“Your mind wanders in this new place.”
“Yes.” I opened my eyes.
“But not out of fear.”
“No.”
“The unknown creates a space of fear, but by definition dissipates once approached.”
“What am I approaching?”
“Acceptance, perhaps. Maybe awareness? Truth?”
I scoffed by accident, Aira deadpanned.
“My apologies,” I said, but he continued without acknowledgement.
“By the flow of the riverside, the dawn of the sun brings you to your senses once more and your journey beckons, as does the appeal for strength.”
His hands were working again, swift and silent, out of sight. He watched me the entire time as if his fingers had vision of their own at task.
The bowl in front of me was replaced with a perfectly modest bamboo leaf, atop which lay two simple, small fish on their sides. Beautiful, peaceful. Pine nuts and goji berries were sprinkled sparingly at the bottom of the plate, metaphoric of the next generation of roe, perhaps.
“Here on the riverbank we are now fishing, and the catch is frequent for this Yakimono course. We grill these sweet small ayu, caught fresh from the river and roasted over a smoldering fire of hot charcoals dug into the ground. Chunks of crunchy salt harvested by full moonlight and crushed by sea-worn rocks, is sprinkled atop lightly to respect the catch.”
He lifted the tiny fish with chopstick mastery and bit through, tail and all, spinning it around in preparation of the next bite. I followed suit, but almost dropped the thing with clumsy fingers. Recovering, I placed the head to my teeth and bit through to center, shrinking in anticipation of some foreign disaster.
What occurred next landed somewhere near euphoric. A short lifetime passing before me as I could actually feel what the ayu had experienced beneath the surface of rushing waters; under the lustful eyes of bird and villager alike, the journey to spawn, the first and last flap of gill. It was a dutiful life, systematically instinctual, and ultimately a common passage. To be uplifted and celebrated with such simple cook, seasoning, presentation, this was a fitting legacy. I tapped my tongue against the roof of my mouth hoping for one last taste of vision, opening my eyes to connect with a smile from Aira.
But he was gone. The room around me was darkness and I spun to find nothing at all. Falling off the stool, I hit the frozen ground of some menacing place. Curling up, I hid myself from what I could not see, fearing the worst of some attack from blind spots all around. There was nothing there, I could sense it. Nothing, deep, for forever.
An excerpt from somewhere deep within The Sushi Prophecies