The Heart of a Fox

by T. Isilwath

  “Are all of these pictures from your country, Joanna-sama?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. All of them are either close to where I live or were taken on trips I went on.”

  “Did you travel a lot?”

  “Yes, especially in the summer. That is the time to travel in my country. It is the time when families and friends go off someplace to have fun.”

  “The humans here don’t travel very much. Only the merchants make trips when they have things to sell at market. Most people stay close to home. Rarely do they travel just for fun.”

  She nodded that she understood and watched as he looked at the photographs. Since he wasn’t asking questions about the places or people in the pictures, she didn’t offer any information about them, but just let him peruse on his own. Then she saw him pause at a photo of her and Michael sitting together at the base of a waterfall. Akihiro stared at the picture, his brow furrowed and his eyes serious, and she wondered what he was thinking.

  ‘Is he memorizing the face of his rival?’

  “Joanna-sama, is this your betrothed?” he finally asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes, that’s Michael,” she confirmed.

  He touched the picture with his finger. “You look very happy.”

  “I was. That was taken on one of our camping trips. We had hiked to the waterfall and were resting before we headed back to camp.”

  “It looks like a nice day for walking.”

  “It was.”

  He turned the page and got an eyeful of tanned, half-naked bodies when he saw a picture of her, Michael, and several of their school friends frolicking at the beach. Luckily, she was in a one-piece suit, but Miriam and Becca were in bikinis almost smaller than the one she had brought with her to Japan. Akihiro blushed furiously and covered the photograph with his hand.

  “The women of your country are indecent!” he cried. “And they are not even working in the rice fields!”

  She laughed and shrugged. “I’m sorry. That’s normal beachwear for us.” He sputtered and quickly flipped the page, his cheeks still flaming red. The next picture was of her and Elisi at Disney World right after she had graduated from high school. She had always wanted to go, and Elisi had made it a gradua-tion present, even though she had paid for most of the trip with her death benefit money. Michael had gone with them as well, and he was the one who had taken the picture.

  “Who is this?” Akihiro asked.

  “That’s Elisi, my grandmother. She is my mother’s mother.”

  “She looks like a wise old woman.

  “She is. She is a Cherokee Elder of the Long Hair Clan. The word Elisi actually means “grandmother” in Tsalagi, the language of the Cherokee.”

  “You went to live with her after your family was killed?” It was an innocent question, but the words still made her heart spasm.

  “Yes. She was my closest living relative. My father’s parents were already dead, and he was an only child. Elisi was the only one I could go to.”

  “I’m sorry to have caused you a bad memory,” he apologized, obviously sensing her distress.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him, but wiped the corner of her eye to get rid of the moisture that had pooled there.

  “No. I am stupid. It was rude of me to say such a thing. Please forgive me.” She gave him a soft smile. “I forgive you. I know you didn’t mean to make me remember sad things.”

  He looked at her, his face serious and imploring at the same time. “I never want you to be sad, Joanna-sama. Especially not because of me,” he told her ardently, placing one hand upon her cheek.

  She gently cupped his hand with her own, and he gasped, perhaps realizing the boldness of his move.

  “I know.”

  He flushed again, pulled his hand from her grasp, and looked around, spying the other two photo albums on the ground beside her.

  “But here, there are more magic pictures. Will you show them to me?” Sensing his need to change the subject, she obliged him by picking up the remaining two photo albums and putting them in her lap.

  “Sure. Here, this one is full of pictures from Pow-wow’s and Tribal Gathers,” she said, opening the green-covered book.

  “Pow-wow?”

  “It’s a festival when the members of the tribe and maybe other friendly tribes get together to eat, dance, and perform some ceremonies.” He nodded that he understood. “Yes, we have those. Usually on special days, like Harvest and when the trees bloom.”

  “Cherry Blossom festivals.”

  “Yes.”

  She opened the album, and the first picture they saw was one of Elisi in full regalia with an owl-wing fan and her hair done in a flamboyant crown decorated with feathers and beads. Akihiro’s eyes opened wide when he saw it and cocked his head in confusion.

  “This looks like your grandmother.”

  “It is.”

  “She is… dressed very differently.”

  She giggled, admiring his tact, and nodded. “She’s dressed in special clothes only worn at special Pow-wows.”

  “Like a formal kimono and headdress.”

  “Exactly.”

  The next picture was of her in her own regalia, the one she and Elisi had made together. It was a very pale, almost white, doeskin with a long skirt and tunic, and decorated with hundreds of beads and shells. Folded across her arm was a hand-woven shawl that Elisi had made, and she held a turkey wing fan in her hand. Her hair had been separated and weaved into two braids that came over her shoulders, and they were wrapped in matching doeskin sheaths that had been decorated with beads and leather fringe. A round hair ornament, intricately beaded and embellished with feathers, was placed prominently on the side of her head, and the long feathers trailed down to her shoulder. On her feet were doeskin moccasin boots, beaded to match the rest of her outfit and coming up to cover her ankles.

  Akihiro stared at the picture for a long time before asking, “This is you?” She nodded. “Yes, that is me.”

