Tomo Page 14
“We voted on staying,” said Xin Yao.
“Yeah, but they were all . . .” I made a mask gesture with my hands over my face.
“I think ‘they were all dead’ is what she’s trying to say,” put in Hideaki.
“Thanks.” I took a deep breath. “Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe we should just forget ghosts and concentrate on the living.”
“I don’t think so,” said Reiko.
We all looked at her.
“Now, we know some happenings are not just coincidences, right? There are things that people never talk about but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. I think we should find out how many of these old stories are based on some kind of truth. I think we should do it; it’s a responsibility.”
“A responsibility to a world that can’t be seen,” said Xin Yao, with a funny look in her eyes.
I raised my Frappuccino in salute. “That was really well put, Reiko. We’ve got a mission!”
Clink!
That would have been the noise our toast made if we had glasses instead of paper cups. But there it was, our new brotherhood and our first mission, sealed with coffee and juice.
“What the heck,” snorted Hideaki. “This is more fun than the kendo club.”
Kodama
Where the Silver Droplets Fall
transcribed and translated from Ainu into Japanese
by Yukie Chiri
translated and illustrated by Deborah Davidson
“Where the silver droplets fall, where the golden droplets fall . . .”
I was singing my usual song as I rode the wind and followed the river to the sea, when I glanced down at an Ainu village and noticed that those who had once been poor had become rich, and those who had once been rich had become poor.
I watched a group of boys on the beach playing target practice with bows and arrows. As I passed over their heads singing “Where the silver droplets fall, where the golden droplets fall,” they ran along the sand below me, calling out, “iPirka chikappo! Kamui chikappo! Beautiful bird! Sacred bird!” Then they turned to each other and said, “Come on guys. Let’s see who can shoot it down. Let’s see which of us is a true hero.”
Calling out to one another in this way, those from families that had once been poor but were now rich fixed their golden arrows to their golden bows and released the arrows at me. Many little arrows came flying toward me, but I caused them to veer up or down, and they all missed.
One boy carried a bow and arrow made of plain wood. I saw from his clothing that he was from a poor family. But when I looked into his eyes, I knew he must be either the son or grandson of a great man. There was something in his bearing that made him stand out from the others, like a swan among ducks.
This boy fixed his plain wooden arrow to his plain wooden bow and took aim at me. But as he did so, the boys from families who had once been poor but were now rich laughed at him and said, “Hey, this is really funny! You stupid pauper, that’s a sacred bird! It will never accept your rotten wooden arrow when it won’t even accept our golden ones. Not in a million years.” They kicked him and punched him, but the boy ignored them and carefully aimed his arrow at me. I watched him and was moved.
“Where the silver droplets fall, where the golden droplets fall,” I sang, as I slowly drew a circle in the sky. The boy drew one leg back and set it firmly behind him, while setting the other leg firmly in front of him. He bit his lower lip and steadied his aim. The arrow was released in a whoosh of air and sparkled as it came toward me.
Seeing this, I stretched out my claw and plucked that little arrow from the air. I sliced through the wind and fell spinning to the ground. The boys churned up the sand in little storms as they raced one another toward the spot where I had fallen.
I fell to the earth almost at the same moment that the poor boy reached me, ahead of the others. He ran to me and grasped me in his hands. But the boys who had once been poor and were now rich soon caught up with him and began abusing him with harsh words and fists.
“How dare you succeed where we failed!” they shouted at him. And as they thrashed him, the poor boy covered my body with his own, pressing me firmly against his belly. He wriggled and squirmed till he had escaped through a gap between his abusers. Then he leaped away from them and ran as fast as he could.
The boys who had once been poor and were now rich threw stones and pieces of wood at the poor boy, but he paid them no mind. Kicking up a cloud of dust, he continued to run till he came to a tiny, run-down shack.
He passed me through the sacred window on the east side of the house, hastily explaining to someone on the other side what had transpired. Inside the house an elderly couple approached me, framing their eyes to get a better look. They appeared practically destitute. Yet the man had a gentlemanly dignity, and the woman a refined femininity. They were both so surprised to see me that their legs buckled and they fell to the floor.
They adjusted their clothing and bowed before me saying, “iKamuichikap kamui. Pase kamuy. Owl God, O Weighty One. Thank you for entering our humble home. There was a time when we were prosperous, but as you can see, we are now destitute. We hardly dare to receive you as our guest. But since it is already late, we offer you lodging for the night. Tomorrow we will only be able to honor you with a single inau before we send you back to the land where the gods dwell.” So saying they worshipped me over and over again.
The old woman spread a woven grass mat at the base of the sacred window and laid me on it. Then everyone went to bed, and soon they were snoring. I sat quietly between the two ears of my head, but at midnight, I went into action.
“Where the silver droplets fall, where the golden droplets fall,” I sang softly as I flew about the tiny room, sending beautiful echoes to the left and to the right. As I flapped my wings, marvelous treasures appeared, also making beautiful echoes as they scattered onto the floor of the room. In moments the tiny house was filled with the most amazing things.
