Wonderlust

Even before his feet had hit the sand, Takeshi knew that his parents were about to transform.

Twenty paces away under a cathedral of palms where the sand became grass, a small gaggle of eager-eyed admirers were readying floral leis and straightening their shoulders in order to receive the two famed academics, both of whom already seemed unrecognisable to him. Something about the smiles and feigned humbleness which only materialised in social situations, Takeshi thought.

And it was understandable. After illuminating the sleepy coastal city where he grew up — relegated though it was to the vast shadow of Kyoto whose brightness reached every corner of the scholarly world — they now had reputations to uphold. Still, it annoyed him. At times like this, they shifted forms. As if they were happy to give up their true selves in exchange for simple admiration.

Gripping the camera-strap around his neck, the young man stayed a few paces back from the crowd, eyes tracing undulating ripples in the sand, fallen palm fronds, and half-buried green nuggets. Behind him was a glittering aqua expanse where their boat sat, bound to the small wooden dock like a prisoner. And everywhere, everywhere else; shadows.

True, they weren’t interesting, right now. Their forms were too obvious and too chaotic in the constant, warm wind blowing from offshore. Midday was always a dull time, Takeshi thought. But in a few hours when that golden hue began to embrace the island, those forms would gain personality, softening and stretching and creeping. That felt more fitting. An island like this seemed to argue with harsh edges and movement, every piece of it quietly longing for the calm of half-light.

Takeshi’s thumb crept with idle anticipation over the shutter-button.

“Yes. Our son, Takeshi, is accompanying us,” his mother’s voice met his ears, in a silken-English perfected over two decades. “We are proud that a love of Hiroshi Hamaya’s luminous works has enticed him to study the art of photography and he now documents our travels.”

Amidst impressed gasps and cluppering applause — even a few patronising chuckles — Takeshi considered that the transmutation of his hobby into soaring academic aspiration was far less venomous than his father’s words on the subject on the last island they’d visited.

Then a sea of hands drew him into the throng of strangers.

He uttered the usual polite greetings and listened to names and positions and faculty members from the small island university trying to rationalise this eruption of adoration while local government members proclaimed the honour of hosting them and the town librarian almost cried and that small parade of local women approached to drape floral leis around their necks.

He did not, despite the scowls his parents barely-concealed, accept the invitation to mingle with high-society and languish on shaded verandahs again. He’d made that mistake twice, already. Nor did he accept the offer from the mayor’s assistant for a tour of the town with its whitewashed buildings, including, of course, their gleaming new place of worship.

The failed, clumsy attempt at making religion seem as beautiful as the surroundings was momentarily intriguing, Takeshi mused. Even from the beach, he could see the small church on its grassy clearing, adorned with its own lei of colourful flowerbeds. But it seemed almost to be partaking in some kind of joke, for it sat there and calmly stared down a hulking, grey cruiser back out in the deep water.

American interests here had survived the war, as anyone with even the faintest interest in the great, slowly unfolding story of nations knew they would. There were even rustles that these lonely sentinels in the pacific would soon eschew their status as territory for statehood — rustles which his parents had long ago deemed ‘inevitable’.

Now, on the third island of this tour, Takeshi understood that it wasn’t just to avoid export-tariffs on sugar. Neither was it merely the strategic element which the kauboi-tachi coveted. Beneath all the political bluster, the truth, he thought, was because they wanted to own a piece of an idyll.

It was hard not to find the sweet, warm air here agreeable. Or the quiet lapping of waves over the rustle of these ubiquitous cocoanut trees enchanting. Japan, China, Russia, Britain, even France had long expressed desires to paint these tiny islands onto their vast canvasses, while the locals, adrift amidst these powerful tides, seemed destined to look helplessly on. So it was. So it had always been with humankind, and Takeshi did wonder what was more humane — annexation through violent and explosive means, or the quiet lapping of foreignness which slowly, almost without knowing, smoothed an ancient culture down to nothing.

Either way, he was surprised that a kindness, a warmth, an almost enlightened calm had somehow endured in these people, who despite being caught in these tides still welcomed outsiders with flowers and a song — even if that song was currently being stifled by the chattering, chuckling mass oozing like a lava-flow towards the cool, fan-shaded confines of the nearby social club.

