Chapter 6 — Ebisugawa's Heir (Part 3)

Having nothing in particular to do I spent the first half of December lazing around the Tadasu Forest.

I passed the time listening to the sound of the wind shaking the tree branches, drinking honey ginger tea to stave off colds, and accompanying Mother to billiards disguised as a shy young mademoiselle.

While I was loafing around, Yaichirō was dashing through the snowy streets of Kyoto in his automaton rickshaw, panting out white steam from under the red muffler that Gyokuran had given him. New work sprang out for him from around every corner, and yet he dealt with it all so indefatigably that it was as if his blood had been entirely replaced by energy drinks.

Yaichirō had also found time to discuss with Kureichirō the matter of reinstating the engagement between Kaisei and me. It seemed that Kureichirō had raised no opposition, but as Sōun’s funeral had taken place only a short while ago, the official announcement would have to wait for a more opportune moment. Perfectly reasonable, if you asked me.

Mother would often fuss me about Kaisei while I was rolling around in bed. “Why don’t you go see here?”

But I didn’t want Kinkaku and Ginkaku to see my transformation coming undone, and anyways seeing Kaisei felt highly embarrassing. No doubt she felt the same way, and we probably wouldn’t even manage to have a proper conversation.

“I don’t wanna go see her. She’s just going to get mad at me.”

“Why would your fiancée get mad at you?”

“Whenever she’s flustered the first thing she does is get mad.”

“You shouldn’t speak of your fiancée like that!”

“So what do you want me to say to her?”

“Dear me, is that something you should ask your mother? You just say things that are, well, embarrassing. Oh goodness, I’m getting so very embarrassed myself!”

“She might be my fiancée, but that doesn’t mean we’re just going to start whispering sweet nothings to each other!”

“Oh, how embarrassing,” said Mother, burrowing into the leaves.

All that being said though—

Ever since Sōun had passed on to the next life, everything had been going suspiciously well. We had had a historic reconciliation with the Ebisugawa clan, my betrothal with Kaisei had been reinstated, Yajirō had left on his journey, and it looked all but certain that Yaichirō would become the next Trick Magister. Even the Master Akadama-Benten-Heir front had been quiet since that night at Kiyomizu-dera. Everything was smooth sailing as far as the eye could see.

As a tanuki I am quite fond of the quiet life, but my fool’s blood was whispering to me, There’s got to be more than this.

I was sitting on the bank of the winter-parched Kamo, making up a dangerous, un-tanuki-like song, when the automaton rickshaw rolled up and stopped in front of me. Yaichirō was sitting inside.

“Yasaburō, I need you to come with me. Yasaka needs your help.”

I jumped up. Whatever this was, it smelled interesting.

“Another problem pop up?”

“Rejoice, you’re up again.”

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The problem in question was the kerfuffle over who would serve as witness for the tanuki election.

The Trick Magister is chosen during a ceremony held by the tanuki elders at the end of each year. It is a time-honored tradition that a tengu be invited to witness the election, but as tengu tend to hold tanuki in contempt, they often will hem and haw find some excuse or other to get out of the job. Last year the Kurama tengu claimed that they all had bellyaches, forcing Master Akadama to attend.

Yaichirō scrunched up his face and folded his arms as he drove the rickshaw along. “Master Akadama simply refuses to serve as this year’s witness. He claims that he will recommend another in his stead, but…”

“Don’t tell me. Benten?”

“Surely this is too much. Benten is a member of the Friday Fellows! Does he mean us to invite a human who eats tanuki stew to the banquet at which the tanuki leader will be chosen!?”

“Besides, she’s not even a tengu, and we can’t have that, can we?”

“Certainly not. The authority of the Trick Magister is founded upon the will of the tanuki and the approbation of a tengu. Throw away this rite, and the Trick Magister might as well be a paper tiger!”

“There’s just no getting around tradition, is there?”

In front of the Masugata Court Apartments in the rear of the Demachi shopping arcade, a queue of jostling tanuki snaked into Master Akadama’s residence like a crowd of impatient debt collectors. While Master Akadama hated being accosted by such a great drove of tanuki, the tanuki themselves saw their numbers as the only way to show him the proper respect.

When Yaichirō and I alighted from the automaton rickshaw a murmur went around: “Yasaburō’s here!”

Yasaka Heitarō himself came out to meet me.

“Yasaburō, sorry to make you come all the way out here. I needed the help of a real tengu expert.”

“Starting off with flattery, are we?”

“Master Yakushibō’s stuck his head in his sand and refuses to listen to me. I’ve given him gifts, sung his praises, even got down on my knees and cried. I’m just about at the end of my tether. Work your magic, get him to agree to witness the election.”

I opened the door and went inside to find the kitchen floor so inundated with gift-wrapped Akadama port wine bottles and boxes of chocolates that there wasn’t a place to step. Master Akadama was wormed into his kotatsu beneath the pale winter sunshine, munching on an enormous sliced up tuna roll and staring at a shogi board beside him. He didn’t seem to be at all concerned about the tanuki bigwigs that were lined up outside his door.

