Japanese Gothic Tales (7 page)

17

"Then the man sneezed, and the boy
finally got a thump on the fore
head. The tobacco fell out of the pipe, and the child began to cry. The laughter of a loser. The slobber of a babe. The monk who had pinched the father's nose now looked at his fingers in disgust.

"'Time to go,' the gentleman thought, glancing back at the post office that was sandwiched between the mercantile and the reed screen of the adjoining house. T
hat was when she emerged. Appar
ently a train had arrived at the station, because a horse-drawn carriage and five or six empty rickshaws rattled past on their way to pick up passengers. Tamawaki's wife stood looking out at the street from beneath the eaves of the post office, and her eyes
squarely met the gen
tleman's.

"She saw him and drew back into the blind's shadow. As she retreated, he felt captivated by her eyes, which were still looking his way. He watched her there behind the screen. Her hair was piled on top of her head and held with a straight pin. Maybe that was why her eyebrows seemed longer than before. She wore a light summer kimono and had a golden chain, which looked as if it jingled as it quivered, dangling from her sash. As she continued to look back at him through the reed screen, his heart began to pound. Then her face showed at the edge of the screen, as though veiled in a mist. Dazzled by the sight of her, he bowed.

"She looked down at the ground, and just then, sir, the telephone rang. She had been waiting for the call.

"She disappeared into the telephone booth. But because the phone
was close to the entrance, he could hear what she said.

"'Hello. Yes, it's me
. What happened? Why didn't you come?
Yes, I do resent it. I can't sleep at night. I know the trains don't get here in the middle of the night. Still, I was wondering if you could
come now.

"'Me?' she continued.
'You should know. So what if you're far
away? I can still hear your voice, even without a phone. But you can't hear me. That's right. So what? I know it's my fault. Don't come because you feel obligated. A little, maybe. No, you're not being ungrateful to your parents. It's a matter of life and death. Tonight, I'll wait up. No, don't say that. You know I won't sleep anyway. I do
resent it. Then I'll meet you in my dreams. No, I can't wait.'

"Did she call her Mii-chan? Or Mitsu? It was a woman's name.
'Mii-chan, I'll meet you in my dreams,' she said, then hung up the
receiver."

"I see." The wanderer was absorbed in the story.

"When the gentleman returned to the hut that night he was in a
fine mood. I was, in the words of Shiko, 'dangling my legs from the veranda, in the cool of evening.' He jumped into the wooden bathtub by the well, and we chatted while he soaked in the hot water. Both of us had to talk loudly. But as we don't have neighbors, it didn't matter.
It was a lot like talking on the phone.

"'Well, priest,'
he said to me, 'the spider's slid down his thread,
shining in the moonlight, down from the plum leaf, down through
the st
eam. '
Oh, what a fine mood he was in!

“
`
Banzai! Banzai!
' I said. 'So tonight you're incognito?'

"'Of course,' he answered, soaking his head and looking up at the sky. He didn't have the slightest trace of shame on his face. Judging from his everyday behavior, I didn't think he seemed like the kind of man who would be interested in someone else's wife, no matter how desperately in love he might have been. I doubted that he was actually going to see her.

"We finished a meal of tofu garnished with greens and shared a fragrant white melon for dessert. Tightening his sash, he announced,
'I'm going over there.'

"I was shocked. And then he left, not down the steps toward the ocean, but up the hill toward the temple."

Although the sunlight was full around the priest and his visitor, a thin cloud lightly waved upon the mountain grass like the wing
s of a butterfly. Looking out pa
st the eav
es of the thatched hut, the wan
derer could see that the mountain peak had become dark, hazy, and unbearably hot.

18

Rain? They say that when a snake comes out into the sunshine, there's sure to be a storm. And hadn't the wanderer already seen two snakes that day? Was it the covering of clouds that made the air feel so close? Perhaps that would explain the sound of flutes and drums coming from so far away, like the chirping of frogs from the other side of the mountain. And yet the sound also seemed close enough to touch— dreamy, muffled, like a gramophone playing in the fog, echoing in the distance.

The wanderer and the priest could hear something—a vague noise, with no distinguishable voices. It sounded as if the village's shutters, pillars, doors, paper screens,
pots and pans were all stretch
ing and yawning, bored by the lengthening days. It was still before noon, yet the sounds of people laughing excitedly and the occasional lowing of cattle carried to the hut on the gentle wind.

The wanderer listened attentively, and the priest commented, "Things are happening in the village today."

"A festival or something?"

"I thought you said you were staying near the station. It's right there in your neighborhood. They've
remodeled the place for the em
peror's visit."

People had been talking about the event for the past month, and the inauguration ceremony for the expansion was being held that day. A stage had been built at the station, actors from Tokyo had come, and some of the local people were also joining in the performances. The dumpling-tossing ceremony had already been held, and last night's celebrations had lasted until the early hours. When he set out this morning, the wanderer had had to work his way through the crowds in order to get away, but s
omehow he had completely forgot
ten about the festivities.

"I guess I got caught up in your story. Or maybe it's because this is such a quiet place. I forgot all about the celebration in town. In fact, the reason I came here was to get away from all the noise. But it looks like rain, don't you think?"

The priest looked up and out past the eaves of the thatched hut. "It's getting a little sticky. I doubt it will be much of a rain, though. I could lend you an umbrella, if you want. Stay as long as you like. That is, if you're not planning to see the play tonight. Strange, isn't it? You wanted to come visit the temple, but the music's so powerful it just won't let you ignore it. When it trails away you start feeling as though you've been cut off from the rest of the world. Strange. Gloomy. Sad."

