The Wanderer
Harvest time was hard on everyone in Tanda's village, especially for families that didn't have a lot of young men to work in the fields. Because of this, neighbors took turns performing menial tasks like cooking and preparing tools to free up the time of the most in-demand workers. It was Tanda's family's turn to perform those tasks today.
Tanda and his mother had been up well before dawn cooking breakfast for all the workers who would visit them. The cooked rice was packed into stewed and dried asho leaves to make it easy to carry around. The smell of asho rice always reminded Tanda of harvest time, even in adulthood.
Some of the girls who lived in the village had also come over to help Tanda and his mother cook, and to hand out supplies. There were a lot more people than normal standing around near the well and in the kitchen. It was hard for Tanda to move around without bumping into someone. The women talked as they worked, so the house was also unusually noisy.
Tanda packed the asho rice onto a large wooden plate, then went outside to deliver them to the first workers to arrive. There was quite a crowd forming outside the house.
The cool autumn breeze fluttered Tanda's clothes and pushed his hair back from his forehead. The sun hadn't risen, so all Tanda could see was the dim shapes of men and boys standing in family and friend groups, or sitting on the ground and and talking. As Tanda walked around, he realized that Balsa was there, too--but she was standing all alone.
Balsa looked around herself with an expression of vague disinterest. She was carrying a scythe.
Tanda passed his wooden plate of rice wrapped in asho leaves to his older brother. He plucked three off the plate, then dashed over to greet Balsa.
"Good morning, Balsa!"
Balsa faced him and smiled faintly. "Good morning." Her gaze dropped to the food Tanda was holding. "What's that?"
"Oh, this? It's asho rice. We make it for all the people who work in the fields and help us bring in the harvest. It's great! You're older than me and can work more, so I brought you two."
Tanda passed two servings of asho rice to Balsa. She sniffed one and grinned. "They do smell pretty good..."
"They're really good."
The other workers started eating their asho rice. Balsa opened her mouth wide and took a huge bite. The asho rice was still warm and all but melted in her mouth. Balsa and Tanda ate their breakfast together without speaking, enjoying the freshly made meal.
Tanda's mother came out of the house with another wooden plate of asho rice to hand out more food and greet the neighbors. When she saw Tanda and Balsa standing together, she frowned. Balsa looked too skinny to her: tall for her age and all skin and bones. After making her rounds with the neighbors, she came over to Balsa and Tanda.
"Thanks for coming to help us today," Tanda's mother said.
Balsa looked down a bit awkwardly. "Uh, thanks for inviting me."
Tanda's mother smiled.
"We need every pair of hands we can get. I'm sure you'll be a huge help. Thank you." Tanda's mother bowed her head a little. "There's work in the kitchen, too, if you'd like to help out there."
Balsa shook her head. "I can work in the kitchen, but I'd much rather work in the fields. That's why I brought a scythe."
Tanda's mother appeared slightly surprised. "Well, if you're sure. But harvesting rice is very hard work. You might hurt yourself."
Balsa grinned. "I'll be fine. I'm very strong."
Tanda's mother still seemed concerned. Her gaze flicked to Balsa's hakama, which were so short that they barely reached her knees. "Wait a minute," she said. "I want to go grab something." She wove through the crowd of neighbors and went back into the house. She didn't return for quite some time.
Balsa and Tanda finished eating their asho rice, but Tanda's mother still hadn't returned. The field workers started to disperse so that they could start work for the day. Balsa seemed torn on whether or not she should go with them or continue to wait. She was just about to leave with the others when Tanda's mother finally came out of the house.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting for so long," she said. "I hoped to find something newer, but..." Tanda's mother crouched down in front of Balsa and pulled a pair of shin guards from her apron. She was about to put them on when Balsa took a step back.
"I can do that by myself," Balsa said.
Tanda's mother laughed. Without missing a beat, she laced up the shin guards behind Balsa's calves and pulled the strings tight.
"All done," Tanda's mother said with a satisfied nod. "If you're not used to swinging a scythe, it's easy to cut yourself when harvesting. The shin guards are old, but they should protect your legs from getting hurt."
"I, uh...thank you," Balsa said, bowing a little. She spoke quietly, like it was hard to get words out.
Tanda looked at Balsa in alarm. If he didn't know any better, he'd swear that she was about to cry.
