entirely lost those letters and characters, and consequently come to
understand the powers they possess in the
most fundamental sense, and with the greatest certainty—now that he
has become able to use them with such knowledge—it is strange, is it not,
that he should deny himself their use. The single letter “w” or “t” might be
worth more than all the flood, the truly tremendous flood of words and
letters he has written in his life. That single letter might be a more eloquent
statement, a more important work. It might well have more force.
I thought I might try saying this to old Akifusa when I visited him.
Going from Kamakura to Zushi by car, one passes through a tunnel, and
the road is not very pleasant. There’s a crematorium just before the tunnel,
and it’s rumored that lately a ghost has been appearing there. The ghost of a
young woman shows up riding in cars that pass beneath the crematorium at
night— so the story goes.
It would still be light when we passed, so there was nothing to worry
about, but nonetheless I asked the familiar-looking taxi driver what he
knew.
“I haven’t encountered her yet myself, no—but there is one fellow in our
company who’s given her a ride. And it isn’t just our company, either—
she’s ridden in other companies’ cabs too. We’ve got it arranged so we take
a helper along if we take this road at night,” the driver said. Judging from
the way he spoke, he had repeated the story often enough to make him tired
of telling it.
“Where does she appear?”
“Where indeed. It’s always cars coming back empty from Zushi.”
“She doesn’t appear when there are people in the car?”
“Well—what I’ve heard is that it’s empty cars coming back. She fades in
near the crematorium, I guess. And from what I hear it’s not like you stop
