Chapter 2 — Nanzenji Gyokuran (Part 2)

In shogi, no piece is superfluous. Those who disrespect the lowly pawn do so at their own peril.

But naturally, any tanuki would much rather be chosen to play one of the flashier pieces, and each time Nanzenji read out an assignment the designated tanuki was brought either to elation or despair. I was appointed as one of Yajirō’s knights, and Yaichirō proudly took his place as a rook. On the other hand, the detestable duo of Kinkaku and Ginkaku had been chosen for the prestigious roles of gold and silver generals at the enemy camp, and looked fittingly smug.

Yajirō was chosen to make the first move, and thus the game commenced.

During the opening the pieces moved only cautiously, and being unfamiliar with the finer points of shogi I was bored out of my mind. The tanuki in the stands were far more interested in chatting and gossiping over oden and Faux Denki Bran than they were in the match unfolding before them. I kept glancing at Yajirō, silently willing him to order a gallant knight’s charge out onto the field of battle, but his eyes hardly seemed to register his unruly knight, his expression calm as he analyzed the board.

I must admit that to this day I fail to understand what is so interesting about shogi. In my younger days Father tried his best to teach me the game, but dull concepts like strategy and maneuver went in one ear and out the other, and none of it stuck. Game after game I went straight for the jugular, leaving my own defenseless king to be surrounded by the enemy before going out in a blaze of glory. Eventually I started making up my own silly pieces, like the Foolish Sage, and the Peachy Tanuki, and the Minister of Yee-Haw, throwing the rules out the window. Eventually even Father gave up trying to teach me the game. I washed my hands of shogi then, and sought my excitement off the board.

As I was thinking about all this, the match moved into the middle game, and pieces started to clash on the board. At last Yajirō issued orders for his knight to move out, so I pranced forth into the center of the board.

Gyokuran moved her silver general up, putting me face to face with Ginkaku, who was scraping away shrilly at a violin in his gentleman’s getup.

“Cut that out, Ginkaku!”

“You clearly have no appreciation for art,” he smirked patronizingly. “We are currently studying the ways of the English gentleman. Playing the violin is a most gentlemanly pursuit!”

“A Shōgoin daikon has a better chance of becoming a gentleman than you!”

“How dare you! You, you…saucy fellow!”

“Ignore him!” Kinkaku shouted out from the enemy ranks. “Remember, splendid isolation!”

“Yes, yes, splendid isolation. Kinkaku and I have resolved to carry out the policy of splendid isolation, like the British Empire of old. We shan’t treat with idiots!”

The way that Kinkaku and Ginkaku always put their idiocy on full display, they were already fairly isolated in tanuki society. Witnessing their lofty ideals be in agreement with the rest of the tanuki world felt almost like a miracle.

“Splendid isolation without splendour is just isolation, methinks,” I remarked.

“Be quiet!”

“Ooh, watch out, or Kaisei’s going to get mad at you again!”

“Hmph. I’m not afraid of Kaisei, nohow!”

“Come on, you always start crying when she scolds you.”

“I do not cry! I do not!” Ginkaku flailed his violin bow in the air furiously. “Kinkaku! What do I say here? I’m fuming mad!”

“Hold on, Ginkaku. Your brother’s coming to rescue you!” cried Kinkaku.

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As quick to abandon his splendid isolation as he had been to declare it, Kinkaku shoved forward in a most unbecoming show of autonomy for a shogi piece, sending other pieces toppling onto the board. “You don’t have permission to move!” cried Gyokuran, but Kinkaku wasn’t one to do what he was told.

“Ho, Yasaburō. I see time has not changed your ruffian ways!”

“He doesn’t ever change, does he, Kinkaku?”

“And that is where he and we differ. We are always changing and evolving, that we are.”

“We change, and we evolve. Have a care!”

Moving in sync, Kinkaku and Ginkaku turned into even larger shogi pieces, these marked with the names Drunken Elephant and Prancing Stag.

“There’s no such pieces as those,” I scoffed.

“As uncultured as ever, I see,” Kinkaku drawled, his lip curled in derision. “These are pieces that were used in the shogi of olden times. We are far too distinguished to use those ordinary, commonplace pieces!”