“Shimogamo Yasaburō, at your service.”

“Why have you come? I have not called you.”

“Throwing a tantrum, tormenting tanuki? That’s Yakushibō of Nyoigadake all right, a tengu among tengu!”

I sat down cross-legged on the floor while the Master glowered at me.

“I see through you, you furry miscreant. You mean to use your quibbling to lure me out. No doubt that sniveling Yasaka Heitarō came scurrying to you.”

“Wow, you don’t miss a thing.”

“Your wheedling led me to no small misery last year.”

“But you had your fun, didn’t you?”

“Fool!” the Master snapped. “Benten shall be the witness, and that is the end of it!”

And with that Master Akadama flopped down and rolled over away from me.

I tried a few maneuvers, but the Master kept pretending to be asleep and didn’t say a word.

Outside the sun began to go down in the sky, but the Master refused even to pull the cord to turn on the lightbulb, so the room became as dark as an abandoned ruin. I could hear outside the sounds of the restless tanuki uncorking bottles and beginning to drink and carouse, the laid-back mongrels. Yaichirō offered me a bowl of rice topped with eel tempura, which I scarfed down in the kitchen.

At last the Master got up slowly in the darkness. The scents of tobacco and cologne and old man stench mingled as the dim smoldering of a tengu cigar flickered in the darkness.

“…Another meaningless day comes to an end.”

“Why don’t you turn on the light?”

“Wherefore must I stretch out my own hand? You turn it on.”

“No. Turn it on yourself!”

I pondered over why Master Akadama wanted to make Benten the witness.

He was the only one who wanted to install her as the next Yakushibō of Nyoigadake; all the other tengu of Kyoto, Konkobu of Iwayasan and Tarōbō of Atagoyama included, had their misgivings. Now that the Heir had come back brimming with tengu strength, Benten’s position had become rather precarious. Master Akadama must have been plotting to install her as the election witness in order to cement her succession as a fait accompli. For the tanuki it was nothing less than a calamity being swept up in this war over tengu accession, but even we have our self-respect to uphold.

The smouldering of the tengu cigar went out, and the Master remained there mutely buried under the kotatsu. He seemed to have fallen asleep. In the corner I prostrated myself and touched my head to the floor. “I have stayed too long. Good evening, Master.”

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A tent had been pitched in front of the apartment to house the Committee for the Resolution of the Matter of Yakushibō of Nyoigadake, and beneath it the festivities had started to resemble a neighbourhood block party. Beneath blinding white incandescent lights, Yasaka Heitarō and company were warming their toes by electric heaters and imbibing liberally.

Spotting me clanging down the stairs, the tipsy tanuki quickly plastered solemn expressions on their faces.

I spread my arms. “No dice.”

Groans escaped them, white puffs of crystalline disappointment dissolving into the air.

“That’s it then? We truly have no choice but to invite Benten?” the jostling tanuki whispered, shivering. A few of them downed their drinks for extra courage, while others scanned the sky fearfully as if Benten might swoop down onto the roof of the apartment at any second. I went into the tent and sat down.

“So what’s the play, Yasaka?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Yasaka Heitarō folded his arms and blankly stared into space.

Behind his glassy-eyed gaze he was almost certainly thinking of his promised land, about white sandy beaches stretching around him, free of any sort of responsibility or duty. He was desperate to get over this last hurdle, with the fewest possible pyrotechnics, and start packing for his island retirement. The way this old tanuki made a show of pondering wisely while simultaneously managing to avoid saying anything definitive or concrete—this was what the tanuki way of peace and quiet was all about.

Yasaka looked at Yaichirō, as if searching for an out. “What do you think, Yaichirō?”

“What to do, indeed,” Yaichirō sighed, crossing his arms.

All the tanuki looked grave beneath the incandescent lights and said nothing. Looking around at all of them, Grandmother’s words echoed in my ears: You’ve got to make a ruckus and stir things up. Lapping at my hot sake and pondering things over, I suddenly had a flash of inspiration.

“I’ve got an interesting idea!” I said.

“A disreputable one, I’ve no doubt,” groaned Yaichirō.

“We’ll ask the Heir. If he signs on, even Benten won’t be able to do anything about it. She did have that ignoble fall from grace on the night of the Okuribi, see?”

“That may be so, however…”

Interrupting Yaichirō’s grumbling, Yasaka Heitarō leaned towards me. “Do you think the Heir would agree?”

“No harm in trying, right?”

“I suppose not. We can only hope that he will give his assent…”

“I cannot concur,” Yaichirō interjected. “A tengu succession is their affair alone. We must avoid becoming embroiled in such a tengu struggle at all costs. If we ask the Heir to serve as witness, we risk incurring the wrath of Master Akadama and Lady Benten.”

