Chapter 3 — The Battle of the Daimonji Pleasure Barges (Part 2)

Giddy with elation, Yashirō and I piloted the parlor across the sky.

Upon our triumphant return to the Tadasu Forest, Yaichirō sulked, “You expect us to take this unseemly thing out to the Okuribi? Ludicrous!” He was rather unhappy at not being in charge.

But Mother commented, “I think it’s very nice!” and she started to roll around comfortably on the tatami with Yashirō.

We spent the few days left before the Gozan no Okuribi toiling away, remodeling Benten’s parlor into the Manpuku Maru Mk. 2: dusting every nook and cranny; arranging paper lanterns along the outer platforms; tying on lamé streamers; and stockpiling food and drink for the feast, as well as offerings for our ancestors. Once, in the midst of all this drudgery, Yashirō and I playfully fed some Akadama port wine to the teakettle, sending the parlor floating off to nowhere in particular. Afterwards, we got an earful from Yaichirō, who had fallen off the side.

“Will the Ebisugawas be coming out in another grand ship this year?” Mother wondered, placing lanterns on the verandas.

“I expect so,” replied Yaichirō with a steely expression. “I won’t let those fools Kinkaku and Ginkaku get away with setting another fire again. I’ll bet it’s their father who puts them up to it.”

“I do hope we can avoid any trouble,” said Mother with a sigh.

The evening prior to the Gozan no Okuribi, I went to call on Master Akadama to invite him to ride on our pleasure barge as Konkobu had asked me to do.

“You mean to ask me to ride on a boat owned by furballs to watch the Okuribi?” The corners of the Master’s mouth turned down. “What insolence!”

“Mother will be making chirashizushi…”

“Tanuki-made sushi? I’d choke on the fur.”

“Anyhow, if you feel so inclined, please come to the Tadasu Forest at seven tomorrow night.”

“If I remember, I may come. Then again, I may not. Wait, by all means, but do not presume anything of me.”

I informed Mother that Master Akadama would probably be coming.

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The long summer day finally drew to a close, and darkness crept over Higashiyama.

The clamor of the multitudes jostling along the Kamo River for a good view of Daimonji reached all the way to the Tadasu Forest. The preparations for the festivities on the parlor had been completed, the lanterns on the outer veranda were burning, and all that remained was to pour wine into the teakettle and ascend into the night sky. The only thing missing was Master Akadama.

We sat in the parlor waiting in vain, not touching the food before us. Yaichirō had transformed into Hotei, the potbellied Buddha, his round belly wobbling like a bowl of jelly.

Before he died, Father had transformed into Hotei for each Gozan no Okuribi. I don’t know why, but that was the tradition. Yaichirō took up the mantle from Father, urging the rest of us to transform into the other members of the Seven Gods of Fortune, but the more you insist that a tanuki do something the less likely they are to do it. I stuck with the form of the Unkempt Undergrad; Yashirō wasn’t strong enough to transform into anything; and Mother insisted on transforming into her favorite form, the gallant Takarazuka-style young man. Nobody paid attention to Yaichirō, so alienated from the rest of us, he wobbled his belly and picked at the tatami mats.

I sat outside on the veranda and waited for the Master to arrive.

After some time, Master Akadama appeared through the trees, swinging his walking stick. Now and then he would stop and look up at the boughs of the trees, or tear at a blade of grass, whiling away the time. He should have noticed us by now at this distance, but he didn’t want to look too eager to accept the invitation of a tanuki, hence his current charade of pretending to have stumbled upon us.

“Ah, Yasaburō. What brings you here?” said Master Akadama, pausing to hail me.

“My my, if it isn’t Master Akadama. What a coincidence. Out for a stroll?”

“Indeed. It is a pleasant and cool evening.”

“I’m glad to hear it. By the way, were you aware that tonight is the Gozan no Okuribi?”

“Now, is it really?”

