“The Kimono”, Chapter 31

 

I have been working on this novel for ten years and am finding my way to the end.  Wordpress has been naughty today and hasn’t posted this correctly. It keeps repeating deleted paragraphs.  I will try again.  This chapter contains a Japanese oni….a monster, called a Kappa.  It’s like a child sized frog but is a carnivore.  It eats human flesh when it can’t find cucumbers, it’s favorite food.  It also drowns children, horses and cows  in rivers.

Lady Nyo

 

They tried to escape the quake-ruined area by the bay, but soon realized the earthquake had devastated the countryside.  Lord Nyo brought back three horses from town and the inn and two more were stolen by Lord Mori’s men. Lady Nyo rode behind her husband, roped to him.

As they picked their way across rubble on the main road to Gassan, they began to see the ruins of the villages further into the countryside.  Fires had broken out and they could hear the screams of people and animals. Many times they had to dismount and push trees out of the way of their horses. Huge holes were left in the landscape by these fallen trees. Birds were strangely quiet or perhaps they had fled the area.  It was ghostly, with the smell of smoke.  Even the wind had deserted the landscape.

When they got higher they pulled up under conifers and into a forest that led into the mountains.  There they carried Lady Nyo to the ground and Lord Ekei attended her wounds.  He was Yamabushi, trained in the healing arts.  Pulling from a pouch tucked under his short kimono he mixed dried and crushed mosses and other herbs. Making a small fire, he boiled water to make an infusion for Lady Nyo to drink.  Cleaning the blood from her face and breast, Lord Ekei cut and split bamboo for splints and with strips of cloth torn from her under- kimono, set her broken arm.  It was merciful the drugs had dulled the pain as he manipulated her limb.

Since they had only five horses, Lord Mori decided to send his other samurai back to the town.  He chose two of his men to accompany him, knowing their skill and worthiness.  Still it was dangerous having so few men surrounding them.  They could move faster and with less noise, but there was great danger, especially if they met any of Kiyama’s patrol.

“My Lady Nyo is in a bad way, my lord”, said Lord Ekei to Lord Nyo. “She would be best served if she was allowed to rest and sleep over night.  Then we can see if she fares better the morrow.”

Lord Nyo nodded his head. He knew his wife put them in danger but there was little they could do. Lord Ekei conferred with Lord Mori, who was standing apart and it was agreed that the night would be spent on this forest floor. They would not light a fire so better to be hidden and just eat what provisions they had. Dried bonita paste, nori and some rice were enough to stave off hunger.

Lord Mori was silent.  He had left the decisions to Lord Ekei and though he had been consulted, he played little part in them. Lord Ekei knew his friend was suffering his own shock.  Dispatching the Lady Mari in such a way gave no surety that she would return to her place of origin alive.  These tricks, this magic of Lord Mori was troubling, but his consideration was what she would further suffer if she had been allowed to stay, weighted heavily on him. It was a split second decision made when danger was greatest, and Lord Ekei knew what his friend was despairing. Though his friend did not talk about his affection for Mari, he was involved.  Not since the death of his wife and children had Higato drawn so close to another woman.  The beautiful geishas and Maikos were just distractions.  The Lady Mari had proved different.

It would be at least another day and probably more before they arrived at the foot of the forest of Gassan.  What they would face upon getting there was of concern. That night the five men sat with their backs to a tree, their hands on their swords and listened for any sound from the forest.  It proved a long and sleepless night, but the only sounds were of a gentle wind and the natural sounds of any forest.

That morning they covered their tracks on the forest floor, and remounting their horses, they set off single file.  A little bird song and the chatter of forest monkeys were the only sounds around them.  They kept silent, not knowing if there were patrols or others on the same road towards Mt. Gassan.

 

As the road climbed towards the mountains, they saw beautiful scenery below and through the trees. Narrow streams and small waterfalls, valleys with wildflowers gave over to huge boulders and crevasses.  They knew this area famous for hot springs.  They planned to stop and bathe at dusk.  Having to wash the dirt from their bodies in hot water would be a restorative both to body and mind.  Lady Nyo’s injuries, of which she had sustained more than a broken arm, needed the warmth of the waters to soothe and heal.  They could do with little food, but it was still cold at night.  Any heat would be welcome.

The trail  narrowed and widened as they worked their way through the landscape and forests towards Gassan. At dusk that night they decided to make camp near a hot spring.  The conifers covered the area, and moss grew on the sides of the trees and boulders.  Little sun pierced the canopy of pines, oaks and paulownia trees.  After making a very small fire, and putting rice and bonita flakes to boil, they stripped down, laying their swords on the rocks beside them. They slipped into the hot water, sighing with relief.  Each picked up sand and small pebbles and scrubbed their skin.  Lady Nyo did nothing such, but just floated in the water, attended by her husband who rubbed the hot water through her long hair.

“We will be there soon, at Gassan, Higato.  Have you thought about how to approach En no Gyoja?”

“I have thought of little else, my friend.”

Lord Mori sighed and let his body float in the water. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk.

After about twenty minutes, Lord Ekei spied something near the spring. Focusing his eyes, he sat up straight.

“Cover yourself, Higato, there is a kappa who is looking to steal your cucumber.”

Lord Mori quickly sat up, looking to where Ekei pointed and saw a large creature, rather green/grey in color, sitting on a flat stone above the spring’s waters. The fellow had black eyes staring down into the water and a wide mouth with long fangs.

Suddenly something was thrown at the Kappa.  At first it was thought a rock and then the Kappa caught it.  It was a wild cucumber Lord Ekei collected from the woods.  The creature grabbed the vegetable, bit it in half and hopped off.

And uneasy laugh came from the men in the pool.  The Kappa were known to love cucumbers, but a male member would do as well.  To them, they looked the same, especially in the hot water.

Lord Mori decided that he had enough of a bath and moved out of the spring, first grabbing his kimono and covering his body. He grabbed his long sword and looked into the gathering gloom for the creature.  He didn’t see him but he donned two kimonos and two pair of trousers to sleep, belting his kimono tightly around his loins.

 

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2017

 

 

 

 

The Kimono, a novel

For my friend Connie who loves all things Japanese and knows them well.

(Lord Jizo with bib and other children’s clothes.  Mothers would leave knitted hats and bibs, bonnets of their deceased children at the foot of Lord Jizo who is the Japanese “saint’ of children, alive and dead)

–

Chapter 23

(where Mari goes to the Jizo temple to light incense, and meets Lord Yoki.)

Mari and Lady Nyo returned from their shopping, and Mari went to lie down. Her feet hurt in the high geta. It took careful steps and concentration not to twist an ankle.

When they were out, Lady Nyo told her of a small shrine close by, dedicated to Lord Jizo. Mari wanted to make an offering. When they passed the shrine on the road a few days before, Mari was deeply moved. She had lost her first and possibly only child and perhaps now she could face grief. She had put it out of mind because of the disruption and shame.

Lord Mori and Lord Ekei disappeared during the morning. Neither Mari nor Lady Nyo had a clue where the men were. They were just women and not to be informed. Lord Nyo was left in charge. Mari thought it a good time to approach Lady Nyo. She wanted to walk the short way to the shrine, to spend some time in thought and she wanted to do it alone. Lady Nyo’s expression upon hearing Mari’s words was one of concern, but she promised to talk to Lord Nyo.

Mari knew she would have to have protection, either in the form of Lady Nyo or one of the men of Lord Mori. This was not of her choosing. She had no say in these things.

Lady Nyo found her in the tiny garden in the back of the inn, watching goldfish in the small pond before her stone bench.

“Lady Mari”, she called softly.

At her voice, Mari looked up. It was still early, just before noon, and the day was overlaid with clouds. It had turned misty, but Mari was still hopeful she could make her visit.

“My Lord Nyo has agreed and is to send you with two men and I will send you with a servant. I will provide you with coin to buy incense.”

Mari smiled. She knew Lady Nyo was risking much in not accompanying her, but Mari wanted some distance from everyone. She wanted some privacy to think and to be alone. It didn’t seem possible in this century.

Lady Nyo was kind. She sensed Mari’s need. After all, this foreign looking, foreign acting woman was full of secrets, and she knew in time the tight ball who was Lady Mari would unravel. She was willing to wait. There was something much bigger about this woman, this unusual and rather ugly favorite of Lord Mori. What it was, Hana Nyo did not know, but sensed it was worth her patience. There were clues, but these were too fantastic to believe.

Mari set out with two armed guards and one of the two women servants. This time she wore her straw sandals and her traveling kimono, with an oiled paper cloak to protect from the rain. Mari had not been raised in either Shinto or Buddhist beliefs, though her mother privately offered prayers and burned incense at a small family shrine set up in a corner of their house. Mari for a time had attended a Unitarian church, the religion of her father. Who Lord Jizo was remained unclear to Mari. The only knowledge she had was that he was the patron ‘saint’ of unborn, miscarried and stillborn children. It seemed enough of a starting place. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so empty after offering prayers for her dead baby.

The walk to the shrine was not far, and the road was banked with mulberry trees and beyond the road, bamboo stands looking like small forests of waving greenery. A drizzle had started; it served to dampen the dust on the road.

There were few travelers today. When they got to the shrine, Mari was surprised how primitive it was; not more than a raised open shed, a stone pillar with a carved face set back from the entrance.  There were offerings of toys, incense, pebbles, a few small coins. Children’s clothes were folded and laid at the base of Lord Jizo. One mother had put a red bib around his neck and a white, knitted hat sat on his head.

The men and the servant stood back by the road, but not so far they couldn’t see Mari. She walked up the few wooden stairs to kneel on the rough wooden floor. There was a crow in the rafters, who looked at Mari, curious as to her presence.

Mari placed her unlit incense in the bowl of sand in front of the statue. She raised her eyes to his face, and realized his features were faint, dissolved by time. A small, smiling mouth, long earlobes, closed eyes. Mari felt tears forming and gulped to swallow them.   She didn’t know what to say, what to pray for. She had not been a religious person back in her own century, and things were too disrupted and strange to even contemplate the spiritual now. The presence of magic had destroyed her belief in comforting things.

A strange sensation came over her.   She did not recognize it at first, but soon realized she was feeling more than the usual emptiness. She felt—filled with something, and at first she didn’t understand. Tears coursed down her face, and raising her eyes to Jizo these ancient details dissolved even more. Whether it was her tears or some magic, she was looking at the face of a laughing baby. She clasped her hands to her chest and uttered a soft, marveling cry. Then, the vague stone features of Lord Jizo reappeared.

Mari was deeply moved, but also frightened. Perhaps it was the dim light of the shrine playing tricks or perhaps it was her confused mind. Whatever it was, she felt a peace, something she had not felt in a long time. She felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her heart.

 

The faint sound of a flute came to her ears. Sad, consoling music. She looked up in the rafters to the left of the Jizo statue and saw a monk sitting there, or what she thought was a monk. He was playing a bamboo flute and floated down like a dust mote. Mari looked around at the men and the girl outside. They seemed oblivious to anything happening inside the shrine. In fact, they weren’t moving. They looked frozen.

