Ghost of the Bamboo Road

by Susan Spann

  Hiro emerged from the guest room. The Jesuit followed, carrying a quilt. Passing by Hiro, Father Mateo laid the blanket around Masako’s shoulders. As the priest guided the trembling girl into the reception room, Noboru asked, “Where is my mother?”

  “I-in the g-g-graveyard.” Masako’s teeth chattered. “H-Hanako-san sent me, this morning, to fetch the saké flask we left on Ri—on her grave, as an offering, yesterday.”

  She paused for several shuddering breaths. As her shaking subsided she continued, “I saw Ishiko-san beside the grave. I thought she had come to pray again this morning, so I waited for her to finish. But when she didn’t move, I went closer. . .” Masako clasped her hands to her mouth and emitted a soft but high-pitched squeal. “She is dead! The yūrei killed her!”

  “What is a ‘dim spirit’?” Father Mateo whispered, translating the unfamiliar term into Portuguese.

  Hiro leaned toward the priest and whispered back, “A wrathful ghost that cannot leave this world until it avenges itself on those who wronged it during life.”

  Noboru gave them a curious look.

  Hiro gestured to Father Mateo. “The foreigner has never heard of yūrei.”

  “Do they not have ghosts in foreign lands?” Noboru asked.

  Kane arrived with a tray that held a single steaming teacup. She extended the tray to Masako, who clutched for it in desperation. Terror had stripped away the entertainer’s cultivated grace, leaving behind a frightened country girl.

  “Stay with her,” Noboru told his wife. “I need to find my mother.”

  “No!” Masako startled, sloshing tea from the cup. “You must not go! The ghost will kill you too!”

  “Did you see the yurei?” Noboru asked.

  “No one sees her and lives.” Masako’s lips quivered. “She killed Ishiko-san!”

  “My mother may not be dead.” Noboru slipped on his shoes and opened the door, letting in a swirl of misty air. “I have to go.”

  “We will accompany you.” Father Mateo ducked into the guest room, reemerging a moment later carrying both his traveling cloak and Hiro’s.

  Hiro took his cloak from the Jesuit without argument. Although he had no plans to involve himself in this affair, he knew the priest would never leave for Edo while an elderly woman’s body lay abandoned in the woods. The sooner they brought her back to the inn, the sooner they might return to the travel road.

  “You do not fear the yurei?” Noboru asked.

  No, Hiro thought, because they don’t exist.

  “I fear for your mother’s safety,” Father Mateo said. “Let’s go.”

  Although he had no fear of vengeful spirits, Hiro sincerely hoped to discover that Ishiko died of natural causes. Otherwise, he didn’t stand a ghost of a chance of leaving the village until the crime was solved.

  Hiro and Father Mateo followed Noboru through the village and up the forested slope to the north until a narrow path branched off the travel road. While the primary route continued uphill, Noboru turned onto the smaller trail that headed west along the mountainside.

  The fog had intensified overnight, and although the atmosphere grew lighter as the sunless dawn continued, shifting mist hung over the forest like a shroud.

  Enormous pines and cedars rose on all sides of the trail, with barren maples and ginkgo trees between them. Roots and stones poked through the rocky soil. Patches of half-melted snow lay banked against the tree trunks where, even on clear days, sunlight failed to reach the ground. The air smelled wet and cold, with hints of pine and the musty, decaying scent of leaves and needles mixed with frozen soil.

  Noboru led the way with a confidence born of familiarity, though the undulating, rocky path was often hard to distinguish from the rest of the forest floor.

  “Are those fox prints?” Father Mateo gestured to a set of pawshaped holes in an icy patch of snow.

  “Perhaps.” Hiro glanced at the tracks for only a moment before he returned to searching the mist for signs of movement. Between the staring yamabushi, Noboru’s warning the night before—which seemed even stranger, given his willingness to let Ishiko go to the burial ground alone—and now the woman’s disappearance, Hiro had no intention of letting down his guard.

