In a dazzling vision, the dancer emerges from behind a sheer black fabric screen (set design created collaboratively by the team). She is now wearing a silk kimono in graduated shades of pink. Spreading her arms, she displays the breadth of her silk garment as she gazes upward toward the moon, which is fabricated by Arno Veyrat’s lighting design. The light hits the grain of the sheer silk screen suggesting moonlight reflected on water. Ito raises her arms overhead swaying side to side before bursting into a series of dipping spins, her kimono swirling like a fully blossomed flower. 

She then removes her elegant silks and grabs the drum—dancing as if playing the instrument herself. Yabuki’s building percussion (representing the sounding drum) sends primal energy surging through Ito’s dancing body. She leaps over the drum and rolls on the floor hugging it. Her unbridled physicality is suddenly halted by the far-off cries of a ghost.

Lights illuminate the janitor (now, his ghost) standing behind the sheer black screen, his head and white jacket smeared with blood. He walks to the dancer pointing an accusatory finger at her. Tension mounts as the bamboo pipes pound in the background. The ghost pushes and attempts to strike her—sparking a tense, confrontational dance. In a curious adaptation, the dancer mimes cutting her own throat and dying—over and over again. The vocals are again the artistry of Makoto Yabuki, who delivers the same shrieked cries as in the original Noh play.

The final scene shows the three characters finishing up with work for the day. The musician covers up his instruments and leaves. The janitor begins to mop the stage. Meanwhile, the dancer sits on the floor listening to a catchy tune on the radio—as if it were all a dream. Or was it? The janitor smiles as the music grows louder. Alone, he embraces the mop as his dancing partner and enjoys a whimsical spin around the room, looking very much alive.