Tanda's mother also seemed to sense Balsa's mood. She rested her hand on Balsa's shoulder and said kindly, "If you need to rest while you're working, you can come back to the house for a while. All right?"
Balsa nodded shallowly, speechless. She bowed, then stood up straight and joined the other men who were headed for the fields. She didn't look back at Tanda or his mother even once.
Some of Tanda's uncles gathered their drums and flutes and started playing a song with the steady rhythm to help the others set a steady pace when working. The harvesters stacked up their cut bundles of rice into groups of three. Much was harvested in a short time, but the fields themselves seemed endless. Tanda's mother had not been exaggerating when she'd called harvesting rice very hard work.
Rice that wasn't cut down with enough force couldn't even be used as straw, so no one under the age of twelve was allowed to carry a scythe. Tanda and his sister walked among the harvesters, binding harvested rice into bundles with twine. They also brought water to the workers, who were sweltering under the heat of another unseasonably warm autumn day.
Some people kept harvesting even after the sun went down, but Tanda's family always stopped and returned home in the evening. So did many others, who were eager to return home to their wives and families for a substantial meal and a long rest.
After five days of steady work, the harvest was more or less complete. Balsa had kept going continuously from sunup to sundown, pausing only to eat dinner with Tanda's family. She’d stayed in Torogai's hut overnight before coming back to work. Tanda's mother asked Balsa to stay with them many times--it couldn't be good for Balsa's health to climb that steep path after working all day, and besides , the path was dangerous at the moment.
Balsa always pretended not to hear Tanda's mother and returned to Torogai's hut immediately after eating. Tanda's brothers badmouthed Balsa behind her back, but after a few days, they were forced to admit a grudging admiration for her work ethic. She worked harder and did more than many grown men.
"That girl's a natural at harvesting," Tanda's uncle said. "She's better than anyone else we have out there. She's as strong as the horses that Kanbal's so famous for. She doesn't look like much, but she lifts with her legs and she's stronger than she looks. Her cuts are also smooth and even--I didn't see a single ragged edge on the rice. We'll have no shortage of good straw this year."
Tanda had noticed how Balsa cut the rice, precise and even: she repeated each movement exactly without any variation that he could see. He told Balsa that his uncle had praised her.
Balsa seemed pleased by the praise, but she made no attempt to become friends with the family. She kept herself apart from people, aside from Tanda.
With the harvest over, it was time for the autumn festival to Ten no Kami, the God of the Heavens. The first crops of the season were offered to the god at the festival. The villagers would pray to have a good harvest again next year, then have a feast. Tanda's uncle invited Balsa to come to the festival several times, as did Tanda, so she couldn't even pretend not to hear them. She came down the mountain from Torogai's hut on the day of the festival.
It was cloudy that morning, but by the time the offerings of rice were all brought to the village square around noon, the sky was almost clear. Villagers sang and danced to celebrate the day. The weather was cool and seasonable: a pleasant reprieve from the heat of the past few days. Flutes set a cheerful rhythm as the villagers danced and laughed.
Many merchants had come from Kosenkyo’s Lower Fan with goods to sell. Food stalls and candy vendors lined up along the street. Children ran around buying food and candy, dazzled by the bright red and yellow colors that people from the capital wore.
Tanda didn’t enter the dancers’ circle. He went with Balsa to the candy sellers. Afterward, Tanda invited Balsa to dance, but she declined.
“I don’t dance,” Balsa said flatly. “Besides, I can see it all from here.”
Balsa didn’t seem upset or anything, but Tanda didn’t want to leave her alone in the crowd. He suspected that if he did go with his family to dance, he would lose sight of Balsa almost right away. She wouldn’t just vanish like that unless she really wanted to leave, but Tanda didn’t think she’d tell him something like that.
That was why Tanda stayed near Balsa at the food and candy stores. Bullies wouldn’t bother him at all if he stayed close to Balsa.
“Water candy!” a vendor called out in a clear, loud voice like a bell. “Water candy to celebrate the season and the clear sky! Water candy...”
The candies were striped red and yellow. The vendor was a middle-aged man whose cadence was almost musical. He reminded Tanda of his uncle Onza, although...
“...uncle Onza would dance while he sang,” Tanda said sadly. “That man’s not like him at all.”
“Huh? Who?” Balsa asked.
Tanda didn’t answer.
Balsa frowned, looking between Tanda and the water candy seller. “I see. So it’s that guy. You can buy whatever you want. He’s got bubble candy, prayer rope, bells and stuff...”
