Strange Light Afar

◊

Tales of the Supernatural
from Old Japan

◊

RUI UMEZAWA

Illustrations by

Mikiko Fujita

GROUNDWOOD BOOKS

HOUSE OF ANANSI PRESS

TORONTO BERKELEY

Text copyright © 2015 by Rui Umezawa
Illustrations by Mikiko Fujita
Published in Canada and the USA in 2015 by Groundwood Books

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Groundwood Books / House of Anansi Press
110 Spadina Avenue, Suite 801, Toronto, Ontario M5V 2K4
or c/o Publishers Group West
1700 Fourth Street, Berkeley CA 94710

We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada
Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council and the Government of Canada.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloging in Publication

Umezawa, Rui, author
Strange light afar : tales of the supernatural from old Japan
/ written by Rui Umezawa ; illustrated by Mikiko Fujita.

Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-55498-723-8 (bound).—ISBN 978-1-55498-724-5 (epub).—
ISBN 978-1-55498-725-2 (mobi)

1. Tales—Japan. I. Fujita, Mikiko illustrator II. Title.
PZ49.41.U44 2015 j398.210952 C2015-900079-3
C2015-900080-7

Cover illustration by Mikiko Fujita
Design by Michael Solomon

To Aria, Kai and Koji

One | Snow

Two | Trickster

Three | Honor

Four | Envy

Five | Captive

Six | Vanity

Seven | Paradise

Eight | Betrayal

Afterword

ONE

SNOW

◊

A
river flowed past the village that was home to Minokichi, the woodcutter of whom this story is told. The river was wide, and its current rapid. For this reason, the villagers were unable to build a bridge and relied instead on a single ferry to cross it. The ferryman worked year round, because the river did not freeze over in winter, no matter how cold it became.

Every day when he was very young, Minokichi's mother would lovingly pack him and his father a lunch of rice and dried fish. The two would walk to the dock where the ferryman greeted them with a loud, invigorating good morning. Minokichi and his father would take the ferry across the river, then walk up a mountain path into the deep forest, where they cut and gathered wood to sell.

Minokichi would look in awe at the majestic mountains surrounding all that existed in his world. The mountain caps were covered in pure, unblemished snow 
—
the source of the freezing winds that flailed the land for much of the year.

One day, Minokichi's father was climbing onto the boat when a freak wind tipped it to one side. He fell backwards, landing hard in the shallow waters and twisting his ankle.

Minokichi's father screamed in agony. His cry echoing off the mountain peaks brought Minokichi's mother and the other villagers running 
—
elderly couples and women whose husbands were also away in the mountains.

“My husband,” said the mother, seeing his foot swell like a pomegranate ready to burst, “you can't possibly work today.”

“No!” replied the father. “We left piles of cut wood in the forest yesterday because we couldn't carry them all. Someone will surely take them if we don't bring them back today. Minokichi can't do it by himself.”

“Then I'll go with him,” said the mother. “Our neighbors can take you home.”

The crowd quickly gathered around Minokichi's father. They lifted him in their arms as he moaned in pain, turning to the sky.

“But a storm is gathering …” he protested.

“Then we'll have to hurry,” said his wife, taking Minokichi's hand and climbing into the boat. The ferryman cast off and cut across the rapid currents to the other shore.

In spite of his father's injury, Minokichi was happy to be out with his mother 
—
something that he seldom had occasion to do. Since he had become old enough to help his father cut wood, he only saw his mother at dawn and for a few precious moments at night before he went to sleep. Now, in the daylight, he could see that she was still quite beautiful. The few strands of silver in her bewitchingly long hair only enhanced her loveliness.

As Minokichi and his mother made their way through the forest, the storm fell upon the land faster than anyone had expected. The terrible wind and snow made the trees bow their heads and beg for mercy, but mercy was not forthcoming.

Back at the river, the ferryman waited as long as possible, but as the hours and minutes passed, neither of his passengers came through the curtain of white rising from the snowbanks at the foot of the mountain.

Finally, he headed his boat back to the village for the sake of his own safety.

Minokichi and his mother hurriedly gathered the wood that had been left in a clearing the day before. They worked as fast as they could, tying the logs in bundles and lifting them on their shoulders. They walked as fast as they could back to the river, negotiating the twisting mountain trails, mindful of the frozen ground and loose pockets of snow. But for all their efforts, they arrived at the dock to find it empty.