“See, Kinkaku knows all sorts of things! He might not be any good at shogi, but he’s terribly clever, you know!”

“Now now, in moderation, Ginkaku. Overeager flattery is not becoming of a gentleman.”

“Oh, beg pardon. How very unbecoming of me.”

Seeing these two idiotic pieces towering above me, I thought back to the 74 fairy pieces I had invented and unleashed onto the board as a kid against my long-suffering father. Keep the battle on the board! Yaichirō had warned me, but we were on the board, and besides it had been Kinkaku and Ginkaku who had made the first move. It was only natural I should reply by showing off some pieces of my own, and so I transformed into one of my Big Four, my magnum opus, the Foolish Sage.

In unison Kinkaku and Ginkaku bleated, “There’s no such piece!”

The game was forgotten, and the other pieces only looked on in bemusement. Up in the stands the spectators were starting to lean forward, sensing an impending brouhaha in the works. Kinkaku and Ginkaku shifted into avatars of Jizai-tennō and Gozu-tennō¹, while I countered with the Minister of Yee-Haw, and in the end Heaven & Earth stood shoulder to shoulder with Vainglory against the technicolor Lord of the Cosmos.

After a few rounds of this stubborn contest Yaichirō finally blew his top. “That’s enough, Yasaburō!”

“I’m keeping it on the board, aren’t I?”

“This is an important day for the Nanzenjis! Stop fooling around!”

“You can’t seriously expect me to back down now!”

“Are you trying to embarrass Gyokuran!?”

“Oh ho,” Kinkaku said, a leer in his voice. “Just as I suspected. I knew there was something shifty about Yaichirō.”

“What do you mean, shifty?” Yaichirō demanded.

“You’ve always been so obliging to the Nanzenji clan, when you won’t give us the time of day! You wish to become the Trick Magister, so isn’t it unfair that you only ever favor the Nanzenji? You’ve been so involved with this tanuki shogi business. We Ebisugawas donated a whole barrelful of Faux Denki Bran, but do we hear a single word of thanks from you? It’s outrageous, I say! Woe, woe is us. It’s enough to make an honest tanuki go crooked!”

“Well said, well said. Who could blame us for going crooked, Kinkaku?” shouted Ginkaku.

“It seems to me that Yaichirō favors the Nanzenji because of Gyokuran. He resurrected tanuki shogi so that he would look good in front of her, so that he could hear her tell him, Oh Yaichirō, how wonderful you are! Ladies and gentlemen, this is scandalous. Is this not the corruption of public office for private affairs? I ask you, is this the kind of behavior you expect to see from a future Trick Magister?”

You could have heard a pin drop on the board. The spectators waited with bated breath.

There was no way that could possibly be true of my brother, that square, and I was fully expecting him to vehemently deny these ridiculous claims.

Instead, when I turned around it was to see Yaichirō darting his eyes around, stammering, “Th-tha-th-tha.”

It appeared that Kinkaku was right on the money. Setting aside the morals of mixing public business with private, imagine how humiliated Yaichirō must have been, having his feelings for Gyokuran exposed by Kinkaku and Ginkaku, of all tanuki, in front of this massive crowd. You had to feel for him.

Emboldened, Kinkaku and Ginkaku both transformed into kimono-clad Gyokurans and writhed suggestively on the board.

“Mm, after playing with hard wooden pieces all day I need a man’s touch!”

“Please, Yaichirō, make me a woman!”

It was then that Nanzenji Gyokuran snapped and leaped onto the board. Transforming into a tigress, she unleashed a deafening roar that shook the board and reduced the terrible two to blubbering babies. Ginkaku reverted into a furball and rolled about the board, whereupon Gyokuran savagely sunk her fangs into him. His shrieks rent the air like the sound of silk being ripped. With a great swing of Gyokuran’s head, the little bundle of fur went sailing into the air, and his thin wailing cries vanished into the darkness beyond the cedars.

Fearing that they’d be embroiled in this mess, the remaining pieces poofed back into furballs, pushing and shoving in their rush to escape the board. Kinkaku tried to blend into the crowd, but with a well-placed kick I sent him sprawling back towards Gyokuran, who pinned him to the ground with a powerful paw.

