The Heart of a Fox

by T. Isilwath

  ‘What is that?’ he wondered, his curiosity getting the better of him.

  “I…” she began slowly, flipping the pages. “I see naked you.” He blinked. ‘What?’

  “I see naked you,” she repeated, still looking in the book. “Three days.”

  ‘Huh? What the? “I see naked you?” What does that mean?’ he wondered, completely confused, then he suddenly realized that she was telling him that she’d been seeing him naked for three days. Her words were correct, but they were all mixed up to the point where she almost didn’t make any sense.

  She smiled at him and the smile confused him to no end. Then she pointed to his shoulder.

  “Wound.”

  He looked at the bandage that covered his shoulder and touched it gingerly.

  She pointed to his belly where the pain was and again to his thigh.

  “I help.”

  “You helped me. You saved my life,” he whispered.

  “Please speak slowly. I only speak a little Japanese,” she said perfectly, and he knew she had to have memorized it.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Who are you?” she repeated, her brow furrowed, then she turned to her book. “Once again, please.”

  She was speaking so politely to him. No one ever spoke to him with consideration or respect. He was a half-demon, lower than the fowl and oxen, and not deserving of anything but contempt.

  “Who are you?” he complied, speaking each word carefully and clearly.

  She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He watched as she repeated the words to herself, flipping through the pages as if looking for something, then it dawned on him that she was looking for something. She was looking for the words he had spoken because the book had words in it that she could read. Finally she nodded as if she had found them and now understood his question.

  “My name is Joanna.”

  ‘What? What kind of a name is that?’

  “Joohh-rrannnn-aahhhhh,” he repeated.

  “Yes. What is your name?”

  Another memorized phrase because she had said it too quickly and easily.

  He wrestled with what to tell her. No one had asked him his name in many years. The villagers all called him “Hanyou” but that was not his name. Since she had treated him with such politeness, he felt obligated to respond in kind, but he did not know what was appropriate. Finally he decided that to tell her that his name was “Hanyou” was a lie, and it was dishonorable to lie. So he told her the name that his father had given him, but that no one had spoken in over ten years.

  “Akihiro.”

  “Akihiro,” she repeated as if tasting the word, and for some reason hearing a voice other than his own say his name made him shiver. “I am pleased to meet you, Akihiro.”

  He blinked at her. “Now I know you’re insane,” he blurted.

  She shook her head, her brow furrowed. “Once again, please.” He shook his head back. “No. It doesn’t matter.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, and he realized that she was exhausted. Her eyes were sunken and dark shadows around them made them look bruised. When she opened them again to look at him, he saw that they were dilated and full of weariness. He cocked his head, perking his ears up to listen to her, and she gave him a little smile.

  “You look tired,” he said.

  “You look tired.”

  “Tired,” he repeated slowly and saw her look in her book.

  “Yes. Tired.” She flipped in her book again. “Three days. Akihiro sick.

  Fever. I afraid. No sleep.”

  He blinked at her, stunned by her admission. Even though her sentences were jumbled and broken, the meaning of her words was clear.

  ‘She was up three days caring for me while I was sick with fever from the oni-gumo poison.’

  “Thank you.” What else could he say? Villagers who had known him for thirty years wouldn’t have done for him what this complete stranger had.

  “You’re welcome,” she replied immediately, another memorized phrase.

  There was silence between them, then she sighed again and pointed to his bandaged shoulder.

  “Wound?” she asked, and made a hand gesture for looking at something.

  ‘She wants to check my wounds. That’s all she wanted to do to begin with,’

  he realized with a little chagrin.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  “Wound? Please?”

  He sighed and gave in. “Okay.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. How could he respond to someone who wished to take care of him and offer him a kindness? She didn’t seem to mind his silence as she gently unwound the bandage on his shoulder and looked at his injury. His half-demon body healed quickly, but he could clearly see where the arrow had pierced his flesh. He could also see that the wound had been carefully burned closed.

  ‘She knows something of healing…’

  “Good,” she said, a pleased smile on her lips.

  “Yes,” he agreed.

  Her hand moved down to his leg and he instinctively flinched, but he understood that she only wanted to see his thigh wound so he forced himself to relax. She pulled aside the blankets only enough to bare his leg and unwrapped the bandages there. This wound was also healing nicely and had been burned closed like the other. She nodded in approval and wrapped him back up.

  The last wound was the belly wound, and he knew that she wanted to see that one as well. With much trepidation, he let the blankets fall down to pool over his thighs, keeping one hand firmly over his groin so the covers would stay put while she unwrapped the last bandage from around his waist. While she may have been seeing him naked for three days, she certainly wasn’t going to see him naked now that he had something to say about it. She chuckled at his modesty and he felt himself blush.

  “Cute,” she said.

  ‘Cute?’

  He was going to respond, but then the bandage fell away, and he got a look at the one wound that still hurt quite a lot. The words of his retort died on his lips as what he saw made him gasp in shock. Numerous little stitches of thread held his flesh together where the arrow had ripped into his belly.

