Strange Light Afar Page 8

  “You can get off me now.”

  I hesitate. Despite my claim to have nothing to lose, my arms and legs apparently think otherwise. Slowly I coax one foot onto the edge of the pale marble floor, then the other. I regain my balance as the turtle laboriously crawls out of the water.

  Iron columns support the ceiling. At the base of each one stands a bronze statue of an imperial guard clad in armor. The far wall consists of ornate screen doors that are shut. Gold carvings of turtles and fish reflect the lamplight.

  A small moth flies about my head before I wave it away. I thirst for sake to calm my trembling hand. I think of my hollow gourd left back on the beach.

  The screen doors suddenly part, and the Dragon King reveals only his head, which is large enough to take up half the chamber. His neck elongates its way to where I stand. His eyes are burning gold, peering at me curiously. Green scales glimmer, as jagged as glass fragments.

  When he speaks, it is as if I am standing in a windstorm. His voice rumbles like an erupting volcano.

  “Who is this?”

  “A kind and virtuous soul, sire,” replies the turtle. I try to stand taller despite my petrified bladder.

  “Hmm,” the king says. “If you say so. What is your name, young man?”

  “T-t-taro.”

  I feel like a fish about to be gutted.

  “Well, Taro-san. I am glad you are here, especially if you are as virtuous as our friend here says. I have a daughter who is in need of human companionship. Her loneliness has robbed her of appetite and vigor. Why, it’s now mid-day and I believe she is still in her bed chamber. I will have her sent down.”

  It dawns on me that the turtle has not brought me here simply out of gratitude. A wall of warm air shifts as the immense head retreats. Reflections from the Dragon King’s scales shimmer on the walls.

  “Excuse me,” he says. “I have things to which I must attend.”

  “I shall take my leave also,” the turtle says. “I hope you enjoy the comforts of the palace.”

  It drops back into the water and sinks into inky darkness.

  I am left alone. I try to puzzle over what has just been said. The Dragon King seems to want me somehow to tend to his daughter. How does a human tend to a dragon?

  However, it is clearly a human woman who now appears from behind the screen doors. She is gently attractive. Her brightly colored silk robe flows around her hips and shoulders as if alive. She seems as perplexed as I am.

  “My name is Oto. My father has instructed me to offer you respite and refreshments. Please follow me.”

  We move to a room where a large table holds countless delicacies, many of which I have never seen before. There is fresh sashimi of vibrant red and pink. Bowls of dark kelp garnished with carrots and daikon radish. Sticky rice steamed with red beans.

  She motions me over to a chair. The heavy wooden arms have been carved into dragons with their mouths gaping. She stands over my shoulder and pours me a cup of sake.

  I have never tasted anything quite like it. A sweet fruity fragrance overwhelms the slight pinch on the tongue. The subtle flavor wraps around the piece of fish that slides between my lips. Fresh tofu blends with savory soy sauce and ginger.

  Oto pours me another cup of wine. The fish my mother grilled for me just that morning becomes a forgotten, insignificant dream.

  Oto sits across the table and relaxes, even smiling quietly every time I show surprise at each new delicacy.

  I say I would have been nicer to more turtles had I known what would come of it. She laughs for the first time. We talk. She tells me how each dish was prepared, and which are her own favorites.

  “How did you come to be here?”

  She pours herself some sake, then takes an elegant sip.

  “My father is the elder of a fishing village probably very similar to yours but far to the south. Some years ago, I was put on a ship to travel to a neighboring island where I was to wed. When our boat capsized in a sudden storm, everyone drowned, but the good Dragon King rescued me. He has treated me like his daughter ever since.”

  “But don’t you wish to return home?”

  “I often consider it, but in truth, the village where I was born has not been my home since my wedding was decided. And my intended new home is a place I have never seen. In a way, I feel things turned out for the best. There is food and shelter here. And now I have your company.”

  She smiles again. She brings more food and continues to pour the sake until I beg her to stop.

  No one awakens me the next morning. No one shouts in my ear or pulls the covers away. I swim in the delicious warmth beneath my futon, my eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the darkness. It occurs to me between fits of dreams that I am not hung over in the least. My mind floats in a carefree quiet until pangs of hunger pull me toward the light.

  I emerge from eddies of wrinkled bed sheets. Oto immediately appears carrying a tray of food. A cloud of steam rises from the bowl of rice soup. The hot gruel seasoned with sea salt and ginger has been poured over slices of raw yellowtail tuna and scallops, half-cooking their tender flesh. Pickled radish lies on a side plate.

  To my delight, she has brought sake with breakfast.

  “I can’t thank you and your father enough for your hospitality.”

  “It is our great pleasure. I hope you can stay with us for a few days.”

  I consider this for a moment, then shake my head sadly. “I am afraid my mother will be worried.”

  “Oh, but you must! You have not yet seen the rest of the palace or tasted all the delicacies our kitchen has to offer.”

  I agree to stay for another day, but insist I cannot stay any longer. I have work to do at home, after all. Oto claps her delicate hands in delight.