  “Your clothes are very strange and your face is painted.” It took her a moment to realize that he was talking about her make-up.

  “Oh, yes. I am wearing make-up because I had to dance.” He blanched and looked wide-eyed at her. “You had to dance?” It was obvious that what she had said had upset him in some way, then she remembered that the Geishas, courtesans, and concubines, were made to wear pale make-up and dance for their benefactors.

  “Oh! No. No, no, no. Not like that,” she assured him. “At the Pow-wows there are dances for people to compete in to see who is best, and other dances just for fun. I dance because I want to, because I like it.” He sighed with relief and offered her a genuine smile. “I am glad. For a moment…” He didn’t finish, but looked down at the picture and touched it reverently. “You look very beautiful.”

  “Thank you. I’m very proud of those clothes. Elisi and I made them.” He nodded. “It must have taken you a long time.”

  “Months and months, but well worth it.”

  “Yes.”

  Akihiro turned the page to see a photograph of her with Michael. Michael was in full Fancy Dance regalia with buckskin trousers, beaded arm-bands, and an elaborate feathered bustle. She, however, was dressed in The Long Person, the swirling blues and greens of the full skirt growing dark enough to blend with her black suede boots.

  “Ooohhh, now this I like. This is very beautiful Joanna-sama,” he admitted with an admiring expression on his face.

  She smiled fondly. “That’s Long Person. Michael bought that for me at an arts and crafts fair in Asheville four years ago.”

  “Your intended knows what suits you well,” he noted appreciatively.

  “Thank you.”

  He flipped through more pictures, asking a question here and there about the regalia and the dances. The album was full of photographs of men and women from multiple different tribes dressed in their native best. Finally, he came to one of the last pictures, which was of her and Michael gathered with about twenty other
young people and Elders for the annual Trail of Tears com-memoration.

  “What is this?” he asked curiously.

  She sighed. She knew the Cherokee history as well as any member of the tribe, but the true horrors of it were distant to her because she had been brought up so far away from her native heritage. Both Elisi and Michael had very strong opinions about the forced relocation of the Natives living East of the Missis-sippi. Elisi’s great-grandmother had been a little girl when her family escaped the round-up of the Cherokee by the army, running deep into the forest of the mountains and hiding there, but many of her grandmother’s relatives were not so fortunate. Three of Elisi’s great-great aunts and uncles died on the Nunna daul Tsuny, as well as several of her cousins. Michael, of course, had come from Cherokees who were descended from those who had been forced on the long march. The Trail of Tears was a very real wound that had yet to heal in the hearts of many Natives.

  “A long time ago, my people lived in their native land. There were many different nations all living in what is now my country. There were over 500

  tribes living in territories that spread from coast to coast. Then newcomers came from across the ocean. They wanted our land for their people, and they made a new country under a new name. In time, the land my people lived on was taken from them, and they were forced to move,” she explained, knowing she was grossly oversimplifying the story, but not willing to go into the gory details.

  Akihiro frowned and lowered his eyes. “Did your people fight?”

  “Some did. Some didn’t. Some fought very hard when they realized what was happening. But in time it didn’t matter. They all lost and their land was taken from them by the newcomers. They were moved to a new territory very far away where many different tribes were forced to go, and they lived on land that could barely support them.”

  “Did you go?”

  “No. The Nunna daul Tsuny was almost 200 years ago.”

  “Nunna daul Tsuny?” he repeated.

  “The Trail Where They Cried, also known as The Trail of Tears. To enforce the new law passed by the newcomers, an army was sent to move the people. The soldiers came and rounded them up like oxen, penning them into makeshift forts with little food and supplies. Then they forced them to the west with only what they could carry with them while the newcomers took their land and homes. Only a few were able to ride in wagons or on horseback. Many walked on foot. It was winter, and the weather was cold and wet. The newcomers came to watch them be herded away like animals. Some of them were sad.

  Others jeered and spat on them, but the only thing the newcomers hadn’t taken from my people was their dignity. They walked straight ahead and would not look at the soldiers or the people who came to see them march. They walked over 1000 miles, that’s more than 400 ri.”

  “400 ri! That’s… that’s…” Akihiro gasped, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  “A very long way. Yes, I know. It took them many months of walking, and many died along the way. At first the soldiers would stop to let them bury their dead, but when too many began to die the army said they would only stop every three days. The army said they could use the wagons to carry the bodies on the days they wouldn’t stop, but the Cherokee refused to use the wagons. Instead, they carried their dead. Husbands carried wives, mothers carried their dead children, brothers and sisters carried dead siblings. They carried them until they were allowed to bury them.

  “It was a very dark and sad time for many of the native peoples. Life on the new land was difficult, and the newcomers told many lies and broke many promises. Every year, people from the tribes who were forced to give up their homes gather to remember what happened. It is important that we continue to tell the story of the Trail of Tears in hopes that the wrongs that were committed against us can be righted, and to make certain no one ever forgets. This picture was taken about two years ago at one of those gatherings.”

