When Haru was a boy, he took every chance possible to escape his stuffy old house. Every evening, once the rice was made and the floors were washed, he would slip out the back door, finding his way to the forest at the edge of the village. Once, he found a Fox cub splashing about in a stream, deep in the brambles. The cub, lost in his play, splashed Haru with cold mountain water. Haru dove in to retaliate, sending a tsunami after the cub. They became good friends.
And so, when Haru would complete his chores and slip away from home, they would confer at the treeline.
“Let’s pick honeysuckles!” the Fox would cry. Haru always disagreed, instead suggesting the two play chase. The Fox would express displeasure, but, always, Haru won out. The two would run through the forest undergrowth, and the boy would return to his family panting and covered in maple leaves.
They grew up. Haru spent more time with the village boys, playing ball and collecting wood with them. Still, though, he returned to the Fox. The nature of their time together changed. Gone were the days of careless play and laughter. They held serious discussions about the nature of the world and, occasionally, Haru expressed his discomforts about small village life. The Fox, always, listened patiently, and comforted the boy.
Despite the increasing maturity of their relationship, the Fox never stopped suggesting the two pick honeysuckles together. Haru, still, refused.
“I have to wash the floors,” he would remember. Or, he would say, “Mother wants me home before the seven stars are out.” At that, he would ghost into the dim light, and the Fox would eagerly await his return.
When Haru became a young man, his parents decided on a wife for him.
“You will marry Kimiko,” his mother said. He bowed his head, glad that she had been chosen rather than Maki. Kimiko was delicate and pretty, with a kind heart. Maki was also pretty, but strange. As a child, Maki went around planting kisses on the village girls, causing her to be cast out. Alone, she grew reclusive and mean. Where Kimiko was a fine Sakura flower, Maki was a sour plum, fallen from the tree and left to molder.
On their wedding day, Haru went down to the forest to see the Fox for the last time. Marriage meant he wouldn’t have time to waste with his childhood friend. The two sat on a large, mossy rock. Bathed in green light, they said nothing for a long while, the cicadas filling the silence between them. Eventually, the Fox suggested they go pick honeysuckles, as a going away gift from Haru to him. Haru agreed.
They went down to the stream where they first met, and waded through the cool water to a patch of white honeysuckles. Haru plucked one from the bush and, following the Fox’s instructions, pulled the stem from its petals. He stared at the glimmering golden droplet. It was beautiful. He placed the pearl on his tongue and tasted its sweetness. He became ravenous. Together, he and the Fox quickly depetaled and consumed every flower on the bush. They relished in sucking the sticky liquid from the stem, dropping the fluid into their mouths. Once there was nothing left, they laid by the stream together, covered in stickiness.
“I don’t want to marry Kimiko,” said Haru.
“I know,” said the Fox.
“And it’s because of you,” said Haru angrily.
“I know,” said the Fox again.
Haru stepped quietly out of the house that night. In his pack were a shirt, trousers, tentpoles, a tarp, and some rice flour. He plodded down to the forest edge, where the Fox waited. Wordlessly, they walked, listening to the night breeze and rustling grass as they went. Together, Haru and the Fox went away from their home. Under the silvery moon, they followed the treeline down the hill, out of the valley, along the river.
Author: Jake Neuffer
Jake Neuffer grew up in Virginia, but is now attending Wesleyan University. He was a proud member of Iowa’s Young Writers Studio and enjoys writing and reading fiction in his free time.