“We’ll just tell ‘em that it was all my idea. I’ll handle it.”

“Surely you cannot be serious!”

“Fun things are good things, dear brother. Leave it to me!”

“Very well,” Yasaka Heitarō declared, slapping his thigh. He seemed relieved that the immediate problem was out of the way, though the surrounding tanuki just looked resigned. “We’ll let Yasaburō handle this one. Good thing for little brothers, hey, Yaichirō?”

Glancing sideways at the chortling Yasaka Heitarō, Yaichirō scowled but said nothing.

I slapped Yaichirō on the back. “What’s up, Yaichirō? Cheer up, why don’t you? Things are about to get interesting.”

Leave it to me! My declaration had made a pretty impression on Yasaka and the other tanuki, but this was a big risk for a tanuki to be taking. My plan involved me walking a tightrope in between two feuding giants, and if I made the slightest miscalculation I’d find myself hurtling headfirst into a stewpot courtesy of Benten.

I could almost hear her voice in my ear: I like you so much I could just eat you up.

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The next afternoon I paid a call to the Heir’s villa, in order to persuade him.

The chic triangle-roofed building basked quietly in the winter sunshine.

The Heir was wearing a cardigan over his white shirt; he had put out a table in the garden beneath the barren trees, and was taking in the sun while doing some upkeep on his pipe collection. I placed my hand on the white picket fence surrounding the garden and announced myself.

“Shimogamo Yasaburō, at your service.”

The Heir looked up from his pipes and smiled.

“Good day, Yasaburō. What business brings you here today?”

“No business in particular. I just wanted to apprise you of the current state of affairs.”

“Well, sit down. Let me just finish with my pipes.”

I sat down in a chair across the table from him. The Heir picked up each of his pipes in turn and described them: one carved from elephant ivory in the shape of a hideous beast; a shiny one carved from briar root; another carved from meerschaum, which looked like it could impale a tanuki if thrown. The sizes were just as varied as the materials: some resembled Lilliputian souvenirs, while others were as long as Nasu-no-Yoichi’s bow.

At the end of all this the Heir took up a pipe which was made of cherrywood and filled it with tobacco, then struck a long match and lit it. Sweet smoke drifted up into the clear blue sky. The Heir narrowed his eyes with pleasure, watching the smoke float off, enjoying the scent of the imported leaf and the warmth of the sunshine to the fullest.

The sunshine was pleasant, and the wind had stopped, and it felt as if that rooftop drifted untethered to the flow of time.

“First, I’d like to update you on the matter of the air rifle.”

I told him everything that had transpired in Arima from beginning to end.

Since May I had been delegated authority by the Heir to retrieve his scattered belongings from all over Kyoto. I’d reclaimed all the things that had been picked up by the tanuki, but the most dangerous article had yet to be recovered: the air rifle, which had fallen into the hands of Tenmaya.

When he heard that the air rifle had been used to take the life of Ebisugawa Sōun at the Arima hot springs, the Heir arched an eyebrow in displeasure.

“It is rather disturbing to hear that that piece of art is being used to slaughter tanuki.”

“This Tenmaya character is something of a prestidigitator, slippery as an eel, and there’s been no word of his whereabouts since that night. Even if I did find him, it’d be pretty difficult to lay on him with his command of illusions. This is entirely my fault. I don’t know how to apologize to you.”

“Whatever do you mean? I owe you a great deal. It’s because of you that I’ve recovered all of my furniture. Though it does discomfit me to say so, I am greatly indebted to you.”

Without skipping a beat I looked up and asked, “Do you really dislike being indebted to tanuki so?”

“I would rather you would simply take money in exchange…”

“Would you say that you still owe me a great deal, even after the matter of the air rifle?” I pressed him.

The Heir drew on his pipe, astonished. After a moment a smile creased one side of his mouth. “Now then,” he uttered. “I daresay this business is starting to smell of tanuki.”

“The smell is difficult to ignore once you’ve noticed it, isn’t it?”

“Where will this conversation lead, I wonder. Out with it, then.”

I told him about the approaching tanuki election at the end of the year.

To Yaichirō, stepping into the shoes of our departed father as the Trick Magister would be the realization of a long-cherished dream. And as his younger brother, I wanted to help him make that dream come true.

But the Heir demurred, and instead proposed that Benten do the job. As much tengu power as she might wield, Benten was not officially a tengu, and on top of that she was a card-carrying, tanuki-stew-slurping member of the Friday Fellows. Inviting such a human to attend the conclave at which the leader of the tanuki would be chosen was simply too much, no matter how much Master Akadama ranted and raved and threw his tengu tantrums. The tanuki world simply could not accept it.

“…And that’s why we request you, sir, to serve as the witness.”

Puffing on his cigar, the Heir scrunched up his face. “Do you ask me to become a tengu?”

