Chapter 5 — Arima Hell (Part 2)

When I came to I was standing on a blasted plain where that foul wind was blowing.

The red-brown dirt continued all the way to the edge of the horizon, and no sun nor moon nor stars could be seen in the inky black sky above that Martian landscape. In my vicinity a few rusty pipe-looking things were growing out of the dirt. A dim reddish glow illuminated the scene, though I couldn’t tell where it was issuing from, just as I couldn’t tell whether it was night or midday.

“Heeeey, is anyone out there?” I called.

No one answered me in that wasteland; the only sound was a continuous rumble in the distance.

With nothing else to do, I trudged up a craggy knoll nearby. As I climbed the stairs hewn into the jagged rock, I was hit by a stomach-turning odor. It smelled like someone had thrown a thousand dead crayfish into a hole, cracked a thousand rotten eggs on top, and churned the whole thing up. It was so vile that tears sprang to my eyes.

Passing the top of the knoll, I came to the side of a river, so unctuously black it looked as if it was oil rather than water flowing along the riverbed.

On the other side of the river was a strange rust-colored settlement that bore somewhat of a resemblance to the Great Wall, extending along the bank of the black river. The buildings seemed to be cobbled out of random bits of scrap metal, and a forest of stovepipes belched out a neverending stream of black smoke and hellfire.

What was really creepy about the whole iron town was that it seemed to be writhing like a living creature. Taking a closer look, I saw massive gears and pistons grinding without pause, the shrill din of countless pieces of metal scraping against one another echoing across the water.

“The hell is this place?” I grimaced.

I walked along the river for a while, until I spotted a small wooden train station on my left.

There was no one inside the lonely waiting room. There was a ticket barrier leading to the platform, while on the right was a standing-room-only ramen stand, with a bright golden curtain that bore the name Tenmaya.

I hopped over the counter and went to the back. It seemed to have been closed down for quite some time, and the dim galley was covered in a layer of sticky black muck. In the corner was a pile of animal bones, and the bowls on the shelf were the size of halved watermelons.

On the wall I spotted a faded photograph of Benten. It must have been from just after she entered the Friday Fellows, for there was still a tinge of gentle innocence in her face. As I stared at the picture, Tenmaya’s words rang in my ears again: I will admit that she is out of my league.

The bowls began to clatter on the shelf; I felt the low rumbling get stronger, as a jet black steam locomotive pulled up to the platform. The hissing of steam split the air; the train doors opened with a clatter; and a flood of ogres poured through the ticket barrier.

It was at this moment that I finally realized that I had been cast into Hell.

“Damn you, Sōun. What have you done?”

I hid behind the counter and transformed into a musclebound red ogre wearing a loincloth. I wasn’t about to let myself get caught and tossed into tanuki Hell.

A young blue female ogre came in and rapped on the counter. “Hey, you. Serve it up.”

“So sorry.” I looked at her, my heart thudding in my chest. “We’re not open.”

“Aw, jeez. What happened to old man Tenmaya?”

“He’s run off, to who-knows-where.”

“Ah, the spider’s thread. Damn, the crafty sonuvabitch!” The female ogre clicked her tongue. “I liked his ramen, too.”

The she-ogre’s workclothes were scorched and stained, and her unkempt golden hair was tied back in a ponytail. She leaned forward sluggishly and put her elbows on the counter, daintily tapping the horns that poked through her hair. What appeared to be hammers and wrenches dangled from the chain link belt around her waist.

“So, whatcha doin’ here?”

“I was just looking around, maybe thinking I might start a shop here.”

“Then open a ramen stand, why dontcha? I was really looking forward to it, see.”

Ogres continued to stream out of the train without end. Seeing someone she knew, the she-ogre waved and hollered, “Yo!”

“Youse is gonna be late!” they shouted.

“Yeah, yeah,” she called back flippantly.

“What’s going on?” I inquired.

“You mean you dunno?”

“Yeah, I’m new in town.”

“You come from Tapana? Or maybe Avici¹?”

“Somewhere thereabouts,” I waffled.

“Jeez, that musta been rough,” said the ogre, in a suddenly sympathetic tone. “I pulled myself outta the pit too, made myself into an engineer. Must been a shock poppin’ up here, huh?”