“You’ve happened along at the perfect time. We were just about to go up in the parlor which we borrowed from you to see the Okuribi fires. If you’re not in a hurry, would you consider honoring us with your presence? We have prepared some humble refreshments.”

“Ah, yes, you did mention something about this.”

Master Akadama knit his brows, pretending to think. At last he nodded, feigning reluctance. “I was just considering taking a rest. I will join you, if it doesn’t take too long.”

We brought our pantomime to a close, having been fully aware of each other’s true intentions all along. Master Akadama crawled onto the veranda and settled down cross-legged inside the parlor at the place of honor. Eyeing the Hotei, he asked, “Yaichirō, I take it?” in a tone of disdain. “Wherefore have you arranged yourself in this form?”

“Tonight is a night of revelry, Master Yakushibō. Even I let loose from time to time,” said Yaichiro, looking disconcerted.

Yashirō trundled into the middle of the room carrying a bottle of Akadama port wine. Master Akadama prepared himself to receive the liquor, but his eyes opened wide at the sight of my brother emptying the contents of the bottle into the teakettle.

“Such a waste, to give liquor to a teakettle!” the Master moaned sadly, as the parlor rose into the air. Brushing aside leaves and snapping off branches, in a moment the parlor was swaying above the forest.

Throwing open the sliding doors, we could see Daimonji to the east.

“There is Nyoigatake, Master. Can you see Daimonji there?” I said.

The Master glanced over dismissively. “I see it. Yes, I can see it indeed.”

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The night was calm, with only a gentle easterly breeze.

We rode the wind ever higher, cruising up over Goryō Shrine. I surveyed the city from out on the veranda, enjoying the cool evening wind. With night deepening, uncountable lights flickered on. In the midst of that brilliant glow, I could see a silhouette rising up into the sky, then another one, and even from this distance I knew that they were pleasure barges coming up to view the Okuribi. I counted one near Kitayama, one above the imperial palace, and several between Mount Uryū and Tanukidani Fudō, each giving off a faint glow as they wobbled through the sky. Though we were far away, faint din of the festivities aboard the other ships was still audible.

We commenced our banquet before the fires of the Okuribi were lit, eating Mother’s sushi and drinking alcohol. The chirashizushi was delicious. Even the Master had an appetite for once, but he would not stop muttering darkly about what a waste it was pouring wine into the teakettle.

Yashirō was running up and down the veranda outside excitedly with a bottle of ramune.

“Don’t run out there too much, you’ll fall,” called Mother.

Presently Yashirō exclaimed, “The Ebisugawas are here!” Yaichirō and I rushed outside.

A vessel was approaching from the south. With its large paddle it looked like an old-fashioned steamboat. The deck and masts were strung up with lights like a Christmas tree, blinking garishly. All the chairs and tables crowding the deck made it resemble a floating beer garden.

“Look, there’s Sōun,” said Yaichirō.

Ebisugawa Sōun, our detestable uncle, had also transformed into Hotei. He sat at the prow of the ship, legs folded beneath him, in all his arrogant corpulence. With the advantage of experience behind him, his mastery of transformation was clearly superior to that of Yaichirō’s half-baked appearance.

In place of sails, a giant electronic display was mounted on the mast, reading “EBISUGAWA SŌUN” in massive vulgar pink lettering. Red lanterns printed with the name “Ebisugawa” tightly packed the border of the display.

Beside our uncle stood two identical incarnations of the god Ebisu, both grinning creepily. Safe to say, they were Kinkaku and Ginkaku. They stood there with their arms folded, staring at us insolently.

When they were about fifty meters away, the Ebisugawas pulled their ship alongside our own and brought it to a halt. As if to ridicule the meanness of our 4½ tatami room, they intentionally flashed their lights at us, shouting and carousing and making great displays of drunken tomfoolery. Bottle after bottle of Faux Denki Bran was carried onto the deck, which was already loaded stem to stern with monstrous spiny lobsters, towering wedding cake-esque confections, and steamed buns the size of seat cushions.

