Chapter 6 — The Machinations of Ebisugawa Sōun (Part 3)

The day of the Trick Magister election—

in other words, the anniversary of the death of our father—

in other words, the day of the hated Friday Fellows’ year-end party—

had arrived.

I woke early that day and sat up slowly. It was still dark in the Tadasu Forest, and no sunlight filtered through the trees. I could hear the soft snoring of the rest of my family still asleep. Not feeling particularly like going back to sleep, I crawled out of bed. My nose prickled at the chilly kiss of the pre-dawn air. The forest was still, and not even the birds were chirping.

The pale morning mist rolled along slowly through the forest while I made my way over to the brook, dry leaves crunching underfoot. Following along its course, I congratulated myself for waking up earlier than anyone else, right before I came across Yaichirō sitting along the bank. He was sitting up straight with his eyes closed, like he was gathering his inner being. His ears twitched as I approached. “Yasaburō?” he said, sounding surprised. “Will wonders never cease.”

“What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?”

“Idiot. I always rise early, in order to exercise my inner being. You wouldn’t know that, though, considering how you always sleep in until late, you lazeabout.”

I sat down next to my brother and attuned my ears to the murmuring of the brook. Stilling my inner dialogue, I took in a deep sniff of the air around me, taking in the scent of the world as it was. Amongst the myriad smells commingling in that crisp, chilly air, I detected a thread of Father’s scent. Though he was only a fraction of the tanuki that Father had been, I traced the scent back to Yaichirō. I thought back to day when I had walked through the forest with Father, taking in the scents of that cold winter morning. A feeling of loss took hold of me, and I found myself sniffling.

“A Trick Magister must bear the weight of the tanuki world on his shoulders,” Yaichirō suddenly intoned.

“Come on, isn’t it a little early for serious stuff like this?”

“The tanuki who is chosen as Trick Magister must be fit to shoulder such a heavy burden. That is why I have tried as best I can to prepare.”

“Uh-huh.”

Those words might have gotten a better reception if Yaichirō had spoken them back in the old days when Master Akadama had taken his first bath. As it was, though, what with the humans modernizing and how closely we relied on them for our every need, times had changed. The tanuki world had changed right along with the humans too; all our natural predators had vanished from the face of the earth, and wars were a thing of the past. These days, the only things we have to fear are the dreadful Friday Fellows with their ghastly tanuki stew, and traffic accidents. With the carefree way we live, choosing some kind of fearless leader is the last thing any tanuki is worried about; it’s almost impossible to find anyone who worries enough about the future to consider entrusting everything to the Trick Magister. The future of the tanuki world is not something that anyone needs to shoulder: the prevailing sentiment is just leave it alone, and it’ll all float on all right. The Trick Magister that my brother spoke of was a dead relic, just a bygone ideal. It was exactly what Father had been.

“That’s real admirable, Yaichirō,” I said, exhaling white steam over the water. “It’s great to dream big. But—”

“No, no more. Not another word.” His laugh sounded almost pitiable. “I know what you’re thinking. And I bet you know what I’m thinking. Maybe I am just a fool. Maybe I am just blindly idolizing Father, like Uncle thinks I am. Maybe the tanuki world doesn’t really need Trick Magisters anymore. But if I intend to be like Father, if I truly intend to make that dream come true, what choice do I have but to become the Trick Magister?”

The two of us sat there for a moment, silently cooling our butts. Up in the treetops a bird chirped.

“This is what you wake up early every day to think about?”

“Just so.”

“You should try sleeping in once in a while.”

“Perhaps I should.”

“That aside, though, you oughta be careful today.”

If Yaichirō didn’t make it to the Sensuirō to sit down with the elders, they would consider him as having withdrawn his candidacy for Trick Magister. Ebisugawa Sōun seemed to think he had it in the bag, but it was entirely likely that he would try to prevent Yaichirō from getting there just to snuff out the slightest possibility that things would not go his way.

I told Yaichirō about Kaisei’s cryptic warning and urged him again to be cautious, but he loftily dismissed it. “Ridiculous. If those idiot brothers try anything, I’ll just take ‘em by the hiney and toss into the freezing Kamo. No love bites this time; I’ll make sure to split ‘em a new one!”

“It’s good that you’re raring to go, but you’ll want to tone it down a bit. It’s pathetic to see you slip up and fall flat on your face at the most important moments.”

“Don’t you get cheeky with me!”

“Cheeky! I’m just concerned for you here!”

Just as we started to get into it, Mother showed up out of nowhere and barked, “No fighting!”

Dawn was finally breaking, and warm rays of sunlight shimmered at the tops of the trees. We all gathered back at our beds to go over our plans for the day.

