Onikoroshi Page 2

  As Harada and Alan began talking intently about the research involved in the book and the ancient manuscripts cited, Graham felt his attention waning, and he began to look around the small room. It contained little furniture aside from the table where they sat and a worn futon in the corner. Stacks of books reached almost to the ceiling in some places, and papers lay on every flat surface. Thumbtacks held still more notes to the wooden walls. Cats nested in rumpled piles of paper. At the opposite end of the room, a sink overflowed with dirty dishes, and an ancient rice cooker puffed steam. Next to it, kanji flashed across the screen of an outdated laptop.

  Shuddering despite the cloying heat in the house, Graham was reminded of Alan’s apartment, on those occasions when he’d found his lover awake for days, surrounded in research notes. At least Alan would never be left alone to degenerate into this state. What had happened to this respected scholar that he ended up here?

  “And so you truly believe that supernatural powers played a part in the outcome of these battles?” Alan asked, cutting Graham’s musings short. He understood now that Alan sought vindication. Alan’s research had led him to the belief that a shadow society of magic-users had been controlling most of the world’s affairs since the Dark Ages. From the way Alan clutched his pen in his fist, Graham could tell that he wanted confirmation of his theories.

  “I do,” Harada said. “Take, for example, the Battle of Weeping Heaven, which happened near this very village.” He rifled through some papers on the floor and spread a map out before them. Pointing to a spot near the river, he said, “The Warlord known as Mitsurugi brought a force of two thousand warriors, leaving the local population outnumbered four to one. His victory seemed certain, but a monk who witnessed the fight wrote that a local man summoned a demon to aid the villagers in their struggle. He recounts the demon hovering over the warriors, calling up the dead from the ground. In spite of overwhelming odds, the Warlord was defeated on that night, and all of his men fell prey to the enchanted corpses. That man, with the demon still in thrall, went on to become a Warlord himself and win many battles. There are many other accounts of this creature summoning up corpses to fight for its master.”

  Alan scribbled furiously, smiling. Graham, however, wasn’t convinced. “This is an old story,” he said to Harada. “People believed differently long ago. Isn’t it possible, probable even, that this account is tainted by superstition? That it belongs more to the realm of folklore than history?”

  Holding up his finger, Harada said triumphantly, “There is proof! The battle site was excavated by a group of university students three years ago. Aside from the expected armor and weaponry, dozens of skeletons, hundreds of years older in some cases, were found among the remains of the warriors.”

  “But couldn’t there be a more rational explanation?” Graham asked. Though he’d witnessed magic since meeting Alan, it made him uneasy; he didn’t want to believe forces beyond his understanding and control could influence his life.

  Harada laughed, began coughing, and took a deep drink to ease his throat. He looked at Alan. “Some of us know,” he said. “Some of us have seen.”

  The two men’s eyes met, leaving Graham feeling like he’d missed an inside joke, and he was not enjoying it. “Rubbish,” he said under his breath.

  “Is it?” Harada replied. “Have you studied art?”

  “Yes,” Graham said, even pricklier in the sweltering, filthy shack. “How did you know?”

  “Tell me what you make of this.” The old man retrieved a poor copy of an ink drawing and handed it to Graham. “This is the monk’s depiction of the demon he saw on the battlefield.”

  Graham looked at the picture. He’d taken art history courses as a student; he knew the usual Japanese depiction of their demons: fanged, cross-eyed monstrosities. This being, though, more closely resembled a beautiful samurai, a deity even. He had black hair that flowed to his ankles, white skin, and intricately-patterned robes. His black eyes slanted with mischievous knowledge, and his mouth turned up in what Graham could only call a seductive smile. Had it not been for his clawed hands and the two horns extending from the right side of his head, Graham would have said his portrait belonged in an Edo brothel rather than a monk’s battle memoirs.

  “Perhaps this monk was simply lonely, and in possession of a good imagination,” Graham said, thrusting the copy back at Harada.

  “Perhaps,” Harada said, shrugging and looking meaningfully at Alan again. “Perhaps not.”

