Strange Light Afar (2 page)

She smiled, more radiantly than the flowers coloring the jagged mountainside.

“It was the least I could do,” she replied. “You've been so kind.”

Minokichi shook his head. “I'm all alone now, Oyuki, and I realize how frightened you must have been when you were separated from your parents.”

She seemed to consider this carefully.

“I wonder, since I have no one else now, would you consider becoming my wife?”

Oyuki drew in a breath, then looked down shyly. For a moment Minokichi was afraid that she might announce that she was leaving.

But his fear turned to surprise when he saw her trembling.

He hesitated, but then placed a hand on her shoulder. When she turned, he saw she was as pale as snow.

“I'm so afraid,” she said, fighting tears.

“What are you afraid of?”

She looked at his father's grave. “There are so many things beyond our control.”

Minokichi nodded gravely. “Of course, but don't worry. I shall always take care of you.”

“Really?”

He nodded again.

“Promise you will never betray me.”

“What are you saying, Oyuki? I would never betray you. Not ever.”

She smiled. Then, barely audible above the sound of the river, she whispered, “Yes, I shall marry you.”

Minokichi thought he might fall over with relief. She came into his arms and he held her tightly.

In the weeks that followed, he felt happy for the first time after many years spent languishing in an empty, meaningless life. They were wed on an autumn day when brilliant hues of scarlet and orange spread across the mountain slopes. The bride and groom led a long procession of villagers who followed them to a nearby shrine where they listened to long prayers and drank rice wine from the same cup. Afterwards, they returned to their house, where the celebration continued late into the night.

The villagers, delighted also by Minokichi's newfound happiness, brought fish, fresh vegetables and more wine. Minokichi laughed and danced as though he had never known pain in his life.

In the first months of their marriage, Minokichi felt he was richer than the wealthiest nobleman. He still had to work every day in the mountains, but he made certain he spent time each evening with Oyuki.

She seemed content and happy. She made friends in the village, and his neighbors had nothing but praise for her. Minokichi could not feel anything but love and pride for his new bride.

And as he grew accustomed to happiness, he began to doubt his memories.

Autumn passed. The days grew short and frigid. Then winter came again.

One gray evening, as he descended from a deathly quiet day in the forest, he stopped when he came to the ferryman's hut, and for the first time since his mother died, he turned to look at it.

Time had taken a toll as it did on everything and everyone save the mountains and the river. Snow covered the hut's roof, except in places where gaping holes yawned hungrily at the darkening sky. The sliding wooden door was also dilapidated and half open. There was nothing to see among the shadows inside 
—
no evidence that anything extraordinary might have once occurred there.

The winds cried that night. The snow fell from the sky, then rose in angry spirals from the frozen earth. Minokichi lay sleeping, exhausted as always, while the sound of the storm outside became entwined with his most intimate dreams.

He dreamed of cold, of a punishing winter descending on the mountains, of his lovely mother and of a woman whose whispers froze his limbs in the darkness. He felt her cold hands touch his face.

Just as fear pierced his heart like a fragment of ice, and as a particularly strong gale hit the storm panels of his house, he awoke with a start.

His nightmare faded immediately, as it always did, but his chest remained tight. He saw a healthy fire burning in the brazier, but he was chilled, seeing shadows dancing on the walls. The home he knew so well seemed strangely unfamiliar. His eyes were open, but his senses were no longer trustworthy. The wind outside sounded as it had years ago in the ferryman's hut.

Minokichi was suddenly unsure of what day or year it was. He wondered if he was truly awake now, and he bit his lip to stop shaking.

Cold air moved behind him, and he was startled at the touch of Oyuki's hand. She looked at him questioningly in the darkness, and Minokichi was not sure if she had said something. All he heard was the wind. But she was warm and beautiful, and her deep brown eyes melted his fear. He smiled.

A heavy veil lifted from his eyes, and he was able to see things once more as they truly were. This was his life. This was not the nightmare.

He took Oyuki's hands in his and rubbed them gently. Her skin was warm, soothing.

“You fear sleep so much,” she whispered. “I wish there was something I could do to comfort you.”

He did not answer for a long time.

Finally, he said, “I wasn't sure if it was a dream I feared, or life itself.” She tilted her head to one side, and this made him smile again. “For a long time there was something in my childhood of which I could never speak. A nightmare that I've always kept hidden. I think I know now that it was truly just a bad dream, but it seemed so real for so long.”

She drew closer. “Tell me.”

He hesitated until he felt her warm hand caress his face.