Inside that small building, Takeshi knew that guests and cortège alike would all lose themselves to drink until the afternoon heat retreated enough for outdoor dining. And as such lengthy proceedings always included a spate of passive verbs and subtle expressions all suggesting a failure to live up to expectations, he allowed himself to fall behind, detaching from that fate to wander back to the beach.

Sandals back on the sand, Takeshi gratefully inhaled the fresh silence. He hugged the shore and wound towards the end of the sleepy habitation where the hotels, restaurants, and houses ceded to nature, then left the sand to press inland.

Within minutes, greenery strangled the air to stillness and the temperature soared. Sweat pricked his skin as the mysterious, two-tone song of island honeycreepers echoed over the gurgling of a nearby stream. Takeshi followed the glittering ribbon and reveled in the patterns the canopy cast on the ground as the land sloped gently upwards.

The zigzagging, almost geometric umbra from a hanging creeper merited the first of his precious exposures, today. A flamboyant, green lizard whose shadow stretched across a vast tree trunk, the second, and as the small Konica’s film-advance dial clicked past thirteen, then fourteen, he was reminded with dismay that this was his last roll of film.

Perhaps there was a store here on the island where he might buy another?

Unlikely. This was a larger island than most but even then its cluster of structures was more sparse than many family farms, back home. And the bigger problem, he supposed, was that he was out of money.

Asking his parents for a loan was out of the question for that would allow them an opinion. So, he would just have to be more judicious with his shutter. For his whole life, Takeshi had been fascinated with shadow. The suggestion of form — rather than the forms themselves — captivated him. Shadows were wild and unpredictable. They could stretch across and mingle with and wrap about and lie over other surfaces. And he enjoyed the challenge of trying to capture this abstraction at its most theatrical and indecipherable.

Perhaps most importantly, though, this area of interest was immune to scrutiny. It was a rare pocket of uncharted terrain in which his parents had no expertise. There was a sudden invigorating coolness to the sweet air as the young man passed a shallow, mossy pool, sidled between two enormous tree trunks and scrambled up a small pile of fallen boulders, wondering if becoming a master of his art would suffice to impress them, but knowing that it wouldn’t. Certainly not at a meagre nineteen years old. Probably not even at forty. He then berated himself for allowing their expectations once again to worm like a sickness through the activity he loved, before finding himself in a small clearing.

Brushing off his knees, Takeshi looked up and a shock ran through him.

He’d found a quiet grove within which, beyond a cluster of bamboo-orchids and a flourish of fan-palms, two glittering gemstone eyes gazed back at him. They were set into a squat, basalt figure, finely carved despite having smoothed out at the hands of time and rain, which sat with arms across its stomach. A slight grin across its mischievous, carved face almost gave the impression it had awaited his arrival.

So, this was one of those menacing gods of the isles. One of the myriad deities he’d heard about. And like the rest of them, from the moss and vines creeping across it, it had been forgotten. Almost discarded.

Takeshi trod closer, searching for its shadow but the sunlight seemed unable to conquer the canopy here.

“Lost, are we?”

A rutty voice like grating volcanic stone met his ears and Takeshi froze, glancing about, searching for its source.

“Well?” the voice prompted again, and Takeshi now realised it was the statue itself, speaking to him.

Once, twice, Takeshi opened his mouth in silence, before he at last found his tongue.

“No…I am not lost.”

“Hmph. You attempt to deceive me, Kobayashi-san. Most unwise.”

“Impossible…how do you know my name?”

The statue gave a self-satisfied hum. “I know all things. I know what the rain says when it falls, and why the rocks sigh when freed from the soil. I know if the wind feels kind or vindictive. All these things, I know, for I am Kilakoa, the god of truth.”

Takeshi considered, at first, that he was dreaming. However, many years ago he had confronted the question of how a dreamer knows he is asleep, and had formulated a method for determining as much.

First, he reconstructed the journey which had led him to this clearing. Each and every step, leading back to the shore, the boat, the docks he had departed this morning. Right back to waking in his small guesthouse.

