“Wonder what’ll happen, with the chief’s wife.”

“I’m guessing she’ll be saved? I don’t know for sure though.”

As I put sheets on the futon mattress Ayuha had gotten out for me earlier, we chatted about this and that from the folktale we’d just heard. It was strange how getting cut off in the middle made us curious, even though we could pretty much imagine how the plot would unfold. Maybe it was Yaeko’s way with words that pulled us into the narrative as well. I was genuinely looking forward to hearing the rest of the story, told in her mellow voice.

“I’m so glad I came today.” Wriggling my lower body into my futon, I added: “Thanks.”

Ayuha threw herself down on her own futon. “Glad to hear that. I wondered if you’d gotten much out of this field trip, since you’re low-key expert in some things, and I fell asleep.”

“I told you I’m no expert.”

“Whatever.” Half in jest, Ayuha pouted.

I smiled wryly. “You mean, because I was talking to Yaeko about bears, earlier today? That doesn’t make me an expert. It’s not like I know about it or anything.” I hesitated. “I see it, in my dreams.”

“You had a dream about it?”

“Right. It’s a recurring dream.” I gave her a smile, let out a slow, shaky breath. And I told her about the past year.

About Mum. About not being able to eat properly. About how I became a bear in my dreams every month.

Ayuha lay there, listening to my story, which came out in incoherent fits and starts. Just like she did the first day we really spoke to each other: quietly being there for me without judgment.

“Ayuha, you said you didn’t know anything about your Ainu heritage, but you brought me here, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, you did know something about it.”

“You mean, I know my gran? That’s only natural: she’s my family. Does that even count?” Ayuha’s relaxed giggle was music to my ears.

“Sure, because it’s the little things we know, whatever they may be, that add up—in my view,” I opined. Total silence fell for a moment. I felt suddenly shy and pulled the blankets over my head. “Okay, that’s all, those were my impressions of the field trip! Turn off the light!” I shouted from under the blankets; I heard Ayuha cracking up, and I dove even deeper.

I felt a light, affectionate pat on top of the covers, and the light snapped off. It was getting stuffy in there so I poked my head out to see Ayuha waiting with a big smile, lit by the night light. I almost dived straight back under again, but on second thoughts I left my eyes and nose peeping out. “So,” I began.

“Yeah?”

“Ayuha, earlier this evening, you mentioned that you called yourself Ainu for the first time, that day we met on the landing. What was that like?” I asked, still mostly hidden under the blankets.

She subtly shifted into a thinking posture, and then burst out laughing. “It was just totally normal.” Under the dusky glow of the night-light, her laughter pealed out. She sounded so light and cheerful. “And you? How do you feel about it now?”

“Me?”

“Mmhm.”

I thought back on everything I had just gotten off my chest. “Mm ... I feel like it’s way more normal than I thought...”

“Aha!” Ayuha’s eyebrows arched up in laughter at my reply. “Hey, if we’re going to sleep together like this, I wonder if I’ll be able to have the bear dream too,” she said, leaning forward in excitement.

“You want to have the dream?”

“Definitely.”

I thought for a moment. “Well how about we try holding hands?”

“Good idea.”

I’d been kidding, but Ayuha convulsed with laughter as if she loved the idea. I’d never seen such a look of pure mischief on her face at school; it made me happy. I held out my hand as if inviting her to dance, as she lay there next to me.

*

When I open my eyes, I find myself in a familiar light.

My reclining black body is painted with stripes of falling shadow. Unsurprisingly, there is no sign of Ayuha.

It’s the familiar scene of the same dream, but my body feels much heavier than I’m used to. I wonder if I’ve been overeating during the month and grown a lot, but I soon realize it must be the opposite. I am hungry. Extraordinarily hungry. Come to think of it, as a bear I always ate well, but had never felt pangs of hunger until now. The meals, which as a rule are served almost immediately, are not forthcoming today.

I dig my claws into the logs of the cage with playful intensity, and roll onto my front to try to get my head closer to the outside. I can hear human voices speaking and singing out there. In the joyful atmosphere, I remember my long day, and my spirits lift.

As I listen with half an ear, something is thrust into the cage. This better be the meal I’ve been waiting for, I think as I get up in an animal frame of mind, and freeze.

A long-familiar scent wafts to my nostrils.

On the tray is a butterflied Atka mackerel cut into quarters, miso soup with potato and wakame, braised burdock root and rice.

No matter how many times I blink my watering eyes, it doesn’t go away. It is the breakfast Mum made for me that morning, the breakfast I didn’t eat.

“Breakfast is a must. Three meals without fail.”

My head whips up. I can’t see her. But she is there.

Mum, I call out to her without words, and the air grows a little brighter around me.

