The crooked path winds past my door. From the road below to the stone spire at its end, it makes exactly thirteen turns. None pass this way in these times but, long ago, a few pilgrims went to the shrine with gifts of food or flowers or money. Of those who went up the road, all came back down but one. This is his story.

He was old, well beyond the normal span of years. His back was bent and he walked with the aid of a staff. His hair and his teeth had deserted him, and his eyesight was following in their footsteps. Each year, at the full of the moon in the seventh month, he trod the path with a gift… a single blossom of the white lotus. He would place his offering on the small stone table, then sit quietly on the nearby bench and commune with the spirits of this place. This I know, as I have followed him several times.

It was only ten years ago, but it seems like a lifetime, that I accosted the old man on his way up the path. I offered him tea and rice cakes in exchange for his story. He sat with me in the shade of a tung nut tree and told me of his life.

"The house where you now live, once was mine," he related in a thin and papery voice. "We lived together in perfect harmony, my wife and I. Ours was a marriage made in heaven and blessed by all the gods. We had no children but we had each other, and that was enough."

"Most things, we did together. We raised fine vegetables in the garden over there." He pointed with a gnarled finger to the terraced green, surrounded by a riot of flowers. "The vegetables and some simple medicines, we sold from a small stand down near the road. The medicines were her contribution, and were made from herbs she gathered on the hillside. This was the only time I did not join her, when she was at her gathering. She liked to have a little time of quiet and solitude."

"On a summer eve much like this one, she was very late in returning. I was concerned because we had planned to celebrate Obon in the village, which is an hour’s walk. I hurried up the path in the gathering twilight, to the ancient shrine at the top. There I found her in a crumpled heap, a bag of Senburi roots and Kihada bark at her side. She had fallen from the heights above the shrine, where the Kihada trees grow. Her neck was twisted and broken from the fall."

"Somehow, I found my way back here and gathered up a shovel and a few other things, then returned to my other half. Through that long night, I dug her a proper grave, right there in front of the shrine. When the sun rose, I dressed her in her finest kimono and brushed out her fine dark hair. I laid her in the earth, along with her combs and her bamboo flute, and a few other personal treasures. After bidding her good-bye, I covered her with the rich brown earth and set flagstones on top of that."

"Now, each year at this time, I come back to visit her. I bring a gift of her favorite flower. No, she is not one of the "hungry ghosts" that some fear. She is still my loving wife and as sweet in death as she was in life. We sit for a time and talk, or just listen to the world. Sometimes we even go gathering the Kihada bark. When the sun rises, she goes back to her rest, and I return to my brother’s house in the village. Obon is a good time for me."

"Forgive me, but I must be on my way. I thank you for the refreshment, but my wife awaits." With the help of his staff, he regained his feet and slowly trudged up the path.

In the morning, I sat on my porch and awaited his return. Thinking he might be hungry, I had a plate of bread and some milk at hand. When mid-day came and the milk had spoiled, I knew something was amiss. I climbed the path and looked all about the shrine. There sat the lotus blossom, beginning to turn brown from the heat of the day, but there was no sign of the old man. For a time, I searched the surrounding woods and hills, finding nothing. Returning to the shrine, I found the only clue; his well-worn staff lay behind the stone bench. I went back to my house, puzzled.

At Obon the following year I waited on the porch. No one passed, but in the evening, a shadow shape walked swiftly up the path. I followed far behind, not wanting to disturb the apparition. As I approached the shrine, I could see two figures seated on the bench. She was lovely and wearing a beautiful kimono with her hair loose and flowing. He wore a fine coat and high leather boots They seemed to be in animated discussion, with an occasional loving embrace. I was turning to leave when I noticed the perfect white lotus blossom on the table in front of the shrine. I glanced back at the pair, and they smiled and waved a goodbye. A feeling of warmth and deep love flowed out from them and stayed with me all the way back to my house.

Now, each year, in the middle of summer when the moon is full, there are two figures who follow the crooked path, from my house to the shrine. He comes from his garden, and she appears from somewhere at the rear of the house. This is the only time I see them, and I make sure to leave out some food beneath the tung nut tree, just in case they get hungry.