“You have no idea.”

“This here’s what we call the Industrial Revolution. Crazy time we live in, that’s for sure.” The she-ogre eyed my body up and down. “Hey, we don’t see a lotta guys as big and strong as you these days. That’s the pit for ya!”

I was clueless as to what she meant by that, but nodded and thanked her anyway. She had no idea that behind this paper tiger facade was just a fuzzy little tanuki.

“Maybe you could hack it,” she mused, poking at my hairy belly and whistling. “It’d be a good chance to make a name for yourself. Come on, I’ll take ya there!”

　　　　　　　◯

The she-ogre and I exited the station and joined the procession of ogres marching on.

That low rumble in the earth resounded up into the black sky. The she-ogre was extremely gregarious, blathering on about how uncivilized that simmering hodgepodge of ogres and the damned was down in the nether regions, and now that I’d clawed my way up from there I’d better start studying up on the steam revolution and get with the times, and while fur underpants were kinda behind the times it was pretty manly to stick to your own thing and not get swept away with fads, and so on and so forth. I guess you can find kindness everywhere, even in Hell.

The she-ogre abruptly stopped and pointed up into the distance towards the right. A twinkling hole was opened up in the sable firmament, from which a glimmering strand dangled towards the ground.

“That’s the spider’s thread over there. You’d think the Buddha’d have more compassion than to joke about this sort of thing, huh?”

As we progressed further into the wasteland, we came across more and more crude huts and material stockpiles. Steam issued forth from the ground, covering the whole area in a fog.

“They’re gonna develop this place too. Apparently it’s gonna be a hot springs!” said the she-ogre with relish.

Beyond this hellish frontier construction site, the lone and level sands stretched far away. A great many ogres were gathered there, hooting and hollering. According to the she-ogre, a celestial maiden would sometimes descend from the sky and participate in sumo matches with the ogres. Pushing through the wall of ogre bodies, I made my way to the front and saw a raised sumo ring in the ground, where the ogres and the angel were already underway.

Squaring off against a large, muscled blue brute was Benten.

She dispatched the ogres one after another, laying them flat on their backs as easily if they were a pack of playing cards. Each time she did so, the surrounding ogres burst into cheers. The defeated ogres all laughed with chagrin and docilely bowed their scraggly heads to Benten, who would break off their horns and tuck them into the pocket of her yukata, smiling like a child collecting acorns.

“The horns’ll grow back quick enough, but gawd, that’s embarrassing!” The she-ogre clutched my arm. “Why don’t you give it a whirl? Not like you’ve got anything to lose, right?”

And that’s how I ended up walking up into the ring and bowing to Benten. Her face was slightly flushed, and she looked at me with a faintly amused smile.

A tremendous roar went up from the ogres around the ring.

“It’s me, Yasaburō the Ogre. A pleasure to see you again, Lady Benten.” I brushed aside my scruffy hair and winked.

Even Benten was taken a little aback to realize that behind the facade of this hulking loinclothed brute was a fluffy little tanuki.

I howled with all the gumption I could muster and rushed at Benten, who wrapped herself around my neck and whispered, “Did you really follow me all the way down here? I do hope you’re not planning to spend the rest of your furry life down here!”

“Actually, my uncle tossed me into the diptych, you see.”

“I don’t believe it. How silly can one tanuki be?” Benten cackled, then lifted my entire frame up with both hands and started to spin me around and around.

The surrounding ogres howled with laughter, drumming the red earth with their feet. As their roaring reached its climax Benten hurled me up into the air with incredible force.

The earth shrank below me as I neared the lightless sky. I turned my body over to look at the crowd of ogres squirming in that steamy haze. Among them I spotted the she-ogre who had led me here. I couldn’t just leave without thanking her for her kindness. Waving, I turned back into a little floofball, and saw her eyes go round with shock.

Benten leapt up from the ring and caught me floating in the air, then turned and waved at the ogres before taking off through the sky.

“I come down sometimes to collect ogre horns. It makes for a nice workout.”

“I must thank you for allowing me to return to the real world.”

“Knowing you, I’m sure you would have led a merry life down here, no?”

“Perish the thought. Oh, I can’t wait to get back to the real world!”