As if prompted by a warm, familiar voice, I turn to the tray. I bring my snout to the food, which has been prepared in a quantity suitable for a human. Fresh off the stove, the hot meal is tender right down to the softness of its steam.

Cautiously lapping at the soup, the sweetness of white miso and the soothing umami of bonito stock spread across my tongue and my vision blurs. The granular texture of the potatoes on my tongue makes my chest constrict; droplets plink into the miso soup.

The taste of Mum’s home cooking. The appetizing aroma of soy sauce, the mild sweetness of beet sugar; all of it, all of it.

Oblivious to the bowls clattering together on the tray, I devour the breakfast my mother had made. I lick the dishes, not wanting a single sesame seed to remain. When I look down, I see that my limbs are faintly glowing. With each bite I take, the glossy jet-black fur comes away from my body as if unpicked at the seams, and the sharp claws and fierce snout lose their opacity, as the bear gives way to my human form.

By the time the dishes are empty, warm natural light pours into the cage, and the shadows cast in horizontal stripes are banished. The logs of the ceiling have been lifted away to let in a flood of light. Fully returned to human form, I am enveloped in the dazzling light, and I slip out of the cage as if moving through the bars.

Mum only spoke that one time, and in the light I can’t see her. And yet the light that holds me is so warm it makes me cry.

I clutch the veil of light closer to me, unable to utter any of the many things I want to say. But the light dissolves, leaving me behind.

The instant the light fades away, something warm and gentle gives my hand a squeeze. As if that had been the signal, my single awareness slowly surfaces.

*

I heard my own moans; my eyes flicked open with a start. My hair was dripping wet with tears. I rolled over to lie facedown and scrubbed my face on the pillow.

As I lay there, my stomach growled, louder than I’d ever heard it.

“That’s a nice wake-up call.”

I turned my head to see who had spoken; Ayuha, who seemed to be a morning person, was smiling at me, her cheek propped on her hand. “Good morning. I’m hungry...” I explained.

“You don’t say.”

To be honest, I couldn’t believe how hungry I was. The usual smoothie wasn’t going to cut it. “Did you get to have the dream?” I asked her.

“Nope. I dreamed you were catching salmon in the river.”

“That’s the real deal.” I rolled onto my back in a fit of giggles, and lying on her front, Ayuha’s shoulders shook with laughter.

“What time is it?” Ayuha asked, with a lazy gesture that showed no desire to check it herself.

I reached for my phone, unlocked the screen, and there were several messages from Dad. Text alternated with pictures. I started reading, rubbing my eyes which were blurry with the combo of sleep and tears.

‘Good morning,’ the first message began, and went on, ‘The day before yesterday, when I saw that book you had, I had a fit of nostalgia and dug these out of a closet. They’re all from your mum’s university days.’

I zoomed in to the attached photo. It showed some old notebooks, files, and stacks of photocopies bound together, all of which related to Ainu culture. On the following photo he’d written ‘This too’: it was a book on food, propped open. ‘A long time ago we used to make this: do you remember, Chiyuki?’ and a smiley face.

“What’s up? What’s going on?”

I giggled as Ayuha looked at me. “Mmm, there are so many things I don’t know,” I said.

Ayuha looked puzzled, and then laughed good-naturedly, “No doubt!”

“Ayu, ’Yuki, are you up yet?” The fusuma doors slid open and Yaeko popped her head in.

“Good morning,” we chorused.

“Right, good morning. You’re up early. It’s only seven am, but would you like some breakfast?”

Lying next to me, Ayuha raised her hands in a hooray.

Cradling my phone, I looked up at Yaeko. “Um, I think I need to go home.”

“Oh no, really?” Yaeko said.

“So, um, would you mind sharing a little bit of ohaw with me? I’d love to take some home ... to my family,” I said eagerly.

Yaeko blinked, and her cheeks rounded into a smile. “Of course! I’ll just pack it up for you.” She headed to the kitchen and in double-quick time, she had filled an airtight container with ohaw for me.

“Thanks so much, Ayuha,” I said. “Sorry to leave like this.”

“It’s fine. We’re buddies. Today I’m gonna learn how to make sito dumplings,” Ayuha said lightly, breaking into a grin.

I smiled back at her, thanked Yaeko, said my goodbyes, and walked out the door.

In March it was still cold in the early morning, even with my coat buttoned up to the neck. Still, the air was crisp, and the more I breathed in, the more I awoke, lungs to heart.

I pulled out my phone to send a message to my dad: ‘I’m coming home now.’ I sent a PS: ‘I’d love to have breakfast when I get home, so please wait for me,’ and straight away it was marked as ‘Read’, and a chain of five dancing cat stickers flashed up.

I hugged the container of ohaw I was carrying to me, and broke into a jog, my feet pushing off the ground.

Family and a piping hot meal were waiting at our dining table.

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