  ‘She sewed me closed. That’s… that’s the work of a doctor… Did a doctor lower himself to treat a half-breed like me?’

  She touched the wound and he gasped at the sudden pain.

  “Sorry. Sorry,” she apologized.

  “It’s okay,” he reassured her.

  She looked in her book, then asked, “Pain?”

  “A little,” he admitted, lifting one hand to gesture a small amount with his thumb and forefinger.

  She frowned and looked at the wound again, sighing deeply.

  “It’s okay. Did you do this? Are you a doctor?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry. Please say again.”

  “Johrannah doctor?”

  She turned to her book then shook her head. “No. No doctor.”

  ‘Not a doctor? But… she…’

  She yawned and tried to hide it. “Sorry. Tired.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Johrannah needs sleep.”

  She nodded and something akin to gratitude came into her brown eyes. She gently bandaged him back up, and he relaxed the moment she was no longer touching him near his private places.

  “Akihiro hungry?” she asked suddenly.

  He blinked at her, then drooped his ears. It was impolite to ask for food, but he was very hungry now that he thought about it. She said he had been sick for three days which meant he hadn’t eaten in that long, and his body was weak from dehydration and hunger. But still, he could not ask her to feed him. Such a thing was inconceivable, especially for a half-demon like him. He was about to say no when his stomach answered for him with a loud growl. He flushed, mortified, but she just snickered and smiled.

  “Yes, Akihiro hungry,” she said with amusement, then left the shelter.

  She came back several
moments later carrying two bundles wrapped in leaves. One she gave to him while the other she kept as she sat across from him and unwrapped it. He did the same and found the meat of a quail, baked and lightly seasoned. The smell of the meat made his mouth water, but he had no chopsticks with which to eat.

  ‘Does she expect me to eat like a common animal?’ he wondered, getting slightly angry.

  Up until that point she had treated him so kindly, but now he wondered if she was showing how she really felt about him. He looked up to see what she was doing and was shocked to see her eating her own bundle of quail meat with her hand. She seemed perfectly content to do so, sucking on the ends of her fingers with each bite. When she saw he wasn’t eating, she looked askance at him and their eyes met. She blinked a few times, then smiled, putting down her food and rummaging in a sack at the rear of the hollow. His eyes opened wide as she produced a set of chopsticks and offered them to him.

  He accepted them with uncertainty because he saw that she did not get a set for herself, and he watched as she picked up her bundle of meat and resumed eating with her fingers. He looked down at his own meal and at the chopsticks in his hand, then he put the utensils down and honored his host by following her custom, using his skill as a mimic to mirror her movements.

  He took a bite and froze. The meat was wonderful. The taste exploded on his tongue and he could not remember a time when he had ever enjoyed such rich flavors; certainly not since his father had been killed, and his human mother and he were forced into exile. But even before then, when they had lived in his grandfather’s house, the kitchen staff had never served him the same food the rest of the household enjoyed. What delicacies he managed to obtain were always from his mother, who would save him some of her meal to share later. He had never been allowed to eat in the main room with her, his grandparents and the rest of the family. He was the disgrace of the clan, the half-breed that lived only because of his grandfather’s fear of his father, and he was relegated to the kitchen, not even permitted to dine with the servants.

  Once his father, a great six-tailed kitsune, had been murdered, his mother took him and fled the house, running for their lives. They wandered until they found a small village that took pity on his mother and allowed them to live in a shack on the edge of town. After that, they had subsisted on only the plainest of foods grown from their own meager garden and what his mother was able to trade for at the market.

  This meal was different from any quail he’d ever eaten. The spices were alien to him yet they flooded his taste buds even as the flesh melted in his mouth. He doubted the daimyo himself had ever enjoyed such a meal, but all too soon it was gone. Quail was so small, especially this early in the summer.

  He looked forlornly at his empty leaves, knowing he could easily eat at least two more birds just like it. Johrannah gave him another smile and offered him the rest of her bird. He was shocked and humbled, but refused. He would never be so rude as to take the food of his host.

  Unfortunately for him, Johrannah insisted.

  “Akihiro sick. Eat this,” she said, pushing the food into his hands.

  “No,” he tried. “I cannot take your food.”

  “Yes. Eat this. Eat this.” She put the meat in his lap and went for her book.

  “Hunt I. Quail. Grouse. Eat this. Strong. Healthy.” She had made it such that he couldn’t say no without being disrespectful, so he had no choice but to accept the food. He ate it slowly, watching her through uncertain eyes, but all she did was smile and nod in approval.

  “Good,” she said happily when he was done.

  She took the leaves that had been wrapped around the quail and left the shelter again. She returned carrying a teapot and poured them both drinks of black tea in little metal cups. He picked up his cup and took a sip, following her lead. The tea was a little bitter but not unpleasant, and he wondered if it was medicinal. He knew some of the best medicines also tasted the worst.