"That's it, exactly."

"You know, people used to say that whenever they dug a well they could hear sounds coming from inside the earth—dogs and chickens, people's voices, the creaking of oxcart wheels. Maybe it was a little like what we're hearing now, coming from the beach down there, beneath the fog. See? You can just make out that spot of light down in the valley. What an unearthly noise! Like a band of badgers at night. Which reminds me of our gentlemen's story—

The priest took a quick gulp of tea, then set down his cup.

"As I was saying, when evening came the gentleman dashed up the stone steps. It wasn't inspiration that drove him, only passion. Having lived here for a while, he was more than used to the steps. He quickly climbed to the main hall, where the moonlight shone on the pillars and wooden planks, and looked out at the burning clouds on the ocean's horizon, shimmering crimson, the chaos of twilight, water and mountains all absorbed into one huge lake, the light of the setting sun leaking through the eaves, wisps
of clouds gradually disap
pearing like a scattering of red and white lotus blossoms. Had he stayed there on the veranda, aboard the Vessel of the Law, he wouldn't have had to drown in that sea of passion. But then a most unusual thing happened. He heard the sound of flutes and drums coming from behind the temple. Listen. Hear that? It came from exactly the opposite direction."

The priest stood and stuck a hand out past the eaves, pointing to the mountain to the left of the main hall. He got up so suddenly that his black robes blinded the wanderer's eyes, his sleeves covering the white paper doors like sumi ink flowing up to heaven.

19

"He passed before the temple and went off to the left, between the two cliffs that rise on both sides to make a tunnel to th
e sky. He con
tinued through a grove of trees and came out on the back side of the mountain. The valley stretched below. Toward the water, the hills tapered off, revealing a road and a train passing by. In the other direction, the valley rose to meet the mountains that gradually accumulated, peak after peak, beneath a steadily thickening cover of clouds. Here and there, the ridges of the peaks clustered together like tree roots. In other places they surrounded broad fields, and in still others they encircled the small, charcoal-makers' huts.

"The road on which he stood ran along the crest of a cliff and seemed like the top of a giant levee. He followed it, passing through the darkness of thick woods, occasionally catching a glimpse of an island or white sails upon the water. It's different now, but at the time the grass grew so thick it was almost impenetrable. Nightingales sounded in the valley. Small, white-eyed birds sang on the peaks. At the base of the deep-blue cliffs, where violets bloom in the spring and gentians in the fall, the narrow mountain path, softly bubbling with springwater, was like the bottom of a boat. He passed through the grass growing on both sides and, after continuing for a little over a mile, came to the end of one range. Here the mountain became a cliff and marked the beginning of a new province, where the ocean takes on a different look.

"There on the ridge, facing away from the temple on this side of the mountain, sat a huge statue of Jiz
o
. It's known as the Rock
Jizo,
bold-looking, and very roughly carved. In fact, it's more like a natural rock that just happens to look like a statue. Its face is very severe, very frightening when you're praying to it.

"The hall was still standing but badly neglected and tilting toward the cliff. The floor was so rotten your feet went right through it. The roof and pillars were tangled with spiderwebs, and the temple grounds were completely overgrown. The area was flat and open so he could stand and look out over the valley. Any mountain climber who accidentally stumbled onto such an eerie place would be terrified, I'm sure.

"The path that led down to the valley was a far cry from our stone
steps. It was so steep, the gentleman had to dig his toes in and crawl down backwards. For a short distance the trail zigzagged down a slope covered with countless stone statues, each about a foot to a foot and a half tall, certainly no taller than three, lined up one after another like trees reaching for the sky. Showing their age, some had fallen over on the side of the path. But fortunately the gentleman didn't have to step over any on his way down. Though some were leaning, they were still lined up in straight rows.

"There's a saying about those statues: that a woman's name is carved on each, along with the year of her birth and an age. Some time ago, women came from all over the country and imbued the figures with their prayers. From standing in the dew and rain, the statues' black hair turned to frost and evaporated, their sleeves and skirts were transformed into moss, leaving only shadows. The ones with narrow, pointed faces are said to have been female at one time. There's no such thing as a Jizo with a woman's body, of course, but just hearing that makes them seem more sinister.

"I've told you too much about the gentleman already, but having thought things over, I must say that where he went wrong was in wandering down that mountain path, separating himself from the Kannon here at the temple."

"Oh, I see," the visitor said. "He was led on by those pagan stone statues." He sighed and looked the priest in the eyes.

"No, no. That's not what I mean. He wandered down that path, to the left of the temple and between
the two cliffs, because of some
thing else. Music! Close enough to reach out and touch! The villagers were stirring below, and the pounding of their drums rolled deeply into the mountains. He must have thought that if he could get around to the other side, he'd be able to get a view of the festivities. He wanted to look down and see everything.

"The moonlight was on the trees as he entered beneath them, pushing the grass aside and pressing ahead. Here and there window- like openings appeared where woo
dcutters and harvesters of moun
tain roots had cut paths down the mountainside to connect the main trail with the village below.

"When he turned on to one of the smaller paths, he found himself with a view in every direction. To the left, he saw the eaves of a beach house. Turning right, he saw a thatched roof. He turned off the trail at two or three other places to take stock of the situation. But no matter where he looked, he couldn't see anything that resembled a festival. Below him, the ocean was bright, the valley filled with mist."