Chapter 3 — Tenmaya, the Conjurer (Part 1)

At some point during the long history of the emperors, the tanuki who dwelled in the land of the Manyōshū¹ came across the knack of shapeshifting themselves into humans. Over the following centuries, the tanuki mastered the secrets of transformation, and awaiting their opportunity, they first made their mark on human history in what is now known as the Genpei War.

At least, that is what the tanuki manuscript entitled Heritage of Fur would have you believe.

But as the centuries passed on, the tanuki began to rest on their ancestors’ laurels. Idle paws are the devil’s workshop, as they say, and more and more tanuki began to content themselves with donning flimsy transformations and pulling off half-hearted pranks. The daring, innovative spirit of our pioneering ancestors dispersed like the mist, leaving the tanuki world in a sorry state. Ever since, the tanuki have been beaten at their own game by wandering conjurers, and many have fallen into bubbling stew pots.

Ever since the Meiji Restoration, humans have wielded the theme of modernization to considerable effect, and in the face of that, the most tanuki are capable of these days is running around the city transformed into fake trains. Given that the prevailing view these days is “don’t make waves” and “go with the flow”, it’s no wonder that transforming too freely is now frowned upon. Whereas in the past many tanuki would hawk horse manure disguised as red bean mochi or print counterfeit banknotes made from discarded fur, most now have fallen in line with the law-abiding capitalist mainstream.

Humans are dreadfully frightening. In this dog-eat-dog world, they’re always tricking and being tricked, learning and adapting every second of the day. There’s nothing more dangerous than these partially-enlightened humans who see the whole world as a free-for-all.

While the tengu rained spittle down on the world from their lofty pinnacle of arrogance, and the tanuki rolled foolishly on the plains, the humans were honing their wiles. It does not do to underestimate them.

We have entered an age where it is humans who deceive tanuki instead.

And so the stage is set for the entrance of the enigmatic Tenmaya.

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One day in mid-June I was minding a curio shop on Teramachi Street.

“I’m off to the acupuncturist,” Kiyomizu Chujirō, the shop owner, had announced as he departed, but he had yet to return. Perhaps he was lying melted on the pavement somewhere underneath the blazing sun. There was a distinctly tanuki-esque ambience in the shop, and there were few visitors, meaning that the only thing I had to talk to was the daruma sitting on the register counter. Gazing through the glass door at the traffic outside, I yawned and tried to keep myself from going mad.

“You know, Mr. Daruma, I’m only doing this for Mother. Tickets for the Takarazuka don’t come cheap.”

Allow me to explain tanuki economics.

Obviously, we don’t have to worry much about things like food, clothes, or keeping a roof over our heads. Our bodies are wrapped with fluffy fur; we can sleep in any treetop as we please; and as omnivores we can eat anything that sprouts, flies, walks, or swims. The only time cash comes into the picture is when we’ve got a hankering for capitalist luxuries like gyūdon, Faux Denki Bran, or tickets to the Takarazuka Revue.

Yaichirō, our eldest brother, was always put in charge of managing all sorts of things around the tanuki world, which made him the cash cow of the family, so to speak. But owing to the fact that he was always pouring money into some political intrigue or other—whether it was entertaining bigwigs, or holding conclaves, or lavishing people with gifts—the money flew from his wallet as quickly as it went in. Mother would occasionally come into large sums of money, but when she did it was always through some get-rich-quick scheme, and her astonishing lack of long-term planning made her rather unreliable. Yajirō was a frog in a well, so only a fool would expect anything from him in the first place.

In light of all this, the only reliable streams of revenue for the Shimogamo clan were Yashiro’s apprenticeship at the Faux Denki Bran distillery, and my part-time work here at the curio shop.

_Grab those clinking coins and make a stash, la la la la… _I was arranging a set of assorted Shigaraki-ware tanuki statues into an avant-garde art installation, humming a melancholy melody, when Yashirō came to play, fresh off his shift at the distillery. He was transformed into a little kid, wearing a large wide-mouthed backpack which was no doubt bulging with difficult academic books; a more studious little tanuki I had never seen.

“Well you’re early today,” I remarked.

“Kaisei said I could go. When’re you gonna be done?”

“That depends on Chujirō. Must have gotten lost, I bet.”

“I’ll wait here with you, then.” Yashirō sat down on a chair and smiled, then asked a rather bizarre question. “Yasaburō, can tanuki turn into English gentlemen too?”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“But, um, Kinkaku and Ginkaku went to the hotel to see the Heir. They said they’re learning from him so they can turn into English gentlemen. Do you think that’s true?”

“Don’t listen to them, Yashirō. Idiocy is contagious.”