Minokichi laughed softly. He felt as though he had not breathed this easily since his childhood. His words did not resist, as he told Oyuki about his father twisting his ankle. He told her about gathering wood with his mother, and the storm, and the ferryman's hut.

“It was so cold. I dreamed of this woman who came into our hut in the middle of the night. Her breath was even colder than the wind. She blew on my mother and froze her to death. Then she came to me, but said she would spare me provided I spoke of her to no one.”

Oyuki looked at him 
—
pained, it seemed, by his recollections. He wanted to comfort her.

“Don't be upset, Oyuki. It was just a dream. Still, when I awoke the next day to discover my mother had frozen to death, I was convinced all of it was real. I was convinced of it for so long!” He shook his head, smiling.

Oyuki stood up and moved as though she was going to add another log to the fire. She only waved her hand, however, and the fire died.

“What? Now, how did that happen?” Minokichi looked around in the darkness. “Wait a moment, Oyuki. I'll have another one going in no time.”

“It was real,” she said. Her voice was brittle, angry.

Suddenly, the night was unfamiliar again. A cold draft cut the room in two, and Minokichi clutched his shoulders. He felt his way toward the brazier.

“What did you say …?”

A storm door blew open without warning, flying off its track. Parts of it shattered as it crashed to the floor. The wind invaded the room with glee, making Minokichi leap to his feet.

He turned to his wife and saw not Oyuki but the woman from his nightmares, shimmering in the faint light spilling in with the storm, strangely beautiful. Her white hair swam in the air around her as she floated toward him.

“I told you!”
the woman screamed. “I told you never to tell, and you promised you wouldn't! You lied to me!”

“Oyuki, wait! I thought you wanted me to tell you!”

“You promised you would not betray me!”

“I promised …?”

Minokichi hesitated, looking for reason in Oyuki's face that was anguished, angry, confused … insane. Her eyes were wide with torment and terror, and his numbing cold turned to pain as she approached.

“
Y
ou weren't supposed to tell! This is all your fault!”

“I am sorry, Oyuki! I didn't mean to break my promise! Please don't hurt me!”

He extended his arms in front of him as if trying to halt an impending avalanche.

“Why, Oyuki? Why? We were so happy together!”

“
Y
ou promised!”

“Why is that so important? Please, Oyuki! Why?”

The woman stopped abruptly and looked at him as though pondering his presence. And for a time, it seemed as though even the wind paused to take note.

Oyuki seemed to falter, struggling for balance. Then she started to tremble uncontrollably.

A faint hope sparked in Minokichi, and he reached for her.

“Please,” he said again. “Let's talk about this …”

But in that instant, the wind rose again, she was out the door, wailing, and the anguish in her voice cut his heart in two. The wind never stopped after that.

“Oyuki!” he shouted. He ran to the door, aware that he did not know what he intended to do. Outside, the moon cut through a break in the clouds, and the snowflakes sparkled as they danced. He saw Oyuki running off into the distance, toward the river. The only warmth came from his tears, which blurred his vision. Everything else was stone cold and buried under the snow.

How could I forget, he thought to himself.

How could I forget?

TWO

TRICKSTER

◊

B
eing a peddler is a hard life. Unlike a warrior, you have no glory. Unlike a farmer, you have no home. You come and go with the wind except, unlike the wind, you have luggage. You chase festivals across the country and across the seasons. By day you buy surplus inventory off storekeeps for a song. By night you sell the same things 
—
marked up slightly for your trouble, of course 
—
to a drunken, nasty crowd.

It's hard work, for little pay and no sleep.

So you see, I deserved better.

It's best to set up next to a food stall. There's always a crowd, and everyone's too hungry to start a fight. Fights and festivals go hand in hand. Set up in the wrong place, and there's bound to be a body or two falling on your wares. Whether they break anything or not, it's always a terrible mess.

That's why I'm always close to the food. This way I can also keep an eye on my things while I get dinner.

The noodle vendor had a face like leather, cured by the sun and etched with age. He forced air from his lungs when he talked, and I had to strain to hear his raspy voice over the incessant sound of bamboo flutes and thunder drums. He told me the Shimano River that ran through the village was infested with
kawauso
. Festival times were the worst, because the stinking rodents knew people would be drunk and half falling down anyway. Would be nothing for them to pull a few into the water.

That's how the noodle vendor lost his son. Drowned, in the Shimano River.

Never paid much mind to the
kawauso
. You travel as much as I do, you're bound to hear a few stories, but I'm not one to take them seriously. Just another animal that's supposedly smarter than humans. That's not saying much, is it? I'd be without a livelihood if people were smarter. That's no lie. So some vermin around here disguised themselves as human and tricked people into the river. What did I have to worry about? You can't trick a trickster, and I was a scoundrel myself.

