The village is surrounded by death. What closes the village built upon the mountain stream into a triangle like a spear's tip is the forest of firs.
The fir resembles a Japanese cedar, handsome, yet short and stout. If a cedar is a sharp knife's edge, the fir is firelight. They have the contours of flame, burning thick at the wick's edge.
The hearty branches grow off of the straight and true trunk, the canopy forming a cone, the leaves are simple needles, and the only complexity to be found is that they don't grow in orderly rows but spiral. ---In summary, an unremarkable tree.
And yet it is a forest made exclusively of these firs that surrounds the village in death. They are the boundary of the village and they along with the mountain range that close off each side of the village are not of this world; they are Higan, the other shore.
While they look down upon the village from the other shore with their forty meter stature, their lifespan is only a one hundred and fifty to two hundred years. These are firs of destruction. If other greenery should try to spread, it is slaughtered to make way for more still of themselves who that dominate the forest.
Those trees of destruction are raised for the dead, confined to the mountainsides alongside the village. Villagers toil making use of the fir forest's lumber for sotoba, and later they became used to make coffins. Ever since the village was born, its purpose was to craft for the dead.
And in that forest of firs are, most befitting of the land of the dead, grave markers.
The village still buries its dead. The villagers each have their own plot and it is there that their remains will be buried. There are no tombstones. The sotoba stand marking where the dead dwell. Upon the thirty third anniversary of the dead's memorial service, the sotoba are taken down and a fir tree is planted. Plant and forget. The dead have already returned to the mountain, there is nothing human left.
A forest made purely of firs, the firs themselves destroyed for the dead, is unmistakably a land of death. Closed in on three sides by firs, the village is isolated within death.
Actually, from the moment the village was opened, neighborhoods within that village have been isolated. The first settlers were a band of lumberjacks who had come in to clear out an area for their forest, a village with neither blood nor territorial ties.
Perhaps that's the reason that everything is settled within the village, without aid from those who live outside the village. The outside's influence is limited, like the bypass through the south rim of the village, only able to pierce through and continue on. Even if this road connects the village to bigger towns and to cities even bigger than those towns, as nothing stops, the village remains isolated.
All the same, the mountain village has mysteriously not suffered depopulation in recent years. The population neither grows, nor does it decline. Certainly, there have been families moving bit by bit from the more remote part of the village, but that number is offset by the growth at the southern part of town. The mountain village always has a heavy population of seniors but as the elderly set off into the mountainside forests, the young return from thin air.
Seeing it carry on however trivially, yet certain never to close completely, the village may be thought of as a hokora. No matter how abandoned it may seem, like the brand of faith that drives one to stop by the hokora when they happen to remember it, the pulse of the village will go on without end.
If that is the case then the stolidity of the inert mountain village may be intentional. A bridge between this shore and the other, it is surrounded on three sides by that other shore, by death that isolates this shore in solemnity, away from the common world.
There, people labor for death and pray for the dead.
---Really, that was what the village was for ever since it was born.
The first sight of light thought to be a fire in the north western mountainous region of the town of Mizobe was reported to their fire station, on November 8th a little past 3:00AM.
The temperature was 9.6℃, the humidity level - 62.3%, wind velocity - 12.8 meters per second, and there was a dry weather advisory so it wasn't unexpected that the fire alarm would sound.
With the receiver to his ear, Yoshino quickly tossed aside the magazine he was reading and hurried out front of his branch station.
The northern branch station was in the mountain ranges cloaked in darkness. During the day, the clear late autumn skies would likely be a backdrop to the green expanse of mountain ranges. Yoshino had seen it so often he could vividly call it to mind, the evergreen laden, rolling slopes that overlapped each other gently, and the shifting and mingling, vibrant colors of fall; those were the mountains Yoshino was accustomed to.
Now those mountains were a shadow cutting off the night sky's spread of countless scattered lights, lying beneath like a jet black shadow. As if they were stars fallen from the sky, small lights could be seen here and there, and whether they were always there was still unclear.
"Nori-san, do you see anything?"
Yoshino turned around at the voice of his nervous co-worker.
"No."
A wind cold enough to chill the bone blew through. It blew through from the mountains towards the city. Struck by the dry breeze as it got under the collar of his uniform, Yoshino adjusted it absently, eyes still on the mountains.
The mountains of northern Mizobe made up about two thirds of the town. Most of the population lived in the remaining third of the town, concentrated in the urban area but a few small villages, considered a part of the town, dotted the mountains. The question was whether the 'light thought to be a fire' was in one of those settlements or not.
To be honest, it was fine so long as it was in a village. Each neighborhood was spread out amongst the mountains, isolated and with the old houses generally close together within narrow valleys. At least each village had their own fire squad and they would be aware of the risk of the dry weather warning. They would definitely have the water and the man power to handle it. They could fight a fire. What was truly terrifying was if it weren't that--if it were a fire coming from the mountains.