  Akihiro nodded, his face sad. “That is horrible, but the same thing happens here. Daimyos make war upon each other and take each other’s lands. Many peasants are killed or forced to move. Supporters of the daimyo who loses are often stripped of everything and forced to kill themselves.”

  “Yes. We have a saying: to the victor go the spoils,” she recited bitterly.

  “That is very true. But they pay a heavy price. Here the carrion-eaters thrive on all the war and death. They feed on the bodies and the blood. Daimyos who make too much war risk having their land overrun with demons.

  Many of the reasons demons like the oni-gumo do so well is because there is so much food for them to feast upon. My grandfather learned this lesson after my father was killed. Chichi-ue always kept the carrion-eaters out of the surrounding lands. Once he was gone, the rabble moved in and destroyed the fields and villages.”

  “Serves them right,” she said, a grim smile on her face.

  Akihiro shook his head. “No. Those who suffer most are the ones who have the least. The peasants have no say in who leads them, yet they are the ones who lose life and limb when there is trouble,” he argued softly, his eyes downcast.

  She nodded in understanding. “That’s true. But I can tell you that it won’t always be that way. Oda Nobunaga will unify Japan and end the wars among the daimyos.”

  “And you know this?” he asked with interest.

  “Yes. I have books that tell me these things.”

  “What books?”

  She leaned back on her haunches and reached into her soft-sided suitcase, fishing around for the two Japan guides she had brought with her. She pulled them out and handed them to Akihiro, who opened them and flipped through their pages.

  “This is the same writing that is in your book of words,” he noted, cocking his head at the text.

  “Yes, it is written in English,” she confirmed.

  “It seems… much simpler than our writing. There are fewer characters.”

  “We have twenty-six characters in our written alphabet.”

  “Only twenty-six? That isn’t very much.”

  “No, it isn’t, but that makes our writing less confusing.” He nodded. “I think I could learn how to write your language in a matter of days. It takes many years to master our words.”

  “I know. I can’t read kanji at all. Well, that’s not entirely true. I can recognize about twenty or so words, but that’s about it,” she admitted sheepishly.

  He gave her an understanding smile, as if he had expected her to say such a thing and understood why.

  “I could teach you, if you wanted, and you can teach me how to write your way,” he offered, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

  She smiled. “I think I would like that. You’ve already helped me so much with my speaking skills, I’m sure you would make a great teacher.” He blushed slightly under the praise and turned to the book he was looking in. “Thank you. I think I can get paper, pen and ink. I will try.”

  “Thank you. That would be wonderful.”

  “If you are to stay here… it would be better for you if you could read,” he stated leadingly.

  She smiled but said nothing. In truth she had little to say. She fully expected to be dead by the turn of the new year, but if learning kanji would make him happy, then she would do it.

  “What is this?” he asked, pointing to a picture of modern day Tokyo.

  “That is the city Edo will become.”

  “Edo? Edo will become this?” he gasped with amazement.

  “Yes. In about 400 years.”

  He grimaced, his mouth turning into a deep frown. “I could never hope to live that long. I will be dead and my bones turned to dust before any of this happens.”

  Now it was her turn to frown. “Are you so sure?”

  He nodded sadly. “I’ll be killed well before then. I’ve been lucky to have lived as long as I have. As soon as I reach maturity, the hunters will really be after me. Maybe even some kitsunes will try to kill me, although I would think that being Kazehiro’s son ought to count for something.”
>
  “Your father was well-known?”

  “Oh yes. He was a very great kitsune. But even he fell to hunters and became their trophy. If he can be killed, then I have almost no chance. I only hope I go quickly, but knowing the hunters, I’ll be run down like a dog.” He said it matter-of-factly, as if he had already resigned himself to his fate, and for a moment she almost argued with him, but then she remembered her own fate, and her acceptance of her inevitable death, and held her tongue.

  ‘We’re both suffering from terminal conditions.’

  She reached out and scratched his ear, making him moan and lean into her touch. He closed his eyes and, when he opened them again, they were dreamy.

  “But maybe I will live to see Edo become this city. The greatest triumph over your enemies is to outlive them,” he said wistfully.

  She smiled gently. “Like the Cherokee. Despite the newcomers’ attempts to destroy us, we did live to see better days for our people. In fact, my tribe now thrives in the very lands that they thought would be our graves.”

  “A fitting revenge. Maybe then I will be like the Cherokee, and rise above those who would seek to take me from this earth.” She put her arm around him and drew him close, placing her head against his in fond friendship.

  “That’s a good dream,” she whispered.

  He sighed and rubbed his cheek against hers until she rested her chin on his shoulder. They stayed that way, looking through the books and photo albums, until it was time for her to make dinner.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When he woke up in the morning, Akihiro found himself curled up with his head almost on Joanna’s sleeping bag. They’d gone to bed at the same time, and he had arranged his blankets to lie alongside hers as was his custom. But sometime during the night his body had decided that he wasn’t close enough and took matters into its own hands. He blushed when he saw how close he was to her and began to remove himself to a more respectable distance, but then he stopped, realizing that she was still deeply asleep, and took a few moments to study her face.