Chapter 24: Miso for Two

The first morning of spring came in clear and gold, with the eaves dripping and a thrush singing in the plum tree.

Tomoe woke before the sun, which she always did, and found the futon empty beside her.

She followed the smell of woodsmoke to the kitchen.

Shiori was kneeling in front of the big clay stove with her sleeves tied back.

She held the oath scroll in both hands, rolled tight, the last handspan wound in with the rest.

The stove door stood open, and the coals glowed orange inside.

"You're up early," Tomoe said from the doorway.

"I wanted to do this alone. And then I did not want to."

"Do you want me to go?"

"No. Stay."

Tomoe came and knelt beside her.

Shiori looked at the scroll for a moment.

Then she laid it on the coals.

The silk caught slowly.

Brown crept along the old brush strokes.

One by one the eight lines curled and went to ash.

The room brightened and dimmed.

Then it was only a little grey flake rising up the flue.

The glow of the fire lit the faces of two women kneeling side by side.

"It's gone," said Shiori.

"It is."

"I feel nothing."

"Nothing?"

"I feel warm," Shiori said, wondering. "Is that all it ever was?"

Tomoe took her hand.

Then she stood up, brushing off her knees.

"Then it's time for breakfast," she said. "Sit."

She made the miso soup the way she had made it on the first night.

Barley miso dissolved in kelp broth, soft tofu in squares, a handful of wakame, and a little scallion cut at the last moment.

It was the same soup, and Shiori watched her hands move with the same hungry attention she had worn on the first night.

She poured two bowls.

She set them on one lacquer tray, side by side, and picked the tray up.

"Where are we going?" Shiori asked.

"Back to bed."

"It is morning."

"It's the first morning of spring, and we have a school to open in a week."

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