They had no way of getting home.

Just off the dock was a hut that the ferryman had built as a place to rest between crossings. There was not even a small stove or a brazier inside, but the walls were windowless and provided reasonable shelter from the wind.

Minokichi and his mother gathered some straw mats, wrapped a couple around themselves and laid the remainder on the floor. Then they shut the door and rested in the darkness, huddled against each other like birds. Minokichi tried without success to ignore the swirling eddies of fear in his chest, but the warmth of his mother's body provided some comfort.

The winds continued their anguished cries into the night. Minokichi awoke from a deep slumber and opened his eyes to the darkness. He stifled a cry, trying to remember where he was. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he rose painfully, his limbs frozen and stiff. Above the whistling wind and the creaking walls, he could hear his mother breathing softly. Her skin, though, was deathly cold. She murmured, drawing the straw mat tightly around her shoulders.

But there was something else. At first Minokichi thought his ears were deceiving him.

No, there it was again 
—
a faint voice drowning in the storm outside.

“Please,” it whispered. “Let me in.”

Careful not to awaken his mother, Minokichi went to the door and slid it open a crack. Dim moonlight penetrated the clouds and reflected on the thick bed of ice and snow. More snow danced in the frenzied wind. The tiny flakes in the near darkness looked like a horde of insects.

Minokichi almost did not notice the woman, standing as still as a tree stump in the deep snowdrift. She wore a white mourning kimono, and, although her face was still young, her hair was streaked with strands of silver and white. The long, thick strands fell wildly about her face and shoulders.

“Please?” she said again. “Would you let me in?”

She drew closer without marking the snow. Minokichi rubbed his eyes, unsure whether to trust what he saw. He could see her eyes in the shadows, strangely sad and needy.

“Please,” she said once more. “Let me in.”

Minokichi hesitated.

“Let me in!”

A blast of wind knocked him backward, and he fell. He struggled to get up, but he could hardly feel his limbs, chilled to the bone and joints that he was. It was so bitterly cold, and he was drained, exhausted.

He looked up to see the mysterious woman inside the hut, hunched over his sleeping mother. The woman had drawn her mouth close to his mother's face, and at first glance seemed to be blowing tenderly upon it. But the woman's breaths were clouds of frozen mist, and his mother's own breathing grew slow and shallow.

The hut turned even colder.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Minokichi asked between chattering teeth.

The woman turned to him. She came closer, and he struggled to find his hands and feet so that he might get up. He could feel nothing. The woman from the storm reached out slowly and cradled his face in her hands. They were like ice, and yet he saw her eyes pleading.

“I want to take you as well,” she finally said softly. “But you very much resemble my own son, who was also taken by the storm so long ago …”

A faint trace of affection warmed her voice slightly. An eternity seemed to pass, and the wind outside howled impatiently. Minokichi repeatedly glanced at his mother, who continued her slumber, unmoving. How can she sleep through this? he thought. The question in his mind was deafening.

Finally, a flash of decision ignited in the mysterious woman's eyes.

“Very well,” she said. “The fates have played a trick on both of us tonight, my child. I'll let you live.” In spite of this show of mercy, however, hatred twisted her face, as she threw him back against the wall and stood up quickly.

“But make no mistake,” she scowled. “Your life is now mine. As long as you live, what occurred here tonight must be kept secret. Speak of it to no one. If you do, I'll be back, and I swear to the darkness that I will kill you then. Do you understand?”

Minokichi was petrified.

She leaned over and slapped his face.

“Do you understand?”

He nodded vigorously. “I promise to tell no one,” he whispered.

To his surprise, she smiled.

“That's a good boy,” she said.

An abrupt gust of wind carried in a veil of snow, which wrapped around her shimmering body. Strands of silver hair flowed across her face.

She was enchanting, terrifying.

“Remember, my beautiful child,” she said. “You promised.”

Her voice seemed to grow more distant, fading into the white shadows until she disappeared completely. The cold crushed him at that moment, and he passed into oblivion.

By morning, the air had fallen still. The ferryman returned to his hut to find that young Minokichi had somehow survived the night, but his mother had frozen to death in her sleep. Minokichi himself was badly frostbitten and delirious. The ferryman strained to carry them both to his boat and back to their village.

