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many people attended his funeral, bowing and offering incense in the usual fashion, but Otoko’s mother noticed among the mourners a rather strange young woman who seemed to be of mixed blood. When she bowed to the bereaved family, her eyes looked swollen from weeping. Otoko’s mother felt a sharp pang. She nodded to summon her husband’s private secretary, and whispered to him to inquire at the reception deskabout the Eurasian-looking young woman. Later the secretary was able to learn that her grandmother was a Canadian who had married a Japanese man, and she herself had gone to a school for Americans and was working as an interpreter. He said she lived in a small house in Azabu.
    “I suppose she has no children.”
    “They say there’s a little girl.”
    “Did you see her?”
    “No, I heard it from people in the neighborhood.”
    She felt sure that the little girl was her husband’s child. There were ways to verify it, but she thought the young woman herself might come to see her. She never came. Over half a year later Otoko’s mother was told by the secretary that she had married, taking the child along to her new home. He also intimated that the Eurasian woman had been her husband’s mistress. As time passed, her jealous indignation cooled. She began to wish she could adopt the little girl. Her own husband’s child must be growing up unaware of her real father. She felt as if she had lost something precious—and not merely because Otoko was her only child. Yet she could not tell an eleven-year-old girl about her father’s illegitimate daughter. By now her sister would have been married for some years, in the normal course of events, and perhaps also have children of her own. But for Otoko it was as if she did not exist.…
    “Otoko, Otoko!” Keiko was sitting up in bed, shakingher. “Did you have a nightmare? You seemed to be in pain.” As Otoko gasped for breath, Keiko leaned over her and stroked her chest.
    “Were you watching me?”
    “Yes, for a while.”
    “How mean of you! I was having a dream.”
    “What kind of dream?”
    “About a green person.” Otoko’s voice was still agitated.
    “Somebody dressed in green?”
    “Not the clothing. It was green all over, including the arms and legs.”
    “The green-eyed monster?”
    “Don’t make fun of me! It wasn’t fierce-looking, just a green figure floating lightly round and round my bed.”
    “A woman?”
    Otoko did not reply.
    “It’s a good dream. I’m sure it is!” Keiko put her hand over Otoko’s eyes and pressed them shut; then she took up one of Otoko’s fingers in her other hand, and bit it.
    “Ouch!” Otoko opened her eyes wide.
    Keiko interpreted the dream for her. “You said you’d paint me, remember. So I’ve taken on the green of the tea plantation.”
    “Do you think so? You’re dancing all around me even when you’re asleep? That frightens me!”
    Keiko let her head drop on Otoko’s breast, and tittered a little hysterically. “But it’s
your
dream.…”
    The following day they climbed up to the temple on Mt. Kurama, arriving toward evening. Worshipers weregathered in the temple compound. The late dusk of a long May day had already settled on the surrounding peaks and tall forests.
    Over the Eastern Hills beyond Kyoto the full moon had risen. Watch fires were burning on the left and right before the main hall of the temple. The priests had come out and begun to chant the sutras, repeating the sacred words in chorus after the scarlet-robed head priest. A harmonium accompanied them.
    All the worshipers offered lighted candles. Directly in front of the main hall was a huge silver sake bowl filled with water, reflecting the full moon. Water from the bowl was poured into the cupped hands of each of the worshipers; one by one they came forward, bowed, and drank it. Otoko and Keiko did the same.
    “When we get home you may find green footprints in your room!” said Keiko. She seemed exhilarated by the atmosphere of