The weather collaborated with us, stopping the rain for twenty minutes. (As a myriad of mosquitoes appeared, I wondered if any of them were descendants from the time my ancestors lived there a hundred years ago.) We had enough time to document the presence of the kimono and three living generations: my father, my second-cousin, and me. On our way back to the cars, the torrential rain suddenly began again.
Aunt Fumiko, who had gone directly to the hotel from the train station, was excited to hear about our experience in the Samoto cemetery. She felt it was a good omen from our ancestors that the rain stopped for the twenty minutes I was wearing my Glass Ancestral Kimono.
Bob, Pat, Sambodh, and I decided to sleep in the house my father and his family built sixty-three years ago. Since there was talk about the house being haunted, I was wondering if the ghosts would appear. I mistakenly thought I heard them when Sambodh started snoring.