The first time he saw her, he was chopping wood beside Takao’s house in the lingering light just after sunset. He happened to glance a slim, pale shape moving between some houses on the adjacent street higher up the mountain slope. He looked up and saw this same beautiful young woman, with lustrous hair and sharp eyes. She appraised him with an expression of curiosity and amusement before she slipped away out of sight. He saw her the second time a few days later, at sunset, when he was carrying water to the house. He spied her down the street ahead of him. She looked over her shoulder and flashed him a look that said, “Follow me if you think you can!” But he could not. He could not drop the water buckets, so he tried to trot after her without spilling the water. He thought he heard her laugh as she disappeared around a house at the end of the street. His curiosity was aroused, and he decided that the next day he would look for her.
He could not find her the next day, or the day after that, and it troubled him, because he wanted to see her face again. She was so beautiful. One day he decided that he would ask Takao about her that evening after supper. As he was returning from gathering wood in the forest, just before sunset, his arms cradling a large bundle of branches, he was astonished to see her on the path ahead of him, sitting on a rock as if she had been waiting for him.
Her voice was light and musical. “You are slow today, Ken’ishi.” She smiled.
He stammered, “How do you know my name?”
“Oh, come now, don’t be silly. Everyone knows who you are!”
He nodded, conceding that he was well known to everyone in the village, even though he knew almost no one. “But I don’t know who you are.”
“I am Haru. Can you come and talk to me for a while?”
“I’m sorry. I would like to,” he said, “but I have to take this wood back.”
Her lower lip popped out into a lovely pout. Ken’ishi blinked and stared. “That is too bad,” she said. “I have been so looking forward to talking to you.”
“I have been looking for you, too. ‘Haru’ is a nice name. ‘Spring.’ Can I talk to you tomorrow?”
“That would be quite nice.”
“During the day?”
“No, I can’t during the day. I keep my father’s house during the day, and he would not allow me to leave. In the evening, I can sometimes get out for a while. We can meet here tomorrow?”
“Yes!”
“Good, but it must be a secret. Tell no one! My father would beat me if he found out.”
“I will tell no one. Where do you live? Why can I never find you in the village?”
“I live in the forest, in my father’s house. He is a woodsman. I am sorry, but I must go now, and so should you. You must not keep the good priest waiting.”
He nodded. She stepped aside, and as he passed her, he caught her scent. He stopped, astonished. He had never smelled anything like it before. A heady mixture of spring flowers, pine needles, and a warm, earthy, musky scent he could not identify. Her smell was in his nostrils all the way home, even through dinner and into bed. He was hardly aware of the presence of his foster parents while he ate. Her smell was fresh in his mind when he awoke the next morning, and the image of her face in his mind was clear. He could hardly wait for dusk. All day long, he wanted to be with her, to touch her, to feel her, and he imagined what it would be like.
That afternoon, he told Takao that he was going into the woods to practice archery. He took his bow and arrows and practiced with them until the appointed time grew near. When he went to their meeting place and she saw him carrying his weapons, a look of terror crossed her face, and she recoiled away from him.
“No, wait!” he said. “Don’t be afraid! I was just practicing!”
She seemed to relax a bit, but would not readily be put at ease. Her gaze kept darting toward the arrows. “I am glad you’re here!” she said. “I have wanted to see you all day long!”
A huge grin split his face.
“I know a secret place where we can talk. We must keep our meeting a secret or my father will beat me!”
“As you wish,” he said. He noticed a strange buzzing in his ears and wondered for a moment what it was.
He followed her up the path for almost two hundred paces, then she slipped off the path between the towering pine trunks, behind an outcropping of rock and earth. Behind the outcropping, a narrow game trail led up the slope of the mountain into the forest. He lost sight of the footpath behind him. He turned and watched her for a moment. Her gait and movements were so graceful and lithe. She looked over her shoulder at him, fixed him with a mischievous gaze, and smiled. The glint in her eye quickened his pace to catch up with her.
Soon she led him into a small clearing, nestled between two large boulders, surrounded by fallen logs.
“This is my secret place,” she said.
He said nothing, but the sense of seclusion here was almost palpable. The two boulders lay against one another, with a deep dark cavity hidden in their crook. The cavity looked cozy, like a small cave or a den.
“Let’s sit down,” she said. “Come sit beside me.”
She sat down near the dark cavity between the boulders, and he sat beside her.
He reached out and touched her arm, then pulled back, unsure of himself. She did not flinch away from him. He looked into her deep dark eyes and saw the inner spark, joyous and free, laughing perhaps. Inviting. He touched her again, unsure what to do now. He had once seen Ryoichi kiss one of the village girls below the bridge. Ken’ishi decided to try it. He leaned forward and put his lips on her mouth.
He felt her smile at first, then her lips molded to his. Lightning shot through him, and the buzzing in his ears grew louder. Her teeth felt strange behind her lips. His body felt like a vibrating bowstring, and he grabbed her and pulled her close.
Laughter bubbled out of her, and she pulled away. “Are you hungry?”