Upon learning that his wife had been killed by the storm, Minokichi's father sickened with grief and went mad. At his wife's burial, many villagers averted their eyes from the sight of Minokichi kneeling by his mother's grave, stifling his sobs with bandaged hands while his father danced about in delirium, singing a drunken song at the top of his lungs.

And the river flowed, and the snow eventually melted, as though nothing at all had happened.

Minokichi recovered quickly and tried his best to care for his father in his mother's absence. He still went across the river to cut wood, fixing his eyes on the ground whenever he passed the ferryman's hut. He talked to no one about what had happened and grew increasingly withdrawn, making no friends in the village as he grew into adulthood.

By day, he was by himself in the mountains, leaving his father in the care of an elderly couple in the village. At night, he cooked meals, cleaned house and bathed his father. Minokichi lived in seclusion, unaware of his life unfolding. His insane father was all he had in the world, other than the nightmares that overtook him even in his deepest slumber.

The years passed quickly and silently. Minokichi realized this one spring day when, on his way to the ferry dock, he came across a muddy puddle of water in which he saw his own reflection. Age had carved its path across his face. He was no longer a child. He felt hollow, as the wind carried warm scents of blossoming flowers from the riverbank.

Minokichi worked slowly that day and quit early. With only a light load on his back, he quickly descended the mountain, eager to be home, to finish his chores and to forget.

He was just about clear of the forest, when a young woman suddenly emerged from the bushes and fell across his path. Her kimono was tattered in places where patches of bruised skin were exposed, and her bare feet were bleeding.

She looked up at him, and the dirt on her face could not hide her astonishing beauty. Minokichi felt his pulse quicken.

“M-miss,” his voice stumbled. “Are you all right?”

The young woman shook her head, forlorn.

“I'm hopelessly lost,” she sobbed. “My parents and I were traveling the mountains when we were separated in the forest. I've been wandering for three days without food or shelter.”

When she put her head in her hands to cry, he could see the immaculate white skin at the nape of her neck.

A crow squawked somewhere overhead, as Minokichi suddenly realized his mouth was very dry. He had never spoken to a young woman in his secluded life, much less one who was crying.

“That's terrible!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “Here. Can you make it down the mountain?”

Minokichi dropped the woodpile from his back so that he could help her to her feet.

“There's a ferry at the river that can take us back to my village.”

“Thank you,” said the woman, who seemed barely able to walk. She said her name was Oyuki. Despite her state, she smelled of freshly cut flowers, which Minokichi found terribly confusing.

When the ferryman saw Minokichi emerging from the woods with a woman, he nearly fell off his boat. He rowed faster than he ever had in his life to return them to the village, in great part because Oyuki looked as though she might pass out at any moment. The villagers were equally surprised, and none more so than Minokichi's father, who immediately cried out in joy and embraced the young woman in his thin arms.

“My wife!” he shouted. “You've come back!”

Word was sent to neighboring villages in the hope of finding Oyuki's parents. Meanwhile, for the next several days, the villagers frequented Minokichi's house, offering food and medicine for Oyuki. Minokichi was grateful to be allowed to return to work without worry. The neighbors also took care of his father, who suddenly took ill and was bedridden. He was delusional, clinging to the belief that Oyuki was Minokichi's mother. Minokichi did not have the heart to shatter this illusion.

Besides, Minokichi recognized a faint resemblance himself. There was also no denying that he had fallen in love with Oyuki. It was obvious to the villagers who teased him, but this did not bother him in the least.

Oyuki slowly regained her strength. She started to help around the house, even tending to Minokichi's father, whose health grew worse with each passing day. He seemed content and at ease in her presence, and perhaps being released from sorrow also allowed him to release his last grasp on life.

He died with a smile on his face.

Minokichi buried his father in a grave next to his mother's on a day when the skies were empty and the air still except for the whispers of the river. The villagers came to pay their respects but left quickly, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Summer was fading. A hint of crispness freshened the balmy breeze as he prayed over the graves. Memories of his parents swept over his closed eyelids. His beautiful mother remained vivid in his mind. His father was still young and robust. Caring for him in his madness had been trying, and Minokichi now felt saddened but free.

He noticed that Oyuki had joined him in prayer. A butterfly flew nearby, riding the wind. Watching Oyuki's perfectly sculpted face in meditation, Minokichi did something he had never done before. He began to think about the future.

“Oyuki,” he said. “I want to … thank you for taking such good care of my father.”