“No, no, I’m merely asking you to become our witness.”

“But is not the witness meant to be a tengu?”

“The tanuki and tengu may see it that way, but there’s no need to get caught up by those antiquated views. As long as we let them think what they like, all will be well. You can just witness as yourself.”

I thought it was a pretty clever bit of sophistry on my part, but the Heir would not be won over so easily.

“I will not be made to clean up that old fool’s mess.”

“…I see. I’m sorry to hear that.” Outwardly I slumped my shoulders in dejection, but my mind raced to find my next play.

The Heir looked up at the sky and took a puff on his cigar. “You are certainly not a tanuki to be underestimated.”

“Heh. You’re exaggerating, I’m sure.”

“You were spying on me at Kiyomizu-dera, were you not?”

“Ah, you’d noticed?” I scratched my head, suddenly embarrassed. “My motives were entirely innocent, I assure you.”

“That old fool came crying to you, did he?”

“I must reserve comment on that point.”

“Using a tanuki in order to track the movements of his beloved…I hardly have the words to describe it. That is the ugliness of old age. I loathe that woman Benten, and I would certainly not make the sort of mistake that old fool worries about. The very fact that I am suspected of such things is an affront.”

“You really do hate her, don’t you,” I remarked.

The Heir turned his icy gaze on me. “I do not hate her, I loathe her. And there is a good reason for me doing so.”

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The root of the matter goes all the way back to the Taishō period.

The rift between father and son over the heart of a woman would develop into a furious battle that would shake the Higashiyama Sanjuroppō mountains. Master Akadama, who at the time still had tengu strength to boast of, secured a hard-fought victory and kicked the Heir down from the roof of the Minami-za to Shijō Boulevard below, as I have previously narrated.

Rain pelted the Heir as he fled into the night, defeated.

Kyoto then was not as it is now, and the streets were so empty as to hardly be recognizable. Add to that the crashing thunder of the storm, and it was hardly a surprise that not a soul was to be seen. The rain hurled itself down on the tile roofs of closely packed houses, and each flash of pale lightning that split the sky set the gravel roads aglitter for a brief moment. Clinging to lattice doors and telephone poles, the Heir made his way north across Karasuma Street, until he saw, illuminated by a bolt of lightning, a clock tower.

The building to which that clock tower belonged was a Western-style hotel, built by a merchant who, after moving into defense manufacturing and making a fortune during the world war, had poured his newfound wealth into its construction. Heedless of the lashing storm, it sent its light out into the night, glittering like a chest of jewels. Upon its brass nameplate was inscribed its name: 20th Century Hotel.

The Heir came to the entrance, and seeing his wounds the doormen flew into an uproar.

“What’s happened?”

They attempted to assist him, but the Heir shoved them all aside. “Where is she?”

The doormen were all quite acquainted with him, but now they looked at each other uneasily and said nothing.

Spurred on by a feeling of unease, the Heir dashed through the lobby and flew up the stairs, leaving a trail of rainwater behind him. Passing along corridors of velvet carpet and stucco walls, he came to a particular room and rapped on the door.

But there was no answer.

He opened the door to find the room an empty husk.

The young lady who lived in this room was the daughter of the owner of the 20th Century Hotel.

Inasmuch as the owner had showered the wealth which he had gained from the battlefields of Europe on this glittering hotel, he had also showered it on his daughter. She was so beautiful that she looked like an angel come down from heaven, or so the Heir claimed, but seeing as he was talking about his first love from a hundred years ago, it was probably best to take his words with a pinch of salt.

The young lady would sometimes venture into town dressed as a man, and even run the Heir and Master Akadama around for her own amusement, which was in itself quite extraordinary. She might have looked like an angel, but delicate she certainly was not.

One of the doormen caught up to him at last, averting his eyes as he spoke. “She went off, yesterday, without telling a soul.”

“Where?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say. We’ve been busy as bees since yesterday, so I really have no idea.”

“Did she leave a message?”

“She told us to give you this letter.”

The Heir ripped open the envelope, but there were no romantic parting words, nor even a single word for that matter. The only mark on the paper was a large ✕.

Anger boiled up in the Heir’s head until he thought it might explode. This life-and-death struggle with Master Akadama had only occurred in the first place because he had fallen head over heels for this angelic young lady. And yet, while the two tengu had been locked in mortal kombat in the skies above Kyoto, the young lady had branded the Heir as a failure and vanished without a trace.

Rain beat against the dark window in that room, clacking like gravel against the glass.

The Heir despaired and plunged from the 20th Century Hotel once more into the storm. The events of that tempestuous night were etched deeply into the Heir’s heart. It was so humiliating that he buried the memory deep, deep within him and swore never again to recall it again. Thus, he left Japan.

A hundred years passed.

In the northern suburbs of London is a park called Hampstead Heath.