Yashirō was heading to the Faux Denki Bran distillery, where he would wrap up work early and come back to the forest. Yaichirō would call on the neighbors before going to Nanzenji for a pre-election meeting with their clan head. At dusk, he would depart the woods of Nanzenji with his campaign staff in tow and head to the Sensuirō in Kiyamachi. At the same time, Mother would take Yashirō to Teramachi and make preparations for the banquet at the Scarlet Pane. Following the election of the Trick Magister, Yaichirō would go to the Scarlet Pane, for a victory feast, or else a consolation session; either way the revelry would take its course into the wee hours of the morning.

“What will you do, Yasaburō?” Mother inquired.

“I think I’ll just enjoy myself around town.”

“Irresponsible wretch!” Yaichirō fumed.

“I might go fetch Yajirō from the well, while I’m at it. Today’s the anniversary of Father’s departure to the afterlife. I’d feel awful leaving him there all alone.”

At this, Yaichirō had nothing to say.

“Then make sure to check in with the owner of the Scarlet Pane. Ask him if it would be all right to invite Master Akadama, and if it is, make sure to send the Master an invitation,” Mother added.

“Aight.”

With the sun rising higher in the sky, Yaichirō said, “I’d better get going.”

At the shrine path, Mother and I and Yajirō bid him farewell as he climbed aboard the rickshaw. Suddenly remembering something, Mother dashed back to her bed and returned with a piece of flint, striking sparks from it onto Yaichirō’s back.¹

“Don’t forget, you are the son of Shimogamo Sōichirō. Take pride in yourself!”

“I will, Mother.”

“But in the end, it all comes down to luck. Don’t forget that either!”

“I know.” Yaichirō bowed his head to Mother then leapt up onto the cart. “Goodbye, Mother. Take heart, and await news of my victory!”

And with great aplomb, he set off down the broad shrine road.

As proudly as he drove off on that rickshaw, that precious memento of Father’s, as his little brother I knew perhaps better than anyone how inadequate he was as a tanuki.

I don’t remember when it was that I first noticed the singular manner in which Yaichirō was always struggling to fulfill grand ambitions that were clearly out of his puny reach. If I had been a halfway decent little brother, I wouldn’t have balked at the hefty labors that towered over him, but as it was I never lifted a finger to help my brother attain his lofty goals. Even so, when I watched him huffing and puffing away, his face red, having misjudged his efforts yet again, I would sometimes think to myself, “This must be his fool’s blood talking.” Sometimes I got so choked up watching him try so hard despite his lack of ability that I couldn’t help but be overcome with the urge to let him struggle to his heart’s content.

None of us took our eyes off the rattling, swaying rickshaw until it turned on Mikage Street and rolled out of sight.

For some reason, I wanted to shout out and stop the rickshaw as it grew smaller and smaller. I wanted to run up to Yaichirō as he climbed down and give him a good whack on the back.

Somehow, at that moment I felt like I would never see my brother again.

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My first stop on my meandering through town was the Scarlet Pane near Teramachi Sanjō. It wasn’t open for business yet, but in his dim nook the bartender was already getting things ready, with a surly look on his face. “Tonight’s the night, eh?” he said, bringing me a glass of orange juice as I plopped down on the sofa. “D’ye reckon Yaichirō’s got a shot?”

“It all comes down to the luck of the draw, says I.”

“It’s them elders what decide it all in the end, anyhow. Still, there’s no accounting for taste, your brother and Ebisugawa wanting to become Trick Magister. Why anyone would want to go through all that hassle is beyond me. Abnormal, some might say.”

“Well whatever happens, win or lose, tonight we party.”

“What, and so you came here to check on things, that it? It’s all sorted, don’t you fret. Who do you take me for?”

“I take you for a tanuki.”

“Ah, stuff it, you little git.”

“One more thing. Mind if I invite Master Akadama?”

The bartender frowned. “Don’t know about that ‘un,” he said. “See here, this bar is mostly for tanuki. People’d be frightened out of their wits with a tengu coming in here.”

“Oh, the Master’s really just lonely, that’s all.”

“Lonely or not, he’ll throw a tantrum soon as look at you. I’ve got a policy against tengu gales in here.”

“Not to worry, the Master can’t stir up a wind anymore.”

“He that weak, now? Really?”

“Yup.”

“Huh, even the great Master Akadama…I suppose even a grand tengu like that can’t beat old age. Right then, go ahead and invite him. But not Benten, she’d drive off all the customers.”

“I know that.”

I left the Scarlet Pane and whiled the time away around Shinkyōgoku, checking out the movies that were playing at the theater and reading at the bookstore and rubbing daruma heads at an antique shop. It was early in the afternoon on a weekend, so Shinkyōgoku was jam-packed all the way down to Shijō Avenue.

I turned east down Shijō and crossed Shijō Bridge, going to see Yajirō. Making my way through Gion, I hopped the wall of Chinnōji and snuck into the temple.

“Hey ho!” I called down into the mouth of the well.

From the darkness came an answering “Hey ho!” from my brother. “What’s up, Yasaburō?”

I tossed some leftover chicken wrapped in a paper napkin into the well.

