Japanese Dreams

by Sean Wallace (ed)

I smiled at both of them through my tears. In my naiveté, I thought that the jewels were to make our meetings easier, so that Hoori could bring the sea to his doorstep and me with it.

  But I was wrong.

  When Hoori returned home, born on the back of our swiftest shark, he discovered that Hoderi had a hidden purpose in sending him away to find his hook. (If he had asked me, I would’ve told him that all that trouble for a fishhook was just silly.) While Hoori was away, Hoderi had taken over the land, installing himself as an Emperor, usurping Hoori’s place. I do not know what it is that men usually do to hurt each other; but I do know that Hoori used Shiomitsu-Tama, the jewel of flow, to call the ocean forth and flood his brother’s fields, poisoning the land with salt, to steal the breath of Hoderi’s men. The ocean flowed onto the land, drowned the fields and people who worked in them, until it rose all the way to the doorstep of Hoderi no mikoto’s house.

  And we, the inhabitants of the ocean, we suffered too. The ocean fell so low that many of the shallow places were exposed, killing the coral and the slow starfish and sea urchins. Jellyfish flopped on the exposed rocks and collapsed into sad puddles of death. The secret grotto grew too shallow for the snails and they fled, their mantles rustling on the dry sand. That was the price of your triumph.

  And when you succeeded in subduing your willful sibling, you lowered the tides, filling back the ocean. Oh, how happy we were that day, and how we mourned those we had lost! But there was little time for mourning; it was time for our child to be born.

  Tamayoribime and I dressed in our finest silks, and mounted our loyal whale who took us to the shores of your country. Tamayoribime sang and tried to make conversation, laughing a little desperately, trying to recapture the carefree days of our childhood and failing. Soon, she gave up, leaving me to my thoughts. I worried if you remembered to build the hut, and fretted that you wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation to look. And I felt guilty about my deception, about hiding my true nature from you, but when one was born a princess, a daughter of the Sea kami, one was bound to have some secrets even one’s husband was not meant know.

  The night had descended, setting the ocean aflame with many tiny candles lit for us by the tiniest of our subjects, and they reflected in the fine sky canopy of black velvet stretching far above us. The roaring of the waves signaled that the shore was close, and anxiously I searched the outline of the dark beach against the darker sky for the sign of my beloved. I saw a flickering of a lantern mounted on the cormorant-feathered roof of a hut. The hut was small, but warm and dry and richly decorated on the inside. You waited for me there, and the moment our hands met I felt the first pangs of birth pain.

  Tamayoribime ushered you outside, into the darkness, where the waves crashed on the shore with a hungry roar and the air tasted of salt spumes. When she returned, she wiped the sweat off my forehead, and comforted me as the contractions grew stronger, and I was no longer able to maintain my human form.

  My hair unwound like the seaweed in the current and fell off, and my nose elongated as my mouth jutted forward, pushed wide open by the gleaming triangular teeth. My smooth skin turned into sand and leather, my arms turned into fins, and my legs fused into a muscular tail armored with a crescent fin. As a shark, I writhed in agony of childbirth, my entire body convulsing and my tail whipping the tatami covering the earthen floor.

  Just as the head of our son, open-eyed and screaming, pushed out of my body and my insides ripped and bled, I heard another scream. With my shark eyes I saw your face, pale against the sky, looking at me through the hole in the roof. Oh, the horror on your face would’ve been easier to bear than the disgust. Tears rolled from my lidless fish eyes, and with a downward maw, teeth gnashing, I begged and pleaded for your forgiveness, for you to love me again.

  The color drained from your face, and I saw that with it all the memories of our life under the ocean drained out of you, as if they never existed. You forgot everything, and could only see the loathsome monster writhing on the ground, between your son and pretty Tamayoribime. What was left for me to do? I fled, lumbering, flopping, awkward, my gills full of sand. I struggled across the beach and into the waiting welcoming arms of the surf. It embraced me, washing away dirt and blood, forgiving, comforting.

  I did not look back.