One chilly morning, not quite summer yet, the Heir was out for a walk, cane in hand. After some minutes a rumble crossed the dark sky, and sleet began to fall from the sky. The icy pellets clattered down all around the Heir, who sought shelter beneath the trees and waited for the rain to let up. From in between the trees he could see a dreary knoll covered with withered grass, and crackles of lightning raced over the gaps in between the low storm clouds overhead.

At that moment the Heir spotted a lone woman climbing the otherwise deserted knoll. Sleet continued to fall and the thunder murmured continuously, yet the woman strode forth as though she was out for a picnic. Half in disbelief the Heir continued to watch her, and before he realized it his intrigue had willed him to start walking out of the trees, towards the woman.

The woman stopped at the top of the hillock, looking up at the lightning-pierced sky.

“It is dangerous to stand there, madam,” the Heir called, warding off ice pellets with the back of his hand.

The woman turned around, and shook her drenched locks. In a voice full of suspicion she called back, “I’m quite alright. May I trouble you to leave me be?”

That woman had been Benten, who had reached the shores of England on her cruise around the world. The moment he saw her face, the last hundred years melted away, and the Heir found himself back in that stormy night in Kyoto, right here on this knoll in England. The shameful memory which he had thought was locked away for good came rushing back to him.

“Can you imagine my shock, Yasaburō?” The Heir sighed wearily. “If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought Benten and that young lady were twins.”

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The sun hid its face behind the clouds, and all of a sudden the rooftop became rather chilly.

The Heir shut the velvet-lined box containing his pipe collection and began to pace through the garden in front of his mansion. The fallen leaves crunched drily beneath his gleaming black shoes.

By the wicket gate was a gas lamp patterned after the street lamps of old London, and as the sun drew lower in the sky it flickered on automatically, casting a soft glow across the garden. It had been me who had spotted that eerie glow on the grounds of Takenaka-inari Shrine on Mount Yoshida and brought it back here with great pains.

The Heir stood below that lamp and listened to the faint din coming from the streets. “I can hear Christmas music.”

“These days you can hear it just about anywhere you go in town.”

“How strange. What is it about this holiday that absorbs them so?”

“Tanuki love Christmas because there’s just something fun about it. The fact that there’s no particular reason for it is what’s so great about it. And KFC’s delicious, too. No tanuki would say no to KFC.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had it. Perhaps one day I will give it a try.”

I walked up beside the Heir and looked over the garden gate. Beyond the edge of the roof, the tops of buildings rose and fell, a roofscape of dull concrete, outdoor HVAC units, water tanks, fire escapes, tangled webs of wiring. This world was not for tanuki—it was a tengu’s domain. Perhaps somewhere out there in this world of rooftops, Benten was smoking a tengu cigar.

If one loves overmuch, that love can turn to hate. But by the same token, if one hates overmuch, that hate may also turn to love.

“I find you are quite kind to Lady Benten.”

When he heard me say this, the Heir’s pale cheeks flushed with anger. “What a foolish thing to say. I feel no kindness towards her at all, none whatsoever.”

“Begging your pardon, but I was listening at Kiyomizu-dera. You told Lady Benten not to become a tengu. Surely that was meant for her sake?”

“How utterly absurd! You are under a terrible misapprehension.”

“Am I really?”

“I merely meant that that woman was not fit to become a tengu.”

Though he would not admit it, it was apparent that the reason that the Heir had come back to Japan after one hundred years was his meeting with Benten.

But after a century’s absence, he found that the father he had sworn vengeance upon was old and decrepit, and fell asleep every night dreaming of Benten’s ass. The father, in love with Benten; and the son, who had been drawn back by her. That the two were playing out the selfsame farce a hundred years on was probably more shameful than the Heir could bear. Everything was loathsome. Why had he come back to this country, to this city? Was he daft? It was all that woman’s fault. She was the source of it all. He hated her, how he hated her—and that hatred was where I would find my in.

I prostrated myself before him and intoned, “If things remain as they are are now, Lady Benten will succeed Yakushibō of Nyoigadake as his heir. Can such a thing be allowed to come to pass? There is none we can turn to now to stop her, save you. I implore you, lend us tanuki your aid!”

“Stop this unsightliness at once!”

“I will not stop, until you have consented to aid us!”

“…Very well. Very well, I say.” The Heir sighed and raised his palms. “Tell your fellows that I consent to serve as witness.”

“I thank you.”

“And Yasaburō? This makes us even.”

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Shiunzan Chōhōji, 18th of the 33 temples on the Saigoku Kannon pilgrimage.

It looms up without warning amongst the buildings, and on its grounds, beneath the drooping boughs of a willow tree, sits a curious hexagonal stone. This is the Keystone of Kyoto, also known as the Navel Stone, and a storied rock it is indeed. In fact it is a tanuki masquerading as a rock, though this is a secret known only to the tanuki, and thus the Navel Stone is in fact more distinguished than even the Trick Magister. It is a long-held custom that prior to the Trick Magister election, the most prominent tanuki in the land assemble at the Rokkakudō to offer it their greetings.