No sooner had I said this than a furious voice issued forth from within Yashirō’s backpack, breaking the stillness of the shop. “Don’t make fun of my brothers!”

Yashirō jumped and his tail sprang out. He tried to turn his head around to look into his backpack, spinning around and around like a dog chasing its tail. After calming him down, I took the backpack in my hands, which just made the muffled voice angrier.

“Get your hands off me, creep!”

“Now what exactly would Kaisei be doing in here?”

Ebisugawa Kaisei was the youngest daughter of the Ebisugawa clan, heir to the Faux Denki Bran distillery, and my ex-fiancée.

I had no idea what my furry former-betrothed had to be so embarrassed about, but she refused to show herself to me, and for reasons which eluded me she was extremely foul-mouthed. Our engagement had long since been broken off, and yet every so often she would still appear out of nowhere like a phantom to heap abuse on me. The way she did this without ever showing a glimpse of herself infuriated me. I tried to drag her out of the backpack, but she started screeching, “Pervert! Sissy! Drop dead!” and other such imprecations, finally resorting to a threat of mutual assured destruction with, “I’m gonna puke on you!”

“Isn’t it hot in there, Kaisei?” Yashirō asked.

“I’ve got an ice pack in here, so it’s nice and cool in here.”

“So that’s why my back felt cool!” my brother marveled.

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I poured some cold barley tea and brought out some buns that Chujirō had stashed away. Kaisei had been working herself to the bone of late, and seemed to be dealing with a lot of pent up stress. Given how she had to keep a tight leash on the two idiot brothers while running the distillery at the same time, that was to be expected. Unfortunately for me, I happened to be her punching bag.

When I warned her about letting Kinkaku and Ginkaku hang around the Heir, she replied, sounding exceedingly fed up, “How come I have to micromanage every little thing that they do? If the Heir gets mad at them, he can tan their hides himself for all I care.”

“You can’t seriously be thinking of leaving those two to him.”

“Why not? It’s not like he has anything better to do.”

“Do I have to remind you that he’s the son of a tengu lord?”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s he doing just sitting around in some hotel all day? The showdown at Minami-za was a letdown, too. What’s he even doing around here?”

“...You can never know what a tengu’s thinking. There must be some kind of profound method to his madness.”

After the duel on the roof of the Minami-za in May ended with a whimper, the Master had retired once more to his sequestered apartment behind the Demachi shopping arcade, while the Heir resumed his life of leisure in his penthouse suite at the Hotel Okura.

I would frequently show up at the Heir’s side to do his bidding, before scurrying off to Master Akadama to do his bidding, living the life of a double agent. Both father and son were on heightened guard, suspecting that the other would attempt to do him in when he least expected it, and made no attempt to end this futile cold war.

“Here I was, hoping to see a full-blown tengu war,” Kaisei sighed belligerently. “And don’t even try to pretend that you weren’t too!”

“You never know. Benten might always show up out of the blue.”

“You’re so gross. Immature little ass, always smirking to yourself whenever you think about that half-assed tengu coming back!”

Unable to restrain my irritation, I grabbed the backpack and shook it. “How about you shut your fat mouth for a change, huh!?” I snapped.

“Cut it out, I swear, I’m gonna hurl!” she shrieked.

Here Yashirō took a bite out of a bun and said something very unexpected. “So when are you going to get married?”

I was flabbergasted, and Kaisei went unnaturally quiet.

“Where’d you get that from? Who said we’re going to get married?”

“...I mean, Yaichirō and Gyokuran are going to get married soon, right?”

True, everyone was waiting for that to happen. Ever since the shogi tournament, Yaichirō and Gyokuran had been visiting each other frequently, their bond growing across the board, and yet all they did was stare at the grid, as if unable to find their next move. Tanuki from both clans were doing their best to resolve their endgame, but try as they might, checkmate continued to elude them.

“Yaichirō and Gyokuran are going to get married,” Yashirō declared. “Doesn’t that mean that you and Kaisei are going to get married too? That’s what I always thought.”

“How do you figure that? It’s going to take a lot more than that to chain us together.”

“Exactly!” Kaisei agreed.

Yashirō looked confused. “Why not? You get along so well.”

“We do not get along,” I argued.

“Not even a little bit,” Kaisei chimed in.

“And even if we did, our engagement is already broken off.”

“Totally, that agreement has nothing to do with anything now.”

“But wasn’t it Uncle Sōun who canceled it? And Uncle Sōun’s not here anymore. Mother likes Kaisei a lot. No one’s going to say no.” Yashirō naïvely pressed on with his bold logic. “I think that if Yaichirō or you wants to get married, you should just get married.”

