The Mad Kyoto Shoe Swapper and Other Short Stories

by Rebecca Otowa

  Shinobu, who was slight and small-boned, seemed to shrink further under the scolding. She scurried without a word to the closet to get out clean bedding, and avoided her mother-in-law’s eyes as she helped her into the bedside chair. Then she got to work, stripping off the old woman’s soaked nightgown with abrupt, nervous movements, and sponging her off. After she’d put Sachiko into a fresh nightgown and changed the bed linen, she helped her back into bed. “I’ll have lunch ready in a minute,” she whispered as she scurried out with an armload of soiled linen.

  Sachiko felt her rage gradually melt away. She looked at a bar of sunlight lying across the clean quilt cover. It suddenly blurred as tears filled her eyes. This was different from the chronic weeping she had done as a young woman. These were not tears of self-pity but of understanding. She wept for herself, for her daughter-in-law, for the old man who had been so miserable, for everyone who ever needed something they couldn’t get. She sobbed as if her heart would break.

  Maybe it did crack a little … a tiny seed of gratitude was pushing its way up within her heart. A strange, unusual sensation. Genbei’s curse hadn’t worked. Here she was, still alive. She hadn’t died in a ditch. She felt her warm, dry clothes, the comfort of the soft bed, the glory of the winter sunshine. But just for a moment she had tasted her father-in-law’s helpless rage on her own tongue. She had used the exact words that she herself had flinched under, all those years ago. The realization dried up her tears in a moment and she lay staring into space.

  The door slid open again and Shinobu entered, balancing a tray. She put it down on the bedside table, avoiding Sachiko’s eyes, clearly wanting to get out again as soon as possible. Sachiko was so sharply reminded of herself as a young woman that she felt her eyes fill with tears again. It was now or never. Break the curse. Break the silence. She forced herself to speak.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry I shouted at you. You do so much for me. I am grateful.” Shinobu turned and looked at the old woman with surprise, and a little suspicion. Sachiko continued, “When you are finished eating lunch, can you come and talk to me for a minute? I’d like to discuss this business of my incontinence. Maybe we can find a solution that will be best for both of us.” Shinobu nodded and left.

  Sachiko snuggled down in the bedclothes, relishing the warmth, her old eyes resting now with pleasure on the sunlit quilt cover. No more crying. She would make a clean breast of the past. Only the truth would do, and she would tell it all to her daughter-in-law. It was time to lift Genbei’s curse.

  Trial by Fire

  May 25, 1619

  “That is unacceptable!”

  Kisuke straightened his back, folded his arms, and glared at his opponent on the other side of the wooden meeting hall, where the two groups of disputants were lined up facing each other. Behind him, the men of the Eastern faction murmured discontentedly. Kisuke hated the lounging posture and slurred words of the Western leader, Kakubei. Didn’t he have any respect for this gathering?

  The mediator in the center cleared his throat. “Does anyone else have anything to say?” Kisuke could tell that the man was poised to jump to his feet and scurry out the door. Of course, he was neutral, neither Eastern nor Western, appointed by the regional government. But being neutral might not save him from a beating after the meeting broke up and frustrated men were walking home in the darkness. No wonder he was in a hurry to leave while it was still light.

  “I call upon the representatives to sum up their positions. The subject under dispute is right of access to the forests of Mount Toyama and adjoining peaks. Western faction, will you be the first to sum up your position? Please be brief.”

  Kakubei, that rude and lounging man, stood up. “The Western faction appeals to the sense of fairness of our Eastern cousins. We on the flat lands have no mountains of our own. How are we to obtain the firewood, the charcoal, the plants and animals we need for our lives, if we are denied the right of access to the mountain?” He sounded plausible, but his aggressive stare robbed the words of their politeness.

