Twenty-five to Twenty-six (2)

by Mizukami Kyouka

The traveler, as if moving at the young lady's will, began to speak in a hushed voice.

"At that time, I remember what my old man was telling. The boy must have seen monkeys, toads, and bats around the isolated house. Rabbits and snakes, too, were all turned into beasts by the young lady, after being bathed in the valley stream.

Ah, when I recall that time, how that woman was entangled by toads, embraced by monkeys, and sucked by bats, my heart felt a tightening sensation.

According to my old man, the current imbecile was also a patient who came to the doctor when he was highly regarded. At that time, he was still a child, accompanied by his simple father, and carried down from the mountain on the back of his long-haired elder brother. He had a troublesome swelling on his leg, and they requested treatment for it.

He rented a room and stayed there, but such a problem was serious. A good deal of blood also had to be drawn. Especially in the case of a child, it was decided that before laying hands on him, he should build up his strength, so they first made him drink three chicken eggs a day and applied a plaster as a temporary measure.

When peeling off that plaster, if his parents, brother, or others around him tried, it would harden and stick to the flesh, making it difficult to remove. He would cry out in pain, but when the daughter applied her hand, he would endure it silently.

The doctor was helpless, and the meticulous father, citing his own weakening body, postponed it day by day. But after three days, leaving his elder son behind, he shuffled on his haunches from the entrance to the dirt floor, put on his straw sandals, placed his hands on the ground, and returned to the mountains, praying for his younger son's life to be saved.

Still, there was little progress, and after about seven days, it was harvest time, and his brother was so busy he wished he had eight hands. The weather was also rainy, and if it became a long rain, the rice in the mountain fields would rot. "As the eldest son, I am the main worker, so I cannot stay like this," he told the child, "Don't cry," and left the patient behind.

Later, only one child remained. At that time, the village head's ledger recorded the previous year's age as six, and if the parents were sixty and the child twenty, conscription would be overlooked. Due to some error, the registration was five years late, so the child was actually eleven. Nevertheless, having grown up in the mountains, he barely knew the village language, but he was born intelligent and understanding. He could infer that the broth, which made him suck three hen's eggs at a time, would turn into blood during the treatment, and though he cried, his brother told him not to, so he endured it in his heart.

The daughter was compassionate, and when they ate together, she would take a piece of pickled daikon, retreat to a corner, and eat it, which was endearing.

On the night before the surgery, after everyone had quietly fallen asleep, my daughter, who had woken up to use the restroom, found me sobbing like a mosquito and, out of great discomfort, held me and put me to sleep.

When the treatment began, as usual, my daughter held me from behind, and I admirably endured the cutting instrument entering, sweating profusely. However, perhaps due to a wrong cut, the blood that started flowing thereafter wouldn't stop, and my color changed rapidly, putting me in a dangerous state.

The doctor also turned pale and panicked, but perhaps with divine help, my life was finally saved. The bleeding stopped after about three days, but I completely lost the use of my lower back. My body had been weak to begin with.

He looked at his legs with a pathetic expression. It was a sight too painful to watch, like seeing a cricket crying with its withered leg in its mouth.

Finally, he started crying, and conscious of appearances, the doctor, somewhat flustered, glared at him with a terrifying face. But seeing him hide his face in his daughter's chest and cling to her as she compassionately picked him up, even the doctor, who had been operating on people for many years, gave in, crossed his arms, and sighed.

Eventually, the father came to pick him up. He gave up on the idea of karma and didn't complain about the shortage, but since the child wouldn't let go of the daughter's hand, the doctor, fortunately, decided to have the daughter escort the child home, using it as an excuse to appease the parents and older brother.

The one who brought him was an isolated house.

At that time, it was still a single estate with about twenty small houses. The daughter arrived, and after staying for a day or two, she was persuaded to extend her visit. On the fifth day of her stay, heavy rain began to fall. It was a torrential downpour, like a waterfall, and everyone in their homes had to wear straw cloaks and hats to endure it. Repairing the thatched roofs was out of the question, and the front doors couldn't even be opened. People called out to each other from inside their homes, from one house to another, and to their neighbors, just to confirm that the human world had not yet ended. They were confined in the rain for what felt like eight hundred years, and on the ninth day, in the middle of the night, a great wind began to blow. The force of that wind brought with it a sea of mud.

The only ones who miraculously survived this flood were the daughter, the child, and the old man who had accompanied them from the village at that time.

The doctor's family also perished in the same flood. That is why the locals passed down the saying that such a beautiful woman being born in a remote village was a premonition of a change in the country and a change of eras.

The young lady, having no home to return to and being all alone in the world, remained in the mountains with the child, as the young monk can see, and as can be seen from her thorough care for that simpleton, thirteen years have passed since the flood, and there has been no change even for a single day until now.

Having finished speaking, the old man again showed a creepy smirk.

“If I tell you her story like this, you might feel sorry for the young lady and want to help her chop firewood or draw water, but under the name of genuine good will, or vague compassion, or affection, you'd rather want to return to the mountains. Instead of becoming the wife of that imbecile and not looking at the world, the young lady is free to do as she pleases, taking in men, and when she tires of them, she breathes on them and turns them into beasts. Especially this stream that carved through the mountain since that flood is a mysterious water bestowed by the heavens to lure men, and no one who encounters it escapes losing their life.”

Even in the Tengu realm, there are the three hot torments: hair becomes disheveled, complexion turns pale, chest becomes emaciated, and limbs grow thin. But if one bathes in a mountain stream, they return to their former state, with water dripping from them. If called, live fish will come, and if glared at, beautiful nuts will fall from trees. If a sleeve is raised, rain will fall, and if eyebrows are opened, wind will blow.

Moreover, being naturally fond of beauty, especially of the young, he must have said something to the monk. But even if that were carried out, he would eventually grow tired, a tail would appear, ears would move, legs would extend, and his form would instantly change.

No, I want to show you the form of the demon god when I eventually cook this carp and drink while sitting cross-legged.

“Do not harbor delusive thoughts; leave this place quickly. It is by the young lady’s compassion that you were saved, which is truly miraculous. It is a blessing for your life, young one; you will surely undertake ascetic training.” With another pat on my back, the old man, still holding the carp, headed up the mountain path.

As I watched him go, his figure grew smaller and disappeared behind the great mountain of the assembly. Then, beneath the sky that burned like oil, clouds rose steadily from the mountain’s summit. The sound of the waterfall quieted, and the rumble of thunder grew stronger.

I stood motionless as if I had shed my skin, but eventually, my soul returned to my body, and I composed myself as if to worship him. Gripping my staff firmly, tilting my sedge hat, I turned on my heel and began to rush down the path. By the time I reached the village, the mountain was being struck by a sudden downpour. I thought that the carp the old man brought back to the woman must have finally reached their isolated home due to this heavy rain.

Koya Hijiri did not add any particular explanation about this, but the next morning, when we parted ways, I regretfully watched him go, crossing through the snow. Amidst the fluttering snow, he gradually ascended the slope, appearing beautiful as if riding on clouds.