  I returned to my father’s palace, leaving Tamayoribime to care for my son Ugayafukiaezu. The bond between us had been broken, and even she chose you and the child over me. I could not bear to look at my child or at you, and so I blocked the passage between land and sea, so that the journey between our realms would never again be easy. Only Tamayoribime passed freely, bringing me news of my son’s growth, and an occasional poem from you.

  I could not bear to hear the singing of fish anymore, and could not forgive them for telling you about the whereabouts of the cursed fishhook, so I took away their voices. Now, they are forever silent, and only the mournful songs of their koto and shamisen and the silver bells of the jellyfish break the silence of our realm. I listen to their music, so sad, and yet not sadder than my heart. When all the tears are cried out and only memories are left I wander like a ghost in the grand palace made of fish scales, dreaming of the voices of my sister and my husband.

  And every time the ocean water churns, I am reminded of the ebb and flow of the tides, of the jewels you still have in your possession. You never use them anymore, not even to bring me closer to you. But every time the water turns toward land, I grow hopeful, and my love for you ebbs and flows with the ocean.

  The Green Dragon

  Erzebet YellowBoy

  The dockyard was dry and cold and smelled of metal. One young man, no more than a shadow among shadows, wound his way silently around scaffolding so high it seemed to reach the clouds in heaven. Kazuo crouched behind a coiled nest of chain as voices echoed through the yard. Sound traveled weirdly among the massive columns and cranes; the men speaking could be anywhere. It would be the end of his career, were the guards to find him. Special permission was required to be in the yard at this time of night; Kazuo had no such permission. The need to obey his commander and all who stood above him in the over-arching hierarchy of family and empire, was strong. His love of Soryu was stronger.

  As the youngest of four brothers, Kazuo had always known that his was to be a life of labor. Kazuo never once felt that things should be otherwise and had gladly volunteered his services to the empire by way of the sea, becoming another face among many within the ranks of the Imperial Navy. Kazuo respected the sea—one must feel something for the great water when it dictated the ebb and flow of island life. Some feared it, but Kazuo had not lived enough to know fear.

  He was fortunate, he thought as he knelt on the floor, that he hadn’t yet been caught. These occasional trysts were all that Kazuo asked of the gods, and he was certain his luck would hold. He was right. The voices faded and he stood, secure in the knowledge that he was, at last, alone with his love. Soon she would leave the dockyard. He might never see her again; though he’d requested it, he had not been assigned to her crew. He could not let her go without saying goodbye.

  She rose up before him, her hulking curves gentled by the soft light of several lanterns left glowing in the yard. He dreamed of walking on her decks, of flying a Zero above her as she sliced through the waters of the Pacific, of watching her move over the waves. Kazuo did not long for glory; he simply loved the carrier that rested, for now, at the dockyard where she’d been built.

  The air was still, heavy, Kazuo heard movement by his feet. It was a rat, bravely daring the debris strewn about in search of food. Kazuo almost jumped, but he stopped himself, drew a breath. The rat didn’t matter. He did not have time to waste on it. These few precious moments were for Soryu alone. He gazed upwards into the night and saw, far above his head, light dancing on the golden chrysanthemum on her prow. He was not a poetic youth, but the flower seemed to be a perfect symbol of all that was beautiful about the warship in front of him. It was this beacon that drew him,
time after time, to her side.

  Kazuo often wished that Soryu could talk to him. He imagined that it would go something like this:

  Kazuo, why do you come to me each night? she always asked.

  Because I love you, he always replied.

  Instead, it happened like this:

  Rather than approach the hull of the ship in his usual manner, Kazuo, distracted by the rat, took an unexpected turn. Suddenly she was there in front of him, with her head bowed and her eyes on his feet as he approached.

  “Who are you?” Kazuo whispered to the woman in shock. “Don’t you know you aren’t supposed to be here?”

  And then she raised her head and looked into his eyes. He saw the shape of a flower emblazoned on her forehead, and he knew.

  “I am dreaming,” he said.

  “You are not.” The woman spoke, her voice the quiet falling of cherry blossoms onto grass. “I am Soryu, the Green Dragon, and you have called me out from where I was sleeping. Mortal man, what is it that you want of me?”