Next, he drew from his pocket the small, compact guide to the islands he had been gifted three days ago by the head of the island university, and flicking through its pages, found that they did not change. The text remained in its place, and he could recall certain paragraphs as he blatted back and forth.

“I am awake,” he announced to himself.

“I am glad,” the statue replied. “Long have I awaited a visitor who is lost, but awake. Though you could have simply admitted as much when I first asked, and saved us both some time.”

“If I were asleep, you could have told me I was awake and I might have believed you.”

“And what would that have changed?”

Takeshi had to think about that.

“Come, you may sit with me,” the statue said graciously, and with some hesitation, the young man searched for a place and sat.

Though it did not actually move, the statue seemed to nod. “That’s better, isn’t it? You appreciate that no god can suffer to gaze up at humans.”

“You have suffered many long days gazing at nobody at all,” Takeshi replied. "Are you so prideful that, even alone and forgotten, you cannot accept gratefully a rare stranger without asserting supremacy?”

Again, though the statue did not move, its black gemstone eyes seemed to meet Takeshi's own, and a quiet deliberation sparkled within them.

“Forgive my insolence,” Takeshi said. “I tell you now that I am often reminded of my inadequacies, so should you wish to play the part of my parents, I will not sit for long.”

“This is the reason you left the village?”

“Yes.”

A hush fell, in which the staccato peep of some canopy bird seemed to keep time before Takeshi asked, “…have I offended you?”

“No. The humans who encounter me are often posessed of more reverence, it is true. Some cower upon seeing me. Some flee. Some beg for forgiveness for having disturbed this quiet grove. Others prostrate themselves and utter secret longings for hours on end. None yet have admonished me. I find this new experience…invigorating.”

Takeshi gave a light bow at the admission.

“Still,” the statue continued, “surely you are aware, the stream which breaks course from the river too early rarely flourishes.”

Takeshi recognised this utterance from medieval philosopher Chizuru Aoki's writings on the nature of society but tempered his surprise, remembering that a god sat before him.

"A new river may begin at any sufficient watershed," he replied carefully, “and forge its own course.”

“Indeed, it is possible. So…it is mutiny, then?”

Takeshi shrugged. “Have I a choice? Should I sail my parents’ course, on any river, I would be rated forever ordinary and never able.”

The statue gave a hum. “All children consider rebellion exciting and ingenious. But surely you know that rebellion is an excuse. A smokescreen, behind which to conceal a deplorable ignorance. The truth is, you know it will take decades to learn what they now know, and you are impatient. You therefore choose polarity to prove that you do not need what they offer.”

“I am not interested in what they have to offer.”

“Come, Takeshi. Are you not jealous of their knowlege?”

Takeshi's face crinkled.

He said nothing, though his fingers tightened around the camera he held.

Purchased four years earlier, the object had forever altered the way Takeshi viewed this world — from seeing himself surrounded by named, organised objects and places, to a perpetual observer who drifted amongst intangible, ever-changing patterns. It had taught him that nothing was certain. That not only shadows were fleeting, but that everything beneath the sun transformed without end.

In this secret world, foreign to others which he alone could explore, Takeshi had found anchorage. A safe harbour and a feeling of belonging. A quiet joy at every new discovery.

Now, with a sour taste in his mouth, he realised that the statue might be right. He was in fact jealous of his parents. Of their certainty and confidence. Of the way they were acknowledged and celebrated…

So, was this desire to study nature and capture its fleeting beauty truly a noble pursuit? Or was it peurile rebellion?

“You understand of course, that what I tell you is for your benefit,” the statue told him. “I wish to help you overcome your shortcomings. It is only when we are whole that we can claim what we deserve, after all.”

“What I deserve?”

The statue gave another hum. “Recognition, of course! And it would be justified. For you are no less intelligent than your parents. Already, I see a budding proficiency in medieval philosophy. I see diligence, too, if the care and consideration you employ each time you use that metal device around your neck is any indication. Should you study hard and build knowledge, you shall attain greater – perhaps equal – status. In time, that is. And then, recognition will follow. Of course, you will forever be behind, but why let that take satisfaction away from your achievement?”

Strange. The statue's words had imbued him with hope for a moment. But that final comment struck at that hope like an arrow, for Takeshi realised that it was true. Given thirty years, he could attain what his parents had. And yet, even if he did, they would still be thirty years ahead. There was no way to catch up. No way he would ever impress them.