“Do not be afraid”. The monk, a very dirty, dusty man in a ripped kimono, spoke in a raspy voice, clearing cobwebs from his face as he stood there.

Mari for some reason did not feel afraid. Perhaps she was enchanted and this was a spell?

“Nah, you‘re under no spell. But the men outside are.” He giggled and snorted.

Mari blanched. This monk could read her mind?

The monk coughed, and spat, very unmonk-like behavior in a shrine.

“Were you the crow in the rafters?” Mari’s voice was soft, disbelief making it hard to speak.

“You’re a fast study, girl.” The monk laughed, seeing the astonishment on Mari’s face.

“What are you?”

“Ah….you are a rude one! Perhaps the shock of seeing a crow transform into a man has robbed you of manners?”

“But what are you?”

“You already asked that. I am Lord Yoki.”

“You obviously are not human. Are you a figment of my mind?”

“Oh, I am much more than that, girl. I am a Tengu. Are you familiar with Tengus?”

Mari shook her head, eyes wide in shock, now beyond speech.

“Ah….we have met before, Mari.”

“How do you know my name?”

The tengu laughed, a raspy sound from a thin, wizened throat. Mari’s eyes traveled over his kimono. It was patched and stained, none too clean for a monk. He was wearing straw sandals and his nails were very long, in fact they had grown over his sandals and seemed more like bird claws. He was scratching at his hindquarters, too.

Lord Yoki smiled, blinked, and closed his eyes to mere slits. Mari noticed his nose was very long and red. Probably drank too much sake.

“You were visiting a friend in Kyoto. Coming home one night, I called out to you.”

Mari couldn’t think of where she had seen this creature.

“Ah…your friend, Miyo? “

Mari gasped. Miyo was back home…in her century, the 21^st, not the 17^th! What was happening here? Was she losing her mind?

Suddenly, she remembered. There was a large bird on a wire high above her one cold night. She remembered that night with Miyo, telling her about the dream….a dream that turned out to be another reality. She remembered being scared by a voice, and looking up in the dark, she saw a huge bird with a long red beak.

“Yup, at your service.” The tengu bowed and giggled like a girl.

“But, but….how?” That was another century, hundreds of years from now. “How are you here?”

“Better you ask me why.”

Mari went to rise, and fell back on her backside. Her legs would not support her.

“And….you speak English! I must be losing my mind!”

“Oh, don’t get overly excited, girl”, he said, making a dismissive gesture. “Weirder things have happened.”

The tengu grimaced, scratched at his scraggly beard. “Lice”, he said flatly, with a grin.

Mari twisted from the floor, trying to see the men outside. They had not moved an inch.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. We have things to talk about.”

The tengu folded his legs and sat facing her, tucking his flute into his robe.

“I am sure you have some questions for me?” He looked at her expectantly.

“What questions could I have for you?” Mari’s shock was lessening and she began to feel danger.

“Perhaps you would like to know what your husband Steven is up to.”

Steven! Mari gasped, her eyes opening wide. What would this old man, if he was one, know of Steven?

“Well, why don’t we start by you asking me some questions? I bet I know more than you could guess.” He folded his hands in front of him, looking rather pleased with himself.

Mari swallowed hard, wishing she had some water. Her throat was dry.

“What could you know about my husband?”

The monk lifted his eyebrows a few times and winked. Mari almost laughed. He looked like Groucho Marx.

“I travel in many circles, girl. I get around.”

Mari would have dismissed him as insane, but uttering Steven’s name meant something else.

“Then tell me what he is doing. Is he worried about me? Is he ok?”

The monk‘s face softened.

“You don’t understand much about this time travel, do you? Has no one explained to you what happens?”

Mari remembered only that Lord Mori said a year here in this century would be like a minute in hers.

Haltingly Mari told the monk what she knew.

“Yes, yes, that is part of it. Going back and forth can be confusing, but do not worry. You have no reason for concern about husband Steven. See those men out there? And your servant? “

Mari saw the men and woman in the same position. Still frozen.

“That is how your disappearance has seemed to Lord Steven. He doesn’t have a clue.”

The monk chortled and the hair stood on the back of Mari’s neck.

Mari wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the floor. Tears started to form. What had she done to Steven, to her marriage? Was she already dead and this was some kind of Hell?

“Mari”, said the monk in a soft voice. “You are caught up in a web of magic, and none of this is of your doing. You only bought a kimono having some history and you fell under its power. What happens now is out of your control. From the beginning it was your fate.”

“What is going to happen to me?” Mari raised her eyes to the monk, her face full of despair.

The monk, or tengu, or whatever he was, almost scowled, and spit again on the boards of the shrine.

“Do I look like a fortune teller? I have no idea, girl, what is to be your destiny, but I know you are a pawn in a larger game.”

“One of Lord Mori’s making?”

“Lord Mori is also a pawn, but a much more important pawn. We all are pawns in this present game, Mari.”

“What does he want of me?”

Lord Yoki looked at Mari, studying her face, but said nothing for a few seconds.

“Our Lord Mori is a complex man. He can wield his own small magic, more tricks than anything else. There are other forces at work and our Lord is determined to find them out. This, in part, is the reason for this pilgrimage to Gassan Mountain.”

“But how do I figure in all of this?”

The monk laid his head to one side and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Mari. He looked like a blinking owl.

“I have no answers for you, girl. I just know that you do. You will have to cultivate patience. You have no control or power as to what happens. “

Mari did not get much from his answers. At least she now knew something about Steven, if she could believe this monk. If it was true her absence had gone unnoticed by him, then perhaps there was something good in this.

What her role was to be here, in this century, in the presence of Lord Mori and the others, there had to be an answer for her. At least she had the small comfort about Steven. If she could believe the monk.

She looked at him, but he had vanished. In less than a blink of the eye, he was gone. Mari stretched out a hand to where he had been sitting. Had she dreamed all this? Was she also under a spell?

She heard voices. The men were talking amongst themselves, leaning on their nagatas. The woman servant was plaiting reeds from her basket.

Mari left the shrine, only turning back once to look at Lord Jizo. She still had no answers, but for some strange reason, she felt comforted. Whether it was Lord Jizo or the monk, she didn’t know.

=

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016  The Kimono will be published Spring, 2017. Working on the rewrite presently, so hopefully this will be on schedule.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Kimono”, Chapter 13

A Tengu. Mythological (???) creatures that are shape shifters. They love to trip up arrogant Buddhist priests.  They are attached to the Yamabushi clan.

 

Koku: is a measure of rice…like a bushel. Wages to samurai and others were paid in koku.

At the Hour of the Dragon, Lords Mori and Ekei were drinking the first of many cups of cha.

The morning dawned with peach colored clouds over the lake and raucous honking by resident geese. It was cool this morning, though late spring, and the brazier did little to boil the water for the cha as Lord Mori poked more charcoal beneath the small fire. The brass kettle sweated with cold water filled from a jug.

“Lord Tokugawa will expect a report by the new moon.”

Lord Ekei’s voice was a sleepy whisper. Except for the distant sound of waterfowl, there was little noise outside the castle except for the nightsoil men making their rounds. The buckets clanged against the old stones as they dropped their poles to shovel in the manure left from beasts and oxen the day before.

“I know. He is expecting much detail.” Lord Mori sipped his cha, his face scowling into his cup.

“Our lord is expecting troops and provisions.” Lord Ekei blinked his eyes, trying to wake up. It was still very early and the room cold.

“He asks much to put down a peasant rebellion. It will just rise up again when the rains wash the blood from next spring’s soil.”

Lord Mori grunted into his cup, his face maintaining a scowl.

“The problem” said Lord Ekei, pushing his point, “isn’t about what the peasants do, it’s about what the daimyos don’t do.”

“And what is that, my friend?”

“The corruption from the tax collectors breeds these rebellions. Too much koku is taken from the fields and not enough left to live upon. Under heaven, there is nothing else to do but riot. Starving bellies are invitations to rebellion.”

Lord Mori grunted. “That is a big part of the problem. This is another one. Living in Edo for six months every two years. The cost of this impoverishes every region.”

Lord Mori filled both cups with more hot water, added a small amount of powdered tea to the cups and stirred with a bamboo whisk.

“Yes, yes, that is a large consideration, but until Heaven moves its bowels, nothing can be done about that.”

“A good strategy on the Emperor’s part would help. Or rather the Shogun. The Emperor has no power anymore. He and his court are like painted gourds. The effort to mobilize each daimyo in obedience to the court’s demands keeps us from each other’s throats.”

“I think we better do—“

Suddenly a large bird appeared at the window, and startled both lords. It was big like a vulture and had a long red nose and dark iridescent feathers. It was a tengu.

Shaking its feathers violently, a dust storm obscured it for a few seconds. Then both lords saw a skinny priest, dressed in a filthy kimono appear. Both lords bowed respectfully from their cushions.

“Man, those air currents! They would tear a bird’s feathers from his body. Got a cup of sake around? Travel dehydrates me.”

This tengu was a priest from the Yamabushi clan. He hopped down from the window, scratching the side of his face where a scrawny gray beard covered it.

“Lice,” he announced with a grin.

Lord Mori spooned powdered tea in a cup, poured some hot water over it, carefully stirred and handed the cup to the scratching man. He took it with a sour, disdainful glance at both lords, and drank it without ceremony, smacking his lips loudly and wiping his hand across his thin lips.

“Lord Yoki, we are honored you have come to advise us”, said Lord Ekei with another bow.

“Well, beats hanging around Haight-Ashbury. Had to appear as a pigeon to fit in, and all there was to do during the day was beg for breadcrumbs. Did look up skirts at muffs, though.” He laughed, a coarse, wheezing sound.

Lord Ekei suppressed a smile, and Lord Mori didn’t a grimace. They had dealt with Lord Yoki before. His antics were well known.

Lord Yoki lowered himself to a cushion and rubbed his hands over the brazier. “You got any sake? Spring is a bad time for travel.”

Lord Mori clapped his hands twice and within several minutes a servant appeared with three cups and a brown bottle of warmed sake, placing them on the low table between the lords. Lord Mori poured three cups and offered the first to the Lord Yoki. He drank it fast and held out his cup for a refill.

It would be a long morning with Lord Yoki and it best be spent drunk.

“My Lord Yoki, our Lord Tokugawa in Kyoto has called upon the daimyos of the western borders to send troops and supplies to put down a rebellion of peasants in Mikawa providence.”

“Yeah? Well, being a vassal is tough. The nature of the beast. Too many kits and not enough teats.” Lord Yoki burped.

“You want my advice? You got bigger problems closer to home. I hear from some other birds Lord Kiyami is looking at your southern border with a covetous eye. That’s a dicey mountain range there, and if he controls those trade passes, he can hem you in. Adding a kunu to his territory would be a feather in his cap.”

He punctuated his statement with a belch.