His face was hot, and he clasped his knees. “Yes.”
“I’ll bring you some food. Wait here.” She slipped away into the forest, leaving him alone. He had never felt such ecstasy as that kiss, and he wanted to do it again. An interminable time passed, and the world grew dark with night. He yawned uncontrollably. He felt indescribably weary, sleepy.
She was beside him again. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Don’t worry about anything. You can sleep here for a while if you’re tired. I have some food if you’re hungry.”
His stomach growled. “I am hungry. . . . After a nap though. . . .” He settled down and rested his head on a log. Why did he feel so sleepy?
Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep. And such pleasant sleep it was, dreamless, deep, without a care. He vaguely remembered Haru bringing him food, and he remembered waking up long enough to eat it, and he remembered eating it with relish, and he remembered drifting off to sleep again afterward. He remembered crawling deeper into the cavity between the boulders. It was such a comfortable, inviting place, so quiet, smelling of the moist earth and dry pine needles inside.
He did not know how long he slept, but he heard voices calling out. Takao’s voice, calling his name. He had the strange urge to run away and hide and find a deep burrow where no one could find him. The voices grew louder, and he began to rouse from slumber.
“Ken’ishi!” Takao’s voice. “Where are you?”
He sat up. “I am here! What is it?” His voice sounded strange to him for a moment.
“What? What’s that?” A gaggle of confused voices. “Is that you, Ken’ishi? Where are you?”
“I am right here.” He stood up and looked around. Haru was gone. She must have run away, not wanting them to be discovered together. Takao and a few of the other villagers stood staring at him a few dozen paces down the slope.
Then he noticed that the spot where he had been lying looked different than how he remembered. The massive boulders were not boulders at all, but only two stones that stood as tall as his waist, and what he remembered as fallen logs were only thick branches. Confusio
n threw his mind into chaos. He looked around. The cavity between the boulders was little more than a burrow. He was still standing there when the villagers reached him.
Relief was painted thick on Takao’s features. “I am so happy we found you!”
Ken’ishi’s confusion deepened. “Why? I have not been lost.”
“What have you been doing in the woods all this time? Some of us thought perhaps you had run away, but I knew you would not leave your weapons behind.”
“Why would you think I had run away? I have only been away from the village since this afternoon.”
Takao and the villagers looked at one another. Takao asked cautiously, “What have you been doing up here?”
Ken’ishi blushed and hesitated.
“Please tell me. No one will be angry. We have been worried about you.”
“I was with a girl from the village.”
“For this long? None of the village girls have been missing. What was her name?”
“I don’t want to cause trouble for her. She said her father would beat her if he found out.”
Takao rubbed his chin. “Then you may tell me. I will tell no one.” He turned to the other villagers standing behind him. “Please go down the slope a little ways, everyone. The boy wishes to protect someone’s reputation.”
The villagers grumbled a bit, but obeyed, and shuffled down the slope out of earshot.
“Now, Ken’ishi, you may tell me her name. I will disclose it to no one.”
“Her name is Haru.”
Takao looked at him and rubbed his shaven head. “Haru, you say.”
“Yes.”
“And she is from this village, you say?”
“She said her father is a woodsman, and she lives with him near the village, in the forest.”
Takao rubbed his head again and fixed the young man with a searching gaze. “I’m not sure I understand, but. . . . There is no girl from the village named Haru. There are no woodsmen living near the village in the forest.”
Ken’ishi frowned. She had lied to him. Why? “She was here not long ago. She must be nearby. We must find her! She can tell us the truth!”
“Ken’ishi,” the priest began, his voice slow and careful, “do you know how long you have been gone?”
“Since early this afternoon.”
The priest shook his head sadly. “You have been missing for almost a week.”
Ken’ishi felt the words like a blow to the head. A week?
“Yes, a week,” Takao repeated.
His knees felt weak. He sat down against one of the stones. He looked down and saw the carcasses of three rabbits, now little more than tufts of hair, dried skin, and bones. Their flesh had been devoured.
“Something strange has happened to you, my boy. But you are safe now. We must entreat the kami to protect you tonight, or you may still fall prey to evil spirits.”
“But what happened?” Ken’ishi asked.
Then one of the villagers cried out, “Look!” Ken’ishi and Takao turned and followed where the man was pointing.
There, atop another large rock, perhaps fifty paces distant, was a fox. Its rusty-brown fur seemed to glow with a healthy luster, its bushy tail hanging behind it, and its eyes were sharp and penetrating, sparkling with mischief.
Ken’ishi knew those eyes.
Takao glanced at the young man, and Ken’ishi looked at him for a moment. Understanding crept across the priest’s features.
Takao called out to the fox. “Haru, you must trouble this boy no longer. He is meant for greater things than to go with you. Please do us this favor and trouble him no more.”
Anger flashed in her sparkling yellow eyes, as if to say, “Do you think I would obey you?”
Takao turned to Ken’ishi. “Come, my boy, we must go. We do not wish to anger her any further. An angry fox can cause a lot of trouble.” Then he turned back to the fox and bowed deeply. “We are sorry for troubling you, Haru! Please accept our apologies!”