That day, I went along with my entire family to the Rokkakudō.

Above the buildings not a cloud was in sight; the sky was the same shade of blue as it had been one year ago.

Yaichirō was in a fine mood, and before we headed to the Rokkakudō he had finished off not one but two seat cushion-sized Hamburg steaks.

“The Trick Magister must have the energy to carry out his duties. One cannot go the distance on energy drinks alone. Eating a proper meal during the day to replenish one’s strength is essential.”

“It is nice to eat lots of yummy things,” Mother agreed. “But goodness, the size of those Hamburg steaks! Why, they were practically the size of a whole tanuki!”

“You mustn’t say such ill-omened things, Mother. You make it sound as if I was practicing cannibalism!”

“Out of the stewing pot, into the fryer…” My mind went down a rather dark pathway. I didn’t want to turn into stew, but neither did I want to be ground up into mincemeat.

“I think Hamburg steak is delicious!” Yashirō proclaimed.

Our back-and-forth continued as we walked down Rokkaku Street, and as we approached the gate of the Rokkakudō we saw overflowing into the street a great mass of tanuki of all shapes and sizes.

I’ve noticed that though a single tanuki on its own can masquerade as a human tolerably well, there is always a distinct whiff of tanuki when a great number of us get together, as if the air itself is growing fur. Maybe we furballs just tend to put down our guard whenever we gather in one place.

Black-robed monks stood in front of the gate, directing the milling tanuki into the temple. Of course they weren’t real monks, but rather the Ebisugawa Guard Corps acting under the direction of Kinkaku and Ginkaku.

As I passed through the gate, I spotted the terrible two, disguised as monks themselves.

“Huh, you guys are awfully well-behaved today.”

“Ah, Yasaburō.” Kinkaku pressed his hands together and bowed his head. “What sublime weather it is today; the Navel Stone is surely pleased. How wonderful, how wonderful.”

“Splendid, namu namu!” added Ginkaku.

Their enlightened way of talking totally creeped me out.

“You guys haven’t eaten anything…funny, have you?”

“Whatever do you mean? We aim to shed our earthly foolishness; night and day do we train ourselves under the instruction of Brother Kureichirō.”

“Kinkaku and I, our hearts are as soft and mild as steamed buns.”

“Brother Kureichirō is a great tanuki, as great as Kyoto Tower stacked on top of Kinkaku-ji. Ah, what fools we were!”

“Shameful, shameful of us! Were there not a hole we should wish to dig one ourselves and hide in it, namu namu!”

“I wholeheartedly recommend the path of Buddha to you, Yasaburō. The age of fools has passed.”

The entire tanuki community had long ago given up on Kinkaku and Ginkaku as incurable, incorrigible fools. How exactly were these two supposed to shed their earthly foolishness? They’d probably keep peeling layers of idiocy off like a couple of hairy onions until there was nothing left of them at all.

“Well, good luck with that. I’m rootin’ for ya!” I encouraged them, before heading into the temple.

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Surrounded by tall buildings, the Rokkakudō was dim and cool like the bottom of a pond, and looking up from its grounds the sky seemed an even brighter shade of blue.

Throngs of tanuki teemed in the cramped temple. Some fidgeted and stared avariciously at the gleaming golden orb atop the roof; others sniffed in incense smoke and sneezed uncontrollably, giggling all the while; and others still laid out red tablecloths in front of the stone warabejizō and unwrapped bento boxes.

“It’s all just like a picnic, isn’t it?” said Mother.

“We should have brought our own bento,” Yashirō opined.

Yaichirō left us and walked over to the Navel Stone. I saw Yasaka Heitarō, Ebisugawa Kureichirō, and Nanzenji Seijirō stand up to greet him. Yasaka was laughing heartily, and seemed to be in a fine mood. Eventually the elders, a bunch of furballs, were carried onto the temple grounds on an eggplant-colored cloth, wheezing, “Go on then, go on!”

“Close the gates!” went out the order, and the gates of the Rokkakudō swung shut.

Standing by the Navel Stone wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt, Yasaka Heitarō swung his gaze around the temple with a grave expression. Multitudes of tanuki crowded around the Navel Stone, waiting for the ceremony to begin.

“Silence, please.” Yasaka struck his belly with a hollow ​pong​. “This meeting is now in session. I would like to express thanks to Shiunzan Chōhōji for extending us special permission to have this meeting. I greatly appreciate the elders taking time out of their busy schedules to attend. It is my pleasure to announce that the Navel Stone has graciously offered some prepared remarks to commemorate this occasion. Please stand up as I read them.”

In unison, the tanuki in the temple stood up.

“‘If you catch a cold, keep your feet warm and your head cool. That way you won’t need a doctor. Honey ginger tea is also highly recommended!’ Thank you.”

