Susan Choi

Louisa and her father are making their way down the breakwater, each careful step on the heaved granite blocks, one step farther from shore.

Her mother is not even on the shore, for example,

seated smiling on the sand.

Her mother is shut inside the small, almost waterfront house they're renting, most likely in bed.

All summer, Louisa has played in the waves by herself because her mother isn't well, and her father is unvaryingly dressed in a jacket and slacks.

But tonight, he has finally agreed to walk the breakwater with her.

She's asked every day since they first arrived.

Spray from the waves, sometimes lands on the rocks, and so he has carefully rolled up the cuffs of his slacks.

He still wears his hard polished shoes.

In one hand, he holds a flashlight, which is not necessary.

In the other hand, he holds Louisa's hand, which is also not necessary.

She tolerates this out of kindness.

Where are they?

Yeah, they're in a small town on the coast of Japan.

It's the late 1970s.

They're on, this matters a little bit, they're on the, what you would call either the northern or the westward coast of Japan.

And Louisa's father has just finished up doing some visiting teaching at a university in Japan.

Her mother has not been feeling well, so they've taken a little house on the beach just for what's supposed to be the brief remainder of their time in Japan, to have a little relaxing, pleasant rest.

And they wouldn't normally get this close to the water, right?

Well, Cirque wouldn't.