  At the mediator’s signal, Kisuke rose to his feet. “We of the Eastern faction have tried many times to compromise with the West. We have suggested allowing access for a certain number of days each season so that they can gather what they need. But the Western faction demands unlimited rights. This is not reasonable. These mountains rise from the very doorsteps of the Eastern villages. They have been our property since the time of our illustrious ancestors. Will our friends in the West not respect the ancient ways? We repeat that we are willing to grant road access to the mountain range for an agreed-upon interval in each season. But it is not large enough to support unlimited access by both factions all year long. The plants and mushrooms and wood would be used up within a year, and then what will we all do? If this does not meet with agreement, I suggest that the men of the Western faction request access from other villages at the foot of the mountain range. There is no need to insist on our village.”

  The room erupted, red-faced men leaning toward each other and shouting. “The East is cruel!” “The West is greedy!” “We do not accept the terms!” Gradually, the angry voices subsided. Kisuke sat down at the center of a swirling river of emotion. He glanced out the door, where an early summer sunset was bathing the countryside in golden-green light. A couple of house martens swooped under the eaves. It was time for the meeting to adjourn and all the tired men to go home.

  The mediator spoke. “This dispute will not be resolved tonight. I ask the factions to reconsider their positions and convene here again on the evening of the next full moon. This meeting is concluded.” He gathered his papers into a roll and hurried to the exit.

  Kisuke took his time. He locked eyes with Kakubei. The man wasn’t even a native of the area. Who knew where he had come from? The Western faction rose in a body and left, murmuring. When the last one had shuffled into his straw sandals and stepped out into the sunset. Kisuke turned to his neighbor, the elderly Kurazaemon.

  “This dispute is going on too long. What can we do? The whole region is in an uproar.”

  The old man regarded him solemnly. “We can do nothing right now. Neither side is prepared to concede an inch.”

  “If nothing can be done, we may have to appeal to the central government to arbitrate. Our regional officers have no neutrality. They are all involved on one side or the other, or else their relatives are.”

  “I know this. The government in Edo, though—what do they know of the problems we face in the provinces? Have they ever walked the forest glades? No. They have probably never even waded in the mud of a rice field. They know only the cobbles of city streets and the polished corridors of the courts.” Kurazaemon prepared his old legs for standing, and laid a hand on Kisuke’s shoulder for support. “Ah!” he grunted, pushing himself upright. “This new government causes more trouble than it’s worth. No respect for the old ways.”

  New government? thought Kisuke, helping the old man to the door. It had been almost a whole generation since the Tokugawa clan unified the country under the shogunate in Edo. He himself could hardly remember a time when they weren’t in power, though old men like Kurazaemon had survived the bloody and turbulent war years. “Well, it can’t be helped. We must try to find a solution before the next meeting. Otherwise, who knows? The Western faction may send brigands through our villages to take what they want by force.”

  “That can’t be allowed,” agreed Kurazaemon, and they parted in the dooryard of the meeting hall. Kisuke stumped home through the fragrant twilight, his thoughts turning to his supper.

  June 23, 1619

  The next full moon fell on the longest day of the year. The men splashed cool water on their faces and hands at a row of buckets the women had set outside the door of the meeting hall. Kisuke noticed that the men of the Western faction took their places with a subtle air of excitement. What were they up to now?

  “The discussion of this subject will now resume,” the mediator announced. “I understand the Western fa
ction has a new suggestion. We will hear from Kakubei first, and then everyone will discuss the proposal.”

  Kakubei got to his feet and struck a dramatic pose, raising both fists into the air. “Men of the East, you have spoken of the importance of the old ways. What I propose harks back to deepest antiquity. Since we cannot come to an agreement by words, I propose a traditional trial by fire.” A storm of exclamations arose on every side. The mediator rapped on the wooden floor for quiet.

  Kisuke rose as well. “What do you mean by that?”

  “In the old days, this kind of dispute was settled by an ordeal undergone by two representatives, one from each side. You must have heard of this.”

  “Yes, but the last of these ordeals was decades ago, in a faroff province. I heard the story from a traveling merchant when I was just a young man. The government has put a stop to all such trials.”

