Zen Attitude (24 page)

“I have to go all the way to the temple exit in these sandals? I don’t know if I can make it.”

“I’m not asking you to run, just to walk.” Akemi slipped the fox mask over my head, yanking the elastic cord tightly around the back of my damp head. I’d have an odd-looking bump when my hair dried. “There! You’re perfect.”

“Tell me again why I have to do this. I thought the idea was for me to fade into the forest.”

“You’ve stayed here for days and won’t do me one favor?” Akemi regarded me from behind her bear mask, a caricature of goodwill.

“Something’s going on below the surface, isn’t it? You and your mother—” I needed to bring up what I’d overheard in the garden.

Akemi stopped me. “We can’t talk about that now. All I ask is that you sit beside me keeping your mouth shut and your eyes open.”

I followed my new enemy across the temple grounds, the high platform sandals altering my walk to a rather mincing gait. Having always craved height, I liked being three inches taller, but I knew I’d have rotten blisters by the evening’s end.

We were assigned to the sixth
rikisha
in a parade of maybe thirty, all beautifully decorated with paper streamers, flowers, and stars. As I settled onto a cushioned seat next to Akemi on the small, open truck, no one questioned my presence. Our
rikisha
driver was Akemi’s sparring partner. I was surprised to see him bantering good-naturedly with the woman who had thrown him over her hip the week before. Tonight he was drinking
sake
, and he passed Akemi a flask.

“So, how much
sake
does it take for a man to lose his virility?” Akemi teased. Some masked ladies sitting in the
rikisha
around us laughed. Listening to their low voices and catching a glimpse of an extremely hairy leg, I began to doubt the princesses were all female.

As we rolled south into Kamakura’s main district, the crowds lining the street grew. I marveled at how the cherry-tree-lined walkway we were riding up had been hung with colorful streamers and
origami
decorations. I waved a bamboo pole decorated with
washi
paper ornaments, feeling like a member of a very bizarre royal family. Through my mask’s small eyeholes, I scanned the crowd, thousands of Japanese dressed in colorful
yukata
similar to the one I was wearing. Near the Asahi beer stall I saw a couple of reddish blond heads standing out against the dark-haired sea. I squinted hard to focus and recognized the Glendinning brothers. I remembered how Angus had pressed Hugh to bring him to the festival. He must have won.

My initial response was to dive down in the
rikisha
, but I figured that would be too noticeable. Instead, I stopped waving my wand and hunched over, looking at my sandals.

“You look weird.” Akemi’s whisper was sharp.

“It’s
them.
Hugh and Angus! By Asahi beer,” I muttered in English.

“Don’t talk about buying beer! This
rikisha
is advertising the best
sake
in Kamakura!” one of the masculine princesses bellowed.

“Yeah, give my uptight friend a drink!” Akemi joked, adding, “No one can recognize you with the mask, silly.”

She was right. In addition, Hugh had no idea I was living in Kamakura, or that I would be foolish enough to parade around on a
rikisha.
I raised my head again and found that neither he nor Angus was even looking at the parade. They were watching a woman approaching them: Winnie Clancy, wearing a very tasteful, long-skirted linen dress that I could never have carried off. She looked very much at home as she slipped her arm into Hugh’s.

My vehicle passed them, so I could no longer observe. The damage was done. Something inside me had been permanently crushed under the wheels of the
rikisha.
I took a gulp of
sake
and listened to Akemi chatting to the people around us. Despite her costume, everyone knew who she was; there were some respectful references to her gym, which she made into self-deprecating jokes.

I remembered all the Kamakura townspeople who had greeted Akemi enthusiastically when we’d gone into town for dinner. She seemed equally at home with the people on parade. Everyone was chatting about what was going to happen next, Akemi’s father’s forthcoming speech at the parade’s ending point near the Hachiman Shrine. Abbot Mihori and other dignitaries would speak, followed by local children reciting prayers they had written to the festival’s goddess.

“The beginning is pretty boring,” Akemi told me. “The only thing I really enjoy is the archery demonstration. I fantasize about an arrow being shot in a certain direction.”