“What’s this? It smells fantastic!” The sound of nibbling echoed up from the well.

“Fried chicken!” I called, looking down towards the bottom. “That’s your share from Christmas Eve.”

“Who knew chicken could be so great!”

“It’s really tender. Your mouth must be dried out from eating bugs all the time, eh?”

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate being able to eat fried chicken living down here in this well. Y’know, sometimes I think to myself how great it is having a little brother. So you had a party on Christmas Eve?”

“Yajirō lit some lights for us. He’s getting pretty good at that.”

“I would have liked to see that. You think he’s going to open a one-man power company?”

“Dunno. As it is, all he does is run around being useless doing useless things.”

“Now that’s not like you at all. Every tanuki gets full of himself and thinks about being useful, eventually.”

Yajirō chuckled to himself as he nibbled on the chicken. I sat down by the well and drank a can of coffee bought from a vending machine.

“Tonight’s the night, Yajirō. The next Trick Magister is finally being chosen.”

“Hopefully it’ll all settle down after this,” said Yashirō. “Don’t tell Yaichirō I said this, but whether it’s him that gets chosen or Sōun, I don’t think it’ll make a lick of difference. What does it matter, as long as the tanuki world calms down? I mean, It’s been years since Father died.”

“That’s true.”

“I’ve been thinking about Father since this morning.”

“Everyone has.”

“It’s always hard not to think about him, but today especially. He just hasn’t left my head all day. So I’ve been racking my brains trying to remember: what did he say to me? What were his last words to me? Then again, I’ve had years to think about this exact thing down here in the well. No matter how many times I retrace what I did that night, after a point my memories just stop. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just going to live the rest of my life not knowing, and even being a frog that makes me feel real sad.” Yajirō sighed.

Suddenly recalling something, I asked him about Kaisei. “Have you seen her around lately?”

“Now that you mention it, she hasn’t been here in a while. You two haven’t fought, have you?”

“Well, we fight every day, but she’s seemed a little off lately.”

After I told him about what had transpired at the bathhouse, Yajirō sank into thought. “That does seem off,” he mused.

“Right? It just felt so jarring.”

“You know, when Kaisei talks to me, she gets all quiet and gentle like that sometimes too. After talking for a while, she just…stops. Like there’s something that gets caught in her throat. I wonder what it could be. Could just be lovesick for all I know, considering her age, but the funny thing is she’s been like that for years.”

“I can never tell what she’s thinking about. When she found out that I was stuck as a frog forever, she came here and cried for a long time. So she’s got a soft side too.”

“That…well…I guess.”

“Since I’ve been down here so long, most people have forgotten that I used to be a tanuki by the name of Shimogamo Yajirō. Nobody cares who’s sitting at the bottom of the well, they just come here to get out what’s on their mind. But you all still come here to visit me, don’t you? Other than my family, the only person who’s ever come here to visit ol’ Shimogamo Yajirō, is Kaisei.”

“Yajirō, are you still in love with her?”

The choppy sound of the waves down at the bottom of the pitch black well must have been Yajirō churning up the water. At last he said, “Of course I do,” barely controlling the anger in his voice. “But Yasaburō, that’s not something you ought to be asking a frog in a well. You’re just gonna end up making him real sad.”

“I’m sorry, Yajirō.”

I thought about Kaisei’s “Sorry.” The more I thought about it the harder it was for my butt to sit still.

“Still, Kaisei really does seem off,” Yajirō wondered out loud. “I may not be able to see much, sitting down here at the bottom of this well, but I can see the sky and the stars, so don’t count me out. My world may be small, but night after night I sit here and watch the stars, like some kind of cosmogonal frog. Looking out into space, my mind becomes still, and I can feel a profound wisdom flowing in. And if you ask this wise frog right here, something really, terribly awful is about to happen.”

I thought about Yaichirō, heading to Nanzenji, and Yashirō, at the Ebisugawas’ Faux Denki Bran distillery, and Mother, sitting back at the Tadasu Forest fretting about her sons.

Raising my head from my thoughts to look up at the sky, I noticed something very curious. That curious thing was a number of white streamers, spinning like tops on their way up into the sky. As I watched the path of those mysterious objects, the sound of the city faded out, and my mind suddenly felt like it was going somewhere far away. Reaching the apex of their trajectory, the objects glimmered and then suddenly showered in all directions like breaking glass, and I felt my mind return to my body.

A frightfully strong wind suddenly blew through the grounds of Chinnōji. I clung to the edge of the well. “Whoa, where did all this wind come from?”

“Hmm, it’s all quiet down here.”

“Well of course it is!”

“Look, up there. The sky looks quite strange.”

From the other side of the towering mountains surrounding the valley, heavy clouds were lumbering into the sky over Kyōto, like balls of cotton being gathered by the wind. In a moment the formerly clear sky was swirling with storm clouds like the surface of a marble, and the city was occluded by an unexpected shadow, as if threatening night.