“Naturally, then, you wish to know if there is a way to obtain all that knowledge quickly. In the most effective manner,” the statue said, seeming to read his thoughts. "Perhaps more quickly than nature itself ordinarily allows…?”

Takeshi looked up. “Is that possible? If so then yes, I do…”

The statue hummed.

“Listen closely, then. I have judged your heart, Kobayashi Takeshi-san, and will grant you an honour I have granted no other. You may ask of me any question you wish, and for each question I will give you a true answer. Know that I can reveal to you things that no other human has ever learned. I can share secret knowledge that many have spent a lifetime searching for. And more than this; it is my oath that nothing you learn will ever leave your mind. What you learn will be as carving is unto stone. Enduring and clear. But understand also that each question you ask will bear a cost.”

The youth’s mouth opened in awe. “You are offering me knowledge. Anything I seek to know. And whatever I ask will remain mine?”

“I have said this.”

“And…what is the cost you mentioned?”

The statue, though immobile, gave the faintest impression of shrugging. “That depends on the ask, but know that you may still choose, upon hearing the cost, not to know the answer.”

Takeshi’s heart was pounding. Here was a chance, impossible though it seemed, to show his parents that he, too, could be a formidable force. To prove to them that he had value and potential. That he could live up to expectation. That he was a worthy son…

Even so, doubt gnawed at him.

“Before I proceed, I would like to ask a question to see if your knowledge is true. I mean no offence, you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Very well, then,” Takeshi therefore ventured. “On my ninth birthday, my parents withheld a gift intended for me. What was it?”

The statue hummed as a warm, sweet breeze filled the clearing. “The cost for this ask is the item in your left pocket.”

Takeshi glanced down to his slacks, and the small bulge which betrayed the presence of a particularly beautiful shell he’d collected on the last island. It was pretty, yes. But it was worthless. If that was the payment the statue sought…

Takeshi withdrew the item, placing it in a small, stone dish carved into the bedrock.

“You were to receive a gift of money from your aunt, that day,” the statue explained. “But fearing it would instill in you a belief that success in life can be determined by luck rather than diligence, patience, and prudence, your parents refrained from bequeathing it to you. Indeed, they subsequently used it to purchase your passage with them on this trip.”

Having heard this truth, the young man eyed the mossy, pebbled ground before him. This answer made sense. From what he recalled, it had been a small envelope, just large enough to contain a number of paper notes…

Another test, then. Just to be sure he could trust what this idol-god was telling him.

“Why does my mother refrain from talking about her father?”

Again, a breeze drifted through the clearing.

“The cost for this ask is the string-necklace you wear.”

Takeshi had forgotten he’d been wearing this item — a gift from his father, some years ago. It was a simple string, upon which hung a small, silver coin. His father had said that it was to remind him to collect — and not to squander — any other coins which came his way. But again, in return for knowledge his mother had never shared with him, the cost was agreeable.

Takeshi lifted the string over his head, and placed it in the small, stone crater beside the shell.

“You were always told that your grandfather was a teacher like your mother,” the statue told him, “and that he died young. But this is not so. As your mother discovered and subsequently repressed, Hayashi Ichiro was a fisherman and a great scoundrel who routinely thieved. Fearful of the potential that great shame would be brought upon her and her family, and that such ties would ruin her academic success, your mother renounced him and never spoke of him again.”

Rocking where he sat, Takeshi tasted a subtle tang of disgust.

But he was also intrigued.

Vaguely, it occurred to him that this answer might have been designed to prompt further questions — and he had many — but the statue had given him no reason to doubt its intent. It had delivered on its word. And there was also so much else Takeshi could discover.

So…perhaps something of greater importance, this time. Something which would astound anyone who heard it uttered from his lips. Something historical, and grand. Something even his history teacher had been unable to answer.

“Many centuries ago, the great pyramid at Gizeh was entered by force,” Takeshi began, eyeing the statue eagerly, certain he had chosen wisely, “Who was it that broke in, and what did they find inside?”

“Ah. Now they are two fine questions,” the statue replied. “For the answers, I would ask for both of your sandals.”

