by Susan Spann
“Not if we kill you in order to escape,” Hiro said.
Akako gave him an appraising look. “You won’t.”
“I am samurai. I could kill you just to test my sword.”
“And some men would,” the laborer agreed, “but you are not among them.”
“A dangerous gamble,” Hiro said.
Akako smiled. “With respect, a man does not survive long on the travel road without learning to tell the difference between a reasonable samurai and one who looks for any excuse to test his sword.”
“Have you lived in the village long?” Father Mateo asked.
“I was born here, and still share my mother’s house. My son Chitose lives in the house next door.”
“And your wife?”
“She died in childbirth.” Akako spoke with good-natured calm. “When Chitose began to look for a wife, I let him have the house I built for his mother, and moved back in with Saku.”
“Saku-san is your mother?” Father Mateo frowned. “We met her this morning. She thinks that I’m a ghost.”
“She does not see well anymo—” Akako blinked in surprise as Gato emerged from under the table, stretched, and padded across the room. He knelt and extended a hand to the cat. “Neko-chan, how did you get inside?”
“She belongs to us,” the Jesuit replied.
Akako looked at the priest as Gato butted her head against his hand and purred. “I never thought Ishiko-san would let a cat inside the ryokan. She hated them.”
Hiro found it strange that the porter did not question why the Jesuit traveled with a cat. However, Japanese people often considered foreigners strange, and Akako could have simply accepted this as yet another example of foreign eccentricity.
Gato arched her back and turned in a circle, offering her side and back. Akako ran a tentative hand across her fur and broke into a smile as her purr increased.
“Feel free to go about your investigation.” Akako scratched behind Gato’s ears and along her jaw. “In fact, I’ll gladly help you if I can.”
“Can you tell us about the village ghost?” Father Mateo asked.
“It is not merely a ghost. It is a yūrei—more specifically, an onryō.” Akako spoke as casually as if discussing the previous evening’s meal.
“There is a difference?” the Jesuit knelt on the tatami.
“All yūrei are ghosts, but not all ghosts are yūrei.” Akako continued scratching Gato’s ears. “Japan has many different kinds of ghosts.”
“How do you tell them apart?”
“By what they do,” the laborer replied, “or what they want. A yūrei seeks to resolve some matter left unfinished during life. Some yūrei seek vengeance—”
“But some do not?” Father Mateo leaned forward slightly.
“Some wish to continue living. Others do not realize they’re dead.”
“Which kind is the on—on—” Father Mateo struggled with the unfamiliar word.
“On-ry-ō.” Akako pronounced the word slowly and carefully. “A yūrei that holds a grudge.”
“I thought all yūrei were vengeful spirits.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes, but as I mentioned, some are worse than others. Sometimes a soul gets lost or stuck on its way to the afterlife. For example, if a family cannot afford a proper funeral, the spirit of the deceased will wander the earth until someone performs the proper rites on its behalf. Such yūrei, though disturbed, do not usually cause any serious harm.”
“And the other kind?” Father Mateo asked.
Akako lowered his voice. “Onryō bear a grudge against the living, and refuse to leave this world until they have revenge. A woman who dies a violent death may become an onryō.”
“But Noboru’s sister died in an accident—”
“Who told you that?” Akako’s eyes flashed with sudden anger.
“Noboru-san.” Hiro intervened.
Akako clenched his jaw. His hand drew into a fist, provoking a curious look from Gato. “Noboru-san lied. Riko-san was murdered. Though I suppose I should be impressed that he dared to mention her, or her death, at all.”
“She was murdered?” Hiro repeated. “How?”
Akako studied the Jesuit’s face, and Hiro’s. “With respect, I find myself in a difficult position. While I cannot refuse to answer your question, a truthful answer requires me to make serious accusations against a samurai.”
Hiro knelt beside Father Mateo. “Unless the man is in this room, no one will take offense.”
“The man in question would disagree, if he learned that I spoke to you of his crimes.”
“If Otomuro-san dislikes the way the truth makes him appear, he should change his behavior,” Father Mateo said pointedly.