A thick streak of blue light raced between the clouds, and the accompanying clap of thunder set all of my hairs on end.

“The thunder god has arrived!” I yelled.

“Hold on now, that’s a bit out of the blue,” said Yajirō, in the dying echoes of the thunder. “Doesn’t this strike you as a touch odd?”

“Someone must have used the Fūjin Raijin fan. Damn, where did they even find it?”

“You’ve got to get to Mother, Yasaburō!” I heard Yajirō groan, splashing around at the bottom of the well. “Not again, why am I always so useless! There’s just nothing I can do as a frog in a well! Not that I can really help it, though.”

“Don’t worry about it, Yajirō. Leave it to me.”

“Be careful out there, Yasaburō,” said Yajirō. “Be careful. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

I set off at a run.

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The rumbling thunder set Kyōto in an uproar.

People crossing the Shijō Bridge shrieked and pointed upwards at the dark clouds looming overhead. Streaks of lightning raced like dragons through the rifts in the clouds, which, lit by pale flashes from within, looked like great, ominous lanterns towering in the sky. Whoever had used the Fūjin Raijin fan was clearly an idiot with no concept of self-control.

I returned to the Tadasu Forest with thunder crashing overhead, but Mother was nowhere to be seen. As a rule Mother would always wait in her mosquito net for Raijin to pass by, but in the dry safety of her bed there was no sign that the net had been hung up.

I went all the way out to the Kamo Bridge. On the other side, I saw orange light glowing within the billiards hall, Mother’s favorite haunt. I dashed across the river through the pouring rain, and just as I pushed open the glass door thunder boomed very close by, shaking the windows with all the force of the hammer of Raijin. The glass trembled with a sound so intense it seemed as if it was going to shatter. The humans inside the building were all holding their breaths, awaiting Raijin’s next move. I asked one of the workers, but he shrugged, “The Prince in Black? Haven’t seen ‘im.”

I used the pay phone in the corner to place a call to Nanzenji. Through the windowpane, I could faintly see the Kamo Bridge shrouded by the misty haze of the pounding rain. The head of the Nanzenji clan picked up, sounding nonchalant.

“Is my brother there?”

“We were supposed to go to Kiyamachi together, but he said he had to return to the forest and dashed out. Don’t suppose he forgot something there?”

“About how long ago was that?’

“About when it started to thunder, so I’d say he should be arriving at the Tadasu Forest right about now. Then again, he might be somewhere taking shelter from the rain. It doesn’t seem safe to be driving around a rickshaw in this weather.”

I thanked him and hung up, then called Yashirō’s cell phone.

No one picked up for a while, fraying my nerves. Finally a strange voice answered with a “Hoy!”

“Yashirō?”

“Ahh!” yelped the voice, and line went dead. I checked the number and called again, but couldn’t get through.

I had the feeling that something very strange and wrong was going on.

I left the billiards hall and crossed the Kamo Bridge, getting completely soaked. An enormous cloud rose above the black peaks of the Higashiyama mountains like a giant climbing over, letting out flashes of lightning as it spilled over.

I returned to the Tadasu Forest and stood on the shrine road, with thunder crashing and rain pounding down on me.

My family was nowhere to be found.

The pealing of thunder had always been the signal for the Shimogamo clan to come together. For us Shimogamo children, it was practically a part of our credo that whenever thunder threatened, we would drop whatever we were doing and race back to our Mother. It had already been some time, yet neither Yaichirō nor Yashirō had returned. This had never happened before.

Just then, I saw Yaichirō’s beloved automaton rickshaw come trundling up the shrine road from the south, and breathed a sigh of relief thinking that he had safely returned. But when the rickshaw pulled up there was no one in it, and moreover it was horribly maimed. One of the rickshaw driver’s arms had nearly been pulled out, and the wheels were wobbling unevenly. The mute driver just stood there with rain trickling down its face, not saying a word in spite of its grievous wounds.

I was aghast.

Amidst the pattering of the rain against the canopy and the crashes of thunder rending the sky, I suddenly sensed the presence of a tanuki deep in the trees.

“Mother?”

“It’s me, you dummy,” said Kaisei, as usual sight unseen.

I projected my voice into the gloom of the trees. “What are you doing here? I was looking everywhere for you!”

“My brothers were keeping tabs on me, so I was hiding behind Kiyomizudera.” Words started pouring from her mouth, faster and faster. “Wait here all you want, but no one’s coming back. My brothers called down Raijin, and the Ebisugawa Guard Corps carried Auntie off. Yashirō’s probably at the distillery. Yaichirō’s probably been caught, too.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My dad’s going to make Yaichirō into stew. Just like what happened with Uncle.”

“I see,” I said. “I should have known.”

“Yeah.” Her voice shuddered with sobs now. “It was my dad that made Uncle into stew!”

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The rain beat down violently on the canopy of trees above, dissolving into a fine mist that hung over the road through Shimogamo Shrine.