“I think this one’s a little too hard for you to understand,” I told him, putting my big brother status to work. “One day I’ll explain it to you. Just be quiet now.”

“‘Kay,” nodded Yashirō.

At this point the glass door opened, and Chujirō finally returned. “Hey there, Yashirō!” he said. But he looked a little frazzled, and only took a brief second to ruffle Yashirō’s hair before turning to me with a deadly serious look on his face. “Now I know this is a little out of the blue, Yasaburō, but could I ask you for one more favor?”

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I followed Kiyomizu Chujirō along through the Teramachi shopping arcade. Arrays of lanterns hung along the pathway, and Gion festival music jangled from the speakers.

Chujirō led me to an old-fashioned haberdashery, where dull-hued suits hung in the almost underwater gloom. The proprietor was as mirthless as his shop, not a hint of tanuki-ness in his demeanor, and his face was as grey as if it was leaching the colour from the suits.

“Surely there was no need to call Yasaburō, of all people…” he scowled, clearly not pleased at the prospect of bringing me in. “I just don’t want this to get out of hand.”

We ascended the narrow staircases to the third floor, which was being used as an office. Passing between mountains of fabric spools and cardboard boxes which must have been piling up for at least a generation or two, we came to a window which looked out over Teramachi Street. Stuffy, shimmering air rose from the roof of the Teramachi arcade, which was baking in the rays of the summer sun. I thought fondly of that night last autumn when I had gathered together with the Friday Fellows around those hot pots, the night when I had traversed the rooftops along with Benten and Yodogawa through the slumbering city.

“Look there,” said the haberdasher, throwing open the window and pointing with his right hand.

On the rooftop service walkway in the direction of Shijō Boulevard was an illegally erected little shack. It had the appearance of a ramen cart that had been squeezed long and thin, and a bright golden banner bearing the name “Tenmaya” fluttered in the sultry wind. There was even a flowerpot of morning glories as well as a watering can the color of green peas.

“We’ve been trying to get rid of it, to little success.”

This was the shopping arcade’s little Tenmaya Problem.

At the beginning of July, a rumor had begun to spread that a strange entity was traveling on the roof of the Teramachi shopping arcade. Some swore that it was a car-sized akabeko toy, its head bobbling as it trundled back and forth; others that it was a procession of samurai retainers.

At first, most assumed that it was a trick played by either tanuki or tengu. But once the humans of the shopping arcade got a glimpse of the odd squatter that was illegally occupying the roof, things took a rather strange turn.

A group of representatives from the shopping arcade association went up to evict the squatter. When they got there, a man in a flaming red shirt poked his head out from the shack. Make demands as they might, the man only grinned and stroked his chin. Eventually, one of the representatives noticed something queer: the man’s chin appeared to be slightly longer than it had been a moment ago. The man grinned even wider, and then his chin really began to grow. Soon it was as long as a French baguette, and swinging it like a cudgel the man drove the group away.

“It would seem that all of those mysterious happenings were the work of this man.”

“Have you reported him to the police?”

“Once the police arrived, he vanished without a trace, which made us look like a bunch of dunces. And once the police left, he popped out of nowhere again. I don’t know how he does it.”

“Sounds like a real prankster. My type of guy!” I chuckled.

“I certainly hope not,” the haberdasher sniffed.

Eager to learn more about this man, I climbed through the window and dropped down onto the service walkway.

“Be careful, Yasaburō!” Yashirō called, looking on anxiously.

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I continued along the walkway, heading for the shack. I could hear the murmur of the crowds and the tinny festival music coming from beneath my feet. As I approached, I could hear the golden Tenmaya banner flapping in the wind, and smell the tantalizing aroma of curry noodles wafting between the buildings.

“Hello there!” I shouted.

The red-shirted man came out from the shack. He was short, middle-aged, and his shirt stretched tightly over his trim frame. There was an almost uncanny air of self-assurance about him, like he wouldn’t have been fazed even if he was hit by a dump truck. His ruddy, sun-baked face was shining as if there was a sheen of oil on it, and the eyes with which he gazed at me were as round as a koi’s. In his left hand there was a bowl of noodles, and in his right he held a half-eaten onigiri and disposable chopsticks.

He flashed his porcelain-white teeth at me in a smile.

“Well well, a young man, and a bold one, too!”

“Not a patch on you, I’ll bet!”

“Ah, and don’t I know it!” The man took a satisfied slurp of his noodles. “All the world’s my oyster, savvy?”

“Heh, I reckon I can top you there.”

“Ho! And what makes you so sure of that?”

“Nothing, really. Don’t need any reason to be cocky.”