Since they didn’t seem to be directly challenging us to a fight, we carried on with our own feasting.

Sensing someone alighting outside on the veranda, I looked over and saw Konkobu of Iwayasan riding in on the evening wind, carrying a bottle of sake. Seeing Master Akadama sitting in the room, he said, “Hallo, hallo!”

Master Akadama only looked sour and growled, “So, you have come as well.”

“Thank you for having me,” Konkobu greeted us, bowing his head, then sitting across from Master Akadama and beginning to drink.

After several rounds of drinks we were all rather enjoying ourselves, and went out to sit in a row on the veranda and look down at Daimonji. The fires in the shape of the “Dai” character had been lit, and we could hear cries of excitement from the people down below in the city.

Only Master Akadama stood behind us by the sliding door, refusing to join us. “What contemptible stuff. It’s hardly worth all that fuss down there,” he grumbled.

Konkobu looked around and asked, “Would you not entertain the thought of returning there?”

“It means nothing. That place would only bring more trouble now,” said the Master with his hands in his pockets, staring down at Mount Daimonji, the place that had once been his domain.

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Myōhō, Funagata, Hidari Daimonji, Torii—our viewing of each of the Okuribi bonfires ended without incident, and while we continued our banquet in the softly rocking parlor, our conversation turned to Shimogamo Sōichirō, our departed father.

For once, Master Akadama let the booze go to his head and rambled about his history with Father, which we all attended to closely with pricked ears. The two had once been very close. The time that Father had scared the daylights out of the Kurama tengu on behalf of Master Akadama was a proud moment not only for Father, but for us as well.

“Sōichirō showed much promise,” the Master ruminated. “A pity that he was a tanuki.”

The room was hushed as we all reminisced about Father, but beside us, the earsplitting din on the anchored Ebisugawa ship continued unabated. The lively performance of the brass band was all well and good, but the constant bang of fireworks going off touched a nerve.

I stepped out onto the veranda to survey the hullabaloo and saw a bunch of boisterous tanuki swinging around hand cannons alarmingly. In their midst stood Ebisugawa Sōichirō, facing a bewitchingly beautiful girl in a yukata. Seeing that she was chugging a giant bottle of Faux Denki Bran, there could be no mistaking her for anyone but Benten.

“Benten’s on the other ship,” I murmured, utterly stupefied like a sailor captivated by a siren. Hearing that, all thoughts of my father were banished from Master Akadama’s head. He ground his teacup between his teeth in vexation that Benten, who was supposed to be sitting by his side, was instead sitting over there.

“Why? Why does she not come here?” We had no answer to give him.

The sound of firecrackers drew closer, and white smoke came borne on the wind. Sniffing the fumes, Mother made an annoyed choking sound. Each time a firework burst outside, the veranda was lit up as bright as midday. They seemed to be aiming for us, if only indirectly. Soon the parlor became so filled with smoke that we could hardly make out one another’s faces. Yashirō couldn’t stop coughing, while Master Akadama drank his liquor through pressed lips and Mother ground her teeth.

“This is too much. I shall lodge a protest with Uncle.” Yaichirō stood up, but no sooner had he stepped out onto the veranda than there was a loudbang, followed by a shriek from Yaichirō, and a tongue of flame sprang up on the platform. Hotei leapt back inside with his cloth sack ablaze, throwing the room into confusion.

One of the rockets had struck a lantern, setting it alight, and the flame had spread to the sack that my panicked brother was carrying. Showing his tendency to panic when something went wrong, Yaichirō grabbed the fire extinguisher that we had set aside in the alcove just in case and let loose, but he was pointing it straight at the center of the room. He doused the flames, but he also deposited a layer of fine power over the entire room.

“Silence!” Master Akadama snapped, at no one in particular.

I went out onto the veranda to put out the blazing lantern. Loud hooting and jeering came from the occupants of the Ebisugawa ship, who were apparently finding this all great fun.

