Grandma’s Riddle
AT 6 A.M., A SINGLE RING of the shrine bell would wake me up. In this bedroom we shared, Grandma would breathe in, a very determined, deliberate breath, and I would hear:
“Bussetsu ma-ka-han-nya-ha-ra-mi-ta-shingyo…”
As she sang the Heart Sutra in Japanese in a weird, monotone voice, I would slowly get out of my warm futon—not because I had to, but because I wanted
