Japanese Gothic Tales (9 page)

23

Smiling, the farmer let go of his hoe and pressed his hands together. "Thanks to you, I got a lot of praise."

"I hope I didn't put you out."
The wanderer spoke calmly, seem
ing to enjoy his elevated status. The farmer, of course, was the man he had met on the way to the temple earlier that day.

"No trouble at all. The women in the house thanked me over and over. They really appreciated my going over there to tell them." "So you took care of it, did you?"

"I pinned the snake down with a bamboo stick and tossed it into the woods over there by the hill. The young ladies told me not to kill it."

"Good thing you didn't. It would eventually have come around to me, since I was the one who pointed it out."

The old man laughed. "Forgive me for saying so, but you sure don't like snakes, do you? When the ladies there heard about it they almost broke down the door. I went in from the garden. They led me clown the veranda to the kitchen, and I looked for it there. But, as you said, the snake was in the bathing area, over in the west corner, its tongue flicking from its mouth. It was bigger than I expected.

"
'Hey!' I said to it, 'If you want to take a bath, then make like a frog and "Jump into the ancient pond!" What ar
e you doing in the ladies' room
? Powdering your face?' I pinned him down so he couldn't move and stood the thinking about what I should do with him. All the ladies were on tiptoe, trying to keep away. 'Don't kill it,' they said. `Please, take it out. The lady of the house is ill and she worries about this sort of thing.' It wasn't a pretty sight, but since I didn't have any reason to kill it, I let it go in the bamboo grove on the hillside.

"Tamawaki's wife was sleeping upstairs. She wasn't feeling well. But just after the shower cleared, right there beneath that peach tree, where the drips were falling bigger than raindrops, she came out the back door and opened her purple parasol. 'Thank you,' she said to me. `I hear the man who reported the snake went up to the temple. I don't suppose he's come back yet?'

"'That I don't know,' I said. 'I didn't go inside for long. And I don't think the rain would have chased him home. My guess is he hasn't come back yet.'

"'If you do see him, be sure to give him my thanks,' she said, then hopped over the gutter and started down the road."

It was the same road the wanderer was on.

"That's right. She went off toward the valley."

The old man turned toward the junction where the road from the temple led off toward the village of Kashiwabara. He moved with such energy that the wanderer couldn't help looking that way. It was the very road he would have to take to get home. He was trapped.

"Look. You can see it, there. On top of the bank."

It showed above the inviting grass, flowing like an embroidered sash, like the outline of a purple moon nestled in a thin mist stretched by the rain along the foot of the mou
ntain, or like a bouquet of vio
lets. It was an iris, a lavender silk umbrella, just the sort of thing you would expect an attractive woman to have.

When the wanderer saw it, he immediately felt the mist begin to wrap itself around his arm.

Here and there, tangled in the knot of spring scenery, the old man's finger pointed boorishly like a horseradish root. "There. In the shade of that umbrella." He laughed. "She's waiting for you."

24

Toppled onto the grass, the parasol caught the sunlight and glowed like the golden wings of insects gathered around a purple aster. From beneath the parasol's shadow, the woman's supple train stretched over the embankment. Its waving lines of silk crepe were coquettishly set off against the greenery, and the thin hem of her skirt, lying over the grass between her and the muddy road, flowed soft curls down to her ankles. She had drawn her feet back in a modest pose, though her silk undergarment was exposed at the knees. She had taken off one of her sandals and left it on the road. One of her legs was bent back gracefully over the grass.

The wanderer tried to get past her, but felt himself slow to a halt. It was as if he had turned into that famous horseman who crossed the Uji Bricge at the witching hour of dusk, spurring his horse on and betting on the outcome. His approaching footsteps did not create the slightest echo against her purple shie
ld or against the striking crim
son skirts she had so nonchalantly thrown onto the embankment.

Feeling his chest tremble, he came to a standstill. He raised his shoulders and swung his stick, drawing a magic figure in the air in order to protect himself. Again he tried to get by.

