Onikoroshi Page 8
In silent agreement, Alan stood and fell into step behind Graham. They made their way through the forest and back to the village square, where the residents of Inaba stood waiting. Graham nodded solemnly, and they bowed as one. A few of them breathed words of thanks. Some cried. Then Graham left Professor Harada in their care and he and Alan returned to their room at the inn, where they bathed and slept until late the next afternoon.
* * * *
Hundreds of lanterns hung above the village square as Inaba prepared to celebrate the end of the Bon Matsuri and say their farewells to the spirits of their ancestors. They’d constructed an altar near the main stage. Late summer flowers framed huge portraits of Professor Harada and the four lost teens. Fruit, rice, sake and bunches of incense stood before them. Many of the villagers had lit candles and lanterns in their memory, and the memorial glowed brightly as the sun set. If the spirits of Harada and those youths lingered around the village, they would not be able to miss it.
The grateful citizens had lavished gifts on Graham and Alan. They sat on a wooden bench, watching a troupe of little girls in white kimonos dance on the stage to the music of a flute and biwa. They wore elaborate new robes with beautiful, elaborate embroidery. Alan’s was scarlet with black branches, burgundy leaves, and white lanterns sewn from silken thread. A dragon holding a flaming sphere in its claw covered the back, and smaller dragons curled around the robe’s draping sleeves. A black sash of spiral-embossed fabric held it shut at the waist. It looked stunning against Alan’s creamy skin.
Graham wore a robe of deep turquoise silk decorated with lotus flowers and small butterflies. Alan said the color brought out his eyes. He’d smiled when he’d seen the back panel: a man sitting beside a waterfall, drawing with a bamboo brush. Both of them wore pendants of abalone shell and held hand-painted paper fans. The local potter had insisted they accept a piece of her best work: a sake set with a decanter and two cups, imprinted with native leaves and twigs and glazed to an iridescent green-gold. It sat in a paper bag by their feet.
A huge platter of local delicacies waited between them, but they’d already been offered so much to eat that neither of them could force another bite. Even the delicious skewered chicken with its thick, sweet sauce dotted with spice, Graham had to leave alone. He hoped he’d be able to recreate the recipe when they got home.
Every few minutes someone stopped by to bow and thank them for what they’d done. They called Graham and Alan “onikoroshi.”
When Graham finally asked what it meant, Alan winked at him and said, “Demon slayer.”
Each time Graham felt a little stab of guilt, like maybe they’d deceived these people by not destroying the menace. Alan had his bag with him, and Graham saw his fingers twitch near the lantern now and then. He knew Alan couldn’t wait to let the demon out. The anticipation tore at him; sometimes it seemed like he couldn’t bear it.
The sun dipped behind the mountain, but the people enjoyed the coming of night now that the threat was ended. It was cooler; everyone grew livelier. Drinks flowed and toasts were made to the ancestors. More dancers took the stage, followed by an amazing performance from the drummers. By the time they’d finished, night completely enveloped the little town. The lanterns and candles looked even more enchanting in the darkness. A Shinto priest appeared at the center of the square. The people grew quiet and solemn as they cued up behind him, holding their lanterns. A young woman stopped to give a square paper lantern with a light wooden base to Graham, and he thanked her. He and Alan took their places in the procession as it wound like a glowing serpent through the forest and toward the river. At the end of the line, one of the drummers pounded out a heartbeat tempo.
Graham thought about the people he’d lost in his life. Their time in Inaba had been so chaotic that he’d had no time to wonder if their spirits had come back to him, as the Japanese believed. Standing near the edge of the water, watching the first few lanterns begin to float toward the horizon, he thought maybe they had. Maybe they had protected him and Alan. He thought about Professor Harada, and said a silent farewell, wishing the doctor a good journey. He remembered back to when he’d lost his mother and his first love, Luke.
By now the surface of the river was alight with dozens of lanterns. The liquid looked like molten copper. Far in the distance, those first few lanterns looked no bigger than sparks. One by one, each of the villagers knelt and released his or her lamp.