Benten skimmed through the dark sky, crossing over the black oily river. Here at last I was able to get a glimpse of the whole expanse of Hell.

It was a giant mortar whose sole purpose was to grind the dead.

The entire plane was about the size of the basin of Kyoto, encircled by the black river, and within that loop all was ruled by fire and iron. It resembled a sprawling industrial complex, belching hellfire and black smoke as far as the eye could see, and the rising vapors formed into black clouds from which pelted down a miserable rain.

Beneath that charcoal rain, steam engines brought countless machines to life, producing a horrifying din, churning without end. Massive pincushions wriggled like gigantic porcupines; rows of gigantic arm-like hammers smashed and pounded; innumerable many-toothed cogwheels turned in swarms.

I was wondering why everything was all so red, when I realized that it was because even the incessant rain wasn’t enough to wash away the flowing blood from all the sinners, who looked as small as sesame seeds.

“We’ll need to go through the bottom of Hell,” said Benten, reflections of hellfire shining on her face. “Hold your breath. The stench is atrocious.”

We dropped through the sky, heading towards a narrow pit at the bottom of the mortar.

Here it was just as the she-ogre had said: the Industrial Revolution had not yet arrived in these pits of darkness. It was impossible to distinguish the damned and their rakshasa tormentors, and it felt as if we were passing through a wall of jellied meat and putrefaction. I stopped breathing and shut my eyes tightly, but horrible sounds continued to flow into my ears unabated. The excruciating cries of the damned as they were torn from limb to limb echoed up from the pit of Hell, all the cries blending together until they were as one cry, as though the world itself was from beginning to end nothing more than a single enormous scream of pain.

I finally understand what that low rumble I had felt was.

And then the screams stopped.

　　　　　　　◯

I was very glad to be out of that picture of hell with the help of Benten, though I was less pleased to find that during our transit a passing flame had lit my tail on fire. I yelped and rolled around until it was extinguished. All the while, Benten watched me thrashing about on the floor with amusement, the cruel woman.

“That’s what you get for sneaking into Hell, you naughty furball. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I didn’t sneak in on purpose, I assure you,” I answered her, my eyes searching the dark expanse of the banquet hall. “Huh, where’s Sōun disappeared off to?”

“Perhaps the banquet’s already started.”

“Where might the location of this banquet be?”

“It’s in Jurōjin’s train.”

Benten walked through the darkness and thrust aside a curtain. Blinding light flooded the room.

Jurōjin’s train towered up in the middle of an overgrown garden, as the sun descended through the sky. It seemed to be composed of three Eizan railcars stacked one on top of the other, and it was an impressive sight, though I couldn’t imagine what sorcery had been used to transport it into this garden. Its crimson-painted body gleamed in the setting sun like a newly unwrapped toy, and orange light flickered in the spotless windows, so that the whole thing resembled a burning lantern in the autumn evening. That wasn’t all; there even seemed to be a bamboo thicket and an outdoor bathing pool on the roof, and steam rose up luxuriously into the indigo sky. I’d never in my life heard of a means of conveyance this grand, or this foolish.

I transformed into my human form, and Benten folded up the diptych and made me carry it.

Opening a glass door, we walked into the garden towards Jurōjin’s train. The leaves of the pristine grove surrounding the garden glowed a brilliant red in the light of the train.

The faces of the Friday Fellows peeked at us from the steam rising from the top of the train.

“At last, Benten is here!”

“Come, have a dip before the feast begins!”

“The water’s just fine!”

Benten waved a hand at them, then stepped through the front doors into the train.

The ground floor was furnished like a private study, filled to bursting with trinkets from Japan and abroad, from Orient and Occident, and at a writing desk in the middle of the room sat a well-built man wearing formal robes, reading a book.

This was Jurōjin, the doyen of the Friday Fellows.

As befitting the personal collection of the most feared loan shark in all of Kyoto, every one of the assorted items had an aura of prestige. There were gleaming black sandalwood cases displaying wooden netsuke and antique pottery, and from the ceiling hung Chinese shanshui landscapes depicting bamboo forests and rugged mountains. Even the most unassuming vase in this repository would have made old Chujirō at the curio shop go green with envy.

“I have returned.” Benten walked up to Jurōjin’s desk and took out the cloth containing the ogre horns, pouring them out rattling into a ceramic incense burner.