Each blinding flash of lightning was accompanied by a rumble of thunder that shook the forest, Kaisei’s small voice fell away briefly. Listening to her speak from the shadow of the trees, I was transported back to the night that Father fell into the hands of the Friday Fellows.

That night, Father had taken Yaichirō to a meeting at Gion. Following the end of the meeting, Father had seen Yaichirō off at the bus stop in front of Yasaka Shrine, and then taken himself to a tavern in Kiyamachi to meet up with Yajirō and drink the night away. Urging an intoxicated Yajirō to transform into the false Eizan railcar and running roughshod through the nighttime streets, Father had sent Yajirō home to the forest, alone. This was where Yajirō’s memories grew fuzzy.

Of course, Father hadn’t escaped the bout of drinking with Yajirō unscathed. Perhaps his legs had been a little unsteadier than usual. The hour was late as he walked through the streets, heading towards Chitoseya, the traditional dining establishment in Pontochō.

Ebisugawa Sōun sat on the tatami there in Chitoseya, wearing his usual fine robes, waiting for Father to arrive.

Having a fondness for Jintan mints, Sōun opened his pillbox, which sported an image of a golden pheasant on its finely lacquered exterior, and popped one in his mouth, perfuming the air around him with a pungent aroma. A fine netsuke in the shape of the goddess Benzaiten was attached by a string to that magnificent pillbox. Sōun did not know it, but that netsuke was Kaisei in disguise.

With all the wealth he had gained from the profitable Faux Denki Bran distillery, Sōun had accumulated a considerable collection of fineries such as netsuke and pill boxes, hoarding it all away in auxiliary warehouse #1 next to the distillery. Kaisei was fond of sneaking in there and admiring the collection. That day, she came in by the secret entrance, and was laying out the various baubles to play around with when Sōun unexpectedly returned. In a flash she transformed into the Benzaiten netsuke, but in a stroke of great misfortune, Sōun unwittingly chose her to take along.

Father finally arrived at Chitoseya.

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long,” Father said, his ruddy face splitting into a grin.

“Brother,” Sōun smiled, greeting him with a bow of the head.

Sōun and Father were alone in that wide, austere room. Electric lanterns in the shape of traditional floor lamps illuminated the space, though their dim light didn’t quite reach the shadows in the further recesses of the room. The pair drank as they looked through the glass at the nighttime scenery along the Kamo River.

Once upon a time, following tanuki tradition, Father had taken Uncle along with him to learn at the feet of Master Akadama. It’s not certain what caused the first cracks to appear in the relationship of those two brothers, who had once happily traipsed off to class side by side, but around the time that the union between Father and Mother was sealed, Uncle was married off into the Ebisugawa clan. After Yaichirō and Yajirō were born, Father and Uncle clashed once again, this time over the seat of the Trick Magister, further deepening the rift. Casting a bitter eye at Father, the newly minted Trick Magister, Uncle poured himself into developing the Faux Denki Bran distillery, and eventually took on the name Ebisugawa Sōun.

The reconciliation meeting that night had taken place at Sōun’s invitation.

“‘m afraid I’ve caused you great pain over the years.”

“Never mind, Brother. We were young. Your wife, the Trick Magistership, all of that is past. I have become a great tanuki in my own right, and I have children of my own now. Let us not worry about such petty things.”

“I am heartily glad to hear you say that. Indeed, you have become a most splendid tanuki.”

“Come, come, if there is anyone worthy of such praise it is yourself.”

By and by, Father glanced into the corner of the room and frowned. “What is that there?” he asked. “It appears to be a cage.”

“So it does,” Sōun replied. “Shall I tell them to put it away?”

“No, there’s no need for that. Still, a curious thing to have sitting around,” said Father, letting out a yawn.

“Had enough to drink already, Brother?”

“Never you worry. It’ll take more than that to drink me under the table.”

But Father was drunk, for otherwise he would never have failed to notice the snare that Sōun had laid for him.

“As you say. Then I am anxious to get the reconciliation ceremony over with. I took the liberty of calling a witness tonight. After the oaths and formalities are over, we can drink to our hearts’ content.”

“That’s a lot of trouble to go to. Couldn’t we get it over with ourselves, just you and I?”

“No, Brother. We two carry the future of the tanuki world on our shoulders. Therefore I must insist we observe the proper rites.”

“Very well.”

At a signal from Sōun, the screen to the adjacent room slid open almost impatiently, as if it had been waiting for this moment.

Tall electric lanterns gleamed brightly in all four corners of that room, and the tatami was covered with a scarlet carpet on which had been set a table and chairs. The chairs were occupied by Kurama tengu, all with sloppily arranged neckties, who tossed back wine and glared at Father silently. It had only been a short while since I was born, and the troubles between Master Akadama and the Kurama tengu were still fresh. For the tanuki, the False Nyoigatake Incident had been a spectacular achievement, but for the tengu it was a stain on their honor.