But the fox was already gone.
And Ken’ishi was left with nothing but confusion and shame.
Takao and the other villagers led him back down the mountain toward the village.
* * *
Kayo was so pleased when Ken’ishi returned that she embraced him. She was normally so quiet and reserved that he was taken aback, but the warmth of her affection dispelled that quickly.
For days and weeks after his experience, Ken’ishi thought about what happened. How could he have been so easily duped? His master had warned him about foxes. He should have been more careful. Foxes hid in their dens during the day. The villagers left offerings of food and sake in the forest for weeks afterward, to appease the fox against any mischief she might cause.
One day, Takao walked up to Ken’ishi and said, “Don’t worry about it too much, my boy. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
Ken’ishi nodded.
The priest chuckled. “You’re not the first man to fall victim to a lovely face. Nor will you be the last.”
But he had fallen prey far too easily. What troubled him most was that it might happen again, because even as he wished to stay out of danger, he still wished to see Haru again. She was so beautiful, and she truly liked him, he thought, liked him enough to want to keep him with her. Perhaps he would have enjoyed being a fox for the rest of his days.
But no. Such thoughts were foolish and weak. Haru had lied to him, tricked him. His master had told him that he had no name except the one he made for himself. Well, he would make a name for himself, or die in the attempt.
He knew in his spirit that he would not stay here forever, but it seemed wrong for him simply to leave. But he did not have long to think about these things. Not long after Takao and the villagers saved him from Haru, a string of bad fortune swept through the village, in spite of their attempt to appease her. Two of the farmers were injured in a rockslide. Their legs were broken, and they would spend the entire harvest season unable to work. The livestock around the village began to disappear. Pigs, chickens, and ducks vanished overnight. The sake brewer’s entire stock soured inexplicably. The potter’s kiln cracked and fell apart. And worst of all, the entire rice crop developed strange black spots. The farmers feared for the harvest. The harsh winter would be devastating if the rice crop failed.
Ken’ishi noticed the unpleasant looks the villagers gave him. Some were so hostile that he found himself wishing he carried his sword. His weapons were hidden in Takao’s house. This hostility increased as the weeks progressed and the village’s bad fortunes multiplied. There were whispers that Ken’ishi was the cause of it all, that the strangeness of his presence had angered the kami, and the priest was powerless to placate them because the young man lived in his house. There were those who believed that all the bad fortune was the result of Ken’ishi’s encounter with the fox. Haru was angry now and was taking her vengeance on the village. In any case, it was all Ken’ishi’s fault.
He could sense that his foster parents were feeling the pressure. He saw it in their faces. They looked at him with such pity and kindness, but they would never ask him to leave. He wondered if they believed what the other villagers were saying, even a little. That was when he knew it was time to leave.
So one morning, at the break of dawn, he packed up his things, slung his pack and bow over his shoulder, tied on his sword, and prepared to depart. A heavy sadness weighed upon his shoulders and chest. He would never see anyone here again.
Takao was already sitting on a log outside the house as he stepped outside. The priest glanced at him, then looked down at the ground, his profound sadness evident on his face. He said nothing, only nodded.
Ken’ishi said nothing as he stopped before the priest, knelt, and bowed deeply, several times. Tears burned his eyes, and he wiped them away as he stood up. Then he turned his back and walked away, never to return.
Fourteen
Flowers in shadow . . .
A moon floating in the east,
; In the west, the sun
—Buson
When Ken’ishi finished his tale, they walked in silence again for a while. For some reason, he had not told her about Haru, even though the shame and wonder of it were both still fresh in his memory. He told her only about the village and his foster parents, but the ripples of the memory’s passing were still in the mind. He told her that they had a string of bad luck, and that the villagers blamed him for it, so he felt he should leave.
Akao trotted ahead of them, sometimes disappearing into the forest, in pursuit of what Ken’ishi did not know. Sometimes Akao’s carefree nature reminded him to worry less about people and simply to live.
After a while, Kazuko said, “A strange tale, Ken’ishi. But I don’t think you’re a liar, nor do I think you’re deranged.”
“Then what do you think?”
Another lovely flush spread across her cheeks. “That is a rude question.”
Ken’ishi’s ears warmed, and his heart flopped inside his breast like a fresh-landed fish. “I’ve told you two stories of my childhood. Now you must tell me of yours,” he said.
“There’s not much to tell really. I was my father’s only child. He wished I were a boy. That is only natural, I suppose. Everyone wants to have sons. Wouldn’t it be strange if everyone got their wish and no more girls were to be born? All the world would be sons! Anyway, that is why he taught me the naginata.”
“A potent weapon.”
She nodded. “In the hands of a strong person, I’m sure it is quite powerful.”
“You’re the only woman I have ever seen who can fight! Most women are either as submissive as kittens or as shrill and shrewish as a mother pig.”
“That’s an uncharitable thing to say. You just don’t know about women. You thought I was a fox!” She giggled.
Heart of the Ronin Page 15