A figure was moving amidst all the white smoke. Mother was carrying an enormous firecracker as big as an oil drum, struggling to get it out onto the veranda, while Yaichirō held her back.

“This is a time for restraint, Mother!” he pleaded. “We absolutely must not retaliate. There is too much at stake—”

“Ngah! I’ll teach them to make fools of us again!” Mother snarled, like a rabid hound. Glancing at the scorch marks on the veranda, I shoved Yaichirō back into the parlor and helped Mother lug the giant firework outside.

“Aim carefully! Try to hit them squarely amidships!” Mother directed.

As they imbibed their drinks leisurely, Ebisugawa Sōun and Benten caught on to our plan mid-sip. Benten floated nimbly up to the top of the mast, still clutching that giant bottle of Faux Denki Bran, while Sōun glared at us scornfully with his brooding eyes. Beside him, Kinkaku and Ginkaku got up and started shouting something.

“To err is tanuki, to forgive—” Yaichirō wailed, while Mother and I shouted, “Drop dead!”

Our cannon roared flame.

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The shot from our oil drum cannon burst square in the middle of the Ebisugawas’ festivities.

In the midst of that sudden bedlam, the panicked partygoers shot off their own fireworks in every direction, throwing everything into even greater confusion. Bottles of Faux Denki Bran were shattered, and mounds of delicacies were kicked and scattered across the deck. Spiny lobsters and giant meat buns rained down from the sparkling ship over the city streets.

At the top of the mast, Benten sat enjoying the spectacle of the fireworks shooting up from the deck below.

Kinkaku and Ginkaku ran hither and thither, shouting orders to their tanuki underlings. At length, their ship turned and approached us with dismaying speed, shooting off fireworks at us.

Finally grasping that the situation was beyond a peaceful solution, Yaichirō joined in as we returned fire with the fireworks that we had stocked up to celebrate the end of the festivities. Incoming rockets tore holes in the sliding doors, knocked down the lanterns, and ignited small fires here and there, keeping Yashirō busy with the fire extinguisher.

With the scurrying tanuki on the Ebisugawa ship closing within spitting distance, we ran out of rockets to fire. Mother gathered whatever was at hand—empty bottles, the Master’s walking stick—and started chucking it at them.

“I think it’s high time we get out of here,” I started to tell Yaichirō, when a number of hooks attached to chains came whistling through the air and thudded fast into the veranda.

“That’s dangerous! You could kill someone with those!” Mother yelled, but Sōun and Kinkaku and Ginkaku merely snickered.

The chains began to retract, reeling in our ship.

“There’re just a few of them! Pull ‘em in and blow ‘em to smithereens!” Kinkaku yelled, leaning over the rail.

On their deck, someone had produced a giant rake and was reaching up to draw us in. The chains creaked as they continued to wind us in.

I stood in the doorway by the smoldering sliding door, showing no fear, when Benten caught my eye, from all the way atop the mast. She casually tossed aside her drained bottle of Faux Denki Bran and smiled at me. Winking, she pointed towards the interior of the parlor and mimicked opening a drawer.

What was she on about?

I turned to look into the parlor. Mother was rummaging about, looking for more fireworks to shoot at Ebisugawa Sōun’s face. As a last resort she had thrown open Benten’s chest of drawers in the corner and was fishing around, squeaking as she tossed out the contents, “Nothing, nothing, nothing!”

In the pile of things she had thrown aside was a familiar looking fan.

Without picking it up, I already knew that it was the Fūjin Raijin fan.

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The lights of the Ebisugawa ship shimmered beyond the scorched ruins of the sliding door.

As the chains stopped, the entire parlor tilted to the side, sending bottles, plates, lacquered boxes of food, and Master Akadama tumbling over the tatami. A loud splintering came from the walls and pillars of the parlor. Outside, the dazzlingly bedecked paddle steamer was stopped alongside the veranda. Amongst all the lights, flutes twittered and taiko drums pounded and a brass band blared, creating a jumbled cacophony of incomprehensible music mingled with cheers.

