One night in late December, his uncle said, “Come. The Juhyo are waking.”
He resented the rituals. The way his aunt would place a kotatsu —a heated table with a heavy quilt—in the center of the room, and the family would slide their legs under it, eating mikan oranges that stained their fingers with sweet rind. They spoke in whispers. Kenji felt like a ghost in his own childhood home. winter japan months
Kenji looked at the calendar. December, January, February. Three months. A lifetime. One night in late December, his uncle said, “Come