  Later that morning, she takes me for a stroll through the palace. Then we eat some more. I drink. She tells me of her home village. The salty sea breeze. The long sunsets beyond the flat horizon. Children’s laughter always in the wind.

  It sounds awfully like my own village. I pour myself another drink.

  Just when even the food, the sake and the playful fish swimming by the windows start to bore me, animated marble statues of musicians and dancers enter the chamber where we are lounging. Melodies like colorful corals weave through the room. Mimes tell of ancient legends that reveal the mysteries of the depths. Laughter comes in waves, over and over.

  I awake the next morning to find Oto’s hand stroking my face. Pinpricks of light swim on the ceiling as the sea turns and twists beyond the window. Her smile is as soft as her face, which is warm to the touch of my fingers. She squeezes my hand in hers, then stands and brings over another tray of food.

  I briefly imagine my mother’s worried face.

  “I really must go home today.”

  “Nonsense.” She brushes her lips across my temple. “We are just getting acquainted.”

  She wants to know more about me. I start by explaining how my father drowned at sea years ago.

  Somehow I spend the entire morning telling Oto of how my mother nags me to go out with the boats, how she refuses to buy me sake when I ask and how she always compares me with my father. He caught more fish than anyone in the village. We never had to worry about anything when my father was around.

  Oto nods knowingly and pulls a strand of hair from my eyes. Her sleeve smells like peach blossoms.

  That afternoon, moving bronze statues of imperial guards treat us to demonstrations of amazing physical feats. I watch them swing their swords and jab their spears. I sip distilled spirits made from millet and nibble on grilled squid. Oto fills my cup each time it is empty. She gasps when a guard smashes a brick into pieces with his forehead.

  My head is starting to ache also. Spinning plates and acrobats parade by my field of vision. Lunch seamlessly turns to dinner.

  Then Oto and I kis
s. That is the last thing I remember.

  Fits of sleep flow into one another. Waking hours become indistinguishable from dreams. More food. More dancing. More drink. Oto’s soft laughter, her flawless skin, her warm breath. Light and dark circle each other in a timeless dance. Idleness succeeds in doing what the sea could not. It drowns me.

  I cannot recall when I first notice that shadow has overwhelmed color. The familiar darkness is suddenly there one day. Maybe it was never gone. The smooth marble floor that once seemed perfectly flat tips sickly to one side. Cold returns to the hollow space that is my chest.

  Seeing my mother’s weathered skin on Oto’s smooth face is like a sick joke I play on myself. The smell of fish brings to mind my discarded nets. Among the song and dance, I yearn for the quiet of the empty seaside. All I can think of to ease the pain in my head and the churning in my belly is to drink more, but relief fades as soon as it appears. I vomit more times than I can count.

  “Leave me be!”

  I flail my arms as Oto’s hands flutter about me. She implores me to bathe, then to sleep. I seek oblivion while terrified of it. Fear hands me the sake cup, which I throw at her. It narrowly misses her head and shatters when it strikes the pillar behind her.

  She leaves with a remarkable calmness and does not return for a long time. I cannot eat or sleep so instead thrash about in a pool of anger and self-pity.

  When Oto returns to the chamber, there are two imperial guards with her.

  “I think it would be best if you leave,” she says firmly. “My father allowed me your company only to please me, which you are no longer able to do.”

  I sneer. “But you will be all alone again.”

  “And I shall be the better for it. I for one do not mind being secluded among the pleasures of this palace. Besides, someone else will come along soon enough. You do understand that, don’t you?”

  She turns her gaze to the floor, then waves over a guard who is holding a silver tray. On it sits a lacquer box tied with braided gold rope.

  The hardness in her voice is suddenly gone.

  “Do not think ill of me. I truly am very fond of you. Please permit me the honor of presenting you with this gift.”

  I fidget nervously, not knowing where to put my hands. She ignores this and gives me the box.

  “Should you decide you can enjoy what this palace has to offer in a civilized manner, bring this back to me unopened. I shall be more than pleased to see you return. If you choose to stay away, however, I shall understand. Open this gift then to remember me by.”

  I want to smash the box on the floor. But I notice one of the guards firmly grasp his sword and know to still myself.

  She turns and walks away. I hear faint music floating from down the hallway.

  The turtle does not offer me any words of comfort on the return journey. I know better than to expect it. The shore is barren when we break the surface of the water. The turtle drops me off on the warm sand before disappearing back into the depths. The sea breeze is as gentle as the sky is blue. So blue.

  A few children scatter about the huts as I walk back into the village, but they are not the same boys who had been tormenting the turtle a few days earlier. A woman draping wet laundry over a bamboo pole nods at me politely but cautiously. I do not recognize her. She must be visiting one of my neighbors.

  I loudly announce my return before crossing my threshold. Our hut is barren, and a few moments pass before I notice that everything is covered in dust. Streams of cobweb hang from the corner of the ceiling, swaying in the draft.

  I call out to my mother — once, then three times more. Her absence is at once annoying and unnerving.

  I leave the hut and walk back to the woman who has just hung her last piece of laundry. She wrinkles her nose. The wind has picked up.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but have you seen the woman who lives in that hut over there?”

  “No one lives there.”

  “What?”

