“I want to hear it.”
Seiji took up the scroll again. “‘Two things occurred which settled dispute,’” he continued. “‘Large family rice warehouse burned down. Mother-in-law decided this was work of Ko. Then after Hiroshi went to fight in Russo-Japanese war Ko gave birth to child, not boy but girl and in 1906 Fiery Horse year.“ As you recall,” he said, looking up at Barbara, “this occurs once in sixty years and in those days many people believe was worst birth year for a girl. She is very bad luck because she will grow up to devour her husband. So often they will kill her.”
“Did they?”
“Please hear the story. Chie writes that birth of girl is final proof to mother-in-law of Ko's fox nature, and Hiroshi is not there to take the side of his wife. A sorcerer is brought to do exorcism, to drive fox out from Ko. If she dies from this, it will mean she was a fox entirely. Some years later, Chie writes, Roku told her about the exorcism. Roku heard what was done from another housemaid who attended Ko.”
Barbara laid down her pen as Seiji continued reading. “‘Ko was put in room alone for many days without food so fox would be hungry and more willing to leave her body. On day of exorcism, pepper was put on her nose, and in her eyes and mouth to drive out fox. Ko's bare skin was rubbed with red hot sticks used to handle charcoal in brazier. Still fox would not come out though he could be heard wailing inside. Sorcerer had to use small sharp tool like awl to drill holes in her breast and abdomen to let him out.’”
Barbara put her hand on her chest. “No, go on, go on,” she said when Seiji looked at her.
“That was worst part,” he said. “This section is almost finished. Chie says that Roku said ‘no one ever saw Ko again in human form. Some thought she had died and was buried without proper funeral. Some say mother-in-law had priest bind wounds and sent her back to Izumo but on the way over the mountains one of the servants saw a red fox run off into the trees and when he looked into the old fashioned palanquin it was empty. Roku and other servants in family believed that Ko's spirit took form of fox whether had been fox before or not and that she took human guise of a geisha staying in Hiroshima where she could watch over her child.’”
“They murdered her!” she said. “And then made up these stories to ease their guilt.”
“It is not entirely clear,” Seiji said. “Chie writes that, ‘When I was an older girl I asked my Grandfather Takasu about the fate of Ko. This took much courage, as Grandfather could be needle-tongued. Iwent into his room where he was smoking his pipe and reading his magazine of physics. I had rehearsed my question to be discreet, but I was so frightened that I spilled out, “What happened to my mother? Did she die in exorcism ritual?” “Where have you heard this?” he said. I told him, from Roku. “You should not listen to gossip of servant girls,” he said. “Your mother and grandmother did not enjoy harmony. A place was found where your mother could live unharmed.” When I asked which place, Grandfather shook his head. “You must put her from your thoughts,” he said.
“‘Truly Grandfather has a tender heart. For when I was born in unlucky year of Fiery Horse, Grandmother thought I should be killed—a one day visitor, as such baby was called—not to bring worse misfortune to family and to rid family of fox taint. However, Grandfather gave me to Roku, who had her own baby at the time— and both Roku and I know this to be fact. For many years I thought she was my mother. But later when I knew the truth I realized it was Ko's breast that I remembered and I could recall too her fragrant hair that wrapped me like a satin blanket. This explains why sometimes as a very young child I would wake suddenly in the night with sensation of hair or cloth having brushed lightly across my face and I felt a presence in the room at times, watching over me.’”
Barbara and Seiji sat in silence. She felt steeped in Ko's history, she and Seiji and Michi, Ko and Hiroshi, all part of it, figures in a tapestry.
“Maybe the geisha house is still there,” she said. She could go look for it, she thought; she could visit one of Michi's sites.
Seiji shook his head. “This was in Hiroshima.”
“Oh. Of course. But there could be records.”
“No one recorded names of geisha.” He began to roll up the paper. “And this is only fanciful idea of Roku and Chie that she is geisha. Takasu-san may have sent her elsewhere.”
“Back to Izumo?”
“It could be. Though this might be too great disgrace. Perhaps she became servant girl in some other part of Japan. Or possibly she was killed after all. We can never know.”
Seiji stood and stretched, then walked to the door and opened it. “Look, the sun is shining while it rains. This means fox wedding.” He turned and smiled at her. “Shall we go out?” he said. “When the rain stops we may have a fine view of Fuji-san.”
14
Mr. Kawabata decided Barbara should see “the bird's picture” of Mt. Fuji, from the site of a volcano. He drove, talking and gesticulating as they went flying up the hill. Seiji and Barbara, in the rear seat, were thrown against each other on the curves. Barbara tried not to look at the sheer drop at the edge of the road. She thought of Ko, jostled along in the palanquin, crossing the mountains to be married.“
I think we will part from him soon,” Seiji said in a low voice.
Mr. Kawabata began to sing in a high-pitched monotone.
Barbara glanced at Seiji, her eyebrows raised.
“He is reciting a poem,” Seiji said, “inspired by the day and by the presence of a lovely fox woman. I am inspired also.”