In unison, the tanuki in the temple bowed and sat down.

Yasaka Heitarō bowed once to the Navel Stone, then coughed and cleared his throat.

“As you all know, last year’s election was disrupted by a heretofore unprecedented disturbance, which was quite unfortunate. As no Trick Magister could be selected, I, unworthy as I am, put off my retirement for another year, to my great regret.”

“Well done!” I shouted, to which Mother added, “Thank you for your service!”

Yasaka Heitarō put up a hand and smiled grimly, then continued on. “However, this year is nearing its end, and I am filled with joy. Shimogamo Yaichirō, our candidate for Trick Magister, is an upstanding tanuki, and I am pleased to be able to retire and entrust our future to such a promising young tanuki. Following my words, Ebisugawa Kureichirō will give a speech in support. Kureichirō is another promising young tanuki who, following the passing of Ebisugawa Sōun has taken up responsibility for upholding the Ebisugawa clan. The future rests on the shoulders of these two shining stars. Now, I yield the floor to Kureichirō.”

Ebisugawa Kureichirō stood.

“I am Ebisugawa Kureichirō, eldest son of Ebisugawa Sōun.” He bowed his head deeply, then began to address the crowd.

“I offer my apologies for my absence these many years. Although my father, Ebisugawa Sōun, spared no effort in modernizing the Faux Denki Bran distillery, his hands were steeped in crimes most foul, and we must not forget the sin of his twilight years. In spite of that, Yaichirō was willing to let the quarrel between our two families be water under the bridge, and said to me thus: Let us live in harmony. Where shall we find such a magnanimous tanuki again? Yaichirō will undoubtedly become a splendid Trick Magister. The Ebisugawa clan pledges its unwavering support for the new Trick Magister, in confidence that together we will forge a brighter tomorrow.”

Yaichirō stood up, his face flushed with emotion, and stuck out a hand to Kureichirō. “Thank you, Kureichirō. Thank you.”

Yasaka Heitarō was beaming fit to split his face as he watched the two clan heads shake hands.

“Huzzah for the youth!” “Bravo, lads!” Shouts of elation rang out from the assembled tanuki, who cheered and clapped until the entire temple was shaking. The storm of applause for the two rising stars stirred up a light breeze ruffled the fur of the elders sitting on their cushions.

Yaichirō bowed low to the Navel Stone, then extended his hand and softly touched it.

The applause continued to reverberate.

At last Yasaka Heitarō put up a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, your silence please.” From the way his face was glowing he might as well already have been lying on the beach.

“The Navel Stone has been duly notified. There are now several matters to report which I wish to bring to a vote. First, the elders’ meeting will take place the night of December 26th at the mansion of the Heir of Yakushibō of Nyoigadake. Are there any objections?”

The tanuki in the temple looked puzzled, but no one raised a voice.

“Then I will register no objections. Next, one further order of business. Last year, we extended an invitation to Yakushibō of Nyoigadake to serve as witness to the election of the next head of the tanuki world. However, as Lord Yakushibō is not at liberty to attend this year, the invitation has been extended to the Heir instead. This was made possible by the strenuous efforts of Yasaburō of the Shimogamo clan. I express to him our thanks.”

Yasaka Heitarō winked at me, as if to say, It’s all up to you now, bub!

“Are there any objections?”

Slack-jawed, the tanuki in the temple said not a word.

“Then—”

At that very moment, a cool voice came fluttering down from the roof of the Rokkakudō.

“I object!”

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Benten landed upon the roof of the Rokkakudō, glaring down coldly at the tanuki below. She was wearing an ominous jet-black, long-sleeved kimono with a scarlet obi tied around her waist, and in her hand she was holding a long smoking pipe. The golden head of the pipe glittered, catching the sunlight that slanted between the buildings. A single glance was enough for me to perceive the roiling anger she was only just holding back.

I was entranced by her appearance, but not so the other tanuki. For the tanuki of Kyoto, it really had nothing to do whether or not she was beautiful or not. She possessed a tengu’s powers, yet she was not quite a tengu; she ate tanuki stew, yet she was not quite a human. She was more like a flying calamity, and there was nothing you could do against a flying calamity except duck your head and wait for it to pass.

“Lady Benten has arrived!”

Yasaka Heitarō fell on his face, and the rest of the tanuki followed suit. I kept staring stupidly until Mother dragged me down, pinning my arm firmly to her chest.

A frozen silence descended upon the temple.

“My master told me I would be the witness for the tanuki election,” Benten said, taking a drag on her pipe. “…But it looks like I’m not wanted.”

Yasaka Heitarō looked up fearfully. “A-ah, was that so? There must have been a mixup somewhere along the way…”

“If that tea-swilling fop wants to play kingmaker, that’s not my affair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But however did this mixup happen, I wonder? That’s what I would like to know. Perhaps you tanuki wouldn’t like me as your witness?”