  Given the nature of the trail, Ishiko would have required a lantern to find her way in the night before. Her presence would have stood out like a beacon to anyone watching from the woods. A lightweight woman with both hands burdened—one by a lantern, the other with an offering for the dead—would have made an easy target in the dark.

  Noboru made a strangled noise and broke into a run.

  Just ahead, a tall wooden torii loomed across the path. Mist swirled between the uprights of the sacred gate. Beyond it, carved stone monuments appeared and disappeared through the shifting fog. They ranged in size from knee-high slabs of stone to elaborate, fivetiered Buddhist stupas taller than a man. Some canted sideways, as if struggling to stand beneath the weight of time. Beyond them, at the far end of the burial yard, the sloping roof of a small mausoleum was barely visible through the mist.

  A few meters past the torii, a female figure stood beside a sharp-edged monument. Chunks of ice and dead leaves clung to the curtain oflong gray hair that obscured the woman’s downturned face. Her lifeless arms hung at her sides, almost as pale as the mourning robes that fell around her shoeless feet.

  Noboru clutched the woman’s shoulders. “Mother!” The word came out as a strangled cry. “Mother. . .no. . .”

  The figure bent forward into his arms.

  For a moment, Hiro thought the woman was alive, but as he reached Noboru’s side Ishiko’s hair fell away from her bloodless face. Her eyes stared sightlessly ahead, dark irises surrounded by a startling, violent shade of red instead of the expected white. Bruises on her throat suggested violent strangulation.

  “Mother!” Noboru looked panic-stricken. “Help her. Please!”

  Father Mateo made the sign of the cross.

  “Regrettably,” Hiro said, “that is impossible. She is dead.”

  Chapter 7

  Other than the corpse itself, Hiro saw no signs of violence near the grave.

  An empty rice bowl and the waxy remains of a burned-out candle sat atop the monument beside the corpse. A silver crack ran down the side of the bowl, indicating a careful repair of a former break. The waist-high monument was barely thicker than the bowl itself. Had a struggle taken place beside the grave, the bowl—and its now-missing offering—would have fallen.

  A dirty slush of icy snow and frozen mud covered the ground. Footprints were everywhere, but none of them looked new.

  “Will you help me?” Noboru asked. “I do not think I have the strength to carry her alone.”

  “Of course.” Father Mateo helped him lift Ishiko’s lifeless body, which remained almost as stiff and straight as the posts of the sacred torii at the entrance to the burial ground.

  Hiro could not tell if the stiffness came from the passage of time or merely from the body spending the night in the freezing cold.

  As he followed Noboru and Father Mateo back along the trail toward the village, Hiro realized, with some surprise, that he had assessed the body and the scene as if he planned to find the woman’s killer.

  When the men returned to the ryokan, Kane opened the door and held it as they carried the body past. She did not speak, but her gaze never left the corpse.

  After slipping off their shoes in the entry, Father Mateo and Noboru carried Ishiko into the reception room. Noboru opened the door to a guest room across from the one where Hiro and Father Mateo slept. Except for the tokonoma, which held an empty vase, and the fact that only a single, unused futon rested in the center of the floor, the room appeared identical to theirs.

  Father Mateo stopped at the sight of the futon. “You had a room prepared?”

  “My mother had trouble climbing the stairs,” Noboru said. “She slept here often, especially on the nights when she visited my sister’s grave. I apologize for placing. . .her body.
. .so close to your guest room. . .”

  “They will be leaving this morning anyway.” Kane spoke from the doorway.

  As Hiro heard the words, he knew instinctively they were untrue.

  After Father Mateo helped Noboru lower the corpse to the futon, the innkeeper fell to his knees.

  “This is my fault.”

  He brushed Ishiko’s hair from her face, revealing her sightless eyes. A dead leaf clung to the woman’s cheek.

  Kane gasped. “Red eyes. . .bare feet and trailing hair. . .she looks like a yurei.”

  Noboru whirled. “Do not say such things!”

  His wife seemed not to hear him. “Masako-san was right. . .it has returned. . .”

  “Enough!” Noboru hissed. “Show respect for the dead!”