The road at that point was so narrow that he was forced to step over the shoe she had taken off. It was a three-way junction. In one direction was the ocean, in another Kashiwabara village, and in the other the temple he had just visited. It was as if the road, because he was afraid to pass by the place where she was waiting, had turned into a monster's wooden bell hammer.

He turned and faced the wheat field, his back toward her, his face burning as if he had drunk too much wine. Oh, dear god! She actually spoke to him as he tried to step by.

He stood his ground, not breaking from his position, most likely feeling regret, as the tail of his horse, painted thickly with oil, slipped through the goblin's grasping claws.

He looked back at her. "Did you say something?"

What he actually saw wasn't a grinning, bald-headed goblin, but a face brightened by the parasol's purple-tinted sunlight, a violet lunar brilliance on a folding screen, her locks like clouds, her hairpin like a star, her lips a red blossom, the
corners of her eyes like holly
hocks. Leaning back like a willow upon the grass, she was a dandelion with its skirts floating in the air.

She adjusted her collar, and her fish-white finger showed against bluish-purple. Her eyes caught his. "Pardon me," she said, smiling. He looked for a path of escape.

"I was calling to you." She sat forward from her position on the embankment where she had been leaning back.

"What is it?" He looked directly at her. "What do you want?" His expression went blank.

"They said it was someone like you. Someone who was worried about us."

She pulled her sandal toward her with one foot; and as the silk of her kimono fluttered, its floral pattern appeared before his eyes and filled the air with its scent.

The woman got to her feet.

"You saved us from disaster." She bowed, revealing the nape of her neck.

The wanderer, conqueror of goblins, held his stick beneath his arm. He removed his helmet and said vaguely, "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

The woman laughed in a friendly way. "I see. Well, I'd call it a disaster. What if that snake had gotten into the sitting room and someone had found it there? We would have had to evacuate the entire house and go live somewhere else. But thanks to you we didn't have to."

"So how did you know it was me?" He blurted out the question, which didn't come out quite as planned.

"What's that?" She asked him to repe
a
t what he had just said.

25

"I assume you're talking about the snake. But what I want to know is how you knew it was me. You took me by surprise." Ready to retreat quickly, he turned his horse around and smiled.

"See for yourself. We're in the middle of nowhere. No one ever comes through here. Since this morning, you're the only one I've seen who looks like you. And I know about what happened this morning."

"Then you heard it from the old man."

"I sa
w you from the second floor when
you passed by the stone wall."

"So you saw the snake
-“

"No. You were standing in the way, so I didn't have to." She tilted her head slightly, as if remembering something.

"But, you're supposed to be-
"
he blurted out.

"To be what?" She encouraged him to continue, but he had come to a dead end. H
e fiddled with his stick. He bli
nked. He pressed his lips together. "What is it?" She pursued the question. "You can ask me."

"Didn't they say you weren't feeling well? I thought you were supposed to be sleeping." He seemed flustered.

"Basking in the sun like this?"

"What?"

She peered into his eyes and then looked away, lightly touching the palm of her slender hand to her cheek. He heard the sound of her crimson undergarment moving against her snow-white arm, and the rustling of her kimono. "The truth is, I was sleeping."

"You were?"

"But at the time I wasn't asleep. I was awake." Her voice grew a bit louder. "I guess I'm not making much sense, am I?"

Her voice gained a tone of familiarity. Suddenly she turned away, showing the nape of her neck as she looked at the ground. One foot came back as she tried to maintain her balance.

"No. I wasn't sleeping. I saw you and then I started feeling ill. That's when I went to bed."