Yasaka Heitarō was quivering so much his tail was liable to shoot out any second now. “I assure you, nothing could be further from…”

“No, no. I get it. I’m a human, a woman who eats tanuki stew. I’m no fool, I know how you all must feel.” Her voice was a low purr, entirely devoid of sincerity. “…But even knowing that, I’m still going to eat you. After all, I’m a human.”

Beneath her withering gaze, Yasaka Heitarō looked as if he was about to faint.

The other tanuki stood stone still, like the warabejizō statues scattered around the temple.

At the edge of the roof Benten stretched out her arm, and started pointing as if she was counting the tanuki in the temple. It looked like she was choosing a tanuki for this year’s banquet. The more important tanuki blanched and started to fidget.

“Look at all the tanuki stews I could make.” Benten blew out a ring of smoke, letting it settle on the tanuki below.

Pigeons fluttered into the air, grazing past the willow tree, while the elders tumbled off of their cushions. The sound of tails poofing out began to ring out, and like a pool of lotus flowers blooming at dawn the crowd of tanuki began to revert to their furry forms en masse.

Suddenly Benten’s gaze fell upon me. “Well well, Yasaburō. So that’s where you were hiding.”

The tanuki surrounding melted away at once, and before I knew it the only ones left by my side were Mother and Yashirō. In a panic Yaichirō hurried toward us.

“I suppose this was all your idea?” Benten drawled, looking down upon me. “I don’t know how you wheedled him into it.”

“I’m sure I have no recollection whatsoever as to…”

“Lies.”

“Yes ma’am, my apologies ma’am.”

“What an astounding tanuki you are, turning your back on your Master’s commands, and playing me for a fool.”

“Your Ladyship is quite well acquainted with humble Yasaburō. My fool’s blood coaxes me into doing all manner of strange things, such that I hardly know what I want to do myself. Betraying Master Akadama, and yourself, and cozying up to the Heir…”

“I despise that man, you know.”

“The Heir says that he despises you as well.”

Benten snorted. “And what about you? Which do you prefer, me or him?”

“…I respect you both as tengu.”

The moment those words left my mouth Benten raised up her arm and hurled the golden pipe at me. It whistled through the air and buried itself deep into the ground at my feet. Mother and Yashirō squawked and clutched at me tightly. I said nothing and looked up at Benten.

Just at that moment the gate of the Rokkakudō opened. In unison, the tanuki in the temple turned and looked.

In the gateway stood the Heir, wearing a silk tophat and a chilly expression.

Benten turned away from me and stared haughtily down at the Heir.

“Good day to you,” said the Heir, addressing the tanuki. “I heard from the tanuki named Kaisei that something of an incident was occuring at the Rokkakudō. But I don’t seem to see anything of the sort.”

The Heir looked around, never once directing his gaze upward toward Benten.

Benten glared at us both, then abruptly turned sulkily away. Shaking out the sleeves of her kimono, she stared at the golden orb atop the roof. “Silly child,” she finally uttered. “Do as you please.”

“I thank you for showing us compassion.”

“You don’t understand a thing, Yasaburō,” she said before taking to the skies. “I’ve always been compassionate.”

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The next day a letter arrived from Yajirō.

The Tadasu Forest

Care of the Shimogamo Clan

Greetings.

I hope you all are well.

I am currently in the port of Tomonoura in Hiroshima, on the Seto Inland Sea. It is a town with a long history, and you can still see remnants of the Edo period scattered here and there. Off shore is the small island of Sensui, and it’s here behind the public lodgings that the tanuki live. They greeted me very hospitably, and for the moment I believe I shall rest quite comfortably here.

At first when I left Kyoto, it was quite a struggle journeying while at the same time maintaining my transformation, but now I have become quite used to it. I met many tanuki and had many strange encounters in Kurashiki and Okayama and Onomichi, but this stationery is far too small to write about them. I hope to recount the tales to you all someday when I return to the Tadasu Forest.

It is great fun traveling to all these far-flung, distant towns.

At the lodgings on Sensui Island I met a tanuki who had crossed over by boat from the town of Marukame on Shikoku. We got to talking and bonded over our love of shogi. He intends to return to Shikoku on the next ferry, and I am planning to travel over with him and offer my greetings to the Kinchō clan in Komatsushima.

I’m doing quite well, and my journey has been very pleasant. I feel like I am growing stronger each and every day, almost like a furry bamboo shoot.

Please take care of yourselves. I will write again.

Yours,

Shimogamo Yajirō

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I didn’t read my brother’s letter until everything had blown over. By the time it reached the Tadasu Forest I was already on the lam, keeping out of Benten’s sight.

Of the Thirty-Six Stratagems, fleeing is best—

Once more, the name Yasaburō the Fleet could be heard whispered all over town.

In the dead of night I slipped through the Ōsaka no Seki checkpoint, and headed for Lake Biwa.