“By a fox woman?”
He smiled. “If you are fox woman, then I am fox man.”
She laughed nervously. “Are there any fox men in Japanese stories?”
“More women in fox stories, I think. But fox woman usually does very little harm, only deceives.”
“Deceit can cause harm.”
The car lurched around a sharp curve. They turned onto a gravel road and stopped beside a rickety looking ski lift. Barbara looked up at the mountainside: sheer rock above a rim of trees and for as high as she could see, the flimsy seats bucking their way along between pairs of spindly steel legs.
They bowed to Mr. Kawabata, and waved goodbye. Seiji bought tickets and they waited on the platform. He held her arm as a seat came along from behind and lifted them off their feet.
They started off into the trees and soon were skimming high above them. Barbara looked down, her heart thudding. Seiji took her hand. “There is fine sight behind us,” he said. She turned with him and saw the lake shining below in the bowl of green mountains; beyond the lake, Fuji-san glistened in the light. The cable car wobbled slightly. She closed her eyes and gripped Seiji's hand. “Are you faint?” he said.
“No,” she said, with a little laugh. She looked at him, his face close to hers. His eyes were dark brown, almost black. She'd never noticed before the delicate eyelashes partly hidden by the folds of eyelid.
“I am happy for meeting you,” he said.
He put his arm on the seat behind her, his hand just touching her shoulder. Something gave inside her, like a latch undone, and she let go, letting herself rise with the motion of the lift. She took a deep breath and looked around her. Everything—the vista of mountains, the filmy clouds—was brilliantly clear.
Several chairs beyond them was another couple. The woman was wearing a mustard yellow coat and her hair shone blue-black in the sun. The man was smoking a cigarette; suddenly he flicked it into mid-air.
Barbara watched it fall, a white speck twirling down; it could cause a fire. But then she saw they were going over barren rock; here and there were clouds of rising steam.
“This is volcano's edge,” Seiji said.
“When do you think it last erupted?”
“Many hundred years ago I think. Yet still we can see the desolate effect.”
He was staring fixedly down, his profile solemn. Maybe the barren landscape reminded him of Hiroshima, she thought.
They were silent as the lift began climbing at a
sharper angle. Soon the jagged face of the mountain was before them, yellowish plumes billowing from fissures in the rock.
There was a jolt like a boat docking, then the cable car moved across the exit platform. Seiji took her arm as they hopped off. Her legs felt wobbly.
“We have survived,” he said with a laugh.
They walked toward a row of small buildings. In one of them was a tourist center where they found a map of the area. A young female guide in uniform told them the way to the trail where they could see “the greater boiling.”
The trail was on the other side of a parking lot, a raked path just wide enough for them to walk side by side. There was no vegetation, only rock. They went up a slight incline, past wet boulders hissing steam. The air smelled strongly of sulphur. There were patches of crusty looking ground and grey mud bubbling up from crevices in the rock. A sign in English warned them to “Stay only on beaten track.” Another sign directed them down a side path to “Viewing Spot.”
They walked to the overlook where there was a wooden platform. The couple from the ski lift was already there. The man was smoking another cigarette and scratching at his leg as he looked down below him. The woman moved away, the collar of her yellow coat pulled across her nose and mouth. As Barbara and Seiji approached, the couple walked toward them. The woman seemed miserable, she thought, they both did. The man's eyes were bleary and he smelled of alcohol.
Barbara and Seiji leaned against the fence at the overlook. Below was a large area of bubbling mud. The sulphur smell of rotten eggs was stronger here, almost revolting. They headed back to the main path. Ahead of them the other couple walked single file, the man in front, the woman behind. The woman was wearing uncomfortable looking high heels; her legs were slightly bowed.
“I saw those people on the train coming here,” Barbara said. “I think they're on their honeymoon.”
“But they are not like Ko and Hiroshi,” Seiji said.
“No.”
“What have you thought about the honeymoon of Ko and Hiroshi?”
“Very nice.” She cleared her throat. “Wonderful.”
“Passion is a good thing when it can be found, do you agree?”
“Yes,” she said. He caught her hand, then let go. The aftereffect of his touch altered everything around her: the water running over rocks, the yeasty mud, even the sulphuric mist, was sensual and surreal.
Through the steam she made out a small wooden stall at the end of the loop trail. The other couple was there, talking to a red-faced woman wearing a babushka-style scarf. She and Seiji stopped just before the stall and looked down at another bubbling mud pit where there was a man working, pulling a basket on a rope trolley. The basket was full of what looked like dirty rocks.
“These are eggs that have been cooked in hot volcano mud,” Seiji said. “They are for sale.” He nodded at the stall, where the couple was peeling eggs. Barbara watched the woman remove bits of shell; inside, the egg was black. The woman took a small bite, looking off into space. The man's mouth was full. His wife took another tiny bite, then wrapped the egg in her handkerchief.
Seiji led Barbara toward the booth. The woman behind the counter gestured toward the bowl of grayish eggs and said something in Japanese.
