The Wanderer - Floating Rice Husks - Chapter 1

 The Wanderer

(Book 11 of the Guardian of the Spirit Series)

Author: Uehashi Nahoko

Translator: Ainikki the Archivist

 

Floating Rice Husks - Chapter 1

    The first one to bring the news was Cheena, Tanda's little sister. She'd gone to a neighbor to get hot water late that evening.

    "It's terrible! The neih in the Yamahata fields has all been devoured by wild mountain dogs!" Cheena called out to Tanda, then slipped through the door and kicked off her straw sandals. She placed the sandals on the raised ledge near the door.

    Tanda was sitting on the ledge. He lined up the straw sandals to make them nice and neat. He was stretching out his hand to adjust Cheena's sandals when he heard water sloshing behind him. Cheena was there, carrying hot water in a basin. Tanda smelled the faintly sweet-smelling water and stifled a sneeze.

    Cheena rushed over to Tanda's mother with light footsteps.

    "Don't exaggerate," his mother said. "You're speaking like a child. Tell me what happened."

    Tanda's youngest brother, Kaiza, had just been born and was breast feeding. Tanda's mother set the baby down hurriedly and frowned severely. "What did you say about wild mountain dogs?" She leaned forward, closer to the room's fire. "It can't have been that. The alarm bells didn't ring." She smiled a little in exasperation, then picked up baby Kaiza again.

    "But the neighbors are already out spreading the same news," Cheena said. "it must be true."

    The smile on Tanda's mother's face vanished. Her husband was cutting open a kachi fruit on the other side of the fire.

    "What did the neighbors say?" Tanda's father asked.

    "What I told you," Cheena said. "The Yamahata fields were attacked by wild mountain dogs. A lot of the vegetables must have been eaten. The neih was all devoured."

    "Was anyone hurt?" Tanda's father asked in a serious tone.

    "I don't know," Cheena said softly. "I forgot to ask."

    "What?!" Tanda was horrified. "But that's really important! How could you forget?"

    Tanda's older brother, Noshir, shoved him in the shoulder. "Be quiet, you. Do you think the neighbors will come here, too, Cheena?" he asked.

    "I told you what they were saying already," Cheena muttered, pulling a face.

    Tanda's father sighed and stood up.

    "Are you gonna find out what happened?" Noshir asked. "Can I go, too?"

    Tanda's father nodded.

    Tanda got up to go with them, but when he saw the forbidding expressions on his father and brother's faces, he sat back down.

    Tanda's mother passed a paper lantern to his father so that he and Noshir wouldn't lose their way in the darkness. Tanda's father and Noshir put their sandals on and went outside.

    Tanda watched them go with an expression of longing. It was amazing how much Noshir resembled their father. It was getting harder and harder to tell them apart, even if they were only a short distance away.

    The door closed, sending a blast of cold autumn air through the small house. Tanda heard a rush of evening sounds and insects for a brief moment before the door slammed shut.

    "Cheena," Tanda said, "what's neih?"

    Cheena looked to Tanda's mother and sister. Neither of them had an answer. "I don't know," she said.

    Tanda snorted. "You really didn't ask them anything at all."

    The Yamahata fields were near the edge of the village. Ten or so farm families worked them during the year. There were four girls with the Yamahata surname that Tanda's mother knew of, and one of them was named Neih. Cheena didn't know or remember this, and Tanda didn't know who Neih was.

    Tanda tidied up the shelf where the family kept straw sandals, then sat down at the irori. "Mom, can I have some kachi fruit, too?

    Tanda's mother nodded and passed Tanda his father's cooking knife. The kachi fruit was enclosed by a hard brown shell. The shell was formed of flower petals that grew over the fruit in a whorl, forming a protective layer. Tanda scored the fruit all the way around and removed the shell in two large, smooth pieces. The fruit inside was a deep red color.

    His father's cooking knife was small and easy for adult hands to handle, but Tanda was only eleven years old, so he was still clumsy when using it. He removed the scant remaining pieces of the shell in small sections. 

    Tanda's other older brother sat down next to him and cast the discarded shell into the irori's fire. The shell crackled in the flames.

    Tanda paused in shelling the kachi fruit to look at the fire.

    "You all have to go to bed soon," Tanda's mother said. "We have to be up early tomorrow."

    It was late autumn, and the rice was ready for harvesting. Every village within a day's walk used everyone who could be spared to scythe down the rice from dawn until dusk. The children's uncle, their father's brother, was already asleep and snoring after a long day in the fields.

    The next morning, the children would wake, have breakfast made for them by their mother, then go out and chase away the birds and the deer so they wouldn't eat the rice crops. Days were always very busy in autumn.

    Tanda's dad and Noshir didn't come home that night after dinner. Cheena and Tanda's other older brother started to worry.

    "Can't we stay up until dad gets home?" Tanda asked.

    His mother shook her head. "We don't know when they'll be back. You have to go to sleep now."