  Kazuo felt his flesh pimple; his hair stood on end. He rubbed his eyes, but the vision was still there. A strange kimono clung to her small form, folding over her body to give the impression of scales. Her hair was arranged neatly about her head; it was the color of the deepest ocean, where no light goes. Her eyes, so like and yet unlike his own, were green and coy, and yet he sensed a sorrow about her that he could not describe, it being yet another thing with which he’d had little experience. He could not doubt that this creature before him was, somehow, his Soryu in human form.

  “I want nothing of you but to love you, as I do now.” He was not sure how to address someone such as this. He bowed to show his respect; he hoped she understood his gesture.

  “Nothing? Nothing at all?” She did not appear to move, yet to Kazuo it seemed that she gave a little flip of her head, a teasing movement designed to entice and confuse him. It worked. What more could he want from such as this? Whatever earthly desires he had were nothing when compared to her beauty. He wanted no one and nothing but that which he had declared.

  “Only to love you, now and forever,” he finally replied.

  “Forever is a very long time,” she said.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You are sure of this?” He thought he saw her smile.

  “I am sure of it.” He was helpless before her, as he had been since he’d first seen her rise up, new, from a design in the minds of men.

  “Because you want nothing from me,” Soryu said, “I will give you all. Kazuo, you and you alone will have my love.” She let her gaze linger on his face, and this time he did see a smile cross her own. And then she was gone, as though she had never been, and Kazuo was alone in the yard again.

  Not alone, he thought. Her spirit is here, and she will come back to me, now that she loves me. He stroked the ship’s hull before turning away, and walked with reverence back to his bed where he dreamed that he held her until first light.

  When next he entered the dockyard, she was gone.

  It was no easy time to serve in the Imperial Navy. Victorious battles at sea were tempered by the knowledge that the enemy was capable of out-producing the empire on every level. Details like these, however, were easy to overlook, especially when you were no one in particular, like Kazuo. He had no deep thoughts on the war, not like some of the men, men who had been to the universities and had ideas about liberalism and how the empire could find a place in the new age about to dawn. These things were too grand, too vast for Kazuo. He was content in the knowledge that he loved, and was loved, by Soryu. Nothing else mattered, not even the war itself.

  At night, during those few peaceful hours he was allowed to dream of a different life, he often saw himself and Soryu living quietly together in a fisherman’s hut, on the shore by the sea, making a small but happy living in each other’s care. During the day, when the bright sun beamed down on the docks and his ears were full of the voices of men, calling for more rope or chain, or a hammer or chisel, he had no time to engage in these dreams, but she was always there, beside him. Or so he imagined.

  Yet no matter how Kazuo tried to avoid it, war would not avoid him. In Summer word reached the docks—Soryu had been sunk by the enemy. This is the way of war, but all Kazuo could think was that he should have been with her when she went down into the sea. He envied Yanagimoto, the man who stayed with her to the very end, and felt cheated by forces he could not readily name. As he prayed that night, feeling alone for the first time since she had spoken to him, he found a name for those forces. Finally, Kazuo understood that he was at war, and the face of the enemy took shape.

  His prayers stopped. He was angry at the gods, at Susano’o and Ryujin, for couldn’t they have changed the outcome of that battle? Susano’o and Ryujin were on no man’s side, but Kazuo was certain that either of them could have intervened. Either of them could have saved Soryu and returned her safely to Kazuo, who would have done anything for the chance to be with her again. Anything at all.

  When the divine wind blew through the empire, Kazuo listened with interest to the rustling it made among the leaves. Men argued quietly among themselves about the need for such a tactic, about the reasons behind the idea and the cost of implementing it. Kazuo listened to the men, but he had no opinions to share. He thought to himself now, now there is an opportunity for me. He only had to wait a while longer.