The noodle soup was good, and the old man even shared some of his home-brewed potato wine. Didn't feel much like working anymore, but there was a nice crowd, and my sign by itself wasn't attracting their attention. Wouldn't be able to pay for my inn if I didn't make money soon, so I opened my trunk and laid bare the earthenware jars filled with Oil of Toad.

Yeah, that's right.

Oil of Toad.

Bought the stuff off an old farmer just outside Edo, but I'd have to come up with a better story than that. Something more exotic.

Think fast and talk faster. That's the key to peddling, you know.

“Come one, come all!” was how I always started my routines. “Spare me a moment on this auspicious occasion. Are you feeling under the weather? No problem. Indigestion from too much festive fare? Not to worry. You there, samurai. Ever cut yourself cleaning that impressive sword of yours? Got just the remedy, my friend.

“I know you're looking at my sign and saying to yourselves, Oil of Toad? What kind of mad concoction is this? Spare a moment, disbelievers, and I will convince you that this wondrous medicine, brought here directly from the ancient, mysterious land of Kara, will change your life for the better.”

They were all listening. Okay, some of them were just half listening but, generally speaking, I had them in my hand. Making them eat out of it was the trick. This was my trade.

“What is it?” asked a farmer in the back.

“Glad you asked, my dear friend. What I have in these jars is an elixir produced by years of painstaking labor. The wise pharmacists of Kara must cultivate toads in their swamps, feeding them all kinds of delicacies until they're the size of small dogs. Then, every three years, on the eve of the summer solstice, the largest ones are collected and put in a basin, in front of which the clever Kara apothecaries place a spotlessly clear mirror.

“Now, toads, the witless animals, do not know what they look like. When they see themselves in a mirror, they believe their reflection to be another toad. They are also very territorial, and so will stare at their own reflection, hoping to intimidate the strange invader away from their swamp. The reflection, of course, will stare back.”

A murmur of soft laughter rippled across the crowd. Times like this I had to be careful not to betray a smile. No one takes a smiling peddler seriously.

“This will unnerve the poor toad, but any well-bred toad will neither run nor hide. It will bravely try to stare down its new adversary. Of course, the more frighteningly it scowls, its reflection does the same. Have pity on the toad, my friends, for it will keep at this for hours, and after a while it will begin to perspire. The sweat will collect in the basin beneath it to be later gathered in these earthenware jars.

“Yes, it's not every day I come across such merchandise, my friends. You're fortunate I happened to be in Nagasaki just as a ship from Kara arrived with this precious cargo.”

“So, what's it for?” someone asked.

“What's it for?” I feigned astonishment. “Why, it will cure any ills, heal any wound. Except for maybe a broken heart, eh, young woman?”

A pretty young thing blushed and hid her face behind her hand.

And now I had to truly earn my money.

“But I see from your faces that you're skeptical. Very well. I will risk my own flesh in order to prove the effectiveness of Oil of Toad. I do this not for the money, but out of the sincere belief that it can improve your lives. I have the word of some of the most respected doctors of Kara.”

I fished a kitchen knife from my trunk and lifted it above my head for all to see. Then, rolling up my sleeve, I drew its edge across my forearm.

The blood came immediately. The pain came later and, just for a second, I may even have regretted my greed. But a few gasps erupted in the sea of stupefied faces, and I was as entrapped as they were by my own brashness.

“Not to worry, friends! The wound will close in the blink of an eye as I apply the Oil of Toad like so. Hmm. Perhaps a bit more will do it. Remember that using this miraculous elixir from Kara will also greatly reduce the risk of infection. Huh. Perhaps if I use the whole jar.”

The demonstration had worked like a charm when the old farmer showed it to me before selling me his entire batch. But now my blood was flowing freely and, before long, so was the laughter. My kimono turned a dark, wet crimson as panic set in. I opened another jar, then another. I swear the stuff only made the bleeding worse.

“Not to worry. Not to worry,” I said, wearing a moronic smile. Once or twice I thought I would pass out, as I scrounged through my trunk for a bandage.

They just kept laughing. My stomach was in my throat, and my short, shallow breaths came faster and faster. All that laughter, from somewhere so far away. I kept smiling and wrapped my arm with a towel, which was immediately soaked.

“Someone get me a doctor!”