  “Since the last meeting, I have been making inquiries,” Kakubei retorted. The central government is prepared to make a special dispensation, since our case seems to be unsolvable by ordinary means.”

  Kisuke’s brow darkened. What right had Kakubei to make these inquiries behind his back? And what right had the government to rescind their own law discontinuing these outmoded ordeals? The Edo government might be stern, but at least it had imposed rules on society which were, for the most part, reasonable. Kisuke was sure that no one really wanted to go back to the bad old days.

  “Exactly what form of ordeal is being suggested?” he asked.

  “The trial would consist of two contestants, each endeavoring to carry a red-hot iron ax in his bare hands, from a brazier to the altar of Watamuki Shrine. Whichever contestant succeeds, or goes the farthest, would be the winner and the faction he represents would carry the day.” Kakubei paused, and added impressively, “Officials from the central government would be present as judges.”

  “It seems it has all been settled,” Kisuke muttered discontentedly.

  The mediator cleared his throat. “What does the East say to the proposal?”

  Kisuke looked around at his assembled men. Their faces were scared but resolute. He turned back to the mediator. “Since it seems we have no alternative, the East is in agreement. We would, however, like the record to show that we acceded under pressure.” He resumed his seat.

  The mediator gave a small sigh of relief as he prepared ink and paper for the document. “Would it be possible to choose the contestants this evening? It would expedite the trial. This matter ought to be decided before winter.”

  “I stand here for the West!” boomed Kakubei. His followers nodded.

  “And I for the East,” Kurazaemon responded, struggling to rise.

  At once Kakubei stepped forward and confronted the old man. “Not you!” he barked. “Kisuke is the one who has argued with us from the first. Why doesn’t he step forward as representative?”

  The Eastern men gasped at this rudeness. Kisuke hissed savagely, “Have you no respect for an elder of our village?”

  “Our quarrel is not with him! Everyone knows the whole dispute would have been settled long ago if not for your pigheadedness, Kisuke!” Kakubei folded his arms, a gesture both impudent and challenging.

  The mediator stood and laid a hand on Kisuke’s arm, speaking quietly. “If you do not agree, the entire region will fall into discord. You are requested to be the East’s representative in the ordeal. Please say yes.”

  Kisuke bristled and shouted, “I am not afraid! It will be an honor to represent the East. We shall see who is strongest! We shall see who has the grace of the gods!” Immediately the document was drawn up and approved by both sides, whereupon the meeting ended. The mediator and a few selected men from each faction walked to the shrine to consecrate the document and inform the priest of the decision. The mediator then hurried to hire a messenger who would copy the document and take it to Edo.

  That night, Kisuke and Kurazaemon sat on Kisuke’s verandah with a jug of cold sake and a tobacco box between them, bathed in the light of the enormous full moon. From inside the house came the piping voices of children and the flump of futons being laid out for bedtime. Both men’s hearts were heavy, and the dear sights and sounds of ordinary life were not enough to cheer them.

  The old man broke the silence. “Well, I tried. You heard me. I tried.”

  “Kurazaemon, you have nothing to apologize for. You were right as an elder of the village to offer yourself for the ordeal, and the West was right to insist that I should be the one. It all ended as it was supposed to.”

  “Yes, perhaps. Still, it should have been me. I am old. If I failed, I would leave no family behind in disgrace.” Both men knew that whoever failed would be immediately executed. It was the ancient custom, inextricably linked to the ordeal.

  Kurazaemon got to his feet. “Well, you have some time to prepare. The government officials certainly won’t be here before autumn. You must tell your family, and perform some cleansing rituals. I’m sure the priest of the shrine will know just what is required.” The old man called out a few words of thanks to Kisuke’s wife and took his leave.

  Kisuke sat silent a few minutes, then called his wife. “O-mae! Come here and sit down a moment with me. Bring my mother.”

  Admonishing the children to be quiet and stay in bed, Kisuke’s wife brought his mother, Ume, and both women sat down on the old boards of the verandah.

