If that were true, it meant the new movement they were starting was without a leader, only this person called Patron and himself, a makeshift new Guide without the least hint of mysticism about him. Bereft of their true leader, they weren't even able to comprehend the meaning of Guide's sacri- fice and could only stagger about pointlessly.

The snow had stopped. The flakes had fallen past the fortieth floor, where Kizu stood, but by street level had changed to rain. With the blanket of clouds lightening and the darker clouds gone, the rain, too, seemed about to clear up. To the left of the narrow building directly across from him there was a smaller building, clouds of steam rising from it, beyond which he could see the trees in Central Park, with their fresh spring foliage. Moving his eyes as if following along with a soft-tipped watercolor brush, Kizu continued to gaze at the clumps of leaves propped up by the young, uncertain trunks of the trees.

12: INITIATION OF NEW BELIEVERS

1

The reporter who covered the memorial service press conference had sent Kizu a fax telling him where to find a group of women believers who had left the church after the Somersault and were now living a communal life in the southwest part of Kanagawa Prefecture. So on a Saturday after- noon near the end of April, Kizu set off for this suburban bedroom commu- nity, one that still had a scattering of rice fields, about an hour from Shinjuku on the Odakyu express train.

The believers occupied a closed elementary school they'd converted into a residence. They numbered some forty people, mothers and children as well as single women, all living a quiet, bucolic life. Thinking he'd just check out the environment these women lived in, Kizu set off with Ikuo at the wheel of his Ford Mustang. The wooden schoolhouse was at the base of a line of low gentle hills, but three-quarters of the school grounds had been dug up and was enclosed as a large-scale plastic-covered greenhouse. Kizu and Ikuo parked their car on the road that ran along the former school grounds and set off ón foot.

In the narrow space left in front of the school building, some children were playing in a sandbox outfitted with a horizontal exercise bar, a scene that brought on a nostalgia that pierced Kizu to the quick. There were seven or eight children, upper elementary school or junior-high kids by the look of them, all oí them dressed in simple plain clothes-very different from the aggressive, gaudy colors Kizu was used to seeing each time he returned to Japan-as if a half century had been ignored and he was swept back into the colors he remembered from his childhood.

"It's like a black-and-white movie," Ikuo said.

The children played without saying a word. Ikuo strode from the path beside the greenhouse over to the sandbox, and Kizu, hesitating, followed suit.

As he got closer he noticed that the children were gazing at a line of ants in the corner of the box. Very different from the usual overbearing attitude of kids who haven't quite decided whether or not to squash a bug, tormenting it until they did, these children showed an unexpected reverence for small living creatures.

The children didn't seem on their guard at the approach of these two strangers, nor did they show any friendly interest. The older children espe- cially seemed to be purposely ignoring them. After a while Ikuo rested his hands on the horizontal bar, too low for him, and pulled himself upright on it. He tucked in his legs, pushed his elbows tight against his chest, and slowly rotated around the bar five or six times. The younger children looked at him with open admiration. Kizu, too, found himself looking with appreciative eyes at Ikuo, from his thighs to the tips of his feet, as he held his body stationary, stretched out vertically upside down. Beyond Ikuo's upside-down body, Kizu caught sight of flower petals fluttering down from the tops of hills; looking more carefully, he saw they were wet snowflakes.

Kizu remembered the scene from his hotel window high above the New York streets, snow vanishing in the air. Sometimes he wondered what he'd been thinking about that morning. Now that he considered it again, he felt that maybe he'd made this journey here to the countryside to grope for some meaningful clue. If the snow across the ocean had been a sign, this out-of- season snow here in Japan must be one too. The children were now looking up at the snowy sky. The older children stood off to one side in a clump, but even the younger kids standing close by were calm and well mannered. All of them looked entirely relaxed as they gazed up at the swirling snow.

Ikuo silently lowered himself from the bar-his controlled landing as casual as the attitude of the children-and he and Kizu walked back toward the car, leaving the children behind, all gazing up at the snowy sky, some of the older children whispering among themselves.

"Boy, oh, boy," Ikuo murmured.

Kizu knew he didn't mean the unexpected snow. Ikuo felt oppressed by the children's natural dignity. Kizu was about to express his agreement when they found, standing next to their car and waiting for them, oblivious to the snow, a short, solidly built middle-aged woman. Continuing their own conversation was out of the question.

Kizu surmised that it was one of the children's mothers, a representa- tive of this commune that, while he'd only caught a glimpse of it, was obvi- ously quite tidy and organized, who'd come out to challenge these suspicious- looking intruders.

Kizu didn't catch sight of anyone looking out the line of first- or second- story windows of the schoolhouse, glass windows whose gleaming well- polished look contrasted with the old window frames, but apparently the report of their presence had spread among the residents. As Kizu and Ikuo walked on against the blustery wind and snow, the woman stood there at a corner they had to turn. She'd been looking down until they approached, but now, quite suddenly, she spoke out in a charged, emotional voice.

"This is a private road. The land was originally donated to the town by my husband's grandfather, and after the school closed it was sold. I'm paying taxes on it. And I can't have you parking your car here."

"I'm very sorry," Kizu said. "I thought it was a public road."

"If it were a public road there'd be even more reason not to park!" the woman said vehemently. With stubby fingers she brushed away the snow- flakes that clung to her curly reddish-brown hair and her flushed face. "I saw you watching the children. If you try to take any photographs, my husband says he's going to come over; he's been watching you from the farm.

Rubberneckers and the media have stopped coming here, and the mothers and children don't want to be bothered. But now you TV people come trying to stir things up! Why can't you leave us alone? We've never bothered the people in this neighborhood. The constitution guarantees freedom of religion, you know!"

Kizu was finally able to get a word in edgewise. "So you share the same beliefs?"

With a look that was neither surprise nor fear, the woman stared directly at him for the first time. "What? Don't come around making false accusations!

I've lived here most of my life-why would I adopt the religion of people who're just temporary residents?"

The woman sputtered to a halt, and Kizu himself was so flustered Ikuo intervened.

"The Professor and I are working for the gentleman who used to be the leader of this little community. We're not connected with any TV station or weekly magazine. Their former leader is concerned about what kind of life the group has been living after they became independent of the church. We just came to observe, not to bother anyone."

"By former leader, you mean the one who did the Somersault? These women aren't angry about that anymore. There are some profound reasons for this, apparently, though I have no idea what… So he's worried about them, is he?"