by John Jeng
Part 3: Someone Who Needs Me
She ran around, leaving footprints in the snowy powder that coated the cobblestone surface. They were on the top of a snowcapped peak of some sort, and all around her were the effects of a shrine. She shivered a bit in the high altitude. Gusts were sweeping up the ice crystals, howling like reed instruments. The motifs were similar to the shrine where she’d met Inaho. She saw the offering altar, purification trough, and the wall of hanging ema. A golden sunrise was peering over the horizon. From all directions, Tabitha could see the panorama of pine-crested ridges. On either side of a vermillion torii stood a pair of stone fox statues clad in votive bibs the color of Bungo’s parka. Tabitha felt her back stiffen as a cold wind blew past her. She peered down into a valley still resting in the mountain’s shadow.
“We’re not in Tokyo anymore, are we?”
“Right. We are in one of the hidden Inari Shrines within Nagano Prefecture. Only the locals know of this place.” He pointed to the edge of the peak where a flight of stairs twisted and wound. “Shall we go?”
“Hold it!” Tabitha protested. “You’ve got to explain to me how one moment we’re in my apartment, and the next moment, we’re on top of a mountain.”
Bungo grinned. “My sister explained toriis to you, right?”
“Yes… They’re the orange gateways that connect the ordinary world and the sacred spirit world.”
“Right, torii gateways have no doors, so they are constantly open. I removed the sliding door on your veranda so we could cross the boundary into this sacred place, contorting time and distance.”
“You mean, you can go to any shrine in Japan at a whim?”
“Just the ones where Inari-sama is enshrined,” he replied, pointing at the honden. Tabitha could now read the charcoal words, “Inari Shrine,” engraved on its ornate vermillion plaque.
“So what does Inari look like?”
Bungo shrugged. “Not even foxes are privy to that information. We do not even know Inari-sama’s gender. Sometimes Inari-sama appears as a feudal lord, sometimes as a female bodhisattva. I prefer to think of Inari-sama as an abstraction, like a faith which restores humanity’s spiritual kinship with the celestial bodies of the universe.”
Left: Inari and his/her fox spirits help the blacksmith Munechika forge the blade kogitsune-maru (Little Fox) in the late 10th century. This legend is the subject of the noh drama Sanjo Kokaji. Right: Inari appears to a warrior. This portrayal of Inari shows the influence of Dakiniten concepts from Buddhism.
She walked to the edge with Bungo behind her pulling the luggage case along. From the top, the steps were impossibly endless, like a Japanese version of M.C. Escher’s Penrose stairs. Hundreds or thousands of vermillion torii were staked onto the path, each only a few inches apart from the next. Sighing, Tabitha tunneled tenaciously through the thousand torii.
“You couldn’t have brought us closer to our destination?” Tabitha panted after a while.
“My apologies for the lack of a cable car.”
Even with Bungo carrying her luggage, it took them an hour to descend the peak. They passed through a forest of snow-laden cryptomeria trees amid nearby sounds of a babbling brook that permeated the silence. Eventually, the stairs stopped winding, and Tabitha’s jaw dropped—Inaho was waving at her from the bottom of the stairs.
“What the- Inaho!”
“Yaho~!” the girl called. “Will the next contestant come on down!”
Tabitha descended the last of the stairs with Bungo trudging on behind her.
“Are you surprised to see me?” Inaho was wearing a pink sweater and a red scarf that matched Bungo’s parka. In one hand, she held a thermos. She uncapped it and began pouring a clear liquid into the lid cup as casually as though she’d come to the Nagano wilderness on a camping trip.
“Surprised! What are you doing here?”
“Fulfilling my duties as a shrine maiden, of course! Merry Christmas, Tabitha. I am going to introduce you to the inn proprietress today. She wrote an ema just like you did, and she wished for someone to save her inn.” Inaho paused and blew into the cup to cool the steaming liquid inside. She lifted her cup, but before her puckered lips could take a sip, Bungo had passed in front of her to stay her hand.
“Just a minute, let me check that.”
“Oniichan!” she pouted. “It is just my rice elixir! I need it!”
“We will see about that.” He passed the cup of steaming drink under his nose and then wrinkled his forehead. “Inaho, it is four years too early for you to be drinking something this strong.”
“Aww, busted!”