Was she thinking about her cousin Kazuhito? I grew nervous again, remembering that Kamakura was a prime place for assassinations. An extremely famous murder had taken place here in 1219, when the young
shōgun
Sanetomo of the Hojo clan was beheaded by a jealous relative. Most people believed the killer had been his nephew, but there were plenty of conspiracy theories about the others who might have hidden inside the massive gingko tree that stood to the left of the shrine stairs and jumped out to do the deed. It was an unsolved death with family links, just like the Ideta-Mihori saga.

The parade ended at the ornate red entrance to the Hachiman Shrine. We decamped, and I stood next to Akemi amid the other
rikisha.
riders. Akemi’s father stood on a stage with several other Buddhist priests, as well as some Shinto priests, who wore more elaborate, skirted costumes and wonderful headdresses. The mayor of Kamakura and some other city officials were on stage wearing sober business suits. There wasn’t a woman among them.

“I can’t believe he gets to speak first.” Akemi’s voice grated in my ear, and I followed her gaze to see Wajin, resplendent in the brilliant turquoise robe, step up to the microphone. I realized now that the robe was not a costume; he was of higher temple rank than I’d assumed.

“Good evening. On behalf of Abbot Mihori and the entire religious and business community of Kamakura, I welcome our esteemed visitors to a celebration of Tanabata.” Wajin bowed deeply. He sounded warm yet authoritative, speaking in a powerful, low-pitched voice I hadn’t heard him use before.

“On behalf of the family! How sweet.” Akemi’s complaining chorus was irritating; I tried to tune her out and translate Wajin’s words.

“This star festival provides us a unique opportunity to celebrate the summer season and also explore the meaning of ancient native myths. The Tanabata festival began with noblewomen who wrote poems and wishes on strips of colored paper that were tied to branches of the sacred bamboo tree. These prayerful branches were offered to the star goddess Orihime, who was known for her skill as a weaver. Orihime was engaged to marry her true love, Kengyu, the cowherd living on another star. Does anyone know the rest of the story?” He smiled at the group of primary school students in summer sailor suit uniforms, but no one dared speak.

“When Orihime fell in love, she stopped weaving. Her father, the emperor of the sky, did not approve. Maybe he was afraid of losing his little girl.” As Wajin spoke, his eyes swept the crowd and landed on me. I’d been stupid to tell him I was wearing a fox mask, but surely others were wearing such masks, too.

“The emperor banished the pair to opposite sides of the Milky Way. The lovers are allowed to meet on just one night each year. Tonight is that night, when they will run across a bridge built by birds to be together.”

A flock of pigeons that had been roosting on the shrine’s tiled roof chose that moment to lift off and circle over the stage, their wings beating up a storm. Had Wajin willed them to move? Nothing would surprise me after he had erased my black eye with the touch of his finger.

Wajin glanced upward, smiled, and then looked straight at the crowd. “Tanabata is a magical night. May all your dreams come true. First we will have a recitation of prayerful wishes from members of the first grade at Kamakura Primary School. . . .”

Akemi nudged me. “We don’t have to listen to the stupid children. Let’s go over to the archery area before all the good seats are gone.”

“I like children.” I was also tired of being yanked around.

“Princess Orihime, I hope your family is in good health and your father is not angry anymore. Please help me pass my
kanji
examination. Guess what? I love you!” a round-faced little girl with pigtails recited.

“Very well said by young Michiko Otani. Do any little boys have wishes or prayers to offer?” Wajin said.

“I can’t stand Kazuhito when he’s like this, so phony. If you knew the real guy, you’d be as disgusted as me,” Akemi muttered.

“Kazuhito?” I asked dumbly.

“My cousin, silly, the one who’s been talking! He thinks he is so important he doesn’t even bother introducing himself anymore.”

When Akemi turned on her heel and started pushing through the crowd to go to the archery field, I followed, trying to put the facts together. Kazuhito was the man I knew as Wajin.

“I think I’ve seen your cousin around, but I thought he had a different name,” I said. “Isn’t it Wajin?”

“Now it is Wajin. According to Buddhist custom, monks are given a name with Chinese roots instead of Japanese when they are fully initiated. The
kanji
characters used to write the old and new name are identical, but the name is pronounced differently.”