While cradling his body against the wind, Yoshino gazed steadily at the black mountain ridges. There were no particularly high mountains. They extended in an even flow of meager highs and lows. They were all mountains ideal for hiking, but the mountain ridges were complex and transportation within them was unexpectedly poor. The trees planted for harvest were mostly Japanese cedars and cypress but the underbrush was withered and it was dry enough to crunch on contact. Once a fire broke out in the mountains, the odds of it becoming a large scale fire were high. He remembered the large scale fires in Okayama and Hiroshima that summer.
(Please, just let it be a regular house fire.)
As if he had heard Yoshino's prayer aloud, his coworker spoke.
"Sure hope it's not a wild fire."
Yoshino nodded. Once a fire licked at the underbrush it would spread horrifically fast. As soon a wide slope was overtaken with fire, it would be fanned by the thirteen meter per second winds, racing up and down countless mountain ridges and swallowing up the isolated villages throughout the northern mountains. And moreover, that wind was blowing down into Mizobe as if taking aim.
Yoshino had a nagging feeling as he looked up at the mountains, pulling his collar up further and shivering.
An express way was opened that ran through the southern mountain region. Due to the interchange, areas that were once nothing but rice fields were undergoing rapid development. The housing district built over the fields had taken up all of the level ground and continued to develop north, and now even the mountain slopes continued to be cleared. The mountains and the town merged together into one territory.
'Please,' he prayed without a word, without an addressee, when suddenly the alarm bell cried out. Yoshino turned towards the branch office in a panic. At that moment a young coworker came flying out of the office.
"I saw the light from above! It's from Sotoba!"
The fire engine ripped through the neighborhood north along the Omi river, into the mountain ranges spread out north of Mizobe. At least nothing unusual was reported from the mountains yet. The deep darkness of the mountains continued but that was all that could be seen of them.
Beneath the indigo night sky, black slopes flowed. In the quiet of the pre-dawn highway, the fire engine met with a sudden gust of wind as if the wind remembered to blow as soon as the engine was out of the city streets, but they met with not so much as a shadow of an oncoming car.
The seemingly tranquil night, the seemingly monotonous mountains, both of them were in their own way trying his patience. The road twisted and curved back along itself, along the river and the mountain ridges. There were no recklessly steep mountains but the will to dig tunnels or flatten the mountains had waned over time. As a result, even while going towards the northern villages, you had to turn south at several intervals. Meanwhile, a spreading fire didn't care about something like that. Fires just pushed on straight ahead with the wind.
Thinking about that, every curve made his stomach ache. Continuing with dogged determination along the mountain as best they could, at last ahead he could see the light of the expressway. That brilliant illumination shone straight ahead, passing over the top of the valley.
On the northern side of the mountain that rose from that valley was Sotoba---the former Sotoba. What should have been Sotoba. In the valley of the river were about four hundred homes. The population was just over 1,300, the largest of the villages in the mountain ranges.
"We can't see anything yet."
Yoshino nodded at his young coworker's voice.
"If it were daybreak, we might at least be able to see smoke but..." Yoshino answered when it struck him. Before the call had come in, he was just reading a certain magazine. It had been left behind by one of the squad members, Maeda, who had died just last month. Maeda lived in Sotoba. He remembered him bringing in the magazine, bragging that one of the authors was from Sotoba. That was about half a year ago. He said it was an essay written about Sotoba, seeming delighted as he opened it to the carefully marked page to show it off. Yoshino had taken that magazine off of the back of the shelf by chance.
Had Maeda died of illness? He should have been about Yoshino's age if not younger. His family came for his things, taking all of his personal belongings aside from the magazine left behind in the depths of the shelves.
While remembering as much without knowing why he was remembering it, Yoshino focused on the radio. It seemed headquarters didn't know the particulars yet either. Not only didn't they know the conditions on the scene, they didn't even know specifically where the fire was, so of course there were no details.
Yoshino asked one of the brigade members in the passenger seat, "We still haven't heard from Sotoba's fire brigade?"
The crew members looked towards the radio.
"It seems no one is at the post."
"Impossible!"
There was a dry weather warning. A fire could break out at any time. Each fire brigade was advised to be on alert, so somebody should have definitely been at the station.
"Their brigade chief?"
"Our office has tried to call him at home, but as expected nobody seems to have answered."
"I figured as much but..."
Yoshino clicked his tongue lightly. Strictly speaking the fire department and the fire brigade were separate unites that worked alongside each other. The fire department gave instructions but they weren't a monolithic entity, so it wasn't as if they were as in tune with them as they would be their own limbs.
"You don't think the station and the chief's house are already up in flames, do you?"
Yoshino's brows knitted together as his young coworker said that, unsure if it was fear or a joke. If things had gone that far then they should have received word from Sotoba beforehand. Even so, he couldn't keep from imagining the worst in his mind. What if there was no chance to make contact in all of the chaos?
