The Girl from the Well

(Twenty-five dolls, twenty-six.)

“There are many things your wife neglected to tell you.” The old woman sounds disapproving. “Yoko was always a dutiful student, but her decision to marry and leave us came as a surprise. And then there was that business with Chiyo.”

She shakes her head and makes a small psshing noise. Callie wonders why the name sounds familiar.

“Dad”—Tarquin’s words come slowly, unusual for him—“I remember this place.”

His father and Callie stare at him. “But that’s impossible,” the man says.

(Ninety-one dolls, ninety-two.)

“It is not impossible,” Kagura translates for the old woman again. “What I am about to say might sound fantastic to you, Halloway-san, but I speak the truth. Little Tarquin has been here once, many years ago. His mother brought him when he was only two years old.”

“I remember her mentioning that she wanted to take a trip with Tarquin once while I was away on business. It was the last time I saw her before she…she…”

(One hundred and eighty-three dolls, one hundred and eighty-four.)

“Before she went insane,” the old woman finishes for him. “I remember you, Tarquin-chan, though you do not remember me. You were very well-behaved. Many of my other sisters babied you incessantly during your stay. If we’d only had the foresight to know what would happen to your mother, we would have asked her not to bring you at all.” The old woman sighs. “We must hurry, though, to ensure that you do not share the same fate.”

(Three hundred and six dolls, three hundred and seven.)

“What do you mean? What’s going to happen to Tarquin?” his father asks in alarm.

A knowing look passes among all four miko. “We have heard of your young son’s sickness.” The old woman is being deliberately misleading. “We know that the doctors in the city will not be able to heal him with their modern medicine. But we are gifted in the old ways, and we would like to try.”

Tarquin’s father, a stronger believer in these modern medicines than in tradition, looks unconvinced by this, but he does not wish to sound ungrateful. “Tarquin’s a lot better than he was in Tokyo,” he does concede. “I don’t see why we can’t stay for the time being. I am thankful for any help you can give.”

(Five hundred and sixty-two dolls, five hundred and sixty-three.)

“My name is Machika. This is Saya, and Amaya. You already know Kagura. You are all free to stay for as long as you like in our humble home. Yoko’s family will always be welcomed here.”

“If you don’t mind,” Tarquin says, still staring at the dolls, “I’d like a room where there isn’t anything soulless looking back down at me, for a change.”

Much to his relief, the guest rooms hold none of the seven hundred and seventy-seven dolls of the Chinsei shrine. There are seven more futons laid across fresh tatami mats, and one small wooden table. The other mikos do not speak English, either, though they smile frequently and appear eager to assist. Tarquin’s father hesitantly gives Yoko’s urn to the old woman, Machika, who accepts it with peculiar sadness and regret. “Dear Yoko,” she murmurs, “if only you had listened.”