    Tanda's other older brother poked him in the head and laughed. "You heard mom. Time for the runts to go to bed. You can't be staying up late, or you won't be able to work tomorrow."

    Tanda stepped out of his brother's reach and said, "But I'm not tired, and I won't be tired tomorrow, either, if I stay up."

    "Liar. You'll be dead on your feet before we even get the nets ready to catch the birds."

    Tanda blushed. Small children had to run around the rice fields searching for birds that had concealed themselves in the dense vegetation. Once they'd found one, they had to trap it so that it wouldn't eat the rice.

    The work was endless, thankless and repetitive. Tanda hated it. He'd often fallen asleep after catching three or four birds, preferring to wander in dreams over exhausting himself in the fields.

    When Tanda dreamed, he saw very strange things. Glowing caterpillars inched across the sky right before his eyes. Sometimes he saw people standing on the edges of the fields, their outlines limned in pale fire.

    Tanda used to tell his parents and siblings all about what he'd seen when he was little, but he didn't tell any of them about it anymore. They didn't believe him. They never had. When he'd first told his father, he'd frowned deeply, then sighed. His brothers had told him to stop being an idiot. Tanda hated having his father exasperated with him, so he kept quiet about the things that he saw.

    But Tanda always wanted to know what these things were. He wished he could ask someone, anyone. When his curiosity overwhelmed him, he ceased field work and went into the mountains alone. An old woman named Torogai lived in a hut in the mountains near the village. Torogai was the only person Tanda had ever known who would answer his questions about the things he saw.

    I want to go see grandma Torogai.

    Tanda had been so busy helping with the harvest that he hadn't seen Torogai at all recently. If he went to see her, Balsa might be there.

    I really want to see Balsa...

    Balsa was a girl a few years older than him who lived at Torogai's hut for part of the year. She was always practicing the spear with her foster father, Jiguro. She almost never played with him, but he always wanted to see her.

    Balsa was nothing like his siblings or the other village children. She was so violent and angry sometimes that it was hard to believe she was a girl. The village children teased Tanda a lot no matter what he said or did, but he could talk to Balsa about anything.

    "Oi! Don't just stand there, Tanda! Lay out your bedding and go to sleep!" his older brother yelled at him.

    Tanda stood up hastily, then went into his bedroom.

    Tanda didn't want to sleep. He wanted to stay up until his father and Noshir came home, but he was asleep the moment he pulled his shilya blankets up to his shoulders. He awoke from dreaming when he heard the sound of his father's voice.

    There was faint light coming from under the door of Tanda's bedroom. His parents were still awake. They were speaking in hushed whispers, trying not to wake the children, but Tanda could just make out what they were saying.

    Tanda sat up a little in his bed and leaned forward.

    "...did the wild mountain dog bark? Was that what she heard?" Tanda's mother sounded concerned.

    "Yeah. She said the wild dog was surrounded by weird blue light, like a will o' the wisp. The dog…it didn't devour Neih. It killed Onza."

    Tanda's eyes widened. His older brother was sleeping next to him and stirred. Tanda held his breath, but his brother didn't wake. He let out a loud snore and turned in his bed with his mouth half-open.

    "But is it true?" Tanda's mother asked. "What a terrible thing to happen!"

    "Sh," Tanda's father said. "You're too loud. Why would the village messenger lie? He gives us news all the time."

    "But, honey...what should we do?"

    "If Neih really saw something like that near the Yamahata fields...well, we don't know. Yukaji said he saw the wild mountain dog at sunset, but his eyes could have been playing tricks." Yukaji was the name of the village messenger and herald. "He looked back to be sure. He seemed scared at the time, but now he says he doesn't want to make a fuss....I don't know. Aside from Onza, no one was badly hurt, but the screaming was loud enough to wake the dead."

    Tanda's father coughed like he was clearing his throat. "Onza's death is a terrible thing. He was just walking on the mountain path, so really, it could have happened to any of us. He usually stopped at Yoza the carpenter's before returning to the village, but it seems like he forgot this time. And it seems that Neih saw the wild mountain dog right near the carpenter's house."

    "What was she doing so far from home?" Tanda's mother asked.

    "She was visiting Yasugi Village, downstream from here. She's been seeing a young man there for a while."

    "I see… I didn't realize that there were wild mountain dogs around here…"

    "Yukaji said he saw it, too," Tanda's father said. "This monster ripped out a man's throat in broad daylight. The village has never even heard of anything so awful as that."

    Baby Kaiza made a gurgling sort of sound, then began to cry.

    "Ah! There, there. Don't cry. I just fed you, sweetie. Calm down…"

    Tanda heard his mother walking across the wooden kitchen floor and caught a glimpse of her through the partially open door.

    The full weight of what Tanda had heard hit him in a wave. Is Onza…dead?