Squeaking in dismay, he tried to appeal to Gyokuran’s better nature. “Okay, Gyokuran, maybe I did go a tad bit too far…”

The board was in shambles, and continuing the game was out of the question. Gyokuran’s howling shook even the most besotted tanuki awake from their feasting. Just as Yasaka Heitarō was slowly rising to his feet to quell the situation, the bottom fell out from the clouds, and a great torrential rain drenched the proceedings. Tanuki screeched as they scattered left and right to escape the downpour.

And thus the Nanzenji Tanuki Shogi Tournament drew to a most turbulent close.

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The rain continued through the night, shrouding the city in grey. The bridges over the Kamo River and the buildings along the riverbanks were obscured in the ethereal mist that lay over the city.

Tanuki shogi turned out to be an unexpected hit among the tanuki of Kyoto, and even Yasaka Heitarō made noises about holding it next year. Many tanuki had enjoyed the confused Ebisugawa-Shimogamo-Nanzenji melee on the board last night like it was part of the festivities. Kinkaku and Ginkaku were rather put out, claiming that their punctured posteriors pained them to the point that they couldn’t work. They were obviously exaggerating, however, and Kaisei made it known in no uncertain terms that neither compensation nor concern were needed, so the Nanzenji clan simply sidestepped the issue.

Tanuki like to wrap up their problems gracefully in nice, fluffy packages.

But Yaichirō and Gyokuran stood against that tide. Ignoring the admonitions of her family, Gyokuran secluded herself up at the top of the main gate of the temple, while Yaichirō refused to leave the Tadasu Forest and sulked from dawn to dusk. His face was as stormy as the raincloud-choked sky above as he lectured me on and on.

“I told you not to rise to their bait! Think of the shame you have brought to the Nanzenji!”

“Well, those two started it!”

“If you are going to fight, you must consider the time and place.”

He had a point, which made me dig in my heels even further.

“I mean, why didn’t you tell them to go pound sand? You wanna talk about shaming the Nanzenji, you could have put a stop to the whole thing right there. It’s your fault that Gyokuran ended up looking like a floozy!”

Unable to come up with a riposte, Yaichirō flew into a rage.

“Why were you born into this world, except to confound me!”

My brother’s head couldn’t have been harder if it had been chiseled out of stone. That hard-boiled disposition of his was probably his way of trying to steer us onto the right path. After all, he bore the weight of the clan’s future on his shoulders, and all he had by way of brothers were a frog, a fool, and a little runt. But telling me that tripping him up was the only reason I existed was going too far.

I clambered up to the top of an elm tree and yelled, “That really hurt, you know. I’m not coming down until you get on your knees and apologize to me!”

“Suit yourself. Perhaps being so high up will make you realize how foolish it is always having your head in the clouds!”

“Try saying that to a tengu and see what happens!”

The next day when Yaichirō realized that I was still up there, he was so appalled that he didn’t say anything to me.

The humid rainy season always made the fur around my nether regions stick, and even though I’d only gone up the tree on account of my confounded pride, now that I was up here it actually felt pretty comfy. Leaping from branch to branch high above the ground, I listened to the rain continue to patter on the canopy. It felt magnificent up there, watching my family rustle around in the undergrowth and visitors go back and forth along the shrine road. It was almost like being a tengu, and it made me think of the time that Master Akadama got so mad at me that he tied me to the top of the cedar tree in Kumogahata.

Every so often Yashirō would climb up to visit, bringing with him a satchel containing a thermos and a few steamed buns.

“How come you’re not coming down yet?” he asked me once, sounding worried. “Are you gonna spend the rest of your life up here?”

“Don’t be silly,” I replied, stuffing a bun into my mouth.

“Oh, that’s good. Mother said that if you keep this up you might turn into a tengu. You shouldn’t make her worry too much.”

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Late at night, as I explored the branches to stave off boredom, I stumbled upon a large hollow. I peeked inside to find that it was surprisingly spick and span, and contained a small chest of drawers among other belongings.

This must be Yaichirō’s secret stash.

“Got anything good?” I murmured, rummaging around.