  The commander gathered the men together one morning. He described the impending invasion by enemy forces onto the mainland and the dire need for volunteers to hold the enemy at bay. The goal—to dive against the enemy ships and inflict as much damage as possible, for glory of empire, for love of family, for honor of self. The request—to volunteer for the special attack force that was even now paralyzing the enemy at sea. The commander passed out small squares of paper, asked each man to consider his choice. Kazuo did not hesitate. He made his mark—yes, I volunteer.

  That night there was even more talk. The men who had volunteered busily packed their bags; they would be shipped out at first light for the training base. Kazuo did not join in the discussions. He sat on his bunk and contemplated his future. It already seemed meaningless without Soryu and he could not attach meaning to his actions now. Not like the others, who believed that they were doing a good thing, or like those who disagreed but had volunteered anyway, because there was no real choice. For Kazuo it was a simple equation. He had been offered a method of confronting the real enemy—the gods who had allowed his love to die—and he was taking it.

  As the days passed in a frenzy of movement and instruction, a slow burn of excitement grew in Kazuo’s heart. Each step took him closer to his love. His lessons eventually led him into the air, where he sat in the cockpit of a Zero and soared above the base. The fires in him were searing, he almost steered the plane seaward then, but there was not enough fuel. He landed the craft and waited until at last, the morning of his sortie dawned softly around him. When the old man came to wake him, Kazuo was ready.

  He knew that his plane had only enough fuel to get him to his target. He knew that he was not allowed to turn back unless, for some reason, he would not be able to strike his target. Kazuo strapped himself into the cockpit, politely declined the offer of shackles to keep him in his seat. There was no need. They saw it in his eyes as they waved him off. This one would not fail.

  At first light Kazuo had written out his will. It was no more than a few lines to tell his mother and father that he was proud to die for his country and to ask them to visit him at Yasakuni Shrine. Unlike the others, he carried no keepsake, no hand-sewn doll was strapped to his vest. He did not believe that his spirit would ever reach the shrine. Kazuo was alone with his Zero and there was nothing in front of him but the wide, blue sky. He dropped no flowers as he departed; only the vision of Soryu bloomed in his mind. I’m coming, he shouted as his plane soared into the clouds.

  When his target appeared below him, he did exactly as he had been instructed and aimed his plane at th
e deck of the ship. As he approached, enemy fire ripped past the Zero, shook it in the air, but Kazuo was unconcerned. He knew that his mission would be a success. This enemy was powerless to stop him. The deck swept up below him, Kazuo tensed as the Zero swayed and he was certain he heard the sound of steel being ripped from her tail. None of it mattered. The time was at hand—as the deck sped towards his falling craft, he wrenched the wheel and directed the Zero starboard. The fire from below increased, but Kazuo was a demon of the air. The enemy could only watch in horror as he came ever closer to their ship.

  At the last minute, when the enemy thought all was lost, Kazuo made a sharp dive away from the ship. Men watched in shock as the Zero crashed into the waves in what appeared to be a deliberate maneuver on the part of the pilot. For Kazuo, the moment was at hand. His stunt was deliberate, and as the Zero dove into the sea, Kazuo was cheering.

  Beneath the waves, something stirred among the coral.

  The Zero, filling rapidly with water, finally lost speed below the waves and began a slow, spiraling descent towards the bottom of the sea. Inside the cockpit, Kazuo shook himself free of the straps holding him in position. Outside the windows, the sea passed by in a haze of silent shapes as fish scattered beside the sinking craft. It was a long way down, but at last Kazuo felt the Zero settle. He climbed out of the pit and saw, to his amazement, that the plane had come to rest among a bed of white coral that spread about him as far as his eyes could see. The coral gave off a soft, white light that illuminated what seemed to be a small doorway some short distance away.

  Kazuo, who had never learned to swim, found movement easy in the sea. He propelled himself forward, towards the door, and slipped through it. There, laid out on a bed of moss, was the body of Soryu. Her kimono was torn and hung from her pale shoulders. He gently reached out and pulled the fabric up to cover her flesh. Her hair was disheveled, strands of it swirled around her face, obscuring her features, tracing patterns around her neck. Kazuo swept some of it away, but he could not stop the ebb of the waters and it only drifted back across her eyes when he withdrew his hand.