  “I must ask, Harada-sensei,” Alan said timorously, “what reaction your theories got from your colleagues?”

  “You know that only too well, young man. My books are received as warmly as your own. It makes them no less true.”

  “Why?” Alan asked. “Why can’t they accept it, no matter how much proof is provided?”

  The old man hung his head. “People want to think they are the masters of their world. Woe to he who tells them otherwise. As you know.”

  “But can we stop telling them?” Alan asked passionately. “If we know the truth, don’t we have an obligation at least to try?”

  “Even if it gets you killed?” Graham asked, getting irritated.

  “Yes!” Harada said, hitting the table with his fist, rattling the sake set and Alan’s machines. “I have sacrificed everything to know the truth! To see it with my own eyes, once, before I join my ancestors.”

  “Alan has a lot to live for!” Graham interjected. He couldn’t help it; the idea of losing Alan the way he’d lost Luke weighed constantly on his mind. “He has people who depend on him.”

  “I see,” Harada said, calmed. “I think you young men will be fine. There is much here in Inaba for you to enjoy during O-Bon. We have drumming and dancing in the town square, and all kinds of delicious food. You are young, and in love, if I’m not a fool. Go and be happy you are alive. There is beauty everywhere. I only warn you to be inside before dark. You are staying at the Amagi Inn, as I recommended?”

  “Yes,” Graham said, a little ashamed of his outburst. “It’s quite lovely.”

  “And safe,” Harada said. “Return to it by sundown. The hot spring baths are best then. Tell your American magazine this, in conclusion: I will continue to search for the truth as long as I am alive. And I will share what I know, and hope there are those who can see with clear eyes, unclouded by fear.”

  “This demon exists,” Alan practically pleaded.

  “Oh, yes,” Harada said. “Have no doubt.”

  * * * *

  Graham was thankful to be free of the old professor’s mess as they made their way along the river and back toward town.

  “Can you imagine it?” Alan asked, full of wonder and excitement at the prospect of demons and Japanese history.

  “Not really,” Graham answered absently. He marveled at the beauty of the foreign landscape while Alan expounded.

  “Actual demons commanded by Japanese warlords, it’s amazing! My editor is going to love this.”

  “Mm,” Graham noised as he sketched the landscape in his head. Alan continued to expand on the implications of secret supernatural influence on world history the entire walk back to town. Graham barely listened, as he became so taken by the wealth of new subjects to draw.

  “So we’ll head back to the inn,” Alan said, squeezing Graham’s hand and breaking his reverie. “I’ll put the finishing touches on the rough draft of this interview and send it off. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so. Then we’ll have the rest of our time to ourselves,” Alan finished, smiling.

  Graham smiled back, struck by an idea. “Alan,” he said tentatively, “Would you mind heading back to the inn alone? I think I’d like to pop round town and do some sketching while you finish your work.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Alan answered, “I think that’s a fantastic idea. I’ll head back here when I’m finished and we can check out the festival.”

  “Brilliant,” Graham responded happily. He dipped close to Alan for a quick peck, but
Alan caught him for a full kiss, nipping Graham’s bottom lip as their mouths parted.

  “I’ll see you then. Have fun,” Alan said as he turned toward the inn. Graham watched his lover as he made his way uphill, then turned to find a good spot to sketch.

  The tiny town square offered many exotic and wonderful items for Graham’s charcoal. Lanterns, buildings, children and even a shiba-inu—a small, fox-like Japanese dog—found their way onto the pages of Graham’s sketchbook. He spent the better part of an hour turning his gaze from place to place, sketching the wonderful things he saw before his eye fell upon an old woman tending her garden. To Graham it was a pure, iconic image of rural Japan and he had to capture her on the page, toiling away in her classic robes and kerchief. A small child ran laughing about as he sketched the garden, the neat, little house and the handmade fence.

  Graham’s vigorous sketching attracted the attention of the small, laughing child, who crept slowly up behind the foreign man to peer over his shoulder. His eyes grew wide with amazement at the picture taking shape. The little boy had tousled, dark hair and a mint green yukata with tiny wooden sandals on his tiny feet. He stood quiet and completely enthralled until Graham finished the picture and held it up, testing it against the actual scene.

