Summer of the Dark Moon

ONE

            The sun was almost below the horizon, turning the water to surging bronze and illusion the slow spread of darkness was beginning to shatter. Passing beyond a residential neighborhood and into the bar district where she worked, Yuka paused on the bridge spanning the canal separating these regions in order to cast her gaze in the direction of the open sea. A boat made its way toward her, a broad white-glaring beacon cutting the darkness in its path. Its engine was noisy, sure, and steady. An old man wearing a torn red shirt tucked into khaki pants stiff with salt water and fish scales was mending nets on deck. The bridge muffled the engine noise, and the passing light crossed Yuka’s face before disappearing beneath her. She waved while dropping a dark carnation she’d picked along the way into the canal. Although she needed to be at work soon, she took a moment to watch while the flower drifted toward the sea on muddy water that was neither whitened by boat propellers nor bronzed by failing sunlight.

The Dark Moon, the bar where she worked, wasn’t open yet. She often went in early. This was unpaid work for which Yukari, the woman who’d owned the place since the 1920’s would compensate her in other ways. She might give Yuka an extra day off or let her leave early on a night when she felt tired.

The Dark Moon was located on a side street two blocks from the bridge. A neon sign jutting diagonally from between its two windows facing the street was its only form of advertisement. The main room was a wide, airy space furnished with brown leather booths and low tables. A long, curving bar took up the right side of the room. The kitchen was located alongside it. The cook was already there doing his preparation chores. He was a tall man named Tani. Yuka could hear the rhythmic chopping of his knife providing counterpoint to the off-key whistling that usually accompanied his work.