They drove around another curve. After crossing one more ridge, there was a field opening up towards the north. The bridge connecting to the national highway came into view. Beyond the expressway lit up as bright as broad daylight was the lacquer black mountain. Beyond that was chaos. In the darkness of their path were points of red light, scattered, glowing sparks.
Yoshino was not alone, the entire group in the engine cried out. They knew that the worst had happened. It wasn't a simple house fire. It was unmistakably a wild fire. Even with the well-lit expressway, they could tell by how many points of light there were that it was of no ordinary scale.
"This can't be...." Somebody mumbled. The team member in the passenger's seat reported the conditions fitfully. They needed backup. With its size, with this wind, it was far beyond the branch office's capabilities.
How long would it take to extinguish it (it would be more appropriate to express in days no doubt), and how much of the mountain village would be destroyed by the fire, and how many victims would there be?
As Yoshino's fist balled in his lap, he saw the headlights of an approaching car. Yoshino ordered for the driver to slow. He leaned out of the window and waved his hand in a wide motion at the approaching car.
It was an unremarkable station wagon. As the two came closer, they stopped over the center line. Yoshino opened the door and leaned halfway out. The driver of the station wagon rolled down the window.
"Hey you, did you come from Sotoba's direction?" Yoshino's voice carried on the wind. He didn't see anything in the wind that resembled ash or smoke, but the air was mixed with the distinct, burnt stench of a fire.
The driver gave a disinterested nod in response to Yoshino's question. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties to mid-thirties. In the low light his facial expression couldn't be made out clearly but he didn't seem to be in any sort of disarray. But, his face and clothes were filthy as if he had been rolling in mud. For just a moment, Yoshino thought that dirt was splattered blood. It was surely just that the light reflecting off of mud made it look like blood. ---That had to be it.
"What's happened to Sotoba? Do you know anything?"
The driver's voice was lacking in emotion (perhaps from exhaustion) and quiet but it carried on the wind.
"It is a wild fire. Fire started on the northern mountains and came down to the village."
Yoshino groaned. "How big?"
"It's horrible. Embers are falling like snow."
---It was the true and honest worst case scenario.
"What was the Sotoba branch doing?" someone was heard cursing. The other members reported to headquarters. Yoshino raised his hand in thanks to the driver. The driver drove on. While closing the fire engine's door to do the same, seeing the station wagon off, Yoshino swallowed in a gasp.
In the backseat of the car was stored a coffin. It was only for a moment, but it was so distinct that his eyes were drawn to it. Indeed, it was a simple wooden casket. The image was fully burned into his eyes; the back seat was fully reclined to accommodate its size, and a cloth of some sort was wrapped around half of the coffin, which had one small window, with double doors adorned with tassels.
Yoshino saw the car off, mouth agape. For a moment he thought to chase after and yell at them to stop but his shoulders quickly eased. ---Yes, a casket. There was nothing wrong with that.
Sotoba was originally a village founded for the creation of sotoba and caskets. Judging by the driver's appearance, the scene was clearly chaotic. He may have just grabbed whatever was on hand at his shop, the coffin, and packed in his valuables to flee, or maybe it was a coffin that was previously packed into the car for delivery.
He still felt somehow uncomfortable but it was no time to get caught up too deeply in that. More important to Yoshino than a station wagon with a coffin in it was the fact that Sotoba had many woodworking plants and sawmills.
The fire engine was again heading north on the national highway. They passed beneath the expressway's overpass, taking the single curve along the mountain stream and drove higher bit by bit until they could see an unobstructed view of the village of Sotoba.
Looking at it straight on, one face of the northern mountain was already in flames. He could tell that the red flames had completely overtaken the territory beneath the man-made forests. The reason the mountain ridges had appeared black was because it was in shadow, illuminated by the other side of the mountain. The origin of the fire must have been further north in Sotoba, and the other side of the mountain may have already been wrapped in flame.
The smell of the fire reeked inside of the fire engine, smoke wafting in. Before their horrified eyes, flames rose over the block of the mountain. The firs fell to the flames. The buildings on the northern slant were already enveloped, and the headlights of cars escaping the area drifted like will-o-the-wisps.
Sparks fell. No, it wasn't as simple and gentle as to be described by the word 'fall.' It was like a blizzard fanned on by the fierce winds.
It was a more disastrous scene than they imagined, and he heard those who road with him raise their voices and groan. What did anyone think one single pump truck rushing on to the scene could do?
--Of course, there was nothing at all that they could do.
This disaster wasn't the start of something, it was a demise. This past summer everything had been progressing to this state in secrecy; this was the culmination of all of those threads.
No, according to some, it had started even before that---the past year, no, maybe even further back than that. At any rate, the unavoidable began in the summer, on the early dawn of July 24th.
Already on that day, it was half set in stone that the village known as Sotoba would be wrapped in the one thousand hectares of mountain forest that surrounded it and annihilated.