“Where the silver droplets fall, where the golden droplets fall,” I sang. In an instant I rebuilt the tiny shack into an impressive metal mansion, with alcoves for storing the treasures and decorated with elegant robes. It was more splendid than any rich man’s house. When I was finished, I returned to sit at the place between the two ears of my head.
Then I caused the people of the house to dream. I made them dream about an Ainu gentleman who had become impoverished through unfortunate circumstances, and, as a result, was being scorned by those who had once been poor but were now rich. I revealed to them how I had pitied them and had come to bless them, though I am not a god of ordinary status.
Shortly after this, dawn broke. The people of the house all awoke at the same time. Rubbing the sleep from their eyes, they looked around and were struck dumb with astonishment. The old woman wept loudly with joy and the old man shed large drops of tears. The old man rose from his bed and came toward me, bowing many times. Finally he spoke of the dream that I had given him to explain what I had done.
“I thought I was dreaming an ordinary dream in an ordinary sleep, but it has all turned out to be real! We were honored just to have you come to our miserable dwelling and didn’t dare to ask for anything more. But you—sacred guardian of the village—you had pity on us for our bad fortune and blessed us even beyond the blessing of your presence among us.” He was weeping as he spoke. When he was finished, the old man took a branch of wood and carved a fine inau from it, which he then set next to me.
The old woman attended to her appearance, then had the boy run out for firewood and water so she could make the sacramental sake. In no time, she had made six barrels of it and they were lined up at the head of the hearth, the seat of honor. While I watched her work, I talked with Ape-Fuchi Kamuy, the elderly goddess of the hearth fire.
After two days, the delicious smell of sake, which we gods so appreciate, filled the house. Now, even though they had been provided with many luxurious garments, the old couple purposely dressed the boy in his old cloth
ing and sent him out to the village. This was to invite to their house those who had once been poor but were now rich. I watched over the boy as he entered each dwelling to relay the invitation.
But the people who had once been poor and were now rich laughed at him saying, “Wonder of wonders. What kind of sake can you beggar folk make, and what kind of feast can you prepare for us, that you would dare to invite us?”
Then they said to each other, “Let’s go and see what these people have up their sleeves and give ourselves a good laugh.” A large group gathered together and started toward the boy’s house.
They caught sight of the house while they were still far off, and they were amazed. Some became ashamed and turned to go back home. Others stood at the front of the house unable to move. Then the old woman of the house came out and took the hands of all those who had gathered, and she led them inside. Though they entered and sat at her bidding, they could not raise their heads to look their host in the eye. The old man sat tall and straight, and in a voice as clear and pretty as the cuckoo, he began to speak, explaining everything that had happened.
“Because of my poverty, I was unable to mingle freely with you, but the Great Owl god, the Guardian of the Village, took pity on me. And because there was no evil in our actions or in our hearts, he gave us this great blessing. It is my earnest wish that we be united, and that we enjoy one another’s company no matter what our circumstances.”
When the old man had finished speaking, the villagers showed their remorse by rubbing their hands together over and over, and they apologized profusely to him. They promised to try to get along with each other, and they all came before me to thank me and worship me.
When the rituals were taken care of, the villagers’ hearts were softened and they started the party. I chatted with the fire goddess, the god of the house, and the god of the inau poles. As we talked, the humans entertained us with their singing and dancing.
After two or three days, the festivities came to an end. I was both pleased and relieved to see the humans getting along so well. I said my farewells to the fire goddess, the house god, and the god of the inau poles, and departed for my own land, the land where the gods dwell.
Before I had even reached my house, offerings of beautiful inau poles and barrels of delicious sake had arrived there. So I sent a message to gods both near and far, to invite them to a banquet. At the banquet, I related in great detail everything that had occurred while I was visiting the human village. Hearing my story, the other gods praised me with enthusiasm. I sent two or three of the beautiful inau poles home with each of them.
When I look toward the now peaceful Ainu village, I see that the humans are getting along with one another and that the distinguished old man has become their chief. The boy is now fully grown, with a wife and children of his own. He takes good care of the old man and old woman, as a filial son should. And every time they make sake, at the start of every ceremonial banquet, they remember to send me offerings of inau poles and sake. I stay in the background, watching over the village and keeping the humans safe from harm.
Translator’s note: “the place between the two ears of my head.” The god is said to “sit between the ears” of the body he has been inhabiting, after the body has died but while the god’s spirit still lingers in the land of the humans. Readers are to understand that the owl is dead.
Powers and Feats
Yamada-san’s Toaster
by Kelly Luce
At the time of the toaster incident, my uncle owned the liquor store and I delivered bottles for him on Mondays, then went back on Fridays and picked up the empties. In this way I got to know the whole town. Pretty much everyone did business with my uncle at one point or another.
Even though I was only thirteen he let me drive his delivery truck. The hills in town were too steep for a bike; plus, I had to carry around all those bottles.
Oi-san lived behind the temple and was brown and furrowed like an old piece of fruit. We kids called him Sumomo-san, Mr. Prune, though I never knew whether this referred to his appearance or his diet. He ate his dinner with the cats that lived near the temple. He just sat right on the ground.