  “Obaasan!” the boy cried out joyfully. Graham turned startled. “Obaasan! Obaasan!” The boy repeated the word, alternately pointing at the picture and clapping his hands. His cries started to draw attention. The little old woman in the garden put her hand to her forehead, shading her eyes from the sun as she looked.

  “Quiet, little fellow,” Graham tried, knowing that the child wouldn’t understand. “Calm down.”

  “Ikimashoo, artist,” the smiling child said, grabbing Graham by the elbow and tugging him. “Itte kudasai.” Graham allowed the child to guide him toward the little garden.

  “Ito, what are you doing with that man?” the old woman called out as they approached.

  “Artist, desu! Baasan, mimasu.” The boy lifted Graham’s arm, sketchbook still in hand, for the old woman to see. She looked at the picture and then at Graham.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he stammered. “I meant no harm.”

  The woman said nothing but looked at her image once more before her face broke into a huge, semi-toothless grin, her eyes disappearing into the creases around them.

  “Utsukushi!” she cried, clapping her hands. The boy joined in laughing and clapping. Graham decided he hadn’t offended the old woman and smiled widely. She suddenly turned on her heel and walked toward the door of her house. “Ocha o nomimashoo.” At her words the little boy took Graham’s arm again and led him into the house.

  The interior of the old woman’s home was the exact opposite of Harada’s shack. It was simple and uncluttered. Every surface was immaculately scrubbed and polished. Vegetables harvested from the garden sat in a large basket inside the door. The woman slipped her shoes off as she left the tiny entryway and entered her kitchen. The little boy followed, slipping off his own shoes, as did Graham. The boy guided Graham to a little table near the window.

  “Koshikakette, kudasai,” he told Graham. Graham assumed the boy wanted him to sit, so he did, placing his sketchbook on the table. The boy sat opposite Graham as the old woman shuffled about the kitchen, heating water, gathering cups and rooting in cupboards. The boy looked longingly at Graham’s sketchbook. Graham pushed the book closer to the boy and flipped the cover open.

  “Please,” he told the boy, “have a flip through.” The boy smiled and delicately flipped the pages of the book. The old woman put a plate of small pink buns on the table along with a tea cup for each of them. The boy grabbed a bun and popped it in his mouth with the hand that wasn’t turning pages. He smiled as he chewed the treat and pushed the plate toward Graham. Graham picked up a bun tentatively and held it up. The boy nodded vigorously and Graham took a bite. The bun was slightly sweet with a tropical fruit taste. He finished chewing and popped the remainder in his mouth.

  The old woman patted him on the shoulder and smiled proudly. She poured him a cup of tea. “Arigato,” he told her. She poured tea for the boy and herself then sat down. The boy continued to snack on the buns and flip through the sketchbook. The old woman looked as well and they discussed what they saw in Japanese. Graham could pick out a word here and there. He sipped at the tea and watched these two people that he could not have a conversation with enjoy his art, feeling wonderful and close to them despite the language barrier. The boy turned to the picture of the shiba-inu and laughed. He said something to the old woman and she smiled warmly and nodded. Graham couldn’t understand the words, but he was pretty sure he understood the sentiment. The boy asked the old woman if he could have the picture. She turned to Graham and pointed to the picture.

  “Ikura desu-ka?” she asked. Graham reached over and gently tore the page from the book.

  “Please have it,” he said, offering the page to the boy. The boy’s face broke into a huge smile. The old woman reached into her apron, pulling out some coins and holding them out to Graham. Graham shook his head gently. “No. I couldn’t.” The old woman placed the coins on the table in front of Graham. At the risk of offending her, he pushed the coins back. “Please, keep it.” The old woman stood, placing the coins back in her apron. She nodded curtly and walked out of the room. Graham worried that he had offended her after all. The boy finished looking through the sketchbook at the same time he finished off the plate of buns.