They carried me to a house by the river, on the secluded outskirts of town, where the doctor stitched my arm. The heartless ghoul took all my goods and even my trunk as payment. He took one smell of the Oil of Toad and poured all of it in the river.

I was left with nothing. No money and no merchandise.

So you see, I deserved better.

Night had fallen like a strange, dark curtain on the woods surrounding the house. It hadn't stopped the festivities, though. I could still hear the music and laughter in the distance when I took my leave from the home of the greedy doctor. He was gleefully taking stock of my things as I left.

My bandaged arm still hurt. I tried to find my way back into town, hoping to find the old noodle vendor, who might share a bit more of his wine.

I decided the surest path was to follow the river, which I knew cut the town in half. The moon hid among tree branches, in and out of clouds. Pillars of light appeared, then disappeared across the trail, and a breath of chill caressed the back of my neck. A murmur in the water and the whisper of leaves made me think maybe I should walk faster.

After a time, I came upon a woman crouched by the path, quietly sobbing into her hands. You could tell she was from class. The wind carried the enticing scent of her flowery perfume, and this made me stop.

Normally, I'm not one to do much for strangers in need. Trouble begets more trouble, so it's usually best not to get involved. But the moonlight fell on the nape of her neck, and her pale skin was as unblemished as virgin snow.

“Miss, are you all right?”

She stopped crying, but she didn't answer or look up.

Suddenly, a few nightbirds took flight overhead, their wings casting shadows on the moon. Something made me swallow, hard. The hands covering her face were thin and delicate, and looked like they might break if I took them.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I said. “Pretty girl like you shouldn't be out so late.”

“Did you say I was pretty?” she said, getting up and turning away from me, as though to show off the ornate obi tied around her waist at the back. It was obviously expensive.

“Well, sure,” I said.

“Do you really think I'm pretty?” She turned around, and the moonlight illuminated her face.

I saw then that she had no eyes. She had no mouth. She had no nose with which to breathe. Not even eyebrows. Her face was a smooth surface of creamy white skin.

A voice came from somewhere far away. “Am I really pretty?”

Do you see what I mean? Do you think I deserved this? My mouth was open, but I tell you, nothing came out. I flapped my arms like a neurotic bird as my knees became water. It's a wonder I didn't fall on my rear.

Everything was laughing at me. The night, the trees, the earth beneath my feet and the Shimano River.

I could hear them in the river. I could hear them, I tell you!

I turned and ran. I didn't know in which direction, because it didn't matter. I think I was crying for help. I'm not sure now, in hindsight. The trees slapped me with their branches and I lost my sandals, but still I didn't stop. My kimono was coming undone and my feet were bruised, but I kept running.

I don't know how long I ran. I just didn't seem to be getting anywhere. I knew I was still alive, though, because I was breathing harder than I ever had in my life.

Just when I thought I might lose my mind, I saw the faint glow of a lantern. I screamed something incoherent and ran toward it. As I approached the light, I recognized a silhouette of a man.

“Who's there?” an old man's raspy voice shouted. “What's going on?”

Then I saw the lantern hanging from a noodle cart and recognized the comforting aroma of chicken broth.

The noodle vendor took my arm as I stumbled, leading me to a stool in front of his cart. In the light I saw his eyes among the folds of wrinkled skin, looking at me, puzzled.

I blubbered something incomprehensible, spitting more than saying anything coherent. The steam rising from the boiling water wrapped around the red lantern and hovered like a ghost.

“There, there,” said the old man. “Calm down. Here, have some wine.”

“Th-th-thanks.” The warmth was delicious, spreading like a dream across my chest.

“What happened?” he asked.

For the first time, I noticed we were still by the river. The water flowed gently, whispering behind my back.

“It was … it was terrible, old man. There was this woman in the woods. She … she …” The words stumbled over each other and fell, and I knew he couldn't understand a thing. I started to cry again.

He smiled kindly and ladled some noodles into a bowl.

“There was a woman, you say?”

I nodded.

“What did she look like?”

My sobs became louder. It didn't cross my mind to ask him why he had moved his cart away from the festival.

He was working intently at chopping some chives, but when I didn't reply, he looked up.

“Did she, by chance, look like
this
?”

Through the steam, I could see that he no longer had eyes, nor a mouth, nor a nose with which to breathe. Not even eyebrows. His wrinkles had disappeared, and his face was nothing but smooth skin.

I swallowed my voice.

Just then, a gust of wind smothered the lantern's flame, and I found myself alone with him in the velvet darkness. I turned to run, but the ground gave way beneath my feet.

I fell, and all I heard was laughter from somewhere below me just before I hit the water.