“Bring out Yaichirō!” commanded Ebisugawa Sōun, reclining on the deck.

I checked Yaichirō before he could step out onto the veranda, and went out myself instead. The tanuki lining the deck burst into howls of derision upon my appearance. Some of them were holding pink cannons, training them directly at me. Flanked by Kinkaku and Ginkaku, Ebisugawa Sōun’s potbellied Buddha smirked down at me.

“Instead of the firstborn we get the third,” he drawled. “Where is Yaichirō? No doubt cowering in the corner of your parlor?”

Ignoring Sōun, I looked up to the top of the mast.

Benten was standing there idly on one leg. Without a word, I raised my right hand and showed her the Fūjin Raijin fan. When she saw it, she cackled, her face splitting wide into a smile like a kuchisake-onna¹. With a little toss of her short black hair, she departed in the direction of Mount Hiei, understanding full well that the jeers below her were about to transform into a hellish symphony of screams.

“Well, have you nothing to say?” called Sōun, leaning forward.

Ignoring him, I called out in a loud voice, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear! He who has eyes to see, let him see! For I am none other than Yasaburō, third son of Shimogamo Sōichirō!”

“Yes, we know that,” interjected Sōun.

Beside him, Kinkaku opened his mouth to cut in. “What we mean is, hurry up and bring out that big brother of yours! We have a score to settle with him biting our butts the other day!”

“He almost split my butt in half again,” added Ginkaku, very conscientiously.

“You know, Yasaburō, I’m quite frankly amazed that you insist on calling that thing a pleasure barge,” Kinkaku continued mockingly. “That’s not a ship, that’s a tea room!”

As popular as it is for tanuki to mimic humans with their holidays and wild escapades, moderation is paramount. I am not fond of conflict, but in order to follow Father’s teachings and preserve harmony and tranquility in this world, it was only my natural duty to straighten out those unruly tanuki who would ruin the atmosphere of this celebration.

I bowed my head and silently apologized to the spirit of my father for being about to blow away my dear uncle and cousins. In my mind, Father burst out laughing heartily. “Fine, fine,” he declared bountifully. “Let ‘em have it!”

I opened the fan and raised it above my head.

Sōun’s face froze like a candy sculpture.

“Well, Uncle, I bid you good evening.” And like I was putting out the dying embers on Daimonji, I waved the fan.

A great tempest rocked the Ebisugawas’ ship. Sōun, Kinkaku, and Ginkaku were all facing the squall directly, and their faces flattened out like spongy mochi, making their expressions very strange indeed.

The ship rolled heavily in the howling wind, like a gigantic ornate folding screen beginning to collapse. The tanuki on the deck seemed to be screaming in terror, but not a sound reached me, for their cries were all carried by the wind. The remaining refreshments all tumbled away into the sky, plates and all. A single rocket managed to shoot off towards us, but it too was blown away by the wind and vanished in a twinkle. The mast swayed to and fro, and buckling under the strain the wooden boards of the deck splintered and burst open. A great crack split the electronic display on the mast.

With the Ebisugawa ship being borne off into the distance, the chains pulled taut, and a great cracking sound came from the hooks embedded in the veranda. Before anyone could react the veranda split apart. I was standing outside taking in the scene, and I would have been thrown off into the inky darkness, if not for Mother who grabbed hold of the nape of my neck. She would have fallen off with me, but Yashirō grabbed her and Yaichirō grabbed Yashirō, and with Konkobu lending a hand we managed to stay in one piece.

Dangling from the broken floorboards of the veranda, I saw off the foundering Ebisugawa ship.

Farewell, Ebisugawas; happy is he who lets the wind take him where it will, and fall where he may!