“I told you to take your job more seriously.” Bungo admonished, “But I hate to waste good amazake.” He passed Inaho’s cup to Tabitha. “Would you like to try it?”
“What’s amazake?”
“Think of it as an eggnog that tastes good.”
She was only going to take a sip from the corner of the cup when she brought it to her lips. It tasted like a cup of hot cocoa consumed in front of the hearth at a ski chalet. Her eyes opened wide. Phenomenal! Not that she needed any help, but Inaho’s chants of, “Ikki, ikki, ikki! Chug, chug, chug!” encouraged her. The warm grains of mushy fermented rice and koji went down as easily as Santa Claus down a chimney. Warmth spread through Tabitha, rejuvenating her spirits. Suddenly, she felt as if anything were possible.
“Awesome, right?” Inaho sighed wistfully. “I was freezing my tails off waiting for you that I drank half the thermos already.”
Bungo shot a stern look as his younger sister, who tromped off ahead of them. To get to the town proper, they got on the municipal bus at the closest stop, a route Bungo warned would be canceled after the new year.
“What about the trains? Don't they run?” Tabitha asked.
“No, the JR lines stopped servicing this part of Nagano ten years ago.”
The bus rolled along the main street, populated by defunct buildings worn away by years of neglect. A pair of snowy sidewalks ran on either side like a riverbank, but not a single pedestrian was out and about. Black shadows darted past the cracks of the boarded-up windows. Even sitting inside the bus, Tabitha had the distinct impression that they were being watched from behind darkened panes of the rusted boutiques. Her spine shivered from the occasional glow of lights, which could've been anything from a will-o-wisp to a ruin maniac's lantern. One thing was certain; the town had seen better days. In a different time period, this street might've been a bustling thoroughfare. But the only living things she saw every now and again were a few alley cats.
“Is there a single business still open on this street?” Tabitha asked the siblings. “This place is a ghost town! The only thing missing are the tumbleweeds.”
Bungo gave Tabitha a wry smile that suggested he had answered this question before. “Oh, some people still live here. Times changed; After the whole country suffered a recession in the early 90’s, only this town was left out of its economic recovery. Out-of-work people moved away and the infrastructure fell apart. But all that is going to change. All this town really needs is an economic stimulus to encourage the residents to open up shop again.”
“And we brought you here to save the town!" Inaho interposed.
“Inaho!” hissed Bungo. “Stop giving Tabitha unnecessary pressure!”
“Otto. My bad.”
Tabitha swallowed, now feeling a sense of foreboding. The bus wasn't stopping because they were the only passengers, and there were no other passengers to pick up. It was taking them clear from one corner of town to another. Every intersection was the same—mellowed gray buildings and empty car lots. There was no oncoming traffic and therefore no traffic lights.
“N-No. No way. You can't possibly mean what I think you mean,” Tabitha stammered.
“Wait and see,” the siblings chorused.
Tabitha leaned against the cool pane of the glass, wondering where the sidewalk was going to end and the state of the inn that was waiting for her at the end of i
t.
They got off the bus, and Inaho led Tabitha through a back alley that reeked of expired sauerkraut. The alleyway sloped downward until the three of them arrived at a wooden door. Inaho unlocked it with a ceremonial brass key and led the way through a hall enclosed by wooden rafters and moth-eaten walls. They passed by a couple of boarded up doors along the hallway and stopped at the end of the hall. Here was another door, decorated with black wrought-iron latticework. Inaho used the same key again to open the metal door.
A late Shōwa period alleyway, unknown location
They entered into what looked like a kitchen basement. Huge pots of ceramic jars smelled heavily of sake. Inaho flicked a switch, and the ceiling lights flickered for a second before stabilizing. Just then, a huge black shroud swooshed over Tabitha’s head and fluttered through the open door. She screamed and turned to the siblings, eyes aghast.
“What was that?”
“Japanese short-tailed bats,” said Inaho. “Sorry, I forgot to warn you, but they startle easily.”
Bungo glared at the teenager before calling out, “Tadaima!”
A minute later, a cellar door creaked open in the distance, and an old woman’s frail voice called out. “Inaho-chan? Bungo-kun? Is that you?”
The proprietress approached, and she looked about as ancient as the hills and as wrinkled as the winding rivers. The siblings rushed forward to support her, each one holding a gnarled hand. She introduced herself as Mrs. Okami. Tabitha was at a loss for words to