“Well, well.” A large smile spread over his face, and he picked up one of the horns between thumb and forefinger to admire it. In the light of the lanterns, the horn looked like a fiery, translucent lozenge.

As I set down the diptych by the window, Jurōjin glanced at me with suspicion.

“My name is Yasaburō,” I said, bowing my head.

“Do you remember? He was at Chitoseya, in Pontochō at the end of last year,” added Benten. “He is a very interesting boy.”

“Interesting things are good things,” Jurōjin smiled.

“I ran into him in Hell. He claims that Ebisugawa kicked him down there.”

“What!” gasped Jurōjin, though the look on his face betrayed his amusement. “How very ghoulish of him.”

“Surely it was no coincidence I found him there. You wouldn’t mind the boy partaking in our banquet, would you?”

“Who could refuse a request from the esteemed Benten?” Jurōjin stood up from the desk and came by my side. “It must have been very frightening,” he said, looking into the diptych. I timidly gave the painting a poke, but this time the paper felt firm, and there seemed to be little worry of being sucked in.

“The gate of Hell does not long remain open,” intoned Jurōjin. “However, few pass through and return to tell the tale. It is only Benten who passes to and fro with such ease. Truly, she may be more fearsome than Hell itself.”

“I can hear you,” Benten smiled.

Jurōjin looked at the Buddha which Ayameike had added to the painting and pressed his hands together. “My fear of this painting was such that I entrusted it to a certain artist. It is only a few days since it was returned to me. Now, under the Buddha’s gaze, I may safely gaze upon it once more.”

“Do you fear Hell as well?” I inquired.

“...But of course. It is as though I were seeing my own entrails.”

Jurōjin’s white whiskers trembled, as if blown by the wind of Hell. His wizened face exuded the same timeworn grandeur as a tengu. Over his long tenure as the head of the Friday Fellows, so many dozens of tanuki must have come to rest in his belly that I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had one or two tails sprouting out of him.

“Perhaps you two might enjoy a spell in the bath prior to the banquet,” Jurōjin observed, stretching his back and sniffing the air. “The stench of Hell does tend to interfere with the wine bouquet.”

　　　　　　　◯

Beyond Jurōjin’s desk at the back of the train was a spiral staircase leading upwards.

The second floor was a Western-style room with a scarlet carpet, where the dining table was already set for the feast. The third floor in this truly incomprehensible train was, for reasons unknown, a bathhouse.

We emerged onto the roof of the train, where the steam billowing in the pale light of evening wreathed the bamboo stalks in an ethereal fog. Following the trail through the grove we came to a small dressing room, itself constructed from bamboo as well, and beyond that was the outdoor bathing pool, brimming with golden water seemingly drawn from one of the hot springs in Arima.

The Friday Fellows were pickling in the cloudy water, looking up into the indigo sky dimming above them and sighing with contentment. I plopped into the water, intent on scrubbing the stink of Hell off in that murky brine.

“Pardon me, gents, Yasaburō coming in.”

Bishamon looked at me, his head wrapped in a towel. “Well if it isn’t Yasaburō of the Thursday Fellows!” He shouted into the mist, “Hey, Yodogawa, your chum’s here to see you! The Thursday Fellows and the Friday Fellows, all together in one place!”

Professor Yodogawa was at that moment sitting against a rock in ecstasy. He seemed pretty cheerful for someone who had been abducted. From the blissful look on his face he was enjoying the bath to the utmost, even holding a bottle of coffee milk in one hand. I sidled over and exchanged a firm handshake with him under the clouded golden spring water.

“So they bought you off with a bath and a bottle of milk, huh?”

“If you think their sunshine policy was sufficient to change my mind you’re greatly mistaken, my friend. But I must admit that this outdoor bath is a wonderful thing. It is here that coffee milk truly shines!”

“What’re you going to do now?”

“I’m going to give them a great speech at the banquet!”

“You think that’s really going to work after all this?”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained!”

“Would you mind putting away your little schemes here?” called Daikoku, seeing us huddled and whispering. “I will remind you that tonight is intended to be a reconciliation banquet.”

“And who said I’ve agreed to reconcile just yet!”