  “You brought her here. Now it will follow. . .” Kane gestured to the corpse.

  “I said enough.” Noboru stood and faced his wife.

  Kane cringed and backed away. When she reached the door, she turned and fled down the passage to the kitchen. A moment later, they heard footsteps on the creaking stairs to the second floor.

  “I apologize for my wife,” Noboru knelt beside the corpse once more.

  “What did she mean about ‘it’ returning?” Father Mateo asked.

  Noboru tried to close Ishiko’s eyelids, but her flesh refused to yield. “A foolish superstition. Nothing more.”

  “Superstitions do not end in murder,” the priest observed.

  “I once believed that also.” Noboru stood up. “Now, I am not so sure.”

  “Yūrei do not kill people,” Hiro said, “because ghosts do not exist.”

  “You should leave this village now, while you still can.” Noboru seemed unable to tear his gaze from his mother’s body. “And hope the yūrei does not follow.”

  “Vengeful spirits did not kill this woman.” Hiro gestured to the corpse. “Do you see the marks on her neck? The blood in her eyes? She was strangled.”

  Noboru continued as though he did not hear. “I should have gone with her to the burial yard. Or insisted she wait for morning. . .”

  “A yūrei did not do this,” Hiro repeated.

  “But we can help you find whoever did,” Father Mateo said.

  “No.” Noboru shook his head at the priest. “Every hour you remain, you put your lives at risk. You must leave at once.”

  “If you believe that, why did you allow us to spend the night?” Hiro asked.

  “I did not think. . .did not believe it would return.”

  Ana appeared in the doorway. “Has something happened?”

  Based on her lack of reaction to the body lying on the floor, Hiro suspected the housekeeper knew the facts, but wondered what Father Mateo intended to do about the situation.

  “Your master needs to leave at once,” Noboru said. “You should prepare to go.”

  Ana waited for the Jesuit’s decision.

  “We should leave,” Hiro murmured in Portuguese. “We have people to warn in other towns, and this woman’s death is no concern of ours.” He switched to Japanese. “Pack our belongings Ana, it’s time to leave.”

  The housekeeper did not move.

  “We are not leaving,” Father Mateo said in Portuguese. “These people need our help.”

  “He does not want our help.” Hiro replied in kind.

  Noboru looked puzzled but said nothing.

  “We can help him learn the truth—” the Jesuit began.

  “Please excuse us,” Hiro said to Noboru, and gestured for the priest to leave the room.

  To his relief, Father Mateo crossed the threshold without argument.

  “Should I get ready to leave, or not?” Ana asked.

  “Yes,” Hiro said.

  At the same time, Father Mateo answered, “No.”

  “When you make your minds up, tell me.” Ana walked back toward the kitchen.

  Hiro followed Father Mateo into their guest room and closed the door.

  “We need to stay and help these people learn the truth,” the Jesuit said.

  “We have a more important task to complete,” Hiro objected. “The woman we looked for here is gone, but others from my clan remain in danger. Would you risk their lives to chase a village ghost?”

  “You know as well as I do that a person killed Ishiko, not a ghost.”

  “No!” Kane shrieked, somewhere nearby, “You’ll kill us all!”

  Chapter 8

  Hiro opened the door with his left hand, keeping the right on the hilt of his katana.

  Kane had her back to the guest room, but turned toward it as the door slid open.

  Relief relaxed the tension from her face. “You haven’t left?”

  “They are leaving now,” Noboru said.

  Kane clasped her hands toward Hiro in supplication. “Please—sir—you must not leave. Please wait for the priest to come and appease the yūrei.”

  “Why does it matter whether or not we stay?” Hiro asked.

  “We do not know what made the spirit angry.” Kane lowered her hands. “Why it returned—”

  “Which is precisely why they need to leave,” Noboru interrupted. “This does not concern them.”

  “Are you certain? Would you risk your family for strangers?” Kane’s question sounded more like a demand.

  “How long will it take for the priest to conduct the ceremony?” Father Mateo asked.

  “Too long,” the innkeeper answered.