“If this is true, my lord Mori” said Lord Ekei with a slight bow, “then you will have to organize two campaigns at once. That would be very costly, neh?”

Lord Mori eyes narrowed and he grunted. “I am sure Lord Yoki’s information is impeccable,” he said with his own bow to the disheveled priest.

“You bet your nuts it is”, said the priest sharply.

“Is this information you have read in history books, Lord Yoki,” asked Lord Ekei?

“Can’t read, never learned” said the priest in a raspy voice. “Some things don’t make the history books. Sometimes pillow talk is more….ah…reliable.”

Both lords considered his words. It was not beyond the pale. Men talked to women, and men talked in their sleep. Either way, information was obtainable.

This news of Lord Kiyami’s interest in his territory disturbed Lord Mori. It would be a very bad position to be hemmed in at that mountain range.

“Perhaps there is a need to change plans,” suggested Lord Ekei to Lord Mori.

Lord Mori looked at both of the men sipping their sake.

“Do I dare go against the desires of Heaven to thwart the schemes of Lord Kiyami?”

Scratching his scrawny beard absentmindedly, the Yamabushi priest coughed.

“You might be looking at a new portion of Hell if you ignore him.”

“If he hems you in, Higato, you will not be able to serve the needs of Lord Tokugawa in any case,” said Lord Ekei.

“Let me suggest, my lord,” said the priest with a little bow, “that you think about a spy or two in the household of Lord Kiyami. This could glean you some important and timely information.”

“Yes, Higato, this is excellent advice. We need to know his future plans, even if he is to seize your southern territory soon. How many forces he would deploy for this. He also would be called upon by our Lord Tokugawa for his support. He will have some of the same considerations we have.”

“Good. I agree. A couple of well placed servants should do the job.”

“I would further suggest, my lord, that you place a spy in his guard. A samurai that can be trusted with such a task. Perhaps an unknown captain of your own guard.”

“Again, I agree.” Higato Mori nodded to both men.

“Now we must consider the problem of what daimyos to call upon for support. Surely we have allies, Lord Ekei?”

“Higato, without a doubt that our Lord Kiyami will be also looking with the same eyes. Perhaps a visit to one or two would set things better for us.”

“If I may be so bold,” said the priest scratching at his skin inside his kimono, “I agree a visit be made soon. One never knows the plans of another man, especially at a distance.”

Lord Mori picked up his cup and glanced at his advisor, Ekei, sitting across from him, and fell into deep thought.

This priest has much sense for an old crow. Perhaps he should be the spy in Kiyami’s household? Could he dare presume upon the favors of such a man? Well, we are all Yamabushi, so there should be something of favor there. Perhaps this has possibilities. Perhaps Lord Yoki will be able to answer to this.

—

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

I started this novel in 2008 and it is finished, except for the editing, rewriting.  This novel is a time warp novel, where it goes from 21st century Japan to the 16th century, and back again.  Some of the characters are fiction, but many are historic, like Tokugawa, a dynasty that spanned centuries.  I aim to publish this novel Spring, 2017.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“The Kimono”, a chapter from a novel

 

Plum Blossom Snow

 

The present snowstorm of

White plum blossoms

Blinds me to sorrow.

 

They cascade over cheeks

Like perfumed, satin tears

Too warm with the promise of life

To chill flesh.

 

(poem by Jane Kohut-Bartels, copyrighted, 2008)

–

It has taken me 8 years to finish this long novel.  It is a time warp, from 21th century Japan to late 16th century Japan.  Mari is a 32 year old Japanese/American, in Kyoto with her husband Steven, a computer consultant.  For the majority of the novel, Mari has been snatched by a magical kimono, appearing in feudal Japan where she meets Lord Mori, a powerful daimyo in North Japan…around Akito,  the Gassan (Moon) Mountain.

The ending didn’t come to me easily, until last night.  Fighting with stupid Geeksquad, I got little sleep, and when I did awake, the next chapter, the ending …was in my mouth.

I am grateful.  I have a couple of long novels floating around, mostly unfinished but at that stage where it would take only a couple of months to do so.  So whatever propelled me into the ending (of which this next to last chapter isn’t….) I am grateful.  Even to stupid Geeksquad.  Who knows where inspiration comes from?

The character Lord Fudo is obviously a Tengu….a mystical being, usually birdlike who can transform themselves into (mostly) human appearance.  In the novel, he is called Lord Yuki…who is also a Yamabushi.

Lady Nyo

Chapter 27

The Kimono,  EARTHQUAKE

Mari was dreaming of snow. Snow was falling on her face, but somewhere in her mind she knew it was spring, and now too far from winter. She woke up, cold, as Lord Mori had turned in the night from her, and had taken all the quilts.

She sat up, pulling her thin kimonos around her. The dawn’s light hardly infused the bay before them, only thin tendrils of light skimmed the sky above the distant mountains.

Something was wrong. It wasn’t snow, but cherry blossoms. They covered the ground. There was a humming beneath the soil and Mari placed her hands firmly on the ground, feeling the vibrations. She wondered why Lord Mori did not awake.

Mari stood to get a better look at the bay, but even standing was difficult. She felt drunk, unstable on her feet. Something was wrong, and the water before her looked as if something was punching beneath with a million fists, causing it to roil and churn.

Lord Mori woke up with a start, sat up and for the first time, Mari saw fear on his face.

“Do not try to stand, throw off your geta and run”, he whispered.

He grabbed her hand and at a crouch, they ran up the hill towards the others, Mari gathering her robes above her knees. They were knocked to the ground with the tremors of the earthquake a number of times, and each time Lord Mori covered her with his body.

They could hear screams and shouts in the distance. Nothing seemed real to Mari, and those beautiful cherry trees were uprooted and fallen in a jumble against each other. Lord Mori saw Lord Nyo scrambling towards him and shouted for him to try to get back to town and get their horses. They must ride to Gassan or get as high as possible. They were in the lowlands and following an earthquake could come the feared tsunami.

A small fire had started with a brazier turning over on some quilts. Lord Mori stamped it out, and then looked for survivors. Lady Nyo and her servants were lying under some branches of a fallen cherry tree, and Lord Mori and some of the men lifted the tree to pull them out. Lady Nyo had blood streaming down her face mixed with soil, but other than a flesh wound, she would survive. Some others were not so lucky. A few servants from the inn were buried by a few fallen trees, or laid out like they were just asleep on the soil. Lord Mori’s men dragged them out and laid them together on the ground. Someone covered them with the half-burnt quilts.

Mari scrambled to where Lady Nyo was sitting against a half-fallen tree and with her kimono sleeve, wiped the blood from her face. Why didn’t Lord Nyo free his wife first before he obeyed orders from Lord Mori to bring their horses? Clearly the rules of this century, and this country were very different than her own. She would hope that Steven would have attended to her first, but then again, this was a very different culture.

“I am fine, don’t worry about me, please”, whispered Lady Nyo. Mari could see that she had suffered shock and her pale face showed the effects of this trauma.

“Is my Lord Nyo alive?” Mari nodded her head, and told her that Lord Mori ordered him to bring the horses from the town.

Lady Nyo looked doubtful. “Surely the town has suffered what we have here. The horses might have bolted and he will not find them.”

“We can only hope he does. Lord Mori wants us all to ride to Gassan Mountain. He says the higher we are the safer we will be.”

Suddenly a man appeared over them. Mari looked up startled. It was Lord Yoki.

“Do not fear, my ladies”, he said bowing. “Lord Mori is right. The higher we get the better our chances of surviving will be.”

Another tremor, this one lasting only a few seconds, but Mari screamed in fear. Lord Yoki laid his hand on her shoulder to steady her. Mari buried her face in his robes. Either he had very hairy legs or she was feeling feathers through his clothing. In any case, she was glad he was there. Lord Mori was off directing the men, gathering what they could that would be useful for their flight to Gassan Mountain. He was not around to comfort a hysterical woman.

She continued to wipe the blood from the face of Lady Nyo, using the sleeve of her kimono. Lady Nyo was chanting something in a low voice. Mari thought she was praying.

Suddenly, Lord Mori was bending over her and he pulled her to her feet, leading her away from the others.

He put his arm around her waist and drew her to him.

“You must leave. If you stay, you will die.”

“Yes. I will die with you.”

Lord Mori grimaced and  put his hand around her neck, close to her chin, bending her head back. He increased his hand’s pressure on either side of her jaw and the last thing Mari saw was his eyes staring at her, two liquid black pools to drown in.

–

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2016

“The Kimono”, Chapter 3 ….. with a few Japanese Ghost Stories

–

This weekend I was talking to another writer, who happens to be Japanese.  We read each other’s blog when we can, and we got on the subject of Kaidan, Ghost Stories.  I have read many, but not as much as he. However, ghost stories are a fascination in all cultures, and I mentioned this chapter of “The Kimono” where Mari, a Japanese-American woman in Kyoto has been  invited to a ritual: a storyteller of ghost stories.  This novel will confuse those reading isolated chapters, but the short story is this:  Mari finds an antique kimono in a shop in Kyoto, and upon donning it, is transported back to the 17th century Japan.  A different region, but she lands on her face in front of a daimyo, Lord Mori. He is also Yamabushi. She travels back and forth, from the 21st century to the 17th and seems to have little control over events.  She supposes (and hopes) Lord Mori is controlling the kimono, but it seems the kimono has a mind of its own.

Lady Nyo

CHAPTER 3, KIMONO (Part of Chapter)

Mari awoke next to Steven. She watched him breath, his chest rise and fall, heard his gentle snoring. The kimono lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. She slipped out of bed and picked it up.

The trees are almost bare now, she thought distractedly, looking through the window. Holding the kimono to her breast, she buried her face in its heavy silk. Tears wet her cheeks.

Only a strange dream, Mari, nothing more.

She walked around in a haze, wondering what was happening to her. Details of her dream did not dissolve like dreams generally did but became solid. Something had happened, and the raw ache between her legs told her something had happened to her sexually. Not all she remembered could be a dream.

Later that morning after Steven had left, Mari dressed and went to the Higashiyama region in Kyoto by the eastern hills, where she had bought the kimono. The strange feeling Mari had when she woke that morning persisted as she walked in a gentle rain up Sannenzaka, the stair street, where the old wooden- front shops were. The street was crowded with people, mostly Japanese, but she spied some tourists. Though she had not been in Kyoto for long, she realized this area was a popular spot for sightseeing and buying souvenirs.   She looked into the windows and saw the kiyomizuyaki sets, traditional and simple ceramics used in the tea ceremony, other ceramics and woven goods, wooden geta and other products that were small enough to purchase and be shipped back home.

There were small, narrow streets that led off Sannenzaka, but she couldn’t find the shop where she bought the kimono. Nothing here looked familiar. After an hour of searching, she sat down on a wooden bench under a now-naked gingko tree and watched people walk past. Old couples leaning upon each other, garbed in dull, black kimonos, young couples with children, dressed in western clothes, and a couple of demure, giggling Maikos clattering by on their wooden geta.