When Alan’s turn came, Graham saw him holding his light in both hands, staring at the dark trees across the water. He knew the look on Alan’s face well; Alan was thinking, barely perceiving the concrete world. Graham touched his shoulder and he flinched, yanked back to reality. “Isn’t it beautiful?” he said, as if noticing the winding, sparkling parade for the first time.
Nodding, Graham said, “I was just thinking about my loved ones. It really does feel like they’re here, like they’ve been allowed to come back to me for a bit. And now I have to see them off again, and, I guess I should feel sad to see them go, but somehow I don’t.”
“It’s not meant to be a sad occasion,” Alan explained.
“I feel a strange peace. I feel connected to the people who’ve gone before me, and to those who will light these lamps long after I’m gone. I guess that’s what’s meant by tradition. Thank you, Alan. In spite of everything, this has been quite an experience. I’d like to come back here again one day.”
“We have friends here now,” Alan said, “and one who might get homesick.”
As he knelt, not even Alan’s allusion to their demonic guest ruffled Graham’s serenity. Warm river water lapped at the wood of his sandal, and he held his lantern in both hands, inches from the surface. It cast a golden ring on the rippling water beneath it. Graham smiled. Alan said rings symbolized eternity. A thought occurred to Graham, and he looked at his pale, beautiful partner standing a respectful few feet behind him. Maybe it was time for a ring. The idea would need to wait, though.
Looking into the fuzzy orange flame, Graham summoned up the memories of his family members’ faces. “Harada-sensei,” he said with a smile, recalling the quirky old scholar fondly. “Harada-san, well done. Mum, I still miss you. I always will. Luke, my love. Always. Now, off you go.” He set his lantern on the surface of the river, and it began to drift slowly away, lighting the water as it went. In his mind he saw those he’d lost smiling, waving goodbye. He stood and wiped away the single tear that had escaped his eye.
Alan crouched down near the river’s edge, and he inhaled its scent. “Harada-san,” he said, “next time we meet I owe you a drink! Farewell, and may you find the light, my friend.”
Graham caught Alan’s hand and the two of them walked a little way down the shore, where they had a bit of privacy and wouldn’t be in the way of other celebrants. Standing close, they breathed the good, pure smell of the forest, with its ancient trees and evergreen bushes, bamboo, summer flowers, and dark, fertile soil. They listened to the subtle swish of the river water, and they watched the bright procession of lanterns disappearing one by one in the distance. Graham squeezed Alan’s hand a little tighter.
“What now?” Graham asked.
“They’ll follow the light,” Alan said. “Home.”
“We should do the same,” Graham said. “I miss our pumpkin patch, our tomatoes and our walnut tree.”
“So do I.”
Alan’s hands wound around Graham’s waist. The two of them stood chest to chest, watching the last of the lanterns flicker faintly, and then fade into eternity. Once the darkness claimed the world again, they joined hands to make their way back to the inn and enjoy its hot springs a final time before leaving Inaba. Graham looked forward to the familiar things in his house, and to starting a life with Alan. He planned to propose to him on Halloween night, by the light of the jack-o-lanterns they’d carve. But that was far in the future, and for now, Graham aspired only to cherish the life he had, and the person he loved. He saw that such things were fleeting, and he wanted to
make the most of every moment they had together.
As they ascended the steps to the inn, he imagined all the wonderful ways they could celebrate their earthly pleasures. He breathed the mountain air, and caught a hint of Alan’s scent. It was good to be alive, and Graham had no intention of squandering the gift.
About the Authors
Augusta Li lives in a faerie-haunted wood in the mountains of Pennsylvania with various feline and human companions, permanent and stray. She is a freelance writer, artist, mask and costume maker. Her stories have appeared in anthologies and on some great websites.
Eon de Beaumont is a frequent collaborator with Augusta Li. With Augusta, he is the author of the Yaoi shorts, Lockdown and Hyacinth’s Light, and others.