That was all the statue was asking for? For the answer to such a rich question? Takeshi removed the footwear at once.

The way here had been easy enough. It was all mossy stones, red soil, sand. He didn’t really need them.

He placed them in the receptacle.

“To answer your first question, the man responsible for the hole in the great pyramid’s flank was the renowned Abbasid Caliph Abu al-ʿAbbas ʿAbd Allah ibn Harun al-Rashid,” the statue began, “known more simply as al-Ma’mun. A man possesed of formidable wisdom and force of will, al-Ma’mun traveled the old world in search of knowledge and was most successful in this quest. Repeat his name.”

Takeshi swallowed, stunned at the command. The name had only been uttered once but nonetheless, as he opened his mouth–

“Abu al-ʿAbbas ʿAbd Allah ibn Harun al-Rashid…”

The words tumbled out, almost without effort.

The youth gasped. This name was foreign, complex, and fresh to him, and yet his ears had seized it with apparent ease. As if it had indeed been imprinted into Takeshi’s mind. As if carved into stone…

“It was amongst the murmurs of wise and learned company,” the statue continued as if not having noticed, “that whispers of the Sabians met this caliph’s ears. A long and unbroken line of star-worshippers, it was said, whose knowledge of celestial mechanics and the terrestrial consequences thereof had been passed down through the mists of long-vanished epochs.”

Takeshi saw a group of quiet, robed figures in his mind. A group who kept to themselves as they observed the heavens and probed it for answers. The statue spoke on.

“In the year 820 of the common era, therefore, Ma’mun embarked on the pilgrim-trail of these ancient sages, making his way to the great 'Mother of Cities' where the pyramids of ancient god-kings still rest on the great plateau at Gizeh. It was Ma’mun’s intent to enter them but although his men thundered with chisel and hammer, they made little progress on the great mountain’s limestone flank. That is until, heating the stones with fire, then dousing them with cold vinegar, they succeeded in forcing a tunnel.”

With a shallow breath, Takeshi realised he was about to learn something which had slipped from human memory like water through cupped fingers. He wondered briefly if he had made a mistake by prying into this long-forgotten truth before the answer met him, unstoppably, inescapably.

“Within the monument, a treasure more valuable than all the gold in Ma’mun’s court would await him. Sacred books, charts, and spheres. The lost knowledge from before a great catastrophe. Ancient instruction on mathematics, astronomy, star-lore, physics, chemistry. All that could be known about measurement, and weight, and number. All that the star-worshipping Sabians had told him would be there.”

The statue’s dark, glittering eyes seemed to delight in Takeshi’s anticipation. “And yet, reports from the venture are unanimous. Inside the pyramid, Ma’mun found nothing.”

“Nothing!” Takeshi gasped. “That…that cannot be.”

“Not so fast, Takeshi-san,” the statue said. “Not so fast. Indeed, upon entering the heart of the monument, it appeared at first as if the Sabians had told a falsehood. For the flicker of his men’s torches revealed that the great chamber was empty but for a statue, standing there and staring calmly at them through the darkness. Upon closer inspection, Ma’mun saw it was adorned in robes of foreign style and made of the finest material, and that the great lady was constructed of a gleaming, white metal he could not name, a large ruby affixed to her ornate headdress.

“When Ma’Mun saw this, his heart fell for it seemed certain that what the Sabians had told him was untrue, and meeting her eyes he lamented that though she was beautiful, he wished not for treasure but for knowledge. To his great shock, the ruby on her headdress then turned the light around and everywhere pedestals and shelves appeared, bearing scrolls and codices which related all the secrets of the earth and sky. Filling the chamber and to the caliph’s delight, he now saw impossible fruits of human genius everywhere. Orbs of translucent material which seemed self-shining, metal devices whose function seemed to be calculation, and many others of unknown purpose. There was a loom which fashioned fabric of impossible fineness, and a beaker of pure water which remained cool.

“All these wonderful things appeared, their number filling the whole great chamber of the pyramid. Yet even while Ma’Mun marvelled, one of his men decided to try and pry the ruby from the white statue. Ma’Mun was unable to stop him and and as soon as a finger was laid upon it, the stone, the lady, and all that had appeared vanished, leaving the pyramid empty and cold once more.”