“How do you know that I speak of Otomuro-san?” Akako asked.
“This village has only one samurai.” Father Mateo’s expression grew grave. “What did he do to Noboru’s sister?”
“Everything,” Akako said, “and nothing. To understand, you must hear the entire story.”
For the second time in as many days, Hiro found himself doubting the veracity of those words. But once again, he found himself required to listen.
Chapter 20
Akako settled back on his heels in the manner of a man about to tell a lengthy tale. “Otomuro-san came from a wealthy family, but his father squandered most of their fortune on gambling and prostitutes. When his father died, Otomuro-san’s elder brother joined the daimyō’s service as a warrior, but Otomuro-san. . .well, you can see he isn’t much for exercise, martial or otherwise.”
“How do you know so much about his history?” Father Mateo asked.
Akako shrugged. “The truth will follow a man like a hungry wolf on the trail of a fox.
“The daimyō sent Otomuro-san to this village, to watch the travel road and collect the taxes, but Otomuro-san spent most of his time inside the teahouse, watching entertainers. He demanded Yuko-san pay her taxes in food and entertainment instead of silver, and he always wanted Riko-san to provide the entertainment.” Akako lowered his voice. “I think he liked the fact that he could force the girl to entertain him, in order to show her family that he controlled this village—not that they ever cared what happened to her, one way or the other.”
“He forced her to. . .entertain him?” Father Mateo looked ill. “Riko-san was not a prostitute,” Akako clarified. “Yuko-san refused to sell her girls that way. She claimed it reduced their value. And then, last year, Otomuro-san’s brother came to visit.”
“The one who served the daimyō?” Father Mateo asked.
Akako nodded. “He came to the village at the end of every year, to collect the tax receipts. Last year, Otomuro-san took him to the teahouse. As always, he demanded Riko-san.
“At some point in the evening Otomuro-san’s brother demanded more than the girl desired to give, and this time, Yuko-san did not prevent it.” Akako’s expression darkened. “I do not know exactly why. I was not in the village that night. If I had been. . .”
“You could not have saved her from a samurai’s demands.” Father Mateo’s voice held disapproval, though not for the laborer.
“The brother dragged her through the street to Otomuro’s house. The entire village heard her screams, but no one intervened. When he finished with her, he threw her into the street like refuse. He had beaten her so badly that she had to crawl back to the teahouse on her hands and knees.
“Even then, not a single person in this village had the courage to speak against a samurai,” Akako finished with disgust.
“Not even her parents?” Father Mateo sounded horrified.
“Risk a samurai’s fury over a girl? And a twin at that?” Akako gave a bitter laugh.
“A twin?” The Jesuit repeated. “Riko was Noboru’s twin?”
Once again Akako nodded. “That’s why her parents gave her up so cheaply.”
“Because she was a twin?” Father Mateo looked confused.
“The younger twin, and a girl.” Akako p
aused. “Bad luck. Her parents apprenticed her to Yuko-san as soon as she could walk and, after that, pretended not to know her. They wouldn’t even speak to her in the street. As she grew older, even Yuko-san looked down on her, because Riko-san was not as lovely as Hanako-san, or as skilled on the shamisen as young Masako.”
“And yet, she remained the teahouse owner’s heir?” Hiro asked.
At the sound of her master’s voice, Gato stretched, stood up, and padded over to sit in front of him. He reached out a hand and stroked her coat.
“Yes. They were blood. There was also a rumor about a forgiven debt, but I cannot say for sure if that part’s true.”
“Did Riko-san recover from her injuries?” Father Mateo hesitated, as if uncertain whether he wanted to know the answer.
Akako shook his head. “The following morning Yuko-san discovered her dead, still wearing the bloody kimono from the night before.
“The night after Riko-san died of her injuries, Otomuro-san’s brother died in his sleep—or so Otomuro-san claimed. It seemed strange, even at the time, but no one dared to question the word of a samurai. Later, when we realized Riko-san had returned to avenge herself upon the village, Otomuro-san admitted that his brother was the onryō’s first victim.”