But being that this all belonged to my straight-laced brother, there wasn’t a single thing of interest in there. A tome on tanuki history and customs bound in traditional watoji style, entitled Heritage of Fur; a half-eaten dried persimmon, hardened to the point of shattering teeth; spare parts for the automaton rickshaw; and not a scandalous item in sight.

“Bo-ring!” I muttered, continuing to fish around, when I spied a large paulownia box bundled up in an elegant cloth.

It was Father’s well-loved shogi board. It was a sturdy, magnificent 4-legged board, and exuded such a solem aura that just sitting in front of it made you feel like you were getting better at the game. The effect was ruined, however, by the giant bite mark in the surface that Yaichirō had left behind.

“That’s pretty gnarly. Awfully immature of Yaichirō,” I thought to myself. “But then again, at the time he was basically just a kid.”

I still remembered the day he had ruined the board. Father, usually so busy, was relaxing in the Tadasu Forest, and around dusk Nanzenji Gyokuran came to call. At the time she often visited the forest to play shogi with Father and Yaichirō. In her human form she also was active in various shogi clubs around town, and wherever you could find a willing opponent there you’d find Gyokuran. Father took out his favorite shogi board, and Yaichirō and Gyokuran began to play.

Since Father was watching that day, Yaichirō tried even harder than he usually did. Whenever he tried hard things tended not to go his way, and as the game went on his situation on the board grew steadily more dire. But in the endgame Gyokuran uncharacteristically made blunder after blunder, drastically changing the flow of the game, and Yaichirō eked out a miraculous victory. But he was far from pleased. As soon as the game was decided he transformed into a tiger, and blinded by his rage took a bite out of the board.

Proud as he was, Yaichirō must not have been able to take the humiliation. He would much rather have taken a sound beating than be shown mercy by Gyokuran in front of Father.

Ever since, Yaichirō had forbidden himself from playing shogi, and no matter how Father encouraged him, he had never touched a piece again.

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On the third day of my treetop protest against Yaichirō, Mother came climbing up to reason with me.

“I brought you some yummy yōkan!” Lining up the sweets along a branch, she opened up the thermos hanging around her neck and poured a cup of sencha. Together we sat on the branch and munched on the sticky black jelly.

The pitter-patter of the falling rain on the forest was almost like music.

After a while, Mother suddenly declared, “I like Gyokuran very much.”

“Miss Gyokuran is a fine tanuki,” I nodded.

“She’d make a fine match for Yaichirō. Yes, I’ve made up my mind.”

“That’s…a little out of nowhere, Mother.”

“What do you think?” she murmured. “I think the connection’s there.”

“The red fur of fate, you mean?”

“But it’ll be difficult. Yaichirō hasn’t got the slightest idea how to play the game of love, and Gyokuran’s a bit of a shrinking violet…”

Mother savored a sip of tea, then continued on as if she were talking to herself.

“Then again, Yaichirō has a kind younger brother, who I’m sure will think of something to help out. He’s such a thoughtful boy, and I know that he does feel a little sorry for causing such a ruckus at the shogi tournament. I’m sure he’ll pitch in and help. Yes, I’m sure of it. A mother knows.”

Talking herself into that conclusion, Mother took another bite of yōkan and smiled.

“What delicious yōkan this is. Absolutely first-rate.”

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After helping myself to a serving of first-rate yōkan from Mother, there was no way I could just continue my furry tengu pretensions.

That afternoon, I bid farewell to my life in the trees and headed out to Nanzenji.

Walking along the canal from Okazaki towards Keage, I could see on the opposite side the rain-slick Ferris wheel at the zoo, and hear the plaintive calls of birds from faraway lands. A light rain beat on the forest of Nanzenji across from the Lake Biwa Canal Museum, and the trees appeared swollen from the ample rainwater they were soaking in. Passing by a dignified ryōtei, I entered the grounds of Nanzenji.

Passing through a damp grove of red pines, I saw rising up before me the misty outline of the _sanmon _gate. Sheltered from the rain beneath the dark, worn pillars was Nanzenji Shōjirō, sitting alone before a shogi board. Seeing me approach he smiled.

I sat cross-legged before him. My butt felt nice and cool.

“How is Miss Gyokuran?”