Clinging to the lurching ship, Sōun and Kinkaku and Ginkaku glared furiously up at us, their delicious expressions lit by the colorful illumination of the ship. I stuck out my tongue at them.

The Christmas tree lighting stayed on as they plummeted towards the city, but suddenly they all went out at once, and finally there was a loud thump in the distance.

As I clambered back on board, Master Akadama was standing there casting a gimlet eye down upon me.

“Tanuki truly are incorrigible fools,” he declared, taking a sip of Akadama port wine.

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We shouted with elation after taking down the Ebisugawas. Konkobu of Iwayasan took out an old-fashioned camera, saying he wanted to take a picture to commemorate the event. We lined up along the ruined veranda, grinning at his camera. “There’s a fine family. Your father would be proud,” said Konkobu, clicking the shutter.

To our great mortification, however, we soon found ourselves following after the Ebisugawas.

The inner parlor was puffing along on its last legs when we realized that we had run out of port wine. We searched all over the room, but there was not a drop of Akadama port wine to be found. In our panic, we tried pouring shōchū in, but the teakettle spewed boiling shōchū all over the place and leapt out of the fireplace, completely unmanageable.

Having run out of options, we sat in a circle and ascertained the truth of what had happened.

Looking down at the fires burning on Mount Daimonji, his old domain, Master Akadama had been outwardly unmoved, but inwardly he had wept, his heart overcome with melancholy. Yet the drunken Konkobu had boasted about the warm reception he had received from his successor on Iwayasan, only fueling the Master’s feelings of envy. His beloved Benten was on the Ebisugawas’ ship, and hadn’t even bothered to come and offer her greetings here. The foolish tanuki were so engrossed in their silly battle, they took no notice of Master Akadama, who should have been the guest of honor.

If no one is going to pay me any attention, what reason have I to idly watch bottle after bottle of my favorite Akadama port wine being wasted on this teakettle? Master Akadama asked himself. He was Yakushibō of Nyoigatake, and tonight he was the guest of honor. He was greater than these tanuki. He was greater than that teakettle. Was it not the birthright of a tengu to drink what he pleased, and take flights of fancy through the wild skies of his imagination?

Thus, while we were valiantly fighting off the Ebisugawas, Master Akadama took bottle in hand, and drank the parlor dry.

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We came down in the vicinity of Goryō Shrine. The silver lining was that none of us were hurt. The not-so-silver lining was that the Ebisugawas also managed to escape without injury. They had crashed on the bank of the Kamo River, north of the Izumoji Bridge.

So the Gozan no Okuribi came to a close.

Things ended in a draw, on account of both parties withdrawing due to injury, but by far the biggest loser of the night was myself.

This most unprofitable night had left Benten’s inner parlor in ruins. That in itself was enough to make me tremble in fear, but in addition to that I realized that I had also dropped the Fūjin Raijin fan when I had almost fallen off the broken veranda.

In the space of just one night, I had lost both of the things that Benten had entrusted me with—how on earth was I ever going to explain this away? I stood facing the remains of the inner parlor, completely paralyzed, feeling the hair on my back tingling on end.

In that moment, I could practically see Benten’s year-end party before me. In the center of the toasty room a pot was simmering gently, and in that pot, floating amongst the tofu and scallions, was none other myself, Shimogamo Yasaburō. Under the bright lights, Benten dipped her chopsticks into the Yasaburō stew. Her eyes sparkled—my first love, this half-tengu—and a slight flush came into her cheeks.

“I like you so much I could just eat you up.”

If she really had meant that, then this was what I had always longed for. But at the same time, I didn’t much fancy being eaten.

Of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, fleeing is best—in other words, discretion is the better part of valor.

I decided to abscond into the shadows.

Using all the wits at my disposal I was able to lay low for quite some time, and from late summer all the way into autumn, I was known far and wide as Yasaburō, the Fleet.

An urban legend of a woman with her mouth slit wide open, like a Glasgow smile.