Tanda remembered that uncle Onza had sold water candy at last year’s festival, but he wasn’t here this year. Uncle Onza would never sing or dance or sell candy to children ever again. When Tanda thought about that, the whole world seemed drained of color.
The dancers in the center of the festival circle melted into the crowd, giving the next set of dancers a turn.
“Are you gonna buy candy or not?” Balsa asked.
Balsa’s voice returned Tanda to his senses. He nodded. “Uh, yeah, we can get candy,” he said. “And I want some seared chicken. I think that lady over there has some.”
Tanda and Balsa walked over to a short middle-aged woman searing pieces of bird meat over an open flame. The meat was soaked in oil before searing, and cooking the meat sealed all the juices in. The smell of the smoke coming from the woman’s stall was savory-sweet and very inviting. Tanda was relieved to have Balsa next to him and the water candy seller behind him, fading into the distance.
Balsa and Tanda each bought a piece of seared chicken from the woman. When Balsa bit into it, she grinned from ear to ear. “This is fantastic!”
The woman cooking the seared meat smiled kindly at Balsa. “Isn’t it? In Kosenkyo, most of the food stalls sell chicken with crispy skin that’s been fried. I like that, but I like that kind of chicken better. That’s why I make it. The meat is brined in a secret, special sauce that’s been passed down by my family for generations.”
Balsa took an enormous bite of her seared chicken. Mouth full, she asked, “Do you sell food in the capital, too?”
“I do!” she said. “Right along the road near the Blue Bow River, on Aogakisui Street. If you’d like to eat this chicken again, please come and see me.”
“You wanna go to the city and eat some of this with me sometime?” Balsa asked. “I’m sure dad would love it. I’m pretty sure we’re taking a job in the Lower Fan next.”
“That would be nice,” Tanda said. He sighed.
Balsa narrowed her eyes. “Tanda…what’s wrong?”
“I…just don’t know if I’ll be allowed to visit the Lower Fan,” Tanda said. “I’ve only been there twice before.”
Balsa threw away her skewer in a basket near the food stalls after she finished eating her meat. “I guess there are some good things about being a wanderer,” she said. “Seems like villagers always stay in their villages. Dad and I don’t have to do that. At least your mom and uncle are nice, yeah?”
Balsa glanced over Tanda’s shoulder. “Looks like your uncle’s trying to get your attention.”
Sure enough, when Tanda turned, he saw his uncle waving at him.
“Yeah.” Tanda waved back. “We need to start lining up to offer the rice crops. We dedicate them to the god at the temple and pray for the village to have another good harvest next year.”
Tanda heard a shrill whistle coming from the flutists. The singing and dancing was over; it was time for the special ceremonies that were unique to the harvest festival. The dancers and performers started forming a line and heading toward the temple.
Balsa and Tanda came up to Tanda’s uncle, who passed them each a small bundle of rice that was neatly wrapped in twine. Even the twine was decorative and festive.
“There we go,” Tanda’s uncle said. “Line up, and don’t fall behind, kids.”
The line moved slowly, so Tanda, his uncle, and Balsa were easily able to keep up with the others. They walked along the paths through the rice fields toward the village to the west. Tanda could see the shapes of houses and farmsteads casting shadows as the sun started going down.
“They’ve put the tolcha out,” Tanda said, pointing. Tolcha were pictures of the dead that were suspended on wooden or bamboo poles outside of people’s houses. Every year, families that were mourning a death drew the visage of the departed person on a wooden sign in thick black ink. The signs were then placed over that family member’s grave. Some farmsteads had actual cemeteries enclosed by stone walls, so the people who lived there placed their tolcha outside the walls so that they could be easily carried up to the temple.
“What are tolcha for?” Balsa asked.
Tanda smiled. “That’s right. You’ve never been to a harvest festival before, so you don’t know about the tolcha. They’re the faces of the dead, who now protect our villages.”
Some of the tolcha were discolored because of this year’s rainy season. Tanda saw people placing more tolcha over graves with exaggerated care. When people carrying tolcha had to pass through the long line of villagers, the villagers made a gap so that they could pass.
It was near sunset, and the branches of the trees overhead cast angled shadows. The autumn sky was a deep, rich red color. The last light of the sun played over the faces of Balsa and the villagers as they started to climb up a steep mountain path. There was a mountain pass at the edge of the village that they were all heading for.
