illuminated by the bright morning sun,
were empty nothing was placed there.
He thought maybe the strange phenomena had finally ended,
and he opened the lattice gate.
As he stuck his head out and looked around, he saw something
familiar placed just beneath the nameplate.
“Oh, it's yomogi (mugwort).”
He couldn’t help but exclaim happily.
A bundle of mugwort, with sawtooth-shaped leaves, was
wrapped in large leaves and placed on a flat stone.
The thoughtful arrangement was impressive.
The gate swung open with a clatter.
As he approached, a calming, distinctive aroma tickled his
nose, making him smile naturally.
"Can I take this?" Minato wondered.
He loved mugwort, and in front of his favorite things, even
a bit of unease disappeared.
Just as he had bought rice cake flour recently, it was a
perfect timing.
He was grateful and, thinking about his favorite mugwort
dumplings, eagerly picked up the bundle of mugwort and closed the lattice door.
Clang, clang.
The nameplate, ringing with a high, cheerful sound in the
silent, windless area, seemed to respond happily, playfully, as if sharing
Minato’s joy.
That morning, he opened the front door to check the mailbox.
Immediately after stepping out, he noticed something placed
beside the porch.
It was a small, somewhat old-fashioned bamboo basket filled
with an abundance of tiny, red fruits wrapped in large leaves.
"I’ve eaten these before. They’re sweet and sour, and
tasty," Minato said happily, lifting the basket with both hands, smiling
with joy.
Despite being an adult of a decent age, Minato happily
accepted such a suspicious-looking thing because he had reasons.
In his family’s altar and the kamidana (house Shinto altar)
at the hot spring inn, offerings often disappeared.
It was also common for leftover sweets on the dining table
to vanish.
Having experienced many mysterious phenomena since
childhood, he was quite accustomed to it.
His late grandfather had explained this to him.
“Within our house, there’s a little dōji (dōji, a small divine
or spirit child). It’s not a bad thing, in fact, it’s a good thing. Listen
carefully, Minato. Even if they steal some sweets, don’t get mad. Giver them
freely, even one or two sweets.”
His grandfather was someone who could see non-human
entities.
Minato himself had never seen them clearly.
But sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, he saw huge
shadows pass by, or glimpsed the behind of a little person turning a corner in
the hallway—these encounters were not rare.
When he excitedly told his grandfather about these
sightings,
He was told,
“They’re friends of the dōji. It seems only good things can be
seen by you,”
and his grandfather’s deep laugh lines grew even more.
Reflecting on those peaceful memories, Minato placed the
bamboo basket on the kitchen sink and looked out the window.
Under the blue sky, a faint, white, giant shape brushed past
the corner of the garden.
Minato’s lips curved into a smile again.
It was the same faintly glowing white thing he saw at his
family’s home.
It wasn’t human-like but more animal-like in shape.
He looked up at the ceiling corner.
There was a kamidana there too, but it hadn’t been cleaned
or had offerings for a while.
He took out a memo pad from his pocket.
“I should thank them,” he thought.
They hadn’t stolen anything but had given him something he
liked.
Even if he didn’t know what exactly they were, if he trusted
his late grandfather’s words, then those were good things.
And importantly, he had never felt uneasy or had any bad
experiences with these mysterious phenomena.
“The dōji and the others will accept anything alcohol, for example, but I think I’ll stick with Japanese sake. For sweets... maybe Japanese confections?”
Suddenly, the door to the back porch rattled unnaturally.
As if it was urging him.
He chuckled and wrote down the items on his memo pad.
“And, oh, there was also a trash bag, right?”
He had never had such a vivid exchange with the spirits at
his family’s home. Sometimes, when he deliberately left some sweets on the
table, they would be eaten, or seasonal flowers would be placed by the window
as a sign of thanks.
Because of experiences like that, he wasn’t surprised by the
grass gifts.
Anyway, these spirits seemed to be quite assertive.
Still smiling, Minato reached for his wallet on the counter,
pondering what to do next.
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