  “No one has lived there since Mrs. Urashima —”

  “That’s my mother. Where did she go?”

  The woman arches her brow. “You must be mistaking her for someone else. Mrs. Urashima had no family. Her husband was killed in a storm and her only son — ”

  “That’s me! I’m her son! Where is my mother?”

  The woman seems genuinely confused now. She takes a few cautious steps backwards.

  “She’s dead,” she offers carefully.

  The words fall to the ground like anvils. I feel my knees give but somehow manage to remain standing. Dizziness returns, muddled with anger and confusion. This must show in my face. The woman retreats a few more steps.

  “I tell you there’s some mistake,” she assures me. “Mrs. Urashima’s boy ran away forty years ago. His name was Taro.”

  Clearly she is right. There is some mistake, and she, being a stranger to our village, is misinformed. I leave her holding her empty basket and run to other huts. Strangers — women and children, because the men are still out on their boats — look at me. They do not recognize me, and I do not recognize any of them. There is no one I can ask about my mother.

  I go back to our hut and ponder what to do next. The most likely explanation is that my mother has gone looking for me. I ignore the fact that the village is now full of strangers. One mystery at a time.

  I spend the next while rummaging through the kitchen. There is nothing to be found. Most disappointing is that there is no sake.

  Then I remember Oto’s parting gift. The lacquer box is still spotless, its sheen unworn from the journey home.

  When I untie the knot and remove the lid, a bright light is followed by a dense wall of smoke. There is no sound, and I am able to breathe comfortably, though I cannot see anything.

  Something shifts beneath the skin on my face. My legs turn weak and I need to sit.

  I look at the polished lid in my hand. As the smoke clears, I gradually make out my reflection and see that my hair has turned white. Folds of skin hang over my eyes. I notice that my hands are gnarled and stiff, a constellation of liver spots on their backs. When I cry out in horror, a few teeth spill from my mouth.

  The woman who was hanging her laundry hears my cries and comes running. Perplexed, she stands over me. There is not even a trace of recognition in her eyes. She calls me “old man” and asks where I am from.

  Here, I want to tell her. I want to tell her I am from here, but the words cannot struggle free.

  She reaches down and strokes my hand sympathetically as I sob uncontrollably. There, there. She tells me everything will be fine. Just fine. She is gentle and kind despite her confusion. I squeeze her hand before pulling it toward my face. She leans in closer. I lose myself in her reassuring whispers. I cannot resist the comfort they offer.

  Who could blame me for that, given all that I’ve been through?

  ◊

  EIGHT

  BETRAYAL

  ◊

  Here is Oiwa, combing her fingers through her long shimmering hair. To her horror, strands like silk fall with each stroke. She cries out, but nothing much passes through her throat. She chokes, instead.

  She tries to stand, but her knees fail. Clawing at the door, she tears into the rice paper, and a panel crashes down as she falls. She manages to spill into the hallway on her hands and knees. Blood cascades from her lips as she crawls toward the kitchen.

  She can hardly see the lamp her husband is holding over her.

  “Water!” she hisses. “Please!”

  Tamiya fidgets. This is turning out much uglier than he’d intended.

  “Water!”

  Her eyelids swell hideously. Tamiya hates ugly things.

  •

  They met on the brightest day of spring. No clouds. No shadows. No doubt.

  She was at her favorite spot in the world, an
escarpment just beyond the edge of town. She had been watching the sunlight break into fragments on the ocean waves.

  She had just decided to go home when a strap on her sandal snapped. He happened to be nearby to help.

  He fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. Tamiya’s clearly defined features and his kindness immediately attracted her as well. But Oiwa’s family did not approve. He was without a retainer and had squandered most of his savings by living beyond his means. His weakness was that he loved beautiful things. And she was truly beautiful.

  When they walked together down the street, passersby could not help but admire their appearance. When they stood next to a cherry tree, Tamiya saw that they enhanced the blossoms’ loveliness. Oiwa’s beauty complemented his own wonderfully.

  Her parents finally relented and provided the very handsome dowry they had been saving since the day she was born. She and Tamiya could not have been happier. They were married in early summer, after the rains lifted.

  Their life together started blissfully. They shared each other’s joys and hopes, and learned what gave each other pleasure. They became intimate with each other’s habits and bodies. And each discovery filled them with delight.

  But the days and weeks drifted by without incident. Perhaps if they had met with exceptional fortune — or even misfortune — this might have distracted Tamiya. As it was, his mind was idle and therefore prone to needless wanderings. His new bride’s timid laughter — which just the previous week had filled him with bliss — now bored and even annoyed him.

  He began to notice small creases at the corners of her lips and eyelids. She may as well have been wilting before his eyes. Tamiya could envision too easily how his wife would look in five, ten and twenty years. Her transformation in his mind’s eye was shocking. He marveled at how he could not have seen this before their marriage.

  And because he would never imagine himself growing old, Tamiya felt unfairly burdened by Oiwa’s mortality. He was determined to think of his life as joyless, so it of course became that way. He took to spending hours in his favorite diner, drinking copious amounts of rice wine, eating and making lewd remarks at the waitresses.