“The second was Yuko-san?” Father Mateo asked.
“She died the day after Riko did,” Akako confirmed. “And then, a little more than three months later, Noboru’s father died, on the night the landslide destroyed the travel road and killed the teahouse girl who tried to run. He was having dinner at the teahouse—it had become Hanako’s teahouse then—when he suddenly screamed his daughter’s name, clutched at his chest, and fell down dead.”
“Did you see it happen?” Hiro asked.
Akako shook his head. “The girl who saw it happen ran away in terror. She’s the one who died in the landslide. Most of the people in the village believed the yūrei caused the landslide too. They moved away afterward, to flee her wrath.
“That’s why so many houses now stand vacant.”
“They moved away because they feared a ghost?” Hiro found that difficult to believe.
Gato mewed and climbed into his lap. He stroked her absently.
“The storm occurred on the hundredth day after Riko-san died,” Akako said. “A typhoon struck the mountain at nightfall. During the night, a massive landslide buried the travel road. It took months to clear the damage and reopen the road, and the traffic has not returned. Most travelers still prefer to take the detour, to the south.”
“You mentioned the other teahouse girl who died,” Father Mateo prompted.
“Emiko-san,” Akako confirmed. “She ran away that night. The landslide buried her. Most people think the yūrei caused the slide so the girl would not escape.”
“Her name was Emiko?” Father Mateo repeated.
Akako nodded. “The mountain collapsed on her as she tried to flee.”
“What killed Noboru’s father?” Hiro asked.
“The yūrei came for him, and his heart gave out.”
“Heart failure has many causes,” Hiro said, “and both typhoons and landslides happen every year, without the aid of ghosts.”
“Perhaps,” Akako countered, “but when four people die in as many months—and then Ishiko-san, on the one year anniversary of Riko’s death, coincidences start to look suspicious.”
“Yet you do not seem frightened,” Hiro said.
“She has no reason to seek revenge against me. I played no part in her death, and neither insulted nor abused her while she lived.”
Hiro continued stroking Gato’s fur. “Between a string of strange but natural occurrences and the revenge of an angry ghost, I find the former a far more reasonable explanation.”
“People have seen the yūrei wandering in the trees at night,” Akako said, “and some claim to have heard her wailing.”
“Have you seen her?” Hiro asked.
“My mother has.”
Hiro set the cat on the floor and stood up. “Then I would like to speak with her about it.”
Akako rose. “I do not know if she will speak to you, but we can try.
The door to the house Akako shared with Saku opened as they approached.
The ancient, scowling woman pointed her walking stick at Hiro. “Are you stupid?”
He stopped short, too startled to reply.
Saku thumped the stick on the ground. “I told you to take your foreign ghost and go.”
“I am not a ghost,” Father Mateo protested.
“They are inves—” Akako paused. “They want to hear about Riko-san.”
“Samurai do not care about teahouse girls.” Saku shifted her gaze to Father Mateo. “And neither do the dead.”
“I serve a holy. . .spirit”—the Jesuit choked on the word—“who judges the living and the dead. He commands me to care about everyone.”
“You serve the god of ghosts?” Saku looked dubious.
Hiro hoped the Jesuit would let the error pass, although he worried that the recent murders on Mount Koya might hamper Father Mateo’s ability to allow misunderstandings about his faith to go uncorrected. Unwilling to take the risk, he intervened. “Is it true that you have seen the yūrei?”
“If you talk to us,” the Jesuit added, “we will go away.”
Saku squinted at the priest as if considering the offer.
Hiro prepared to argue, but the elderly woman took a step backward and beckoned them inside. “I will tell you what I saw.” She jabbed her cane at Father Mateo as he crossed the threshold. “But I don’t serve tea to ghosts.”
Chapter 21
The interior of Saku’s home looked almost identical to Mume’s one-room house across the road, except that it lacked a stall and the accompanying scent of ox. A fire glowed in the base of the square brick oven that squatted at the center of the open space at the front of the house. Behind it, a brazier burned beside the raised, tatami-covered platform that served as the primary living space. A trio of wooden chests sat against the rear wall of the house. Based on their sizes and location, they probably contained both clothes and bedding.