  At the same time, Kane said, “Two days.” Her eyes lit up with hope. “If we send word to the shrine in Hakone, the priest will come tomorrow.”

  “We can wait two days.” Father Mateo sounded as if he considered the matter settled.

  “With respect—” Hiro began.

  The priest did not let him finish. “I can spare the time.”

  “Thank you.” Kane bowed in gratitude. “Noboru-san, please send a message to Hakone Shrine and fetch the priest.”

  Hiro barely waited for Father Mateo to shut the guest room door behind them.

  “I do not appreciate you forcing me to remain in this village against my will.”

  “I did not—”

  “You know I cannot argue with my master.” Hiro emphasized the final word.

  “Forgive me, Hiro,” Father Mateo said, “I did not consider that before I spoke, though it would not have changed my decision. We need—I need—to help these people.”

  “Why? You do not know these villagers. You owe them nothing.”

  “Yes, and yet. . .I made a grave mistake on Koya. If I can free these people from their superstitions, prove there is no ghost, I can atone—”

  “These villagers will believe in ghosts no matter what we do.”

  “Not if we find the killer and prove the ghost does not exist.”

  “But. . .you believe in ghosts.”

  The Jesuit drew back. “I do not.”

  “You pray to one every day.”

  Father Mateo wrinkled his forehead, clearly confused. The wrinkles smoothed as comprehension dawned. “The Holy Ghost is not. . .a ghost.”

  Hiro did not reply.

  “He isn’t,” the Jesuit insisted. “The Creator God exists as one in three: the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. But the Holy Spirit is not a ghost.”

  “If you say so.”

  “There are incorporeal beings that try to harm us,” Father Mateo said, “like demons—”

  “You believe in yōkai, but not ghosts?”

  “Not the way Japanese people do.” Father Mateo crossed his arms. “It’s complicated.”

  “Clearly.”

  The Jesuit uncrossed his arms. “I need to help these people, Hiro. Maybe the deaths on Mount Koya were not my fault, directly, but they weigh upon my soul. If we can bring this woman justice, and find her killer, I will feel that I have served my penance.

  “Help me do this, please.”

  Hiro did not understand how helping a different set of people would relieve the Jesuit’s guilt about M
ount Koya—guilt that Hiro believed the priest should not feel in the first place. However, brothers did not abandon one another in times of need, and he considered Father Mateo a brother even though they shared no blood.

  “Two days,” Hiro said, “but then we leave for Edo. We must not risk the living to help the dead.”

  He hoped the rumor that Oda Nobunaga’s spies had learned the identities of Iga’s agents along the travel road would prove a falsehood, rendering the warnings he was rushing to deliver unnecessary. But if not, he planned to snatch as many lives as possible from Oda’s grasp.

  “I understand, and thank you.” Father Mateo bowed his head.

  Now that the priest had explained his reasoning, Hiro discovered that he no longer objected so strenuously to the slight delay. A part of him did enjoy bringing killers to justice, and remaining in the village would give him time to learn more about Emiri’s disappearance—if he could find a subtle way to do it.

  “I suppose we should start the investigation by learning more about the village ghost.” Father Mateo opened the guest room door and jumped at the sight of Noboru, who stood on the other side, hand raised as if to knock.

  The innkeeper’s cheeks flushed red. “I-I apologize for disturbing you.” He lowered the hand to his side.

  “May we help you?” Hiro asked.

  “You need not stay to appease my wife. I have spoken with her and she understands.”

  Hiro believed the first assertion, but not the second one.

  “I am a priest,” Father Mateo said. “I do not fear the dead. In fact, I would like to learn more about your yūrei.”

  “I-I can assure you, I had nothing to do with it,” Noboru stammered.

  “I did not intend to imply. . .” The priest began again. “I was merely curious.”

  “Oh.” Noboru relaxed a fraction. “We do not speak of it. . .surely you understand. . .”

  The inn’s front door banged open.

  “Noboru!” A deep voice called. “Where are you?”

  The innkeeper turned to face the entry and bowed so low that his nose almost touched his knees. “How may I serve you, Otomuro-sama ?”