It was from Oi-san that I first heard about Yamada-san’s toaster and how it could predict the way a person’s going to die. I was setting the bottles on his mossy concrete step when he appeared in the doorway and said in a voice as wrinkled as his face, “Son, today I learned how I’m gonna go.”
I had finished with the bottles and stood there, unsure what to say. I looked up at him, because even though it’s rude to look your elders right in the eye like that, it seemed to be what he wanted.
He told me Yamada-san, a widow who lived at the edge of town, had a toaster that after you put in a piece of bread, it came out with a Chinese character toasted on it. That character indicated how you’d die.
“What was your word, sir?”
“Sleep. Isn’t that a hoot? Now I can finally live in peace.” He waved as he shuffled back inside, a bottle of sake clutched in his left hand.
I didn’t tell anyone at home what Oi-san had said. My parents were too busy—that was the year they opened the udon restaurant—and my sister had just got a boyfriend and never hung around after school anymore. Plus, I had a feeling no one would care. Mine was a family of skeptics. We didn’t observe any superstitious holidays, bean-throwing day or Tanabata or anything like that; all we celebrated was New Year’s, and that’s because you get to feast for three days straight.
I picked up Oi-san’s empties on Friday and brought him an extra two bottles of sake, which he’d special ordered that week. On Monday he was dead. Died in his sleep of natural causes.
Apparently Oi-san had told a lot of people about Yamada-san’s toaster and its prediction for him, though, because once he died, everyone in town was talking about it. Yamada-san had always been a little weird. She confirmed everything: the toaster had predicted her husband’s death last year when it popped out a piece of bread that read “heart” three days before he had a coronary, and after that it had foretold her mother-in-law’s fatal pneumonia. A gift from God, she told the crowd gathered around her at the market. She held the toaster under one arm, its plug swinging beneath it like a tail. When asked if she’d gotten a death-predicting piece of toast herself, she said she had.
“Well?”
Hers had read “Cancer.” It was quiet for a while after that.
Yamada-san was just like any other lady you’d see around town except for one thing—she was a real religious nut. Years before the toaster, she’d knocked on our door a couple times, offering her “help.” I remember thinking it was kind of nice—weird, but nice—but after she’d gone my mom would roll her eyes and go back to her TV drama. Anyway, that was back when I was little. By the time the toaster came around, Yamada-san didn’t knock on doors in our neighborhood anymore.
Her house was at the edge of town, partway up a huge, terraced hill with bamboo at the top. For a widow living alone she had a pretty big standing order at my uncle’s store—eight tall one-liter bottles of beer. That was more than a liter a day! She who smelled so sweet it hurt your nose, like overripe peaches, and spoke very properly and always wore something with lace on the collar; how could she go through that much beer?
I thought of her at her impeccable kitchen table pouring the beer into a glass and waiting patiently for it to settle, then taking the tiniest sip. I pictured her melting at the first drop of bitter liquid in her throat, her creamy makeup running down her neck and the starch on her collar drooping until her whole body oozed into a peach-scented puddle of foam.
The toaster became a sensation. Some people thought it was a trick she was using to try and convert people, while others believed in the toaster’s power but disagreed about what ought to be done with it. Some wanted to enshrine the toaster and worship it like a Shinto deity. Others thought she should sell it to the government.
But the thing people argued about most was whether or not it w
as right to use the toaster’s powers, to become One Who Knew. Soon the town divided itself between Knows and Don’t-Want-To-Knows. Each group, of course, claimed the moral high ground—there was no room for compromise. Conflicting opinions on the topic spoiled countless friendships and were even named in the Satos’ divorce proceedings as evidence of irreconcilable differences.
Yamada-san didn’t get involved in the politics of it. She let anyone use the toaster. She believed it was a gift from God that should not go to waste. Every day there was a line out her door of people, soft pieces of bread in hand, hoping to find out in what fashion they would meet Death.
But some of the Don’t-Want-To-Knows were upset. One man, a retired professor from Keio University who everyone just called “Mr. Doc” went so far as to stand at Yamada-san’s open door and protest. He was there talking quietly and intently to a young mother and her toddler on the front steps when I came the next Friday to drop off Yamada-san’s beer. They paid no attention to me as I stepped past and set the bottles in the entranceway. I could hear someone crying in the kitchen.
On the way out I passed the mother and child, who were walking toward the road with Mr. Doc. I guess he’d convinced her not to go in. I kept my head down but as I passed he called to me.
“Keisuke.”
I turned, stunned he knew my name.
“Are you planning to find out?”
I shrugged, then shook my head. It seemed like an awfully big thing to know. Plus I kind of liked thinking that maybe I’d never die, like by the time I got old they’d have invented a cure for everything.
“I’m fighting a losing battle,” he said. “You just can’t protect people from themselves.”
I nodded, then bowed slightly and walked quickly back to the truck. On the drive down I passed four groups of people climbing the hill to Yamada-san’s house. I wondered if Mr. Doc would be able to stop all of them.