The light rain stopped, barely misting the streets and air. Mari turned her eyes upwards to the clouds above her. She remembered a part of the dream where four cranes flew in the distance as she stood in the castle’s window. Almost beckoned by her thoughts three white cranes flew overhead and Mari’s eyes followed their flight, her eyes filling with tears. Shaking her head, she shivered though the day was not cold.

Suddenly she heard the sounds of horns and drums and down Sannenzaka street came a small procession. The horns were conch shells, the drums small hand-held instruments. They were all men and at first she thought they were priests from one of the many temples in the area. She heard people say they were Yamabushi. Mari asked a man next to her what were Yamabushi? He looked at her askance.

“Magicians and healers, you know, kenza and miko.”

‘Ah, thank you” Mari said bowing politely. “Yes, Yamabushi!”

As if she knew what that was, or kenza and miko for that matter.

He whispered that the fellow at the back was “Fudo”, a joker of a Buddha with a sword and noose. Mari asked him what the noose and sword represented. He said it was actually a lasso to save you from Hell, for binding up destructive passions. The sword was for cutting through delusions, foolishness. There was something vaguely familiar in all this but Mari couldn’t place it.

That evening, a Japanese friend had already invited them to an unusual ritual, something she called Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai. There would be a storyteller, a member of the Yamabushi sect, or so said Miyo. Mari had met her at a small company function when they first arrived in Kyoto.

Ah, thought Mari, that is where I have heard the word “Yamabushi”.

It was a ritual of evocation where a hundred candles were burned, said Miyo when she telephoned Mari to invite them. The spiritual energy was summoned along with a ghost story for each candle. As the short story was told, the candle was blown out and the energy compounded. This time there would be only four candles and four stories, but four was the number of Death. Miyo said this ritual would include ofuda, strips of Buddhist sutras: prayers for the protection from the supernatural.

When Mari told Steven about the evening’s séance, he refused to go. He claimed no interest in such superstition, so Mari had to go alone. Considering Steven’s disdain, it was just as well. He could show his opinion in a nasty way, and Miyo was the only friend Mari had in Kyoto.

Mari walked the short distance to her friend’s house. Kyoto was a mass of building activity and Mari was glad to see these quaint frame houses preserved. So much of the old architecture of the city had been torn down and replaced with modern structures. She entered a little gate and found she was in a small Japanese garden, the sand raked like eddies around the boulders. Miyo told her the house was one once owned by an old Samurai around 1910. He had become an ardent gardener.

Miyo was standing at the door, bowing to her. She wore the usual formal black kimono of a married woman and smiled encouraging as she came up the walk. Mari entered the house and was led into a room on the right. There were about eight other people sitting around a low table. Mari was introduced to the friends of Miyo already there, mostly elderly people, more of Miyo’s age than Mari’s. Everyone bowed as Mari bowed back.

Miyo brought in a tea service and dishes of pastry with sweet bean filling. Mari talked quietly with an elderly couple to her left. Seated farther to her right was a man dressed in kimono, who looked to be in his 50’s. His name was Hiro Takado and he was the story teller. There were four candles on the table and when refreshments were cleared, Hiro Takado lit the candles.

Mari listened to his first story, as Miyo whispered a loose translation in her ear. It was a ghost story, a man who lost his wife and ‘found’ her again on the road. It was not exactly scary, but did seem to impress the other listeners, who laughed and looked nervously around.

Hiro Takado blew out the first candle. Mari noticed the room dimmed. Dusk had arrived. Two more stories, the third about a young woman at a crossing with no features to her face. Mari was getting into the spirit of the evening, feeling her stomach flutter. There was only one candle left on the table. The other guests, clutching their ofuda, muttered nervously at the end of the story.   Each candle’s demise summoned more spiritual energy and became a beacon for the dead. They were invited amongst the living.

Hiro Takado took a sip of water and started the last kaidan. An old samurai had fallen in love with a young woman who gave him her favor and cruelly disappeared. She left her kimono behind in his bed. She was a married woman, now an adulterer. The old samurai searched high and low for his jilting lover. Finally he wrapped himself in her kimono, lay down under a cedar tree and died. The last candle was extinguished.

Mari waited breathlessly, strangely effected by the soft words of the storyteller. The others waited in silence until Hiro Takado started a chant.

“The dead walk this night

Lost voiceless souls

Wind in the trees

Carry their moans

Carry their groans

Up to our doors.

Open and greet them

Bow to their sadness

Open and greet them

Soon we will be them.”

Miyo whispered into Mari’s ear. “This is a prayer of invitation, do not be surprised if something happens. Mr. Takado is known for his abilities.”

Mari glanced at the storyteller and his features seemed to swim before her eyes, a slight change in his face, his brows fuller, his mouth broadened, perhaps it was the smile he gave to Mari. Something happened to his features in the half-light of the now darkening room. With a gasp and a hand to her mouth Mari realized she was now looking at the face of the samurai in the dream. It was only later when she was walking home, when her heart was still that could she think clearly.

The next day Mari was going to bury the kimono in the bottom of an old chest. She lay it out on the bed, her hand running over the knotted embroidery inside where it wrapped around, leaving a tattoo on her hips. She closed her eyes and read the small mounds of stitching like Braille. Picking up the heavy crepe she buried her nose in the cloth, smelling its scent. She thought of the first time she saw it in the window of the shop near Sannenzaka Street. It had attracted her like a dull, muted beacon, and she thought about the candles, the stories and the face of Hiro Takado. A heaviness fell over her limbs and she shook off the desire to lay face down over the kimono and go to sleep. She quickly folded the kimono and put it under blankets and sweaters at the bottom of the chest.

For a month Mari attended to the routine with Steven, kissing her husband goodbye in the morning. She spent her days roaming the streets and temples of Kyoto, learning the different districts and feeding the ducks bread in the waterways.

It took a couple of weeks for her depression to become evident. Her daily walks were unvarying, the district’s streets and parks beginning to have a dull, sameness that did nothing to lift her spirits. She felt disconnected to everything and rarely now smiled. If anyone had bothered to ask after her, she would have told them she felt numb, detached from life.

One day Mari decided to sit at her desk and scroll through the internet. Nothing much interested her anymore. The morning was overcast anyway and threatened rain. She thought about the story teller, Hiro Takado, the ghost stories he told, the transformation of his face, and decided to research the Yamabushi. She found little except this cult was well established by the 9^th century. They were mystics, healers and hermits. Apparently they got too powerful for the different ruling families and were bribed to fight and serve depending which mountain region they came from. They were mountainous warriors, and skilled in different forms of magic.

Mari sat back, wondering at the behavior of Hiro Takado, thinking the night was just some weird happening and not that she was crazy. The dream haunted, pressed inward on her, disturbed her sleep and relations with Steven. She needed relief for her face took on a haunted look, with dark circles under her eyes. She lost weight and was now thin.

One afternoon Mari opened the chest at the bottom of the bed, removed the blankets and carefully lifted the kimono out. The black crepe was heavy and cool in her hands as she draped it over the chair. Sitting on the bed, she wondered what she would do with it? Was what she remembered just an erotic dream brought upon by her unhappiness with Steven?

Later that night the full moon rose, shone on the rooftops and distorted the trees. Mari slipped out of bed, pulling the kimono around her. She carefully stepped back into bed, and watched the moon pattern the floor with its light. Finally she fell asleep, wrapped in the warming embrace of the kimono.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2015

Mimi acting very silly.

“The Kimono”, Chapter 23, of Lord Jizo and a Tengu.

“The Kimono” is a novel I started a few years ago. I had to research the 17th Japanese culture and history to write this. However, with other projects now out of the way, I am going back this spring to try to complete this tale.

It will be confusing to new readers, though I have posted chapters of this developing novel for a couple of years now. The book opens with Mari, a very 21st century Japanese-American woman buying an old kimono in Kyoto. She is married to Steven and the marriage isn’t going well. The kimono is possessed by some hidden force and upon donning it and going to sleep, Mari is transported to the 17th century of Japan. She lands literally at the feet of Lord Mori, a powreful daimyo (warlord) in what is now Akito, Japan. Lord Yoki is a monk, but more so, he’s also a tengu. The tengu (mythological creatures originally from China) are also involved with the Yamabushi. Tengus are shape shifters, and this tengu, Lord Yoki, is also a time traveler.

Lord Jizo is one of my favorite Shinto figures.

Lady Nyo

The Kimono, Chapter 23

Mari and Lady Nyo returned from their shopping, and Mari went to lie down. Her feet hurt in the high geta. It took careful steps and concentration not to twist an ankle.

When they were out, Lady Nyo told her of a small shrine close by, dedicated to Lord Jizo. Mari wanted to make an offering. When they passed the shrine on the road a few days before, Mari was deeply moved. She had lost her first and possibly only child and perhaps now she could face grief. She put it out of mind because of the disruption, and mostly the shame.

Lord Mori and Lord Ekei disappeared during the morning. Neither Mari or Lady Nyo had a clue where the men were. They were just women and not to be informed. Lord Nyo was left in charge. Mari thought it a good time to approach Lady Nyo. She wanted to walk the short way to the shrine, to spend some time in thought and she wanted to do it alone. Lady Nyo’s expression was one of doubt, but she promised to talk to Lord Nyo.

Mari knew she would have to have protection, either in the form of Lady Nyo with her husband’s men or men of Lord Mori. This was not of her choosing. She had no say in these things.

Lady Nyo found her in the tiny garden in the back of the inn, watching goldfish in the small pond before her stone bench.

“Lady Mari”, she softly called.

At the sound of her voice, Mari looked up. It was still early, just past the noon hour, and the day was overlaid with clouds. It had turned misty, but Mari was still hopeful she could make her visit.

“My Lord Nyo has agreed and is to send you with two men and I will send you with a servant. I will provide you with coin to buy incense.”

Mari smiled. She knew Lady Nyo was risking much in not accompanying her, but Mari wanted some distance from everyone. She wanted some privacy to think and to be alone. It didn’t seem possible in this century.

Lady Nyo was kind. She sensed what Mari needed. After all, this foreign looking, foreign acting woman was full of secrets, and she knew in time the tight ball who was Lady Mari would unravel. She was willing to wait. There was something much bigger about this woman, this unusual and rather ugly favorite of Lord Mori. What it was, Hana Nyo did not know, but sensed it was worth her patience. There were clues, but these were too fantastic to believe.

Mari set out with two armed guards and one of the two women servants. This time she wore her straw sandals and her traveling kimono, with an oiled paper cloak to protect from the rain. Mari had not been raised in either Shinto or Buddhist beliefs, though her mother privately offered prayers and burned incense at a small family shrine set up in a corner of their house. Mari for a time had attended a Unitarian church, the religion of her father. Who Lord Jizo was remained unclear to Mari. The only knowledge she had was that he was the patron ‘saint’ of unborn, miscarried and stillborn children. It seemed enough of a starting place for her. Perhaps she wouldn’t feel so empty after offering prayers for her dead baby.