The youth felt his stomach drop.

“No…” he uttered, mouth searching for words. “That Ma’mun should have been punished for another’s greed…it is unfair!”

A bird cawed through the jungle’s stifling silence and the statue’s eyes glinted. “As you can imagine, the caliph was a broken soul after that," it said. "He declined all opportunities to speak of the effort. He swore his men to secrecy on pain of death, and in all subsequent letters and reports, denied having found anything.”

Takeshi’s eyes fell to the clearing’s dirt floor, and he felt the loss for himself. He imagined having the opportunity to know all, then having that opportunity snuffed like a candle by foolishness.

He would not make the same mistake.

“Where-” he began, uttering his next question without truly realising it, “where did it all come from…the lady, all these wonderous things, and the knowledge she protected?”

“That is a question which plagued Ma’mun and those scarce few he entrusted with his secret.”

So, Takeshi thought. He swore his men to silence, but could not allow himself to stop searching…

“For the answer to that question," the statue said. "I ask for the items of clothing you wear.”

“The clothing I wear?” Takeshi glanced at his shirt, now sweaty and cold, at his shorts, lightly stained with red dirt. For just a moment, he wondered at the strangeness of that request, but the strangeness evaporated as he felt the oppressive warmth of the jungle again. Being swathed in so much fabric was uncomfortable and honestly, he’d be better off without it, at least for now. He’d already removed his sandals, anyway, and the earth under his soles was blessedly cool.

Briefly, the dishonourable idea flickered through his mind that he could take it all back, later. For what could a mere statue do about it?

Setting his camera carefully on a rock beside him, Takeshi peeled off his shirt, his belt, his shorts, and set them all in the stone receptacle before those glittering eyes.

The young man sat again as a light breeze drifted through the clearing, across his now-bare skin.

“The wonderous lady whom Ma’mun found inside the Great Pyramid, known in her own tongue as Isannkhati, was given to the ancient king Khufu by his father, and to his father by his father, along down a chain.

“It was a bequeathment from heir to heir, whose beginning was unknown even to those ancient kings. All they knew was that she came from an age long before theirs, and that some great disaster had ground her civilisation to dust. Somehow surviving it, Isannkhati had stood for millenia staring at the ruined court of her forgotten world from beneath the desert sands. It was while clearing that land for an early temple that Khufu’s ancestors saw her eyes peering at them from where she still stood. Not knowing her true identity, they revered her at first as a simple idol, a goddess of fertility, then of harvests, then protector of womenfolk. Over the ages, the Great Lady witnessed the empire shift and change. Sometimes, her gifts were discovered and resulted in a flowering of progress. At other times, the unwise tried to gain wealth from her boon as Ma’mun’s man did, and she would vanish, choosing only to appear again once the offender’s life ended.

“Wary that she might be lost permanently, it was Khufu that employed the laws and methods she herself had taught him to build a monument which time itself would fear, and to protect her from future calamity.”

Takeshi gave a light shiver where he sat as the first cool breeze of evening lowered itself over the grove.

What now?

He couldn’t leave. The notion of returning to the village was unthinkable.

Inside, a hundred questions were now clashing, each desperate to rise first to Takeshi’s lips. They culminated in a frustrated grunt, for he was aware that he had little more to offer…and yet he had to find something.

Glancing to the rock beside him, Takeshi realised there was one more thing.

But…he couldn’t part with that. He couldn’t. His camera had been a faithful tool. No. A companion. And even more important than that, it provided an escape from the confines and pressures of his parents’ all-encompassing hold.

He couldn’t part with it. He couldn’t lose that. Could he?

Before him, the statue’s eyes glittered in the final fingers of sunlight, and Takeshi’s heart began to pound.

“Who were they?” he found himself asking. “The people who created the statue of the lady?”

The statue began to answer, “For this-…”

“Wait!” Takeshi cut him off. “I know…I know what you want…but before I agree to give it to you, I would like to-…that is to say, may I propose a deal?”

The statue was silent for a moment. It was a profound silence, in which even the rustle of leaves seemed to wait.

“State your deal, Takeshi-san,” the statue then said.