  “Domo arigato gozaimasu!” he said, standing with his new picture and bowing, He trotted away from the table, leaving Graham alone. Graham finished his tea, stuffed his sketchbook into his backpack and stood. Feeling awkward, he stepped toward the door and the old woman entered with a small, cloth sack full of vegetables. She held them out to Graham. He realized she wasn’t going to let him just give her the sketch without taking something in return.

  “For me?” he asked, touching his chest.

  “Hai,” she said nodding. “Arigato.” She bowed slightly. Graham reached out and took the bag of produce.

  “Arigato.” Graham returned her bow. “I should be going. My friend will be wondering what happened to me.”

  She walked with him out of the house and to the tiny wooden gate. He saw Alan walking about the square, looking around. “Alan,” he called. Alan smiled instantly at the sound of Graham’s voice. When he saw the old woman and the sack of vegetables, his face became a mask of puzzlement.

  “What’s this?” he asked as Graham joined him. “Been grocery shopping?”

  “Nope,” Graham answered. “Making friends.” He turned to the old woman who had been joined by the boy and waved. They waved back, smiling. “I’ll explain on the way to the festival,” he told Alan. “We should go get ready.” Graham walked on with his sack of vegetables by his side. Alan stood for a moment, looking at the retreating forms of the boy and the old woman before catching up to Graham.

  * * * *

  Thankfully, Graham seemed to have forgotten the tense interview with Professor Harada by the time he and Alan ascended the stone steps to the Amagi Inn around dusk. His time alone in the village had put him in good spirits. Looking over, Alan saw Graham smiling as he sucked on some skewered sweets they’d purchased from a stand in the village square. Graham walked choppily, unused to his geta. The white yukata with the pink and powder-blue flowers suited him, especially gaping open at the chest as it did now. His unruly, fair hair grazed his eyebrows and some golden stubble lined his angular jaw. In the low light, his pretty blue eyes almost glowed.

  “Did you have a good time tonight?” Alan asked, hopeful.

  “Oh, wonderful! Wasn’t it lovely, the way they had all of those paper lanterns strung up, almost like a tent? And everyone was so friendly! I can’t believe they convinced us to join in that folk dance. I tripped over my feet, but it was a great time.”

  “Well, I’m sure the sake played a part,” Alan said.

  “There was plenty of it!” Graham agreed.
“I didn’t know they’d bring it out in barrels.”

  Rubbing his shoulder, Alan said, “I’m still cramped up from the flight. Are you up for a soak in the hot spring?”

  “Absolutely,” Graham said. The look he gave Alan rose gooseflesh over Alan’s body, despite the heat of the summer night.

  When they reached the inn, Graham and Alan went to their room to retrieve their towels and drop off the trinkets they’d acquired at the festival: a good-luck cat sculpture, a paper parasol, a square dish made by a local potter, and some of the fine, regional sake. Alan had also bought an abalone shell ring Graham had admired, but he had it hidden in his robes for later.

  The inn was dark and quiet as they made their way through the halls toward the spring. Only a few lanterns lit the way. But Alan knew that Graham had a deep appreciation of old, traditional things. In fact, Graham had a collection of antique lanterns in their bedroom back home. Alan made a note to himself to acquire another one to add to it before they left Japan. He slid open the door to the spring, and the scent of the water mingled with the mountain evergreens washed over him.

  “Oh, look at it,” Graham said softly, his English accent stronger than usual.

  “Yeah.” Fireflies sparkled among the bushes and trees that reached right to the edge of the natural crater. Rectangular lanterns had been set on the big boulders along the pool’s perimeter, and their golden light reflected off the rippling water. Steam rose in shimmering sheets. Graham lifted the hem of his robe and dipped his toe into the spring, sighing in contentment. A tower of rock at the center of the spring dribbled water down in a soothing rhythm. Everything was still, and the stars shone brightly against the cobalt, early evening sky.

  Looking about and realizing they had the pool to themselves, Alan untied his sash and let his yukata fall around his ankles. He savored the feel of the night air against his bare body, the subtle currents caressing his skin.

  “We go in, um, completely naked then?” Graham asked.