In the midst of the glowering tengu sat a slender young woman, puffing on a cigar.

I’m not certain how she came to be acquainted with the Kurama tengu. Perhaps she, having come into possession of the technique of soaring the sky as she pleased, had been on a jaunt through the sky when they approached her. Thereafter, she would often ditch the Master to go play hooky at Kurama, becoming infamous throughout the underbelly of Kyōto for her frequent nighttime sojourns in that notorious company, and arousing Master Akadama’s jealousy.

Stubbing out her cigar, she glided over into the room.

“It is my honor to introduce our witness, Suzuki Satomi,” said Sōun.

Father looked at her with widened eyes, for unexpectedly he had come face to face with his one weakness. His cup trembled in his hand, and the merest glance from her was sufficient to send it tumbling to the floor, spilling its contents all over the tatami. He closed his eyes. For reasons unknown even to him he was seized with a terror so dreadful that he could not bring himself to move an inch. In the twinkle of an eye his transformation melted away, and his fur sprouted out.

In a moment there remained nothing but a tanuki plopped down on that exquisite cushion. “Whyever are you here, Miss Suzuki?” said the tanuki. “This is the last place I expected to run into you.”

“That’s because you never come to see me. Do I truly frighten you so?”

“Does the Master know about this?”

“The poor thing, he hasn’t got a clue.”

The tanuki curled up on the cushion, as if resigned to his fate. The young woman picked him up and let out a burst of laughter.

“Splendid! Splendid!” cheered the tengu sitting in the other room.

The previous Benten had decided to retire from the Friday Fellows late in that year, leaving an opening to be filled. Jurōjin, the most senior member of the Friday Fellows, had come across Miss Suzuki Satomi in the nightlife of Pontochō, and decided to endorse her as the newest member. In order to be admitted, though, she was given a task, and that task was the preparation of the year-end party: in other words, the tanuki stew.

Sōun looked contemptuously down at Father, who had been shut inside the cage.

“Farewell, Brother,” he spat. “I don’t suppose we shall ever meet again.”

As Sōun turned to leave, Father softly asked, “My brother, is this what you truly wish for?”

Unwittingly falling into this trap woven by tanuki and human and tengu, Father thus fell into the depths of the iron pot.

What came to pass after that?

The Friday Fellows had their stew; Ebisugawa Sōun avenged his grudge of many years; Suzuki Satomi was accepted into the Friday Fellows as Benten; having grown prodigiously as a tengu, Benten enticed me, unsuspecting, into bringing about the incident with the Demon’s Perch; as a result, Master Akadama hurt his back and lost most of his tengu powers; and the Kurama tengu won that year’s tengu capture-the-flag tournament and chased their long-time foe Master Akadama out of Nyoigatake.

On that night, in that room, the destinies of tengu, human, and tanuki intertwined, and with Father’s descent into the pot, each was set hurtling on its own path.

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My head sagged as I listened to Kaisei’s tale.

As her godfather, Father had always doted on her, and Kaisei had adored him right back. But unexpectedly surrounded by tengu, she could only watch as her own father did something unspeakably vile that no tanuki should ever do. This was the cause of her frequent visits to Yajirō’s well. They had been very close since she was small, but even so she couldn’t exactly just go up to her cousin and tell him, “Hey, my dad made your dad into stew.” Eventually Yajirō had become so accustomed to being a frog that he lost his ability to turn back into a tanuki, and thus losing her chance to confess the heartache she had concealed for so long, Kaisei stood by the side of his well and cried.

“I’m sorry,” Kaisei said from the shadows.

“I figured it was something like that. In fact it’s so close to what I thought that I’m actually kind of shocked,” I replied. “So where are they holding Yaichirō? And what about Mother?”

“I don’t know—kyaa!” she suddenly shrieked. “Let go of me, dammit!”

The undergrowth rustled furiously, until out of nowhere it went still. “What’s going on?” I shouted, but there was no reply.

I began to step into the brush, when many lanterns rose through the gloom of the trees, all emblazoned with the bold word “EBISUGAWA”. As if protected by the light of those lanterns, the sinister face of Ebisugawa Sōun suddenly emerged. The Ebisugawa Guard Corps held up snake’s-eye umbrellas, protecting him from the rain dripping from the treetops.

As he stepped onto the shrine road, I stepped back, keeping a wary distance between us.

“Yasaburō,” he said with a loathsome grin, “Don’t pay what Kaisei said any mind. She’s sleepwalking, can’t tell what’s dream and what’s real. That’s why she said what she did. Sheltered girl, always so sensitive.”

The Ebisugawa Guard Corps fanned out onto the road, encircling me.

“Whatever the outcome of tonight’s issue, I was going to invite the Shimogamo clan over to a feast. Your entire family is there already. The only trouble is, we didn’t know where you were.”

“That’s very kind of you, but tonight we’ve already reserved the Scarlet Pane.”

