Hakaru saw it for the first time as he was trudging along the highway, suitcase rolling behind him in the rain. It had been half a mile by foot from the train station, and although he had been looking for the turnoff to the village, it was so narrow, less than six paces wide, that he was on the point of walking past it entirely when the statue caught his eye.He halted. The statue was about the height of his chest, sunk into the ground near the remains of a gate. It had been carved by hand from some hard, dark material, either stone or very dense wood, and depicted a vaguely humanoid figure, its face flat and stupid, the dome of the head bald except for a fringe of hair. A few flecks of old paint, nearly obliterated by time, gave an impression of yellow, scaly skin. Beneath the chin, the throat was puffed out and distended, like the vocal sac of a frog.Hakaru, uneasy, was about to continue along the road when he saw three other figures lined up nearby. At first, through the curtain of rain, he thought they were statues as well.