    Tanda usually called Onza his bearded uncle. He was a distant relative of Tanda's mother who was usually away from the village. When he visited, it was always during festivals and holidays. He wore bright clothes with complicated patterns. Onza was always laughing and telling jokes. His long beard was split in two parts and the tips were dyed various colors.

    Onza was an excellent musician and could play the pipe very well. He was always in the village for small festivals, walking around and playing his pipe. Many women gathered around him and danced. He drank a lot and sometimes got in trouble for stealing small amounts of money. He had a terrible habit of gossiping maliciously about people.

    Tanda's father hated uncle Onza and pulled a cruel face whenever he came to visit, but Tanda had always loved him. He always looked forward to hearing his pipe and started dancing when he heard it in the distance. Uncle Onza had a big belly laugh that showed all his teeth. He smelled sweet and like spices. Tanda enjoyed sitting near him, listening to his pipe and his stories.

    Whenever he saw him coming up the path, Tanda would shout a greeting: "Uncle Onza!"

    "Oh? Tanda!" Onza's face would crinkle in a smile. He'd rush to Tanda, pick him up and carry him all the way back to the house.

    Tanda's father didn't like how close he was to uncle Onza. Tanda could tell. Once, Onza sat on the raised platform next to the door where the shoes were and played his pipe while Tanda's father was making dinner. The music irritated Tanda's father. "If your hands can play that, why don't you go swing a scythe instead!?"

    Tanda's father stormed outside to escape the noise. Onza went out to wash up, avoiding Tanda's father.

    Tanda was confused by his father's reaction to the music and turned toward his mother, who was drying clothes. "Why is dad so angry?" he asked.

    "Your father...is worried about you," his mother said. "He doesn't want you to wind up like uncle Onza." 

    Tanda's little sister Cheena rushed over and nodded hugely. "Mommy told me that uncle Onza always hated working in the fields since he was real little. He decided to be an artist and go all around the world. He gave us up. He doesn't help us or support us like he should. He comes back when he likes, gets in trouble, and leaves again." Cheena nodded again with the solemnity of a sage. "He spends time playing music and dancing and he never really grew up."

    "But that's not the kind of life you want for yourself," Tanda's mother said. "Is it? Would you really be satisfied, leaving everything you know and love behind? Onza was the oldest son in the family, and he left us completely when he was sixteen. He's like the husk of a grain of rice floating in the fields. He'll never realize the full potential of who he was supposed to be."

    Tanda's mother picked up the clothes she was drying and started folding them. "You have some things in common with Onza," she said. "But I'd hate to see you grow up as a floating rice husk. You're a third son. That means you'll work hard for your family, make a good marriage in the village, and have your own children one day."

    Tanda's mother folded up the dried clothes, then went out of the house to dip a basin in the water near the rice paddies. She needed fresh water for washing clothes. Tanda followed her and watched the white husks of rice in the water with a little frown. They couldn't be eaten, and they couldn't be grown. They were worthless. Worse: they were a lost part of next year's harvest. Each one of those husks had been around an actual grain of rice that could be eaten or sprouted, but now, they never would.

    But Tanda already felt like a floating rice husk. He didn't work as hard as his siblings and no one treated him particularly well. He wasn't valued for himself. He had no friends to speak of. Maybe he just hadn't matured yet, but how was he supposed to mature without nurturing and guidance?

    If Tanda really was a floating rice husk, no amount of nurturing would ever make him sprout. Later in life, Tanda would look at the husks floating in the rice paddies near harvest time and experience a feeling of profound sadness.

    Tanda's mother had called uncle Onza a floating rice husk. He had died horribly under mysterious circumstances. The last time Tanda had seen Onza, his usual clothes were gone, replaced by rags, and he was wasted and thin. He must have been that way when he came up the mountain path just before he died. It seemed that the girl who had found him thought that he'd been gored by a wild mountain dog.

    How could he die like that? Why is he dead?

    Tanda wasn't scared of wild mountain dogs. Maybe he should have been, but what he truly felt was pity for his uncle Onza and a sense of deep grief.

    Rain pattered on the roof of the house. It was dark and warm and quiet. Tanda fell asleep again.

    The next morning, the men of the village went out to the carpenter's house where Neih had seen the wild mountain dog to investigate what had happened. There were prints of a creature that could be a dog or a wolf in the muddy road, but the trail away from the road didn't lead far. The dog had crossed a stream, and the previous night's rain had washed away all other clear traces. The villagers believed that the dog was a male separated from his pack. Maybe it had fallen into a trap and gotten injured. The village had never had a wild mountain dog prowling so close to the village before, so they had no idea what to expect regarding the beast's behavior.

    The villagers also didn't have time to do much investigating. Every pair of hands was needed to bring in the rice harvest. Still, Onza's bizarre death filled the villagers with anxiety. There were some who said that Onza's unquiet spirit would haunt them, since they'd said cruel things to him while he was alive.

    On their way back to the village, people whispered together about their fears and prayed for a good harvest.

 

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