“Are they preserved eggs—some of those old ones?”
“She says they are fresh, just cooked today. We must try.” Seiji took an egg and put one in her hand. It was still warm.
Barbara tapped her egg against the counter. The shell came off easily; the egg was glossy, the color of ink. Seiji was already eating his egg. Such a bizarre ritual, standing here in the rotten egg odor. She took a bite, then another, almost like a normal egg except for the smell. But she finished it.
The woman laughed in a way that sounded congratulatory.
“Did you find egg delicious?” Seiji said with an ironic smile.
“I guess it was one of the worst things I ever ate,” she said.
“During wartime my mother made a kind of dumpling from grass in railroad track. That was worst thing I have eaten.”
They walked on without speaking. She looked around at the ravaged landscape, wanting to say something, to ask the right question. She glanced at his face, stonelike now; it was unnerving how quickly he had changed.
As they neared the end of the trail she was relieved when he said, in a normal voice, “Shall we take some refreshment?” They went into the coffee shop and sat at a table beside a huge window that looked out on Mt. Fuji.
“Have you climbed Fuji-san?” she asked.
“One time I have climbed.” He stared out the window.
“What's wrong?” she said.
He smiled with apparent effort. “Sumimasen. Sometimes I make a poor companion, I'm afraid.”
They walked out to the parking lot to catch the bus that would take them downhill. They rode in silence, their arms touching. Mt. Fuji floated on the horizon. When the bus stopped in front of the Hakone Hotel, they got off and in silent agreement began to walk up the hill to his inn.
It was late afternoon, the edge of dusk, with a quality of light that gave nearby objects a pulsing intensity. The weeds by the side of the road loomed up at her, as if this was their last chance to be seen. The trees in the distance were already indistinct, a line of dark shapes.
Seiji's room had been straightened, the papers and her black bag moved from the kotatsu and arranged neatly beside it. Barbara looked through the papers; everything was there. The foxes were still on the kotatsu beside a small round lamp with a paper shade; the lamp gave out a soft glow. A maid came in with tea and asked about o-furo.
“Will you have a bath before eating?” Seiji said. “I think you will find relaxing.”
“Is it a—large bath, or a private one?”
“There are separate pools for men and women,” he said, with a little smile. “Nice hot spring bath. She will show you.” He nodded toward the maid.
Barbara followed her out of the room and down several corridors to the bath. The maid gave her a small towel, a basket for her clothes, and a clean folded yukata to put on afterward.
In the steamy room there was a small changing area and beyond it, a bath the size of a wading pool. Around the edge of the tiled room were spigots, stools, and buckets for washing and rinsing off before getting into the bath.
When Barbara emerged from the changing area, she sat at one of the stools and scrubbed herself. One of the women, her skin red from the bath, came slapping across the room toward her, held out her hand for Barbara's towel, and began soaping her back. Barbara thanked her in Japanese and bent forward as bucket after bucket of hot water poured over her. She stood and followed the woman to the pool. The women laughed when she put a foot into the scalding water, then drew it back. Finally, holding her breath, she slid in.
“Atsui, desu ne?” one of the women said.
“Hai, atsui desu.”
She leaned back against the edge, her eyes closed, and let herself float.
When she got back to the room he was already there in his yukata. His hair was wet, and there were damp spots on the front of his kimono.
“You were such long time,” he said, “now I am thinking you are a fish. Will you have wine?” The bottle of plum wine was on the kotatsu, along with two small cups.
“Yes please.” She slid in beside him at the kotatsu. They poured wine for each other and clinked cups.
The maid brought in dinner, miso soup, beautifully arranged slices of raw fish, bowls of rice, pickles. For several minutes, they ate and drank without speaking. The tuna was delicate, with a rich, buttery consistency.
“Everything is delicious,” she said in Japanese.
“Your pronunciation is very good. Also the way you hold chopsticks. You are excellent student, as I predicted.” He touched her foot with his.
“Your skin is so warm,” she murmured.
The maid returned, cleared away the dishes, then took two futons from the closet and laid them side by side. She gave
a slight bow, not looking at them as she left. Seiji rose to open the door into the garden, letting in the sounds of the waterspout and the silky movements of the pine. He sat back down close to her.
“Shall I tell you a story of fox woman?”
“Please.”
“This is ancient one, perhaps oldest fox story of Japan.” He touched her hand, then turned it over and stroked her palm and fingers.
“A certain lonely man longed to have a bride. One day in woods he met a woman, very friendly and beautiful. He made her acquaintance and soon asked her to marriage. She readily agreed and they were married happily. Not long after the woman gave birth to a son. The man's dog at about the same time gave birth to puppies and the dog became jealous of the woman at that time. Dog growled when she came near. Wife begged husband to kill dog but he had kind heart and could not do so. One day man found dog barking strongly at woman. To his amazement, wife jumped nimbly onto high fence and took her true shape, that of fox.
Plum Wine: A Novel (Library of American Fiction) Page 13