The young man swallowed nervously. “It’s just that-…I feel there is so much more I need to know. So many things left to discover. And perhaps I will never have the chance again.”

“You will not. This will be the last answer I give you,” the statue confirmed. “After which, we will not see each other again.”

This only made Takeshi’s heart pound faster.

What? Why? How could this be his last answer?

“Then-” Takeshi fidgeted where he sat. “Then-”

He thought quickly. There had to be a way…a way to learn all he wished without this restriction in place? How could he free himself of the need to give something up, in order to learn? This was his chance, a chance to cut around the procedures and monotony he would otherwise have to endure before he came into his own. It came to him.

“If I am to give something that important,” he began, eyeing his camera again, “and this is to be my last chance, then I would ask that instead of an answer, you give me the means to learn all I wish to know, once we are parted. I ask for the ability to know anything, without lessons, without books, without tutors. Simply to know by asking a question.”

“This is your deal? But Kobayashi-San, consider…this is your identity, the most treasured thing you have. You would give up such a possession?”

Takeshi nodded. “I will.”

“Very well.”

This time, instead of a gentle breeze Takeshi felt a strange lurching motion. He closed his eyes, fearing that he would lose his stomach as the world whirled about him.

When he opened them again, it was to behold a strange sight.

He was looking into a mirror, though that did not hold his attention long, for suddenly his mind expanded. As if his previous consciousness were a grain of sand dropped onto a beach, he now saw every other grain as if they were all one vast, interconnected whole — each and every grain another body of knowledge. All things. Everything that one could hope to know and could ever fathom was opened to him, and Takeshi suddenly realised the statue had honoured the deal. He also realised that the questions he had asked previously were foolish. Simple. How tiny they were, compared to the mysteries of the universe!

Seeking an answer for how the sun was formed, it met him at once. Seeking to know why the moon did not turn, he discovered why immediately, and gasped.

But his reflection did not gasp back.

Instead…the reflection of Takeshi stood.

The reflection stood. And Takeshi found himself overcome with a sinking feeling.

“You now have what you desired,” the naked young man before him said simply.

What…what was happening?

“Something is wrong,” Takeshi replied in a gravelled voice. A voice which did not sound like his own. “You have done something to me!”

“Nothing is wrong. You told me you would give what I asked for in exchange for granting you the ability to know everything, and now you have it.”

“But…I didn’t ask for this! I offered my camera.”

“You did no such thing.”

Takeshi panicked. Tried to stand up. But he could not. A cold, hard, impliable weight had settled over his being.

Gazing forwards, which was all he could do, he saw the youth smile.

“You will get used to this form, in time,” the young man said, reaching down and retrieving the sandals, the necklace, the clothing which lay in a small stone bowl before Takeshi.

And how handsome he was, Takeshi thought, tall and slim, with twinkling eyes and a graceful, thoughtful air. He seemed assured, confident, intelligent. His parents were intelligent, too, and while tough, were doing their best to teach him how to succeed in life.

In short, he seemed to have it all.

He’d had it all…

“Goodbye, God of Truth,” the young man said, now dressed. And slinging a small Konica camera around his neck, Takeshi’s former self turned to leave. Takeshi wanted to protest. He wanted to reverse what had been done. But then, inwardly, he asked the question. At once, he learned that the statue had been here for precisely one thousand four hundred and thirty-two years, forty-nine days, and seventeen hours. He learned that it had seen six hundred and four visitors, each greedy, each willing to give up more than they could afford in order to possess that which he now had.

This also meant, of course, that none of them had succeeded.

Until now.

And for some reason, that gave Takeshi a smug sense of satisfaction.

Finally, he pondered what the statue had desired more than anything, but he needn’t have. The answer was obvious, now.

By the time he was done contemplating all this, the fading, crunching footsteps of that tall young man had gone and the jungle around him was silent.

As the sun set and the birds cawed and trilled their evening songs, Takeshi took solace in the idea that someone would arrive, at some point. When that happened, he would dazzle them with his knowledge. He would stun them with secrets and lost wisdom and prove that he was worthy of glory, on his own.

Until then, Takeshi would preside over his lonely clearing.

And he would wait.