“Foolish boy. That reservation might as well be scrap.”

One of the guardsmen stepped forward, attempting to put the umbrella over my head, which I quickly dodged.

“I’m drenched at the moment, and quite unlearned in etiquette to boot, so I’m afraid I’ll have to decline to attend your joyous little gathering.”

“You won’t get away, one way or another. It would be foolish to court harm to yourself. I need to make ready to go to the Sensuirō. Don’t waste any more of my time.”

The Ebisugawa Guard Corps approached me, inch by inch.

“Stay away from me!” I barked. “Next one to get close to me gets torn a new one!”

At the sight of my bared fangs the guardsmen jumped and shuffled backward. It was a staredown.

A dulcet voice suddenly rang upon us from the tops of the trees. “What are you doing here, Ebisugawa?”

I looked up. A flash of lightning split the sky, and silhouetted in that light I saw Benten descending toward the road. With her hair soaked, presumably from her flight through that downpour, she looked even more bewitching than usual.

“What a storm. I’m just a mess!” she remarked. Taking fright, the Ebisugawa Guard Corps stood nervously a good distance away from her.

“Lady Benten, you’re looking as lovely as ever,” said Sōun.

“I thought I just said I wasn’t?” said Benten, patting her hair. “I was sheltering up in the trees, but I see that Yasaburō is here. Perhaps I’ll have him transform into an umbrella for me.”

“It would be my pleasure, Lady Benten, to become an umbrella or whatever else you would like,” I swiftly agreed.

“Yes, but—” Sōun stammered.

“Yes, Ebisugawa? Did you have something to say?”

“We were just about to attend a reconciliation banquet, you see. It would be most unfortunate if madam were to take him now.”

“And what concern of mine is it whether it is or isn’t fortunate for you? Or are you telling me to go home alone soaking in this rain?”

“O-of course, by no means.”

“Then I’ll be taking him for a spell.”

Transforming into an umbrella, I felt Benten’s icy hand grip my handle and open me up with a whump. She twirled the Yasabrella around and around, before walking off. Fine drops of rain hit the top of my body as we moved down the shrine road.

“What a storm!” she repeated.

“You saved me from a pretty scrape there. Thank you.”

“Did I now?” she said in a singsong voice. “No need to thank me for anything.”

Benten walked briskly through the midst of the rain, looking unconcerned as she strolled along the Kamo River even as thunder rumbled overhead. Except for us the riverbank was deserted, and the Kamo River looked frigid as it roared by, its waters muddy and grey. I continued to keep quiet.

“What’s wrong?” Benten said suddenly. “Not up to talking today?”

“You worked with Ebisugawa to lure Father into a trap. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Benten looked at me with a puzzled expression. “Why, you never asked.”

“Humans are such nasty creatures…”

“I am a tengu.”

“No, you’re a human. Whatever you may think you’re still a human.”

With an impish grin, Benten reached out from underneath the umbrella to feel the rain. “So, you’re giving me the silent treatment because you’re angry?”

“I’m not done. Ebisugawa’s got my brothers. Isn’t today the Friday Fellows’ year-end party? What if Yaichirō goes into the stew?”

“Dear me. You’re saying that I might be eating your brother tonight? What a tragedy!”

“Won’t you do something for him?”

“Not interested.”

“Why not? Is it because he’s a tanuki?”

“Well, I am a human.” And looking pleased with herself she let out a tinkle of laughter.

“If you won’t do anything, then fine. I’ll do something myself. Where is the party being held?”

“At the Chitoseya, in Pontochō. But nothing too violent; you always do get carried away.”

When we reached the northeast corner of Kawaramachi and Imadegawa, Benten stuck out her hand and hailed a taxi coming south down Kawaramachi Street. Hanging the Yasabrella on the handle of an illegally parked bike at the side of the road. As the taxi stopped in front of her and opened the door, she unexpectedly stooped down and whispered to me, “Professor Yodogawa is going to get his tanuki this afternoon. Apparently, he’s planning to meet someone who claims to have caught one.”

“Professor Yodogawa, got it.”

“The rest is up to you. I’m a human, and if I come across a tanuki stew I’m going to eat it. I won’t lose any sleep over it.”

Patting her hair, she boarded the taxi. I watched the taxi disappear to the south, then thought to myself, Now, where are you, Professor Yodogawa?

If he was in his lab on campus, then I could just tail him to the meeting. Time was of the essence, and I was just about to cross the Kamo Bridge towards the Professor’s lab when a middle-aged man came waddling over from the east side of the bridge, carrying a cloth-wrapped package. His shoulders were slumped, his belly was round, and his face bore more than a passing resemblance to Hotei. Without a doubt, this was Professor Yodogawa, hurrying towards his rendezvous for the tanuki.

“Speak of the devil! This must be my lucky day!” I rejoiced.