The walk to the shrine was not far, and the road was banked with mulberry trees and beyond the road, bamboo stands looking like small forests of waving greenery. A drizzle had started; it served to dampen the dust on the road.

There were few travelers today. When they got to the shrine, Mari was surprised how primitive it was; not more than a raised open shed, a stone pillar with a carved face set back from the entrance. There were offerings of toys, incense, pebbles, a few small coins. Children’s clothes were folded and laid at the base of Lord Jizo. One mother had put a red bib around his neck and a white, knitted hat sat on his head.

The men and the servant stood back by the road, but not so far they couldn’t see Mari. She walked up the few wooden stairs to kneel on the rough wooden floor. There was a crow in the rafters, who looked at Mari, curious as to her presence.

Mari placed her unlit incense in the bowl of sand in front of the statue. She raised her eyes to his face, and realized his features were faint, dissolved by time. A small, smiling mouth, long earlobes, closed eyes. Mari felt tears forming and gulped to swallow them. She didn’t know what to say, what to pray for. She had not been a religious person back in her own century, and things were too disrupted and strange to even contemplate the spiritual now. The presence of magic had destroyed her belief in comforting things.

A strange sensation came over her. She did not recognize it at first, but soon realized she was feeling more than the usual emptiness. She felt—filled with something, and at first she didn’t understand. Tears coursed down her face, and raising her eyes to Jizo these ancient details dissolved even more. Whether it was her tears or some magic, she was looking at the face of a laughing baby. She clasped her hands to her chest and uttered a soft, marveling cry. Then, the vague stone features of Lord Jizo reappeared.

Mari was deeply moved, but frightened. Perhaps it was the dim light of the shrine playing tricks or perhaps it was her confused mind. Whatever it was, she felt a peace, something she had not felt in a long time. She felt as if a rock had been lifted from her chest.

The faint sound of a flute came to her ears. Sad, consoling music. She looked up in the rafters to the left of the Jizo statue and saw a monk sitting there, or what she thought was a monk. He was playing a bamboo flute and floated down like a dust mote. Mari looked around at the men and the girl outside. They seemed oblivious to anything happening inside the shrine. In fact, they weren’t moving. They looked frozen.

“Do not be afraid”. The monk, a very dirty, dusty man in a ripped kimono, spoke in a raspy voice, clearing cobwebs from his face as he stood there.

Mari for some reason did not feel afraid. Perhaps she was enchanted and this was a spell?

“Nah, you‘re under no spell. But the men outside are.” He giggled.

Mari blanched. This monk could read her mind?

The monk coughed, and spat, very unmonk-like behavior in a shrine.

“Were you the crow in the rafters?” Mari’s voice was soft, disbelief making it hard to speak.

“You’re a fast study, girl.” The monk laughed, seeing the astonishment on Mari’s face.

“What are you?”

“Ah….you are a rude one! Perhaps the shock of seeing a crow transform into a man has robbed you of manners?”

“But what are you?”

“You already asked that. I am Lord Yoki.”

“You obviously are not human. Are you a figment of my mind?”

“Oh, I am much more than that, girl. I am a Tengu. Are you familiar with tengus?”

Mari shook her head, eyes wide in shock, now beyond speech.

“Ah….we have met before, Mari.”

“How do you know my name?”

The tengu laughed, a raspy sound from a thin, wizened throat. Mari’s eyes traveled over his kimono. It was patched and stained, none too clean for a monk. His toenails were very long, in fact they had grown over his straw sandals and seemed more like bird claws. He was scratching at his hindquarters, too.

Lord Yoki smiled, blinked, and closed his eyes to mere slits. Mari noticed his nose was very long and red. Probably drank too much sake.

“You were visiting a friend in Kyoto. Coming home one night, I called out to you.”

Mari couldn’t think of where she had seen this creature.

“Ah…your friend, Miko? “

Mari gasped. Miko was back home…in her century, the 21st, not the 17th! What was happening here? Was she losing her mind?

Suddenly, she remembered. There was a large bird on a wire high above her one cold night. She remembered that night with Miko, telling her about the dream….a dream that turned out to be another reality. She remembered being scared by a voice, and looking up in the dark, she saw a huge bird with a long red beak.

“Yup, at your service.” The tengu bowed and giggled, like a girl would.

“But, but….how?” That was another century, hundreds of years from now. “How are you here?”

“Better you ask me why.”

Mari went to rise, and fell back on her backside. Her legs would not support her.

“And….you speak English! I must be losing my mind!”

“Oh, don’t get overly excited, girl”, he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Weirder things have happened.”

The tengu grimaced, scratched at his scraggly beard. “Lice”, he said flatly.

Mari twisted from the floor, trying to see the men outside. They had not moved an inch.

“Oh, don’t worry about them. We have things to talk about.”

The tengu folded his legs and sat facing her, tucking his flute into his robe.

“I am sure you have some questions for me?” He looked at her expectantly.

“What questions could I have for you?” Mari’s shock was lessening and she began to feel danger.

“Perhaps you would like to know what your husband Steven is up to.”

Steven! Mari gasped, her eyes opening wide. What would this old man, if he was one, know of Steven?

“Well, why don’t we start by you asking me some questions? I bet I know more than you could guess.” He folded his hands in front of him, looking rather pleased with himself.

Mari swallowed hard, wishing she had some water. Her throat was dry.

“What could you know about my husband?”

The monk lifted his eyebrows a few times and winked. Mari almost laughed. He looked like Groucho Marx.

“I travel in many circles, girl. I get around.”

Mari would have dismissed him as insane, but uttering Steven’s name meant something else.

“Then tell me what he is doing. Is he worried about me? Is he ok?”

The monk ‘s face softened.

“You don’t understand much about this time travel, do you? Has no one explained to you what happens?”

Mari remembered only that Lord Mori said a year here in this century would be like a minute in hers.
Haltingly Mari told the monk what she knew.

“Yes, yes, that is part of it. Going back and forth can be confusing, but do not worry. You have no reason for concern about husband Steven. See those men out there? And your servant? “

Mari saw the men and woman in the same position. Still frozen.

“That is how your disappearance has seemed to Lord Steven. He doesn’t have a clue.”

The monk chortled and the hair stood on the back of Mari’s neck.

Mari wrapped her arms around herself and looked at the floor. Tears started to form. What had she done to Steven, to her marriage? Was she already dead and this was some kind of Hell?

“Mari”, said the monk in a soft voice. “You are caught up in a web of magic, and none of this is of your doing. You only bought a kimono having some history and you fell under its power. What happens now is out of your control. From the beginning, it was your fate.”

“What is going to happen to me?” Mari raised her eyes to the monk, her face full of despair.

The monk, or tengu, or whatever he was, almost scowled, and spit again on the boards of the shrine.

“Do I look like a fortune teller? I have no idea, girl, what is to be your destiny, but I know you are a pawn in a larger game.”

“One of Lord Mori’s making?”

“Lord Mori is also a pawn, but a much more important pawn. We all are pawns in this present game, Mari.”

“What does he want of me?”

Lord Yoki looked at Mari, studying her face, but said nothing for a few seconds.

“Our Lord Mori is a complex man. He can wield his own small magic, more tricks than anything else. There are other forces at work and our Lord is determined to find them out. This, in part, is the reason for this pilgrimage to Gassan Mountain.”

“But how do I figure in all of this?”

The monk laid his head to one side and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Mari. He looked like a blinking owl.

“I have no answers for you, girl. I just know that you do. You will have to cultivate patience. You have no control or power as to what happens. “

Mari did not get much from his answers. At least she now knew something about Steven, if she could believe this monk. If it was true her absence had gone unnoticed by him, then perhaps there was something good in this.

What her role was to be here, in this century, in the presence of Lord Mori and the others, there had to be an answer for her. At least she had the small comfort about Steven. If she could believe the monk.

She looked at him, but he had vanished. In less than a blink of the eye, he was gone. Mari stretched out a hand to where he had been sitting. Had she dreamed all this? Was she also under a spell?

She heard voices. The men were talking amongst themselves, leaning on their nagatas. The woman servant was plaiting reeds from her basket.

Mari left the shrine, only turning back once to look at Lord Jizo. She still had no answers, but for some strange reason, she felt comforted. Whether it was Lord Jizo or the monk, she didn’t know.

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2008-13

The Kimono, Chapter 15

This chapter is from a novel that is a work in progress. it’s a time warp, with Mari, a Japanese/American woman who is transported back to the 17th century Japan by a magic kimono she finds in Kyoto. Mari is of the 21st century, and Lord Mori, and the rest are of the 17th. Lord Mori manipulated the kimono to bring him a woman, but didn’t expect a woman from 21st century Japan. Lord Mori and the a few of the other men in this chapter are Yamabushi, mountain priests who also are magicians. Lord Mori is a daimyo, a warlord in the NW (Akito) Japan. Lord Yoki is quite the character, who appears as a Tengu, a large bird, but very human when he choses to be. Lady Nyo reveals characteristics of her personality that are rather…mean.

Chapter 15, The Kimono

On the first day of the month called Uzuki, or u-no-hana (flower), Lord Mori called a council of his closest advisors, minus his trusted carp. Fierce spring winds were whipping the cherry trees and petals filled the air, falling like late spring snow.
His advisors were Lords Ekei, Yoki and Nyo, with the requested attendance of the Lady Nyo.
Lady Nyo knelt behind her husband. She was not comfortable in the presence of these lords. She was not amongst Lord Mori’s advisors, and as a woman, of course was out of place. What could be her purpose for being here? She arranged her kimono hems and sleeves with little movement, and settled in to listen.
The morning was chilly –an early spring day. The fog had disappeared and she could hear the ducks and geese on the water near the castle.
She noticed an unraveling thread on top of the shoulder of her Lord Nyo. She would have to mend it before it got worse. Ah, men. They were like children without women around.
She bowed her head, as a proper wife should, but watched the men carefully. The movements of Lord Yoki caught her attention. This was a strange bird! He even looked a bit like a bird with a large, red beak. She thought he probably drank more than his share of sake. A red nose was a tell-tale sign of that. His kimono, though of a good quality, was filthy, splattered with stains. He had a disgusting way of hacking, spitting on the floor besides him. Lady Nyo shuddered. At least he could carry some paper handkerchiefs and use them.
The men’s voices droned on. She thought she should listen more closely, but by the Gods! These men were talking of how many soldiers they could gather, who was a vassal to depend upon and who would have to be nudged, bribed or threatened depending on their status. All of them were in obeisance to Lord Mori, but some had to be reminded of their obligations.
Lord Mori was a powerful lord, but these years had been peaceful. Lord Kiyami threatening Lord Mori would be a terrible thing. Lord Mori would have to wage war against Lord Kiyami.
Ah! There were so many obstacles to a quiet life!
Lady Nyo felt her head would crack. All this talking of war! By the Shogun’s decree, no daimyo could wage war against another. That was common knowledge. Exile or death would be the end for any foolhardy daimyo who dared to breech the edict of Heaven.
But the region was so far from the capitol! Akita faced the Ou and Dewa mountain ranges to the east, and the Sea to the west. Sometimes it took months before important travelers even came to the castle. If Lord Kiyami ringed the mountain passes with his vassals, well, there would be battles and hardships aplenty for all of them.