"Oh, really." Risking everything, he drew a step closer. "I guess you would have preferred to s
ee the snake instead, right? So
why did you stop me? To thank me for saving you from a 'disaster'? You know, at first I thought the snake was none of my business. But when I heard you were living alone in that house, I felt had about not saying some-thing even though I was just now trying to get away from you. When you make it seem like you owe me so much, it not only makes me feel bad but it looks bad, too. I'm no ghost. I'm not a spirit that goes around spreading some curse. I have a body. I have a shape. And your saying that you got sick after seeing me seems a bit cruel, I must say. If you hate to see me go out of my way to help you, just say so. I'd like to get by here anyway. Do I have to pretend I'm Benkei? If I can't, I'll try something else. Maybe I should go back to the temple and escape through the mountains."

He decided to fight back and sit himself down on the grassy embankment. But because he had been staring into the face of this demon, he lost his balance and, rather than sitting to the side, slipped and fell to the ground.

"Careful! You'll hurt yourself."

Did she speak too quickly?

Before his eyes, dazzling colors appeared through the mist. Her silk kimono opened at the knees, and, without fixing her skirts, she knelt lightly on one knee. The strap on his sandal was broken. She pushed it over to him and tried to help him get back to his feet. Both her hand and the colored handkerchief it held shone in the sunlight, releasing a fragrance as she gently touched him on the back.

26

Kannon, Goddess of Mercy! The wanderer silently prayed for help. His defenses had all come to naught.

"Your stockings are all covered with mud. Why don't you take them off and let me have them cleaned? 1 live right over there

He hastily pulle
d back from her fingers as they reached for his leg. He collapsed onto the embankment, then sat up, the nape of his neck hot because of the warm grass. He was sweating. His face was flushed. His eyes were blinded by the intense spring light.

"Forget about my stupid stockings." His words sounded like something a second-rate storyteller would say. He shuddered. When his vision finally became clear, the woman was picking up his walking stick. She held it gracefully with both hands and stood before him in a relaxed fashion.

Her sash was tied with its ends hanging freely. Her lined kimono fit loosely on her shoulders. With the slight movement of her body, the crimson silk slipped down slightly over the edge of her sky-blue sash. The style of her clothing hardly matched the walking stick. She looked pitiful, crushed by love's burden
, as if she had been taken pris
oner and was being held captive in place of her husband.

"Thank you so much." Again, she took the initiative. "I'm not sure what I should do." Her eyes were half closed in thought. She seemed worried and weighed down with sadness, like the blind when they sigh. "I shouldn't have said that. I really didn't mean it that way. I didn't want to say I began feeling ill became I saw you. Even if that were true, how could I say such a thing? I saw you. And t
hen I started to feel ill. . . “

She repeated what she had just said, whispering to herself. "Please. I know you understand what I'm trying to say." She came closer and sat down. Leaning back, she spread leer sleeves out on the embankment. She parted the green spring grass with her shoulder. Their skirts spread out toward the wheat field before them.

"I didn't mean to insult you. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

He nodded, but he still seemed to be bothered by something. "You're mean for getting mad at someone because of the way they talk," she said.

What a disagreeable woman! He looked at her, feeling as if he had to defend himself. "You should talk. I didn't get mad at you for the way you said it. You're the one with a bad temper. All I was doing was repeating what you said to me."

"Yes, and you lost your temper."

"No I didn't. I was going to apologize."

"But you should have known what I really meant. It's a matter of expression, you know. Like a morning-glory leaf. From the top it looks thin and flat, but underneath it's quite full. You should listen to the underside of language."

"The underside of language? Now just wait a minute." He closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and took a breath. "You're trying to tell me you meant the opposite of getting your feelings hurt. Which is this: that after you saw me, you felt better, right? So why don't you just leave me alone? It's perfectly clear that you're just playing around." He took her to task but laughed as he did.

She stared at him coolly. "You're such a complicated man. What did I say to make you talk that way t
o me? You shouldn't pick on peo
ple who are weaker than you. Can't you see I'm suffering?"

She put her hand on the grass and moved her knee. "Listen to what I have to say. All right?" She smiled as if enraptured. Her mouth was so seductive it seemed as though her teeth had been dyed black. "Let's suppose there's someone I dream about all the time, someone I long for. Can you imagine that?"