“This man and his ego,” Daikoku sighed. “Let’s just all get along, Yodogawa.”

Ebisu grinned, his face red as a boiled octopus. “We’re here to inaugurate a new Hotei, anyhow!”

The autumn wind lifted away the steam, revealing a sullen-looking Ebisugawa Sōun, submerged in the water to his chin. He stood up reluctantly.

“A most pleasant bath, don’t you agree?” he said, though his eyes flashed at me. Clearly he hadn’t counted on the nephew he had cast into Hell returning so quickly and leaping right into the same bath as him.

“Charmed, I’m sure.” I leered indecorously and offered my hand, feigning ignorance. Knowing that it wouldn’t do to blow both of our covers in front of these humans, Sōun screwed up his face even further and grudgingly shook my hand.

“Why the long face?” I prodded.

“The steam has gotten into my eyes,” he replied curtly.

“The minerals are very potent. Why, I’ll bet this water could scrub even the blackest soul clean!” I splashed the water, and told myself that if I saw the slightest opportunity to hinder my hateful uncle I would take it.

“Goodness, how dark it has gotten.” Daikoku said, leaning over the rocks.

The quick-moving autumn sun had already sunk below the horizon, and stars were beginning to twinkle in the azure sky. Here in this isolated corner of Arima, all that could be heard were the wind in the bamboo grove, and the chopping of the water. Someone looked up through the drifting steam and began to count aloud the stars, while someone else sighed with real feeling, “Nice bath, huh?” My heart had shriveled up from the shock of Hell, but now it felt as if it were loosening up again.

Hot springs are mysterious things. Sitting there in the soothing waters watching the leisurely steam rise up relaxes both body and mind. Though this company had its share of disagreements, for the moment everyone concerned themselves only with unwinding in the water. I thought about what Kaisei had said: “Next thing you know you’re swimming in a bunch of cabbage!” Whether friend or foe, all are boiled alike in the stewpot known as the hot spring.

A voice came from behind me. “Gentlemen, how’s the water?”

I turned just in time to catch Benten slipping into the water.

It was as if we were attending the birth of Venus; golden bubbles burst forth each time she took another step into the water, and I fancied I could hear a heavenly choir singing in unison. There is no better pairing than a beautiful woman and a hot spring; if Paradise is real, it must be a hot spring.

“What a lovely bath,” Benten remarked with pleasure, extending a pale arm towards the heavens and rotating it around. The water gleamed on her alabaster skin, almost as if even her very bones were made of gold.

Struck dumb by the divine splendour of it all, I stared at her, mouth agape.

“Mind you keep it in your towel, there,” Bishamon growled from behind me. “I do understand how you feel, but surely you know better than this!”

I looked around to find all the other men with their backs dutifully turned to Benten.

　　　　　　　◯

We robed our steaming bodies in light yukata with a padded kimono on top, then trooped down the spiral staircase like a pack of old pensioners.

And who else should be awaiting our arrival in the second-floor banquet hall, wearing a spotless white waiter’s vest, than Tenmaya—that immortal, Hell-escaping conjurer. Flashing those white teeth he gave me a wink.

“Ah, Yasaburō! We meet again.”

“Glad to see you’re still alive and kicking.”

“The day I keel over’ll be the day Hell freezes over!”

“So I see you’re Jurōjin’s lapdog again?”

“Ah, it’s a dog’s life for me. Don’t know if this is how he gets the best out of me, or if it’s just all his whimsy. Frankly, it’s beyond my peabrain to fathom.”

Decorative fireplaces and antique grandfather clocks adorned the second floor banquet hall. In the center of the scarlet carpet was a long, darkly gleaming table, arrayed with sparkling silverware. The lights of the chandelier reflected off the dark windows, sending countless dazzling rays bouncing throughout the room.

I sat at the table and waited, and eventually Jurōjin came up from the study, seating himself regally at the head of the long table.

With a raise of his wine glass, the meeting of the Friday Fellows was officially underway.

“Tonight we have in our company our new Hotei, as well as the members of the Thursday Fellows. Let this night be one to remember. A toast!”

Fueled by spirits, the banquet drifted into the long autumn night.