　　　　　　　◯

I transformed into an old man leaning on a cane and hobbled my way through the holiday crush in the Demachi shopping arcade. With the deluge outside, the air was damp and close inside the enclosed arcade. Bumping the large cloth package into things all around him, Professor Yodogawa dillied and dallied along on his way.

At last he emerged onto Teramachi Street.

Nearby was a restaurant called Chikurintei. The professor paused before it and sniffed with his nose. The facade of the restaurant was narrow, and a Shigaraki-ware tanuki statue reclined beside the timeworn lattice door. The professor rubbed his belly, then slid open the door and entered.

Chikurintei is a venerable soba shop. Master Akadama used to frequent this establishment, prior to his banishment to the rear of the shopping arcade. Now that he had forsaken the world and shut himself up alone in his apartment, the only thing that he made in his kitchen was that vile gruel; as such it was hardly an exaggeration to say that the provisions I brought him from this shop were a most critical lifeline. Being a fan of the tamago-don, Benten could often be found here as well. On occasion she had even brought me with her before, and I must say that the tamago-don here is indeed quite tasty.

I scrutinized the surroundings thoroughly before following the professor into the shop.

To the right of the entrance a daruma stove warmed the room. On the left was a shelf stuffed full of magazines, on top of which were an old rotary payphone and a black-and-white lucky cat figure. It was almost as cramped as a train car, and to the left and right along the walls were placed tables just big enough to seat four.

The professor glanced blankly at me, giving me a shock, but he didn’t seem to realize that the old man who had trailed in behind him was actually me. I purposefully mumbled something under my breath, sat in the corner, and looked up at the innumerable wooden menu tags hanging on the wall.

Chikurintei is famous for its unreasonably large menu; though the curtain hanging over the entrance advertises it as a soba shop, its menu includes anything and everything up to tenshinhan, which oddly enough is actually quite good.

“‘Scuse me!” I called out while perusing the menu, but the kitchen was silent, seemingly empty.

The professor abruptly stood up and vanished into the restroom.

After a while, the cook finally poked his head out from the kitchen.

“One tamago-don,” I said.

After the food was brought out I began to eat, but still the professor did not come out from the restroom. Not knowing when the trade for the tanuki was to take place, I was hardly in a mood to savor my meal, and I scarfed the entire thing down in a flash.

The professor did not show up.

Neither did the person who was supposedly delivering the tanuki appear.

It was all very queer.

Unable to sit still any longer, I decided to try calling my little brother one more time. I got up from my seat and picked up the receiver of the rotary payphone by the door. Perhaps I had just overeaten, but my body suddenly felt leaden. While listening to the ringing on the other end, I glanced at the arrogant lucky cat statue perched beside the phone. Picking it up and weighing its considerable heft in my hand, I noticed that it bore bold characters on its back reading “Back in the Game”. Funny slogan for a lucky cat, I thought to myself as I waited, until at last someone picked up on the other end of the line.

But it wasn’t Yashirō.

“Back in the game!” said the voice on the other side.

At precisely the same moment, I heard a voice behind me also saying, “Back in the game!” I whirled around in shock. The professor had finally come out of the restroom and was standing in the middle of the cramped restaurant, holding my brother’s cell phone in his hand. He winked at me slyly, and a triumphant smirk spread across his face.

Somewhere an unseen wooden clapper sounded, and at that signal a tricolored stage curtain rapidly drew across the exit. It too was emblazoned brightly with the words “Back in the Game”. With a sound like shuffling cards the wooden menu tags hanging on the wall all turned over one after another.

On the opposite of each tag were written the words “Back in the Game”.

Back in the game—to return from a defeat, ready to strike.

The grin on the professor’s face stretched even wider, and narrow cat whiskers sprouted out from his cheeks. His small eyes grew round and wide, and began to shine with a yellow light. His gloating, unbearably loathsome smile grew so wide it threatened to overflow the sides of his face.

In a rage I rushed at the curtain, but it was soft and springy like a giant green-and-orange-and-black-painted mochi, and I merely bounced off it. My joints felt oddly fuzzy, too, and I couldn’t seem to summon any strength. By the time I realized that the tamago-don must have been drugged it was already too late.

I collapsed onto my butt on the floor, still clutching the curtain, hardly able to move.

The restaurant began to rumble, and from the ceiling I heard a voice say, “We really pulled one on him, didn’t we Kinkaku!”

The Professor Yodogawa impostor looked up at the ceiling and laughed, “Fine work, Ginkaku!”

“Drop dead,” I mumbled. I was so mortified at having been so thoroughly hoodwinked by these two idiot brothers, the laughingstock of the tanuki world for as long as I could remember, that I would gladly have jumped into the pot myself.

Kinkaku cackled as he stood over my prostrate form. Unwrapping the cloth bundle and taking out the cage within, he sonorously proclaimed, “And now, gentlemen, the day of our vengeance is at hand!”

Footnotes

1. A practice called kiribi which is said to bring luck and ward off misfortune. ↩