Ah, there were many obstacles to a peaceful life. It was quite the maneuver for Lord Mori to gather his vassals and men to make the trek to the capitol every two years. But it was demanded of the Shogun. It kept the daimyos from each other’s throats, but with Lord Kiyami, it might now not be working. She had gone on a number of occasions and her eyes had been dazzled by the splendor of the Shogun’s court. The silks and colors and sumptuous robes and elegant manners were enough to fill her head with dreams! She would admit, though, to be glad to go home to her more humble house back in the mountains of Akita. One could take just so much pomp and splendor.
She was descended from a powerful samurai family who was close to the Heian court centuries ago. Her family had suffered the swings of fortune and though she was from a minor wing of the Fujiwara clan, she could hold up her head. Her father had been a court official and her marriage to her Lord considered a good one. Though she had no children, she was still within the breeding age. She prayed and left small offerings at shrines.
Ah! Fate would rule, and the meek Lady Nyo knew she was a pawn in the larger game of life. Fate was on the side of men.
The men’s voices droned on. Lord Yori was still hawking and spitting. He looked like an unwashed goblin!
She fixed a small smile on her face. She had too much breeding to reveal her sentiments. She wondered though, about the Lady Mari. What kind of breeding did she have? Where did that woman come from? Her husband told her not to ask questions of the Lady Mari, but to serve with total devotion. She understood that. She had been given a great task and responsibility. Her Lord Mori had honored her with his confidence in her humble abilities. She still had her private, most inner thoughts, and no lord could stop her from thinking.

There were many things about Lady Mari that were a mystery. Lady Nyo could admit she was a bit envious of Lady Mari. How did she happen to capture the eye of Lord Mori? There were many other women who would be proper concubines, even a wife for this desirable lord. Why the rather plain Lady Mari? She was not educated as a court woman. No, she would embarrass the plainest court in the land. Only just in the last short amount of time had the Lady Mari even been able to kneel properly!
Where did she come from? Who were her family? She never talked about that, and that was of the most importance under heaven!
And she was rather….strange looking. Tall and thin for a proper woman, of course she had been sick with the breeding and the loss of the child, but there was something strange about her womanliness.
Lady Nyo smiled. She had heard the great Lord Tokugawa had even called her ugly! Of course he was drunk at the time, but this certainly was no stain on him. Most men got drunk, some every night and such a great lord as he would be above any reproach.
But he had called her ugly and she had been present! Oh, what a loss of face for the Lady Mari!
Lady Nyo’s brow furrowed. What could be the attraction of Lord Mori to this woman? Was it possible he saw something beyond her awkward, unpolished ways and had fallen in love with this creature? Was it possible the Lady Mari could cast a spell like a mountain spirit? Surely the great Lord Mori was immune to such things.
Her husband, when drunk on sake, once said Lord Mori had his own magic. Whether this was but drunken words or something else, her husband had smiled and rolled over on his back. He refused to talk further about his lord and fell asleep, snoring loudly.
Ah, there were so many mysteries in the air!
But….what is it that makes a man and a woman know that they, of all other men and women in the world, belong to each other? Is it no more than chance and meeting? No more than being alive in the world at the same time? Does clan and family, position and status mean nothing?
Suddenly she felt sad. She had a good marriage, but her lord was not of the best temper. No, he was a man, and little of the heart could be expected of them.

Year after year, it was as if she was holding her breath, waiting for something to happen, for life to change, for life to start, something she could not even recognize…to happen. The other women had children and she had none. They drew comfort from their babies, their growing children. She had none of this comfort. No, none of this comfort. And knowing how his mother was, her esteemed mother in law, well, she already knew what the baby’s name would be: Kusako, “Shit Child” if a girl, and Akoguso, “Cute Little Shit” if a boy. Her mother, too, would nag her until they were named such names. All to keep the demons away.
Lady Nyo sighed audibly. She threw her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, glancing at Lord Mori. He was listening to another. Only her husband twitching his shoulder showed he had heard.
Men. They were strange and cruel creatures, neh? Her lord was no exception. Who knew what repelled and attracted a man?
Finally the meeting ended. She rocked back on her heels and rose, now a bit stiff, bowing to the Lord Mori. He motioned for her to come to him, and with her eyes cast down she approached.

The Lord Mori looked down on this tiny, plump woman, her hair arranged in braids pinned around her head.
“How does the Lady Mari fare, Lady Nyo?”
Ah, she thought! This is why he wanted me in the room. Well, I can tell him what I know.
“To my eyes, she is well, my Lord.”
“Does she sleep well? Is she in pain?”
“She sleeps well, my lord. The doctor gave me a potion to give to her before she sleeps, but she is now only sleeping during the night with a long nap during the day.”
“And the doctor predicts that she will fully recover?”
“He is hopeful, my Lord, the Lady Mari will regain her full strength.”
Lord Mori grunted approval, and fell silent. Lady Nyo thought he had more than a passing interest in the health of Lady Mari and she was correct.
“Since these are matters of women, I will rely upon your experience, Lady Nyo.”
Lady Nyo bowed in gratitude.
“However, …..I am thinking the Lady Mari would be bored before long and as I have these issues with my Lord Kiyami to attend, I will not be able to give her much direction. You understand?”
“Of course, my lord. I was thinking perhaps Lady Mari could compile her poetry in a book. She could ‘talk to the paper’ and perhaps that will spur her interest in life.
“Do you think she is becoming despondent, Lady Nyo?”
“Oh, my lord! I am no one to have such powers of observation! However….given a task she would enjoy would hasten her health.”
Lord Mori grunted. Whether he was expressing approval or not was hard to tell. It was always hard to tell with men.
“Has the doctor expressed why she lost the child?”
She was surprised at the directness of his question. Men usually were not interested in such things. She had her own ideas why Mari lost the baby.
“If I may venture a thought, my lord, and it is only my own.”
“Granted. Tell me your thoughts.”
Lady Nyo knew thin ice when she saw it, but she would plow on.
“Perhaps the problem lay within the fifth month of her bearing, my lord. As you know, according to the Shinto calendar, the Day of the Dog celebrates the bearing and guards the baby from harm. Since the Dog is a messenger of the Gods and chases the evil spirits away, perhaps it would have been auspicious to present the Lady Mari to the temple and for the donning of the hara-obi. As you know, this sash would have protected her baby and kept it warm.”
Lord Mori’s eyes narrowed. If Lady Nyo had looked up at his face, perhaps she would have thought to have angered him.
True, thought Lady Nyo, this presentation to the temple priests was done within the company of both grandmothers and since the Lady Mari had just appeared out of thin air with no family and no known clan…at least known to her, well, it was all rather confusing….and improper. Of course, she could not express her opinion, except to her husband and maybe not even him.

jANE kOHUT-BARTELS
COPYRIGHTED, 2010, 2012

Ghosts and Monsters! A piece of Chapter 3, “The Kimono”.

Oni, an ogre.

This has been a wonderful week of writing and rewriting, mostly of “The Kimono”.  I was stuck for a couple of weeks how the story should continue, but characters came to my rescue and the story went on. Now I have a couple of weeks of research into the mythology of ancient Japan;  my days have begun with tales of Yokai (literally demons/spirits/monsters), oni (ogres) and obake, (yokai who are shapeshifters) and many others.

Japanese mythology is filled with terrifying and funny characters pulled from Buddhist, Shinto and earlier animistic religions.  You can get lost in this mythology, and though it is full of shapeshifters, these ‘beings’ also shift in ‘intent’.  At times, they are bad spirits, and over the centuries, they become rather benign, even helpful.

One of my favorite mythological (??) characters are the Tengu: originally from China, they were dogs with wings,   with magical powers.  Over the centuries they became more bird-like….with noses, long red noses that replaced the beaks of birds.  Still magical, they also became teachers of martial arts (The Great Lord Sojobo for one), healers and samurai.

The Yamabushi, a sect of Shugendo, were believed to be taught early on by these Tengu:  as healers, priests and warriors.  Perhaps because the Yamabushi were mountain dwellers, bands of men who could also be mercentaries, and the Tengu were also mountain dwellers, well, perhaps the mythology grows side by side.

In any case, there is a lot to study.  Although “The Kimono” is certainly a work of fiction, I try to present cultural aspects as closely to the ‘truth’ as possible.  There is just so much color and substance in this Japanese mythology that one would be robbing  readers and writers if the attempt wasn’t made.  The richness doesn’t make for boring research at all.  In fact, the problem is drawing yourself away from the  research to write.

This chapter is long, so I am posting only a piece of it.  In the writing, I wanted to show some of the stories of ghosts, and I only scratched the surface.  This culture is wild with imagination.

This was written over a year ago, and needs rewrite, but for now, I’m letting it slide.

This is a very early chapter in the novel, because this week I just finished Chapter 18.  I’m making slow progress.

Lady Nyo

—

Part of Chapter 3, “The Kimono”

Mari awoke next to Steven.  She watched him breathe, his chest rising and falling, heard his gentle snoring.  The kimono lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. Mari slipped out of bed and picked it up.

The trees are almost bare now, she thought distractedly, looking through the window. Holding the kimono to her naked breasts, she buried her face into the heavy silk.  Tears began to soak the dull silk.

Only a strange dream, Mari, nothing more.

She walked around in a haze, wondering what had happened to her.  Details of her dream did not dissolve like dreams generally do but became clearer. Something had happened, and the raw ache between her legs told her something had happened to her.  Not all she remembered could be a dream.

Later that morning Mari dressed and went to the Higashiyama region in Kyoto by the eastern hills, where she bought the kimono. The strange feeling Mari had when she woke that morning persisted as she walked in a gentle rain up Sannenzaka, the stair street, where the old wooden- front shops were.  She looked into the windows and saw the kiyomizuyaki sets, traditional and simple ceramics used in the tea ceremony.   There were small, narrow streets that led off Sannenzaka, but she couldn’t find the shop where she bought the kimono.  Nothing here looked familiar.  After an hour of searching, she sat down on a wooden bench under a now-naked gingko tree and watched people walking past.  Old couples leaning upon each other, garbed in dull, black kimonos, young couples with children, dressed in western clothes, and a couple of demure, giggling Maikos clattering by on their high wooden getas.

The rain stopped, barely misting the streets and air. Mari turned her eyes upwards to the clouds above her.  She remembered a part of the dream where four cranes flew in the distance as she stood in the castle’s window.  Perhaps beckoned by her thoughts three white cranes flew overhead and Mari’s eyes followed their flight, her eyes filling again with tears.  Shaking her head, she shivered though the day was not cold.