Bishamon and the other Friday Fellows conversed pleasantly, blissfully unaware that two tanuki had infiltrated the table. Ebisugawa Sōun dispensed his Faux Denki Bran liberally, earning himself in return a great deal of goodwill.

Seeing him smile on the other side of the table, my anger came bubbling up to the fore. We’d only been a bunch of hairless pups, my brothers and I, when our Father Shimogamo Sōichirō had been tossed into the pot by the hand of his own brother. But although we had squandered the blood which we had inherited from our great father, comes a day when even the baldest of pups grows in his fur. I was prepared to do whatever it took to bring justice down upon this doddering excuse for a tanuki.

“You seem pretty cheerful, Mr. Ebisugawa,” I remarked.

“I am joining the Friday Fellows tonight,” Sōun replied. “It is a tremendous honor. How could I not be cheerful?”

“And you can eat all the tanuki you want. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll even sprout a tail of your own!”

Hearing my words Sōun forced himself to smile, though it took so much effort it looked as though he were bending a piece of sheet metal.

Now, Professor Yodogawa hadn’t said a word, focused entirely on devouring every plate set before him. But this silence was only so that he could better pontificate on his love of tanuki later on.

“That’s quite the appetite you’ve got there, Professor Yodogawa!” Tenmaya said as he set down another plate, eliciting a roar of laughter around the table.

Tenmaya was bustling around cheerfully playing a picture-perfect waiter, which I found unsettling. He had once aroused Jurōjin’s ire and been cast down into Hell, yet here he was looking utterly unfazed, working to undermine Professor Yodogawa. He was truly unfathomable. And all it took was one glance at Benten’s cold expression to see that she loathed him from the bottom of her heart.

“So, Tenmaya, when are you going to betray us next?”

“Perish the thought!” Tenmaya shrank back in surprise. “I’ve learned my lesson, that I have!”

“It’ll happen soon; I can see it written all over your face.”

“Surely not, my lady Benten!”

Benten filled Jurōjin’s wine glass, beguiled Bishamon and the Friday Fellows, minded Professor Yodogawa, scorned the servile Tenmaya. Between these interactions she snickered, looking back and forth at me and Ebisugawa Sōun. Clearly she was thinking, now what are you two tanuki doing here?

As the feast was hitting its peak, Ebisugawa Sōun announced, “Tonight’s entertainment!” and produced a blue glass bottle. Sitting at the bottom of the water inside was a small rock, about the size of a Go stone. Rolling up the sleeve of his yukata Sōun reached in and pulled out the rock, wiping it off fastidiously with a napkin.

Benten peered into his hand. “Oh, what an adorable little rock!”

Tenmaya placed a celadon plate at the center of the table, onto which Sōun placed the now completely dry rock.

“My lords and ladies, I ask you to observe this rock.”

We all leaned over the table, our heads jostling for a closer look.

At first glance it looked just like any old rock you could find sitting down at the bottom of a river. We stared at it for a while, but nothing changed. “I don’t…” Bishamon began, when Daikoku interrupted him.

“Wait!” he hissed. “There’s water. Water is coming out of the stone!”

A few drops of water had coagulated on the surface of the rock. Gradually the drops got bigger, until they ran down the sides of the rock and a steady stream of crystal-clear water was flowing onto the plate.

I reached out my hand to touch it, but Sōun swiftly slapped it away.

“I discovered this dragonstone at the source of the Kamo River. This miraculous water gushes forth from it 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. It is said that within this stone resides a tiny dragon, and that whenever the heavenly dragons rage the stone becomes more powerful and displays many other mysterious properties as well. Tonight it is my privilege to present this dragonstone to my lord Jurōjin.”

“Oh, this is too great a kindness.”

“Not at all; it is merely a small token of gratitude. You would do me a great honor in accepting it.”

A sly smile appeared on Sōun’s face as he said this. It was just like the scoundrel to bribe Jurōjin, in order that his ascendance into the Friday Fellows might be assured.

Jurōjin accepted the dragonstone with a look of pleasure, then promptly dropped it into the palm of Benten.

“A present for you, my dear.”

“For me?” Benten cocked her head.

“What has been presented to me is mine to give away,” Jurōjin fixed his gaze on Sōun. “Is this not so?”

Taken aback, Sōun could only mutter, “But of course.”