“Still shut up like the goddess Amaterasu in her rock-cave. Once she’s made up her mind to lock herself away, she won’t listen to anyone, not even her own brother. Perhaps she might come out if I did a silly dance to lure her out, like in the myth.”

“I’m very sorry about everything that happened.”

“Don’t fret yourself over it. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?”

The rain continued to pound steadily on the roof of the gate.

“My brother can be such a bonehead.”

“…Well, we’re all tanuki here,” Shōjirō smiled, spinning the shogi board round and round. “I know Yaichirō quite well, and if my father was one of the most famous tanuki in Kyoto to ever live, and I felt like I was being watched by him all the time, why, I might foul up things that people wouldn’t normally foul up. When you let yourself go with the flow, you don’t usually make big mistakes, but when you’re nervous and stiff, you’re sure to muck things up. Isn’t that how tanuki are?”

“You’re probably right. Being relaxed is the tanuki’s calling card.”

“But I am fond of Yaichirō.”

Nanzenji Shōjirō was always kind to the Shimogamo clan. Unlike Yaichirō, who despite being a square was quick to turn into a tiger and run amok, Shōjirō was always calm and collected. While other tanuki made sure to check which way the wind was blowing before taking a position, Shōjirō always had Yaichirō’s back. Yaichirō trusted Shōjirō, and Shōjirō trusted Yaichirō.

Staring at the shogi board, Shōjirō murmured, “Whenever Gyokuran gets like this, I can’t help but think about the god of shogi.”

“The god of shogi?”

“A long time ago, she often used to barricade herself up there to do some shogi training. And that, supposedly, was when she saw the god of shogi.”

According to what she had told Shōjirō, Gyokuran had spent days upon days staring at the board in intense, unbroken concentration, almost forgetting to breathe in a state of deep thought. One day, for just a brief moment, that board of 81 squares had seemed to transformed into an infinite plane; the pieces, their movements, were one with her soul; she realized that this small board was in fact larger than Kyoto, than Japan, than the entire world; and she almost swooned, overcome by a spine-tingling tremor of terror and elation.

In that moment, she saw the furry god of shogi pass by on the board.

Shōjirō was rather perturbed when he heard Gyokuran’s story.

In the years since the Nanzenji clan had been awakened to shogi by the Showdown at Nanzenji, a few of their number had met unfortunate ends after falling a little too deeply into the game. Some had been lowered into stewpots, still turning their minds over a shogi problem; some had been run over by cars, pondering the mysteries of shogi; and some had vanished on training retreats, never to return. It was said among the Nanzenji clan that tanuki who disappeared in that manner had been spirited away by the god of shogi.

“I’m just worried sick that Gyokuran will be spirited away, too,” murmured Shōjirō, staring at the board. “I always wonder whether there’s someone out there that might be able to hold that part of her back. And do you know what, Yasaburō? I wouldn’t mind that person being Yaichirō.”

“Yaichirō? Really?”

“…It doesn’t matter what I think. All that matters is that my sister chose him.”

I bowed to Shōjirō, then made my way up the steep steps through the gloomy light of the lanterns. Working my way around the inner sanctuary which was dedicated to the Buddha, I proceeded down the long outer corridor. The handrail was slightly damp.

Through the rain I could see all the rest of Kyoto. On the left I saw the Miyako Hotel towering up on a knoll, wrapped in greenery that looked as soft as silk, and in front of me was the skyline of my beloved city where today, as on every other day, tanuki and tengu and human alike wriggled through the streets. In the distance was Mount Atago, domain of Tarōbō of Atagoyama, as well as other mountain peaks extending alongside it like a dark green folding screen.

I pushed open a sturdy door with nipple-like rivets protruding from it.

“Not a word, Yasaburō.” Gyokuran’s voice came from the darkness. “I’m reflecting right now.”

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Nanzenji Gyokuran sat alone in the middle of the dark room, looking pensive.

“I’ll bet your butt must be pretty sore after sitting here for so long,” I remarked.

“You mustn’t talk about butts to a lady.”

“Cold butts are bad mojo. You ought to come down now, Miss Gyokuran.”

“…Don’t call me Miss.”