Suddenly she heard the sounds of horns and drums and down Sannenzaka street came a small procession. The horns were conch shells, the drums small hand-held instruments. They were all men and at first she thought they were priests from one of the temples in the area. She heard people say they were Yamabushi.  Mari asked a man next to her what were Yamabushi?  He looked at her askance.

“Magicians and healers, you know, kenza and miko.”

‘Ah, thank you” Mari said bowing politely.  “Yes, Yamabushi!”

As if she knew what that was, or kenza and miko for that matter.

Seeing  she obviously was a foreigner, he whispered that the fellow at the back was “Fudo”, a joker of a Buddha with a sword and noose. Mari asked him what the noose and sword represented. He said it was actually a lasso to save you from Hell, for binding up destructive passions.  The sword was for cutting through delusions, foolishness. There was something vaguely familiar in all this but Mari couldn’t place it.

That evening, Mari and Steven were expected to attend an unusual ritual, something the hostess had called ‘Hyakumonogatari Kaidankai’, ghost stories ritual. There would be a storyteller, a member of the Yamabushi sect, or so said Miyo.  Mari met Miyo at a small company function when they first arrived in Kyoto.

Ah, thought Mari, perhaps that is where I have heard the word “Yamabushi”.

It was a ritual of evocation where a hundred candles were burned, said Miyo when she telephoned Mari to invite them.  The spiritual energy was summoned along with a ghost story for each candle.  As the short story was told, the candle was blown out and the energy compounded.  This time there would be only four candles and four stories, but four was the number of Death.  Miyo said this ritual would include ofuda, strips of Buddhist sutras: prayers for the protection from the supernatural.

When Mari told Steven about the evening’s séance, he refused to go.  He claimed no interest in such superstition, so Mari went alone.  Considering Steven’s disdain, it was just as well. He could show his opinion in a nasty way, and Miyo was the only friend Mari had.

Mari walked the short distance to her friend’s house. Kyoto was a mass of building activity and Mari was glad to see these quaint frame houses preserved.  So much of the old architecture of the city had been torn down and replaced with modern structures.  She entered a little gate and found she was in a small Japanese garden, the sand raked in eddies around the boulders.  Miyo told her the house was one once owned by an old Samurai around 1910.  He had become an ardent gardener.

Miyo was standing at the door, bowing to her.  She wore the usual formal black kimono of a married woman and smiled encouraging as she came up the walk.  Mari entered the house and was led into a room on the right. There were about eight other people sitting around a low table. Mari was introduced to the friends of Miyo there, mostly elderly people, more of Miyo’s age than Mari’s. Everyone stood and bowed as Mari bowed back.

Miyo brought in a tea service and dishes of pastry with sweet bean filling.  Mari talked quietly with an elderly couple to her left. Seated to her right was a man dressed in kimono, who looked to be in his 50’s.  His name was Hiro Takado and he was the story teller.  There were four candles on the table and when refreshments were cleared, Hiro Takado lit the candles.

Mari listened to his first story, as Miyo whispered a loose translation in her ear. It was a ghost story, a man who lost his wife and  ‘found’ her again on the road.  It was not exactly scary, but did seem to impress the other listeners, who laughed and looked nervously around.

Hiro Takado blew out the first candle.  Mari noticed the room had become dimmer. Dusk had arrived. Two more stories, the third about a young woman at a crossing with no features to her face. Mari was getting into the spirit of the evening, feeling her stomach flutter. There was only one candle left on the table. The other guests, clutching their ofuda, muttered tittered nervously at the end of the story.    Each candle’s demise summoned more spiritual energy and became a beacon for the dead. They were invited amongst the living.

Hiro Takado took a sip of water and started the last kaidan.  An old samurai had fallen in love with a young woman who gave him her favor and cruelly disappeared.  She left her kimono behind in his bed.  She was a married woman, now an adulterer.  The old samurai searched high and low for his jilting lover. Finally he wrapped himself in her kimono, lay down under a cedar tree and died. The last candle was extinguished.

Mari waited breathlessly, strangely effected by the soft words of the storyteller.  The others waited in silence until Hiro Takado started a chant.

“The dead walk this night

Lost voiceless souls

Wind in the trees

Carry their moans

Carry their groans

Up to our doors.

Open and greet them

Bow to their sadness

Open and greet them

Soon we will be them.”

Miyo whispered into Mari’s ear.  “This is a prayer of invitation, do not be surprised if something happens. Mr. Takado is known for his abilities.”

Mari glanced at the storyteller and his features seemed to swim before her eyes, a slight change in his face, his brows fuller, his mouth broadened, perhaps it was the smile he gave to Mari. Something happened to his features in the half-light of the now darkening room.  With a gasp and a hand to her mouth Mari realized she was now looking at the face of the samurai in the dream.  It was only later when she was walking home, when her heart was still that could she think clearly.

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2008, 2010

Japanese Mythology and Chapter 10 of “The Kimono”

Lord Sojobo, King of the Tengus

I’m having a lot of fun right now. Or perhaps it’s a poverty of ideas for continuing this difficult middle part of “The Kimono”.

I have posted a few chapters of this novel, two and a half years in the making, and it’s something I pick up and put down.  I have dedicated the time to finish it, but nothing is easy right now.

The novel is meandering around and I am letting it.  I generally believe that if the story is entertaining me….it will tell me where to go next.  Since I am writing of a (mostly) alien culture, plus switching back and forth from the 21st to the 16th century, I am having to do a ton of research.  It’s about all I do right now.

But I think some of the plot projections are bound up in this issue of mythology.  At least that gives me a little hope and inspiration.

There is a Tengu, a mystical creature that has its good and bad elements, and I’ve spiraled outward from him.  There are ‘kuhin-mochi’ (rice cakes) littering his scenes for particular reasons.  I am learning of different spooks:

-Ashimazari, a demon who entangles the legs of travelers.

-Akateko, a red hand (just the hand!) dangling out of a tree.

-Akuma, a very evil spirit.

-Amazake-babaa, an old women who begs for sweet sake and brings disease,

and my favorite!  Akaname, the spirit who licks the bathroom clean!

She could be very handy.

I haven’t gotten out of the “A” list yet, and there are loads of spirits…or demons….or kami….or ghosts.

When I started writing this novel, I found a lot of the mythology was not what we in the West think of mythology.  This was more peasant deities, and some from the Buddhist and Shinto religions.  There are ruling ‘gods’ but they aren’t like ‘our gods.

A lot of the stories surrounding these gods and goddesses are hysterical.  One Sun Goddess hid herself because she was angry in a cave.  Izume was the Goddess of Mirth and tried to lure her out by overturning a washtub and dancing on it.  Her garlands of flowers and vines started to fall off her as she pounded the wooden tub with her feet, and all the other gods started to laugh loudly at this display of Izume.  The Sun Goddess heard the laughter and peeked out to see what was so funny.  Someone grabbed her, rolled a heavy boulder over the mouth of the cave and that was the end of the Sun Goddesses’ sulk.  I have this picture of a rather rotund and naked Izume thumping away on this washtub with abandon.  It makes me laugh, even though I don’t know the full story.

I have picked up Chapter 17 with a planned visit to the King of Tengus…Lord Sojobo.  All important males in Japanese mythology are Lords…except when they are the peasants of the story.

Lord Sojobo is quite the character.  Tengus all are military advisors…(and part of the Yamabushi cult) or trainers in the martial arts, and have wicked senses of humor.  They seem to evolve over the centuries…at first, demons that did very bad things to the populace…like kidnapping children and women.  Then they got a better national PR agent and they, around the 17th and 18th century seemed to reform.  They, in some cases, became the ‘good guys’ in the stories and sometimes the protectors of Buddhist temples.  This is rather a seachange because Tengus are known for tripping up priests and doing rather annoying things to them.  And the way to stop a kidnapping of a traveler was to carry a fresh mackeral.  Tengus loathe mackeral.

There are kappa (frog like creatures who are tricksters), and yokai and obake and yurei galore in Japanese mythology, so there is never a poverty of annoying and frightening spooks.  In fact, the extent of the imagination of these Japanese tellers of tales is astounding. Strong channels of animism, too.

By the way, that’s a Tengu in the tree, speaking…at the end of the chapter.

Lady Nyo

Chapter 10 of  “The Kimono”

—-

Mari stood over the commode and vomited.  She tried to breathe but her stomach kept heaving.

She once saw a dog vomit while eating grass, thin sides heaving like bellows. She and the dog had a lot in common right now.

“Mari?”  Steven’s voice floated into the bathroom.  She rarely was sick and it was annoying to answer.  She had closed the door but he could still hear her retching.

“I’m fine, Steven.”  Sarcasm was thick in her voice.

He rapped on the door.  “Anything I can do for you?”

“No. I’ll be fine, just leave me alone, please.”

When she emerged from the bathroom Steven was sitting on the bed.

“Mari, this is not the first time I’ve heard you in there.  Seems like you have been doing this all week.”

“Perhaps I have the flu, Steven,” said Mari despondently.

“Sounds to me like you’re pregnant, Mari.”

“Steven? How could I be pregnant?  I religiously take the pill.”

“Well, you know how I feel about this.  It’s not time for children and if you are, you will have an abortion.”

Mari stared at him in disbelief. Yes, she knew his feelings about children, but an abortion? She was already in her thirties and if, it would be the first time.

“Steven? I know you don’t want kids, but if I’m pregnant, it’s not  as easy as “get an abortion.”

“Why not, Mari?  You know how I’ve felt for four years and right now it’s not convenient for me.”

“Steven, I’m half of this marriage, but you talk like this is only your decision.”

Steven got up and walked out of the house, leaving Mari alone.

*******

“Miyo” said Mari, sniffing into her handkerchief,  “I don’t know how this could have happened. I take the pill every day.”

“Oh Mari, you dear girl.”  Miyo sat close to Mari, holding her hand.  “These things happen, they are the little unpredictable things of life.  We can plan all we want, yet we don’t have complete control over every thing.  Perhaps Steven will soften in time.”

“No he won’t, I know him.  He insists I get an abortion.”  Mari’s eyes were red from crying.

“What do you want to do, Mari?”

Mari stared out the window where Miyo’s garden appeared.  It was very early spring and the rocks and nude trees were dusted with a late season’s snowfall. Beautiful, serene and about as desolate as she felt right now.

She turned to Miyo, eyes swollen and hopeless.

“I don’t know yet. I haven’t thought much, Miyo, but I don’t want an abortion.” She blew her nose in her handkerchief. “I just know I hate Steven.”

Mari looked down at her hands, twisting them in the soggy handkerchief.

Mari’s voice was soft and low. “I don’t know who the father is.”

Miyo stiffened next to her.

“Mari”, she said quietly, “are you having an affair?”

Mari thought, she is going to think me fucking crazy.

“Miyo, I don’t know how to tell you. I can’t understand what has happened. And no, I’m not having an affair.”

“I am here for your comfort, Mari. I will listen.”