Upon hearing this, his face relaxed into a kindly expression. He was really more approachable than his seedy appearance would belie.

“Now there’s a boy after my own heart!”

“I don’t know who you are, but you can’t be putting up your shack up here.”

“Is that so? Let me tell you: there’s nought more unprofitable in this world than doing what others tell you. You’ll just have to wait ‘til I’m good and ready to leave, won’t you?” the man contended. “Unless you’ve got the gumption to contest me, that is?”

“Why don’t we play a little game?”

“Oh ho?” The man looked intrigued.

“Close your eyes and count to ten. I’ll show something to knock your socks off!”

“That I’ll have to see!” the man grinned, closing his eyes obediently without the slightest hint of apprehension.

Ever since I’d heard terrifying stories about man-eating brown bears from Professor Yodogawa, I’d practiced transforming into one many times, harboring a secret ambition to let out one of those earth-shattering howls. But even I’m not the type of lunatic that enjoys going around scaring innocent passersby out of their wits. If anything, I’d call myself a principled tanuki who uses transformation for noble purposes. This challenge just happened to be a perfect opportunity for me. I stumped up to the man and raised my paws as if I was about to maul him.

“Done yet?” The man opened his eyes.

I unleashed a bowel-shaking roar that surely shook the cobbles of Teramachi Street below and stopped everyone in earshot dead in their tracks.

But to my dismay, the red-shirted man didn’t flinch at all, rather poking my belly with his chopsticks. “Are you daft?” he derided me. “What would a bear be doing here?”

He dunked his onigiri into his noodle soup and stirred until it broke up into little bits, before slurping it all up in one go.

“Now I think it’s my turn to return the favor.” Tossing the empty bowl behind him, he reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief. It was a white cloth, faded from many washes, with a pattern of akabeko marching over it.

The man held it up and made it flutter in the air. As I stared at it, my vision began to waver and lose focus.

I realize now that at that point I must have already been under his spell.

The akabeko on the handkerchief began to bobble their heads, and tumbled out from the surface of the cloth. They were each the size of a hard-boiled egg, milling about the walkway.

“Hey! Ho!” chanted the man, and each time he waved the cloth, more akabeko came clattering onto the ground like acorns falling from the treetops. In no time at all the narrow walkway was teeming with akabeko, and no matter how many I cleared away they just kept coming.

I looked up to see the red-shirted man floating in the clear sky, showering innumerable akabeko down on me as he ascended. “All the world’s my oyster!” his voice boomed out.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a tengu, would you?” I called.

The man grinned, flashing those impossibly white teeth. “Don’t be silly! No tengu could hope to match up to me!”

There was a sudden shimmer in the sky, and then the whole shebang flipped from bright blue to darkest black. For a second, the only thing that could be seen was that devilish pearly-white grin suspended there in the darkness.

As for what happened after that, I don’t remember a thing.

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For a while I didn’t know where I was. Everything seemed foggy, like my brain had turned to almond pudding.

At last I heard as if from a great distance Yashirō sobbing, “Yasaburō! Yasaburō!” Using his voice as a guide I fumbled through the darkness, before I heard Kaisei scream right next to my ear, “Pull yourself together!”

And like I was breaking up through the water’s surface, the world came rushing back.

Judging from the dim light, we seemed to be under a bridge. I reverted to my tanuki form and immediately started shivering, my fur completely soaked. “Where are we?” I asked.

“He’s awake!” Yashirō cried, smothering me in a hug. From far away I could hear the incessant wail of a siren, and even down here below the bridge I could sense a commotion on the streets.

Kiyomizu Chujirō peered into my face. “At last, you’re awake. That was reckless of you, and no mistake!”

“What is it, what’s going on?”

Kaisei’s voice came frantically from the darkness. “We gotta go! Someone’s gonna find us!”

“What? What happened?”

“You don’t remember any of it? You were well and truly befuddled.”

Chujirō picked my sodden body up and started to run. As we made our escape he told me of how I had fallen under Tenmaya’s spell, still in my bear form, and had returned to them with my head in a fog. Despite their best efforts to stop me I had shambled down the stairs and out onto Teramachi Street. The screams of fleeing pedestrians had mixed with the jangling festival music as the town descended into bedlam. That my mind hadn’t transformed into that of a bear and caused me to attack anyone was the only bright spot in this whole fiasco.

“You wouldn’t respond to any of us, and it didn’t look like you’d go back to your normal form any time soon, so we were in quite the pickle. It was Kaisei’s idea to dunk you into the Kamo River.”

“Thanks, Kaisei,” I said gratefully.

But Kaisei only snapped, “What kind of tanuki lets himself get tricked by a human!?”

There was nothing I could say.