Gyokuran was sitting primly upright in her dress, her back stiff and erect as she stared down at the shogi board in front of her. The cool floorboards felt almost damp, and air was thick with the scent of incense and a most un-tanuki-like solemnity. The pillars were adorned with vivid images; the Buddha statue set at the inner altar seemed to be glaring at us, and even the peacocks on the ceiling stared down upon us imperiously.

Sitting down across from Gyokuran on the other side of the board, I looked down to see that the nearly arranged pieces had yet to move from their starting positions. Observing her expression, I reached out my hand and moved up my right-side pawn. Gyokuran continued to stare at the board without saying a word, but at last she reached out and moved a piece of her own.

We traded moves, listening to the rain pounding on the rooftop. My play was so wild and reckless that eventually Gyokuran couldn’t help cracking a smile.

“Now this is really too bad, Yasaburō! This is hardly shogi at all!”

“That awful, huh?”

“It’s like your pieces are beside themselves with laughter!”

“The pieces are only as foolish as their player.”

I must have been a handful for Gyokuran back when she was one of Master Akadama’s assistants. Yet she was always kind to me, shielding me from the Master’s iron-handed discipline, even taking me to see a specialist at the proctology clinic when I came down with a bad case of butt shrooms. And the tanuki who had implanted in me the belief that cold butts are bad mojo had been none other than Nanzenji Gyokuran herself.

“The fool’s shogi will continue until you agree to come down from here.”

“Please, no! I’m going to die of laughter!”

“Then come on down. Everyone’s worried about you.”

“…It’s almost like we’ve switched places.” Gyokuran looked up from the board and smiled. “Remember when you got tied to the top of the giant cedar in Kumogahata?”

“You mean when Master Akadama tied me up and then forgot about me?”

“You kept insisting that you wouldn’t come down.”

“Did I?”

“You did. I still remember it so well. Yaichirō was worried because you hadn’t come back even after the sun went down, so I went with him to Kumogahata to look for you.”

That night, Yaichirō and Gyokuran had crossed the pitch-black field in search of me. The tengu training ground had never been the coziest place for a tanuki, and at night the atmosphere was even eerier. There were so many stars in the sky, many more than you could see down in the city, that it was almost frightening, and a fevered wind rustled restlessly over the endless sea of grass.

When they reached the center of the field, Gyokuran felt a terror so great she could hardly breathe. For some reason she was rooted to the spot, seized by a horrible feeling that she would never find her way out of the grass again. Yaichirō came up beside her and squeezed her hand, and only when he did that did the feeling of falling into space fade and the earth feel firm beneath her feet. Finally able to breathe again, Gyokuran held tight to his hand, and she didn’t let go.

Finally the two came to the foot of the shadowy towering cedar.

“Hey! Yasaburō!” they called.

”Yo!” came the nonchalant reply, drifting down through the air.

Climbing up the trunk, the two found me still strapped to the top of the tree. They were so relieved that they both almost burst into tears. I, on the other hand, was still young and brash, and scowling like a gargoyle threw a tantrum and refused to come down, stunning them both.

“I’m gonna stay up here until I train myself into a tengu! Then, I’m gonna overthrow Master Akadama from his own mountain!” I declared, in decidedly un-tanuki-like fashion. I must have been pretty pissed off at the Master.

Gyokuran smiled as she retold the tale, rearranging her pieces on the board. “We had to drag you down from there that night. You were being so very stubborn.”

“Young me was a fool.”

“Hah, and you’ve hardly changed since then.”

“Well, what’s it going to be? Still need more convincing?”

“Oh no, I’ve had quite enough of fool’s shogi.”

We both came down the narrow stairway, to find that the rain had tapered off to a drizzle.

“I’m back, Shōjirō,” said Gyokuran, bowing her head.

Shōjirō looked up and smiled. “Welcome back.”

“I’m going to pay a call to the Tadasu Forest. You don’t mind?”

“…Certainly. Off you go.”

Footnotes

1. Jizai-tennō is a piece in the ancient maka dai dai variant of shogi which shares its name with a Buddhist deity; Gozu-tennō is a Japanese deity who was formerly the patron deity of Yasaka Shrine. ↩