Mari breathed deeply, trying to compose her thoughts.  Looking up at the ceiling, she saw the cracks in the plaster.  How ‘cracked’ her life had become, how fractured and fragile her grip on sanity. Could Miyo understand any of this?

“Miyo”, said Mari, grasping her friend’s hand in both of hers. “I don’t expect you to understand, but this happened and I don’t know what to make of it.”

Mari took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“For the past six weeks I have been having dreams. It’s the same one, or a continuation of the same dream.”  Mari blew her nose. “No, I should tell the truth.  It’s not even a dream anymore.”

“What are you trying to say, Mari?”

“Miyo, at the séance or whatever it’s called, with Mr. Takado? Well, there is this man, in the dream, always this man, and Mr. Takado’s features became this man before my eyes.”

Miyo drew back, her expression unreadable.

“Mari, are you sure it wasn’t because of the light, or even the excitement of the evening.  Are you very sure?”

“Yes, but that isn’t the important part.  I bought a kimono, a black tomesode, a couple of months ago.  When I sleep in it, the dream comes and then I am gone.”

“What do you mean ‘gone’ Mari?”

“I wake up on the floor, always on the same floor, my hands tied behind my back, in the kimono. Then this man, this man called “Lord Mori”, unties me and we spend time together in the dream.”

“Can you remember what happens to you, Mari?”

Mari turned her body towards Miyo, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“We write haiku and make love.”

“Well, it doesn’t sound that bad for a dream.”  Miyo sat back, her smile illuminating her worried face.

“No, not only that.  I have composed poems for Lord Tokugawa, I have seen men

executed, prisoners, with bow and arrow, I have met women from his castle.”

The expression on Miyo’s face showed her confusion.

“Mari, perhaps you have been pregnant longer than you knew.  Maybe this is from the changes in your body.  Perhaps these dreams come because you are a little unhappy in your marriage.”

“Perhaps, Miyo.”  Mari looked out the window at the snow- covered garden.

“But how did I get pregnant around the pill?  I have been taking it for four years. Steven doesn’t want children, at least now.”

“Oh, Mari, this is not unusual.  Perhaps the dose was too low. Perhaps just one day you forgot.  Who knows?  These things happen, there is no accounting for some things.”

Miyo looked down and sighed.

“Mari, I have to ask.  Is there another man?”

“No, no, Miyo.  Only Steven.  But the lovemaking in my dreams is so real.  I wake up looking for Lord Mori’s bruises, evidence he has made love to me.”

“Do you ever find something, a mark, anything?”

“No, I haven’t, at least I don’t think so.”  Mari shook her head.

“Ah! Then, it is only a dream, Mari. A very strong and powerful dream.  When something like this happens, in the subconscious, there  are reasons.  Stress, hormones, something is driving this dream.  You understand?”

Mari nodded, but Miyo could tell she had her doubts about this explanation.

It was dark when Mari left. She walked the short distance home with a mixture of confusion and hope.  Miyo’s thinking it was stress or hormones was plausible.  If she was pregnant for longer than a few weeks, perhaps the timing was right and it was all a mirage. Still, she would have to go to a doctor soon to confirm her condition.

The dusting of snow had disappeared from the sidewalk and only remained in the crotch of trees.  The street lights were far apart and dim, more like lanterns on poles. Mari walked slowly, thinking, not really wanting to return home to Steven.

As she approached her street, she heard a rustling and looked up into a tree on her right.  A very large bird was sitting there, iridescent feathers catching even the dim street light and making him radiate with shining color. It seemed to have a large, red beak.

“Good evening, girl, it’s cold out here. Get home and get warm.”  It spoke to her in a rasping voice.

Mari screamed and ran the rest of the way.

____

Jane Kohut-Bartels

Copyrighted, 2010

Some Poetry, but within “The Kimono”

“The Kimono” is a novel I have been working on for about 1.5 years.  Not long by any measure, but there’s a lot of poetry in it, and since a friend asked, I thought I would post a small chapter here.

Lady Nyo

Chapter 4

That evening, after ceremonies welcoming Lord Tokugawa to the castle, Lord Mori and Lord Tokugawa sat in a private reception room, quietly getting drunk.  There were many open and rolled maps on the low tables around them.  Lord Tokugawa was contented,  knowing  his own samurai were outside the door. He was amongst an ally and could afford to relax.

Lord Tokugawa was a daimyo, a nephew of ‘the’ Lord Tokugawa in Kyoto Castle.   He was a middle-aged man, massive with robes of state but no adornment.  He was also samurai and carried the long and short swords in his sash.  His appearance in this small castle was for a purpose, for Lord Tokugawa in Kyoto needed the support of the twenty-three western daimyos and their vassals.  There was trouble brewing amongst the population in certain regions. Some of the daimyos had used their power to tax the people to extreme and enrich themselves and their supporters.  Already granaries  had been looted. This would lead to more disturbances around the countryside.  Lord Tokugawa sent his nephew to sound out Lord Mori. He needed his support in putting down the rebellious bands of peasants.

They had been discussing the present situation for hours and now the sake was making a pleasant blur of their work.  Lord Mori presented a scroll of poems to Lord Tokugawa.

“Ah! These are excellent, my friend.  Are they new?”

Lord Mori smiled and inclined his head in agreement.  “They are very new, my Lord, but they are not from my hand.  They were written by a woman.  She shows an ability that is remarkable for her origin.”

“A woman!  These have much deepness for a mere woman’s thinking.  I would like to hear this woman recite these poems.  Is this possible, Lord Mori?”

Lord Mori knew Mari would be over her head with Lord Tokugawa, for he would challenge her with his own renderings on the same themes.  He knew he dare not refuse his Lord, but he wondered at the decorum of Mari.

“ I must warn you, my Lord. This woman is rather strange.  She does not have the cast of beauty we know in our women.  She might come from the north, from Hokkaido. Those people called Ainu.  They look strange to our eyes.”

Of course Lord Mori was not about to reveal how Mari came to him, for the magic of the Yamabushi was not to be bantered. Lord Tokugama was powerful, but only a  samurai.  No Yamabushi magic to him at all.

“Then let us hear this woman recite her poems.  Surely this is a good way to entertain us, neh?”

Lord Mori could only agree.  He called over a man and within a short time Mari was ushered into the presence of both lords, accompanied by Lady Idu and the younger  Lady Nyo.

Lord Mori was surprised at the appearance of Mari, but managed to conceal it. What Lord Tokugawa felt was not immediately obvious, but he did look at the  Lady Nyo with appraising eyes.

When Lady Idu was informed that Lady Mari was to appear before the two lords, she went to great pains to make sure that Mari was turned out to her perfection.  A very rich uchikake, now gold and silver silk brocade was the open layer that adorned her undergowns.  Her hair had been brushed out and fell like water around her white painted face.  To Lord Mori, she no longer looked gaijin.

Lord Mori dismissed Lady Idu and Lady Nyo and Mari was left standing there by herself. To Lord Mori she looked like a fragile flower.

“Lady Mari, the great Lord Tokugawa commands you to recite your poems of yesterday.  It is a great honor for him to do so.  Pick six at random and let us hear them now.”

Mari had been informed by the Lady Idu the purpose of her appearance, and asked Lady Idu how to retrieve the poems. She was a lucky girl, Lady Idu said tersely. Lady Nyo’s husband was Lord Mori’s chamberlain.

Mari looked down at the long piece of rice paper in her hand.  Her knees were knocking under her voluminous robes and her mouth dry.  Casting her eyes at Lord Mori, she showed her fear and discomfort.

Lord Mori watched her closely. A cup of sake would steady her, for she looked about to jump out of her skin.

“Here, Lady Mari.  You are in the presence of Lord Tokugawa.   It is natural you appear the little bird before the hawk.”   He came to her, winked and handed her the cup.

Mari trembled a little as she took it from Lord Mori’s large hands.

“Thank you, my lord.  That is kind of you.”

“Well, girl, for you look not much older,” said Lord Tokugawa, “drink your wine and give me a poem.  You may kneel in front of us.  Come Lord Mori, let us get comfortable.  Perhaps this woman will please me.”

Mari sipped from her cup and put it down on the floor beside her robes.
Ah! She was nervous and knew that she had one chance to capture Lord Tokugawa’s favor.  She steadied her nerves and began.

“A modest woman
Does not seek comfort with thieves
Emptiness is fate.
Better her eyes turn upwards
To Heaven, soul comforted.”

She kept her eyes cast down and only hearing a grunt of approval did she dare look up at the men.

“Not a bad start.  Good enough for a woman’s poem.  Give me another.”

“This is the problem!
Do not give over your soul
It returns tattered.
What tailor can mend the rips?
The fabric too frayed by life.”

“That is a good poem from a woman.  It shows some sense.  Another.”

“Human frailties
Wounds that bleed such heated blood
Leave a dry vessel.
Without the moisture of love
The clay reverts to the ground.”

“Ah! Better and better, Lady Mari.  You show some more sense.  Have you another?”

Mari thought hard.  She took a sip of her rice wine and turned her eyes to Lord Mori. She could not read his eyes, nor his expression.

“The morning wren sings
I stand in the moonlit dawn
Kimono wrapped tight
Last night I have made my peace
Now free from all attachments.”

Lord Tokugawa sighed deeply.  Mari could see that he was deeply drunk and tears gathered in one eye.

Lord Mori smiled and asked for one more, just to end her labor.  She could see Lord Tokugawa was tired and his drunkenness compounded his sadness.

“Shall an old gray wolf
Subdue a woman like me?
I shall be born soon.
The wolf head I will cut off
And nail the pelt to the cross.”

Lord Tokugawa might have looked drunk, but his eyes flew open and he stared hard at Mari.  Lord Mori’s body tensed, aware his lord’s mood had changed radically.

Suddenly, Lord Tokugawa threw back his head and laughed.  He turned to Lord Mori and spoke.

“Hah!  If you bed her, my friend, I would sleep with one eye open.  She has spirit beside being a decent poet…..for a woman.”

Lord Mori laughed with him, quickly pouring more wine into his lord’s cup. He picked up his own and looked pointedly at Mari.  She blushed and dropped her eyes, her hands folded demurely in her lap.  She could not avoid a slight smile.

That night she was called back to Lord Mori’s chamber.  He was again working at his table, his ceremonial robes discarded, now only with a quilted robe around him.  He looked up at her when she entered the room, accompanied by two samurai.  Nodding to them, they left, leaving Mari standing there.

“You did well, woman-called-Mari.  Perhaps I should employ you as a court poet, or perhaps you could travel with Lord Tokugawa and entertain him with your wit.  You know, girl, he was most impressed with you, regardless the cast of your features.”

Mari approached and looked up at him.  “Did I displease you with the poems I picked, Lord Mori?”

“Well”, except for the last one, you did well.” He grimaced at her.

“Should I sleep with one eye open now?”

Mari smiled, “No, Lord Mori, you should not worry about your sleep.”

Jane Kohut-Bartels
Copyrighted, 2009