Smoke from the oven and brazier filled the house with a faint, aromatic haze. Beneath it, Hiro noted the faded, lingering scents of older fires, aging wood, and fish.
Saku tottered over to the platform, leaning heavily on her gnarled cane. When she reached the edge, she stepped out of her sandals and knelt on the tatami.
Although she offered no invitation, Akako gestured for Hiro and Father Mateo to join his mother, and then followed them across the room.
Once everyone had taken a seat on the platform, Akako said, “They want to hear about the night you saw the yūrei in the forest.”
“It happened shortly after the landslide killed Emiko-san.” The elderly woman shook her head. “Wouldn’t surprise me if that one returned as a yūrei too.”
She fiddled with the cane that lay beside her on the tatami. “Late one night, on the way to the latrine, I saw the yūrei gliding through the trees. Her hair hung loose around her face. She wore a pale kimono and she glowed with greenish light. Luckily, she did not turn or notice me.”
“Do you see her often?” Hiro asked.
Saku sniffed disdainfully. “I know better than to test my luck. I stay inside at night.” She paused, then added, “but sometimes I hear her wailing in the woods.”
“Deer and foxes also sound like women wailing,” Hiro said.
The elderly woman fixed him with a stony gaze. “I grew up on this mountain. I can tell a kitsune from a yūrei.”
“And you have seen this spirit only once,” Hiro said.
“I saw her twice.” Saku spoke with a slight breathlessness. “About a month ago, I thought I heard footsteps behind the house.” She raised the cane with a trembling hand and pointed it at the lone, slatted window at the rear of the house, which faced the woods. “I thought it was a robber, and crept to the window, planning to beat him with my cane. Instead, I saw the yū
rei floating at the edge of the woods. She was staring at the house, with her hair falling loose around her and a pale kimono that glowed a sickly green.”
“If she floated, how did you hear her footsteps?” Hiro asked.
“I know what I saw.” Saku’s hand trembled even more violently as she lowered the cane to her lap. “Believe me or not. It changes nothing.”
“We believe you,” Father Mateo said quickly. “Did the spirit do anything when she saw you watching?”
“I did not stay to watch!” Saku looked at the Jesuit as if he had suggested she run naked through the snow. “I ducked down and prayed to the Buddha that the yūrei had not seen me.”
A shout came from the street outside. “Akako-san!”
Akako turned his head. “That sounds like Noboru-san.” He slipped on his shoes, crossed the floor, and opened the wooden door as rapid footsteps approached the house.
Noboru appeared in the doorway. “Where are the strangers? You were supposed to watch them.”
“I have watched them.” Akako gestured to Hiro and Father Mateo. “At the moment, I’m watching them talk with Saku-san.”
“Otomuro-san ordered you not to let them leave.”
“I believe he meant the village,” Akako replied. “He said nothing about confining them to the ryokan.”
“If they run away, you’ll pay the price,” Noboru threatened.
“Time to go,” Father Mateo murmured in Portuguese. As he slipped his feet back into his shoes he switched to Japanese. “Thank you for your hospitality, Saku-san.”
“Anything to make you leave.” Both the insult and Saku’s voice had notably less force.
Hiro stepped into his shoes and followed the Jesuit to the door.
“Do you believe she saw a ghost?” Father Mateo asked Hiro in Portuguese as they followed Akako back to the ryokan.
“I believe that she believes it.” Hiro wondered who, or what, Saku had seen in the forest. Her words and bearing did not suggest a lie. The terror in her eyes, and her trembling hands, were all too real.
The mist had mostly burned away, but a grayish haze hung over the sky, giving the sunlight a sickly cast. The weakened beams did little to warm the air, which hovered just above freezing. Icy mud crackled and squelched beneath Hiro’s shoes. Unlike many portions of the travel road, this section had no stone cobbles to prevent it from becoming a quagmire after a rain or a winter thaw.