  Kisuke turned his body to face them directly and sat in the formal posture, his legs folded under him. “A decision has been made. The land dispute will be decided in a trial by fire. I have agreed to represent the Eastern faction in this trial. For this, I will need your help. Please assist me to acquit myself honorably.” He made a deep bow.

  At this dire formality, both women turned white with fear. The old lady recovered first. “We will do everything in our power to help you win the day. We realize that the honor of our family and the entire Eastern faction is at stake.” The women bowed, and Kisuke dismissed them. He slowly filled and lit his kiseru pipe, and sat watching the curling smoke rise in the moonlight for a long time.

  August 14, 1619

  The screech of cicadas seemed to tighten and intensify the glaring sunshine. Outside Kisuke’s big house, the world was hot, bright, and loud; inside, it was as cool and dark as a cave. Kisuke sat on the straw mat in front of the family altar, fanning himself with a round, stiff paper fan and resting his eyes on the smooth untrou-bled face of the bronze Amida Buddha statue in the main niche. The altar was crowded with fruit, flowers, candles, and sweets. It was the O-Bon holiday, the day of the dead. The ancestor spirits were here for their annual visit.

  Help me to do what I must do, he petitioned them silently.

  There were footsteps in the entranceway, and a voice called out. The women scurried to receive the visitors. Kisuke looked up as two men, his relatives, entered the room. They took their seats on the cushions his wife set out, and made small talk until cool glasses of tea were brought and the wife withdrew. Then one of them placed a bundle wrapped in white cloth before Kisuke, and bowed. “It is ready. I have brought it.”

  Kisuke returned the bow and unfolded the cloth to reveal a large, black iron ax. He hefted it in his hands, feeling its weight and roughness. “It is well done.”

  “The craftsman guarantees that the weight and size are according to the government decree.”

  “What about the Western faction? Is their ax ready?”

  “I believe so. They have their own craftsman.” Kisuke knew this. The headquarters of the Western faction, the “ironmaster’s village,” was famous for metalwork. He suspected that this was one reason why Kakubei had insisted on this particular kind of trial by fire.

  “Thank you for your trouble.” Kisuke bowed the men out, and after they left, placed the ax reverently before the family altar. It would remain there until it was brought to Watamuki shrine on the day of the trial.

  Kisuke looked at the ax and imagined it glowing with heat. He looked at his hands and im
agined them smoking, red and black with burns. A shiver passed through him. Then he imagined the ax lying on the shrine altar, branding the wood with its heat, showing his success. He would do it. He would.

  “Kisuke-san?” His mother, Ume, opened the reed screen and approached him. “The ax is ready?”

  “Yes.” He gestured to the baleful thing lying in front of the altar. She came close and examined it without touching it. Then she turned to him. “How about you—are you ready?”

  “I will be.” He didn’t look at her. “The shrine priest will meet with me for spiritual counsel every five days until the ordeal. The night before, I will perform a vigil at the shrine.”

  “When do you think it will be?”

  “There is no word yet from Edo, but we expect a messenger any day now. It will certainly be before the cold weather.”

  “My son, look at me.” He raised his eyes to her shrewd old ones. “You must not fail. Do you hear me? You must not fail.”

  “I know.”

  She looked at him even more intensely. “If you do fail, you know what my duty will be.”

  “I’m sure the government officials will arrange for immediate execution according to custom. The Western faction stipulated that.”

  “Even so.” Her eyes bored into him, and he understood her meaning.

  October 18, 1619

  The day of the trial by fire dawned bright and crisp. A fine white ground mist was already dissipating in the mild warmth of the rising sun. The tall cypresses looked down on the shrine, absolutely motionless, their dark depths pierced with slanting sunbeams.

  Kisuke, dressed in formal white, the cold iron ax grasped in his hands, stood on the broad grassy strip just inside the big stone torii gate. Opposite him, similarly attired and holding his own ax, was Kakubei. The members of each faction were gathered behind their champions. The priest had made his preparations while it was still dark, and now stood to attention at the side. All was in readiness, and they waited only for the arrival of the government officials.