  When they had finished the tea, she took the cups and rinsed them out with water from a gourd jug, pouring the water outside the shelter. Then she came back in holding a bundle of clothes that he recognized immediately.

  ‘My clothes!’

  She gave the garments to him, then purposefully turned her back to give him privacy. Taking her hint, he dressed quickly, noting with amazement that the clothes had been thoroughly washed and mended with care. The places where the arrows had ripped the material had been expertly patched and repaired, and he doubted his clothes had been so clean in months.

  Movement from her caused him to hurry because he thought she was getting impatient. He knew she was tired and wanted to sleep which probably meant that she wanted him out of the shelter. Now that he had recovered from his fever and was healing well, there was no reason for her not to insist that he sleep outside. What human in her right mind would willingly sleep in the same place as a half-demon like him? He would dress then slink out to curl up under some brush. The nights were warm and the rains hadn’t come yet.

  He saw her lift the edge of her strange clothing, which was very strange indeed. In fact, now that he was comfortably dressed, he took a moment to look at her odd clothes. She wore no long kimono but instead was dressed very much like a man. Her upper garment ended at her waist and appeared to be one piece of fabric that slid over her head. It was dyed a deep blue color and had long, binding sleeves that ended at her wrists. Her lower garment was blue as well, but faded and made of a material he did not recognize. It was akin to his own nobakama field pants except that the legs hugged her body tightly all the way down to her ankles, and there didn’t seem to be any kind of obi used to fasten them closed. On her feet she wore soft boots made of animal skin.

  All in all, he had to admit that he had never seen anyone dressed like she was, and to add to the oddness, there was something attached to her belly under her upper garment. He had caught a brief glimpse of it when she lifted the clothing. She did something with it and it made a weird noise.

  ‘What is that?’ he wondered, then flushed and looked quickly away when she peered over her shoulder to see if he was done dressing.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Actually he was feeling much better now that he wasn’t naked.

  “Good. Tired. I sleep. Akihiro sleep,” she replied, motioning to the bedding he had occupied.

  She took the blankets he had rumpled, and he watched her as she rearranged the bedding, straightening out the straw, cloth and blankets. He saw her take two of the four blankets away and fold them into a pile of spare bedding at the back of the hollow. Then she folded down the blankets and patted the re-made bed.

  “Akihiro sleep. Rest. Heal.”

  He blinked at her, confused. ‘She can’t mean that she wishes for me to stay in here… with her…’

  He opened his mouth to voice his question, but she patted the bedding again and he paused. Her message was clear, but how could he tell her that he hadn’t slept in a bed in years? Since his mother had died and the villagers had driven him out of the shack they had occupied, he had contented himself with sleeping in hollows and under bushes. In winter he dug a den to curl into for protection from the cold, and sometimes the priest at the shrine allowed him to sleep on the porch during the rains. But he hadn’t been allowed a place inside since the last night he had spent with his mother as she passed away.

  His silence and reluctance made her cock her head curiously.

  “Akihiro, what is wrong?”

  She said it like one of her memorized phrases, and he wondered just how much Japanese she actually knew.

  “Nothing,” he stammered, looking at the bed which had so obviously been prepared for him. ‘Do I dare? Is this a test? What do I do?’

  She patted the bed a third time and beckoned him. “Akihiro sleep. I tired.” He was tired too. Now that his belly was mostly full, and he was clothed, the weakness he suffered from fighting the poison and blood loss was creeping into his bones. Slowly, reluctantly, he crawled for
ward and sat on the bed, waiting for a sign from her as to what was expected of him. She placed the edges of the blankets into his hands and urged him to lie down. He obeyed, never taking his eyes from her, and let himself be gently pushed onto his back.

  “Good,” she told him, then turned away and moved to her own bedding.

  Lifting his head slightly, he watched as she took off her footwear, placing them beside her sleeping mat, then she slid into her strange bed from the top as if it was all one large piece that did not fold down.

  “Good night, Akihiro,” she said as she blew out the tallow lamp and lay down in her bedding, pulling her blanket over her shoulders.

  “Good night. Thank you.”

  She mumbled a faint reply then was quiet, and he heard her breathing slow down and grow fainter as she fell asleep. He, of course, couldn’t sleep. He was too confused and nervous, and he half expected her to wake up at any moment and tell him to get out.

  Johrannah was treating him as she would another human, as a friend even, but he was a stranger to her and a half-demon as well. By all rights, she should have shunned him from the beginning, and even let him die at the hands of the exterminators, but she hadn’t. She had brought him back to her home, treated his wounds, tended him while he was sick, and fed him when he awakened.

  Only his mother had ever been kind to him, and he did not know what to think.

  He waited until he knew she was deeply asleep before slowly slipping out of the bed and crawling over to her side. He sniffed her, memorizing her smell, but also checking for any scent of brain-sickness on her. He could smell it sometimes. He could smell a lot of sicknesses. There were times when he had known someone was ill before they did, and he knew right away when a female was fertile or pregnant.