Looking at Akemi’s cousin’s name written in
kanji
on the festival program, I saw that the two pictograms making up his name were simple enough that even I knew them: “peace” and “person.” Peaceful Person was the perfect name for a man of Buddhism. And I was inwardly glad that Wajin hadn’t lied about his name to me. I was also impressed that he chose to work in the garden, given his high status.

We reached the archery zone, a long, fairly narrow dirt roadway that was already filled with men dressed in samurai armor readying their horses. Akemi grabbed a folding chair in the front row, and I sat down next to her.

“I thought Wajin—I mean, Kazuhito—was the frail type. Angus saw him faint the first day I came to go running with you.”

“He is delicate. A real wimp,” Akemi said.

“Doesn’t he work in the garden?” I asked cautiously.

“Gardening’s not difficult! He says he works at every job within the temple so he can understand what the monks go through. That’s what he tells my father, but I think it’s because he gets easily distracted. He looks for chances to be outside and talk to people, when he really should be more silent.”

That did sound a lot like the Wajin I’d met—who wouldn’t leave me alone. He’d been in his element giving a speech to the crowd. Hearty applause sounded after Wajin’s last words, and the crowd rose en masse and began sweeping toward the archery range. I had limited time to speak privately, so I asked Akemi, “Is Kazuhito phony, or is he just extremely skilled at getting along with people? I’m sorry he will eventually get the temple and everything, but perhaps he is not so bad.”

“You think I’m jealous! I thought you understood me. After all I’ve done for you!” Akemi had gotten to her feet and was staring at me in horror.

“Shhh, let’s talk about it later,” I said. The seats around us had filled so fast it was now standing room only. I was worried people would lean in and listen to Miss Fox and Miss Bear’s fight.

“Forget it. If you don’t recognize how dangerous that bastard is, you’re doomed,” Akemi said, taking one last look at me and storming off.

The seat next to me was filled in a scant half second with an eight-year-old boy anxious for the sports to begin. He squirmed in his seat, fussing with a
tamagotchi
toy like the one Yoko Maeda’s granddaughter had been playing with.

“Are the arrows really sharp? Will they hit us?” the boy asked his father, who was hovering behind me, perhaps in the hope I’d give up my seat.

“Why are you wearing a fox mask?” The boy looked at me petulantly and began knocking his
tamagotchi
against my thigh.

“It’s a folk tradition to wear masks at Tanabata,” I began patiently.

“Are you a boy fox or girl fox?”

“Girl, actually.”

“But you have hair like a boy! And your voice is weird.”

“I’m from another country.” I looked to the boy’s father for help.

“My son is very rude. I apologize. . . .”

The whole thing was beginning to irritate me. I hated the mask, too. I lifted it up, releasing my damp face to the fresh air, glad that Akemi was not around to stop me. I said to the boy, “I’m female. See?”

“You’re sweaty like a construction worker. And construction workers are boys!”

I sighed, glad that the tournament was finally beginning and the child would have some real men to focus on.

“My
tamagotchi!
You knocked it on the ground!” The boy pummeled me.

“Shhh, look at the knights on their horses,” I said, wishing his father would take some responsibility. “All the pretty horses!”

At a sharp command, the costumed riders urged their horses into a slow canter toward each other, a speed determined by the shortness of the field.

“Otōsan
, make her give it to me!”

The father muttered an apology to me, but I gave up and bent down. The plastic egg had rolled off my leg and somewhere under the chair. My long
yukata
was complicating the search. As I groped between my ankles, I was surprised by a rush of air and an odd, vibrating collision.

“An arrow,
Otēsan!
A real arrow!”

I looked over my shoulder and saw what the little boy was talking about—a foot-long metal arrow quivering in the back of my chair.

Had I been sitting upright, the arrow would have hit me between my breasts. I barely had time to contemplate that horror before I sensed another speeding blur. I fell forward, yanking the annoying boy underneath me for his own safety as another arrow hammered my chair.

The awful vibrating sound of the arrow was almost masked by the stampede. The boy’s father had finally taken action, wrestling his child away, and everyone around us was screaming and knocking over chairs in their haste to get out of the target area. People ran straight onto the field where the archers had all called their horses to a halt.