The mountain pass was a grassy place dotted with trees. Occasionally, Tanda pointed out small shrines along the path that were about the size of a gathering basket. These tiny shrines were made of wood, and were the perfect size for leaving small offerings. As Tanda and Balsa climbed, they saw more and more shrines, some with bouquets of wildflowers or bottles of rice wine under them. There were also some larger shrines with proper altars. Some of the aged men and women making this steep climb stopped at these larger shrines for a brief rest before continuing on.
At the end of the path, there was a temple. Several old men and women sat outside it. When they saw the procession approaching, two old men rose from their seats and opened the doors of the temple.
Balsa had climbed up this mountain path many times, but she’d never seen the inside of the temple before. The temple was very large: there were a few thousand tolcha standing up in neat rows within it. A hush fell over the crowd as they took in the sight of all these tolcha. Some of the tolcha were so ancient and worn by wind and rain that the faces painted on the wooden boards had been all but erased.
Those entrusted with the task of removing the tolcha from their graves and placing them in the temple started moving up the path. As they did, villagers called out, “Grandma, grandpa, watch over me!”
“May our ancestors protect us.”
“Gods honor our ancient relatives.”
“Please grant us a good harvest like the one we had this year, great-grandfather.”
The villagers took up their bundles of rice and placed them on an altar inside the temple. Then they closed their eyes and bowed their heads, chanting prayers. The smallest children seemed a bit confused at the proceedings, but they bowed their heads and imitated their parents.
People further down the path also bowed their heads in prayer. The quiet stillness of the evening was broken by the murmuring sound of their chanting.
Balsa approached the altar, set her bundle of rice down on it, bowed her head and closed her eyes. She muttered a few words of thanks, then stepped back quickly into the crowd, trying not to stand out.
Tanda approached the altar with his uncle and prayed with all his might. When he opened his eyes, he saw Balsa a little ways away, shrouded in gloom. She was waiting for him.
After all the villagers had offered their rice and their prayers, the same old men who had opened the temple doors closed them. People started heading back to their villages in groups of two and three, carrying their bundles of rice in their hands. Offering the rice was merely ceremonial; now that it had been blessed, people were free to take it home.
Balsa hadn’t known this, so she’d left her rice on the altar. Tanda’s uncle passed her bundle of rice back to her. “This rice has been blessed,” he explained. “While the blessing lasts, the grains of this rice can cure all kinds of illnesses. Hold on to it for as long as you can, until you need the strength that it will give you.”
Balsa thanked Tanda’s uncle and accepted the bundle of rice into her hands.
Tanda was standing in the grassy area below the temple, watching people leave. When his uncle called out to him, he ran over to his uncle and Balsa.
Balsa noticed that there were still many tolcha standing on graves as they descended the path. “When do tolcha get carried to the temple?” she asked.
“When their faces are no longer recognizable,” Tanda’s uncle said. “In the temple, some small piece of our ancestors is preserved, so that they can watch over us forever.”
An old woman who was ahead of them in the long line called out to Tanda’s uncle. Tanda’s uncle excused himself, leaving Balsa and Tanda alone.
Balsa walked beside Tanda in silence for a while. She noticed that Tanda seemed troubled.
“Is something wrong?” Balsa asked.
“Uncle Onza died…somewhere around here,” Tanda said, voice quiet. “I looked for the place where he was attacked, but I couldn’t find it. You’re supposed to flowers on the place where a person died, but I…”
Balsa considered for a moment, then called out to Tanda’s uncle. “Sir!”
Tanda’s uncle turned back to her.
“I forgot that I have to run an errand,” she said. “I’ll come back right away when I’m done, so please don’t worry. I’ll take Tanda with me so I don’t get lost.”
Tanda’s uncle nodded, then turned back to the old woman who was walking next to him.
Balsa took Tanda’s hand and whispered, “We’re going back up the mountain. Follow me.”
Tanda looked at her, puzzled. She passed him her blessed bundle of rice.
“We’ll put this on your uncle Onza’s grave,” Balsa said. “C’mon. Let’s go find it.”
Tanda blinked in confusion. “But…I just told you that I couldn’t find the place.”
“You didn’t have me looking with you,” Balsa said. “Besides, it’s gotta be in that grassy spot somewhere.” Then she tugged Tanda’s arm straight and started walking up the mountain path.
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